#a/n: a 5k part for yall

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say. 

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia? 

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready. 

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her. 

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures. 

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm. 

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over. 

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life. 

-

-

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally. 

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her. 

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already. 

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple. 

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in. 

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world. 

You cried in relief. 

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop. 

And you did just that. 

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly. 

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.” 

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight  but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together. 

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.” 

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that. 

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed. 

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness. 

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived. 

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm. 

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?” 

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat. 

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?” 

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life.  “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth. 

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes. 

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip. 

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you. 

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?” 

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.” 

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.” 

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth. 

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you. 

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you. 

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward. 

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion. 

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief. 

 It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely. 

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.” 

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you. 

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw.  It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to. 

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached. 

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold. 

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind. 

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment. 

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did. 

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair. 

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it. 

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely. 

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow. 

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light. 

-

-

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories. 

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be. 

It would be good for her. 

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all. 

You smiled back. 

Yes, that’s right. 

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

[agaypanic]

Hey! Could you do Charlie Swan x wife fem!reader where she own a bakery and they first met there (sort of flashback) and their journey through their relationship. And please add Bella (as someone nice & she accept her). Tag me later! Thank :)

Black Coffee and a Bagel (Charlie Swan X Baker!Reader)

Masterlist

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Summary: Chief Swan coming into your bakery for breakfast one day turns into a life full of love, baking, and coffee.

A/N: this took forever to write holy shit. i usually dont add the word count to the actual fic, but i feel like i should tell yall this is over 5k words… when i read the twilight books (its been so hard getting through them bc they’re lowkey boring guys…) i envision charlie as billy burke but with kinda curly hair bc that’s what he has in the books, so that’s how he looks in this lol reader’s age isn’t specified so she can be read as charlie’s age or younger (legal obvi). maybe a bit ooc charlie but idc

***

It was a usual cloudy day in Forks, Washington. Like most other town residents, you didn’t really mind the gloomy weather. As long as your heaters worked and you had a decent jacket, you didn’t really care.

You were always the busiest in the morning. You owned a bakery in the middle of town, the only one open at six in the morning. Almost everyone came through your shop for breakfast or a drink before heading to work or school. 

But every now and then, you had a first-time customer.

The bell above your front door jingled, and you heard footsteps enter with a bit of hesitancy. You looked up from the espresso machine you were cleaning to see a man with curly dark hair, a mustache, and a badge.

“Chief Swan,” you smiled, moving to the counter. He was looking around the bakery with mild curiosity. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Yeah, I uh… I forgot to grab a coffee before I left the house.” He sounded like he was a bit embarrassed by his mistake. Then he finally looked up, chocolate brown eyes locking with yours. “And a lot of people talk about this place, so I figured it’d be a good opportunity to check it out.”

“Well, I’m glad to have you here. Welcome to Bear Claw Bakery.” You smile at him, maybe a bit too cheerfully for how early in the morning it was, but it was all part of your brand. Seeing such a handsome face also helped. “I can make any coffee you’d like.”

“I can see that.” Chief Swan said, gesturing to the convoluted drink menu on the wall behind you. He seemed a bit intimidated by all the choices.

“How about a black coffee?” He lit up, seemingly relieved by your suggestion.

“Yes, please. Large.”

As you made his coffee, you fell into a comfortable silence. You became focused on his drink, and he decided to peruse your display cases of baked goods. After all, this was a bakery.

“See anything you like?” You ask as you put the lid on his cup, remembering to add a sleeve so he wouldn’t burn his hand.

He hummed, staring at a tray of bagels for a few seconds before looking at you. He straightened up, pointing to the baked goods.

“Could I get a bagel? Plain.” 

“Of course!” You slid the glass door open and grabbed a bagel with your tongs, putting it in a goody bag and folding the top a few times. Chief Swan watched you for a small moment before fumbling for his wallet, keeping his eyes on the counter in front of him. You watched him pull out a bill and waved your hand. “Oh, no. On the house.”

“What?” He looked up at you in surprise, and you just smiled at him.

“Think of it as a first-time discount.” You shrug as you push his coffee and bagel towards him. 

He folded the bill but didn’t put it back in his wallet. Instead, while maintaining eye contact, he dropped it into the tip jar beside him.

“Thanks, uh…” He said as he pocketed the wallet and grabbed his coffee. It was then that you realized that he didn’t know your name.

“Oh! Y/n.” You stuck your hand out without thinking. But before you could pull it back, he shook your hand with a polite smile. “And you’re obviously Chief Swan.” You said with an airy laugh.

“Please, call me Charlie.” He punctuated his name by squeezing your hand before letting go. There was a softness to his tone that you didn’t suspect, but you enjoyed it.

“Charlie,” you repeated, liking the sound of it. “I hope you like the coffee and the bagel.”

He nodded once, grabbed the goody bag still on the counter, and left with a small wave. You didn’t have much time to think about the interaction because a group of high schoolers soon came in, chattering loudly about different things. One thing you knew for sure, though, was that you hoped he’d be back sometime soon.

***

You were surprised to see Charlie back at the bakery the next day. You were unlocking the front door when he pulled up next to your car in his police cruiser.

“Right on time.” You laughed as he exited the car. “I’m just starting to open.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know your hours,” he said, checking his watch. The sun was barely starting to peek out from the clouds. “I have to go to the station early today, was hoping I could get coffee and a bagel.”

“Of course! Come on in,” you say, holding the door open just long enough for him to catch as you rush to behind the counter.

You started on Charlie’s coffee before going to the back to get a bag of fresh bagels. At the front, he was leaning against the counter, waiting for you.

“So I’m guessing you liked it?” You asked with a smile as you bagged up a bagel for him, putting the rest in the display case. “The coffee and bagel? Since you came back.” You added after a moment of silence.

“Oh, yeah!” He said, sounding as if he was a bit distracted by something. “Both were delicious.”

“I’m glad.” You placed his bagel and coffee on the counter.

“Now I’m hoping to actually pay this time,” Charlie said, raising his brows, and you couldn’t help but giggle. You told him the total, and when you gave him his change, he dropped it into the tip jar. “Thanks again. And sorry for coming so early.”

“It’s no problem, Chief-” You cut yourself off, receiving a knowing look from him. “Charlie. It’s really no problem. Hope you have a good day.” 

“Same to you, Y/n.” 

Charlie grabbed his things, waved at you, and walked out. After watching him drive away, you continued to open the bakery for the day. As you served the people coming in, you wondered if Charlie’s coming in would become a regular occurrence. Deep down, you hoped so.

***

Charlie Swan coming to the bakery became a daily habit. It pleased you not only because you were proud to have such a loyal customer, but also because the man was handsome and very nice, despite his usual awkward demeanor. He’d be one of the first people to come in, or the first if he had to go to the station early. You always savored the small talk you shared with him, silently begging for no one to come in when he talked because then he’d stay a little longer, no matter how many times he said that he should really be going.

You were really starting to like Charlie Swan, both as a friend and something more. Of course, you kept that part to yourself.

“Black coffee and a bagel.” It was more of a statement than a question as Charlie opened the door. He ordered the same thing every day; honestly, you admired his consistency.

“Yup.” He responded, pulling out his wallet before he even reached the counter. “Oh, by the way, I was wondering if you did like, deliveries? Or something like that?”

“Depends.” You answer. “I do catering and delivery for parties and stuff.”

“Ah,” Charlie clicked his tongue, seeming a little disappointed. “Was just wondering because I’ve been having to work a lot of late nights with all those bear attacks.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard a bit about those,” you sighed. “Poor people.”

“Yeah, I know. And anyways, if I’m being honest, your coffee’s better than the stuff we have at the station. But I get it if you don’t do that sort of thing.”

“I can do it!” You decide before even thinking about it. But when you gave it some thought, you remembered that you were the boss. If you went while one of your employees was working, they could surely hold down the fort for the ten minutes you’d be gone. “I, um, I can do that for you.”

“Really?” Although his expression didn’t change much, you could tell that Charlie’s eyes were lighting up. He must’ve really loved your coffee.

“Yeah! Perks of being your own boss.” You laugh, grabbing a piece of paper and writing down your number. “We don’t have a phone for the bakery yet; I just keep forgetting to do that. So this is my number.” You slid the paper over to Charlie, who grabbed it without letting his eyes leave you. “Just call me, and it’ll probably take me five to ten minutes to get to the station. We close at nine, but I stay way later than that most nights, so feel free to call whenever.”

Charlie pocketed the piece of paper like it was a precious item he didn’t want to get wrinkled or crumpled. 

“I’ll do that,” he said, reaching for his breakfast. “I’ll see you later, Y/n.”

“See you later, Charlie.” You watched him leave, and once he was out the door, you finally realized that you had just unabashedly given the cute Chief of Police your phone number. Telling him to call you anytime. 

And he did. At around eight that night, you got a call from an unknown number, and a somewhat groggy Charlie was speaking on the other end.

“Y/n?” He asked, as if he was unsure whether or not you had actually given him your number.

“Hey, Charlie!” you responded, clearly more awake than him. “Need a coffee?”

“Please.” He sounded desperate, and you were a bit embarrassed by the fact that his tone needed you to take a moment to recompose yourself. The way he said it was a bit whiny, but his voice was husky, probably from his tiredness. A long sigh came from the phone. “I feel like I’m going crazy over here.”

“Then I’ll be over soon.” 

You and Charlie said quick goodbyes to each other, and you went to the counter to make his coffee. You told Maddie, who was working the closing shift with you, that you’d be back soon, but she could lock up without you if needed. Then you were on your way to the police station.

The parking lot was empty except for one cruiser, which you guessed was Charlie’s. Walking into the building to find it empty and dark, aside from an office at the far end, confirmed your suspicions.

“Delivery for Chief Swan.” You say, knocking on his office door, which was cracked open the slightest bit. Charlie looked up at you from his desk, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your presence had awakened him from an unplanned nap. His dark curly locks were a tousled mess, probably the result of his hands constantly running through them, and his eyelids seemed heavy.

“My savior,” Charlie grumbled, sitting up the slightest bit and reaching for the large cup. You stood in silence as you watched him gulp down the hot liquid, wondering how he didn’t immediately stop in pain. You guessed that his fatigue made him immune somehow, or less caring about burning his throat. “Good stuff.”

“Maybe instead of drinking it and scalding yourself, you should head home?” You suggested with a small laugh.

“Too much to do,” Charlie said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Too much going on for me to stop.”

“Well, it’s better to stop before you reach your limit, or you might be stopping for good.”

Charlie thought about what you said with a slight hum. His half-lidded eyes scanned his messy desk, cluttered with reports and other papers. To be completely honest, he was starting to doze off a little by the time you came, and words were starting to jumble together when he tried to read. 

“M’kay.” He sighed, taking another sip of coffee, this time wincing a bit at the heat. “You got a point there.” 

You watched as Charlie somewhat sluggishly got ready to leave. He threw on his jacket and turned off the lights, gesturing for you to leave the office first. When you got to the station’s front entrance, he held the door open for you.

“Thanks for the coffee.” He said after walking you to your car. “And drive safe.”

“Anytime,” you respond, opening the door and getting in the driver’s seat. “And the same goes for you.”

Charlie smiled, patting the top of your car as a farewell before walking over to his cruiser. Although he had turned on his car before you, he didn’t start driving until you left the parking lot.

***

A few months later, you were at your absolute busiest. Graduation was just around the corner, and almost every senior’s parent in Forks called asking if you could cater or do pick up orders for graduation parties. Although it meant your business would be booming for a while, you were slowly losing your sanity.

“Just a second!” You yelled from the back room after hearing the bell above the door ring. Carefully, you slid a large tray filled with cupcakes into one of your fridges and closed the door.

“Take your time!” Charlie yelled back, making you want to be as quick as possible. You wiped your hands on your apron and ran to the front, where Charlie greeted you with a smile. “Hey, Y/n. You busy?”

“Always am,” you laughed, leaning against the counter. “But I always have time for you, Charlie. Black coffee and a bagel?”

“You know me so well.” Charlie watched as you moved around, making his hot drink and picking out a bagel from the stack you had made this morning. “How are things?”

“Hectic.” You answer, rising from your crouched position to bag up the bagel. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Almost every parent has been ordering at least seventy-five cupcakes for their kids’ graduation parties, and there’s at least three parties happening every week.” You grabbed Charlie’s coffee, putting a lid on the cup before handing it to him. Despite it being scalding hot, he took a sip while he listened. “I’m grateful, obviously, but if I have to frost another cupcake, I think I’m gonna get carpal tunnel.”

“I forgot graduation parties were a thing,” Charlie said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know if Bella would want one, though; she kind of hates being the center of attention.”

“Well, if she decides to have one, you know who to call for the baked goods.” You say with a smile, taking Charlie’s cash and watching him put the change in the tip jar. You loved the familiarity and routine that you had with Charlie. Every day, he ordered the same thing without fail, asked how you were doing, used a bill that was anywhere between a few dollars more to over twice the amount needed, and put the change he got into your decorated tip jar. 

“I’ll ask her about it.” To most, it looked like Charlie was wearing a straight face. But you could tell that there was a slight upward curve to his lip. “Kinda hoping she says yes. I think it’d be fun.”

“Have a good day, Charlie.”

“Have a good day, Y/n.”

Later in the day, the bakery was crowded. School had just gotten out, and most of the kids came for a little pick-me-up, whether it was some kind of caffeinated drink or a sweet treat. Plus, some parents came by to pick up their party orders.

You didn’t expect to see Charlie in the crowd today, accompanied by a girl who seemed around high school age. You assumed that this was Bella, his daughter.

“Hey, Y/n.” Charlie greeted you once they reached the counter. “Place is packed.”

“Yup! I think finals are just around the corner, so these kids need all the help they can get.” You looked over at the young girl who stood next to Charlie. “Is this your daughter?”

“Yeah. Y/n, this is Bella. Bella, this is Y/n.” You greeted each other before Charlie spoke again. “I asked Bella about the whole graduation party thing, and she said it sounded like fun. So I decided to meet her here on my break so we could set up an order.”

“Awesome!” You grinned, grabbing an order form. Usually, you would be slightly dying on the inside if someone was making an order like this. But there seemed to be something about Charlie that diffused any annoyance or dread you would normally feel. “So, what were you thinking? Cupcakes?”

“Actually, we were thinking of a cake.” This answer made you perk up. Bella nodded, confirming the decision, which you quickly jotted down. While the three of you talked, Charlie’s radio on his shoulder sounded. “I gotta take this, I’ll be right back. Bells, just tell Y/n what you want, and I’ll pay for it. And if you want a drink or something, go ahead and order. Oh! Could I get a-”

“Black coffee?” You finished, giving Charlie a knowing smile. His usually pale cheeks seemed to turn pink, but you just chalked it up to the slightly warm and crowded room. “Of course, now go take your call.”

You waved Charlie away, who fought against the small crowd of students to get out of the building. You asked two of your employees to get on the register and start taking orders before turning back to Bella. As you wrote down what she wanted, she spoke somewhat timidly, as if she was saying something that was supposed to be a secret.

“He talks about you sometimes.” You looked at her with slight confusion. “My dad.”

“Oh?” Your heartbeat quickened at the information. It surprised you that Charlie thought of you outside of the bakery, let alone talked about you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, trying to keep more from spilling. But it didn’t work. “Half of the time, he’s raving about your coffee.”

“It’s just black coffee,” you said with a shrug, flipping the pen around with your fingers to release your giddy energy.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who makes it. And the other half of the time, he’s talking about how nice you are.”

“He thinks I’m nice?” You were glad your employees were taking care of the other customers because you were now completely distracted from the task at hand. Bella nodded, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Well, I think he’s nice, too.”

“Who’s nice?” You and Bella jumped at Charlie’s surprise return.

“Uhh, no one.” You brushed off, quickly filling out the rest of the paper before turning it around and handing Charlie your pen. “Sign here, and we can get started on the order. Oh, did you want to do pick up or delivery?”

“Delivery,” Bella answered before Charlie could, eyes darting from you to her father. Neither of you opposed, so when you got the paper back, you marked the delivery option.

“Delivery it is.” You said, putting your pen in one of your apron pockets. “Charlie, I’ll get you your coffee. Bella, did you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” You nodded and quickly made a large black coffee. After checking them out and Charlie putting his change in the jar, you waved goodbye to the two Swans. “See you next week, Bella. And I’ll see you tomorrow, Charlie?”

“Of course.” He said with a smile before guiding Bella out of the shop.

You couldn’t wait to see Charlie Swan again.

***

A week later, you loaded Bella’s finished graduation cake into your car. After telling Maddie you’d be back soon, you got in the driver’s seat and drove to the Swan house. Everyone knew where everyone was in this town, but you still had your eyes glued to your map when they weren’t on the road, too scared to miss a turn. 

Soon, you pulled up to a white two-story house. You were confident that it was Charlie’s place when you saw his police cruiser and a red truck, which must have been Bella’s. There were a few cars scattered up and down the street, but you found a free spot right in front of the cop car. When you got out and grabbed the two-tiered cake, Charlie emerged from the front door.

“Y/n! You made it!” He jogged over to you as you closed the car door with a swing of your hip. “Here, lemme get that for ya.”

“You’re sweet, Charlie.” You carefully handed the cake to him and followed him inside. The place seemed to be packed with teens and their parents. Some stood out, and you knew exactly who they were from their pale complexions and beautiful features.

“Did you wanna stay for a bit?” Charlie asked as he set the cake down on a table. He scratched the back of his head, growing a bit shy. “You, uhh, you could taste your masterpiece. Mingle and stuff.”

“I should probably be getting back to the bakery…” You looked down at your watch. You supposed you could spare a few minutes. After all, you were the boss. Maddie was responsible; she would call you if she had any problems. “Well, I think I could stay a few minutes.”

“Great.” Charlie put on a large grin, one that you had probably never seen before. But it suited him nicely. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Charlie laid a hand on the small of your back to guide you through the small crowd. You already knew most of the people here, either regulars of yours or having recently become well acquainted with them because of delivery or pick-up orders. But then Charlie took you to a small group of people that you don’t remember every meeting, but you knew of them well.

“Y/n, these are the Cullens.” Charlie introduced. “Doctor Carlisle, his wife Esme, Bella’s boyfriend Edward, and his sister Alice.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” You said kindly, shaking each hand that reached out to you. Their hands were cold, but that didn’t bother you. It was actually a bit refreshing after having your hands in and out of ovens for the past few weeks.

“Y/n made Bella’s cake,” Charlie said, proudly pointing to your creation on the table. “She owns Bear Claw Bakery. She’s… pretty amazing, at what she does.”

“I see that,” Carlisle said, looking at the cake. “Amazing detail, I bet it looks even better up close. You’re quite talented.”

“All you need is a steady hand.” You said, not used to compliments or attention like this. 

“Well, I know a thing or two about that,” Carlisle said with a laugh. You laughed along, and you couldn’t help but notice Charlie’s hand move to wrap more around your waist.

“Thank you for making Bella’s cake,” Edward said, his voice cool and even. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“She will,” Alice said with finality, as if she had already seen Bella’s reaction to the cake.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t help but lean slightly into Charlie; he was just so warm and comfortable. He seemed a bit surprised but didn’t reject your actions. Instead, he welcomed them with a squeeze on your waist. “I was happy to do it, really.”

“Do you want a drink?” Charlie asked, leaning close to you to ask.

“Sure.” As Charlie guided you to the kitchen, you looked over your shoulder at the Cullens. “It was nice to meet you!” They all gave similar and polite responses. And then they were out of view, and you and Charlie were alone in the kitchen.

For a while, you and Charlie stayed in the kitchen, watching people pass by to talk to others or get a refreshment. This was the first time you were around Charlie in a non-professional environment. You were both nervous and ecstatic.

“So, how’d you get into, uh, baking and stuff?” Charlie asked, taking a swig of his beer. You took a sip of your Coke before responding.

“My mom, I think. Every birthday or special occasion, she always insisted on making a giant cake or cupcakes or whatever, instead of buying it from the store. I liked to help her, mainly because she’d let me eat the leftover frosting and pour the batter in the pan.” You leaned on the counter, smiling fondly at the memories that ran through your head. “Even when you’re by yourself, I think it’s really special. I dunno, that’s kind of a sappy answer, but-”

“No, no.” Charlie shook his head before smiling at you. “I think that’s really sweet.”

After a brief moment of eye contact, you both took a sip of your drinks, lifting them to your lips and setting them down simultaneously.

“Are you doing anything this Saturday?” The question surprised you and Charlie, even though Charlie had asked it. But he didn’t take it back. Instead, he waited for a response while anxiously tapping his fingers against his beer bottle.

“Maybe.” You said with a shrug. “Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Charlie’s fingers smoothed over his mustache, which you had noticed to be a habit of his when he was thinking. “I’ve never really baked before, I think. And you make it sound like a lot of fun. So… I dunno, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come over or something, and we could make something?”

“I’d love to.” You said, butterflies filling your stomach. 

“Really?” Charlie seemed relieved by your answer, and you nodded swiftly to solidify it. “Great! Maybe this time, I can make you a coffee.”

“I’d like that a lot.” You took a sip of your Coke to contain your growing smile, but it didn’t help much. Your giddiness was infectious, Charlie feeling the exact excitement you were.

***

When Saturday came, you had an extra pep in your step. You made sure to put a slight bit more effort into your appearance before you left. You knew you didn’t have to impress Charlie in any way, but this felt like a sort of milestone. You were going to spend time with him outside of work, doing one of your favorite activities together.

“Bella’s out with Edward,” Charlie said as he let you into the house. “So we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“Sounds good to me.” You responded, setting your bag on the kitchen counter and pulling out a recipe card.

“So, what are we making?” He asked, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as he looked over your shoulder.

“Black Forest gâteau.” You answered, looking down at the card and then up at Charlie. He seemed slightly confused, but looked like he didn’t want you to know he was confused. You laughed lightly. “Basically, a chocolate cake with cherry filling.”

“Ah.” Charlie nodded in understanding. “Sounds delicious.”

While you started taking ingredients out of your bag, Charlie made a pot of coffee for the both of you. After pouring himself a plain black coffee, he asked you what you wanted in yours. When he was finished, he handed you the warm mug, and you both simultaneously took a sip. You sighed in delight.

“Delicious.” You said, giving him a wink before turning back to your ingredients. Charlie took another gulp of coffee to hide his flusteredness before moving to stand next to you.

You guided Charlie through the recipe, working together to measure ingredients and mix them. While pouring the batter into a few cake pans, you made light conversation about your days since Bella’s party. After the pans were put in the oven to bake, you made the cherry filling to put between the layers. 

“This is really nice.” You said, slowly dropping down to sit in front of the oven to watch the cake layers bake for the next few minutes. Charlie dried his hands and walked over to you, looking down at you curiously. “Thanks for having me over.”

Charlie crouched next to you and sighed, probably because he wasn’t used to sitting on the floor. He mirrored your position, legs crisscrossed and elbows resting on his knees.

“No problem.” 

The two of you watched the cakes slowly rise through the small oven window. Basking in the quiet and comfortable moment, you couldn’t help but lean over and rest your head on Charlie’s shoulder. 

“This is really nice.” You repeated, albeit quieter, even though there was no need to whisper. Charlie’s head tilted to rest on yours, lifting his bent right leg and planting his foot on the floor to be more comfortable.

“Yeah…” Charlie’s hand drifted towards yours, and in a moment of bravery, you grabbed it and intertwined his fingers with yours. “It is.”

***

Over the next two months, you and Charlie grew closer than you ever thought possible. He still came to the bakery every day for his coffee and bagel. But almost every weekend, you’d go to each other’s house to make some kind of treat, and Charlie always insisted on making coffee for both of you. 

Getting closer to Charlie meant you also got closer to Bella. She was a bit reserved, spending most of her time with her boyfriend and his family. But you were able to make conversation with her whenever you were both at the Swan house. It was usually only a few minutes, the sweet spot where you had arrived and Bella was about to leave. But it was special to you.

You were a bit shocked when you found out that Bella and Edward were getting married in August, just under two months after they had graduated high school. Bella hadn’t even turned nineteen yet. But you knew love when you saw it, and it wasn’t like you had a say on the matter. Bella was grateful, however, for you being able to calm Charlie down when he found out about it.

When she told you she was getting married, Bella asked if you could make the wedding cake. You didn’t even think before saying yes, feeling honored that she wanted you to do it. After some talking, you both decided on a green triple-tiered cake covered in fondant flowers to resemble a meadow.

“You did amazing.” Charlie had snuck up behind you during the reception, the two of you looking at the cake you had worked so hard on.

“Thank you, bear.” You don’t really remember how Charlie’s nickname came about, but it fit him so well that you started to refer to him with the nickname more than his real name. Although you weren’t together, it was said with all the affection and love you held for him.

Music echoed throughout the Cullens’s backyard, where the wedding and reception were held. It was a beautiful forest, lit by fairy lights strung around tall trees. 

“Do you wanna dance?” Charlie asked timidly, looking at the dancefloor littered with people for a moment before returning to you. “I mean, I’m not much of a dancer. But if you want to, I-”

“I’d love to.” You cut him off with a bright smile, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the crowd.

Despite saying he wasn’t a dancer, Charlie moved well. He kept one of your hands in a gentle grip while his other was planted firmly on your waist, radiating warmth. As you listened to the music, you rested your head on his chest, sighing contently. 

“I love you, Charlie Swan,” you said softly, too relaxed and in the moment to keep your filter. You felt Charlie stiffen under you briefly before he, too, relaxed. He held your hand tighter, keeping it to his chest.

“I love you too, Y/n L/n.” You lifted your head just enough to look at him. The soft look he gave you made you weak at the knees, but you found the strength to reach up to kiss him. 

“Alice,” Bella said softly to her new sister-in-law, the two girls watching you and Charlie closely, unbeknownst to you. “Do you think this’ll last? Them, I mean.”

Alice turned to Bella and smiled before looking back at the two of you. You broke apart from the kiss and continued to dance.

“I’ve had the same vision of them since I met Y/n. They get to grow old together.”

“So Charlie will be happy? And Y/n?” Alice placed a comforting hand on Bella’s shoulder, knowing why she was asking these questions. The Cullens knew what Bella wanted, and Bella knew it would probably kill Charlie when she got what she had been chasing after for so long.

“The happiest. Whatever it is they have, it’s special. You won’t have to worry about either of them.”

Bella sighed in relief, patting Alice’s hand.

“Thanks.”

[lottins-only]

THE ALCHEMY | PART III

pairing: kylian mbappe x fem!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: smut

summary: working at real madrid is a dream come true— until kylian mbappe, football's biggest star and the last person you ever want to see, joins the club. as tensions rise between you two and the lines between frustration and fascination blur, you wonder: can you truly resist the man you've sworn to hate?

A/N: this is my first time writing actual smut lol lmk what yall think <3 and thank you guys for being patient!

PART ONE PART TWO

kylian mbappe has trust issues.

he knows it. every single one of his loved ones knows it too. he can’t pinpoint exactly when it began, and there’s isn't a singular moment he can trace it back to, but if someone asked him to explain why, he’d say it’s because of his fame.

everything shifted when he became who he is today: one of the most recognizable athletes in the world, a household name across the globe. his life changed, and with it, so did the way people perceived him.

it changed the way he approached his friendships and, above of all, his relationships. too often he found himself surrounded by people who seemed more attracted to what he could offer than with who he truly was. the material comforts, the spotlight—it was those things they wanted, not him.

he began to notice the subtle changes in behavior: the way their smiles seemed plastic, the way their compliments felt rehearsed, empty. they loved the idea of him, the myth of kylian mbappe, but not the man himself.

so he built walls. he told himself it was better to keep people at arm’s length than to risk letting the wrong ones in. the trust issues grew and it became an invisible shield he carried everywhere.

but sometimes, the loneliness creeps in. it hits him in quiet moments ,like after a game when the adrenaline has worn off and the silence settles in, or during sleepless nights when he's scrolling through instagram and sees photos of childhood friends with their partners. in those moments he wonders what it might be like to let someone in, to trust without suspicion.

and then there was you.

you didn’t exactly fit the mold of the people he was usually wary of. your first encounter was a disaster, yes, but he was struck by you. the sight of your gorgeous figure under the club's dim lighting. the way you'd smiled at him, so effortlessly disarming. he'd enjoyed your conversation, been pulled towards you by more than just sexual attraction. it had scared him. maybe that's why he'd told his driver to take you both to a hotel instead of his place. why, afterwards, he'd downplayed the entire thing off to his friends. why he decided to leave you sleeping in the hotel room, alone.

in madrid, you'd quickly become the most infuriating person he'd ever met. it wasn't just the way you threw cutting words at him that got under his skin, it was also the fact that you could see right through him like he was made of glass. like at the dinner party, when his feelings of lonliness. the fact that it didn't take much to be vulnerable with you had unsettled him so much he'd declined your invitation to get dessert and gone out to party instead.

yet he can't stop thinking about you. which is annoying because you're annoying.

when you’d sent him that text after his night out, his thumbs had hovered over the phone screen, rereading the message for a good 5 minutes. hope she got better sex. he couldn't decipher the tone for the life of him. were you being serious? petty? he didn't think you even cared enough to type those words. the thought makes the part of him that's undeniably attracted to you (also the part that likes every morsel of attention you give him) very very pleased. but the avoidant part of him, the part that's programmed to run at the smallest hint of real feelings, wants to flee the country.

so naturally, he deflects.

kylian: so when are you giving me my watch back?

he doesn't have to wait long for a response.

you: never. sold it on ebay a while back

he frowns.

kylian: ???

he waits and waits, but you never respond.

now, a whole week later, he's sitting at a restaurant with his little brother, who's visiting him for the weekend. he's grateful for the company, but his attention is elsewhere; he's staring at his text messages with you, contemplating messaging you again.

he doesn’t actually care about the watch, if he’s being honest, and he knows you were joking about selling it. but even he can’t lie to himself—deep down, he’s just looking for an excuse to talk to you again.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud, especially after the ten minutes he spent scrolling through your instagram earlier. from a burner account, of course (he couldn’t risk the embarrassment of accidentally liking an old post and you noticing he’d been lurking). plus he didn't learn anything he hadn't already known: that you're extremely beautiful and witty.

"what are you looking at?" before he can lock his phone and put it away, ethan leans in and shamelessly reads over the screen, nosy in the way only little brothers can be.

"nothing" kylian quickly stashes his phone in his pocket. "its rude to look at people's screens you know"

"who's y/n?" ethan smirks, ignoring the scolding.

"none of your business" kylian gently shoves ethan.

ethan's still grinning. "oh, it is my business now. i've never seen you stare at your phone like that unless you're watching highlights of yourself. so who's y/n?"

"no one" he mumbles.

"tell me"

kylian only lets out a frustrated groan. he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of cracking. there's no way he's going to explain how he and his ex one night stand somehow have the same employer, or how you manage to be both infuriating and captivating. and he definitely won’t admit, not even under torture, that no matter how hard he tries you're constantly on his mind.

he's about to change the subject when something, or rather someone catches his eye from across the room.

you.

you're sitting just a few feet away, chatting with someone who's sitting across the table from you. you must've arrived a few minutes ago, because kylian swears that table was empty. it makes him almost want to laugh, how comical it is that you keep running into each other.

your laugh, loud and genuine, and kylian’s stomach twists. he watches, frozen, as the guy across from you leans in a little too close for his liking, your smile widening in response. your hands on the table are so close, fingers almost touching.

he’s caught off guard by the sudden rush of something—jealousy? disappointment? maybe both. he doesn’t know, but he tries his best to push it aside.

he keeps on staring, and you catch his eyes, of course. and of course, your smile slips a bit before it returns a split second later. for some reason, this gives him a sort of satisfaction.

ethan follows his eyes, and for once he doesn't ask any questions, just says "you should go say hi"

"no"

"why not?"

"because i don't want to"

ethan gives him a daring look. "do you want me to go? tell her 'hey, my big brother over there is too chicken to—"

kylian sighs before standing up. he know ethan wouldn't do that, but he also knows he would probably make his life miserable for the rest of the dinner if he didn't go over.

so he goes over, hands in his pockets. he tells himself he can be civil and polite. he's definitely not bothered by the guy with you. why would he be?

"y/n" he says when he reaches your table, voice neutral.

you glance up, fake smile immediately plastered on your face. "kylian. hi"

your date looks between the two of you, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “wait… you're kylian…mbappe"

you shoot the guy an annoyed look. kylian almost snorts.

kylian just ignores him, eyes focused on you. "so, about my watch—"

"it was a joke" you roll you're eyes, taking a sip from your drink. "but it requires a a certain level of intelligence to understand jokes so i get that i have to explain it to you"

kylian's jaw drops. how dare you?

he turns to your date, acknowledging him for the first time. "she steals people's watches by the way. just so you know"

you gasp. "you left it there! you should be thanking me for taking it actually, you would've lost it by now"

your date chuckles awkwardly, a confused look on his face as if he can't quite figure out if this was some sort of inside joke or if you're actually bickering. "i feel like i'm missing something here"

"no you're not" you reply quickly, giving kylian a side glare.

"so how long have you been together?" kylian tries to sound casual. he hates that you're dressed up and wearing more make up than usual, how it looks like you want to impress this man who is very obviously not deserving of you.

you're not amused by the question. "we're not together," you reply flatly. "just enjoying a dinner. that's all"

"ha, unless we get married in a couple years right?" your date laughs loudly, a screeching and unpleasant sound. and kylian swears he sees something die in your eyes. he gets it now, when girls say they 'got the ick'. this is it— you're experiencing it, and he's there to witness whatever you felt for this guy fade in real time. he has to bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.

when neither you and or kylian join in on the laughter, the guy's smile fades, and an awkwardness settles over the three of you.

ethan thankfully appears behind him just then, grinning like he's just stumbled onto something entertaining.

"hello, you must be y/n" ethan says to you, tone friendly. "i'm ethan"

your expression softens as you shake hands. "ethan, hi. i've heard a lot about you"

"likewise" ethan says, and kylian immediately wants to kick him in the shin. great, now she thinks i spend my every waking moment blabbering about her, he thinks.

kylian clears his throat. “well, now we've all met each other. great. can we go?”

“not yet,” ethan says, clearly enjoying himself. “y/n, you should join us tomorrow for a movie night”

kylian’s eyes widen. “what? no. she’s probably busy”

ethan ignores him completely, looking at you expectantly.

you blink, clearly caught off guard. “oh, uh—”

“she’s not coming,” kylian interrupts quickly. “she’s—”

“free” you interject with a pointed look in his direction. “i’m actually free”

ethan beams. “great! we'll start at seven. kylian can text you his address"

kylian shoots his little brother a murderous glare, before muttering a small" “or not” under his breath.

“i'm looking forward to it” you say, slightly smirking.

your date, who has been awkwardly quiet for the past few minutes, clears his throat.

“well, this has been fun,” you say, taking his cue. you stand up and grab your purse. “but we should probably get going. thanks for stopping by, ethan"

kylian watches as you and your date collect your things, his jaw tightening at the sight of your date putting a hand on your lower back to guide you out.

once you’re gone, ethan nudges him. “you’re welcome by the way”

“for what?” kylian snaps.

“for getting her to come tomorrow. you’ll thank me later”

kylian scoffs. but as much as he wants to brush it off, there’s a small part of him, a tiny, tiny part, that’s already looking forward to tomorrow night.

less than 24 hours later, you find yourself at kylian's door. you don't know why you're here, to be honest. maybe because his brother was actually nice, and maybe becaus theree fact that kylian didn't want you there made you want to be here.

the day you'd sent him that text, you'd regretted it so much. you couldn't stop thinking about how desperate it made you look, how expectant. so you swore to put distance between you two after that, to ignore him completely. but now here you are.

when the door swings open after you ring the bell, there stands kylian mbappe, looking unexpectedly soft in a grey hoodie and matching sweatpants. he's freshly showered— you can tell by the fact that his close cropped hair, which is usually brushed into waves, is in its natural state of tight coils. its a contrast to his usual polished look, and you can't help but notice how good he looks. handsome, like he's a normal guy answering his door, and not him.

you swallow. "hi"

"hi" he says, voice low as he steps aside so you can walk in.

you step inside, taking in the interior of his house. it’s beautiful, and predictably massive. yet, instead of being impressed, you feel a pang of discomfort, as if you’re trespassing, as if you’re invading his private space. which is sort of ridiculous, when you think about it, because technically you two have been close before, physically been the most intimate two people can be together.

he must’ve seen the awkwardness on your face when you reach the living room, because he glances at you with a small smile on his face, pointing to the couch. “you can sit down you know”

“right” you mumble, placing the bag of assorted candy you'd brought on the coffee table as you take a seat.

an awkward silence settles over the two of you, the kind that feels centuries long.

finally, kylian clears his throat. “ethan’s in the kitchen getting the popcorn” he says, breaking the palpable tension. “do you want anything to drink?”

“just water” you reply quickly.

he nods and heads to the kitchen. a moment later, he returns with a glass water bottle and offers it to you. you mumble a ‘thank you’ before taking it from his hands and attempting to twist the cap. it doesn’t budge, though. you try again with a tighter grip, but it’s no use. you feel frustrated, and a little embarrassed.

“this is so annoying” you mutter to yourself. “i swear i’m not this weak”

he holds out his hand for the bottle. “no one said you’re weak” he says with a roll of his eyes.

as he effortlessly twists the cap open, you can’t help but notice the veins on his hands, prominent and slightly shifting as his grip tightens. the same pretty hands that had struggled to keep off you that night in paris, the ones that had scrambled to take off your clothes, desperate yet commanding. the memory flashes in your mind, and for a moment, you find yourself staring, your mind going places it shouldn’t.

“hey,” ethan’s voice cuts in, startling you. he’s leaning casually against the doorframe, grinning. “glad you could make it. do you like caramel on your popcorn?”

“uh… i don’t mind” you say, smiling warmly. something about the teenager endeared you.

“cool,” he chirps before disappearing back into the kitchen, leaving you and kylian alone again.

“he seems like a bubbly kid” you comment, taking a sip from the now open water bottle. you say this in part to try and banish the dirty thoughts in your mind.

kylian shrugs. “nah, he’s broody most of the time. it takes him a while to warm up to people”

you raise an eyebrow. “so i’m special?”

he tilts his head, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “think he likes that you give me a hard time”

“a hard time, huh?” you smirk, lighting up. you'll never not take an opportunity to make fun of him for getting too excited that one time. “do you mean in that closet when you–”

he groans as he flops on the couch. “yeah, ok. that too. but you know that already”

“know what?” you keep your voice light, but your heart beats faster.

“that you have that kind of effect on me”

a zing shoots through your entire body. you find it strangely sexy, the fact that he doesn’t beat around the bush. it was something you’d found attractive about him when you’d first met.

your eyes wander back to his hands, zeroing in on his deft fingers. you have the same effect on me, you want to say, but before you do, the flashy watch on his wrist catches your attention, and you’re reminded of something, so you reach into your crossbody bag and pull out a familiar item.

“there’s your watch” you say, holding it out to him. “before i forget”

“thanks” he says, taking it from you. “ i knew you were joking about selling it by the way, i’m not like, stupid”

“i know you knew,” you reply, grinning.

he smiles shyly, just a little. you feel such a strange flutter in your chest that you quickly look away, avoiding his gaze.

silence falls between you again, the only sound you can hear being ethan’s footsteps shuffling in the kitchen.

“i’m really sorry,” kylian blurts out.

your head snaps back to him. “for what?”

“for how i treated you that night.”

you blink. you weren’t expecting this. 

“i was an idiot,” he continues, his brows furrowed as if the memory physically pains him. “i didn’t handle things the way i should’ve. and i’m sorry that it wasn’t... a fun experience for you”

you don’t respond, you have a feeling he has more to say. 

he tugs at the bottom of his hoodie nervously.  “and i don’t want you to think i didn’t care. because i did. i do.”

you feel your breath hitch. there’s something about his honesty that disarms you completely.

“well,” you finally say, voice soft, “you were kind of a jerk. I read those texts you sent to your friends about me”

he visibly winces at that. “yeah, that was pretty awful of me”

“it was” you agree “ but i appreciate the apology.”

his shoulders relax slightly. “i mean it. i don’t want you to think you were just someone i could forget. you’re not”

before you can respond, he blurts out again, “and i didn’t sleep with her”

your head snaps back to him, caught off guard. “what?”

“i didn’t sleep with her” he repeats.

you sigh, rolling your eyes. “i really don’t care kylian about that”

“okay, but i’m just letting you know that i didn’t”

“sure” you reply, tone full of sarcasm. it’s clear you don’t believe him.

he scoffs, exasperated. “you just made assumptions based on one picture. i saw you at that restaurant with that guy and you don’t see me making a fuss about it do you?”

you frown, narrowing your eyes at him. “how are those two situations even the same? and why would you care about a date i went on?”

“i don’t care” he snaps a little too quickly. “that’s the point!”

“then why bring it up?”

“because i’m trying to make a point” he groans, throwing his head back. “god you give me such a headache”

“ditto” you mutter, sighing deeply. “you were apologizing two seconds ago, how are fighting?”

its his turn to sigh. “i don’t even know”

ethan walks back into the room just then, carrying a large bowl of popcorn.

“we can get started now!” he announces, plopping down on the couch between you two.

it’s two hours later. the three of you have finished the first tobey maguire spiderman (kylian’s pick), and now, when harry met sally is playing on the tv. your pick, of course. the brothers had protested but they'd relentented in the end. though ethan eventually said he was tired and left to go to bed, leaving just you and kylian.

you did the polite thing, started to gather your things and make your excuses to leave. but before you could even finish your sentence, kylian disappeared upstairs and returned quickly with blankets and pillows.

“don’t even think about leaving. you picked it, it’s only fair you stay and finish” he muttered.

so here you are, watching an ’80s romcom with kylian mbappé of all people. your knees are pulled to your chest, a blanket draped over you as you sneak glances at kylian. he looks so relaxed, long lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones thanks to the light of the screen. you have to pull your eyes away, he has this magnetism that’s honestly so annoying.

when the movie gets to the diner scene where harry and sally are discussing women faking orgasms, kylian snickers.

“don’t laugh” you say, playfully throwing a candy wrapper at his head. “happens all the time”

he turns to you, one brow raised. “what happens all the time? faking it?”

“yup”

he’s curious now. “have you?”

“all the time” you shrug, avoiding his gaze.

“all the time?” he sits up a little straighter, brows furrowed in disbelief. “what do you mean all the time?”

you shrug again, but your voice comes out almost shy. “i mean all the time.”

kylian nods and turns his head back to the screen. you’re about to let out a metaphorical sigh of relief thinking the conversation is over, but he looks back at you, his expression somewhere between shock and disbelief. “so you’ve never had an orgasm before?”

heat rushes to your cheeks. “i have" you murmur quietly, almost hoping he doesn't hear you. "only by myself though"

but he does. and the next thing he says is absolutely the last thing you expect:

“i could probably get you there.”

its a wonder you keep your tone light and teasing. “you’ve already failed, don’t forget"

“doesn’t mean i can’t redeem myself” he smiles as he leans closer.

you scoff. “i don’t think your ego can handle another blow, kyks”

"'kyks?'" he raises his eyebrows. "so we're on a nickname basis now?"

you don't know how, but you're sitting so close to each other now. if you scoot an inch closer, your bodies would be touching. kylian's arm is draped casually over the back of the sofa, and the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up because of the nearness . how does he have that effect on you?

you decide the best course of action is to ignore him. so you don't reply, keeping your eyes trained on the tv screen. you let out an exaggerated laugh at a scene that usually doesn't even get a chuckle out of you. anything to distract from whatever the hell is going on, and the pressure building low in your stomach. i could probably get you there. you press your thighs together, as if that can bring you any relief.

unfortunately it doesn't help. how could it, when he's right there next you. cocky, stupidly charming, smug kylian. there's no denying that you're turned on, that you're wondering what it would be like if he did try to redeem himself.

a few minutes go by and it doesn't get better. you're fidgeting again, shifting on the couch as if that could help ease the ache. you need to leave, to go home and to clear your head, maybe relieve yourself.

"you're squirming"

your head snaps toward him, cheeks heating for what feels like the millionth time tonight. “i’m not”

"you are" he says matter of factly. "you don't have to run away from this you know"

there it is. that infuriating confidence. he knows. he knows that you want him, that there's an undeniable magnetism between you two that pulls you together. you can see it in his eyes now, dark and full of desire. there's an alchemy here, a chemistry you can't deny despite your best efforts, despite the fact that he manages to irritate you in your every interaction. and for once, you think he's right. what's the point of pretending?

so you kiss him. without giving yourself the chance to overthink it, you lean in and press your lips against his. kylian doesn't hesitate, kissing you back within seconds, pulling you in deeper, hands finding the back of your neck. slow and sensual yet hungry and sure. before you know it, his hands are on your waist, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly.

you straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. his tongue is at home in your mouth, and the kiss grows wetter, sloppier, more passionate. it draws a soft, helpless sigh from you. the ache inside you increases when he pulls you down sharply, your crotch pressing against one of his firm thighs. the contact pulls another sigh from you, this one more desperate.

you kiss languidly for a few minutes, exploring each other, breaking away once in a while to catch your breaths. he's a good kisser, just as you remember. when your fingers trail along the back of his neck, you feel him shiver, and it makes you smile against his mouth.

you press against his thigh again, this time on your own will.

"feel good?" he murmurs against your lips, voice low and rough. there's an undeniable smugness in his tone.

but you can't even bring yourself to roll your eyes. all you could do is nod. and in response, his hands grip your ass, yanking you impossibly closer, grinding you hard against him. the pressure in your core builds, and you’re shamelessly riding his firm thigh now, each roll of your hips seeking more friction, more contact. its dizzying, how good it feels.

you're concentrated, brows furrowed. in the meantime, kylian's lips trail down to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot like it’s made of candy before soothing it with his tongue.

he just lets you use him, his thigh solid beneath you, his hands holding on to your hips, guiding you with a steady rhythm. every press of friction sends a jolt of pleasure through you, building and building until it’s almost too much. the room is filled with the sound of your low breathy moans, the tv serving as background noise.

“you’ve been thinking about this haven’t you?” he murmurs nibbling at your earlobe. the feel of his breath on your ear makes you shiver. “riding my thigh”

you nod shamelessly. its not your fault he has such strong, muscled thighs that made you take a second glance every time the social media team released a photo of him from training.

suddenly, he stops your movement. gently, with his steady hands. when he picks you up as if you weigh nothing and sits you down on his lap, you're annoyed.

"what are you doing?" you say impatiently.

"feel like i should be more involved" he mutters, fingers unzipping your jeans. he nudges you, and you lift your hips for a second or two so he can pull down your jeans and panties in one smooth motion.

you don't even have time to react to the cool air hitting you, because he swallows your mouth into another kiss that makes your head spin.

suddenly, he presses his palm against you, cupping you possessively, and you both moan softly at the intimate contact.

“you’re fucking soaked” he says softly as he pulls away from you, lips swollen and a string of saliva still connecting you. "look at you, you're making a mess on my hand baby"

“please” you gasp, jutting your hips towards his palm in search of friction. “please, kylian”

he tightens his one arm around you, as if to keep you steady for what’s to come. 

and then his fingers part your folds, spreading you open like you belong to him. he delves into your wetness. the same fingers you'd been fantasizing about earlier are now inside of you, exploring you.

"kiss me" he says in a commanding tone.

you comply, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth. he responds with a rough, low groan.  he’s found your clit now, fingers slick with your arousal. it was an easy glide inside, barely any pressure. he circles your swollen nub slowly, and it just feels so damn good. he's putting in the work patiently, as if your pleasure is a worthy cause, something he's more than willing to earn. you’re gripping his shoulders tightly, mouth parted against his, nails digging into the material of his hoodie.

he drags his mouth away from your lips and sucks at your jaw, your throat. “show me your tits” his voice comes out coarse, desperate. "please"

"keep..." you can't even finish your sentence.

but he doesn't need to be told. he keeps up his steady and rhythmic stroking as you unbutton your shirt hurriedly, half lidded eyes dark and hungry and never straying from you.  when there’s enough of your chest exposed, he bends his head to drag down one side of your flimsy bralette with his teeth. the second your nipple is bare, his warm, wet mouth envelopes it, and the sensation shoots straight to your core. he sucks on your nipple and circles your clit at the same time, ever the multitasking king. you grip his head, pressing him against your chest as you throw your own head back and moan loudly. 

finally, the tension snaps. pleasure floods through your body in waves, your head falling forward onto the crook of his neck as you come, gasping, his hands gripping your waist, holding you to him as you tremble. you're coming undone on his lap, completely vulnerable and spent.

"fuck" you hear him mutter quietly as he rubs your back.

you take your time recovering, and the sound of the tv brings you back to reality a few moments later, reminding you that you'd been in the middle of watching a movie. when you pull back just enough to catch kylian's eyes, you both burst out laughing. "think we missed a bit" he says, grinning.

when you stand up to pull up your panties and jeans, you notice the wet patch you'd left on his sweatpants where you'd been grinding on him. then you start wondering if he's satisfied, and you get your answer when he pulls a tissue from the tissue box on the coffee table and dips it inside his sweatpants, hands coming back up a few seconds later and crumpling the tissue up. it makes you feel powerful, knowing that you had that effect on him without even touching him.

you head to the bathroom to freshen up, and when you return, kylian's waiting for you, patting the space next to him on the couch expectantly. you see he's changed into another pair of sweatpants, no doubt because of the mess you'd made. "if you're saying you're leaving again, i swear to god—"

"no, no. i'm not leaving" you giggle, sitting down next to him. he wastes no time pulling you in closer, arms wrapping around you so that your head is resting on his chest. are you... cuddling? yes, you are cuddling, and its weird. but also kind of nice. you suppose its the logical thing to do after what you've been up to.

"good" he grumbles. "can't believe you decided to make me sit through this"

"you didn't sit through all of it" you laugh, nudging him playfully. "plus its a really good movie, just watch"

he just sighs in resignation, and you can't help it, you poke at one of his dimples.

you watch the rest of the movie silently, a comfortable silence between you two. for once, it doesn't scare you. you let yourself relax, letting his steady breathing and the weight of his arm lull you to sleep.

tags: @idontknowwhatthisvis555 @nowrosesaredead @iuoiyr @acarolnzinhaa-03 @ynkfreeastheocean @scottishthistle @user6373738 @loonworld @whateveryouloser @greyishbach @ajsboys @kyliansonlygf @lucysantos6-blog @tuliptopiasstuff @kennasutopia @cinderellawithashoe @akiracim @kymb-10 @germanapples @heartbreakylian

A/N: i <3 kylian's thighs

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really. 

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion- 

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through. 

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs. 

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages- 

Your love was often- 

Lost in translation. 

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages? 

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction. 

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

stupid

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

the same

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities. 

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out. 

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms. 

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard. 

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down. 

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table. 

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills. 

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character. 

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered. 

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest. 

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down. 

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably. 

Fuck it 

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully. 

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see 

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically. 

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ. 

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?  

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n. 

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward  

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice- 

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop. 

You're right back where you started. 

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before- 

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created- 

You run away. 

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched? 

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters. 

Every atom erupting in flames. 

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do? 

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking- 

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction- 

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book. 

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

[blublublujk]

baby if only you knew

oneshot

word count: 5k

genre: strangers to lovers, hybrid world

pairings: wolf hybrid reader x bunny hybrid jungkook

summary:

“Do you still think that?” “Think what?” The bunny looks confused for a second.  “That I’m the prettiest hybrid.” You say, your heart on your sleeve but it doesn't matter anymore.  “Yes.” He answers with no hesitation. “I like you. A lot. I have for some time.”  “I like you too, Jungkookie.” There’s some comfortable silence for some time as you both stare at each other longingly. “Be my girlfriend pup?”  “Yes bun, a million times yes.” 

warnings: this got a bit fluffy but things speed up once we get past the slow part i swear. explicit sexual content; dirty talk, pet play (IDK they are hybrids so), unprotected sex, since he's a bunny everything is fast okay, knotting, come inflation, slight breeding kink, pussy eating, slick since reader is an omega, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie

a.n: ik yall probably had no faith on me to come back but here i am keeping my promise. october was supposed to be a good month for me but it was so shitty so forgive me but i bring this as an apology. i'll be back on halloween with some ghost hoseok x reader content hehe that was supposed to be released first but i'll keep that for the spirit of halloween. see you then! ^.^

—> m.list

—> welcome me on ao3 & twt

–

Jungkook is an amazing boyfriend. He’s generous, sweet, he cares for the people around him, and most of all he’s understanding and patient with those around him. He’s genuinely a fucking angel sent down to bless the earth. Truly, you were beyond lucky to call him yours. 

In a world of hybrids, it wasn’t so abnormal to see hybrids of different breeds together. When you first met Jungkook, you hadn’t even realized he was of a different mix. There was a story for that but that would come later. 

Jungkook did his best to tuck his huge bunny ears into a beanie/hood or anything that would cover them— which was really the only way to immediately tell he was a bunny hybrid mix, besides the obvious indicator (his nose would twitch cutely). The bunny never spoke about that around you so from the very first day you had laid eyes on him, you assumed he was nothing more than a sweet, strong alpha (solely based on the way he would carry himself) with big beautiful brown doe starry eyes. 

The day soon came where you would find that wasn’t at all true, seeing him outside of college campus grounds. As you stepped inside a local diner to meet with friends, you were drawn to the hybrid instantly, spotting him way too quickly. It was as if you had already imprinted on the man and maybe you had but you weren’t ready to admit that yet. He was stuffing his cheeks with a cheeseburger, chopping it down as if someone would take it directly off his hands. Friends surrounded him, they smiled and patted his back realizing how quickly the younger was eating his meal. The scene brought a smile to your face as you watched one of his Hyung’s wipe the mess around his mouth though it should have grossed you out, it was really endearing.

“Y/N!” Elsie yells from across the diner, ripping your attention from the group of men. 

“Hey kitty!” 

Elsie was a cat hybrid as if it wasn’t already obvious by her beautiful furry ears and long orange tail always giving her away, well that and her long red-painted claws. People always said cats and dogs don’t mix, but you beg to differ. Elsie is the most caring and outgoing kitty you know. 

She throws an arm around your shoulders. “Missed you, pup.” 

“I was only gone for a week.” Fall break was typically the time where your parents would beg  you to come back home even if it was just for a week and of course because you felt it was the least you could do, you booked the first flight out and stayed for the whole break. Even if it was only a week, it felt long regardless because home doesn’t feel like home anymore. However, it was nice spending time with your family, regarding the fact that you nearly booked a flight back two days after you landed. 

“A week too long.” Lira pouts. She’s also a cat hybrid. Sadly, she was missing her tail after an accident she had when she was still a kitten. She didn’t need the tail anyways, her fluffy gray kitty ears stood beautifully on top of her head. 

Lira wraps her arms around what is free, basically all space where Elsie hasn’t occupied, while Elsie’s tail brushes gently behind your back. 

“We missed you.” Elsie sighs against your neck, her sweet cinnamon scent rubbing into your skin. 

“I missed you guys even more.” You feel Lira smile beside you and you know she tries to hold back from dropping her fresh scent into the air, but soon enough peppermint reaches your nose and you are in full delight. It isn’t long before you release your own sweet, calming pheromones. “Seriously, it was so hard to concentrate back home. Don’t get me wrong I love my parents, but it was hell. My sister wouldn’t stop nagging about her brat of a boyfriend all week long. Can’t believe she found a boyfriend before me and she’s only fifteen! What have I done to deserve this?” 

The two hybrids laugh, releasing the tight hold they had little by little. 

“Oh Y/N, if you would just let yourself love and be loved you too would have found a boyfriend so long ago!” Lira simply explains without much other given context. 

“You know she’s right.” Elsie’s tail is now wrapped securely around your hip, the touch is soft but it’s comforting and makes you feel extra snug. “I mean just how long have you been pining for Mr. Can’t-Actually-Say-His-Name-Because-You’ll-Kill-Me.” 

Your eyes follow her gaze right across where Jungkook and his friends are sitting and you feel yourself melt into the seat. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. “I don’t pin after him.”

“Oh, you totally do.” Lira buts in. “‘Oh Jungkook, if you ever need help with that just let me know.’ You seriously believe that we didn’t notice the way you batted your eyes at him while you basically threw yourself at him.” 

“I did NOT bat my eyes at him. And I definitely didn’t THROW myself at him.” You yell-whisper in case any hybrids around are listening in. 

Elsie clicks her tongue. “No, you definitely did.” 

“See, told ya.” Lira digresses, sitting more comfortably against the booth. “Anyways, did you hear about…”

“Jungkook-ah, slow down. That burger isn’t going to run away.” Seokjin affectionately scolds, wiping the area around his mouth with a napkin. “Messy bunny.”

“So hungry.” Jungkook says with a mouth full. 

“Yeah, be grateful Hyung loves you.” The hamster hybrid says with no meaningful threat. 

“Love you!” Jungkook smiles shamelessly at his hyung. 

“Don’t look, but Y/N walked through the door.” Taehyung informs the table as he watches you walk towards your friends. They all burst into laughter watching Jungkook choke on his burger the second he hears your name being yelled. 

“S-She’s here?” He is quick to hide his face behind Seokjin’s broad shoulders but he shoves him back in his seat, happy with his doing when Jungkook’s face turns red.

“Jungkook-ah, my guy, when are you gonna admit you like this pup?” From across him speaks Jimin, his cat ears seem to stand tall, interested in his answer. 

“Hyung, I don’t like her.” Jungkook whines, having no choice but to hide his face behind his hands. “I just think she’s very cool and nice, that’s all.” 

Taehyung raises a brow. “Jungkook you nearly fall to your knees whenever you see her walk in class. Her presence alone leaves you a stuttering mess.” 

“N-No.” The bunny hybrid stutters. “Okay, fine. I like her.” 

Hoseok laughs with his body, grabbing onto Jimin’s shoulder. “Why don’t you just ask the pup out?” 

Jungkook’s face feels hot and he shrugs. “I don’t know… she doesn’t even know my hybrid mix yet.”

“Uh, I think the huge bunny ears give that away.” Yoongi says and points towards his head. 

“Yeah, but I hide them.” Jungkook shamefully admits. He was lucky to be wearing his hood when you came in. Usually the bunny carries his beanie with him everywhere, but today he was out with his friends so he didn’t think it was necessary. 

He’s hoping you didn’t notice. He doesn’t think you would mind that much, but he’s still insecure in the way that he wishes he was something cooler like his Hyung Namjoon. A whole alpha wolf hybrid mix. Why did he have to be born a fucking bunny? He’s embarrassed to admit it. What if you turn him away? Laugh in his face? You surely wouldn't, right? You are the nicest pup he knows. 

“Jungkook-ah…” Hoseok shakes his head, clearly in disapproval.

“I know Hyung. I know. I said I wouldn’t hide anymore, but I can’t help it. She makes me so nervous.” Jungkook lays back, Taehyung's palm goes to rub circles behind his back. “To be fair, I didn’t hide it at first, I was so used to wearing my hoodie in class so people wouldn’t talk to me…” 

—-

Two Months Ago 

“Hey.” 

Jungkook looks up to find a classmate he seems to have never noticed or seen before. He thinks you must be new. 

“I- sorry to bother you. You were the closest person to the door and I was just wondering if you could direct me to room 301. I think I’m in the wrong place.” The stranger (you) pulls her own hood down, revealing the cutest dog ears. He wondered if you were an alpha like his hyung. You nervously play with your strings as you wait for his reply. 

“No it’s okay. Don’t apologize. You’re in the right room. Actually, the room numbers are found on a silver plate by the door, but the plate fell off for this room and nobody seems to have the time to fix it.” The hybrid’s nose twitches cutely as he speaks, his doe-eyes glow in the light filtering the room. 

“Oh, okay. Do you mind if I sit next to you? The room is pretty packed.” You ask quietly, hoping the cute hybrid will agree. Meanwhile, you wonder about his breed. 

“S-Sure. The seat beside me isn’t taken.” He gestures for you to sit. 

“Thanks.” You smile. “You must be a wolf hybrid right? Your eyes give it all away, you’re a cute pup!” 

Jungkook’s heart drops. One because you think he’s cute and he also thinks you’re cute, but two because you think he’s a wolf hybrid. If only you knew what was under his hood. Now, he’s humiliated so he does what anyone foolish enough would do. 

“Y-Yeah.” He agrees and doesn’t say much after that.

“Sorry. Was I too forward?” Maybe he isn’t interested in being friends, you felt so stupid. 

“No!” He answers all too quickly and brings attention to himself. “I mean- no. Thank you. You must be a wolf hybrid yourself.” 

You smile because he noticed your ears of course. “Yes! An omega.” 

So you weren’t an alpha but an omega, Jungkook thinks you became cooler by the second. Even though the classroom is filled with all different kinds of scents. Jungkook thinks he smells a new one. His nose has always been extremely sensitive, but he thinks he smells cotton candy which is new. 

“Oh. I’m an alpha.” He lies, feeling extremely guilty. His hyung won’t mind if he steals his identity for a minute (Namjoon definitely will). 

“Of course you are. Only someone with a jawline and arms like that could be an alpha.” You smile and turn your attention back towards the front of the room where the professor seems to have just arrived. 

“Yeah.” Jungkook lamely replies and fakes a smile. God what did he get himself into? 

…

“She thought I was a wolf hybrid Hyung.” Jungkook tells his embarrassing story and his hyungs look back at him apologetically. 

“That’s still no reason to lie to her Jungkookie.” Hoseok reasons as usual. “I really think you should come clean. She’s a sweet pup. You wouldn’t like it if the situation was reversed.”

Jungkook pouts, nevertheless agreeing. Of course he’ll come clean. You deserve nothing but the truth. He’s just terrified that if he comes clean, about his feelings and the fact that he isn’t a wolf hybrid that you’ll turn him away and never speak to him again. He should have faith in you, but his insecurities get to him anyways. 

“I know I will, let's get out of here before—” Jungkook is interrupted by another person and he freezes in his seat. 

“Jungkook?” To Jungkook’s greatest fear, he finds you right by the table, some friends he always finds you with sit across where you had come from and look over with a proud look on their face. 

“I- yeah! Hi.” Jungkook’s awkward and his hyungs can’t help but to laugh at his mess. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” You apologize, ears flattening in your hair, looking adorable. 

“Don’t worry at all. We were just about done here anyways.” The kitty hybrid at the table reassures, you think his name is Jimin and it is confirmed when someone else speaks up. A bear hybrid this time with a deep voice. “Let’s head back to Jimin’s? I’m tired. Jungkook-ah, we’ll catch up with you later. See ya.”

They all stand and Jungkook feels he can throw up when he sees he’s left all alone with you by his side. 

“Do you wanna-”

“Do-”

Both of you start at the same time and it makes you both laugh. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself but you think it’s possible that he may feel the same way and that makes your heart warm. 

“You go first.” The hybrid says between a smile. 

You take a breath before you ask. “Wanna get out of here?” 

Jungkook nods eagerly, looking like a sweet pup before he’s up on his feet. “Sure, I know just the place.” 

The bunny hybrid doesn’t take you far. After like a fifteen minute walk, a lake comes into your vision and you both find a bench to rest your feet for a moment. 

“How-”

“Did-”

Laughter is shared again and suddenly Jungkook is less nervous. He has nothing to worry about around you. 

“Sorry, I was asking how was your fall break?” Jungkook asks while playing with the strings of his hood. 

“Good good! I went to visit my family back home.” Jungkook smiles hearing this. 

“How was that?” 

“Honestly,” you wrap your arms around yourself feeling a bit cold, “it went really well! We hiked around a lot while I was there. We all really love hiking and it’s the way we bond as wolves. Though this time we had a new member join our pack. My sister got a boyfriend. She’s only fifteen but she had fun as well. I think he’s a brat but she loves him so I can deal with him for now.”

The hybrid nods attentively, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “I see. I have an older brother and he’s been with some fox hybrid since I can remember. He’s married though and I love her. She’s really great.” 

“How old is he?” 

“My brother is ten years older than me.” Jungkook replies in a low tone. “I’ve always been the baby.” 

Even in his entire friend group, Jungkook’s the youngest. Not that he minds, he just wants to be as cool as his hyungs. Being a bunny hybrid isn’t an easy life when everyone finds him cute. He can be cute, but he wants to be strong, cool (maybe sexy as well). 

“I can tell.” You whisper and his giggle calms the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Look there’s something I wanna show you.” Jungkook lets himself breathe for a moment before his hands come to the top of his hood. “I know this is so unexpected and sudden, but I don’t wanna keep lying to you.” 

He breathes one last time through his nose, closes his eyes for a second and drops his hood, letting his fluffy ears hit the fresh air. When he opens his eyes he finds you just as shocked as he imagined you would be. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry for hiding something like this. I really didn’t mean to. I-”

Jungkook feels arms wrap around him and he freezes before he realizes all his fears and worries have been for nothing. He hugs you back, squishing you into him. 

“I’m sorry for assuming your hybrid mix bun.” He feels the whisper right below his ear. The bunny holds back a purr when he feels you gently scratch behind his ear.

Bun. Jungkook knows this is terrible timing, but fuck he thinks he could come in his pants right now. His friends and family call him that all the time but it’s never meant anything. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything from your lips either but he’s infatuated with you and has been for a couple months now. The bunny hybrid knows now more than ever that he wouldn’t want it any other way. He wants to be with you forever. 

“I’m sorry.” You pull back to look into his eyes and he shushes you with his lips. They are so soft against your own and you feel yourself hold back your own purr. 

The bunny pulls back so suddenly. “I- I’m sorry!” 

You don’t say anything but smile and reel him in by his strings and your lips crash against his much faster. The kiss is still soft but he doesn’t hold back this time. His lips mold with yours like if it was always meant to be this way. You drop one last kiss before pulling away. He tastes like cherry chapstick and you feel like kissing it off all over again but you hold off. 

“This wasn’t supposed to go in this order.” Jungkook laughs quietly, his hands hold your waist but they are soft to the touch. 

“It’s okay. I liked it.” You say, he watches your own eyes sparkle. 

“I should explain myself now.” The hybrid murmurs and you push off him just a bit, but you remain close and allow him space to speak. “Back when we first met, I had my hood on. Usually, I do that because I don’t like people talking to me.” 

You look at him apologetically but he shakes his head and continues, “you were the exception of course. I thought you were the prettiest hybrid ever and I didn’t want to pass you up so I helped you. I didn't expect anything, but then you called me a wolf hybrid and at the time, I was too embarrassed to admit I was a bunny hybrid.” 

“Oh Jungkook, I’m so sorry.” 

“No no! It’s okay. It was my own insecurities holding me back. I’m not scared anymore. I thought if I had told you I was actually a bunny hybrid that you wouldn’t have taken me seriously. Most people just think I’m some cute little bunny and I’m much more than my breed.” He admits and you feel sorry he would ever think something like that. You never imagined it was possible for other hybrids to think that of themselves, but you feel for him regardless. 

“I believe you. I still think you’re cute but I would never turn you away, Jungkook. You have so many things going for yourself, I wish you could see how cool and attractive you look through my own eyes.” 

Jungkook smiles. “You really think so?”

“Of course. You’re perfect Jungkookie.” And this time you both smile. “Do you still think that?”

“Think what?” The bunny looks confused for a second. 

“That I’m the prettiest hybrid.” You say, your heart on your sleeve but it doesn't matter anymore. 

“Yes.” He answers with no hesitation. “I like you. A lot. I have for some time.” 

“I like you too, Jungkookie.” There’s some comfortable silence for some time as you both stare at each other longingly.

“Be my girlfriend pup?” 

“Yes bun, a million times yes.” 

—-

Once again, Jungkook was the absolute best boyfriend ever. Genuinely the kindest soul and sweetest hybrid. But he was a fucking animal. No pun intended. It was your first time dating a bunny hybrid and you underestimated a lot of things. 

First, the bunny was incredibly needy. You had heard of this. Taehyung had warned you and you didn’t even believe it at first because you were quite clingy yourself, but then you realized it was much worse than you had imagined. Jungkook would pout and whine every time you would try to get up from your morning cuddles. He would tell you things like you could skip work or class for today and you would always disagree. 

“No. Not this time bun.” Jungkook whined, he would try his best puppy eyes on you which almost always worked but not this time. So much for not liking being cute. “No. I’ll see you after class okay? We’ll cuddle all you want after.” 

Jungkook huffs but lets you go anyways. He’ll be waiting for that. 

Second, you underestimated how much a growing bunny could eat. He was already in his last stages of maturing, but damn he could eat. You don’t even eat this much after your heats hit and your appetite is huge during those times. 

“Slow down, bun.” Jungkook would blush and smile with his mouth full. 

“Starving.” He would say even though you had fed him just an hour ago but it was cute. It was just so hard to say no to someone as cute as Jungkook. May he forgive you later for thinking he was the cutest bunny you had ever met but it was true. Jungkook was perfect and he was everything you ever wanted in a partner. 

Thirdly, you underestimated his sex drive. At first, you thought you were a match made in heaven. You would spend your heats with a bunny who tended to have a high libido. It would all work out! He could keep up with you and you would take what you needed during your frenzy heated state. It was perfect. 

Okay no, you definitely underestimated a bunny’s sex drive because Jungkook was a fucking beast. Your heats would hit every three months and Jungkook was more than happy to help. He was genuinely perfect. He would make sure you always had water and cold towels around to cool you down. The bunny would often check on you between rounds, during rounds, and especially after you had come down from the frenzy wave of your heats. 

It was one of those moments where you realized he was much more in need of this than you were. Bunny’s are in need of a lot of sex possibly more than any other hybrid. Jungkook would fuck you to oblivion for ten minutes straight and after twenty minutes as you cooled off, he was ready for more. Sex with Jungkook was beyond exhausting, but you wouldn’t change a damn thing. 

“W-Wait Jungkook, oh my god.” The bunny rammed his hips in and out of you at quick speed. His hands forcing your hips up, keeping you right where he wanted. “I’m gonna come again.”

Your voice falls out into whines and whimpers and still, Jungkook doesn’t hold back. He feels the second you start to fall apart writhing against the sheets every time you feel him hit your sweet spot. “Already pup?”

“Nghh.” Nothing stops the high pitched moan that rips through the room while Jungkook fucks into you with precision. “D-Don’t. Please don’t stop. ” 

Jungkook loves it when you get like this. All fucked out. Barely holding yourself together. He sees the way you cling to the sheets below, your slick is everywhere but that’s exactly how the bunny likes it. He’s convinced the neighbors could smell it by the way you keep pushing that sweet slick out. 

The scent of cotton candy hits his nose by a tenfold and he loves it. You’re coming right on his cock and that’s how it always should be, but suddenly he’s greedy. 

The bunny is quick to slip out of you and you want to shove him right back in, but he replaces his cock with his tongue and nothing else matters again. It’s like he’s addicted. Jungkook used to think he hated being a hybrid. Having the ability to smell all sorts of scents used to drive him insane and somehow, nothing is better than smelling your sweet, sweet scent. It drives him fucking insane.

“Fuck!” You scream. The bunny is buried nose deep into your pussy, forcing all your addicting slick to fall into his tongue. He inhales the fucking juices like it’s a meal. “I- I think I’ll come again.” 

Jungkook can’t help but to smile even while he’s in the middle of eating you out. He flicks his tongue around your clit, nibbling on it like the good bunny he is. The sensation starts to build all too quickly and another orgasm rips through your body. The world goes black for a second. 

You passed out and the next time you wake up, you feel the hybrid rubbing his length behind you. 

You both never even bothered getting dressed when your heat would hit. There was no use of clothes anyways. It wouldn’t matter if he would find a way to drop you on his knot every fucking minute he could. 

He presses his hard-on between your cheeks and you feel slick start to ready you up for him. 

“Again?” You croak, voice still filled with fatigue. 

Jungkook kisses your back softly as he caresses your hips (it’s the way he asks for forgiveness). He was a sweet bunny. “Sorry babe. You smell so fucking good. Just like me.” 

“Yeah because you’ve been coming all over me. There’s a bugde in my stomach. You’ve ruined me bun.” The bunny smiles against your skin and apologizes again in between kisses along your bare shoulder. 

His cock makes his way between your cheeks and you feel the tip against your slicken folds (you don’t know if it’s slick or his come). “Just the tip baby.” 

He whispers and you roll your eyes because it’s never just the tip but who are you to deny your sweet boyfriend of absolutely anything. “Go ahead bunny.” 

Jungkook sighs as the head of his dick eases into your pussy. He actually keeps his word and doesn’t go any further. The bunny takes his time, slowly rolling his hips into you. You hear him groan against your ear. “So good for me pup. All mine.” 

The bunny growls as his hand touches the bulge that formed in your stomach. He would keep his come inside you every single day if he could. Fuck everything else. 

The bulge reminds him of what it could be. He can’t wait to see you filled with his own pups. The bunny moans imagining your swollen belly, you would probably taste sweeter than ever. He might just breed you right now. Fuck birth control. 

“Kook.” He hears you moan lightly. “‘S not enough.” 

He smirks knowing his girl. “I know pup. Need my help?” 

You only nod, moaning again when you feel him pick up the pace. He’s still behind you and his hand leaves your stomach to pull your cheeks apart. He thrust himself fully inside you grunting into your ear. “So tight still even after last night.”

You squeeze your walls around him as he picks up his pace again, he tries his best in the position you are both in but he gets frustrated within the second and lifts one of your legs up, fucking his dick into your pussy easier. The bunny moans praises as he continues to ram himself into you. “So pretty. So beautiful. All mine.” 

“Yours. All yours.” You agree, feeling so fucked already. 

Jungkook pulls out for a second before he pushes you back against the bed and tugs your legs open for him. The bunny sits between your legs while he contemplates whether he wants to eat you out or stuff his knot into you.

You notice this and intervene. “No. Fuck me. Please.” 

He supposes he can let you decide for now. Jungkook lines his cock with your pussy and eases himself back inside you. This way he feels much better and he doesn’t struggle hitting your g-spot within the minute. 

“Knot. Need your knot bun.” You start to beg as slick falls out of you, your body clearly preparing you for a knot. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook breathes harshly, his ears twitch watching you fall into a desperate state. “Beg for it, omega.” 

Omega. Jungkook never calls you that unless he knows you are far too deep into it to care. Hybrids do not call each other by their status unless they are a part of that mix themselves, but Jungkook has always pushed his luck. He knows it drives you insane. 

“Please bun. I- wan- knot. Please knot me.” Your words start to go incoherent and he loves every second of it. The hybrid pulls out grabs some slick that has fallen into the sheets and covers his length with it fucking it back into you. His pace is significantly faster now, he plants hands into the sheets below as you wrap your arms and legs around him. He fucks into relentlessly, not worried about the noise being made. The headboard keeps smacking into the wall but he could care less. His neighbors hate him for sure but what does it matter when he has you under him. So desperate and perfect. 

Your moans are almost yells now and he only goes faster. And faster. And then much faster. This is when you really realize who you are with. A whole bunny hybrid. He’s so fast. Much faster than any of your loser ex’s. They don’t even compare for one second to what Jungkook is capable of. He always keeps you full and sated. It is as if he made for you and you for him.  

He feels his knot start to inflate and his nostrils flare, smelling your scent sweeten. Sweat coats his body but he doesn’t let up. “Bun will knot you now, my sweet pup. My omega.” 

Your legs start to shake around him as heat rushes down and you come as soon as you feel his knot ram into your g-spot. You are a complete goner, coming and squirting all over his knot. The bulge inside your stomach is beautiful and it grows bigger as he comes deeply into you, holding his knot and previous orgasms. 

Even though you definitely feel faint, you are proud of yourself for keeping your eyes open as his knot locks you both in place. Jungkook is careful when laying back behind you, feeling the knot tug at you both lightly. 

“You okay?” He asks in a whisper, pushing the hair out of your sweaty face. He kisses your pink cheeks. God he’s so lucky. “I love you. So much.”

“Yes. ‘M perfect bunny. I love you more.” You whisper, and lull back to sleep in the arms of your lover. 

Seriously, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if dick could kill you, so be it.

[astarionancuntnin]

Die For You (Chapter 8)

summary: as the vampire ascendant's bride, you get powers only spawns could ever dream of. only one thing stands in the way of your happily ever after, and the time has come for you to get rid of him, no matter the consequences.

rating: E

word count: 5k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. you know the drill: smut, angst, blood/vampire bites, hints of praise, fingering (f! receiving), p in v, possessive behaviour, but also! telepathic discussions, katoptronophilia (mirror stuff), blood play, graphic depiction of violence. full list on ao3

a/n: SURPRISE i had a sudden urge of inspo and there's now one more chapter before the epilogue. im sorry in advance for whats about to happen, but also an immense thank you to my loyal readers, yall are the realest

This fic update every Friday! (2 more updates remaining)

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You know I like you

And anyone who gets in my way, darling

Might get a handful of some shit

Or stay heavy-hearted

Because it's cut-throat

To anyone who comes close

Be mine

And everything will be fine

-

His… bride?

Your knowledge on vampirism was limited, given it was based on what Astarion had previously shared from his own experience, and rumours you had heard through the grapevines. Nothing ever mentioned brides, and unless you had lost a great deal of your memory, you don’t recall marrying Astarion, either, but if your reasoning was sound, being his bride would mean you were somewhat his equal.

“Does that make me… a real vampire?” 

“You are even greater, as you are my creation.” He purrs, as his hand around your neck pulls you back further, exposing your neck to him, while his other hand wanders over your chest. “I’ve extended most of my blessings upon you, which is why you need not fear the sun, or any typical weakness that plagues our kind.” His eyes flicker back to your reflections in the mirror as he massages your breasts, all the while his tongue travels from your shoulder to your neck. “You are the only of your kind. With your strength and my influence combined, we are the most powerful couple in Baldur’s Gate. The most powerful beings in all the realms.” 

His hand at your front travels down between your thighs to find the pool of warmth he had previously abandoned so carelessly, to dip one, then two fingers between your slick folds. The hand around your neck lessens – not that it played any part anymore, as your head was naturally falling backwards in reaction to his touch – to cradle your chin, with his thumb slipping inside your open mouth, as your breath picks back up the hectic rhythm it had when he was between your legs. 

The taste of his crimson instantly invades your mouth, and you close your lips around his thumb, sucking fervently to get more of his liquid gold into you. You didn't experience hunger normally anymore – even earlier, the tiefling you drained was purely out of a power rush rather than actual hunger – but you think you would go insane if you never had the chance to drink from him. As you drink more, you feel yourself getting dizzy, almost drunk on his blood, the temptation to bite down getting harder to ignore. 

“Uh uh, pet. You’ll bite on this one,” as he feels your fangs nibbling over his thumb, he removes himself from your mouth to bring his other hand back up, this one drenched in your nectar. “Drink, my consort. Taste how good we are, together.”

You hum at your sweetness, and following his command you bite down, mixing your juices with the richness of his blood. The more you drink, the more you feel connected to him, as if your bodies and minds fused as one. You are like a putty in his hands: not a drop of fighting left in you, willing to follow his every command. 

While your mind wanders at the cocktail of flavours in your mouth, his other hand grabs a hold of your hips, as he guides the head of his cock against your entrance before plunging into you with one, deep thrust. Your mouth drops open as his dick fills every inch of your canal, making you whole with its presence. Before you can fall forward, Astarion's hand finds its way back around your neck, keeping you up and facing the mirror. His hand on your hips trails along your belly, and reaches the other side of your waist, keeping you still, with himself buried deep within you. He pulls  your head forward, making you witness the mess he made of you.

“Focus, darling. I want your eyes on this mirror at all times.” His voice is deep with lust, almost primal as he growls. “You’re going to watch yourself come on my cock.”

His hips slap against your ass with each thrust he makes, and the pain from each one is nothing short of delicious. Between gasps, you cross his gaze in the reflection, his eyes darkened with want, with need, as he admires the sight of you, his vampiric bride, covered in his blood, impaled on his cock. There is a bloody mess that trails from your mouth, to your neck, down your chest, and finally around your waist; he made sure to spread himself all over you, marking you.

Your moans fill the room, along with the wet sounds from your fucking and his growls, which only get louder. You bite your lip in an attempt to muffle your screams, only for your mouth to fly open again, crying out, as you draw out your own blood from nicking yourself with your new set of fangs. It was going to take some time to get used to them, but it only made Astarion enjoy the sight even more.

“Just like that, pet. Don’t hold back now, I want everyone to know how good I fucked you.” Just as those words leave his mouth, you spy a wicked grin on his lips before his fangs dive right into the flesh of your shoulder. As he drinks you in – for the first time as his bride – he takes on a punishing pace, his cock ramming into you, hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars. His name slips from your mouth without thinking about it, each time louder than the last. He leaves the fresh bite wounds – another symbol of his ownership over you – his mouth fully covered in your blood, to look back at your reflection, as his hand leaves your waist to massage your clit, pushing you to your limit. “Go on, scream my name to the heavens, tell them who you belong to, mind, body, and soul.”

A few more rough thrusts hitting against your cervix along with the stimulation over your sensitive bud is all it takes for you to come, your walls tightening around his cock, and your voice screams his name out like he was the god you worshipped. Before you can come down from your high, he grabs a hold of the back of your head, pulling you back to angle your neck with his mouth before speaking up with a low growl.

“Come on, love, I know you can give me another one.”

He keeps fucking your through your climax, keeping up the stimulation over your clit as he bites down on your exposed neck. The overstimulation pushing your body to its limit makes you go deaf for a moment, as your body explodes yet another time, and he continues pushing you further until he feels you grow heavier as your body goes limp from exhaustion. Only then does he remove himself and let you land on the bed carefully. In your daze, you hardly notice him moving around, until he picks you up, very gently, to slip you under the covers where he rests with you. You think you can hear him say something along the lines of “Rest, little love”, but in the bliss of your aftermath, his words sound distant, almost like an afterthought. Too tired to even move anymore, you lay against his chest, with his arm surrounding you protectively, while the other caresses your hair. Just when you think you’re drifting to sleep, the fog obscuring your mind, he speaks up.

“I don't want you to think for a single moment that you're not deserving of the entire world and more, and I’ll make sure you get everything you deserve.” His tone is drastically different from how it was only minutes ago, suddenly warm and soft, like a gentle balm over your wounds. He sounds so distant in your mind, yet you’ve never felt so close. “I will be here when you wake up tomorrow.” He rests his lips over the top of your head, leaving the ghost of a kiss as he pauses, before he continues. “I will always be here, my love.”

After today’s rollercoaster of emotions, these last spoken words have you tearing up. This is what you wanted: comfort, acceptance, support; unconditional love. If you had the energy to answer, you think you would have said those three little words you hadn't dared to speak aloud yet, but in the state you were in, you only manage to sigh as a few tears roll down your cheek, before your world finally fades to black.

–

When you open your eyes the next morning, you’re greeted by Astarion’s arms wrapped tightly around you; his weight, his warmth, surrounding you – protecting you. You’re certain he’s gotten closer than how you recall falling asleep last night. You were now entirely cocooned between his arms, with his head resting atop of yours. It felt… nice. It’s only when you nuzzle against his chest, seeking more proximity and wanting to hear the appeasing sound of his heartbeat, that you feel him move, holding even tighter to you, as his hands lazily trails over your back. His grip on you is so strong, you don’t think you could free yourself – not that you wanted to. You would happily spend hours in his arms like this, enjoying the safety of his embrace.

Knowing his reveries were already on the short end compared to the ten hours you allowed yourself to sleep – on a good night, that is – and considering how last night had completely drained you of any energy you might’ve had prior, you were convinced he must’ve been awake for a few hours already, just waiting on you to wake up and enjoying your sleepy presence in the meantime. You smile at the thought of him allowing himself to be vulnerable behind closed doors, and you were the only soul lucky enough to witness it. You think it’s adorable how clingy he is of you now, as he cradles you in your sleep, and you hum happily in his embrace.

A faint thought passes by, and sleepily, you raise your head up, your chin resting against his chest.

“Are you scared that I might just up and vanish?” You try to crack a joke, your voice is still heavy with sleep.

He pushes back slightly to look back at you with a faint smile when he sees you’re finally awake.

“It’s hard not to when you made sure to remind me countless times how our time together would be short-lived.” His hand leaves your back to caress your cheek lovingly. “I’m only trying to make the best of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly until you remember your words from the previous days. You hadn’t told him about your encounter at the inn. “About that… I might stay longer than I previously envisioned.”

“Oh? Changed your mind about the cleric after all?”

“I actually ran into Shadowheart yesterday,” you confess.

“Have you? I’m sure that she must’ve been thrilled by your new look.”

You sigh at his sarcastic tone, “So much so that she turned her heels and bid me farewell without looking back.” You tilt your head forward, now resting your forehead against his chest. “It got me thinking… this whole thing might’ve been a mistake. I don’t think I was completely in my right mind when I made that decision.”

He tilts your chin up to look back at him, “It serves no purpose to linger on what could’ve been, darling. What’s done is done, now it’s up to you to do your best with the hand you were dealt.” His face lost its smile, but his eyes were shining with thoughtfulness. “I know you will have no issue doing so.”

He’s right, and it’s not like you could go back now. If you had to live the rest of your eternal life like this, you would try to make it as good as possible. You will spend the rest of your life begging forgiveness for that tiefling’s life you took; he couldn’t be older than twenty-five, he was probably really only looking to have a good time and you took his life for it. You try not to linger too long on the thought, ashamed of your actions, but you promise yourself that you will never take an innocent soul ever again. Good thing for you that Sir Virric Othros and his friends were far from it. Speaking of –

“The invitations. We need to send them out–”

As you try to lift yourself up, Astarion grabs your arm, stopping you. “That was taken care of.”

“What? When?”

“Yesterday evening. Remember? When you decided to go out for a little drink?”

You crash back on the bed, groaning. “Gods, I really let it get to my head. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, “It’s all forgiven, my sweet. All things considered, I find it funny, really.”

You raise your brow, “Funny? Seriously? With the reaction you had yesterday I would’ve said anything but.”

He sighs, “My reaction was… extreme, I’ll admit. But when I noticed the blood on your hands, all my worries disappeared. I would even dare to say that I was proud of you. Now I know for certain that no one will get their hands on you, my little threat,” he says the pet name with a pause between each word, shaking your chin between his fingers.

“Won’t happen again, swear I’ll be on my best behaviour,” you answer, pushing his hand away like a teen getting scowled, but you still smile shyly at the new name.

“Oh no, on the contrary, I do hope you kill again, but let’s focus our energy on people who actually matter this time, hm?” He cocks his head to the side, with the hint of a smile, and your smile can’t help but widen.

You spend some more time in bed talking about the plan in detail – you think it was the skin to skin contact, but you were more comfortable talking about murder plans in bed with your lover rather than in his large office – you needed to make sure that the soiree would go down without a hitch. The next few days were spent planning that night. Astarion shared with you all the information he had on the guests he planned on inviting – after all, you couldn’t just invite the man you intended on killing – you had to make it seem like this was a real event that Astarion wanted to host, and plus, he could always use the extra influence he could gain as a bonus for the trouble.

The spawns are made aware of the target of the night and their goal is to assure that no other guests get in the way of your plan. A group is assigned to assure the service for the night, and the rest of them are to remain in the shadows and act as security.

No dress needed to be made for you, but your dearest Lord being the man he is, still insisted on having a few more made for you. It was only fair after ripping open one of them last night, and any additional one was just “a gift for my beloved consort and for the tremendous progress she has made”, really, any reason was good enough for him to shower you with gifts. You welcomed it happily by now, now that you knew he meant well. 

The plan was simple: Astarion stays in the ballroom with the guest to assure his presence, and you lurk in the shadows until you can isolate Virric and take him out, away from the crowd. As prepared as you think you are, anxiety still fills your chest when the night of the soiree finally comes. However it would go tonight, you would finally take down the man who assaulted you, alongside any plan he had against Astarion, and you would make sure he would regret ever approaching you. 

The night is lively, as you watch the many guests arrive and take place around the room. Most of them are harmless, from what you recall of Astarion’s reports over the course of the previous six months: merchants, Dukes, and Lords, all serving different purposes, but none posing a direct threat, for now anyway. Some other night, you might mingle, attached to Astarion’s arm and swaying people your way, but tonight, your role has to be assured in the shadows. You stay in a corner of the ballroom, hidden behind a large pillar away from anyone’s sight. You close your eyes to concentrate on your link with Astarion, looking for an opening into his mind, when you feel the comforting embrace of his own mind.

“Well well, hello there, my sweet. Miss me already?”

You open your eyes back up, answering via your connection, “It’ll take me a while to get used to this.”

“We do have the rest of our lives to experiment with it.”

You swear you could hear his smile in your mind, and you smile to yourself in return,

“I’ve told our guests that you were bedridden and wouldn’t be joining us tonight,” he continues. “They send their best regards.”

“How kind of them. Tell them I said thanks.”

You hear the echo of his inner laughter, “I’ll make sure to pass the word, dear.”

As the evening passes on, the ball room fills with countless guests, making it harder to find a specific someone, but with your new abilities, your vision is the sharpest it’s ever been, allowing you to do just that.

“He’s here," you say.

“Has he seen you?”

“No, I’m still hidden.”

“Good. I’m still welcoming guests, it shouldn’t be too long before I’m free now.”

“And you’ll stay there, just like we planned.” There’s no response from Astarion but you can imagine him frowning; it’s not because you agreed to it that he has to be happy about it. “He’s moving away from the room,” you continue.

“Remember to stay hidden.”

“Yes, my Lord,” you hope he picks up on your tone that borders on condescendance. “Wait… he’s going up.” You pause as you think about your next move. “Stay with the guests, this might go better than I anticipated after all.”

“Be careful.”

“I am–”

“I mean it. Keep in contact at all times.”

You pause, acknowledging his worry. “I will. I promise.”You sever the connection, stopping him from talking in your mind any further. You didn’t lie, you were going to keep in contact, but after Virric was taken care of. For this plan to work, Astarion couldn’t interfere, and this was only happening because of your actions. You had to take accountability for them. 

You follow him upstairs – keeping your distance – where you find him lingering in the hallways; he seems to be searching for something, or someone. You let him advance further into the palace, just to let him believe that he’s as furtive as he thinks he is, all the while making sure he was far enough from the ballroom so that his screams wouldn’t be heard when you would have the satisfaction to kill him.

Finally, when you see him at the door of your room, you speak up from the shadows.

“Looking for something?”

He steps back from the door, but doesn’t seem to recognize your voice, “My apologies, I was simply worried about the Lady of the house–”

“She’s bed ridden,” you cut him off, stepping out of the dark.

When he finally sees you in the dim lighting, his facade drops immediately. His fake smile is replaced by a malicious smirk along with furrowed brows.

“So I’ve heard.”

“What were you looking to find here?” Your tone is grounded, much different than that time in the gardens. This time, you know what you’re up against, and you’re ready.

“I simply wanted to make amends, nothing more, I swear.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, threatening to send you back into that night in the garden, but you don’t let it break your composure.

“I’m sure this is something you could’ve brought up with Lord Ancunín, instead of sneaking around in his palace, into his private rooms.”

He laughs, but there’s nothing warm in his voice. It’s vile, malevolent, and it brings out the worst in you. 

“I’m afraid not. You see, this was a rather personal affair. I couldn’t let him get in the way.”

“Let’s settle it then,” you move forward carefully, drawing out a blade from under your clothing. Finally, back in your element, and stronger than ever.

“You know, I’ve done some research on you following our little encounter. Given, you were presented as Lady Ancunín, I searched with that given name and nothing came up, which leads me to doubt you have officially taken on the name yet.”

“I don’t see how that’s of any importance,” as you approach him, he finally moves on his own, making you two turn in a circle as you keep the discussion going.

“After some digging, I finally found your real name, and – you won’t believe it – but I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

You scoff, “Awfully sorry to break it to you, but I’ve never seen you in my life. You've got the wrong gal.”

“Of course, I can’t expect you to recognize me, as we never had the chance to be appropriately introduced.” His smirk doesn’t leave his lips as he draws out his knife from its sheath, the same one he used on you at the ball. You would recognize its intricate form anywhere; the handle was a poignant shade of red, so much so you believe it almost shone in the dark. “No, just when we were supposed to meet, you ran away.”

As those words leave his mouth, you notice the family crest on his blade, one that jumpstarts your memory, and your eyes widen in horror as you silently gasp.

Fuck. That’s the man your parents had betrothed you to five years ago. That’s the life you ran away from all those years ago, the man you refused. After everything that’s happened, it feels like centuries ago.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teases as you stay silent.

You try to conceal your shock with some false confidence, exaggerating your tone. “I simply can’t believe my gut feeling was right to run away that dreaded night. Looks like without even meeting you, I knew you would turn out to be a disgusting piece of shit.”

“Oh, such harsh words in the fine mouth of a Lady. We’ll have to work on that.” 

The implications of his words make your skin crawl. “Enough. Tell me exactly why you’re here.”

“Why, isn’t obvious by now? I’m bringing you home, Princess.”

You lift your blade as a warning. “Over my cold, dead body,” the words leave your mouth before you can even process them, but the irony doesn't escape you.

“I would rather not. You’re way more valuable to me alive than dead.” He flips the blade around, almost taunting you with his moves. “But I can afford a few cuts and bruises.”

You’ve heard enough.

With a growl, you finally close the distance between you two, swinging for his head. A bold move, but you take the risk. He dives, making you miss your first blow, but you’re fast to come back around, protecting yourself. Your short sword provided you with the length necessary to provide blow from far enough to be safe from his knife, but you would still need to be careful – you didn’t know what else he could have up his sleeve.

“Little kitty has nails, I see. Your parents did warn me that you were a lot to handle.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and he’s not even trying to hide it. This man is a fucking joke.

You swing again, this time aiming for his side, but he parries your hit. You force against it, until he spins the blade around, pushing you backwards with the move.

He continues, “They didn’t mention you had training in the sword arts, I imagine you would’ve cost more otherwise. Not that you’re any good, but they would’ve had to pay the teachers, whether or not you passed their class.”

“I didn’t need training,” you growl with a ragged breath, before launching another set of attacks, rapid hits from the left and right, only to thrust forward at the last minute, managing to slash the side of his chest.

He steps back, panting, “As the titled Saviour of Baldur’s Gate, I would’ve expected better.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with words, Virric,” you spit the name like venom, “you either start swinging, or I’ll believe that you’re all bark and no bite.”

He laughs, “I love your fire, Princess. I’ll have fun taming it.”

Fucking asshole.

You swing with all the force you have and he barely manages to stop the sword from hitting him. As you push against him to get the blade to his throat, you miss him reaching for another knife that he uses to stab at your waist before ripping it out instantly. 

You push yourself backwards, your free hand flying to your wound as you swear at the searing pain the blade left in your guts. You make space between Virric and you as you inspect your wound; it wasn't enough to kill you, and with another portion of blood you would heal fairly quickly, but for now, it wounded you badly enough to start bleeding profusely over your hand and tainting your dress. When you make eye contact again, he’s standing again, his dishevelled hair falling like curtains over his eyes. He smiles wickedly, almost laughing, as if he had already won the fight.

“Is it that easy to tame your inner fire?”

“Ugh, fuck you, Virric.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” his chuckle has your stomach turning upside down.

As you straighten back up, two additional figures emerge from the shadows behind you, daggers in hand. Sensing them, you turn around to recognize the men you caught bad mouthing you and Astarion at the ball.

“I believe you’ve met my associates, Emreth and Alstaer Reyrie.”

Brothers, huh. I hope their death puts an end to their bloodline.

“Three against one, really? You think so lowly of yourself that you wouldn’t be able to take on me on your own?” In another life, you might’ve been a bard with the amount of vicious mockery you had out of pocket.

“Oh, I know I can easily bring you on your knees.” The brothers scoff when Virric speaks up. “No, these gentlemen are here for payback. They really didn’t appreciate your words at the ball, and I promised them they would have their chance with you.”

With your heightened senses, you’re able to pinpoint if they were to move a single hair, and you were extremely glad for it in this situation, as they circled you, like a pack of predators waiting to jump on their prey. Little did they know they were the prey in this scenario. There was no way in the Hells that either of them were going to land a single hand on you.

As you lift your blade in a defensive stance, you feel yourself wobble and your head heavier.

Huh?

All of a sudden, your vision blurs and you struggle to stay up, gathering all your force to keep your feet on the ground and your blade steady, attempting your best to hide your struggle. When Virric laughs, crossing his arms in his back, you quickly understand that the dagger in your gut was no ordinary blade. You don’t know what kind of poison he dipped it in, but you weren’t going to be conscious long enough to either figure it out, or to kill Virric yourself – unless you acted fast. When one of the brothers steps forwards carelessly, thinking you were already weak enough, you swing your blade in front of you, taking them by surprise as you slash his throat successfully. His blood splatter awakens something animalistic in you, and you grow to forget the blade in your possession.

In a fit of fury, the brother left alive rushes towards you, but you manage to evade his attack by a hair when you side step as he lunges forward. Baring your fangs as you let your new nature guide your next actions, you slash his face down with your sharp nails, creating new scars along his profile. He screams in pain as his hands fly to his face, rushing away from you to crash against the wall. One look at you in this state is all he needs to gape at the monstrosity before him.

“What in the nine Hells are you?!”

You already took one out, you just need to take care of the other two, this should be easy enough – if you weren’t incapacitated. As the poison settles in, you realise your consciousness is fading, slowly but surely. You try to stand defensively again, only to almost trip, managing to keep yourself up using your blade as support. You quickly come to the realisation that you’re past the point of fighting; you have no choice but to call for backup now. 

Closing your eyes, you focus on your connection to Astarion.

“Astarion…”

No answer. 

Shit, come on.

“Astarion!... Please… I need you…”

Silence. 

You fall on your hands and knees, as your blade wobbles out of your grasp, and you try to reach out for it when you sense Virric walking around you, only for him to kick your blade away from you. It takes every ounce of resolve left in you to keep fighting your body to stay awake. You had to try, even if it was a lost cause. You try to connect to Astarion once more, trying your best to give  him an idea of what had happened to you.

“Astarion… Virric… Poison…  Help…”

You close your eyes, finally drifting to sleep, feeling a pair of unwanted hands already handling your unconscious body.

-

This might get a little messy, I'm sure

Heads rolling for the one I adore

This may become a little brutal if I'm honest

But it's anything for you my dear, I promise

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury

[cumsuga]

Grey Areas Pt 2

taehyung x fem!reader

genre. smut, fluff, angst, romance, non-idol!au, twin!taehyung, BIL!taehyung, widowedmother!reader

Your husband is dead, now you're trying to avoid the man that looks exactly like him. The only problem with that is trauma bonds people, sometimes in more ways than one 

warnings: death of a spouse, sleeping with your brother-in-law, grief, unprotected sex (Be safe and be smart; please use condoms), mentions of part infidelity, smoking, light drinking, taehyung is definitely in love with his sister-in-law aka reader, you're a mama (lots of drama), yall be fuckin', anal(?), Taehyung likes fat asses.

word count: 5k

18+ (Minors DNI)

A/n: First and foremost, thank you, @hbkdrecs, for testing/proofreading! I don't know if I'll make this a series or just leave it a mini. Anyway, thank you, everyone,for all the support! Please support your local fic writer by liking and reblogging! Y'all are the best!

Taglist!: @ohsweetmimosa

“You know you fucked up, right?” Jimin asks. Taehyung had spent the two weeks with you as he told you he would. Every night was spent in each other's arms, him in between your thighs or you on your knees. You couldn’t understand what it was about Taehyung, but you couldn’t keep your hands off him. Part of you thought it was because he looked like his brother, but the other part thought he was nothing like Sujin. Taehyung was the complete opposite of him, making you want him even more. 

“Jimin, you told me you wouldn’t judge me.” you rub the bridge of your nose. Jimin, your best friend since birth, was known to be a judgy bitch, but right now, you need less judgment and more advice.

“Listen, I’m never one to judge, but bitch.. He’s your dead husband's IDENTICAL twin brother… Right now is the best time to judge. Hell, this is like the plot of an awful lifetime movie. Except Taehyung didn’t trick you into thinking he was Sujin.” he takes a sip of his tea, smiling.

“I’m going to hell, aren’t I?” you gnaw on your thumb. You’re too far gone with Taehyung to go back now. You think you may even love him. He makes you feel safe. He'd choose you if he had to choose between you or his family. It was a naive way to think, but you didn’t care. Why should you? Sujin cheated on you for the majority of your pregnancy, and though you’re not one for revenge, it sure tastes good cold.

“Oh baby, straight to hell, but that's okay. You can explain to Sujin when you see him there.” he chuckles, scooting a mug over to you.

“Jimin. That's not funny. I was with Su for most of my life, and we were married. It’s too early to joke about it! You’re literally being the worst best friend ever.” You groan, and you wish he would be serious. “This is like life or death, serious.”

“My love, you’ve crossed a line from which you can no longer return. There is no advice I could possibly give you that would make you feel better.  You're smitten. I knew you were when you called and told me you had to tell me something.” 

You sign because, though you’ll never tell him, he’s right. You crossed a line, but you never said you wanted to return. You were fine with knowing you fucked your dead husband’s brother. You could live with it because Sujin would never find out. The only problem was that you didn’t know if you could stop.

—-

“Bro.. that's fucked.” Jungkook looks horrified.

“Listen, I’ve been in love with her since I was 10. I know it’s wrong, but she means everything to me. I just want to take care of her.” Taehyung shrugs Jungkook off. He feels remorse about it, but he won’t lose sleep over it. 

“But that’s your brother's wife. Morally, it’s wrong. Jungkook is justifiably horrified.” Namjoon chimes, 

“Namjoon, you slept with Jungkook’s sister. I don’t wanna hear SHIT from you.” he’s starting to regret telling his friends about his indiscretion. Jungkook looks bewildered by the revelation, but everyone decides it’s best not to open that particular can of worms.

“I support you.” Yoongi walks into the garage. “Namjoon sent me a voice note of the details. I don’t think what you did was wrong. From what you told us about her before, you called dibs, and Su disregarded bro code. Fuck’em.”

“Hey, that’s still my brother. Chill.” he mean mugs Yoongi.

“Man, we’re a little past the respect thing for Su. I’ll always have love for him, but if we're being honest, he was a shitty guy. Lest we forget the 2016 incident? He’s been doing this shit to that girl for years, we all knew, and we said nothing. We’re all just as bad as him. Namjoon, you witnessed the 2016 incident. Jungkook, you knew it was gonna happen, and Tae Su told you everything. So let’s not all act like we’re all holier than thou.” Yoongi lights a cigarette and takes a long drag.

Everyone is quiet, reflecting on how they’ve all wronged you. Taehyung felt the worst about it all because he knew Sujin had cheated before, but you guys were kids when it happened, and he didn’t think Su would do it again. Taehyung made Sujin swear he wouldn’t, or he’d tell you everything.

“Yoongi’s right…” Jungkook and Namjoon say in unison.

“I know... I know.” He sighs, “What should I do? All I want to do is be with her.”

“So do it. At this point, Tae, you have nothing to lose. If your family disagrees, fuck them. You’ve secretly loved the girl for years. I’m sure Sujin would forgive you. Hell, you forgave him. Now is the time to act.” Taehyung nods, “One more thing... Are you ever gonna tell her it was you?”

Taehyung calls you while you’re returning from picking up groceries. He tells you he wants to talk, and you’re happy because you also want to talk. You miss him, as crazy as it sounds. You want nothing more than to be in his presence.

When you pull up, he’s outside again waiting for you. When he sees you, he immediately goes to help you with Azra. Giving you a quick peck before he rounds the car to you. “Hi, princess.”  He gets him out of the car and grabs his diaper bag. Your heart melts seeing him and Azra together, and you feel so fucking guilty. Jimin's words are starting to affect you more than you thought they would.

“DADDY!” Azra screams when he sees Taehyung, squishing Taehyung’s cheeks together. Naturally, you go to correct him, but Taehyung is visibly uncomfortable with it and quickly corrects him.

“No baby, I’m Uncle Taetae. Daddy… Daddy is with Grandpa in the sky.” He points to the sky, and Azra looks up and repeats the word sky. Taehyung pecks his head and walks into the house with you.

He sets Azra in his play place when he gets in and helps you with whatever you are carrying. “Go rest, I’ll grab the rest.” but you pull him back to you.

“Wait. I missed you. C’mere,” You pull him into a kiss. It’s soft and sweet. He smiles into the kiss. He finds it strange how natural everything feels, and he finds it even stranger that he doesn’t feel guilty about what you two are doing. 

He gently pulls you away, “My love, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna go get the groceries. I’m not going anywhere.” He pecks you once more before heading out the door.

You sit with Azra and play with him while Taehyung brings in all the groceries, and you wish Sujin was like this. Sujin helped but never made it a point to do it all himself. The more you compare the two, the more resentful you grow of Su. You want to hate yourself for it desperately, but you can’t. 

Taehyung calls out to you from the kitchen, “Babe, did you mean to buy baby food?” you can hear him rummaging through the cabinets and putting stuff away.

“Yeah, I thought we were out. Why?” you say as Azra tries to climb in your lap.

“Because you bought more baby food and have a whole bunch.” You plop him on top of you. He begins playing with your fingers lazily while watching Baby Shark.

“Oh, well, now I won’t have to go get more in two weeks.” everything feels so domestic. It scares you a bit. “Hey, you said you wanted to talk. What about?” You stand up with Azra and walk towards the kitchen.

“About… us.” He stops what he’s doing and looks over at you. He gives you a look that worries you just a bit. Sujin would look at you like that right before starting an argument.

“What about us?” You ask as Azra reaches out for Taehyung, and Taehyung happily takes him.

“Azzy, no fingers in your mouth.” You move to take his thumb out of his mouth, and Azra buries his head into Tae’s chest.

“Daddy..” he pouts into him, and at this point, Taehyung is too tired to keep correcting Azra. 

“That’s not Daddy, Azra.” you try to take him back from Tae, but he starts to cry and cling to him.

“Daddy! Az say no!” Azra cries out.

Taehyung sighs, “Has he napped today?” 

You shake your head no, “Just leave him. He’s cranky because someone needs a nap. Azzy want to take a nap with… papa?” Azra nods his head, and they leave to go to the bedroom so Taehyung can put him down for a nap. Fifteen minutes later, Taehyung emerges from the bedroom and joins you on the couch. 

“I’ve never seen him so cranky.” he tried to pull you closer to him, but he could tell you were upset. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever do that again.” you push away from him. “You’re not his dad, don’t do that. I don’t like that.”

He pulls you into his lap, “Listen, I know I’m not his dad. But he was cranky, and I was just trying to remedy the situation. I’m sorry, baby.” you pout at him, and he kisses it away. You’re both silent for a while, watching the TV.

“Do you think we’re bad people?” you question out of nowhere, turning to face him.

“What do you mean?” he’s still looking at the TV but rubbing your knee lazily.

“Tae, look at me.” he looks towards you, so you question again, “Do you think we’re bad people?”

“I mean, kinda. We are bad people because of our previous relationship, but at the same time, I don't think we're bad people for finding solace in each other. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Y/N. I’m not faulting myself for finally expressing that; I don’t care if my family is upset about it. We’re happy. Shouldn’t that mean the most?” his eyes feel like they're burrowing into your soul. 

“What do you mean you’ve loved me for a very long time?” The revelation takes you aback, but he’s silent. His cheeks are flushed, and he can’t believe he just told on himself.

“I–I’m. Uhh..” he doesn’t know what to say. He’s scared of your thoughts when he tells you the truth. But he takes a deep breath and lets it go. “You remember when we were all kids? Do you remember when Sujin confessed to you? Well… that wasn’t Su… It was me. And even though you were with Sujin, I never got over you… That’s why I stopped coming around as much when you and Su got married, even less when you got pregnant, and all together when Azra was born. Because I didn’t want to accept that you chose Su, I couldn’t take the fact that my brother knew how I felt about you and still decided to be with you. Sujin wasn’t as amazing a person as everyone thought. He was and still is an asshole. I know I should be upset that he’s dead, but I can’t be. My brother was a terrible person to me. Now I’m just happy I finally get to be with the only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

You’re shocked. It felt like a million volts to your system. You never thought in a million years that Taehyung was the boy who confessed to you. He was always so quiet and reserved. Even in middle school and high school, he was never into dating, but now it all makes sense. He never really dated because he wanted to be with you.

“Well… Well, what about Naomi? You two were together for five years. You can’t tell me you didn’t love her. You had to have if you were together so long.” You need him to tell you he’s lying. He has to be because it feels like Sujin used you to get under Taehyung’s skin right now.

“I mean sure… I thought I loved her and wished God that I could have given her what she wanted from me. But It wasn’t fair to keep stringing her along. If I could take it back and not hurt her the way I did, I would in a heartbeat. No one deserves that, and I hate that I did that to someone. To this day, I send her little things to apologize. All of them returned, but I feel a little better knowing I’m trying to right my wrongs to her.” he’s looking at his hands, ashamed of his past actions.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you take his hands in yours, just a little sign to show him you’re not closing him out. He felt so much relief knowing you weren’t scared of his secret.

“What was I supposed to say, Y/N? ‘Hey, I’m actually the guy that confessed to you, and I think you should be with me and not the man you had a baby with?’ You would’ve looked at me like I had six heads, baby. I know you.” he sighs.

“I wouldn’t have… Honestly, the more we’re together, the more I wonder what life would have been like if we had been together since childhood,” you say honestly, and you feel like a weight has lifted from you. Even though Sujin’s only been gone a month, you’re entirely ready to let him go. You’re tired of keeping this relationship a secret and don’t care what others say about it. Sujin wasn’t a good husband to you, and you were tired of pretending he was.

Taehyung smiles at you, “Honestly, me too.” he kisses you softly.

“What are we going to tell Azra when he gets older?” This was your primary worry. You didn’t want your son to get bullied because kids are ruthless.

“Don’t beat me up when I say this, but maybe we should raise him as mine? I mean.. Genetically he is. I will have to get used to him calling me dad, but I’m with it if you are?”

Taehyung sees your shift in mood, but he knows that you know he’s right. “I’ll have to think about that, Taehyung... You’re right, but I’m still a little apprehensive about it.” you’re chewing on your thumb again, but Taehyung pulls it from your mouth to kiss you.

“No fingers in your mouth but mine,” he says as he moves to kiss your neck, and you push him away, giggling. 

“Ew, don’t ever say stuff like that to me. Weirdo.” You stand up from the couch, and he smacks your ass as you walk past him. 

“Where you going?” He asks as you disappear into the back of the house. You wanted to make sure Azra was asleep.

“I'm just checking on the baby.” You walk back into the living room, sitting in Tae’s lap.

“God, my brother didn’t deserve you. You’re such a great woman. I don’t care what anyone says.” You two are trying to make out, but something constantly interrupts you. This time, it’s your phone, and it’s your mother-in-law. She sounds pissed but keeps everything very short.

“Your mom is on her way here. She sounds mad. I think you should leave..” You’re panicking. She alluded to knowing about you and Taehyung. “I think she knows.”

“So what? You said you wanted to be with me. Why does it matter if she knows or not?” You’re pacing the living room. How could she have found out? You didn’t tell anyone outside of Jimin. You didn’t go anywhere together. There's no way... “Taehyung, please. I don’t think this is going to end well for you… for us..”

“No. I’m not leaving. I love you, and I want to be with you. I don’t care what she thinks.” He stands firm on it, not even budging off the couch. You didn’t want to do this, especially in front of your son. But before you could even process it, there was a knock at your door.

“Taehyung, please! Hide or something. Azra,” you’re whisper yelling at this point, and the knock is getting louder. But she barges in like God was punishing you for being in love. You had forgotten you had given her a key when you and Su bought the house. She sees Taehyung sitting there and immediately starts with the bullshit you were trying to avoid.

“So, it’s true?” she sneers, “Ms. Killian called and told me you haven’t left since the funeral. She told me that she had seen you two kissing in the driveway. So is that what you do? Like a whore? Your husband, my son, dies, and you move on to his brother? And you flaunt it in public. You must be a whore. Is that baby even Sujin’s, or is it Taehyung’s or some other man's?”

You stand there quietly. Too terrified to speak, you thought you were ready for everyone to know about you and him, but fuck were you wrong. This is your worst nightmare. “Speak, whore!” she screams at you.

“Please..” you say meekly, “The baby.”

“Oh, so now you care about my grandson? You didn’t care when you were fucking his uncle. You didn’t care when you were flaunting it to the whole fucking neighborhood!”

You look at Taehyung, and he immediately steps in front of you, “Don’t talk to her like that. You know nothing but what you were told by some senile old lady that doesn’t ever know how to mind her own fucking business.”

She smacks him, scoffing, “Don’t you ever insult my intelligence, you little shit. You were always like this, so jealous of your brother. Always wanting what he had. You never amounted to half of what your brother was.”

“My brother was a lying, cheating piece of trash. I spoke to Natalie. She told me you gave her Su’s number and encouraged her to contact him because his current girlfriend wasn’t as hard-working and was freeloading off your son. You were complicit in his cheating on his pregnant wife. Don’t act so fucking high and mighty, mother. You’re the exact same as Su, and that’s why my father left you.”

You stand there stunned. You don’t want to believe Taehyung, but what would he gain from lying about it? She says nothing and looks away from the both of you. That confirms all you need to know. She knew about it.

“I did nothing of the sort.” she scoffs again, “You’re the one lying up in his house with his wife. You both are scum. My son deserved better than a whore for a wife and a worthless piece of trash like you for a brother.”

“Oh please, you miserable insufferable cunt. You only cared about Su because he did whatever you told him to do. You’re upset because you no longer have someone to control. It fucking kills you to see me happy. But you know what? I couldn’t give less of a fuck. I love her, and she loves me. Go fuck yourself.”

“I think you need to leave.” You hear Azra crying in the distance. “Actually, get the fuck out of my house.” you’re seething. If you knew you wouldn’t go to jail for beating her ass, you do it in a heartbeat.

She doesn’t budge, and she is stubborn, just like Su. “I SAID GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE, YOU EVIL BITCH!” 

“When I tell the family, you will have nothing. You will be alone, just like you always were.” Taehyung just shakes his head in disdain, “Just you wait, and as for you, you little slut. If I ever see your face again, I’ll slap that fucking look off of it.”

“I dare you to. Now get out.” You say, pushing her out the door and rushing to Azra.

“Sh, sh, sh, it’s okay. Momma’s here, my sweet boy. No more tears.”

You're rocking Azra when Taehyung joins you in the room. “I’m sorry, this was never my intention.” He takes Azra from you and sits you in the rocking chair.

“Just sit here and calm down. I’ll get him to stop crying.” He says, walking out of the room and into the kitchen.

When he leaves, you burst into tears; a million thoughts run through your head. What are your parents going to say? What if she tells Azra’s daycare? What will they do? What about Azra and his relationship with them? You knew it was life-ruining and thought you were ready to face it, but you weren’t. You’re scared, and you feel alone in the feeling.

Taehyung joins you with a sleeping Azra back in the room. He sets him gently in the crib and kneels in front of you. “Hey, hey. No more tears, remember? Everything is going to be okay. I will make sure of that. Please don’t cry, sweetheart.” he takes your hands, kissing them softly.

You want to be mad, you want to keep crying, but he just had this effect on you. He made you feel so safe, so secure. You knew he would shield you from the fallout because that’s just what Taehyung does. He’s a nurturer, and you loved that dearly about him.

“I need to tell you one more thing…” he says before telling you about the 2016 incident. He told you about all the girls Sujin cheated on you with before he asked you to marry him. He told you that Sujin said it was to get it out of his system before he was chained down forever. He told you that he kept it from you to protect you and that he should’ve told you when it happened to save you from all the pain you’re going through. He apologized for hurting you and swore never to keep a secret from you again.

“I need you to trust me. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. I swear on my life, you mean everything to me, and I’ll never lie to you again, " he says before kissing you passionately. “I love you, Y/N. Please believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t, Dummy. I just wish you would’ve told me before I married that prick.” You say, wiping your nose on your sweater and laughing. He laughs softly with you. “How’d you get him to sleep so quickly?”

“Oh, I told him that if he went back to bed, I’d buy him ice cream after his nap. And I swear he was out like a light. It was pretty weird.” he chuckles.

You cup Taehyung’s cheek, rubbing it softly, “I wish it were you.” you peck him.

“Hey, better late than never at all, am I right?” he gets big-headed, so you push him down, but he pulls you with him. He is kissing you again, this time a little rougher than before.

“Not here. Let’s go to the room.” you stand up, extending your hand to him. “Come cuddle with me.”

He gets up, pulling you close to whisper in your ear, “Oh baby girl, we're gonna do more than cuddle. I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” Your cheeks are bright red when he pulls you away.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” you shy away from him, but that only eggs him on more.

“Don’t get all coy on me now. You like it when I talk to you like that.” He picks you up and walks you to your bedroom. He tosses you on the bed. 

“You’re all I need, all I want.” He climbs on top of you, pushing your sweater up splaying his hand across your tummy. “I mean fucking look at you… You’re literally my own personal wet dream.”

He takes his bottom lip between his teeth while he works on getting your jeans off. You’re squirming at his touch. You were never like this with Sujin, but he never cared to take his time with you. He would never even eat you out. The first time you ever got head, it was from Taehyung. And it was the best thing you ever experienced. He told you he loved eating pussy, and said it made him feel like a man to make his woman feel good before him.

“Off with these, I wanna taste you. You looked so sexy putting my mom in her place.” He kisses his way down your tummy and you instinctively try to close your legs. Always so shy to him seeing you so on display. 

“Taehyung..” you keen when he plants a light kiss on the space above your clit, he loved toying with you. He liked seeing you so needy for him. “No games.. Eat it.”

He pops his head up to look at you, ‘Someone is eager, but I think..” he spits directly on your clit and you swear it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, making you clench around nothing.

“I think-fuck- I think, I’ll play with it a little.” he pushes his fingers to your clit, before rubbing his spit around. “I mean, listening to how you sound. One could cum from the sound alone, if I do say so myself. It’s so fucking lewd.”

You moan something that sounds like his name softly, “I’m gonna make you cum just off my fingers before I eat it. I wanna play with your pussy, princess. You like that? Tell me you like it, please… fuck.” he pushes two fingers into you.

“Love it...” you buck your hips into his hand, grabbing his wrist so you could fuck yourself on his finger. Taehyung is just staring at you in awe, I mean sure he’s fingered you before but he’s never seen you like this. “Love it when you play with my pussy, daddy..”

“Fuuuck…” he can’t believe his eyes, his dream girl getting herself off on his fingers. This is everything he hoped for and more. “You’re so fucking nasty.”

“Only for you, wanna be yours. Tell me I’m yours, please baby…please, spit on it again” you beg. And he happily obliges you, he wants nothing more than to get you off quickly so he can go to town on you.

He can feel you starting to squeeze his fingers so he moves his fingers quickly, curling them to rub your G-spot. “You’re mine, my good girl. Fuck, look at you cumming all over my fingers. So fucking hot.”

You come undone beneath him, moaning the most sinful music to his ears, “I’ll eat you out tomorrow.” he pulls you down to the edge of the bed, flipping you on your stomach, and ridding himself of his clothes. 

“I love pretty things,” he smacks your ass hard, causing you to yelp, before getting you into position. He rubs his tip into your wetness before tapping his dick against your clit.

“Lemme put it in your butt.” he prods your hole and you look back at him like he’s crazy. “Taehyung don’t even play with me like that. That’s something that needs preparation.”

He chuckles, “I’m kidding-fuck” he pushes into you,” fuck.. I’m kidding.”

Your head drops into the bed, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Taehyung was big, like you knew lanky men were usually big, but fuck that stretch made you see stars every time.

“Big..” is all you could get out before he starts thrusting into you. He smacks your ass again.

“But you can take it all, can't you.” you nod biting your lip. You feel like you’re on ecstasy every time you two have sex, he hits all the right spots. “Yeah I know you can because you’re my good little cockslut.” he smacks again before gripping your cheeks fucking you back into him.

“All this ass, and you expect me to not want to fuck it? You’re crazy, princess. Your pussy is literally like heroine, I’m fucking hooked.” he thrusts harder into you.

“Yeah! Just like that, fuck me Taehyung… Please fuck me!” you're a mess at this point, he’s completely ruined you.

And just like you asked, he gave you exactly what you were asking for, fucking into you like he was gonna die if he didn’t make you cum again. He enjoyed knowing he made you feel so good, he thrived on it. “Gonna cum…”

“In me.. C-cum in me.” you stutter out, “oh fuck. Oh fuck!”

You cum around him, squeezing him like a vice grip, and he follows suit. You can feel him filling you up, it almost makes you cum again. You loved the warmth of it, but you loved him fucking it out of you even more. Reveled in the feeling of it running down your pussy and thighs. 

When he was done, he collapsed next to you on the bed. Trying but failing to catch his breath. “Can we do it like that again later? That was sexy.” you hum in compliance, the feeling of sleep creeping its way through your veins. And like the gentleman he is, he gets up to get something to clean you up with. 

He returns with a cloth, the coolness stinging your heated skin, but he’s gentle when he reaches your vulva, making sure not to rub your clit too hard but just enough to rid you of the cum that is now starting to dry. “Sorry, I’m trying to be gentle.” he squeaks out.

“I love you,” you say sleepily as he gets you into some pajama shorts. “So much.” 

“I love you too, baby girl.” he kisses your temple before leaving for the bathroom. Before you fall asleep, you hear the shower run. You smile in contentment. You could get used to having Taehyung around. You know now for sure that you won’t mind all the stares and gossip as long as he's by your side. You could make it through the day knowing you get to come home to a man who really loved you. So what? You found genuine happiness in your husband's brother; stranger things have happened. This was your grey area. This was the way life was meant to be, how it was supposed to be. You’re ready to move on as long as it’s with him. 

© @cumsuga 2016-2024. All rights reserved. — Unauthorized use or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating, and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited. DO NOT USE MY CONTENT FOR ANY AI PURPOSES WHAT SO EVER

credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers

[whalyrae]

THE OLD GUARD - CHAPTER 4

"We don’t get a say on how it ends, we never have. But we can control how we live."

Summary : You are a powerful witch, cursed and hurt through ages. Owner of your esoteric shop, you were resigned to live this lonely life when the powerful magic of soulmates and fate came to you.

Pairing : poly BTS x reader (she/her)

Genre : soulmate au, demons bts au, witch y/n au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, polyamory relationships

Status : In process

Word Count : 5k

Warnings : eventual smut, angst, mention of depression, death, suicide, past trauma, violence, blood, past (sexual) abuse, past torture, PTSD, scars, self harm, and more.

Tag list : @blackrockshooter780 @babyymeme @starrlo0ver @suckerforv @mushroom-main @m1sss1mp @prettydancingdamzel @i-have-no-life-charlie @avadakadabra93 @veronawrites @kawaiikpoplover268 @didi-9310 @ghostlyworld @carolinexkpop @gooooomz @00ihatesnaku

A/N : After months of struggling with life, health, mental health issues... I can FINALLY POST AGAIN !! This chapter was really hard to write (I cried a little at the end ngl :D), I have constant writer block, constant impostor syndrome... I have the perfectionnism trait but in a toxic way really TT.TT Don't hesitate to like and reblog !! Also don't be afraid to leave a little comment or if you have any questions, here or in anon in my inbox !! they are really really welcomed, I love reading all your impressions and thoughts !!

Also thank you so much !! I was inactive for a very long time and I still got daily alerts with people who liked/kudos the chapters and the story :(( I can't express (yeah i'm an author and i can't express through words LOL) how much i'm grateful :(( ♥♥

ps : ah and sorry if there is any mistakes or anything it's almost 2:30am when I post this and I had an really emotionnal day fgkfdhlfk LOVE YALL MUAH ♥

Playlist link : The Old Guard Playlist

Masterlist | ao3 | wattpad

Chapter 3 // Chapter 5

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ 

She was wondering whether it would be better to ask Handong to stay with her. She had assured her that she would handle the situation and that Handong could go home. She knew that Gahyeon would need her at their coffee shop. 

However, now that she was in the living room of the seven boys, her soulmates’, after bringing one of them in an utterly unconscious state for a reason as unknown to them as it was to her, she was starting to regret this decision.

She couldn't understand what had happened with Jin the moment their eyes met. She couldn't say anything, the words were stuck in her throat as they stared at each other without a word. He parted his lips as if he wanted to say something, but just like her, nothing came out. 

He'd known she was his soul mate, of course he could feel it. Just like her. But had he recognized her? Did he know that the two of them were the firsts of their soulmate bond to meet, long before any of the other six were born? She couldn't be sure and didn't have time to find out. 

She had seen his features contort in pain, and without a word, he had collapsed. Luckily, Handong, who had seen them, was able to catch him in time, preventing him from falling to the ground and potentially injuring himself. 

Thanks to a spell that increased her strength tenfold, she could carry him without Handong’s help and any difficulty to the place where he lived with his mates. But she couldn't stop herself from hurrying, worried sick about him.

And that's where she is now. Jungkook helped her carry Jin to the living room, laying him on the sofa. While Yoongi woke up Taehyung and Namjoon. Jimin and Hoseok hurried to get a damp cloth on Jin's forehead. 

Namjoon and Taehyung stormed into the room, not hiding their surprise at seeing her there in total panic. 

However, they didn't ask any questions. Yoongi probably had to explain to them what happened and what was going on. 

She was standing in front of the sofa where Jin was lying, staring at the unconscious demon, his features distorted by pain. The sight of him was enough to make her stomach twist with soreness. 

"Hey, Noona..." Jimin's soft voice startled her. He was standing next to her, a comforting smile on his lips, "Everything’s going to be fine, don't worry..."

She didn't even know what to say. She didn't dare to look him in the eye, or any of the other boys. The guilt she'd been carrying around with her all these centuries was only getting stronger. 

She could hear voices behind her, probably the boys talking amongst themselves, or maybe they were trying to talk to her. She didn't know. Nothing around her was clear and precise. Her vision was blurring, her heart rate had been racing for a while and she was getting worse. 

She gasped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned round abruptly, facing Namjoon. The other boys were behind him, except for Yoongi who was next to Jin. 

"Hey," he greeted her with a gentle smile, "don't worry, everything's going to be fine,” he repeated Jimin’s words, “You're having a panic attack, I'm gonna help you, okay? Look at me."

His voice was soft and reassuring, it had a calming effect on her. His presence and warmth invaded her whole being, despite the anxiety attack she was having. 

She raised her eyes to meet him. Slowly, he tells her to take long, deep breaths. The first time, she breathed in and breathed out. Then a second time. And a third. 

Finally, her breathing returned to normal and her heart rate calmed. Seeing this, Namjoon gave her another smile, his fingers caressing her shoulder to calm her down. 

She had the strange impression that Namjoon probably possessed some kind of power capable of influencing the emotions, feelings, or even bodily reactions of the people he touched. Or maybe it was just the soulmate effect. 

"Feeling better?" 

"Yes... Thank you..." She replied with a small smile, seeing Hoseok approach her with a glass of water. "Thanks… and sorry, I wish we'd met under different circumstances..."

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm enchanted to meet you." 

Hoseok gave her a big, bright smile, which he succeeded in communicating to her. 

"I guess you guys have questions... and why did I show up with Jin in this state..."

She turned her attention to Jin. A wave of emotion suddenly washed over her as she realized that yes, he was there, in the same room as her. Her soul mate, the first to cross her way, the one she'd lost so suddenly and brutally centuries ago. A mixture of joy, sadness, guilt, and apprehension. 

"Do you know what's going on with him? And why is he in this condition?" Hoseok asked curiously, taking back the glass she'd just drunk in one long sip.

She bit her lower lip nervously. She had to tell them. Jin was their soulmate, just like he was hers.

But where to start?

"Come on, settle down here."

Yoongi straightened up to install her on the sofa, right next to Jin still unconscious. He'd then sat down next to her, while the others had taken seats in front of her, Namjoon and Hoseok on the low table, the maknae on the floor, clinging to each other.

The sight made her smile gently. But quickly the smile disappeared, replaced by apprehension. The words just wouldn't come out of her mouth. She knew that the moment had come, that once she'd told them everything, they'd hate her, reject her, and she’d lose the people she'd waited for all her life. 

"Noona... I can smell your fear all the way up here..." murmured Jimin, her eyes landing on him with surprise, "I'm an empath, by the way..." he explained with a shrug. 

"You don't have to be an empath to sense the fear radiating from her." chuckled Taehyung, teasing his companion who gave him a nudge on the shoulder, "Oops, sorry sweetie." 

"I know that from the moment you will know the whole story, you'll never want to hear from me again and I... argh that's the last thing I want," she admitted with a sad smile. The events of the last few days had paralyzed and overwhelmed her in some ways when it came to making the right decisions, and she was extremely upset with herself about this.  

"But I think I need to stop being scared, and selfish like I have been."

"We could never hate you," Hoseok said firmly, the others all giving signs of approval, "no matter what you've done." 

"Tell us all the horrible things you ever did, and let us love you anyway."

She recognized Namjoon's words. And she wasn’t surprised that he could quote Edgard Allan Poe, considering the circumstances of their first meeting. 

She couldn't deny that his words made her feel a tinge of comfort, because he was sincere, and every one of the other boys thought so. 

But they didn't know the whole story yet, so the chances of them thinking differently once they knew the whole truth were pretty high. 

"Where to start..." she took a long breath, "Jin... I met him before I even knew I was immortal. That was... uh... it seems like an eternity now, at the beginning of the 15th century."

She expected the exclamations of surprise that followed. 

"Wait... you mean you and Jin hyung..." Jungkook fell silent to think. 

"Why didn't he ever tell us about you then? And why have we never met you before ?” asked Yoongi skeptically, "You're our soulmate, his soulmate, how could he..."

"It's more complicated than it sounds..." she sighed, scratching the back of her head nervously. "I always knew I was a witch, my mother was a witch herself. I lived in a village in France during the period when the witch hunts began. It was also during this period that the Malleus Maleficarum was written." 

"I know this book," Hoseok sighed loudly as he shook his head, visibly annoyed, "this pile of garbage written in the late 15th century, which supposedly explains what a witch is, how to recognize one, interrogate them, and kill them."

"A load of bullshit yeah," Namjoon added with a chuckle, "I rarely waste my time reading books, but this one..."

"Tell me more !" Jimin exclaimed, "I read it too, well, not all of it, it's so... misogynistic and sexist!" 

"I... was one of the witches who had to go through all the torture and experimentation to write this... book or whatever it is. And most of the women who suffered all that crap were just ordinary mortals," she admitted with a little restraint. 

Horrified exclamations were heard from the maknaes and Hoseok. Yoongi and Namjoon closed their eyes for a few seconds, repressing the anger rising within them. 

Talking about these events did not leave her indifferent; these memories were among the worst she had ever known, and she still sometimes had nightmares about them. 

She remained silent for a few moments, before finally speaking up.

"That's not the point. Jin is the point. When I met him, he was a merchant passing through the village." A small smile appeared mechanically as she recalled this memory, "It was love at first sight. Of course, it was. He knew I was his soul mate, but I... I didn't even know what a soulmate was. He taught me. He taught me so many things..."

She turned her head towards Jin, still unconscious beside her. Oh, how she'd missed him. He hadn't changed a bit. 

"I immediately sensed that he wasn't human, just as he'd guessed that I was a witch. So much better in a way, it made things easier."

Delicately, she let her fingers stroke his forehead, brushing aside a few strands of hair, a tender smile on her face.

"He stayed in the village after that. I had taken over the bakery from my parents who had passed away from an illness a few months before I met him. We weren't the richest, but we were happy.”

The other boys couldn't contain the grins on their faces. Of course, this story was beautiful and worthy of a fairy tale. But they all knew that fairy tales were only fantasy stories. The reality was not nearly as lovely. 

"We lived... two years like that before everything went to hell."

She felt her hands tremble as she recalled what she was about to say.

Jimin sensed her nervousness, fear, and sadness. He left Taehyung and Jungkook's embrace to kneel before her, gently taking her hands in his for comfort.

Her gaze met his, and he offered her a gentle, reassuring smile. But she couldn't relax.

"The witch-hunt had begun and was becoming increasingly virulent and violent. The villagers had always thought it was strange that I hadn't suffered the same illness as my parents. I knew the rumors about Jin and I. But until now, we'd managed to keep a discreet, almost unnoticed presence. Until she came along."

Jimin squeezed her hands a little tighter as he felt her anger rising. 

"That demoness... came to our village, supposedly a cloth merchant. She fell for Jin. Was it love, or just a physical attraction? I don’t know. She succumbed to his devastating charm, like so many others before her." She chuckled, imitated by Yoongi. 

"As you would expect, Jin did nothing but ignore her and rebuff her advances. She didn't appreciate it at all… I learned later that this half-succubus demoness was renowned for finding prey and not letting go until she got what she wanted."

"A real nasty leech..." muttered Jungkook.

She noticed, however, that Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok expressions had changed. They had exchanged glances, seeming to pass a message to each other that she didn't understand. She decided to ignore it for the moment.

"Things got worse after she arrived, after Jin's rejection." She took a long breath. "She's the one who delivered me to the villagers, who exposed me. When we realized her plan, that she was planning to take Jin with her by force, by any means necessary, we wanted to run away. We'd go to Asia, or America, or wherever, to another continent, away from her, away from all of this. But that demoness had planned everything… We were young, unaware, and inexperienced, unlike her. I was barely 25, and he was 23... we just wanted to..."

She paused to calm herself, her heartbeat quickening again. Fortunately, Jimin was able to calm her, just by being here, his soft hands on hers, and she was grateful for that. She thanked him with a small smile, which he returned by stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. How could a demon be so angelic? 

"She specialized in memory magic..."

"Oh, I'm getting the hang of it..." muttered Namjoon, clenching his jaw.

"That bitch…" added Yoongi, making her huff.

"The villagers arrived in the middle of the night. We didn't see it coming. The demoness took advantage of this moment to attack Jin and cast a spell to erase me from his memory. The last time I saw Jin was before they put a bag over my head when he was unconscious in her arms." 

She lowered her head, and it was only when she felt Jimin's soft hand on her cheek that she noticed a tear had rolled down. 

She knew what the demoness had done, she knew that she'd erased Jin's memory, simply because she'd come to see her a few days later in the cell where she was being held captive. She explained everything, adding that she had offered to give her over to the Catholic order of Dominicans who wrote the Malleus Maleficarum. Which happened, the day after she came.

"When I finally escaped... After several months," she continued anyway, her voice trembling, "I looked for him, I... crossed France from top to bottom, and Europe... I looked for him everywhere, for many years... I never found him... until now..." 

Jimin's hands gripped hers a little tighter. She looked up at him, then at Yoongi, who had moved a little closer to her. Their shoulders were touching, his way of showing her some comfort. 

"So that's what happened..." muttered Namjoon, who had straightened up, his eyebrows furrowed, looking thoughtful.

"I hate humans..." blurted Jungkook as he hugged Taehyung tightly, his companion nodding in agreement. 

"And so, you thought we'd hate you, or I don't know what other nonsense might go through your little head when we know the truth?" Yoongi asked, holding back a laugh. “I don’t see why. I mean. It’s genuine, really.”

She arched her eyebrows in confusion. She thought that it seemed logical. She hadn't been able to protect Jin, she’d left him in the clutches of this demoness who'd probably done a thousand and one things to him that she didn't even want to think about. She hated herself for it.

"Hyung." Hoseok sighed, shaking his head, "stop."

"I failed to protect him, he's my soulmate and... I abandoned him and..."

"You didn't do any of that, Y/N."

Namjoon approached her. He took Jimin’s place and knelt down facing her, placing his hands on hers. 

"You're both the victims. You've met someone stronger, older, more experienced than you and she took advantage of it. You did everything you could. You did your best. You could never be blamed for that. We could never blame you for that. ."

"And Jin hyung won't blame you either, I'm sure," Hoseok added with a small smile. "When he will regain his memory, when we will give him back what that demoness stole from him, he'll be the happiest man in the world to have you back with him, with us. Believe me."

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to cry, not yet. 

Yoongi wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"It's over now," he whispered against her hair, "you're not alone anymore, you won't be. We've found you, you've found us." 

She couldn't hold back the few tears that had started to fall. How could she not break down, after all those centuries spent alone, thinking that her soulmates didn't want her, living with the guilt of having abandoned the only soulmate she’d ever known. 

They said the same things as her friends when she told them everything a few days ago.

None of them thought for a second that what happened to Jin and her was her fault. 

That feeling of being understood, of not being judged, of being accepted despite her past mistakes and scars.

That feeling of being in the presence of her soul-mates. 

She hadn't felt so at peace in what seemed like an eternity. Ever since Jin and her were separated.

°°°

"Noona... I have a few questions..."

"Here we go... the kid and his questions. Wait, I'll get you an aspirin and a big glass of water."

Jungkook glared at Yoongi, who had gotten up to go into the kitchen, a sneer on his lips.

Jin still hadn't woken up, but after a simple soothing spell and an herbal ointment she’d carefully placed on his temples, he was calmer, his body more relaxed.

She hadn't wanted to stay, not wanting to risk another attack if Jin woke up again. She learned through Yoongi about the migraine attacks he'd had since the day she met Namjoon. 

But the boys convinced her to stay. Namjoon and Hoseok had disappeared into their library, explaining that they were going to rummage through their books after a potential counter-spell. She wanted to go with them, but they insisted she stay with Jin and rest. 

It didn't take long to realize that Jin's seizures had a direct link with her.

As her soul mate, and despite his forced amnesia, his subconscious knew who she was. But it wasn't strong enough to bring back the memories the demoness had made disappear. Well, they hadn't disappeared, technically; she'd just hidden them very well somewhere in his psyche.

her scent on the clothes of Namjoon, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook had been the trigger for his subconscious to awaken, for his memories to struggle, to resurface and make Jin realize that yes, he did know her, as his intuition suggested. Yes, the person on the hill was her, yes every memory he thought belonged to someone else was his, and that the blurry person sharing them with him was none other than her.

The migraines, the loss of consciousness... were only signs that his body, mind, and soul were fighting to bring his memories back to where they belonged, to finally give him back what that demoness had stolen from him.

Or at least, that's what she’d come to conclude on hearing Yoongi's explanations.

"Ask me anything Jungkook, don't worry," she replied with a small smile, still sitting next to Jin. 

Yoongi had returned with some drinks (no aspirin, to Junkook's great relief) which he gave to the three maknae, still sitting opposite her, and to her, then sat down on the coffee table. 

"I was wondering, how did you find out that you were... immortal? I mean, what does that actually mean?"

She'd been expecting this question. Even for demons, immortality was still a rather vague concept. Nobody is immortal. Demons and vampires aged slowly, very much more slowly than human beings. But they weren't really immortal. 

"I died for the first time after the Malleus Maleficarum experiments, they sentenced me to be hanged to death, like all the witches at that time." 

She heard the exclamations of surprise from the maknaes. Yoongi remained silent, listening to her attentively. 

"I actually died that day. Except... except a few seconds after I took my last breath, my heart started beating again, and I came back to life."

None of them could believe their ears. Yoongi couldn't hide his surprise either, and she knew that a thousand questions were forming in their heads. 

"The second time was a few days later. At a bonfire." she continued, bowing her head, "The thing is… I feel all the pain, all the way to death. But for some reason, I live again and again. No matter how people try to kill me, no matter how I die, my wounds heal themselves, my organs reform." 

"Is it due to a spell?" finally asked Yoongi with his eyebrows furrowed, "or maybe some kind of witch, a hybrid with a phoenix..."

"I think you're going a bit far, hyung..." Taehyung chuckled slightly. 

"Hey, every proposition can be plausible, gamin."

She couldn't hold back a smile. It was obvious that they'd known each other for several decades now, that they'd been through a lot together. In a way, she was relieved that at least they hadn't had to go through all that alone. 

"I've never known the reason, or why I became like that," she finally continued, scratching the back of her neck, "I just am. Several times I thought I wouldn't get up this time from certain injuries, especially during the wars, but I always got up again. And just like that, more than 600 years have gone by." 

"Maybe it's just that fate didn't want you to die before you met your soul mates, who knows." Yoongi chuckled, shrugging. 

"If you think the universe and destiny are that kind of romantic..." Jungkook rolled his eyes.

"I'm tempted to believe that theory, it's much sweeter and more romantic than a curse put on you..." added Jimin with a little pout. 

"Sometimes things just happen, and they're impossible to explain. Even for creatures like us." she let go with a sigh and an embarrassed smile, "In any case, I've stopped looking and obsessing over it, I've just accepted it."

"Still, it must be painful to die, over and over again..." Jimin cocked his head to the side, feeling a wave of sadness as he thought of all she'd had to go through in her long life. As an empath, his reaction hardly surprised her.

If they knew. She didn't want to dwell on how some humans and even other creatures had taken advantage of her immortality to put her through the many horrors she’d experienced. This wasn't the time to talk about all those things.

“Our pretty soulmate is strong and courageous.” Yoongi finally broke the silence after a few seconds, “She’ll talk about it when she feels ready.” 

She bites her lips. She wanted to tell him to not call her pretty, but she felt that it was destined to fail. Yoongi seemed to be stubborn, maybe a little too much. 

“Do you guys think Joonie and Hobi will find something ?” Asked Jungkook, looking at Jin with worry. 

“For sure they will!” exclaimed Jimin, “Namjoon has books that are centuries old and unique, Hobi and him are the most intelligent demons ever! They’ll find something, surely!”

Jimin was passionate, his trust in his partners was blind and absolute. It was probably the same for all of them, she was sure about it, but Jimin was the one who showed it the most. 

“In the worst case…”

“Taehyung don’t start…” mumbled Jungkook, as the others sighed. 

“Let me finish! In the worst case, if we don’t find anything for Jin hyung, the solution is simple, very simple. We’ll create new memories, so many new happy memories all together!”

“If something was robbed from you without your consent, I think you'd like to have it back. Don't you think so?" Yoongi asked, his voice softened as he ruffled Taehyung’s hair who nodded with a sad pout.

He was just as worried as the others. There were so many unanswered questions, so many theories without explanations, so many problems without solutions yet.

“Namjoon and Hoseok always find a way to resolve problems, you should be used to it now.” 

That voice startled all of them. All five heads turned to the sofa beside Yoongi and her. To everyone's surprise, Jin was staring at them, or rather, at her. 

“Jin you’re awake !”

While the younger hurried towards their eldest, their faces racked with worry and relief, she reflexively stepped back.

She couldn't get very far, as her back bumped into a chest. She turned to face Yoongi, who placed his hands gently on her shoulders. He could read the stress and apprehension on her face. He couldn't imagine what she must be feeling right now, coming face to face with the one she'd lost centuries ago. 

"Where are you going like this?" he asked at first in a slightly teasing tone, before he leaned towards her and whispered, his voice softening, "Relax, everything's fine."

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. She'd spent her whole life looking for Jin and his other soulmates. Now they were all here. They were all in the same house. Everything still seemed so unreal that she didn’t know how to react or what to do. 

“Y/N ?”

She froze when she heard her name coming from Jin's lips. The others in the room gave him a surprised, confused look.

"Hyung, do you..."

"Remember her? Us? Unfortunately not, I don’t. But I heard you guys talking earlier, I wasn't totally unconscious. Thanks for the herbs, by the way, they really appeased my headache."

Her eyes widened at his words. Had he heard everything? Did he know the whole story, just like his other soulmates? In a way, she didn't know if she could handle a new explanation, which was a bit of a relief. On the other, she was concerned about his reaction, since he was the one who was affected. 

Jin straightened up to sit on the sofa, helped by Jimin. Yoongi was still standing behind her and gave her a gentle nudge, so that she didn't push herself aside. 

Jin's eyes landed on her. For a moment, he said nothing, just looked at her. She could feel the stress twisting her stomach, her legs going limp as cotton. She felt weaker than she had ever felt before. 

"Can you come a little closer, please?" 

Jin's voice was soft; she perceived no anger, no resentment on his side. He had kept his comforting aura, the same one she'd known so long ago, the same one that had reassured her countless times. 

She soon faced him and lowered herself slightly to be at the same height as him. 

How was someone supposed to react to finding their soulmate and youthful amnesiac love, lost in tragic circumstances centuries ago? 

She was torn between tears of joy and relief, but the guilt that consumed her seemed to be the most dominant feeling at the moment. 

"Jin I..."

She pursed her lips. Her voice trembled. For sure her body would betray her right now. 

Jin offered him a tender smile and shook his head. 

"Shht, it's all right." he murmured his words as he gently grasped her hand, "come here."

Without waiting for a response from her, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her. 

At first, her eyes widened in surprise. Quickly, she couldn't hold back any longer. Her arms followed and she hugged his waist as if her life depended on it. 

"I know what you're thinking," he began, his hand running gently through her hair, "I'm not angry or anything, how could I be? It was never your fault, nor mine." He paused before letting out a small sigh, she could hear all the pain, the sadness in his voice, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry you've had to carry this burden all alone all this time…"

Her whole body was shaking. His voice was shaking, as if he were holding back his own tears. She was fighting inside. She was fighting herself not to break down. But her traitorous body still betrayed her, and she couldn't even control her tears, which had started to flow uncontrollably. 

But his words. His words resonated not only in her heart but in her entire soul. She didn't know how much she needed to hear those words from him until now. 

"We'll find a way, and everything will go back to normal, it will be even better, I promise."

After all these years, these centuries of living with the weight of guilt, the weight of regret, the feeling that she'd never be able to meet her soul mates... she felt all this weight recede, making way for a quietude and lightness like she'd never known before. 

An eternity of torment, torture, and pain was finally over. 

It was as if she'd been deprived of oxygen all her life, until now, as if her breathing had been cut off, and now she was finally getting it back. 

And even though she was currently crying her heart out in Jin's arms, she could also feel Taehyung's warm, reassuring hand on her back, Jimin's, Jungkook's, and Yoongi's presence in the room, Namjoon's and Hoseok's, even if they weren't in the same room with them. 

Her cries were no longer cries of sadness. There was only relief, and it was becoming more of an evacuation from all that time of pain and isolation. 

All those smells, all that warmth that invaded her body at that moment, brought her calm and relief she'd never be able to explain, not even in a day, a year, ten years, or even a hundred years.

The reunion with Jin that day, feeling him against her again, as well as having the presence of her soul mates around them, those who were destined for her. After all this time where her heart and soul had been crying out for help, she had finally been heard. 

The darkness was finally disappearing, as the clouds and obscurity finally allowed the sun a chance to shine.

And despite her tears, she couldn't help smiling, because at last, she knew that happiness really was within her grasp.

[nolita-fairytale]

still into you | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader | chapter one: thursday

summary: you, syd, marcus, and carmy return to where it all began: new york city, prompting you and carmy to think a lot about your past... and your future together. (four part series | follow-up to 'make my heart surrender)

warnings: lots of swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, use of she/her pronouns, the lightest of smut, no use of y/n, second person pov

word count: 5k

listen to: 91 - bleachers | now i'm in it - haim | bewitched, bothered, and bewildered - ella fitzgerald (playlist here)

a/n: re: the poll -- yall really said 'let this man be happy please!' and i love that for us. if you voted for the other fic, i want to reassure you that i will be writing that one right after this! please enjoy all of the fluff and joy of this four chapter fic. i also feel like i potentially robbed us of a smut scene so... anyone interested in a bonus smut scene as a companion to this chapter?

Thursday 

“Alright, guys. We only have a few hours to get our day one prep done. I’ve outlined a schedule for today so that we’re as efficient as possible. Tomorrow’s gotta go smooth, alright?” Carmy instructs, laying out the day. 

You listen intently, marveling at your boyfriend in-action. He’s so fearless when he’s in his element, and being back in New York just seems to bring back all the memories of how you met. It’s like you’re twenty seven again, huddling up for a pre-shift meeting, led by recently-promoted wunderkind CDC, Carmen Berzatto. 

Only, you’re not twenty seven anymore and Carmy is the love of your life. 

“I’m gonna start with the mise for our beef dish, so Syd, can you get working on our signature veal stock? I think we should work with one in the pressure cooker just in case we get short on time and have a back up,” Carmy directs, an intense determination filling his eyes. 

He looks from Sydney to Marcus, before continuing his orders. 

“Marcus, I need you to start on the ice cream today, chef. I ordered us some liquid nitrogen if we need to make more on the fly, but I’d really prefer not to.”

And then it’s your turn, and boy, do you love to watch him work. You have to fight the corners of your lips from curling into a broad grin because you know now is not the time. 

“And lastly, I’m gonna have you work on the pasta. My goal is for us to get all of the agnolotti assembled today, so I’ll jump in when I wrap up with my mise to help you with that, yeah?”

“Heard,” the three of you answer in unison. 

Everyone’s got their game faces on because this is a big deal. 

The biggest, actually. 

Representing The Bear at the James Beard House is more than a big deal – it’s an honor. Only a handful of chefs get invited to cook here per year, and after a little fancy footwork in terms of scheduling, the four of you were finally able to agree on a date with the famous organization. You’re more than elated to be a part of the team, even if you aren’t working at The Bear anymore. 

The four of you quickly busy yourselves with setting up your stations. You only have a few hours to accomplish a whole lot of prep, and the pressure sits heavily on each of your shoulders. Tickets to the dinner had sold out within the first hour, which, after all the press, accolades, and media attention the restaurant had earned over the last few years, hadn’t been a huge surprise.

“Think you can keep up, chef? Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ rusty on me,” Marcus quips, already starting the playful trash talking early.

You let out a laugh, before challenging him in jest.

“Damn, Marcus. Hasn’t been that long. Bet I can still kick your ass on a ‘beat the clock’ mise, chef.”

“Oooooh. Shots fired,” Sydney calls out, joining in on your friendly banter.

“Challenge accepted,” Marcus shoots back, almost instantly. 

And then you’re scrambling to get as many prep containers and a kitchen scale, as you race your friend and mentee, all in good fun. 

You’ve missed this. 

It’s only been a few months since you started your new job – a culinary education director at a startup intent on building more sustainable food systems. While your heart would always be at the restaurant, you’d been ready to take on new challenges. The salary pay and benefits didn’t hurt either. You were happy taking a grown-up job, craving a little more stability and normalcy – and so that you and Carmy could stop paying out the ass for health insurance. Besides, you were still working with food. It just looked… well, a lotta different these days. 

You’ve missed the fast pace of the kitchen, your people, and Carmy’s desire for excellence, but it’s not like those things have left your life either. You still have them. 

After you’d left the restaurant, Marcus had taken over as the head pastry chef. In the last few months, you’ve watched him mentor and inspire a new group of wide-eyed, green, chefs-in-the-making, which had made you prouder than you’d ever have the words for. 

You can smell the sharp-allium scent of onions, as Syd quarters them for her stock, and while you have several cartons of eggs and 00 flour, Marcus has gathered all the milk that you’d just purchased for today’s prep.

“Behind,” Carmy says. He passes you by with a few 5 qt storage containers stacked, as he hugs them to his body with one arm. 

You feel his other hand place the gentlest touch on the small of your back as he leans in and whispers in your ear, “It’s good to have you back, chef.” 

You smile, turning your head just enough to lean back to look at him. 

“It’s good to be back, chef.” 

He presses the gentlest, slow kiss to your lips, and it feels like time stops for a moment. As he pulls away from you, there’s a small smirk on his face as Sydney shouts, “Oh get a room, you two!” 

“If we had the time…” he murmurs quietly, planting one more soft peck onto your lips. His face is still only inches away from yours. You giggle in response, the tender moment filling your heart with warmth. 

“Speaking of time… I just bought Marcus a head start,” Carmy teases, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize what he’s doing. 

You pull away from him, your head snapping towards Marcus’ direction to see that he’s already filled a 5 qt container to its capacity with one portion of the milk. 

“Seriously? Damn it, Carmy!” you cry out, shaking your head. “This is sabotage!”

You hear Marcus laugh in the background and as Carmy walks away with a cheeky feeling of accomplishment. You shake your head in disbelief. 

“Sorry, babe. You can deal with a little hazing, yeah? Since you’ve been gone for so long. Gotta give my guy a head start. ‘S only fair.” 

“You’re such a dick,” you scowl, scrambling to catch up. 

Oh it is so on. 

*

By the time you’re done with your day one prep, the four of you head to the hotel. Luckily, it’s only a five minute walk away, and you’re grateful that the James Beard Foundation chose to partner with one so close. The four of you pull your suitcases down the streets of Greenwich Village, before arriving at the luxurious, vintage-inspired hotel. 

You’re eager to get up to your room, as you haven’t had a shower, nor a time to take a break since you all arrived. 

“Woah…” Carmy says, his brilliant blue eyes scanning the high end hotel room. “You sure we can afford this?” 

You chuckle, “I think uh… they have a partnership with the James Beard Foundation, which is the only way I can answer your question with a ‘yes’ without having to tell you that we have to sell an arm, a leg, and our first born.” 

He shoots a half smile in your direction before letting out a whistle as he looks around. The floor to ceiling windows feel way outside of anything you could afford, as Carmy spots the French doors that lead right out onto a terrace. As you continue to explore the rest of the room, you spot a huge tub in the bathroom – something you’re very eager to take advantage of. 

“Power nap?” you ask Carmy, setting down your suitcase in the middle of the room. 

You’ll put your things away later.

“Fuck yeah,” he agrees eagerly.

You’ve barely put your book bag down before you’re both stripping off your jeans and climbing into the perfectly made hotel bed. After spending the morning traveling, you, Sydney, Marcus, and Carmy had gotten off the plane at JFK and gone straight to the James Beard House in Greenwich. Not only had Carmy been antsy to see the kitchen and get a head start on prep, you hadn’t been able to check into your hotel till this afternoon. You’re both spent, and you know that Carmy’s been running himself ragged preparing for this once in a lifetime opportunity. He hasn’t been sleeping all that well either– his thoughts consumed with nailing down the perfect menu, while paralyzed with indecision.

His quest for perfection had made him irritable over the last few days. You could see that the pressure was getting to him. His appetite was down, he was picking fights with you about small, unnecessary things at home, and pushing Sydney (sometimes a little too hard) at the restaurant. 

But today, he seems a little more in control of his feelings, and it puts him a little more at ease now that you’re finally in New York. He knows he’s been driving you crazy all week, and now that you’re all here, he’s hoping he can relax a little. 

Now that you’re here, in the city. 

Now that the dinner is only a day and a half away. 

You’re hoping he’ll slow down at some point too – give himself a little time to enjoy how big of an accomplishment this is. At least by the end of the weekend. Frankly, you’re glad you’ll have Saturday to enjoy the city without any pressure. 

For all of your sakes. 

You’re surprised that Carmy falls asleep with you during your late afternoon nap. He’s been so wired, so high strung lately, but you’ve just been waiting for him to come back down. Now that it seems like he is, there’s no way in hell you’re going to wake him up. You’re curled up together when you wake, your back pressed against his chest, his arms enveloping you. It feels almost impossible to pry yourself out of his arms without waking him up, but his deep slumber confirms your suspicions and you’re more than willing to let him continue sleeping. It takes a few tries to slip out of his embrace, but you do, and it’s off to the bathroom to get ready for dinner.

You try to make as little noise as possible, but by the time you're out of the shower, and your hair has been blown dry, Carmy’s up. You can hear the hotel TV on as you exit the bathroom and see he’s put his jeans back on. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. You notice that the dark circles under his eyes that have accumulated over the years seem to sit heavier this week, as his eyes flicker over towards you.

“Damn, my girl’s got style,” he compliments, checking out your all black-ensemble. “We really are back in New York, huh?”

You nod, grinning at his sweet compliment, as you sit down to slip your white sneakers on. 

“You meetin’ up with Liz and Maya tonight?” he asks you. 

“Yeah. Syd’s gonna join for a bit before her thing. She should uh… be here any minute, actually.” You begin tying up the shoelaces of one of your shoes, before slipping the other one on. 

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Nah I-, I'll see ‘em tomorrow right? But tell ‘em I say ‘hello’.”

“Of course. I think they’re both really looking forward to seeing you.”

You check the time on your phone making sure you have enough time, before you make your way to where Carmy sits on the edge of the bed. 

“What’re you going to do tonight?” you ask, curiously, stopping so that your body is right in front of his. 

“Well Marcus is staging at per se so… I’ll probably just hang out. Order room service or pick up a sandwich across the street. I wanna run through all this shit so tomorrow goes as well as it can,” Carmy answers, waving his notebook at you. 

He’s like a man possessed, but it’s one of the many reasons you love him. You pull the notebook out of his hands tossing it somewhere on the bed behind you. You place your knees on each side of his hips, before settling down on top of him. 

“Think you can relax a little tonight?”

He pulls you in, his arms moving over your hips. Carmy leans in, placing a small kiss against your glossy lips. 

“Think you can help me with that?”

You giggle in response, twisting your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I think… that could be arranged.”

Before anything too spicy can happen, there’s a knock at the door and you know it’s Syd. Carmy groans as you pull away, falling back onto the bed with a sigh of defeat. You climb off of him, heading to answer the door. 

“Hey, you ready?” Sydney asks, as you greet her. 

“Yeah, let me just grab my phone,” you reply, stepping aside to let her in. 

As she enters the hotel room, Carmy’s sitting up. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he leans over, resting his forearms on his legs as he runs a hand through his messy curls. 

Sydney looks from you to a somewhat pouty Carmy, as if she knows she interrupted something. 

“Staying in tonight, Carm?” she asks him, as you gather your things. 

“Yeah,” he grumbles, and you can’t help but notice how tired he looks. 

Sydney rolls her eyes in response, “Don’t worry. I’ll have her back by nine.”

“Alright, I’m ready,” you say with a smile as you address Sydney. 

“You guys have fun,” Carmy nods, with a half assed wave.

“Don’t work too hard, boss,” Sydney adds, as the two of you turn to leave. “Oh and Carmy. You’ve got a little…” She gestures towards the lipstick you’ve left on his face. 

You laugh in response, and as you close the door, Carmy can hear Sydney’s ‘oh my god, you two are like rabbits’ comment in the distance. 

Carmy allows himself to fall back on the bed, reaching above his head to grab his notebook again. He’s honestly grateful to have a night to himself. He’s never been much for going out, or big social events, so having a night in feels like a good kind of calm before the storm – especially because the next few days will be full of social interactions. He’d always found New York City a little overstimulating. 

Between the dinner and the reception on Saturday, Carmy felt like he was collapsing under the enormous pressure – his only out being excellence. It’s not just the fact that being invited to cook at the James Beard house was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but there’s important business to announce here too. And then there’s the social aspect of it all, and he can’t help but feel like there are high expectations: from the food world, his reputation, your old friends from New York. And he wants to make everyone happy – he wants to impress them all. 

Something about being back here, and being back here with you, has him caught up in his head about it all. This is where you’d met. It’s also where he’d been at his lowest – right before Mikey died. So much has changed, and Carmy feels too large for his old battlefield.

Because that’s what it had been for him: a battlefield. 

A battle for his mental health, to rise to the top of the New York City fine dining scene, fighting with his feelings for you. 

Over the last two years, he had learned that he didn’t have to fight every single damn day. Some days he could just… be – be himself, whatever the fuck that meant, be a friend, and be with you. It felt strange – familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Being back here makes him somehow feel like the total loser he was six years ago when he first arrived in NYC… and a completely different person at the same time. 

While he was over the moon when he got the call from the James Beard Foundation, he also couldn’t fight this uncomfortable feeling that’s been sitting in his stomach all week long. Carmy had never quite been able to come to terms with the whole ‘celebrity’ aspect of the food world. He knew what he could do in the kitchen. That was unquestionable. But the rest of it – the networking, the celebrity chef circles – was the part he felt most unsure about.

Ever since Sydney’s Rising Star win, he’d let her take center stage with her rising visibility in the culinary world. Actually, he’d been grateful that she was so good at it – that it seemed like she enjoyed the part of the job he hated. There was someone to take the pressure off of him – someone who thrived in front of the camera so that he didn’t have to. But he knows at some point this weekend, he’ll have to face the music. 

There were big changes coming to The Bear. 

*

It didn’t take long after the initial introductions for your friends to fawn over Sydney. They were more than happy to meet your friend they’d heard all about, and the incredible chef who was shaking up the Chicago food scene. 

“Well I’m glad to hear that some things have changed and that working with Carmy’s not a total nightmare any longer-?” Liz concludes your conversation about the restaurant, earning an eye roll from Maya and a laugh from both you and Sydney.

“Oh no it’s still tough sometimes,” Sydney says back. “He has his days. We all do.”

“Liz!” you protest, in regards to the Carmy-bashing.

“What?! You didn’t have to work directly under him back then!” she defends herself, before clarifying with Sydney. “And in his defense, Sydney, it was really our exec chef who was the real nightmare.”

“Oh she works directly under him, alright,” Maya jokes, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“And sometimes on top of him, and also-,” you quip back, ready to play along.

“Oh my god, you’re out of control and I am sick of you!” Sydney exclaims with a laugh in reference to your crass comment.

“So tell us more about the new restaurant,” Maya prompts, refocusing the conversation back to Sydney’s previous reveal.

Sydney tells your friends about The Bear’s plans to expand, and shares ideas she has that even you haven’t heard from Carmy yet. As she wraps up her story, she realizes what time it is, meaning that she’s gotta head uptown soon. She really only was supposed to stay for a glass of wine, but meeting your friends has been so fun that she’s lost track of time. 

“Shit. I have to head out,” she says. “But I’ve really loved meeting you guys. You’re coming to the dinner tomorrow night, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Absolutely.”

“And the reception!” you add gleefully, so glad you get to see your best friends three days in a row. 

“It’s been really great meeting you, Sydney,” Liz says, shooting you a look of approval. She squeezes your hand under the table momentarily, before saying, “Thanks for taking care of our girl. She speaks so highly of you.”

“Where are you off to next?” Maya asks, excitedly. 

“Syd’s got dinner plans,” you answer, waiting for Sydney to provide more detail.

“Yeah, I uh-, I got invited to one of the To Be Hosted events and it just worked out that we’d be in town for this the same weekend,” Sydney replies, a glimmer of excitement flashing through her eyes as she shares.

“Damn, you got invited to a supper club?” Liz marvels. “Okay!”

“Yeah because she’s a rockstar,” you cheer your friend on, saying it so matter of factly that even a stranger would believe you. 

You all say your goodbyes to Sydney before ordering food. It feels so good to be back in the city, back here with some of your best friends. Maya and Liz had been the friends that held you up, and you them, when you lived here. While you had met Liz at your last job, a sous chef under Carmy’s leadership, Maya worked in fashion and the two of you had become fast friends after meeting through an ex-boyfriend. Once you introduced the two of them to each other, the three of you had been inseparable ever since. 

They had always been your biggest cheerleaders – especially when it came to you and Carmy.

“She’s great,” Maya says, in reference to Sydney. 

“Right? I’m so excited for her. This is a huge deal: create her own menu, a chance to run kitchen without Carmy…” you agree, feeling deep satisfaction over the amazing people you have in your life. “We’re announcing the big news at the dinner tomorrow.”

“Speaking of, how is our favorite guy? What’s he up to tonight?” Maya asks, guiding the conversation back to Carmy. 

“I told him he could come but I think he wanted to stay in tonight. I think he needs some time to decompress. He’s been pretty high strung all week,” you answer. 

“Carmy? High strung?” Liz asks back sarcastically, earning a laugh from you.  “I’m kidding! I really am looking forward to seeing him tomorrow. 

Maya shakes her head, before taking a sip of her glass of wine. She’s always adored Carmy, but knows that Liz has a different relationship with him, having worked as a line cook. 

“You guys are… getting serious, huh?” Liz asks, glancing over at you. 

“Um.. I think those two were married after their first coffee date,” Maya adds. 

“It was not a date!” you insist, shooting her a look. 

Liz lets out an unconvinced laugh, and you accept defeat because you know they’ve always been right about you and Carmy. 

“Maya, don’t forget. Our girl is and has always been the Queen of Denial,” Liz adds, winking in your direction. 

“Oh ha-ha. You guys are so funny,” you reply dryly. You nod, thinking about you and Carmy’s relationship over the last few years. “Yeah uh… it’ll be three years in the Fall so… you could say it’s getting pretty serious.”

Your friends are beaming back at you in response to your admission, and while you’d love to spend all night talking about how head over heels you are for Carmy, you’re also kind of ready to shift the attention off of you and your relationship. 

“Enough about me. What’s going on with you guys?” you change the subject. 

It feels so good to catch up with your girl friends. You all agree to make it an early night. While Maya’s husband had agreed to put their kid to bed, she wants to make it home in time anyways. Liz has a date later, and before you know it, you’ve wrapped up dinner and are walking back to your hotel. You send Carmy a quick text, because you’re only a few blocks away. 

You: On the way back. 

New York City has always been so inspiring to you. The city itself feels alive – like there’s an electric undercurrent that always makes you feel so full. There’s never a dull moment, and it feels as if the potential for a wild adventure is always around the corner. It’s also the place that you and Carmy met, all those years ago. It’s funny. The version of you that met him six years ago never could’ve predicted this: that you’d actually get to be here together, after almost three years of loving each other fiercely. 

Your friends were and always have been right about you. 

Back then, you were Queen of Denial and even then, Carmy had been your king. 

But you’re here now: in the city you met in, stupidly in love with the man you’d met six years ago who had seemed terrified to merely have a conversation with you. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand, interrupting your trip down memory lane, as you peek at the text you just received. 

Carmy: Went out for a walk and a smoke. 

You type back a quick, yet short reply. 

You: Love you. 

When you return to the hotel room, you enjoy the quiet of the evening. It still feels like spring in NYC, so you open a window because it just feels too damn good outside. No wonder he’d gone for a walk. You kick your shoes off, placing them gently by the door, before stripping off your jacket and heading into the bathroom. 

As you pull your hair up and out of your face, piling it into one conglomerate on top of your head, you eye the large bathtub you’d admired earlier.  Not only are you in need of a relaxing soak, but you’re hoping you can persuade Carmy to join you – maybe even help him destress a little. You don’t think twice about it, as you strip off all of your clothes, sliding on one of the fluffy robes that the hotel has provided. You flip on the hot water, the sound of rumbling water against tile hitting your ears.

There’s a bath soak in a glass jar that you find on the bathroom counter, before adding it to the increasingly hot water. While it looks like a mixture of some kind of soak and epsom salt, large bubbles begin to form underneath the rapid stream of the faucet, and you inhale deeply. 

Lavender. Vanilla. Chamomile, maybe?

The smell puts you at ease and you can feel your shoulders melting away from your ears. 

It’s not long before Carmy returns, the bathtub is almost at its capacity and the bath soak that you put in the hot water has bubbled up and blossomed into large, sudsy configurations. You’ve put on a jazz playlist, the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald filling the small space as you hum along. 

“Babe?” Carmy calls out to you, as you hear the front door close behind him. 

“I’m in here,” you call to him, turning the volume of your phone down a few levels. . 

You hear a shuffle of shoes, before he’s peeking around the door frame, his eyes lighting up as soon as he sees you. He knows it’s silly. It’s not like he’s been able to be very present over the last week, and it begins to dawn on him that he’s missed you.

“How was your walk?” you ask softly. 

“Good.”

He looks around the bathroom, the air thick with humidity from the hot water. You turn the faucet off, as you’ve now filled the tub to its capacity.

“You look comfy.”

“I am. It’s a very comfy robe.”

You wait a beat before preparing your ask.

“Big tub,” you entice him, gesturing towards the bubble bath that awaits you. 

“Yeah?” he asks, a half smile on the edges of his lips as he takes a step towards you. 

“Big enough for two,” you nod, making your case. 

It’s all the convincing he needs. You’re removing your robe, leaving your bare body on display for him to see, and soon enough, he’s stripping down and climbing into the bathtub with you. You share an awkward laugh as the two of you clumsily figure out how to position yourselves for optimal comfort. Your back is pressed against his chest, and you’re truly in awe of the large bathtub that somehow holds the both of you.

It becomes progressively easier for Carmy to relax. Between the hot water, and your naked body pressed against his, thoughts and worries about tomorrow begin to slip away. The two of you enjoy the quiet intimacy between you, the soft sounds of your favorite jazz standards, and Carmy’s lazily dragging his fingertips across any bit of exposed skin that he can.

You lean your head back against his shoulder, and Carmy buries his face in the crevice where your neck and shoulders meet. 

“Why don’t we do this more often?” he asks, in between leaving a few slow-paced, soft kisses across your shoulders. 

“Hm?” you hum in response. From the way his mouth and hands move across your body, and the silky feeling of the hot water, you barely have a thought left in your head.

“This whole… bath thing,” he clarifies, exhaling a deep sigh. 

This may be the most relaxed he’s felt all week and he likes that you seem to be enjoying this too.  

“Probably because we have a tub that I can only assume was built for a small show dog,” you joke. 

He laughs dryly. 

“Fair enough.”

Carmy waits a beat before speaking again, enjoying how his mind has quieted for the first time in days.

“Let’s put it on the list… for when we’re ready to move to a new place,” he suggests, quietly. 

“Somewhere with a big tub?” you ask, only sort of surprised by his request. 

“Yeah.”

You turn your head to look at him, as Carmy presses a searing kiss to your lips. You feel his hand snake between your legs and you begin to understand exactly why he’s enjoying this whole bath thing. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this…” he whispers against your lips. “Think you maybe want to get out of this tub…”

Another kiss.

“… dry off…”

You slide your tongue against his as his fingertips move higher up your inner thigh, earning a hiss of pleasure from you. 

“…not put our clothes back on?”

And then he’s swallowing your moans in his mouth, as he continues his exploration. Your head is spinning, and it’s not just the hot water that makes you feel as if your soul was set aflame.

“Yes.”

*

The next morning, you wake up alone. On the bedside table there’s a note in Carmy’s scratchy handwriting that reads:

Couldn’t sleep. Went to Chelsea Market. Love you.

You let out a frustrated sigh. Last night had been incredible but you also knew it’d be back to the grind today. While you’re excited for him – and for tonight – you’re also kind of ready for this to be over. You’re ready to have your boyfriend back.

read: bonus smut scene | chapter two

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

The Bite

pairing: steve harrington x female byers!reader

WC: 5K

warning: cursing, vomit mention, steve being hard on himself. yall im terrible at these.

summary: are we out of the woods?

A/N: ALL PARTS UNDER THE TAG - The Byers Harrington Story-

ONE MORE CHAPTER THIS SEASON!!!!!!

@alecmores​ i threaten them sometimes ( dont worry)

series masterlist / steve harrington

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“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Realizing that your group wouldn’t be able to outrun the Russians, Dustin snagged one of their transport cars. And with you being a little inebriated, you were thrown in the back with Robin and Steve giggling their asses off while Dustin drove shakily with Erica in the passenger seat.

“Jesus, slow down!” Steve yelled as he bumped into the paneling, a hand keeping him upright. You leaned your head against his shoulder with your eyes closed trying to quell the hurricane storming your head.

“Yeah, what is this, like, the Indy 500?” Robin slurred. “It’s the Indy 300,” Steve corrected. Though Robin was insisting she was correct, “No dingus, it’s 500!” “It’s 300!”

“Shut up!” A harsh snap of your mouth. They were quiet for a moment and you were ready to apologize when Robin said, “Let’s say a million.” And they were back to laughing as idiots.

You weren’t sure how fast Dustin was driving this tiny truck or what its top speed could hit, but you heard Erica yell his name and suddenly the car lurched forward flinging you into Steve and some of the car. Everyone groaned from the sudden impact. “You guys alright back there?” Dustin turned in his seat as he asked. More groaning was his answer.

The door opened with Erica and Dustin waving their arms. “Come on. We gotta go, now.” “Come on! Get out!” “Let’s go!”

“Geez! Can we stop yelling?” Pushing yourself up and grabbing at Steve and Robin to pull them forward. “A little help would be nice.” Irritated that they were yelling but not helping with dragging them out.

You stumbled on your feet, Steve tripping to the ground after you and Robin leaning against the truck. You pulled Steve up and threw one arm over your shoulder to help carry some of his weight. “This sucks,” He whined. “I know, baby. I know.” Arm wrapped behind his waist and moved into the elevator.

Once everyone was in, Dustin swiped the keycard and pressed the buttons. The door closed and hummed to life as it hit speed going up. Steve and Robin were acting like unsupervised children, whooping and hollering giddy. Steve standing on a red moving cart with Robin pushing it side to side. “Hey! You look like you’re surfing!” “Surfing! Yeah!”

You stood beside Erica as both of you plus Dustin just watched them. “They seem drunk?” Erica noted. “Why would they be drunk? (Y/n)’s not drunk and she was in the same room as them.” You stayed quiet. You didn’t feel drunk, you were feeling high and you can tell it was slowly wearing off. 

You stepped forward when Robin jerked the cart the wrong way and Steve fell off causing him to roll into some boxes. She laughed and yelled, “Wipeout!” And giggled like a maniac.

Both you and Dustin rush to Steve’s aid. You check over his head for any bumps, smoothing his hair back and Dustin rests his palm on his sweaty skin. “He’s burning up.” “You’re burning up,” Steve mimics.

“Hold him down.” “What?” Confused by Dustin’s request. “Hold him down!” He repeated as his fingers moved to Steve’s eye. “One sec, one sec, one sec. Steve, Steve.” You held his wrist down, but he still was a lot stronger than you, trying to push away your grip. “God, no.” 

“Stevie, it’s- it’s okay.” Hoping to calm him down. He still wiggled against your hold as Dustin peeled his lids apart and you saw how blow his pupil was. “His pupil is super dilated,” Reporting the issue to Erica. “Maybe he’s drugged.”

You released his wrist to hold his cheeks. “Stevie-” He booped the tip of your nose with a finger, lips pulled into a wide smile. He did the same to Dustin as he snapped his finger at attention. “Steve, are you drugged?” Steve scoffed, “How many times, dad? I don’t do drugs. It’s only marijuana.” Poking a finger at Dustin’s cheek.

“This isn’t funny, okay? I need to know what they did to you.” Dustin continued trying to get a straight answer. Steve only chuckled and booped his nose again, head rolling around in your hold. His red eyes stared at you before mumbling, “Pretty.”

“(Y/n), what did they give to them? To you?” Seeing as your coherent understanding of the severity of the situation. The pad of your thumb rubbed delicately at the swollen skin of Steve’s eye, “They- They injected us with- with something. All the same thing, but I- I feel different.”

“Are they gonna die on us?”

“We all die, my strange little child friend.” You looked over your shoulder to Robin who sat down and twirled her hair. Her bleary bloodshot eyes and dazed smile, followed by her ominous words brought shivers up your spine. “It’s just a matter of how… and when.”

Furrowed brows pointed to Dustin. “They’re gonna be looking for us up there, so I need you to tell me where you parked your car.” He turned to Steve looking for an answer.

“Oh, can we make a pit stop at the food court?” “I would kill for a hot dog on the stick.” Robin leaned her head back with her statement. Steve just whistled in agreement.

“Once we are safe, all the hot dogs on the sticks you want. Just tell us where the car is parked, Stevie.” Hoping his brain would start functioning correctly instead of shorting out. His puppy dog eyes rounded on you, and you knew that was a sign he did something bad.

“Uh-oh.” He sounded like a child. “Uh-oh?” Dustin leaned in.

“The car’s off the board. They took the keys. The Russians, they took the keys.” Hands grabbing at his empty short pockets. “Like, forever ago.” His bad news was punctuated with more squeaky laughter. “That’s a bummer, right?”

You closed your eyes and dropped your head just a bit. Of course, they took his keys. Clammy fingers tingle your cheeks and brows, sweeping to your ears. Heading tilting up just a bit to look through your lashes and see Steve pouting at you. His long fingers played with the loose, sweaty front pieces of your hair while you tucked some of his light parts behind his ear.

“Are you mad?” A deep and quiet inquiry. You were quiet, thinking over which answer is best for this moment. Your thumb scratched over the growing stubble from his last shave as you looked back to his swollen and bloodshot eye. It made you sting with the knowing sign of tears, you were mad, you had a right to be mad when no one wanted to listen to any of your thoughts about this whole thing. But right now, wasn’t the time to blow up in his face again, you were mad and will wait to have a collected conversation when the both of you are home.

So you tucked your bottom lip under your top teeth as you shook your head, “No, no.” Stroking more of his hair, “I’m not mad, just tired.” Steve stared at you, his hands had slipped to sit on your thighs and he squeezed just a bit. He didn’t look too convinced, but it didn’t matter.

“Come on,” Letting go of his face to grab his hands, “Let’s get up. Almost there.” You had to tug most of his heavyweight forward. He was more stable on his feet now, swaying for just a moment but then signing a thumbs up with a dopey smile.

“Okay, when we get out there we need to figure out a plan home.” Dustin stood in front of the door and he had his hands sitting on his hips. “(Y/n), why don’t you call your house and see if anyone’s there? Since no one was answering my transmission…”

“We were underground, there was no signal where the elevator was. Besides you nerds always have those things on, it gets annoying.” Erica stated to Dustin. He just rolled his eyes.

The elevator came to a stop with a jolt then the doors opened. You felt like a giant weight leaving your shoulders knowing you were back in a public space, out in the open air. Dustin and Erica walked forward and they were quiet, as were you. Robin and Steve were the last to exit and their voices filled the night.

“Holy shit!” Steve exclaimed. “Oh, my God, that tastes so good. Ah!” You turned around just as Robin stuck her tongue out. “Steve, can you taste the air?” They were behaving like children experiencing their first winter snowfall. “I taste it! I taste it!”

You ignored their antics when you heard the gate opening and you saw two guards, dressed black grabbing their guns. Dustin and Erica backtracked for Steve and Robin while you ran to open the door. “Okay, okay, okay! Woo!” Robin is still high off her ass while she and Erica run into the service tunnel. “Why are we running?” Steve asked Dustin as they passed you. You yanked the door shut as you followed behind, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum flooring.

“Where are we going?” Huffing breaths hoping Dustin had a plan since he knew this space better than you.

You didn’t get an answer until Dustin stopped at one door and slowly opened it. Robin and Steve swayed on their feet and giggled quietly. You saw Dustin look left to right before calling the all-clear. One by one in a line. Dustin, Erica, Robin, and Steve with you last sticking close to the dark purple walls, rushing over the patterned carpet. Rounding a corner and seeing the Back to the Future poster, you knew now. Dustin led you to the movies, a crowded spot to hide in.

“Steve- Steve, no that’s! Ugh!” Trying to push your boyfriend along as he scrambled to grab a trashed bag of popcorn. He just hummed pleasantly.

Dustin threw the double doors open wide and you were greeted by the voices of Doc and Marty. “Oh! What did I tell you?! Eighty-eight miles per hour!” Dustin led your group to the front row where there were a few open spots.

He pointed a stern finger at Robin and Steve, “You two sit here.” They complained as they slumped down. “Dude, these seats blow,” Steve spoke around his trash food. “Then don’t watch the movie.” You could tell he was getting tired of babysitting them, a taste of his own medicine.

“We wanna watch it,” Robin argued. “Then watch it!” Dustin raised his voice loudly causing a man in the row behind to shush them, Robin and Steve shushing back.

“Whatever you do, don’t…go…anywhere.” Making sure they got the message. Steve teased back, “Fine, dad.” And Robin snickered at the joke. Dustin didn’t say another word as he and Erica crouched passed people to the other end of the row.

Not thinking anyone was planning to leave during the movie, you sat on the last step and then leaned against Steve’s chair. You winced while wrapping your left arm over your stomach, your adrenaline wearing off causing the aching from your beatings. The booming film score pounded in your head with the bright screen hurting your eyes. Your limbs felt so heavy, that feeling when your body is naturally shutting down for sleep or accidentally taking a big hit of weed.

So before you could force yourself to stay awake and alert, you were knocked out.

-

Loud commotion and flashing lights behind your lids were your greetings as you were being rudely shaken awake. You were groaning and ready to complain towards Steve, thinking you were home and in bed. But instead of home it was the movie theater and instead of it being Steve shaking you, it was Dustin with Erica just over his shoulder. They both shared frantic expressions and when you took note of the two empty chairs you already knew what his question was gonna be. “Where are they?”

You could only open and close your mouth like a goldfish before you abruptly stood from the step and rushed out of the room with the kids behind you. “Okay, let’s split up. There aren’t many options in and out of the closed mall.”

Your sweep of the theater was quick, they weren’t anywhere. And you should be able to spot them easily, they’re wearing sailor outfits in a sea of normal attire. You walked through the exit and into the mall, hands on hips as you scanned possible hiding spots. A hearty sigh while leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling.

Little white dots and artificial stars in the brick building beamed down. “Wow…” The longer you stare the brighter they get, starting to twirl into a cyclone of heavenly light that was making you queasy and dizzy. “Oh, wow…”

Feet sprinted you to the nearest women’s restroom. You were too preoccupied with not throwing up on the floor that you missed the shocked then concerned looks of Robin and Steve. You made it to the third stall and hurled small chunks into the toilet, barely any food in your system at this time it was practically only liquid and dry heaving. Small shakes set into your shoulders as tiny tears stuck to your lashes, abdomen doing mini crunches with your heavy huffing. A helping hand held your hair away from potential damage and their warmth set into your back as they rubbed up and down, side to side, or just in an endless circle.

“Oh, baby.” Your Steve came to your rescue. “It’s okay, just get it out.”

A whimper from your slick lips, “Stevie…” You weren’t sure why you were calling out to him or what you had to say to him. Maybe just wanting to say his name and have him respond, which he did easily. “I’m right here, baby. Right here.” And he continued to rub your back until you were sure everything was gone and you flushed it away.

Steve’s arms wrapped over your stomach and with a gentle tug pulled you against his chest. His chin sat on your shoulder and he tucked his face into your neck, lashes fluttering your pulse point. Your eyes closed in contentment with a pinch to the front of your brow, hands seeking Steve’s on your body, holding onto them like your life depends on it. A clownish frown downturned your lips as you tried your hardest to keep crying at bay, okay with the baby drops falling here and there on your oily skin. 

“Is she okay?” Robin’s rough voice filled the space. Steve moved his head and you copied the action so you could see eye to eye. His eyes swam with such sorrow and pain it made you feel sick again. He reached a tentative hand out, hesitating before brushing the pad of his thumb over your jaw and cheeks. You assumed dark bruises were slowly blooming on your skin after this past hour or two. He then took his pointer finger and softly ran it on the bridge of your nose, flinching at the feather touch.

“No… she’s not.” A delayed reply for Robin and almost a defeated sigh from him. “Baby, oh my baby. I’m sorry.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. He saw them earlier in the night, he was still sober when you reentered the room, but looking at them with just a few inches of space apart…

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Voice cracked on the third sorry, his hands couldn’t keep still. Going to your cheeks then shifting to your shoulders then finding their new spot on your cracked hands. Steve’s fingers slotted through the in-betweens, waffling your hands tight as he pressed kiss after kiss to the tops.

“I couldn’t protect you. I’m a shitty boyfriend.” His eyes are hidden from view by his diary hair. You gasped at his words, “Steven Harrington, don’t ever call yourself a shitty boyfriend. Especially in front of me.”

You shook his hands off and cupped his cheeks to push his head up. He looked tired, defeated and you couldn’t stand the sight of the boy in front of you. You leaned in as you moved his head forward just a bit, a firm kiss pressed to his forehead. Trying to convey too many words into a simple action.

You pulled back and gazed intently into his heavy eyes, “Steve, it was a terrible situation that we were able to get out safely. The kids are unharmed and the drug is out of our system, it’s fine now.”

He circled your wrist, “If we just-” You stopped him with a kiss, not caring that both of you would have a vomiting mouth, just need him to pour your love into him.  A kiss that was nothing like the one from earlier in the day or your first. It was one where either or both of you are tired from the day, your body giving out the second it hits the mattress, contemplating if sleeping in your day clothes is worth the discomfort and if you’re okay with a pimple popping up in a day from not doing your skincare. How your hands still seek each other out in your drunk-sleepy state, Steve still managing to cage you into his chest with his nose in your hair and hand at your hip. Having a mumbled pillow talk about your day if the two of you weren’t attached to the hip that day, puffs of air from noses in exchange for belly laughs. It was a kiss that was being done blind, both eyes closed and searching out the bullseye in the dark even though the map was memorized. Slow, simple, something grounding and normal; just a firm pressing of lips that followed up with a tiny rhythm before it was enough to satiate you for the night.

You ignore the dull throb from your nose, taking care of Steve was more important. “Let’s just wait until we’re home, clean and in bed, before sorting everything out. It can wait a little longer.” Reassuring him, letting him know that you’re not as mad as earlier, but you have more words to speak. He nodded his head and whispered, “Okay,” Then pressed kisses to both of your palms.

The neutral bubble popped with the banging sound of the door. You both turned to see Dustin and Erica at the threshold, Robin behind them, must have slipped out sometime after she spoke. You could tell Dustin was completely exasperated with all three of you for running off and it was confirmed with his firm, “What the hell, guys?”

-

With everyone sober and coherent Dustin worked on a plan to get out unnoticed. Trying to find different modes of transportation to leave the mall behind since Steve was the only one with a car, and he was against the idea of breaking into his own BMW.

“Well, the movie should be over by now. We just blend into the crowd, leave the mall, and… I don’t know, hitchhike home.” Robin scratched her head as she paced.

Erica caught an attitude, “You want to walk…home? Yeah, I’m not doing that.” Arms crossed as she popped a hip.

“Well the buses don’t run this late and Robin has a bike, but Steve always drives her or us home when it’s this late. And he isn’t willing to sacrifice a window-“ Steve cut you off at your claim. “I don’t have the money to fix a window.” “I could talk to Eddie-“ He scoffs, “Munson, yeah, I'm good.” You weren’t sure why this was a sudden fight and it was making you sad and angry again.

“Guys!” Dustin yelled before your argument could be blown out of proportion. “We’re gonna get out of the mall with the crowd and hit the road. End of discussion.”

A sigh was all you gave as Dustin went to the door and took peeks into the lobby. You caught Robin’s eye and she scrunched her brows with a meek jerk of her chin, a silent ‘What the hell was that?’ and you just shook your head, pushing it away as if it wasn’t important.

With everyone walking to the door, Steve tugged at your belt loops to keep you back. You were prepared to brush Steve off, but he spoke first with a mumbled, “I’m sorry. I don’t want a fight.” You thought about just brushing him off, but you didn’t want a fight either and both of you are just cranky at this point. “I know, Stevie. We’re just tired.” Flashing him a simple smile as he squeezed your left hand.

“Lovebirds, come on.” Robin called. Dustin’s head was poking through the opening and he held a hand up, “And…blend.” They moved forward, Steve linking your hands and pulling you behind him.

Your group keeps pace with the people chatting about the movie, Steve keeping his head down and your hands clasped. “Well, shit, that worked,” Erica commented to Dustin. “Of course, it worked. Now we just have to get out of this place  and home sweet home, here we come.”

“Uh, Dustin?” “What?” Steve groaned a bit, “Yeah, we might not wanna go to your house.” “Why?”

Steve licked his lips, “Well, I might’ve told them your full name.” Dustin looked over his shoulder, shocked. “What is wrong with you?”

You came to Steve's defense, “He was drugged. He has loose lips when intoxicated.” You could tell Steve was gonna say something when Dustin just asked, “So?” That made Steve stutter, “So?”

“So, you resist. You tough it out. You tough it out like a man.” Dustin acting like he was the one in that scary room with unhinged Russians ready to kill him, instead of the vents snooping around. Steve scoffed, “Oh, yeah, it’s easy for you to say.”

“Guys?” A single word from Robin. All your eyes clocked on the two men from outside asking and checking IDs. You all stopped and everyone parted to the sides, Steve pulling you closer. “Abort,” Dustin declared. The men spotted your group and started forward. “Abort. Abort.” Dustin enforced as he made sure everyone turned around and pushed through the crowd.

With your hand still in Steve’s, he made sure you didn’t get lost. Feet were halted at the escalators with ropes closing off the stairs. You looked over your shoulder and saw how they were getting closer, so just told Robin to slide down the middle. One by one you each went down, Robin, Dustin, Erica, you then Steve following up the rear.

There was enough time to find a hiding spot the top level filtered out and the Russians took a long way down to the bottom level. Dustin pointed all of you in the direction of the food court and he jumped over the Great Cookie counter. You gave Erica a boost over as Robin crawled on the red countertop, Steve held your hips as he pushed you forward, and you dropped to the floor with him beside you. 

“What do we do?” Erica whispered. Her small chest panting. You weren’t sure if there was a way out, you could hear movement, but it sounded like more than the two you saw so they brought backup and you knew they had guns. If you could go through the back maybe, but still, you were easily outnumbered and overpowered.

As your safety blanket, you intertwined your hand with Steve’s and held it close to your racing heart while holding your breath. Eyes closed and speaking to the angels in your head, wishing for any sign of help coming to your aid.

A car alarm starts wailing and it brings all of you to gasp quietly. You didn’t dare look over the counter suspecting it was a trap. The alarm kept blaring and then you heard a loud crash combined with people groaning. When the alarm stopped and felt like the mall was silent all of you slowly pushed off the floor and over the counter. Russians lay on the floor with blood bleeding from wounds and a promotional car was damaged on its side where it was pressed into the Hot Dog on a Stick counter.

Hearing squeaking footsteps all of you looked to the upper level and hidden in the neon glow of store lights, the kids with Jonathan and Nancy stared from above. A wet hiccup of happiness at seeing your brothers safe and alive, as everyone headed to the closed escalator and climbed down. You were the first to rush over the counter and meet them halfway.

Mike had one of El’s arms over his shoulder as she limped with him towards Dustin who shouted as he laughed, “You flung that thing like a Hot Wheel!”

Jonathan and Will both rushed at you and it made you stumble back from their fast impact. It still shocked you that Will was practically the same height as Jonathan, both their chins digging into your shoulders with one arm behind your back. Your arms were thrown over their shoulders and your palms held the back of their heads, tears splashing your cheeks and shuddery breaths as you composed yourself.

“Oh, I’m so happy you're safe. I was so worried.” Petting the back of their heads to calm your shakes. “Where have you been? I just assumed you were at Steve’s.” Jonathan pulled his head away causing your hand to fall to his shoulder. His mouth dropped a bit, his eyes taking notice of your blood and bruises, “What happened?”

“Russians.” Jonathan and Will shared confused and worried expressions at your word. “I’m guessing something equally as bad has been happening above the surface since El’s limping.”

“Yeah, it’s bad. As in bad bad.” Will widened his eyes, not going into detail on what the bad bad was. You didn’t care, you were just happy your brothers were safe and within arms reach. Jonathan looked over your shoulder and his expression hardened, “Hey, Harrington. Wanna tell me why my sister looks to be in a similar state as you? Huh?”

Turning around you saw a sheepish Steve standing close, his hands messing with the bottom of his shirt. He licked his lip and looked at his shoes before backing up, “It’s- It’s my fault. I- I couldn’t…I didn’t listen. Shit, I brought a freaking ten-year-old into this when she didn’t even know. I’m- I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Damn right, Harrington.” “Jonathan, stop!” Automatic backhand to his head, once again mad that Steve and someone were calling him names. They needed relationship therapy at this point.

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt the sweet reunions. But I don’t understand what happened to that car.” Robin, along with Erica were the only ones out of the loop on El and her powers. Not wanting Robin mixed into this has finally crossed its line, there’s no going back after tonight. “El has powers,” Dustin threw a thumb at the quiet girl. 

Robin stuttered, “I’m- I’m sorry?”

“Superpowers. She threw it with her mind. C’mon, catch up.” Steve acting like this wouldn’t be mind-blowing news to Robin who knew nothing about the dangers of Hawkins. Erica pointed at her with new clarity, “That’s El?” Never actually met her, but possibly heard about her from Lucas.

“Who’s El?” Poor Robin. You were gonna point her out when Nancy spoke, in a tone you took a bit harshly. “I’m sorry, who are you?” Again you were gonna introduce her, but Jonathan easily said, “Robin. (Y/n)’s friend.” “And a coworker at Scoops with us.” Connecting her to Steve.

“She cracked the top secret code.” Dustin awarded her. “Yeah, which is how we found out about the Russians. And why we look like shit by the way.” Steve’s sarcasm winning out.

“Wait, seriously? Those were Russians?” Max blurted in confusion. “Some of them,” Erica looked back at them with indifference on her face. “What are you talking about?” Lucas persisted.

“Didn’t you hear our code red?” Dustin questioned. “Yeah. Couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Mike noted. Dustin groaned, “Goddam low battery.”

“How many times do I have to tell you with the low battery?” And you couldn’t help but to bite back the little grin at Steve acting like such a big brother towards Dustin. “Well, everything worked out, didn’t it?” It reminded you of times when Will was just a baby, you and Jonathan little toddlers.

“Worked out? We almost died.” Erica was not happy about Dustin’s look at the situation. “Yeah, but we didn’t, did we?” He sees the glass half-full side. “It was pretty damn close,” Steve added his two cents.

Everyone was busy arguing about the Russians and the gate. You took the time to look at each kid to check them over for any damage done, everyone looking to be in perfect condition. When you didn’t spot El beside Mike you leaned past Steve to see her in front of the next store, her steps slow and body hunched in. You walked away from the group and reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, “El? Sweetie?” Her hands reached up to hold her ears and she turned slowly for you to see the dark red blood sliding down her nostrils, hitting her top lip. Her knees buckled and she fell like a sack of flour.

“El! El? El!” Grabbing her waist quickly to stop her fall. You placed her gently on the ground as everyone crowded around. “What’s wrong with her?” Erica quietly asked.

“What’s wrong?” Mike asked El. Needing to find the root of her problem. She cried, “My leg. My leg.”

Nancy pulled her pants up and Jonathan unwrapped a bloody bandage around her calf. Her skin was stained red, almost orange in the fluorescent glow, with a swollen spot on the top. You held a hand to your mouth, the injury making you feel queasy just looking at it. And to top it off, something was crawling beneath the skin.

“Oh, God.” Muffled into your palm.

El continued to wail and groan, some tears slipping from the corners of her eyes and falling into her hair. “El! El, are you okay?” Mike shook her shoulders as he leaned over her. Everyone was worried and getting emotional, not knowing what was happening and the next course of action to take.

El screamed at the top of her lungs.

-

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*STRIKED MEANS TUMBLR CANT FIND YOU*

[tyonfs]

fight club

❝ i don’t care if she has a pretty face; if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.❞

PAIRING ▸ lee jeno x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, fight club au, rich kid au, college au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, violent themes (fighting), mentions of blood, 7dream are all part of the fight club, ft. best friends karina and sungchan, sneaking around, fingering, strength/size kink, oral (fem. receiving), choking, sex ofc, lowkey corruption kink, also i swear jeno is soft

SUMMARY ▸ after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

PLAYLIST ▸ atm by j. cole • baby don’t stop by nct u • new axis by nct u • nate growing up by labyrinth

WORD COUNT ▸ 11,914 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ WOOO ITS FINALLY OUT i hope you guys like it and lmk what u think !! ♡ remember when this was supposed to be 5k words LOL + another note and the tag list is at the bottom (sorry i forgot to respond to yall in the comments but i think i got everyone!) and thank you again for all the love :’)

THIS WAS A BAD IDEA.

In fact, this was a terrible idea.

Jisung didn’t seem to think too much of it, but you felt completely out-of-place among the crowd of sweaty males. It wasn’t like you were left in the dark about your best friend’s hobbies, but you didn’t expect to see him beating up a bulkier man in a dingy, low-light warehouse.

It was hard to wrap your head around the shocking realization that Park Jisung was a good fighter. He was soft-spoken and gentle most of the time, so seeing your best friend punching another man with all his might was throwing you off. Jisung didn’t look like much compared to the other man, but he was swift enough to pin the man down and twist his arm at a dangerous angle behind his back.

“Alright, ‘Sung,” someone called when it was clear Jisung’s opponent wasn’t getting up. “I think it’s safe to say he tapped out.”

Another scoffed in response. “Did he say that, Jaemin?”

“He’s practically gone limp, Chenle. Just call it already,” Jaemin responded flatly.

Jisung threw a cautious glance your way. By the wary look on his face, you were almost certain that he was holding back because of you. It was strange to think of Jisung willingly hurting someone, but you couldn’t shake off the look on his face when he was pummeling the other man to the ground.

With a flood of relief, you watched Jisung get off the man and reach out his hand to help him up. The man staggered as Jisung pulled him up, wobbled to regain his stability, and limped back out of the center. A few men patted Jisung on the back as he made his way back to you, a lopsided grin on his face as he sported a fresh cut on his lip.

“Jesus,” you breathed out. “I thought you were joking about the Fight Club thing.”

“Try not to look so nervous,” Jisung said as he grabbed a towel from a bench to dab at the blood staining his lower lip. He attempted to grin a little but cringed when it stretched the cut. “You scream fresh meat.”

“Fresh meat?” you quipped, consciously trying to relax your taut facial muscles.

“It means you’re an easy target,” a low voice called from behind you. Startled, you turned to see a boy sitting on the bench, eyeing you like a predator. “Means you won’t last the night.”

Although it stung, you understood where he was coming from. From the lack of bruises splayed across your body and the perplexed look in your eyes, you were so clearly a newbie. Everyone probably knew it from the second you walked in, but you had no idea it was going to turn out this way.

Sensing the tension, Jisung cut in quickly, “Hey, Jeno. This is my friend, Y/N. She’s, um… new.”

Lee Jeno.

Jisung had told you about him before. He was one of the guys who made a living out of fights like these, always bloodied and bruised up somehow. Other than the so-called Inner Circle that was composed of the best fighters in the club, Jeno wasn’t exactly open to making friends.

Jeno hummed in response, though he didn’t really seem to take Jisung’s words into consideration. “She ready to fight?”

“What?” you spluttered out.

“Jeno, come on,” your friend defended you. “She’s not ready for that.”

“You know the rules. I don’t care if she has a pretty face; if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.”

Without waiting for a response, Jeno stood up, pushing past the throng of men to get to the front. You turned to Jisung, wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck you had just gotten yourself into. Your best friend only grabbed your shoulders, panic bubbling in his mouth as he stammered out a string of incoherent words.

“I’m—I’m, uh… gonna go talk to him,” Jisung said and let go of you to make his way to the front. “Stay there, Y/N!”

You never would’ve let Jisung drag you into this mess if you knew about that stupid rule. Your eyes darted to the door. There was a chance you could sneak out before anyone took notice. Although you were worried about getting caught, you decided you’d rather take your chances.

You examined the poster plastered on the wall beside you. It was wrinkled and tearing at the edges, but the words were bold and clear:

RULES OF FIGHT CLUB:

You do not talk about Fight Club.

You DO NOT TALK about Fight Club.

Someone yells “stop,” goes limp, taps out, the fight is OVER.

Only two to a fight.

One fight at a time.

No shirts, no shoes.

Fights will go on as long as they have to.

If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.

Oh, hell no, you thought.

This entire scheme was a death sentence, and you didn’t want to be any part of it.

Thankfully, the crowd was so fixed on some fighter named Mark that you made it to the door without being noticed. The shouts and cries from the ring were so loud that no one would notice the creaky door opening. Freedom was almost in your reach. Just as you were about to grab the handle, though, someone called to you from behind.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.”

You turned around to see one of the Inner Circle members smirking at you. He stood tall, confident, and his smolder made his flirty nature quite clear. You whipped around quickly, holding your arm behind you as if you hadn’t been near the exit.

The man continued, “I’m Na Jaemin, and you must be new; that’s a face I wouldn’t forget.”

Your cheeks burned at his comment, but you kept it together. His strategy seemed to be keeping you here as long as possible, but you needed to escape before Jeno offered you up as a punching bag to some brute.

“Y/N,” you introduced, and god, you realized you could never forget his face either. He was absolutely gorgeous with a golden combination of sharp and gentle features. “You don’t mind if I get some air, right?”

Jaemin chuckled and walked closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Then I’ll join you.”

These people were crazy.

“No, I’m good.” You dismissed him with a wave of your hand. “I can go on my own.”

Jaemin studied you with mystified eyes before he raised his voice, seemingly talking to someone behind him, “You’re right, Jeno! This little one was almost a runner.” You looked up at Jaemin with wide eyes, and he laughed at your miserable look. “I’m sorry, angel, but rules are rules; you can’t escape our King.”

Apparently, the King that Jaemin referred to was Lee Jeno. You were sure you recalled Jisung mentioning it before; his infamous nickname was coined because he allegedly had never lost a fight. You felt yourself deflate at the sight of him walking toward you.

This was it. This was how you were going to die tonight.

“Get in the ring,” Jeno ordered. “I’ll be your first fight.”

Jisung jogged over, standing behind Jeno with a horrified look on his face as he looked between you and your terrifying opponent. You felt your heart sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. Not only was Jeno the top dog around here, but just one glare from him made you feel like cowering. Never in your life had you engaged in a fight like this, and this felt like you were skipping several levels of preparation.

Jaemin leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “That’s why following boys who go looking for trouble is a bad idea, angel.” He pulled back and smiled at you. “Do your best out there.”

The crowd electrified with a newfound excitement and started cheering you on to enter the ring. You were sure they were more interested in seeing Lee Jeno beat up a girl, and that pissed you off even more. On that note, you wanted to question why you didn’t get paired with another girl for your first fight. Seeing that there were quite a few female fighters scattered about, you found this match unfair.

You threw Jisung a wary look and stepped into the ring (well, practically shoved into it by the crowd). The bloodthirsty chanting was making you sick. You couldn’t fucking fight, and you were sure that everyone knew that you had zero experience.

“Hey, newbie,” a voice called from the corner of the ring, whom you recognized as Zhong Chenle. “The rules are no shirts or shoes, but, if you want, you can keep your shirt on.”

You already accepted that you were going to lose this match pathetically, so there was no way you would lose your dignity any further by stripping in front of a crowd of men. You nodded at Chenle and slid your shoes off, kicking them off to the side where Jisung was stationed.

Across from you, Jeno didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed his shirt by the nape and pulled it off in one go. His steel gaze was already humiliating enough, but you burned at the sight of his rippling abs and buff muscles on display. His body was absolutely flawless, chiseled to perfection like a Greek god.

You had to snap out of it. He was literally about to kill you.

“Money’s on Jeno,” someone mumbled in the crowd.

You started to hear a chorus of the murmurs, and you knew all of them had no faith in you. Hell, you had no faith in yourself. Jisung was probably betting against you out there, and you couldn’t even blame your best friend. You just prayed that Jeno would knock you out quickly so that the match would be over.

The only fighting experience you had was when your younger brother chased you in your backyard with a baseball bat. You wound up pinning him to the grass, chest puffed up in triumph once you stood up and realized you were victorious. It was a good feeling to win, but that was when you were both skinny, clumsy kids; obviously, you would never hurt him again like that. Now, however, you were face-to-face with a man who could clearly overpower you in an instant.

“Ready,” Chenle announced, looking between you and Jeno to see if you were both focused. He swung his arm down in a swift motion. “Fight!”

At that moment, you understood what Jeno’s nickname stood for. He truly reigned over everyone during his matches, like he knew he was the victor the second he stepped into the ring. Not only was he physically strong, but he was quick and smart about his moves—swift like a cat, cunning like a fox.

In seconds, your back was against the ground, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. You felt absolutely pathetic, staring up at him with a dazed look in your eyes. Suddenly, you were filled with unmistakable fear at the thought of Lee Jeno delivering a blow to you.

This spurred you into action, making you jump to your feet and rousing an appreciative chorus of shouts from the crowd. Your agility wasn’t enough, though; Jeno could see through all of your movements.

He was a machine of pure power, and you were no match for someone who could fight dirty. (Jeno hadn’t taken off his rings, you noticed. You were doomed if he landed a hit on you.)

“Come on, King!” Chenle provoked. “Don’t lose your cool just ‘cause she’s a girl.”

Jeno was taunting you with his back-and-forth movements, prowling around you like you were a piece of meat. In that moment, you could sense his hesitancy by the way he was trying to back off.

“Just tap out already,” he goaded, though you could sense some good-nature behind his words, “unless you want to wake up sore and bruised.”

“That’s considerate of you,” you mumbled, “considering Jisung told me you left someone unconscious and bleeding before.”

This time, Jeno didn’t hesitate to lunge at you, and you started to regret your attempt at a jab at him. His strong thighs and hands were pinning you down, but this time you weren’t thinking about how uncomfortable of a position your shoulder bone was in. You were too fixated on how barbaric the look in Jeno’s eyes was.

“Tap out,” he ordered.

“Don’t go soft, Jeno!” Jaemin yelled from the crowd, but it was all white noise to you now.

The crowd jeered when you wriggled out of Jeno’s grip, rolling by twisting your shoulder so that you were a good distance away from your opponent again. However, you felt like a cornered animal in the ring.

One thing about cornered animals, though: they were the most aggressive.

You had never acted out of impulse like this, but when Jeno came near you again, you didn’t even have a moment to process before your fist was connecting with his jaw. Hard. He stumbled back from the unexpected blow and your knuckles were stinging. Your nerves were like cut wire, electrified and buzzing, and all you could do was drink in the roars from the crowd.

That swell of pride from your childhood victory returned, and you were sure it was flashing across your face when you saw Jeno grimacing. That punch was beginner’s luck at most, but you were still shocked that you had managed to do something like that.

Your adrenaline was red and hot. Knuckles raw and tender. Heart like a drum in your rib cage.

“Alright,” Jeno started, irritated. “I’m done playing with you. Tap out or you won’t like this.”

Before you could ask him to clarify, Jeno had tackled you to the ground once more, resulting in you hitting your chin gracelessly on the hard floor. He pushed your head down so forcefully that you were struggling to turn your head and breathe normally. You felt black spotting your vision and your head going fuzzy when Jeno pressed down on a certain spot on the back of your neck, and your struggling frame went limp under him.

“She’s out,” was all he said in that authoritative voice, getting off of you and leaving the ring without another word.

You took a minute to gather your bearings and figure out that the world wasn’t actually supposed to spin. By the time you were okay, Jisung had run over to your side and was helping you up to your feet.

(“Next fight, next fight!” Chenle called impatiently from outside the ring. “Hurry it up.”)

“That was way too cool,” he gushed, looking at you with stars in his eyes. Maybe they were from the dim, flickering lights, but they were too bright for that. “You actually landed a hit on the King!”

You lost, but, strangely enough, you felt somewhat victorious.

You figured you would watch the rest of the fights with Jisung. Plus, considering he was your ride, it was clear you had no other way to get home if he wasn’t leaving.

Honestly, you still didn’t see the appeal of the brutality. Some of them were courteous, exchanging cordial albeit bloody grins as they helped each other up after a fight. Others were more aggressive and heartless, pummeling the other even when they were down and limp. Jaemin had to yell at them to separate, and some even got kicked out because the third rule of Fight Club was “if someone yells ‘stop,’ goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.”

As ruthless as Jaemin and Chenle appeared to be, they kept everyone in line.

When you saw Jeno slinking into the back hallway, you nudged Jisung and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

Your friend was so distracted by the sight of Jaemin fighting someone else that he didn’t bother asking where you were going, so he gave you an offbeat nod instead. You cringed at the sound of the punch Jaemin delivered before slipping away to the hallway Jeno had gone into.

There were a couple of people scattered about, and they were all high as a kite but doing their best to save face by hiding their blunts. You returned an awkward smile as you ventured forward, looking through all the rooms in the warehouse hallway. It was only until you reached the very end when you saw Jeno, inspecting his jaw in a scratched-up mirror.

“Is it bruised?” you asked meekly.

Jeno didn’t seem surprised by your appearance, turning his head for a brief second before settling to catch your reflection in the mirror instead. “Nothing I haven’t experienced before. You didn’t hit me that hard, newbie.” He cocked a brow at you. “How about you? Are you hurt?”

“It hurt in the moment, but then I was fine,” you replied, frowning. “How did you do that?”

“I found one of your pressure points,” he answered. Something about the way he spoke to you was rather distant despite the turn his attitude took. “I don’t like hurting girls, but Mark’s all about inclusivity or some bullshit like that.”

“You don’t like hurting girls,” you echoed, a breath away from some spiteful remark about how he tried tackling you all around that ring.

“Yeah, I don’t like hurting girls.” Jeno finally turned to face you and continued, “Especially pretty girls who know how to punch.”

“I don’t really know how to punch,” you mumbled.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your face burned at his words, but you were completely distracted by the Rolex watch glinting on his wrist. Lee “the King” Jeno wearing an expensive watch might not have been a complete surprise, but you were surprised that the elite, dirty fighter wasn’t so rough around the edges like the others.

“That looks expensive,” you pointed out.

“That’s because it is.” His response was curt, and judging by the scowl on his face, you figured he wasn’t planning on explaining further. Instead, he asked, “You’re Y/N, right? I was surprised that Jisung brought you with him. He’s a good kid, but I thought he came here to fight because he didn’t want his friends knowing about this side of him.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. To be fair, you weren’t aware of this side of Jisung either until you saw his fist sending someone flying to the ground. “You from around here?”

You had no idea why, but you sensed some sexual undertone within such a seemingly innocent question.

“Yeah, um… I actually live a few cities away,” you lied, knowing that he’d expect you back if you said you were from the college town. Earlier, you couldn’t imagine yourself in that ring, but you realized that no matter how exciting it all was, their world was dangerous. “My friend just took me here for the night.”

“Ah.” You wondered if Jeno was disappointed with your answer, but if he was, he sure didn’t show it on his face. “What a shame. You have potential.”

“Oh.” You wondered where he saw ‘potential’ in you—was it the way you went lax under his grip or when you were being thrown around in front of everyone? “Thanks. I think.”

Jeno snickered. “Maybe it’s better you stay well away from this place, though.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Jeno’s gaze was hard when he said, “Because pretty girls who come looking for trouble get more than they asked for.” By the time you realized what he was implying, Jeno had walked over to you, towering over your smaller frame when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

It was a surprisingly tame request from someone who was suggesting something so vulgar, but you were afraid this pure question would morph into something more intense. You weren’t the kind of girl to fool around with a stranger like this, so your heart was hammering in your chest at the mere thought.

Yet, it was the realization that you wouldn’t get a chance like this again with someone like Lee Jeno that tempted you further.

“Why?” you asked.

Jeno shrugged. “You’re cute.”

After a moment of pondering, you answered, “Um… as long as it’s just one.”

Jeno just chuckled, and you were momentarily stunned because his eyes looked so kind before he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours gently. You closed your eyes, warmth blooming in your chest as your lips moved together in slow yet purposeful motions. Jeno cupped your cheek as he kissed you with utmost gentleness, and you would have almost asked for more if he didn’t pull away so quickly.

“I should go,” you stuttered out, far too shy to meet his gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. Before you turned to leave, Jeno offered, “If you ever find yourself here again, say you’ve hit Lee Jeno before if someone tries to fuck with you.”

“The King,” you corrected.

“You’re not scared of my name, are you?”

You smiled, sort of touched that he didn’t think you were a complete wimp. “Thanks.”

Lee Jeno was surprisingly gentle in contrast to the beast he became in the ring.

“So you’re telling me this actually happened?” Karina clarified with a frown. “You’re sure you didn’t have some freakish lucid dream?”

You sank back into the seat of the booth you were sitting in. Karina had dragged you to some fancy coffee shop the morning after, declaring that she had to get at least one picture with you (and she didn’t specify the threat that came afterward if you declined). You ended up confessing everything that happened the previous night, detailing Jisung’s odd hobby to your encounter with Lee Jeno. Karina zoned out for half of your story, assuming you were retelling the plot of some cheap movie, and that ended with you retelling it with her undivided attention once you said it was real.

You left out most of the details about Fight Club itself, though, leaving Karina to assume that Jisung was part of some street gang. You felt bad for tainting your best friend’s image, but you were too afraid to find out what would happen if the higher-ups discovered that you leaked the secret.

“I’m very sure,” you told her. “God, Karina, I let him kiss me! Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Karina replied unhelpfully. “Was he cute? Show me a picture.”

“You think I was thinking about taking a picture of him to show you while he was about to beat me up?” you remarked, raising a brow. “But, yes, he was very hot. Like, young Leonardo Dicaprio-level hot.”

“You mean Leonardo da Vinci.”

“That is the Renaissance artist who painted the Mona Lisa, Karina. He is dead.”

“Shit.” Karina gripped the edge of the table, distraught. “No wonder Yeji said I was tweaking out when I told her he was in the Titanic.” She shrugged off the thought. “Anyway, show me his Instagram.”

You shied at her order, protesting, “I didn’t get his Instagram!”

“Oh, please, you don’t need to ask for someone’s Instagram to find their account,” Karina replied with a scoff, “unless you don’t want me to look him up because he’s ugly.”

“He’s not ugly, Karina.”

“Then there’s nothing to be ashamed of!” She pulled out of her phone and angled it so that you could see the screen. “Look, we just have to type L-e-e, and then J-e-n-o—easy money.” You eyed the search results, pointing to the profile picture that looked exactly like the King. Karina tapped on his profile accordingly and you nearly choked when you saw how lavish he was living. “Is this him? Goddamn, Y/N.”

The very first picture was Jeno leaning against a Rolls-Royce, dress shirt fitted perfectly against his broad shoulders and square chest. Every single accessory he wore looked as if it cost thousands of dollars. While Karina ogled at the sight, you were trying to accept that this was the same man with the worn-in tee and jeans you met last night.

“Y/N,” Karina repeated.

“He’s loaded,” you whispered in disbelief.

“Y/N.”

“No wonder he was wearing a Rolex.”

“Y/N.”

“I kissed a rich boy, oh my—”

“Y/N, if I have to say your name one more time to get your attention, I will scream at such an ear-splitting, incomprehensible decibel that the ground will split in half like that scene in Ratatouille with the wooly mammoths,” Karina threatened, and she would’ve sounded menacing if it weren’t for her completely wrong analogy.

“I think you mean Ice Age.”

“Y/N, he’s rich!” Karina shrieked, and you had to hush her so that the two of you didn’t get kicked out or banned for life. “You have to fuck him.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, tossing aside your previous attempts to silence your best friend by raising your voice yourself.

Exasperated, she dropped her phone on the table screen-up and leaned back. “I can’t believe you were talking about his watch when he looks like a Greek god.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me to fuck someone I just met!”

“But he kissed you,” Karina started, “like, who does that?”

Right on cue, Jung Sungchan slid into the booth next to Karina, nudging her shoulder and nodding at you in tune. “Who kissed you?” he questioned, intrigued.

You groaned and covered your face with your hands. You only wanted to tell Karina about your encounter with Jeno, but you felt like this was going to get out to more and more people. The only person you really didn’t want to tell, though, was Jisung. You had no idea how your friend would react to you mingling with one of the members of the Inner Circle.

You sighed. “No one.”

“Lee Jeno,” Karina answered at the same time as you.

You shot her a pointed look as Sungchan hummed in deep thought. “Why does that name sound familiar?” He frowned and shrugged. “Anyway, good job, Y/N. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you whined. “Sungchan, Karina, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I just wanna forget it happened.”

“I mean… yeah, of course,” Sungchan agreed.

The two exchanged wary looks, and it was clear their understanding was hidden behind layers of reluctance. You could tell the both of them found it strange that you were so nervous about this whole affair. It wasn’t like you had experienced many crushes, but they both knew you were the type to fawn over someone who showed you the time of day. Now that you were dusting it under the rug, it definitely raised suspicion.

You felt sick to your stomach. You should’ve known better than to kiss and tell.

As if it wasn’t a bad enough idea that you followed Jisung to his shady extracurricular activity the other night, you let Sungchan drag you to a party a week later.

For a party, though, this was awfully formal.

College parties usually consisted of red solo cups and puff bars abandoned on tables and countertops. This one, on the other hand, seemed far more refined. You were glad that you wore something more proper, but even then, your style paled in comparison to the men in suits and women in gowns. Jeno sipped champagne from a flute, all while looking like the very image of exquisiteness.

Sungchan was all about swimming and piña coladas. The last event he took you to was a dayger, where he walked in with a Hawaiian shirt and proceeded to pass out shirtless on one of the rocks. You had to physically drag your friend back to his car and drive home for him.

This scene, however, didn’t suit Sungchan at all. He looked out-of-place even though he was wearing the same clothes as everyone else—it was just that his shoulder pads and sleeve cuffs didn’t fit quite right. You wondered what world he was trying to insert himself into until you saw Greek letters fixed to the wall.

“Engineering frat,” Sungchan answered sheepishly. “They said I could bring a date.”

“Oh.” You stared blankly at the gold-trimmed letters on the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?”

“You would’ve made fun of me.”

“Well, yeah,” you replied matter-of-factly, a scoff following your words. “Who are these people, though? Do they even go to our school?”

“It’s a social event with another school,” Sungchan explained, clearly distracted by something else judging by the way he couldn’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.

“So, who’re you trying to impress?” you quipped, trying to follow his line of sight. Your eyes landed on an older college student across the room, talking to a few freshmen with his hands and exaggerated enthusiasm. “Ah, the cult leader.”

“Frat president,” he corrected.

“Same thing.” You received a sharp look from your friend and laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Relax. Why don’t you pour a few glasses and go over and talk to him? His hands are empty and he looks sober.”

Sungchan seemed to pick up on how everyone had a drink in their hand except the president. He returned your grin and poured two glasses of champagne for himself and the frat boy. You were confident Sungchan would be fine; he was a social butterfly when the situation called for it.

“Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg, tiger,” you responded, watching him walk over with a wistful sigh.

Now, though, you had no idea what to do. You allowed your friend, the only one you knew at this party, to abandon you so that he could kiss up to the president. On one hand, you could try socializing with the other frat boys, but you weren’t sure how willing they were to talk to people who weren’t affiliated with their organization. Plus, this wasn’t a social frat, so you had lower expectations for the night.

It was then when a voice called from behind, “Your date really left you behind like that?”

“It’s fine, he’s—oh.”

When you turned to face the person speaking to you, you thought your stomach couldn’t sink any further. You thought you could leave the memory of last week behind for good, but its ghostly reminder stood in front of you in a slim fit suit.

You balked. “What are you doing here? You’re rushing, too?”

“I’m not a rushee.” He chuckled. “I’m already in the frat. I should be asking what you’re doing here.”

You didn’t respond.

“Let me guess,” Lee Jeno purred, “your friend took you here for the night.”

Your cheeks heated up at his recollection. “Okay, so I might not actually live in another city.”

“Figured.” He took a sip of his drink, eyes fixed on you all the while. “Let me pour you a drink.”

“I don’t wanna get drunk,” you said firmly.

“Same.” He tilted his cup so that you could see. “It’s water.” He looked at the kitchen counter with various drinks scattered across. “There’s also soda, if you prefer that.”

You reluctantly agreed to letting him pour you a glass of Sprite. You couldn’t believe you were seeing Lee Jeno like this, looking like the very image of affluence. This was a stark contrast from the intimidating higher-up that was a beast in the ring.

“You’re really different when you’re not fighting, you know?” you told him. Jeno returned a sharp look and nearly hushed you, eyes flitting across the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Um, sorry.”

Jeno’s voice was pitched octaves deeper when he handed you your glass and said, “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”

Jeno walked past you, heading upstairs and down the hallway that was relatively empty, give or take a few freshmen who were trying their best to sober up before they went back out to socialize. When you realized Jeno was leading you up to his room, heat rushed to your cheeks when you remembered what Karina said about fucking him. You had to dispel all horny thoughts before Jeno caught on.

“Come in,” he said, motioning you to enter once he opened the door. You were transfixed by how normal his room looked—fitted sheets, books categorized on shelves, desk tidy. It was bizarre that this was the same man that beat people up to a bloody pulp. When Jeno noticed your curious stare, he explained, “I stay here to attend college. I don’t actually live in the rooms designated for Inner Circle members.”

You, clueless to how the Inner Circle even worked, just nodded in response. You walked inside and stood awkwardly against the wall. Jeno motioned for you to take a seat, so you sat on the floor, folding your legs under you.

Jeno raised a brow at you. “You can sit on the bed.” When he noticed how you swallowed, he quickly added, “Or at my desk over there.” A smirk crossed his face, sending butterflies straight to your stomach. “Relax. I’m not gonna try anything unless you’re down.”

Unless you’re down. Did that mean you had an option? You felt like you could hardly breathe, let alone speak, so you just acknowledged his words with a weak hum and went to sit at his desk.

“So, why did you wanna talk privately?” you asked, picking at your hangnails.

“Do you remember the first two rules?” Jeno asked, and his tone got darker. “You do not talk about Fight Club.”

“I didn’t—”

“You don’t mention to a soul here that I fight,” Jeno interjected. “That’s my private life. I didn’t think anyone would end up seeing me outside of that warehouse, too.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized and bit your lip. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

The silence was deafening. For a few minutes, you and Jeno just sat in silence right across from each other. He settled on the edge of his bed and looked straight at you, and you were trying to look anywhere but him. You lacked the courage to look the fighter in the eyes. It was like he was Medusa; you knew you’d freeze and be turned to stone once your eyes locked.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jeno started again. “Actually, I thought it would be better if we didn’t meet again.”

You frowned, slightly offended. “Why?”

“You’re a good girl,” Jeno said, and the way those words rolled off his tongue in that deep, raspy voice were making you feel funny. “Good girls don’t mix in well with the Fight Club.”

You swallowed hard and fought down the urge to rebuke the ‘good girl’ title he bestowed upon you. Instead, you recalled, “I think I was just fine when I punched you, wasn’t I?”

Jeno snorted, and, for a minute, he just stared at you in bemusement. “I don’t want to corrupt you.”

You were careful when you asked, “Why not?”

“I told you; you’re a good girl.”

“I’m not a good girl.”

Minutes ago, you were a fully functioning member of society. Now, you thought you had lost your mind.

Jeno hummed. The look in his eyes was calculative, like he was trying to study your expression while making you feel like you were withering under his gaze. “Maybe that’s why you’re in my room even though you came here with someone else.”

You shook your head quickly. “Sungchan and I are just friends. He likes Karina—my other friend.”

“But you dressed up so pretty,” he murmured with a sigh.

Great. That funny feeling sank right to your core, and a flush of eagerness spread across your chest. By this point, it was clear that Jeno was flirting with you, but you had no idea how to keep this going without completely embarrassing yourself. Through and through, you were far less experienced, so your only hope was that Jeno found your innocence endearing.

Plus, you were pretty bad at flirting.

“Can I get your number?” was Jeno’s straightforward question, as if he didn’t bring you here to ice you out.

“Uh,” was your intelligent response. You blinked a few times before your brain rebooted and got back online. “Number—yeah, here.”

You took his phone that he held out for you, and you put your number in as a new contact. Something felt a little nerve-racking at the thought of Lee Jeno being able to contact you whenever he wanted, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Moreover, it felt rather exciting to know both sides of him—seeing him in two different worlds.

When you looked up at Jeno to hand him back his phone, you were taken aback by how close he was. He was towering over you, and you had to crane your neck to look up at him. You took that as your cue to stand up as well, leaving you even more flustered once you could practically feel his body heat.

“Remember when I asked if I could kiss you?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. He let his fingers skim your collarbone as he brushed your hair off your shoulder. “Can I do that again”—he rubbed a gentle circle along the column of your neck—“right here?”

You stared at him at first, shocked, before he continued, “I don’t fight to hurt people—I hate hurting people. I fight because the adrenaline feels good; I fight because the fake sense of masculinity everyone gets from fighting helps me realize that violence isn’t what being a man is about.”

Your breath hitched, and Jeno leaned in closer so that his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. “I don’t want to hurt you, but will you let me show you what I mean?”

“Please,” you rasped, your voice coming out a touch more desperate than you intended.

Like the flash of lightning following a booming clap of thunder, Jeno’s mouth swiftly found the flesh of your neck in seconds. His tongue dragged along the bruise splotching your collarbone, adding a couple of his own along the way. He growled against your skin, and even his grip was bruising more onto your hips. You arched up under his mouth, broken whimpers and shallow breaths falling from your lips.

“I left these, didn’t I?” he wondered aloud. “During the fight?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss over the bruise. “But I’ll make up for that.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you got out, heavy-lidded eyes attempting to meet his. “I just bruised my chin and shoulder when I fell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno mumbled, and it was like the drizzle of rain when he started peppering kisses along your neck in apology. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, fighting down the mewl that was daring to escape your lips once he started nipping at your sweet spot. “You can just—just make it up to me.”

Jeno pulled away, looking deep into your eyes with the most tender gaze you had ever caught hold of. He cupped your face in your hands and kissed you feverishly. Unlike the kiss from a week ago, this felt like you were on fire. Jeno kindled your flame with each swipe of his tongue, eventually holding you so impossibly close that you couldn’t pull away for air anymore.

You weren’t helping your case, though, with the way you were desperate for more friction, more contact between you two. The back of your legs were hitting his desk, and he seemed to take note of this and pin you against the wall instead. Jeno released his iron grip on your hip to run his hand down to your thigh, and you swore he would’ve left fingerprints on your very skin if he held you any tighter. You nearly gasped when you felt his hand traveling further up your thigh, but your tongue was too busy dancing with Jeno’s.

He was the first to pull away. “Can I touch you there?” he asked, voice heavy and breathless. “Or I can do whatever you want me to do.”

You couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so receptive to your needs, so willing to pleasure you first, and so immediate with asking for your consent. Any woman would have struck gold with Lee Jeno. He was a product of every girl’s sexual fantasies. However, when you simply nodded, Jeno wasn’t willing to go further.

“I need words, baby,” Jeno mumbled against your skin. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed hold of his wrist, maintaining eye contact as you slid his hand up your thigh yourself and allowed him to feel how soaked you were through your underwear. Jeno’s breathing got unsteady when he prodded your wet cunt through the fabric.

“I need you right here,” you pleaded. “Can you feel how wet I am?”

“Yeah, I can, doll,” he whispered, dropping to a knee ever-so-slowly. A shiver ran up your spine when he gripped your thighs, reaching under your dress to slide your panties down to your mid-thigh. From there, he grabbed hold of the fabric with his teeth and dragged it down to your ankles, looking up at you with a light smirk gracing his lips. You almost didn’t catch him pocketing your underwear. “Can I taste you?”

You nodded eagerly before realizing that Jeno wasn’t going to take anything for an answer unless it was verbal.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out, sliding your hand into his hair. A little spike of anxiety rose in your chest at the thought of someone seeing you so bare and exposed. “S-sorry, I don’t know what to do right now.”

“You just stand there and let me make you feel good,” Jeno assured, and his gaze softened when he sensed the worry in your eyes. “I know I’m about to eat you out and all, but you’re really beautiful, by the way. If you wanna stop at any time, just let me know.”

Okay, so maybe that made you feel like you were on top of the world.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, trying to ignore the wash of heat across your cheeks. Sheepishly, you added, “You can keep going, if that’s okay.”

Jeno grinned and situated himself between your thighs, his grip on your hips making your head spin, but even more so when he licked a stripe along your dripping slit. You stuttered out a broken moan, trying not to squirm when Jeno attached his lips to your clit and started sucking. You could feel that oh-so-proud smirk of his widening against your cunt with every sharp intake of breath and whimper that came from you.

Your grip on his hair tightened, and Jeno let out a soft groan that sent vibrations up your spine. Despite your attempts to find leverage, you were still a squirming mess, and Jeno had to flex his biceps and pin your hips to the wall firmly.

The feeling was like uncut cocaine. Jeno was too good at what he was doing. You were amazed that he was showing you heaven, all the while wearing a suit. The only thing that was stopping your knees from buckling and falling over altogether was the grip he had on you. Each flick of his tongue was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Then, however, Jeno started aiding your incoming orgasm by using his fingers.

His pointer finger slid into you so smoothly that you hardly noticed it at all, but it was when he stretched you out with another that you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out loud.

“Quiet, doll. We don’t want people hearing,” he purred when he pulled away, looking up at you with his lips swollen and slick from your arousal. You could have come undone at the very sight. “Is this okay? Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “G-good—feels good.”

Jeno smirked. “Don’t go dumb on me, baby. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You let out a small cry when Jeno started sliding his fingers in and out, immediately clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Your walls were clenching and unclenching around him, and you were throbbing when he kept flicking his tongue around your swollen ball of nerves. You could hear the distant sound of chatter from the living room below, but it was all white noise when Jeno plunged his tongue back into your sweet cunt.

“God,” he gritted out when he pulled away once more, “you’re so fucking tight ‘round my fingers.”

His words must have been your breaking point because you came undone all over his fingers. The pleasure was blinding, and you were finding it hard to stay upright with how intense your waves of pleasure were. Jeno finger-fucked you throughout your orgasm with that cocky smirk on his face. You felt like you were drowning in a molten sea even as he held you up.

There was nothing on the wall that you could hold onto for leverage, so your fingers wove through Jeno’s hair. You were doubling over when Jeno pulled away from your aching clit and scooped you up effortlessly. You could feel his bulging muscles even when he wasn’t flexing, and god, Lee Jeno had the hottest body you had ever seen. You were never one to obsess over muscles, but Jeno’s muscles were definitely worth drooling over.

Jeno adjusted you so that he had you in a princess carry. Slowly, you started to come down from the clouds as your high subsided. You blinked up at him, trying to be subtle about the way you were holding onto the bulging muscles of his biceps. You had never been so intrigued by someone’s arms, and you wanted to just trace each vein with your fingers.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you asked mindlessly. Normally, you would cringe at yourself for asking such an abrupt, vulgar question, but you were too dazed from your orgasm to care about formalities.

“I want to, but don’t you have to go back to your date soon?” he questioned, and when you shook your head, Jeno pressed his lips together. “You’re definitely gonna fall asleep.”

“I won’t!” you promised, but you were already feeling sleepy after your first. You weren’t sure how your body would withstand a second.

Jeno stared at you, unsure. “You look so fucked-out, doll.” He laid you on his bed and rested his strong hand on your bare hip, gently rubbing your grooves and curves. “How do you suppose we keep you up?”

You weren’t thinking. You definitely weren’t thinking straight. Right as Jeno said the words, your gaze drifted back to those strong hands of his, admiring how pretty and long his fingers were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about those veins of his.

You were wading in dangerous waters.

With a haze of lust clouding your proper judgment, you took Jeno’s hand—the one grazing your hip—and you placed it just below your neck, watching as his lips parted in surprise. His eyes darkened a little, and your shallow breaths picked up when Jeno slid his hand up a little to press the pads of his fingers into the side of your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing your thighs together.

“Now you’re awake, huh?” he crooned, leaning in to kiss you once again. Just before his lips met yours, he whispered, “What a dirty girl.”

Your nerves were like cut wire and electricity buzzed through your body. You kissed Jeno back with a sense of urgency, aching for him to touch you again. And he, in return, reciprocated almost immediately. You could tell he loved how small you were under him. The way Jeno placed his arms on either side of you, caging your frame in his own little ring, was enough to distract you because of how much you liked being under him.

Jeno pulled away with a sigh, and you watched as he loosened his tie and undid his pants. It all felt like a show to you. When he tugged his boxers down, his cock sprang free, slapping the underside of his belly. You shuddered at the thought of something so massive being inside of you, but you also wanted him to just completely and utterly wreck you. All you could do was stare dumbly as he slid a condom over his girth.

“Look at what you’re making me do,” he tutted. “The least you can do now is be quiet while I fuck you into this mattress.”

Instead of whimpering (which was what your immediate response would have been to such filthy words), you swallowed your tongue and nodded.

Jeno grabbed the top of your thighs and brought them to his waist. You nearly gasped out, but, thankfully, he was easing his cock inside you instead of ramming himself in. You supposed he wanted to be relatively gentle for your first time together, and then you scolded yourself for assuming there would be a second time.

He was substantially sized, so despite all of Jeno’s foreplay and teasing, tears still sprung to your eyes when he bottomed out inside you. You couldn’t cry out with how tight his hand was over your mouth, so you held onto his shoulders tightly, digging your nails into his back.

“God, you’re so hot,” he growled, thrusts becoming more precise and rhythmic. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Jeno was pounding into you in all the right places, perfecting his strokes as he kept going. You were helpless underneath him, bouncing along with the shaking bed as you tried to keep yourself grounded. He finally removed his hand from your mouth so that he could run his thumb along your lower lip.

“So pretty,” he cooed.

“Faster!” you begged, and Jeno obliged almost immediately, railing you at an almost inhuman speed. You bit down on your lip to keep yourself from crying out loudly, stuttering, “Oh g-god…”

“Cum for me, baby.”

Every thrust was bringing you closer to that euphoric rush, but you just needed that one more push off the edge. When Jeno wrapped his pretty fingers around your neck once again, you felt the heat blooming under your skin start to spread all over, and the pressure building up had released all at once.

Jeno clamped his hand over your mouth once again, this time holding your jaw securely in place. Your cries were muffled as your body arched up underneath his strong figure. Your head went completely fuzzy, and you felt like your sense of spatial perception was slipping from you. Jeno tirelessly fucked you through your orgasm, and you wondered how the hell he had the energy to keep going.

Jeno tucked his face into the crook of your neck when he came, letting out the softest of groans, like he was trying to stay impossibly quiet, before he pulled out of you. You were a panting mess, so you barely registered the aftermath of your orgasm, but you felt your limbs tingling all over.

Despite everything going around you, it felt like your world was just you and Jeno, bodies pressed flush against each other in his bed.

Coherency started to bleed back into you, and you blinked all your surroundings back into existence. You sort of understood now—the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins. Despite how exhausted your body felt, you felt so alive, like every nerve of yours was on fire.

When Jeno collapsed beside you, something strange came over you, and you blurted out, “Teach me how to fight.”

“Huh?”

“I wanna learn how to fight like you,” you said, chest rising and falling as you turned to look at him. He really was so beautiful with his tousled hair and gleaming eyes. “It wasn’t like I was expecting to win, but I wanna try winning after losing pathetically in front of everyone.”

“Don’t do it,” Jeno warned. “I can teach you all you want, but please don’t get in that ring again.”

You shuddered at how serious his tone was, asking, “Why not?”

“Your ego isn’t worth being on the wrong side of the knife, Y/N.”

Your mood simmered, but you didn’t want to back down. “Teach me and let me have one fight with you, and then I won’t ask you ever again.”

Jeno narrowed his eyes for a moment, deep in thought, until he finally gave in with a retired sigh. “Fine, but only one fight.” He still seemed curious as to why you were so adamant on learning how to fight, but he decided not to press further. “We can spar after hours in the warehouse. We’ll just have to make sure no one catches us.”

You agreed, biting back your smile. Lee Jeno had all the time to do anything else he wanted, and he was spending it with you. You knew you had thought it was for the better to stay away from him and the Fight Club, but Jeno made you feel so free.

“By the way,” you started, “do the other Inner Circle members know that you’re rich?”

“Who said I’m rich?”

You scoffed. “It’s pretty obvious. Have you seen your watch? Your clothes? This room?”

Jeno stiffened up. “No, they don’t really know,” he replied, “and I don’t plan on telling them right now.”

“Why not? Aren’t they your friends?”

“Yeah.” Jeno shrugged. “When I go there, I just feel like a normal guy who wants to fight. I know most of them don’t come from backgrounds like mine, so I never want them to feel like I’m on a whole other level.”

You frowned. “You don’t have to hide that from them.”

He laughed, reaching over to cradle your cheek tenderly. “It’s not that big of a deal, really. Coming from a wealthy background doesn’t define me at all, so I don’t mind.” He was rather cute when the corners of his lips pulled up, and his eyes did that thing where they crinkled at the corners. “I just wanna keep a low profile and enjoy my life.”

“Oh,” you replied stupidly, flustered by the affection you were receiving. “W-well, as long as you’re happy.”

You both were silent, just staring into each other’s eyes until Jeno suggested, “You should probably get back downstairs.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

“You might wanna cover up those hickies first, though.”

“Jeno!”

“Where were you all night?” Sungchan asked, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. The party had ended shortly after your rendezvous with Jeno, and you were glad that you could make it back to Sungchan without looking like a frazzled mess. “I couldn’t find you after I spoke to the president.”

“Oh.” You felt your cheeks burning, and you were glad that it was dark enough so that Sungchan couldn’t see how your expression twisted. You were able to smoothly lie, “I got a little too drunk so I was in the bathroom.”

“Oh shit, are you okay?” he asked, sparing you a glance. “Karina did say you were a lightweight.”

(You made a mental note to interrogate Karina later and find out why she was even telling Sungchan that you were a lightweight. Funny, coming from her, who threw up her dinner in a bush after four shots and proceeded to throw up in her Uber, too.)

“Why didn’t you bring her with you, by the way?” you questioned. “You know, instead of inviting me as your date.”

Sungchan’s jaw went taut. “I needed to buckle down and impress them today. Karina would distract me.”

“Distract you?” You laughed. Your best friends had been pining over each other for the longest time, and you were starting to wonder how either of them hadn’t confessed already. “You should just ask her out already.”

Sungchan sent you a little victory smirk. “What if I told you I was planning to do so?”

You nearly choked on air. “You are?” You practically squealed and fought down the urge to hit his shoulder. (You didn’t want to over-express your enthusiasm while he was driving.) “Finally! I’ve been so exhausted waiting for you two to do something about your tension.”

Sungchan chuckled. “We’ll see how it goes,” your friend said. He nudged your arm with his elbow. “How’s your love life going?”

You nearly yelped when your phone went off, and of course, you received a text notification from Lee Jeno at the perfect time. You didn’t expect him to text you right after you left the frat house, so you were worried you did something wrong.

jeno: you left your panties here btw

you: oh my god im so sorry you: should i ask my friend to turn around?

jeno: nah i’ll keep it

“My love life,” you echoed, eyes still locked on your phone screen in shock as your cheeks burned, “makes no sense.”

The first time Jeno went over to your place was a few weeks later.

An exchange of texts led to you confessing that you were hungry, and since your cooking experience only ranged from ramen or salad. Jeno’s expertise, on the other hand, offered a lot to the table. You had no choice but to invite him over to cook for you.

Over the last few weeks, you both had been meeting up here and there. Sometimes you two were as cordial as friends, sometimes he was diligently teaching you how to fight, and sometimes Jeno was running his hands all over your body and making out with you like nothing else mattered. He was surprisingly an open book when it came to you, which was a stark contrast to your first impression of him.

Jeno’s tongue worked wonders. You swore you had experienced it on every inch of your body already, but each time you both were tangled up in each other brought you closer to what bliss truly was. However, you did like it a little better when you were in his arms as he pressed kisses to the top of your head.

It was suspiciously “very girlfriend-and-boyfriend type behavior,” as Karina told you.

“Pesto or marinara?” he called from the kitchen as you were watching him intently from the kitchen island countertop. His expression morphed into a cocky smirk, and you grew embarrassed when you realized he caught your dreamy stare. Jeno left the water to boil and leaned over the counter, looking right into your eyes. “Distracted, are we?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, Jeno leaned over and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. It was over faster than it happened, but you were still left stunned when he pulled away and walked back to the stove.

“Pesto,” you concluded in a small voice.

After that, you and Jeno ate the pasta he made on the kitchen counter. At one point, you sat on the counter itself and let him feed you the pasta. Every giggle that slipped from your lips made you wonder if there were lovesick undercurrents. Jeno’s thumb rubbed soothing circles right above your knee, and you wondered if you two would ever become closer than this unlabelled relationship.

You weren’t particularly worried, but you felt like this you-and-Jeno thing was going to become a thing—one where you would both wind up catching feelings and not be able to stop seeing each other.

It became a thing.

Jeno didn’t do things, and you were both well aware of that, but neither of you could stop it from becoming a thing.

(And maybe—deep, deep down—you wanted it to become something, but you wouldn’t ever want to make a fool out of yourself. Not in front of Jeno.)

Every Friday, when you found yourself at the Fight Club, you ended up slipping away to Jeno’s room where he fucked you like a starved man. Whether it was your face pressed against the wall, legs shaking under you as he split you apart, or whether your legs were around his hips, holding on for dear life as he fucked into you harder and harder, Jeno was merciless. He didn’t stop until tears were streaming down your cheeks and the both of you had left marks on each other—just enough to last until the next week. (He also taught you how to fight if you weren’t too sore, yes.)

Jeno absolutely hated the aftermath. He hated how you limped out of his room, knees wobbling as you made your way back over to Jisung, who was either in the middle of a fight or watching one intently. He hated how Jisung drove you home, stealing away the time that you could’ve spent with him. He hated how he had to wait patiently for seven whole days to see you again.

So, Jeno indulged himself. You could tell so by the way he fucked you like there was no time left in the world. Sometimes, you could hardly contain your moans, so Jeno had to clamp his hand over your mouth until they were muffled and strangled under his hold.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he would growl. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

One particular night, while Jeno was fucking you until you saw stars, he languidly kissed you and mumbled against your lips, “Stay the night.”

You balked. There was no way you could explain to Jisung why you weren’t going home with him, why you were staying at the Fight Club’s warehouse with Lee Jeno. If you and Jeno were going to keep this situationship under wraps, screwing each other was not something you could carelessly be doing.

You went home without him that night. Empty. Alone. Longing.

Jeno was a very caring person, you realized, but you wondered if his affection could be dispensed to anybody—if you just happened to receive it because you were there. If someone else happened to encounter him during your first night at the Fight Club, would he have become involved with them instead?

And it wasn’t solely the sex. Jeno invited you to do things that toed the line of being a couple. He called you over to watch a movie, which resulted in you both cuddling as you watched every single episode of Loki in one sitting; he brought coffee to your place every weekend, and then he proceeded to do his homework on your dining table; and he took you out to expensive dinners and stifled his laughter when you would attempt to pronounce the names of the fancy dishes.

You liked Jeno’s smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. You liked the way his laugh rang in your ears. You liked the way he called your name and made your heart skip a beat.

You liked how he looked at you, not like you were fragile china, but like you were so powerful that he wanted to cherish you. You liked how he made you feel like you were the most beautiful woman ever, especially when he pressed kisses to your forehead and whispered sweet nothings against your skin, as if they’d bury deep into your very bones. You liked how he made a home for you in his arms, holding you close to his chest and stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

You liked Lee Jeno.

You couldn’t pinpoint why your revelation hit at that particular moment, but the sudden realization of your own feelings was overwhelming. This wasn’t something you could consult Jisung about (mostly because you knew he was useless in the field of love), nor could you ask Karina (mostly because she would just joke about it since she was in a secure relationship with Sungchan now), so you realized you needed to face this head-on.

That same night, you didn’t want to feel empty or alone anymore. You wanted to act on your feelings for once.

“Tighten your core muscles, got it?” Jeno instructed, brushing his large hand against your midriff. You always tried to focus on what he was teaching you, but it was painfully difficult when you were both so prone to end up wrapped up in each other at the drop of a hat. “If there’s an opening, you go for the nose, okay?”

“Are you just telling me all this just so you know what to watch out for?” you teased, willing your voice not to sound as breathless as you felt.

Jeno chuckled and kissed your nose gently. “Well, you know I’d never hurt that pretty face of yours.”

You should have been flattered, but, instead, you scrunched up your nose in disapproval. Jeno’s eyes widened, wondering if he did anything wrong. He hadn’t, but you didn’t want him to treat you like a girlfriend when you two weren’t even dating. Moreover, you wanted him to take your fight seriously.

“Promise me that you won’t hold back when I’m ready to fight,” you said, holding up your pinky. “I don’t want you going easy on me just because… yeah.”

“Yeah, I promise,” he said sincerely, linking his pinky with yours. A fond expression crossed his features before he raised a brow. “Because what?”

You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want the words to fall from your lips. You knew that if you said what the both of you were thinking, everything would completely flip. You were ready for a relationship, but you weren’t sure if Jeno was anticipating this so soon. If you ended up saying something that drove him away, you didn’t know what you’d even do.

Everything would fall apart.

“It’s nothing,” you said, getting back into formation with your elbows out and fists clenched. “Let’s get back to it.”

Jeno didn’t seem to want to brush this off, but he took your words as a challenge instead. A glint flashed in his eyes when he stood across from you, positioned so that he was going to strike. You tried to determine whether to go for his eyes or legs, but it was all over before it even started.

Within seconds, Jeno had tackled you to the ground. You felt as if every limb of your body was pinned to the ground simply by his body weight, and fresh pain radiated along the side of your face when you hit the floor. You struggled to twist your way out of his grip, but you accepted defeat shortly after.

“Tell me what you were gonna say,” he said with a good-natured smile, which was completely off-beat considering he had just bodied you in your two-second sparring match.

“Do I have to?” you complained, to which Jeno nodded. You sighed and hit the back of your head against the floor lightly. “Um, well… I don’t wanna assume but I think we both like each other. Correct me if I’m wrong, though.”

To your surprise, Jeno snickered. For a moment, your stomach dropped, wondering if you were about to get a disappointing reaction, but then he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You noticed that he had a habit of doing that whenever he felt more affectionate with you.

“You’re just realizing this?” he asked, sighing and letting his hot breath fan your neck. He lifted his head to look at you, and you were endeared by how he looked like a puppy that was waiting for a treat. “But wait—you said we both like each other?”

There was still a sliver of uncertainty in Jeno’s eyes when you didn’t respond. It wasn’t that you didn’t reciprocate, but you were so taken aback from his reaction. The fighter swallowed hard, and his breathing was more labored compared to before. Despite the intensity in his eyes, his next words were soft.

“Do you really like me?”

“Yes,” you answered easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes. Absolutely.”

It took a minute for him to process, and your answer sank in slowly. You could see it in the way his eyes shone brighter upon the realization. For the first time, you saw the most love-struck look wash over Jeno’s face.

He reached up to cup both your cheeks, thumb swiping across your cheek lovingly. “I like you, too,” he murmured. “A lot.”

He signed off his words with a gentle kiss to your lips, and when you wrapped your arms around his neck, you felt like the air around you was crackling with static. Everything else melted away until it was you and Jeno, and you felt like he brought you to another high. This time, though, it was comforting; you felt loved.

Now you knew that Lee Jeno would fight tooth and nail for you if he had to—until his last breath.

            EPILOGUE.

The members of the Fight Club roared with excitement. The first time you stepped up to the plate, your eyes were too innocent for the bloodthirsty crowd; this time around, you were focused. The dingy lights in the warehouse had never seemed so bright to you. The ring felt like your own stage, and each step you took made you feel like you owned the floor.

Jisung watched you with awe all over his face, and you wondered if he was the only one who betted on your victory. Of course, you didn't put it past anyone else in the crowd. They hadn’t seen how much you had improved, and the last time they saw you fight was catastrophic.

You vividly recalled Zhong Chenle’s words from your very first time at the Fight Club.

“The rules are no shirts or shoes, but, if you want, you can keep your shirt on.”

At the time, you were too timid to take off your shirt, afraid that onlookers would be more focused on what was underneath. What you didn’t come to realize was that no one—literally no one—cared about how your body looked. Back then, you had already accepted defeat before you stepped into the ring.

Eyes fixed on Jeno, you stripped your shirt off without a second thought.

The corner of your boyfriend’s mouth picked up in a smirk. You could see the excitement in his eyes; it was the same look he wore before he was about to win.

You inhaled sharply, allowing that rush of adrenaline to course through your body. It was addicting—intoxicating. Made you feel alive. Alert.

Once, Jeno asked you if you remembered the first two rules of Fight Club. Now, though, the third rule was running through your head like a mantra.

Someone yells “stop,” goes limp, taps out, the fight is OVER.

You grinned and faced your opponent, waiting for Chenle to signal you both to begin. Jeno had helped you a lot, but this was your chance to prove that all your training had paid off. Apart from your private affairs, you had been training at the Fight Club itself and watching fights with Jisung. You knew that you could properly give it your all, unlike your first fight against Jeno.

And you had no intention of tapping out this time.

“Ready,” Chenle started, and the atmosphere shifted. Your mind was becoming less thought and more feeling, zeroing in on Jeno as Chenle swung his hand down. “Fight!”

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so much for reading !! big s/o to you if you made it all the way here to the end :’) very hyped bc this is my first jeno fic !!! i’m ngl i wasn’t even halfway done with it yesterday when i said i was gonna be posting it that night LOL that was just my little motivating push for me to finish the fic :’) but it worked so im sorta proud !! <33 i hope you guys liked fight club and look forward to my other upcoming fics! i struggle with writing action sometimes so i hope the fight scenes made sense LOL but much love to y’all ♡ 

DEDICATION ▸ a special shoutout to fia @jenoentry​ for pushing me to write this fic !! this one’s for you bbyg aka #1 jeno stan <3 thank you for ur motivation esp when u said, and i quote, “if u don’t write the roughest toughest almost violent smut ever i’m ending this friendship” and then i proceeded to talk about how i’m writing soft jeno ♡ LMFAO ily fia you are my horny muse

TAG LIST ▸ @leeknowsredeyeliner​​ @wownajaemin​​ @geniejunn​​ @huangberryyy​​ @halbae​​ @sehunniepot​​ @jjaeyoonoh​​ @subhyuck​​ @itskkung​​ @irrealitys​​ @lilacboba​​ @moasworld @kkakkdugi @nctevia @byunfirstlady @travelleratheart101 @nctdom @fairysunooo @bekah931215 @jenotation @decembermoonskz @tenderfrailty @so0bercore @luvno @ncttboo @sourguk @jinnieyeolele @kindawack @hugs4sieun @nonnnimous @n0hyuck @hyuckinx @justalonelynctzen @fraechan @jeonnyread @domhyuckie @rbf-aceu @curieouscapt @allie-mcginn​ @deobitiful​ @allorysayshi​ @willfiteforfood​ @hii-yongseul​ @pandabunbuns​ @haychhans​ @bitchenderyy​ @hello-kittyy​ @daegalfangirl​ @brightestmark​ @cherrywonie​

CAN’T TAG ▸ @otchae @jenostoes @seraphinealana

[yoon-kooks]

how many | jjk | 1

Pairing: Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, BadBoy!AU

Summary: To Jeon Jungkook, you're just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you're also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you've taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. Tempted by his irresistible smile and delicate touch, you might even let him in on your little secret.

Word Count: 5k

Parts: 0 ◆ 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 ◆ 4 ◆ 5 ◆ 6

A/N: no smut in this one, but yall lmk if you feel that sexual tension;;;; i also want to mention that some of jk's tattoos in this fic are real & some are made up for the sake of the story ! for new readers, please read the prologue (part 0) before this!

◆ the one you found covered in sweat ◆

On a rare day off from both school and work, you lock yourself in your room, slide your headphones on, and sketch because that’s your idea of a day well-spent. Sure, you could be grabbing lunch with a friend or hanging out by the pool in that new cute bikini you bought, but that’s not really the way your introverted self works.

The relationships you’ve built never extend past where they’re established. You adore your clients who continue to cover their bodies in your art, but you don’t have anything to do with them outside of your parlor. And even when you vibe with a classmate, no one extends an invitation to hang out outside of class. You’re fine with that, though. You like to think you just haven’t made a connection that’s worth investing your personal time into.

You have no real reason to believe it’ll be any different with Jeon Jungkook. For all you know, he treats you the exact same way he treats anyone who sits across from him. After all, he has 100,000 followers whom he’s found a way to charm, one way or another.

Still, you can’t seem to shake the feeling of him being even slightly intrigued by you and your art. The faded bunny tattoo on your hand is a constant reminder of the warm yet playful exchange that went down on the first day of the semester. That was nearly a week ago, and yet, it’s still very much on your mind.

“Y/N, hey, we need to talk,” a voice calls from outside your door with a sense of urgency. “There’s a rumor going around, and I think we need to address it.”

What rumor could a lowkey person like you possibly be involved in? You swear you haven’t done anything problematic or buzz-worthy as of late… or ever, for that matter.

You swing your door open to find your friend & roommate, Kim Seokjin, with a lemon iced tea in one hand and his phone in the other.

“What rumor? Spill the tea,” you demand while pointing at his beverage.

Seokjin takes a long sip of his tea to see if you’ll crack under pressure and fess up to something you didn’t do. When you don’t, he drops the bomb on you. “You’re allegedly dating Jeon Jungkook.”

Of course the ridiculous rumor involves the closest person to a celebrity on campus. You resist the urge to set the record straight before getting some answers. “What makes you say that?”

“He was the first person to follow your new Instagram before I even realized you made another one.” Seokjin flashes his phone screen in your face as if you weren’t already aware of your own IG account. “And the only two accounts you follow are Jungkook and some rando’s art.”

“He sits across from me in art class and said he liked my art.”

“Who? Jungkook or the rando?” Both. You’re surprised Seokjin never considered the possibility that Jungkook and the “rando” were the same person. But then again, Jungkook doesn’t really paint himself as an art student on his @ArtOfKooking account.

“The one I’m allegedly dating,” you say.

“Ah, it makes sense now,” Seokjin nods.

“What makes sense now?”

“You were looking for any excuse to drop that art class before the semester even began,” he says. That’s true. The thought of familiarizing yourself with new people in a new space terrified you. “But since that first day, you’ve been leaving early for class with a big fat smile on your face. If you ask me, I’d say you were more excited to sit across from Jeon Jungkook than to spend the afternoon tattooing a mega celebrity like Park Jimin.”

Seokjin isn’t wrong about how your mood has completely shifted after your first encounter with Jungkook. It’s a lot easier to roll out of bed in the morning when you know there’s at least one person you feel comfortable around in your class. You didn’t realize you were making it obvious enough for your roommate to pick up on, though.

“Most of that is true… except for the rumor itself.” You try to laugh it off, but it doesn’t exactly feel great to be involved in a rumor that others might take as a joke. “Where did you even hear this from?”

“Oh, I made it up five minutes ago after your new account popped up as a suggestion for me to follow,” Seokjin taps his head and grins like he’s some sort of evil genius. To his credit, he really had you fooled. “I just called it a rumor because I knew that was the quickest way to get you out of your room.”

You don’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by your roommate’s antics, so you just glare at him until he feels obligated to say something else.

“So you might not be dating Jeon Jungkook, but it sounds like you caught feelings for him, right?” Seokjin’s tone switches from menace to supportive best friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s getting a little too carried away by this sudden development in your social life.

“I can’t develop feelings for someone I’ve only known for less than a week.” You tell this to both your roommate and the irrational half of your heart.

“Okay, what if we just said you’re interested in getting to know him better?” Seokjin asks. That sounds a lot more reasonable at this point in time. Besides, you’ve already gotten a small taste of what Jungkook is like, and it’d be close to impossible to stop there without further investigation. He’s the perfect hook to any essay, song, or story.

“Let’s go with that,” you nod.

“Excellent.” Seokjin makes the high-pitched sound of an unidentifiable creature as he pulls you out of your room. “If you don’t have anything planned for today—which seems to be the case, given you locked yourself behind that door—you should slide into someone’s DMs and see if he’s down to hang.”

“No thank you. I highly doubt that would end well for me.” You don’t even want to consider that as an option for today.

“Does he know about your tattoo work? I’m sure a tatted-up guy like him would love to get a DM from @snowsleeve, an incredible artist who always seems to be completely booked with appointments.”

“He is indeed one of @snowsleeve’s 507,296 followers, but I haven’t told him I’m that person yet.” It’s not a secret identity that you protect with your life, but it’s also not something you just casually bring up to anyone you meet. They either have to snag an appointment or earn your trust in order to experience the viral tattoo artist in her true form—a sleeveless college kid with an unassuming appearance. “I just don’t want that to be the reason why he’s willing to give me a chance, you know?”

“Aww, Y/N, that’s such a noble thing to say,” Seokjin makes a pouty face and brings it in for a hug. “It’s no wonder why you’re still single.”

You roll your eyes at Seokjin’s savage jab at your relationship status, but he does have a point. You’d have much different interactions with the people around you if they knew you were a tattoo artist of all things, let alone one with such a reputation. Life would probably be a little easier that way, but perhaps you aren’t trying to settle for an easy life. You hate yourself for that.

“Anyway, Jungkook’s probably too busy doing whatever the heck guys like him do. Working out or whatever.” You squirm your way out of Seokjin’s embrace and take one step back toward your room where art & solitude await you.

Just before you can get back to sketching, your roommate catches your hand and says, “We should work out too.”

“You hate working out.” You raise an eyebrow at the menace in front of you. “Are you trying to get me to go to the gym with you in hopes that we run into Jungkook there?”

“No, no, I’m just trying to get you out of your cave for an hour and into a place where you might meet a cute boy,” Seokjin clarifies.

“That’s literally the same thing.”

“C’mon, Y/N, what’s the point of designing tattoos in your room all day if you don’t have a boyfriend to put them on?”

“It’s because I spent my entire life creating art in my room that there are other people who want it etched into their skin.”

“Exactly. I think you can afford to spend one day being a little adventurous at the gym.” Your roommate really doesn’t like taking no for an answer, especially when he knows he’s right. “And besides, even if there isn’t a Jungkook sighting, we can work on our abs while you tell me all about this boy.”

“Okay, fine,” you sigh, shutting your door for some privacy to change into leggings and hide the smile you’ve been sporting a lot recently.

After going a little too hard on the ab bench, you decide to walk it off on the treadmill while Seokjin keeps at it with a surprising amount of fire in his eyes. Maybe he likes the gym after all. And if that’s the case, you’ll gladly accompany him again for future workouts because that’s the least you can do for your supportive roommate, even if Jungkook isn’t a regular at this gym.

“Nice hand tattoo.” You immediately identify the owner of that smooth voice and watch him jog toward the treadmills in a black muscle tank that should probably be illegal. Of course Jeon Jungkook is a regular at this gym.

“Thanks, I know a talented tattoo artist,” you say, waving hello to the boy as he steps onto the treadmill to your right. From the corner of your eye, you see him take another peek at your right hand where his faded mark on you still resides.

“I didn’t know you were into working out and stuff.” Jungkook does a not-so-subtle job of eyeing you in your little white crop top and leggings. You figure he thinks either your outfit is cute or you’ve never stepped foot into a gym before. Most likely the latter.

“I’m not,” you admit, even though it’s pretty obvious from the way you occasionally stumble on the treadmill. “I’m just here while my friend is sculpting out a six-pack.”

The boy next to you glances in the direction of the ab benches, not that he’d know what to look for without a visual description of your friend. “Aren’t you bored?” he asks.

You shrug, doubtful that there’s any way to actually make the gym less boring. You’ve accepted your fate at this point, but Jeon Jungkook isn’t a bad consolation prize either.

When it doesn’t appear that anyone else is coming to rescue you from the monotony of the treadmill, Jungkook hops off and presses a button on your machine to slow you to a stop.

He does a quick count on his fingers before cocking his head. “I can think of at least three things that would be more exciting to do at the gym than jogging on a treadmill.”

He waits for you to take a hint, follow his lead, and ditch the treadmill. When you finally do, he brings you over to where everyone is grunting and lifting well above their weight.

Jungkook points to the young man lifting 200 pounds over his chest. “You think you can do that, Y/N?”

“Yeah, totally.” Your eyes shift from the barbells to dumbbells to equipment you’ve never seen in your entire life, still taking in the intensity and motivation that surrounds you. If Jungkook hadn’t called your machine of choice boring, you’d probably be back on the treadmill by now. “So what are the three exciting things you were talking about?”

“Well, this is one of them.” Jungkook slaps his hand down on an open bench. You and Jungkook must have two different definitions of “exciting things” because bench press isn’t one of them for you. A better word for bench press is “intimidating.”

The boy must see the fear in your eyes because he squats down beside the bench and motions for you to do the same on the other side. The room suddenly feels smaller and more intimate, like it’s just you and him. Once you’re directly across from him, he plants his left elbow into the bench and holds his hand out in competitive fashion. This gives you an excellent view of a newly discovered tattoo just above his tricep.

“We can start out slow by arm wrestling. That way, I’ll have an idea of your strength and how much you can lift,” he says, wiggling his fingers for you to clutch onto. The way he holds onto your hand is strong and comforting as opposed to the suffocating grips of the muscular folks deadlifting in your vicinity. Somehow, he makes you feel safe in a place where injuries are the norm. Moreover, you feel accepted where you couldn’t be more out of place.

“Okayreadygo!” You slur your words as fast as you can and start to push in an attempt to catch the boy off guard. Unfortunately for you, the combination of the sneak attack and your full strength is not enough to move Jungkook’s hand from the starting point.

“Are you even trying, Y/N?” he asks, even though he can very clearly feel the shakiness in your arm. Rather than pushing back and putting an end to your struggle, he lets out a small chuckle in response to your valiant effort. He’s the one who isn’t trying.

When all hope seems to be lost, you decide to reevaluate your situation. Maybe it’s time to play dirty.

“Is it cheating to use my other arm?” It couldn’t hurt to ask at this point.

“No, go ahead.” His offer feels as though it’s out of pity instead of kindness. Your theory is quickly proven to be true when his generous smile morphs into a mischievous one. “You can use all the help you can get.”

Your response to his taunt is more nefarious than using your other arm to make it a 2v1. Without warning, you slide a curious finger across the inked skin between his tricep and deltoid. You feel a few goosebumps sprout beneath your touch.

“Found a new one,” you say, eyeing the details in the thin strip of art that wraps around his upper arm. At first glance, it looks like a simple band with the same little skeleton dude dancing all the way around. But upon further review, you notice there are subtle differences with each of the skeleton’s poses. They vaguely resemble letters. “Does this say something?”

When Jungkook turns his attention to his arm, he’s focused more on your touch than the art beneath it. As you trace each of the tiny skeleton silhouettes, his eyes follow your finger like a cat locked onto its prey. His muscles are relaxed, meaning the ongoing arm wrestling match is probably the last thing on his mind right now.

Before he can answer, you summon all of your strength to push his vulnerable arm down, flat against the bench in one clean swoop. Who would’ve thought it’d be that easy to defeat Jeon Jungkook at arm wrestling? There’s a half second delay in Jungkook realizing what the heck just happened.

“Hey, that was dirty.” The boy tries to sound upset, but his body language says otherwise. He lends both hands to help you up out of the squat position and lays you down on the bench. You squint up at the gym ceiling, blinded by the lights. Like the moon during an eclipse, his handsome face looms over you, shielding your eyes from the harsh bright beams. “I actually believed you were interested in my tattoo.”

“I am,” you say softly, locking your eyes with his. You’re fairly certain he’s just pretending to sulk, but you also want to make sure he knows you’re genuinely intrigued by his body art. You’d hate to lose the one thing that seems to connect you to him. “I still want to know what it says.”

You feel the bench cushion dip right next to your head where Jungkook leans on his left arm and hovers his body over yours. His bicep is practically in your face.

“Go ahead and try,” he dares you. From your lying down position, you identify the letters of your favorite caffeinated beverage on the inner part of his arm.

“Latte?” You have a feeling those aren’t the only letters in the whole tattoo, but it does sound kind of cute.

“Try harder.” He frowns, making no effort to twist his arm and reveal more letters to you. He’s made it clear that he isn’t going to just hand you the answer—he wants you to work for it.

You snake your fingers around the forearm beside you and maneuver yourself up into a sitting position. Not only are you in the perfect position to crane your neck and decode the rest of the letters, but you’re also right at eye level with the boy. You should be studying his tattoo, but the lack of air between you and him is making it hard to breathe and even harder to focus.

“Y/N, I thought you said you were going to be on the treadmill,” Seokjin calls out from somewhere behind you, out of breath from those intense ab exercises. Jungkook takes a peek over your shoulder, and you do the same. Seokjin spots the boy next to you, opens his mouth to say something, but chooses not to address the fact that he basically predicted the future.

You turn your head back to Jungkook, but he’s already fled the scene. Together, you and Seokjin watch the other boy from afar as he grabs one of those long metal bars and two of the smallest weights from the rack.

“Was I interrupting something?” Seokjin leans over and whispers to you.

“Yeah, you saved me from having to bench press 200 pounds.”

“Really? Because it looked like he was ready to bench press you,” your roommate snickers.

“Shut. Up.” You shove his exhausted body but catch his arm when he stumbles.

“Fine, fine.” Seokjin lets out a massive yawn as he stretches his limbs out in all directions. He’d normally bicker with you some more, but you suppose exercising has depleted him of all his chaotic energy. “I’ll meet you at home then. I need to lie down for the next 24 hours.”

Your roommate abandons you before you have time to protest and secure a ride back home. On top of that, now you’re stuck with a boy who’s serious about getting you to bench press.

As Jungkook slides the weights onto the bar and sets up a safe station for you, he directs you on a few simple stretches and laughs when you manage to mess them up. You blame the fact that he’s giving you verbal explanations instead of a more hands-on tutorial.

“Hope I didn’t cause a misunderstanding with your friend,” he says. You can’t tell if Jungkook’s voice is softer or if it’s just the growing space between you and him.

You shake your head. “He was just saying dumb things out of exhaustion.”

“So he’s not your boyfriend?” Jungkook places the assembled barbell on the rack above the bench and motions for you to slide your body beneath it. It’s funny how the day started with Seokjin’s rumor about you dating Jungkook, and now Jungkook’s under the impression that you might be dating Seokjin. You wonder if that’s the reason for the sudden distance between you and him.

You shake your head again as you lie back down on the bench. “Seokjin’s my friend, roommate, and occasional arch nemesis, but I can confirm that he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Good,” Jungkook says, probably without giving any thought about the possible implications. You tilt your head, coaxing him to elaborate further. “I mean it’s good that it wasn’t your boyfriend who just walked in on you eyeing me like that.”

“I wasn’t eyeing you like that.” You almost hit your forehead on the bar as you sit up once more to defend your scandalous actions. He really had the audacity to call you out when you were under the impression that he was the one eyeing you like that. “I was merely admiring the art on your arm.”

“Whatever you say.” His voice is back to being smooth, playful, devilish. He scoots onto the end of the bench and nudges your leg with his elbow. You take that as an invitation to examine the rest of his tattoo.

Along with the already established L, A, T, T, E, you identify the rest of the letters one-by-one. “N, T, I, O, N, T, O, D, E, T, A, I? Lat tent ion to de tai…?”

Judging by Jungkook’s wheeze and the nonsense you just spewed, you can safely assume your guess was a little off. With another look, you move a single letter and it all becomes clear.

“Attention to detail.” Saying it aloud reminds you of a fellow tattoo artist who’s known for subtle details within a bigger picture. And now that you think about it, the art style indeed matches hers. “Is this from Amber?” you ask.

Jungkook looks at you as if you just told him you’re pregnant. “She isn’t really known outside of her tattoo work, so I’m surprised you know of her.”

“She’s a hidden gem.” You leave out the fact that you actually know Amber personally and that she’s probably the closest thing you have to a friend in the industry.

“Well if you like her art, I know a few other artists you should follow.” Jungkook feels around his sweatpants and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He lists a lot of impressive tattoo artists, some of which you hadn’t heard of but would love to know more about. It seems he and you share the same taste and enthusiasm when it comes to body art. Who would’ve thought?

And then he names one artist in particular.

“Have you heard of @snowsleeve?”

Uh oh. You nod.

“I think a tattoo from her would suit you,” he says, scanning your arms for the perfect spot for some ink. “Her signature style is classy yet bad.”

“Bad?” You didn’t realize your art was going to be roasted.

“The good kind of bad,” he clarifies. “Like baddie bad.”

You snicker to yourself because that’s the first time someone’s called your art “baddie bad.” But to Jungkook’s credit, he really nailed the essence of your style as a tattoo artist—tasteful with something dark and sensual behind it.

“You don’t want a tattoo from her?” you ask.

“I do, but she’s always booked with that Post Malone guy or something.” For the record, you’ve never done any work on Post Malone. “She did like one of my IG posts recently, though,” Jungkook casually throws in.

Fuck. He’s onto you. You were really starting to think your one little heart on that post had gone unnoticed. And yet, here he is, still thinking about it a week later. Fuck Jeon Jungkook and his attention to detail.

“She must be impressed by your body art.” While it’s true that you’ve adored every tattoo you’ve spotted so far on his skin, you also can’t deny that your initial physical attraction to him is what led to that impulsive double tap on his photo.

“My theory is that it was on accident.” He shrugs.

“That’s another possibility.” Your theory is that if you just keep nodding, you can get through this conversation without any funny business. Although, if you’re being honest with yourself, nothing about him or the attention he receives is an accident. “Anyway, what’s the third thing that’s supposedly more exciting than the treadmill at the gym? We already have arm wrestling and bench press. And to be honest, I’d much rather do whatever Activity #3 is than bench press.”

Jungkook smirks. “Oh really?”

“What is it?” you ask again. You aren’t sure if you’re bothered more by the lack of an answer or the mischief in his eyes.

“Never mind about it.” He fails to wipe that smirk off his face. You hope he realizes his amusement is only adding to your curiosity. “It’s a bad joke, and I apologize.”

“Well now I need to know. At least give me a hint.”

“Okay, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jungkook holds his hands up in front of him like he’s expecting you to lash out at him. “It starts with S and ends with X.”

“I change my mind. Let’s bench press.” You take a deep breath and situate yourself beneath the barbell because sex at the gym was not on the itinerary for today.

“That’s savage, Y/N. I’m hurt.” Jungkook takes his spotter position behind you and the barbell. Despite what he says, he’s not hurt by your deadpan rejection at all. He actually seems a lot more focused on your safety than the fact that you opted for a dreaded workout over (presumably) mind-blowing sex with him.

You extend your arms up with just the tips of your fingers grazing the cold metal bar. Jungkook might’ve picked the smallest weights for you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still afraid of being crushed in the process.

“Grip the bar like this.” The boy demonstrates for you first before helping you place your hands properly on the bar. His warm touch is a reminder that you have someone watching over you. Someone who won’t let anything happen to you on his watch. “Okay, now try lifting it a tiny bit above the rack, just to ensure you can handle the weight.”

You give yourself a second and then do as you’re told. The barbell is lighter than expected, but you know it’ll become more difficult with each rep. You place the barbell back onto the rack and glance up at Jungkook’s upside-down face. Perhaps that was enough to satisfy the masculine urge to teach you the one thing he’s better than you at.

“So are we good for today?” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, although they might not have the same effect from an upside-down perspective.

“Do you want to at least try three reps?” Of course Jeon Jungkook isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily. He points out how you still haven’t let go of the bar and says, “You have a good grip.”

“Fine, but you’re responsible for dragging my body home if I’m too tired to move.”

“Deal.” He doesn’t even hesitate to seal your fate.

Without any more complaints, you do exactly three reps and then lie lifelessly on the bench as Jungkook puts the equipment away.

“C’mon, let’s go.” The boy shuffles around for the keys in his pocket while you still pretend to be sleeping. “Unless you’re planning on doing Activity #3 here after all.”

You blink your eyes open. Jungkook is already headed for the exit, so you hop to your feet and scurry behind him.

“By the way, I think we have two different definitions of exciting things to do at the gym,” you say once you’ve caught up to him.

“Is that your way of saying you hate the bench press?” You appreciate the boy’s ability to read between the lines without all the sugarcoating.

“Yeah, it’s not really my thing.” The two of you might have the same taste in art, but the same cannot be said when it comes to working out. “No offense, Jungkook.”

“Well excuse me for being a boring gym buddy.”

“You weren’t boring,” you assure him, even though he doesn’t really need a confidence boost. “I had fun, actually, and that had little to do with the workout.”

“Ah, I get it,” Jungkook nods with that smirk again. “People do say that life is better with me in it.”

“Who says that?” Just this once, you’ll humor his ego. And besides, he’s not wrong. Life isn’t so bad with him around.

“My 100,000 followers.” He watches for your reaction and is pleased with your eyeroll-smile hybrid. “I’m just kidding, Y/N.”

“That’s such an influencer thing to say,” you tease, knowing his distaste for the label. “Are you sure you aren’t an influencer?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He throws his tatted arm around your shoulder, double-checking your expression to make sure physical contact is okay with you. “Influencers can’t do things like this without worrying about dating rumors and bullshit like that.”

“Actually, there was a rumor about me and you going around today,” you say.

“Really? Who said that?” There’s more curiosity than concern in his voice.

“Seokjin came banging on my door this morning. Turns out he made it all up though.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I did the mature thing and told him we’re getting married next week.”

“Haha, very funny.” Jungkook gives your shoulder a subtle squeeze. “For an introvert, you say a lot of weird shit sometimes, you know that?”

“Oh, speaking of weird shit, I thought of an actual gym activity that starts with an S and ends with an X.” You turn to Jungkook with playfulness in your eyes, prompting him to throw out a guess.

“Wait, what’s wrong with sex at the—”

“Shadowboxing.” You square up and do a few jabs in the air.

“Shadowboxing,” Jungkook repeats as he shakes his head with a big fat smile. “It takes a special individual to come up with that one.”

You’ll take that as a compliment.

“And just FYI, I prefer to shadowbox in a place with a little more privacy,” you say. Perhaps he knows you enough now to decode the weird shit that comes out of your mouth and read between the lines.

[just-some-random-blogger]

400 Flowers

Chris Evans x Actress!Reader Summary: How does it feel to lose to an Italian group of 20 year olds, Chris? Word Count: 1k+ Warnings: Måneskin because I wanted to add them, dont fight me on this i need a plot, crack fic, fluff, i still use y/n /:, google translated Italian for like one sentence, typos, jealousy, etc.

A/N: HEYA as I promised, I would make another addition to my actress!reader crack fics. because im tired grandpa. i hope yall enjoy this cos it's what ur gonna get 🤩

Also pardon my google translate Italian T_T

If you're new here, here are the said fics, which you dont have to read btw to understand this fic: Dude, She’s Just Not Into You | White Bread | The Other Guy

Here's another part cause yall wouldn't let me sleep 😴

I forgot who wanted to be tagged so im just tagging everyone from The other guy and the ones who asked to be @time-for-a-lullaby @christmaswonderworld @readsreblogsfics @marianastudiesart @r2gers @undergroundstyle @notbrooklynsblog @marc-rogers @lam0ureuxq @mickymouselol1 @kimmyevansblog @captainwans @lizamango @freyathehuntress @freshfreakoaftrash

Watch: Y/F/N Talks About Chris Evans and Måneskin While Answering Questions From The Internet

"Hello everyone," I start by smiling and waiving. I introduce myself and what I'm doing, "and today I will be attempting to answer all the questions you have for me, gathered from the internet."

There is a cut.

"Ah," I look up, "I would say my current obsession is this Italian group I encountered." I clarify, "well, I'm not really in the business of being obsessed anymore, I think," I sigh and shake my head, "not since my One Direction phase. But I do very much like this band.

"They're called Måneskin," I then break into a laugh, "and I had, like, a mental break down when I found out that they weren't in their 30's and were just in thier 20's," I sigh and throw my hands up, "I'm..." I give a confused look, "so old?"

There is a chorus of laughter from the staff behind the camera.

I shake my head again and sigh, "at least," I chuckle, "I will eternally younger than all of my male co-stars ever."

The chorus of laughs get louder.

Another cut.

I am now furrowing my brows over a photograph they were showing me. Said photograph is flashed on screen. It's a worms eye view of me up on stage, barely holding onto a plethora of flowers. It's a screenshot of a tweet that's captioned: where/when is this from and why are people talking about Chris Evans because of it.

"Ah," I nod, "that was taken," I puff out air from my cheeks, "I don't know when exactly, but it was during one of the nights in our two week run of Seasons In Osaka, which is a musical play I starred in.

"I can guess that this was most probably when Chris watched opening night, judging by how overwhelmed I am carrying that large bouquet I have in my arms."

Another cut.

I nod and raise a hand, "Chris Evans." I look away in thought, "I... he watched the show a total of four times," I break into laughter, "which was already excessive in and of itself, but every time he would watch, he'd bring me a bouquet of 100 roses and I would distribute it to everyone on set, the cast, the actors, the extras, the crew, the director, the musicians, the technicians, the producers. I actually did that with all my flowers, because without them I wouldn't have shone as brightly as everyone said I did, so," I shrug, "it was the least I could do.

The comment section of this video:

I'M FUCKING FERAL CHRIS EVANS BOUGHT HER 100 ROSES PER SHOW AND I TAKE SHIT FROM UGLY MEN WHAT THE FUCK [10k+ likes] >>>200 REPLIES<<< FOR REAL THO HE'S SET THE BAR SO HIGH [1.6k+ likes] REMEMBER IF HE WANTED TO HE WOULD [5k+ likes] RIGHT. They are literally perfect for each other I'm sobbing. [905 likes]

Y/N having a mental breakdown over Måneskin issa mood [3.6k+ likes]

Everyone who thinks Y/L/N-Evans isn't a thing 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 [5k+ likes] >>>62 REPLIES<<< People who say they aren't together 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 [598 likes]

Chris Evans Settles Dating Rumors With Y/F/N Once And For All | CONAN on TBS

Conan leans in and sighs, "Chris, just give it to us straight."

Chris breaks into a laugh then falls into a poker face, nodding his head all serious, "yeah."

Conan looks him dead in the eyes and asks, "are you or are you not dating Y/F/N?"

Chris sighs and slaps his lap, "you know," he turns to the audience then back to Conan, "I've been answering this question for what feels like forever, and I feel like no one's listening to me."

"No, no, no, no," Conan shakes his head and his hands, "I'm listening," he motions to his side, "America is listening," the crowd cheers and Chris laughs, "we're all listening."

"Yeah but," Chris chuckles then regains composure, "I keep saying yes, but it's like you're looking for a no."

Conan protests, "well maybe if you weren't so darn confusing, Chris, this would all be behind us!"

Chris boobie grabs himself as he laughs, "you wanna hear the truth or do you wanna hear what you wanna hear?"

Conan looks at him for a moment then bursts, "I wanna hear what I want to hear and that's the truth! This is literally what Captain America stands for!"

Chris raises his hands, "I haven't handled the shield in a while."

"JUST TELL US!"

Chris chuckles and shakes his head, "we're," he sighs, "very close friends."

Conan looks at Chris

Chris looks at Conan.

"Friends?" Conan asks.

Chris nods, raising his hands in defeat, "that's the truth."

Conan's eye twitches.

The crowd begins to boo. Chris gives a look to the audience, "really? You're going to boo me for being honest?" He clicks his tongue.

"But you- and she- and- but the-"

Chris turns to Conan, "it's okay. You'll understand when you're older."

Conan makes a face, "understand what exactly? That love is dead?!"

"Hey! I love my friends!" Chris defends for absolutely no reason, "and I love her bits and pieces, so don't be so dramatic."

"Dramatic?!" Conan shouts dramatically, "you don't love your friends, Chris."

Chris breaks into a chuckle, which morphs into a concerned look on his face, "I- uh... you don't love your friends."

"NO!" Conan shouts back, "I would sell Andy for spare change and some candy!"

Chris loses it as he turns over to Andy, who was spectating everything from the other couch and nods slowly, "it's true. He's tried."

"Aww," Chris chuckles then eventually frowns.

20 min video titled: How Måneskin Is Making Y/L/N-Evans Extremely Volatile

It all started when, *insert clip*:

"I would say my current obsession is this Italian group I encountered."

*CUT*

"They're called Måneskin."

... happened.

Since then, all hell has broken loose.

*CUT TO*

A clip of a red carpet event.

Måneskin is at the AMA's in their suits and the interviewer asks them, "do you guys know that you're Y/F/N's current obsession."

The group all breaks into a smiles and starts getting excited.

The only girl in the group, Victoria, replies with a wide grin, "yeah, yeah! Our fans were freaking out about it."

"I saw it on twitter," the vocalist, Damiano, says, "then," he breaks into a giddy laugh, covering his face, "I started freaking out. I ran to the other room and started telling everyone about it."

The group agrees with him.

"It's like a dream," Damiano shakes his head.

The long haired drummer, Ethan, raises a hand and chimes in, "I love her very much. She is amazing."

"I lover her too," the guitarist, Thomas, adds, smiling.

The interviewer smiles back at them and agrees along, "and I'm sure it's mutual, you guys."

Damiano then, with his mischievous lopsided grin turns to the camera and says, "I don't mind dating older or younger." He points to the camera and shoots his shot in Italian, "if you want to go out with me, call me, "se vuoi uscire con me, chiamami." He seals it off with a wink.

His members turn to him and holler.

The interviewer, living for the drama, asks, "hey, hey, what was that?"

"He asked her out," Thomas laughs.

Ethan continues, amidst his chuckling, "It's like, if she wants a date, call him."

"Yeah right," Victoria says in a scolding manner, "as if she'd go for you."

"Well," Damiano clicks his tongue, "you never know."

"Well, I'm also available," Thomas says.

Victoria knits her brows in offence then says, "me too!"

Ethan, seemingly not sure of what was going on chuckles, "me three!"

There is an argument amongst them in Italian and it's all pretty chaotic.

*CUT TO*

I'm in a sparkly, golden dress for I too am at the AMA's, smiling at an interviewer.

"You have Måneskin quite whipped for you," the interviewer says, making me laugh.

"Why? Did you talk to them, did they say anything?"

"Uh yeah!" she nods, "I just talked to them a few minutes ago they were all all shooting their shot at you. Damiano specifically asked you out in Italian."

I throw my head back in laughter, "what? How do you know that, do you speak Italian?"

"No, but I have my sources, as in their cute drummer Ethan translated for me."

I break into another laugh then fan my face, "well," I click my tongue and wiggle my brows, "I know what I'm going to be doing tonight."

*CUT TO*

A photograph of Måneskin with me in the middle. A normal photo, one with all of us with our tongues out, one where Damiano was carrying me, one with Victoria kissing my cheek.

Yeah that was the equivalent of a forest fire on the internet.

*CUT TO*

A screenshot of these tweets:

@ChrisEvans: Why is everyone telling me to learn Italian? @ChrisEvans: [replying to @ChrisEvans] I have a strong inkling it's not because my maternal grandfather is Italian...

And replies to that tweet

@pepanna: [replying to @ChrisEvans] this man literally ON the internet and still can't google? @marvelsloot: [replying to @pepanna] disappointed but not surprised

@y/nisqueen: [replying to @ChrisEvans] sir, with all due respect, if you're going to lose to anyone, maybe dont to someone half your age ☠️

@steve0ger$: [replying to @ChrisEvans] IF I DON"T SEE AN UPDATE OF YOU AND Y/N IM JUMPING INTO TRAFFIC

@teaishotloser: [replying to @ChrisEvans] ok but chris evans vs maneskin when @donttalktomerat: [replying to @teaishotloser] ngl vic could kill chris no questions @chrissleftboobie: [replying to @teaishotloser] me but chris v simu

*CUT TO*

Chris getting asked by one of the fans at a press con whilst a couch interview.

He makes a face, repeating what was asked of him, "do I have plans on marrying Y/F/N?"

The fans go absolutely livid and scream their head off.

"You guys," Chris makes a face as he grits his teeth, "wrong movie."

His costars and the audience laughs.

The director of the new film he was in says after laughing, dead serious, "answer the damn question, Evans."

Chris turns to him in shock, breaking into a laugh. He points at the woman and says, "hey, I don't like your tone."

Someone in the crowd echoes, "answer the damn question!"

Chris turns to the crowd and chuckles. He places his hands in his pants and licks his lips, "I don't like your tone."

After a moment passes, Chris eventually answers, "well," he pulls out his hand and pats his thigh, "apparently I lost to this Italian band." He pinches his nose bridge then fake cries, "it's over you guys."

*CUT TO*

A clip of someone screaming BITCH WHAT THE FUCK

*CUT TO*

A screenshot of more these news articles:

See: Chris Evans and Y/F/N Lock Lips In An Audi

It looks like they really enjoyed themselves.

Y/L/N-Evans Caught Kissing in Evan's Car

What a time to be alive.

If You Were Wondering If Y/L/N-Evans Is Real, You Have To See This

THEY MADE OUT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Evans and Y/L/N Confirm Their Relationship

But for real this time

Y/F/N: We've been telling everyone we've been dating.

It's time to get that betting money.

*CUT TO*

Onto literally the pettiest video on the internet, this:

"Me or Måneskin," Chris asks as he holds up a phone to my face.

I look at him, past his phone. He covers his face with his phone and whines, "Måneskin or me!!!!!"

"Why are you doing this? Where you paid to do this?"

Chris replies, "I'm trying to prove a point."

I roll my eyes, "Måneskin."

He turns the phone to him and smiles, "see, I told you!"

The comment section of this video:

HELP WHY THE HELL ARE THEY LIKE THIS [13k+ likes] >>>50 REPLIES<<< Because it's real 😌 [1k+ likes]

[fbfh]

rocks at your window pt. 12 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut and chapter by chapter warnings, so as with all nsfw works, ricky is aged up to 18+!! ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year. additionally, ricky begins to desplay more symptoms of mental illness and bpd but he does get therapy and has a good support system. Obviously I'm not a professional and this is for entertainment so while I have done my research pls take this with a grain of salt!! or several!! /lh

!! contains some spoilers for season 1 of hsmtmts, and previous chapters of this fic !!

wc: 5k

genre: mild hurt/lotta comfort, smut, feels

pairing: ricky bowen x (afab she/her) reader

warnings: post show depression, more backstory for reader, brief mentions of gifted kid burnout and rediscovering your love for theatre, more fake texts, ricky is down ba-a-a-a-ad, classic Hot Boy Climbing Through Your Window moment, heart to heart convos, smut, body worship, clit sucking n fingering, penetrative sex, emotional 'i love you' sex, ricky begging <3, possible cliff hanger?? (BUT NOT BAD I PROMISE)

summary: it's late at night and you're reflecting on your experience performing high school musical the musical with all your fellow wildcats when someone shows up, throwing rocks at your window, and thinking the exact same thing.

song recs: rocks - imagine dragons, end of all things - panic at the disco, I hear a symphony - cody fry, fuck it I love you - lana del rey, tell me that you love me - victorious cast, where do we go from here - amelie obc, I can't handle change - roar

a/n: this is the last chapter of rocks. I got so emotional writing this and I sincerely hope yall enjoy. also before anyone asks YES I'm planning a sequel about season 2 but it's curretnly tba. I hope you cry when you hear rocks by imagine dragons and get flustered as FUCK when you hear tell me that you love me by the victorious cast because Ricky Bowen needs to be told I love you to cum it's canon Tim Federle told me so. Fangz again to Cici for proof reading and fangz to you guys for reading <3 send in Ricky asks lol

tags @yesv01 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @afidiofobia @aliyahsutherland @pikzel @demirunner @brinaslittlefreak @girlfriendwhoseawitch @matiere-detoiles @ifilwtmfc @uselesssapphickitten @nxstalgicnxbxdy @ggclarissa @n-slayaaaaa @stormi-ames @rainforest-daisies @sunshineangel-reads

The show is over, midterms are over, now it’s Friday night and you can’t sleep. It’s one of a handful of Fridays over the past few months that you haven’t spent at rehearsal, and no matter how many times they roll around, it still feels weird. You chalk it up to routine, muscle memory, but part of you still worries you’ll be late when you see it’s past 6pm. You miss the El Rey, you miss the auditorium and rehearsal room at school, you miss circle time with Miss Jenn and all your friends. Post show depression always sucks, but after everything that happened during High School Musical, how intense things got, the letdown is worse than usual. 

Even all the fun things Miss Jenn had planned to keep everyone’s spirits up until the next show gets announced are all over. You’d spent a week with your friends learning a song about winter Ashlyn wrote and Gina and Carlos choreographed so everyone could do a flashmob for the new East High theatre department’s instagram page. Miss Jenn got everyone together to make some content in advance to post before the break, but you finished your last take of the flashmob after school today. New Year’s isn’t until later this week, so you’ve finally reached the wasteland between closing one show and starting another. 

“Hey,” your mom says softly from your doorway, and you look up from where you’re sitting on your bed. You greet her quietly, flipping through your playbill from the show, still wearing your cast shirt. You have a few open hat boxes in front of you, adorned in light florals and other delicate patterns and designs. Each one of them is full to the brim with playbills, confetti, and other mementos from past shows, except the one in front of you, which still has some room left in it. 

Your mom walks over to you, watching your expression closely as you flip through your playbill, not wanting to put it away just yet. She rests her hand on your back, rubbing her thumb affectionately before tucking the tag of your shirt back into the neck. You both know what’s coming. You think back to the deal you made with her after your dad left. You didn’t realize until months after how much you’d been struggling with everything. Your mom discussed dropping out of the show you were in, even though you were so close to opening night, and you’d refused. You’re not the type to drop out of a show you’ve spent months rehearsing for just because of some struggles in your personal life. 

Your mom could see clear as day how you weren’t having fun like you used to, how burnt out you were going to get if you kept up like that. What kind of mother would she be if she just let you do that to yourself? Once you’d found a new house and a new job out in Utah, you came to the agreement that you’d take a break for the summer. After that, if you wanted to do theatre again, you could do a show at your new school - nothing high pressure, or competitive and catty, or overly professional. After that, if you still want to, you can return back to professional theatre after you graduate. 

“So?” she says softly. Your chest squeezes, and you’re so grateful that you’ve been able to feel and see and do and experience every single thing you love about theatre so much. There had been no high stakes, nothing riding on you and your ability to perform. It was just fun. Passion. A passion you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to let go of. 

“I want to do the next show.” You say, without a trace of reservation. She smiles softly, looking down at you. She hasn’t seen you like this, so much like yourself, in years. You’re glowing and at peace, and she has never, ever been happier to see it. After everything the two of you have been through, the divorce - and the events leading up to it - she remembers this is what she’s been fighting for, the goal she’s been working toward; seeing you happy and thriving. She had a hunch that high school theatre was exactly what you needed, and now she thanks her lucky stars she was right.  

You don’t talk about what you’re going to do after the next show, it’s not quite time to worry about that yet. There’s no need to rush anything, especially when it comes to stuff like this. You’re sure that when it comes time to make a decision, you’ll know in your heart what the right one will be. But even just from looking at you, even if you don’t know yet, your mom has another hunch that you’ll be back in New York, lighting up every stage on Broadway at some point. She presses a kiss to your forehead, rubbing your back again as you finally, reluctantly place your playbill in the open hat box in front of you. 

“Try to get some rest, sweetie.” 

She goes off to bed, and now you really have nothing to do. You sigh as you organize your hat boxes back on the top shelf of your closet, in the order you usually keep them in. You look around, deciding to clean your room. You run down to the kitchen to get a trash bag, then return to your room. You dig through all the scented candles you’ve been hoarding and pick out a nice smelling one to light, then put something on Netflix for some background noise. You start by folding your laundry, then pick up any stray trash. Usually cleaning your room gives you time to think, but you’re not really thinking much of anything now. You’re grateful for the break. 

You move from task to task, losing track of time as Netflix continues to autoplay. You pause what you’re doing for a second, trying to figure out why two characters are arguing. You’ve barely been paying attention, but are still managing to follow the plot for the most part. During that moment of stillness, you hear your phone buzz with a text. You pick it up, shocked at how late it is, how quickly the time got away from you. It also makes you wonder who could be texting you so late. It’s Ricky. That makes sense, you think. You wonder what he’s doing up so late as you open the message. 

You set your phone on the windowsill, then head towards your closet to try and make some sense of it. You’re not sure how it got to be such a hot mess - in all fairness, it’s not really that messy. You just need a project to work on. You straighten up your hanging clothes, refold all your jeans and folded sweaters, then reorganize it by color. Or maybe cut. You’re not sure yet. You make a mental note to rewatch Tidying Up with Marie Kondo later for more ideas. 

You decide to revisit that in a few minutes, instead turning to all the pillows and blankets hidden on the floor of your closet. You adjust them, remembering the first time you’d shown your nap hole to Ricky. Your mind wanders idly, recounting all the things that have happened since then. You really hope that in spite of everything, Ricky had a good time performing. A part of you really hopes he’s going to do more shows. He’s so talented, and he has so much natural potential. After what he’s been through, it would make total sense if he never wanted to do theatre again, but a part of you silently hopes that he’s grown to love it the way you do. 

Thunk. 

You turn your head suddenly, wondering if you’d imagined the small noise. You glance back at the window, and see you left your phone there. You figure it was a notification or something. When you press the power button to check, you’re met with the words no new notifications on your lock screen. 

Thunk.

Something moves in the corner of your vision, followed by another noise, then another.

Thunk- crack! 

Your brow furrows as you stare at the hairline fracture left in the glass of your window. You try to peer down, but it’s so dark you can’t really see anything. You open your window up wide, lifting the latch and popping out the screen. You lean your head out just enough to look down, but it’s still too dark. You turn on your phone flashlight and hold tight to your popsocket, angling the beam down, only to be met with Ricky. 

He’s holding a small plastic bag and a handful of rocks to throw until he gets your attention. He waves up at you awkwardly, and you laugh, covering your mouth to not make too much noise. It sounds beautiful. Everything you do is always so beautiful, he’s not sure why he’s still surprised when you take his breath away effortlessly. His stomach twists for a moment, and he hopes he gives you butterflies like you give him all the time. He looks up at you, and leaning down from your window like this, he thinks you’d make a really good Juliet. He’s not sure if you’ve done any Shakespeare before, but he makes a mental note to ask. 

You watch from above as he holds the plastic bag in his mouth and starts climbing up the tree next to your house. You lose sight of him for a moment, until he reappears on the lattice on the side of your house. He’s careful not to disturb the ivy slowly growing its way up in spite of the cold weather. You laugh in disbelief, watching him climb through your window until he’s standing in front of you. It feels like something out of a movie, and your heart is pounding in your chest. 

“You could have used the door…” you laugh. 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I wanted to shake it up a little.” He smiles at you, pulling something out of the bag. 

“I brought you coffee.” He pulls a to go cup out of the bag, handing it to you. He’s hopeful it will make you happy, and the way your eyes light up when you accept the drink is worth the stranger looks he got from the barista for ordering espresso at 11 at night. He takes out his drink, throwing the empty plastic bag in your garbage. You look up at him with those pretty eyes and his stomach flips. You move closer, pressing a kiss to his lips, one he leans into. 

“Thanks,” you say after pulling away, sending him the most blinding, dazzling smile. He’s been inside you more times than he can count, and your kisses still make his head all fuzzy. He lets out a soft laugh, feeling a little high from your attention. He sits on your bed, watching you as you sit backwards on your desk chair. You both sip your drinks, and it’s quiet for a moment. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask. He lets out a breathy laugh, surprised at how well you can read him. 

“It… still feels weird not being at rehearsal.” he says, thinking out loud. You nod in silent understanding of everything left unsaid. You chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, post show depression will really kick your ass.” He laughs, feeling called out at your words. 

“Yeah…” he agrees. When Nini dumped him, he felt like there was a sinkhole in his chest. Then after that, when she left, when she just walked out on him and his dad, he felt like he was going to cave in. Then he met you. You didn’t make him stop missing her or Nini, but you gave him something to lean on. You helped him realize he had something else to think about - the show. Now he doesn’t think about Nini nearly as much as he used to; that wound is starting to heal. As for the other thing, long as he doesn’t let himself think about her or Todd, as long as he keeps moving, he’s sort of okay. 

But now he’s feeling a new kind of emptiness. He doesn’t like goodbyes, he never has, so even though he knew closing night would be hard, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much. He didn’t expect himself to grow so familiar with the soundtrack and the script, running lines and remembering blocking. He didn’t expect to miss being called Troy so much. 

“I didn’t ever expect to love theatre, or love you, as much as I do,” he muses. You glance down, face flushed from his words. He gives you butterflies so effortlessly, it’s really amazing. 

“I love you too,” you smile, taking another sip of your drink. He giggles - actually giggles - at your words. 

“So,” you continue, “you liked it? Doing the show, I mean. I know there were some ups and downs but-” 

“I loved it.”

He smiles, and you both laugh, light and bubbling over your shared adoration of each other and the experiences you just shared. 

"I really, really loved it." He breathes, distracted for a moment as he remembers it all. "I just… I didn't expect to be so sad after?" 

You spin a little in your seat, taking another sip as you listen. 

"Like, I spent so much time learning how to become Troy, learning all the lines and blocking and choreo and now I'm never going to get to do that again."

"Yeah," you agree, looking down. "I mean, that's the beauty of theatre; it's always fleeting, but there's always going to be another show."

You can see him soaking in your words, really letting them in. It doesn't mitigate his sadness, but you don't expect it to. You get up from where you’re spinning side to side on your desk chair and sit next to him on your bed, placing your coffee on the night table. You wrap your arm around him, resting your head on his shoulder. You don’t say anything, and you don’t need to. Your presence is more comforting than words could be. Maybe it’s the sweet smell of your peachy perfume, maybe it’s the way you’re so consistent in his life, but he’s reminded in a rush of the first night you spent together. Memories replay like flashbacks in his mind, and after a moment, he turns his head toward you. 

His face is so close to yours, and it’s obvious what he’s thinking from the bedroom eyes he’s giving you, flicking between yours and your lips. It happens so suddenly, your heart barely has time to pound before he’s pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. Ricky needs a distraction from the ache in his chest. He needs something else to do, something else to think about, something else that makes him happy. He can’t think of something better to focus on than you. He deepens the kiss as you hold on to him tight, loving the way you always melt under his touch. You sigh against him, giggling as he works your lips open, slipping his tongue into your mouth. 

He climbs on top of you as his hands move down. He takes his time, feeling you up, obsessing over every part of you until he gets to your thighs. He gropes your pretty thighs that he wants so badly to put his face between, not missing the way you were squirming a moment ago, already needy for some friction. He slots himself between your legs as he presses kisses into your neck, adoring the pretty sighs and noises you let out. He squeezes your thighs in his hands, before pulling you flat on your back with him hovering on top of you. The sudden change in position makes your heart race, and you can feel your cunt getting hot and puffy with arousal. The expression on your face makes it so worth it, he thinks, watching it grow even more flustered as he moves down. He pulls off your shirt and presses kisses between your tits. He plays with them, squeezing and running his thumbs over your hardened nipples in little circles. No matter how many times he sees them, it always feels like the first time, when all he could say was Wow. Oh my god. Wow. You let out a choked noise at the feeling, one he reciprocates, moaning into the soft flesh he has in his mouth.

“Fuck, Ricky…” you breathe, watching him closely as he moves down, trailing kisses along your stomach, squeezing your waist and hips, finally tugging off your bottoms. He trails his fingers over your panties for a moment, taking in how pretty they look on you, how much he loves to see that little wet spot growing bigger and bigger. He throbs as he takes them off, and you watch with wide eyes as he opens your legs a bit more. 

“There we go,” he says softly, and your pussy pulses in anticipation of his touch. He spreads you open, taking a moment to take in how pretty your pussy is, how nice you look all spread open for him like this. It’s a shorter moment than he would have liked, he just can’t resist you, he can’t wait to press soft kisses to your heat, to flick his tongue over your clit, to make you feel good. He won’t wait any longer, doing just that, listening to every noise that escapes your pretty lips like a breathtaking song. He traces a finger around your dripping hole, fluttering and desperate for contact. 

As he works his first finger in, he can't help but feel like he's home. You're so tight around just one finger, he wonders how you're always able to take all of him. The thought makes his stomach flutter with anticipation. He pumps his finger in and out gently, feeling you get wetter around him as you get used to the sensation. He continues licking and sucking on your clit, pulsing in his mouth, as he does. You taste amazing, and he wants more and more. 

"Fuck, Ricky…" you sigh, and it's like music to his ears. He pushes his second finger in, and moans against your clit as he feels your tight walls stretch and relax to accommodate him. You let out a sharp gasp, throbbing erratically against his tongue. He scissors his fingers, breath hitching as you stretch around him. 

“Oh my god,” you choke out in a breathy sigh, “Ricky…” 

He loses all his progress as you clamp around him, bucking into his mouth as you cum around his fingers. He pauses for a moment, dizzy from the sensation, that he did that to you, made you feel that good. You tug on his hair, and before you can even ask, he knows. You want more of him, want him inside you. He climbs up on top of you. You tear his clothes off, throwing them on the floor, not wanting to waste a moment. His cock throbs, almost painfully hard, and he can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you more than anything. He lets out a jagged sigh, pumping his cock in anticipation. He’s so ready, more ready than he’s ever been to be welcomed back into your wet, hot, tight embrace. 

He finally begins to nudge his cock inside you. He chokes at how easily it goes in, how you seem to pull him deeper and deeper inside you. You’re ready for him, even more so than usual from how hard he made you cum a few minutes before. He can feel you suck him up inside you, gripping and squeezing him just right. Each time you let him inside, each time you let him stretch out your perfect, dripping cunt, it always feels unimaginably better than the last. Every single time, he thinks that this, you, have to be the best he’ll ever have. And every single time, he’s right. You feel so good, so indescribably good, a part of him wants to cum right on the spot. 

“Fuck, I love you…” He chokes out, voice breathy. And he means it. God, does he mean it. He says it right as he pushes his cock inside you, filling you up in the most delicious way, knocking the breath out of your lungs in tandem. You try to say it back, you want to say it back, but his tongue is already shoved down your throat as he covers your mouth with deeper and deeper kisses. He’s insatiable, not ever getting as much of you as he needs to satisfy what he’s craving. 

He starts moving, unable to wait, unable to stop himself from pistoning his cock as deep inside you as he can get it. He drags his cock against your gummy walls, the friction already making you both dizzy. He keeps going, rutting his hips into yours, moaning into your mouth. He cages you in with his arms, resting his hands on your cheeks as he gazes into your eyes. He’s so in love with you, so fucking in love with you. You’re… his world. You’re his everything. Everything he does revolves around you; he’s not the main character in his story, you are. 

He would move mountains for you, overcome anything, travel any distance just for you, to be in your arms. He loves you so much it almost hurts, and he knows he’s never felt more relief than he did on opening night, when he finally, finally told you everything he feels for you. He was so sick of biting it back, of worrying about timing, if you would say it back, if he could even say it at all. He can’t remember ever being happier than he was when he finally said fuck it, and spilled his guts to you. Right here, right now, he can feel the little bulge he’s making in your tummy. He can feel where your bodies are touching and squishing together, and he can feel you wrap your legs around him to pull him even closer. He didn’t think he could be any more crazy over you than he already is, but all of this, all of you is driving him to even higher heights than he could imagine. 

It’s overwhelming, and he moans, long and low into your mouth. There’s no other way to express what you make him feel than through his beautiful moans, like music to your ears, or telling you that he loves you every chance he gets, with his last breath he’ll be telling you again and again. He presses kisses to your cheek, moving down to your neck, taking in your sweet scent. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone this badly. He doesn’t think he’s wanted anyone or anything as much as he wants you. He’s so attracted to you, drawn to you in an almost primal way that leaves him rutting his hips into yours, grinding into your clit to get as close as possible, moaning shamelessly into your neck. It sends jolts of electricity through you, lighting you up like a powergrid. 

His breath hits your skin in steady, warm puffs. He lets out another moan as you scratch your nails down his back. Your hand tangles in his hair and tugs it just right, making him throb inside you. He knows in this moment that no one can ever make him feel this good, no one else can do what you do to him. He can feel himself getting closer and closer as he sucks bruises into your neck, leaving constellations of love bites across your perfect skin. Even though he’s holding you as tight as he can, drawing noises out of you that no one else has had the privilege of hearing, and it makes his head spin, he needs more. 

He finally pulls away from your neck, resting his forehead against yours. You lean up to kiss him, and even though he’s aching for you, he doesn't kiss you. Not quite yet. Instead, he looks into your eyes so deeply, so intensely, with such a burning hunger that you feel like you’re being fused together. He’s still panting, this time your warm breaths fan over each other’s faces as he really soaks in everything about you, how pretty you look in his arms like this - and fuck, you’re pretty. 

“I’m close, peach,” he pants, sending even more heat to your core, making you squeeze around him as he presses a burning kiss to your lips; one you accept eagerly.  

“‘M so close,” he says again between kisses, “Can- fuck- can you say it for me? Can you tell me? Please, peach, I need to hear it, need to hear you say it…” he rambles, drunk on you and p=-

You’re trying your best, but it would be a lot easier if everything he was saying and doing didn’t render you breathless and unable to do anything but moan and writhe beneath him. 

“I love you, Ricky,” you choke out, desperate and sincere. You finally connect your lips, only for him to moan into your mouth. It’s loud and shameless and has you teetering on the precipice. “Love you so much, so fucking much,” you continue to babble as he buries his face in your neck, moaning so much he almost can’t register what you’re saying. He’s glad you’re saying it anyway. 

He can barely register how close he is before he cums. It’s hard and sudden, and he’s barely able to hear your sweet words over the blood pounding in his ears. You let out a noise he thought only existed in porn, following closely behind him. Your legs shake around him as you grab him as tight as you can, desperate for something to hold onto. You squeeze him in a vice grip as you let out the most beautiful whines and moans, and it’s enough to make him dizzy. Just your noises alone are almost enough to make him hard again - which he probably would be, if you hadn’t just milked his cock completely dry. You stay like that for a moment, letting yourself be filled up with him, letting himself be squeezed tight by your throbbing walls. He can feel your heartbeat in your soft cunt, and he lets out a shuddering sigh at the feeling. He mutters sweet nothings into your ear, rambling about every good thing he feels for you. He doesn’t think he could shut up if he tried - he usually can’t when it comes to you. He presses more and more kisses to your skin as you mutter sweet nothings back, rubbing your hand over the red marks you’d left on his back, playing with his hair. You take your time coming down from this, letting yourselves be right here and now, in each other’s arms. 

Eventually, he pulls out more reluctantly than he’s done anything. You manage to clean up enough to fall back into bed, into each other’s arms. In those few moments, you glance around at the several unfinished cleaning tasks you’d started earlier. You shrug them off, telling yourself you’ll finish them later. As you’re welcomed into Ricky’s warm embrace, you think this is way more fun than cleaning anyway. 

You settle into each other, getting comfortable as he holds you tight against his chest. You can feel the steady rise and fall of each other’s breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing back down, the warmth pooling between you. In the quiet air surrounding you, you can feel the calm turn into a sort of melancholy. You trace your fingers over his skin as he takes solace in you. Everything about you is so comforting, he can’t deny that you’re what’s kept him as centered as he’s been able to be. 

“Where do we go from here?” he asks.

His voice is quiet, breaking ripples into the glassy silence surrounding you, but you can hear the emotion wavering through it. You’re quiet for a moment, considering. You’re not quite sure if he means him and you, him and his dad, or the next audition. It doesn’t matter, you realize, because you’ll have his back through all of it. And he’ll have yours. 

“I dunno,” you start gently, and he holds onto your words, cherishing them like heirlooms, “but I do know one thing. Miss Jenn is announcing the next show in a few days, on New Year’s Eve. So, we should probably start thinking about audition music.” 

Just the briefest mention of auditions has him smiling at the memories from a few months ago, bursting in late with his guitar. At the time, he had only ever expected to remember that audition as the day he won Nini back. He never could have predicted what a different, more significant weight that would hold for him now. The mention of New Year’s Eve brings something else to mind as well. 

“Ashlyn’s having a New Year’s party, right?” 

“Yes!” you exclaim softly, “I totally forgot about that…” 

Ricky traces his thumb over your cheek as you discuss carpools and if you should bring drinks or cupcakes. He never knew he could feel this way, this warm, just from listening to someone talk. He doesn’t know what happens next. He doesn’t know what’s going to change, but he thinks he can handle it if he has you. He’s so wrapped up in you, so invested in the quiet little conversation you’re now having about sheet music and party outfits that he doesn’t notice his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans, strewn across your floor. After a moment it lights up with a new notification. 

1 missed call from Dr. Robert (therapist)

1 new voicemail from Dr. Robert (therapist) 

[veritable-trash]

Orange Daydream

head empty just neck neck neck neck neck

Pairing: Santiago Pope Garcia x F!Reader

Words: 5K

Warning: none! just santi being sexy and me not knowing how to get to the point and needing to world build like nobody's fucking business.

A/N: HELLO, alright yall sorry for not being up and about but I've been struggling to find time to write because I GOT A JOB YAY. this was really fun to write i love santi as a character and oscar isaac is just sexyyyyyyyyy so of course i'm gonna write some joyful relationship development! i got an ask in mi inbox that i'm currently working on(hint hint my eddie munson fixation is coming to a head be prepared) so i'll hopefully have that done soon. anywayssssss i'm taking any requests if people are interested honestly open to anything just trying to get more writing going in my life ok well love you all hope you've had a fantastic week and i hope you enjoy this! ALSO tommy isn't tom from TF but i thought it was funny so there ya go :)

a part two is possible but i got so many ideas swirling it's not the priority but it could be if people are like really fiending just let me know :)))))) <333

masterlist weoweoweow

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your ex was here. Milling about in Santi’s backyard blissfully unaware of your laser eyes trying to melt him to the ground from the kitchen window. 

Hiding.

Praying that he won’t notice you, that you can just stay here in anonymity for the rest of the evening or that, despite all the odds, the lasers you’re imagining shooting out of your eyes will become real and actually disintegrate him. 

A girl can dream. 

Santi was going to pay for this. You were going to make him get down on his knees and fucking grovel for at least 3 to 5 business days for putting you in this predicament. For letting that slug of a man traipse around your (Santi’s) backyard and ruin this lovely August evening with his bullshit and fuckery. 

Though to be fair it was partially on you but Santi was the one in charge of the guest list, so in reality it was completely his fault and he would be in the doghouse for this. For maybe the rest of his life, the jury was truly still out. 

It was hard to think about Tommy. He had been the love of your life(hah) for three years. You’d met Santi, your supposed best friend, through him. Had settled into this town, found a job, felt like you were creating a home. 

It had been almost painfully perfect. All your best friends called you relationship goals, the perfect couple, the envy of all single people near and far. 

And then he cheated. And not something simple like making out with some stranger at a bar.

No. Tommy had always had a penchant for the dramatic, so he ended up cheating on you with one of those aforementioned best friends. AND to make matters even worse, they were now engaged. Slapping their love and perfect relationship all across social media for you, the spinster, to tear apart with your gnarly, knobby fingers like some wicked witch planning to poison someone with an apple.

It had crossed your mind once or twice. It would be fitting retribution, Tommy and you had only broken up three months ago. 

You were living in hell. 

Now all you had left in this town was the knives littering your back and heart and in some twisted turn of fate Santi. Though for some reason he'd still let that motherfucker into your(Santi’s) house which was going to be quite a conversation when you got Santi alone. 

You heard her before you saw her. The squeal of elation made you want to claw your skin off. There she was rounding the corner and practically throwing herself into Tommy’s arms like he’s been away at war and she’s been staring out the window every day for months awaiting his return. 

God how fucking embarrassing. Just throwing their love around in front of everyone without a fucking care in the world. You’re surprised no one heard the banshee scream echoing around in your skull. 

Though that was how you and Tommy used to be. It hurt to admit that to yourself, could almost feel one of the knives lodged between your upper vertebras twisting viciously, tearing you apart as you remember exactly what it felt like to be spun around in his arms. Remembering so vividly how secure you had always felt with him, how safe.

Go fucking figure I guess.  

“If you scrub that plate any harder I think you’ll rub a hole in it sweetheart.”

Santi’s voice comes across muffled though you chalk that up to the living nightmare you're currently in and how you can’t seem to escape it. 

You turn to him, laser eyes now honing in on your new target and you swear you see Santi flinch a bit at the malice laced in your gaze. 

“You know Santiago I thought we were friends, best friends even. Yet here I scrub, looking out this window and who do I see? Oh that’s right, my villain of an ex and my villain of an ex best friend being all lovey dovey in our backyard. I can’t seem to even comprehend a good enough reason for them to be here other than you wanting to torture me, which I will admit would be something you would do.”

He chuckles at that, lips quirking ever so slightly up at the corners as he sidles up next to you at the sink. His hip bumps yours and his fingers wrap around the plate your viciously attacking and gently places it on the drying rack. 

“Honeybee come on, you know it’s my birthday and you know Tommy also knows it’s my birthday. He was always going to be here and though I wish he wasn’t here and I wish I could have told him to fuck off and never return again, you and I both know I can’t do that.”

Though the facetious pet name makes you want to grumble and spit and fight him, his arm gently wraps itself around your shoulders to tuck you into his side and as always he eases an ache in your chest and the fight in you dies out. Unsticks your lungs from your ribs so you can finally take a breath you didn’t even know you were desperately needing. His eyes trace your face, a gentleness there that you swear he only ever shows you.

Fuck Santi and his ability to distract you, allow you to breath even when it feels like your lungs are collapsing. It was why you guys had instantly clicked when Tommy introduced you two. 

He had flirted with you without a shred of modesty and yet made you feel like you could say absolutely anything without a second thought. It was the strangest combination but it just worked. That was just you and Santi, hot and cold, push and pull, fighting constantly but bonded by something cosmic. 

And you knew Santi was right. Tommy and him had been friends for years. Tommy was friends with Will and Benny, and even with you now usurping him in the friendship hierarchy with the boys, Tommy was always going to be a presence in this town, with these people. 

Though you did hold onto one victory and that was that Frankie had always had a problem with him. That’s why you loved Frankie the most out of the four of them and you made sure that Santi was well aware of it. Santi seethed at that fact. 

“Don’t call me that you know I hate it.” Your words are muffled into the soft cotton that wraps around his shoulders, no longer able to stare out of that godforsaken window and prolong your torture. “I ju-I don’t know I just wish he could disappear and that he never existed and I never had to see him again.”

You drag in air, the sound almost pitiful with the hurt laced through it and Santi’s other arm on instinct cages you tight against his chest. His temple settles against the side of your head and you swear you hear him intake a deep breath against your hair but you’re too distracted by his scent drowning you to really make heads or tails of anything. 

Cedar, mint, orange. Braided so delicately together you could miss all the different notes if it weren’t for the fact that you had it practically memorized it somewhere deep in your skull.  

You inhale another deep breath hoping to trap some of his scent in your lungs so you can tap into it later when, knowing your luck, you’ll be trapped alone with Tommy and his new fiancee. The joy.

Christ on a fucking cracker. 

“Are you really gonna stay in here for the rest of the party? Come on, it’s my birthday and the birthday boy wishes for you to at least try and socialize. For me. Please? Pretty please? Don’t make me beg now, though you know I do look absolutely fantastic on my knees.”

“God Santi you are such a fucking tramp! I can’t with you, you menace.”

But now you’re laughing and Santi’s eyebrows are waggling at you like this was his plan all along. To get you to laugh for just a second to stop your brain from descending into the ether of hate you’d been stewing in for months. 

Your eyes lock as you both settle back into the quiet of the kitchen. Benny’s laugh can be heard above the light commotion outside. The 80’s jams that Santi makes everyone listen to every year on his birthday trickle into your ears through the glass and walls, and you can smell the grill roaring, can practically see Frankie with his apron on and tongs in hand being a dictator about the right charcoal choice for the perfect smoky flavor. 

But you like it right here. Standing across from each other in the kitchen, talking but not talking, knowing but not knowing, just letting the sun filter in. His curls are like a prism for the light. Shades of black, brown, some chestnut and gray catching with every wave. 

God you love him.

Fuck, wait, not like love love him, you know just like love him. Like a best friend, like your confidante, like your everything-

“I’m-uhm I’m gonna head back out, ya know how Frankie gets if you leave him at the grill for too long-”

“Dictator Francisco Morales hailing from the Land of Grills, ya of course you gotta go save the general populous before he smokes them all out. I’ll try to get out there in a bit, I think that plate needs another solid scrub, swear I saw some barbecue sauce stuck to it.”

Santi’s eyes lighten and soften again, turning almost mahogany as the light catches them just so and before you can blink his lips press to your cheek and his scent washes over you again. 

“Don’t hide for too long, ok? I’ll be waiting for you outside. Just give me a whistle and I’ll come save you, pinky promise. I won’t let Tommy corner you, he’s gotten enough of your time already.”

The words are a whisper across the skin of your cheek and your heart stutter steps when his hand comes down and his pinky locks with yours in a quick squeeze.

And as quick as he came he’s gone and you can’t stop the faltering step you take forward, trying to chase down his touch. Your fingers graze the spot his lips just branded you and you swear there’s a residual heat that you can't decide is from his lips or your blush. 

Your hands snatch up the plate you were assaulting earlier, nails digging in as your eyes wander back up, back to staring through that cursed window. But it doesn’t feel as cursed this time around. Tommy is nowhere to be seen and your focus immediately lands on the brightest light outside. 

Santi is like a beacon to you now, your eyes immediately zeroing in on him walking back out into the yard. He beelines for Frankie jostling his shoulder with a strong hand and some whispered words that leave Frankie scowling and Santi laughing. 

These secret moments are few and far between, so few times do you get to watch, to be greedy about Santi without anyone knowing. Get to soak up every drop of him without needing to make sure no one can see how deep you may have fallen. 

Key word may!!!

But it was hard to pretend Santi wasn’t turning into something deeper, burrowing under your skin and planting himself on every nerve ending so that every touch somehow reminded you of him. You can’t stop staring at him because in these secret moments, when you let him, he consumes you. 

He’d been there for you like no one else ever had when Tommy decided to turn into captain douchebag and destroy your life. Had held your hand and stayed in with you even when all the boys were trying to get you to leave your dungeon of gloom, claiming a night out would get you out of this “funk”. Yet Santi knew exactly what you needed, and it turned out it was him, ice cream, and movies nonstop. And then somehow so slowly, so sneakily it turned out you just needed him.  

His head is thrown back, a laugh rippling up his throat, and there’s that prism again, like a halo around his head. Catching the sunlight just right to make him look almost angelic, every curl perfectly in place, tousled like some fucking cologne ad model. His neck is a crime against humanity, strong and tan and your mind starts to wander down south and at this point you’re too mesmerized by him to stop yourself. God what an absolute tool, you can’t stand him and his stupid beautiful face. 

Like clock work though, his head falls back down and his eyes instantly find yours in the window. He cocks his head just so, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as his beam simmers down to just a gentle lift of his lips and his eyes dance with secrets promises. Your heart squeezes so tight you have to look away, back down at your reflection in the crystal clean plate before he reads your thoughts in your eyes. 

They’ve been getting a touch too loud recently. 

~~~~~

You’d held up your end of the bargain.

You’d ventured outside. Socialized even, though you mainly stayed glued to Frankie’s side by the grill, hoping against hope that he would be the most effective shield against Tommy and those incessant giggles you swear are somehow being directed directly at you. 

It’s like their fucking bats with echolocation pinpointed on you. Fuck if you know if that’s how echolocation works but that’s definitely how those giggles feel. Like they're vibrating in your skull hoping it’ll shatter like glass when an opera singer gets too close.

And honestly Frankie was doing a bang up job. He’d been there a bit in the aftermath of your breakup. Had done movie nights with Santi and you. Had bought you beers as you teared up in the booth you and Tommy had met in. That was the first night you'd left your house and to say it was atrocious would be showing restraint. Honestly it was a dark and mildly pathetic time but now Frankie was your boy, a friend that you knew wouldn’t leave you in the dust.

Until right now where he is actively leaving you in the dust, apologies seeping out of his eyes as Benny drags him away to the fire to chat “girls” and Tommy decides this is the absolute perfect time to approach.

While you are at the grill.

Alone. 

Sweat coats your palms and you almost knock your beer off the table as he shuffles up to you like you’re some scared deer. He even looks 5% apologetic which was more than you were expecting from him. Your hackles rise higher. 

“Hey, I uh saw you earlier and wanted to talk but wanted to catch you alone. You know so we can talk.”

Your brain takes a beat to catch up as you take Tommy in for the first time in almost three months. For some reason his face doesn’t make your heart stumble like it used to. You can only faintly remember the way you gritted your teeth as you stalked his Instagram page, cutting deeper with every post you looked at, every comment you read. And yet now all you can think is, jesus what had you seen in this dude?

He looks like you'd kicked his dog and ate his lunch and as if you should feel bad for him. Like you should be careful because he’s sensitive and you could hurt his feelings, even though he cheated on you! Threw your heart on the pavement and stomped all over it just for good measure. And is now echolocating his new love, star crossed lovers, bullshit fucking giggles straight into your brain.  

To hell with this dude. 

“You know what Tom-“

“Hey man thanks so much for coming! I truly didn’t think you were gonna be able to make it but you know Tommy, you’ve always been great with surprises. By the way I think your girl is looking for you inside, thought I heard her calling for ya.”

Orange. Just peeled, sticky sweet and beautifully tart and sharp. That’s what Santi smells like most at night. Like the sun has burnt away all the other notes throughout the day so you can smell what Santi is at his core. And to you he’s always smelled like oranges in the summer. 

His arm wraps around your shoulder again and his eyes are full of warning and mischief as if he knew exactly where that unfinished sentence was going and he wasn’t about to let you tear Tommy’s head off in front of an audience. Though he might let you do it in private. Santi did love a bit of gore. 

“Oh shit ya I totally forgot I did tell her we were gonna leave soon though I guess now’s as good a time to head out as any. Happy birthday man it’s always so good seeing you, and uh you know I’ll see ya around.”

Tommy’s just a blip now, a nonentity, basically an NPC at this point, good riddance, because now you get to be right next to Santi where you’ve been aching to be since he left you at the kitchen sink reeling.

“I think I swooped in right on time with that one because I have a feeling you were about to kick poor Tommy straight to the curb and maybe then some. I could practically see you winding up your swing. You are a terrifying woman to behold.”

He grabs your beer and his and without even looking back starts walking towards the now empty fire pit. Will and Benny and Frankie are obviously all still here, no way they leave before 1AM, the proverbial witching hour, but they’d all sequestered themselves inside to watch the game highlights with the rest of the late night stragglers. 

It was only ever you and Santi who wanted to brave the outdoors, no matter what time of year, just to get a little bit of peace, maybe even just a little bit more time for just the two of you, but no one had to know that.

“I would just like to let the record show that everything my brain was cooking up, he more than deserved to hear. I can’t believe he came up to me looking like I had somehow been the one in the wrong. Like I’m sorry but if I remember correctly, which fun fact I usually do, you cheated on me! I have a great fucking memory, you can't fool me this time!”

The sentence ends with chuckles shared over the fire and you’re both shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, the chairs the only thing separating you two from each other. You’d lie and say you’re huddling for warmth but it’s the middle of the summer and it’s balmy and beautiful out. 

Sometimes there stops being a point to all the lies. 

Your head rolls onto Santi’s shoulder a puff of mint hitting you as you settle, your eyes tracing the constellations painted across the darkness high up above. He shifts down in the chair just a bit letting your head drop just that little bit more and it feels like two puzzle pieces clicking together. His cheek presses into the top of your head and you both inhale in sync, the exhale of breath just stirring your hair.

“You don’t think I’m actually terrifying do you? Not that it matters but you know, am I? Scary I mean because I don’t want to be but sometimes I feel like I am and I don’t want anyone to be scared of me.”

Santi pulls back, eyes searching your face, a level of worry etched in them. His lips are curled in a light smile but you can tell he’s picking apart your last sentence, seeing what’s between the lines. The insecurities that you know you don’t need to hide from him but still do. 

“Of course that’s the one thing you pick up from all the things I’ve ever said about you. Literally the single sorta bad thing and I didn’t even mean it in a bad way because of course I’m not scared of you. Sweetheart I could never be scared of you. Why would you ask that?”

His pinky latches onto yours, pulling your hand away from picking at the frayed edge of your shorts and placing both your hands on his thigh. Though you are very much in the middle of a mini melt down, the feel of his thigh under your hand makes you almost black out with how many emotions hit you at once. 

He’s devouring all your senses and it’s getting almost to the point of suffocation, yet you lean into him further, your forehead pressing into his shoulder like you’d done in the kitchen not too long ago. 

“I don’t know I just feel like I push people away? Or I’m seen as cold and mean and so people don’t really want to be around me? I mean Tommy used to kinda say stuff like that and how I have a resting bitch face, which you know sorta valid, but I ju-“

“God Tommy is such a fucking tool. Remind me to never allow him in my house every again. I can’t believe he said that kind of shit to you.”

The words are a whisper, an exhale against your temple so full of something that almost sounds like yearning and something even deeper than that. It’s terrifying, the silence starting to penetrate every corner of this moment you both seem suspended in. 

Santi’s lips press against your hair and then words tumble out into your tresses. 

“He’s an idiot, honestly has always been an idiot, and I wish he could disappear too so that you wouldn’t be hurting the way you are. Because you don’t deserve to be hurting and stressed and angry because he should be feeling all of those things instead of shoving his disgusting relationship in your face, which by the way, I just have to say gross because they were gross.”

And again he’s making you laugh, forget, live to be right here with him where nothing else fucking matters. Your head finally leaves the safety of his shoulders to look at him and it’s only at that very moment that you realize your faces are inches apart.

If that.

Your breathing shuts down and Santi seems to realize at the same time as you of the predicament you’re in. But he doesn’t pull away. 

His eyes flit back and forth between your own and he squeezes your pinky again as if he’s reminding you to breath. You release a breath and it’s too loud, too obvious, too revealing in this moment of some unspoken emotion but Santi’s lips pull up a bit, eyes colored with something akin to understanding. 

He’s always seen you, inside and out and right now is absolutely no different. 

“Sweetheart I’ve just gotta say something before I loose the nerve because I’ve been running around in circles in my head all day just thinking about you and I can’t keep a lid on it for much longer.”

Your lips part as you suck in another pitiful breath and Santis eyes dip slowly to your lips in a way that makes you want to eat him alive. Bite into his neck and mark him so that everyone knows he’s yours. His eyes seem to be on a similar train of thought. 

“Fuck I just can’t keep pretending you’re not all I think about. That I’ve been waiting for you to move on from Tommy so that I could finally say this because I’ve been waiting since I met you. Tommy was always in the fucking way and now he isn’t and now the way you’re looking at me is fucking dangerous territory because all I want to do is kick everyone out of my house and finally have it just be us.”

He’s both rambling and yet so sure, like he’s been practicing how to make this all seem spur of the moment even though you know for a fact Santi hates spur of the moment, would rather cut off a limb then live by the seat of his pants. It makes it all the more endearing. 

“I-I wow ok well let’s just see now because I am hearing that you are like into me into me, you know, like that and I don’t, you know, want to be too obvious off the bat but I have, you know, possibly been feeling a similar sort of emotion bu-“

The kiss has to have been ripped straight from your fantasies. Santi is actually just a figment of your imagination that you've manifested into the real world and he is the perfect kisser because there is no way kissing someone should feel like this.

You can taste the mint now, his scent no longer just in your nose but on your tongue, his kiss pouring more of him straight into you. It’s all encompassing, too many things happening at once that your brain feels like it might be melting out of your ears. 

His hand cups your jaw, fingertips pressing just below your ear in a way that seems benign yet sends ripples of heat down your spine. His tongue licking against the seam of your lips and then sweeping against yours that leaves you arching into him, a whimper sneaking its way up your throat and onto his tongue. His pinky still latched with yours squeezes tighter and tighter as if somehow that touch is what’s holding you both together. 

You’re both panting when you finally break, his nose skimming your cheek bone as he presses a fervent kiss to the corner of your lips, your jaw, just below your ear. Your eyes stay shut, basking in the sparkles that are flitting behind your closed lids with every press of his lips. 

He pulls back slightly to look in your eyes and you whine, eyes still shut, still needing more of him, more of that overwhelming, drowning, flying, sinking feeling that his lips give you. His chuckle ghosts over your lips and you swear he’s just fucking with you now. 

Your lids finally peel open and you can’t believe you left them closed for this long. Stopped yourself from seeing Santi looking like every wet dream you’ve ever had in your entire life all wrapped into one magical person. 

His eyes are black, blown with lust from the kiss sent from heaven, yet they’re sparkling like polished obsidian, a joy and contentment so clearly flowing out of them. He’s this enchanting mixture of unadulterated lust and sex appeal crossed with a deep ingrained affection and adoration all pinpointed on you and it’s a heady mixture you’re finding hard to withstand. 

“What are you thinking about honey?” The words are pressed from his lips to yours, a soft brush of air coating you in the sweetness of this moment with him. You can hear and feel the smile that he isn’t even trying to restrain and your own smile feels like it’s splitting your face in two. 

“Honestly, I was thinking about how mad I was that Tommy was here and that you were letting him in my-your house, your house, but now I’m just thinking about you. It’s been only you for a minute now.”

The next kiss catches you off guard, Santi no longer able to restrain himself from touching you. It’s more bruising this time round, claiming and needy. Santi groans against your lips and your fingers finally tangle into the curls of your dreams and it’s all just seeming to be getting more and more perfect. His arms snake around your body like they’ve been doing all night, yet this time there’s an urgency to his hold and he’s pulling you out of your chair and into his lap and you’re breathless and lightheaded all over again. 

His lips fall to your neck, licking at your pulse before biting down and sending you careening into an unbridled want. Your whimpering and moaning as he feasts on your neck, teeth clamping down just so pulling noises out of you that with anyone else you would be a bit embarrassed about. 

But with Santi it’s just perfect. 

“I’ve never told you this but I love it when you call my house yours. God it fucking drives me crazy when you tell me you want to go home and you mean here, with me. That you feel like you own me in some way, because fuck you do, god you do.”

The words are branded into the skin at your throat and your yanking his hair before you even know what you’re doing and sealing your lips against his again with a sigh and a moan. He responds in kind, an almost purr of content vibrating against your lips and tongue.  

“Well I’m happy you like it so much because now that everything’s on the table, you’re definitely mine and I’m also gonna be here way way way too much, hope you’re ok with that.”

He’s gazing at you with moons in his eyes and shooting stars in his heart. His smile is almost dazed and he looks so soft and warm and like your Santi. You run your fingers through his hair and that purr returns as his dark lashes flutter closed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever let you leave my house again because all I’ve ever wanted was to be in the backyard like today and to be able to see you in my-our kitchen window and know that it’s always gonna be us against the world. Always.”

reminder requests are open using anything that's tagged as writing for prompts and honestly any character is welcome i'm down to at least take a stab at most things ok love you guys kisses smooches the whole shebang

[looooooooomis]

F I N A L  G I R L | S I X

You were his final girl. And there was no chance in hell that anyone or anything was going to mess that up.

p a r t   s i x  |  t h e  c a b i n (part 2)

masterlist here

pairing: Billy Loomis x f!reader word count: 5k warnings: s m u t (18 +!!!!!)

A/N: I asked and yall delivered. you wanted a chapter from billy’s POV? you’ve got it! let me know if yall are liking it!! xxx

Perfection was the enemy.

That’s what Billy had always been told by his mother from the time he was a kid. Not a single soul on earth, not one goddamn thing, was perfect. Flaws were inevitable. They were human nature. Perfection was a farce; some might even say impossible.

And yet looking at you, as the two of you sat on the dock that overlooked the lake connected to the cabin’s property, he was sure he’d come damn close to finding the one perfect thing on this earth.

You were ethereal as you sat there with that small smile on your lips, watching the ripples dance along the top of the water. The moon was high in the sky, bright and illuminating, and the way it was hitting you was enough to make him forget how to breathe. You were just so fucking gorgeous, so fucking good. Too good. Too good for him, for this fucked up relationship he’d managed to coerce you into staying in. Too good for anything he’d ever be able to offer you. That much he knew for a fact.

But he was too fucking selfish to ever voice that in fear of having you agree with him.  

There was an ugliness inside of his chest, a darkness so foreboding that it consumed him most days. Its seed had been planted inside of his chest the night his mother left but it had taken over him the night he and Stu had killed Maureen Prescott.

That darkness, that ugliness, all of the bitter memories and feelings towards his own mother’s departure had consumed him entirely that night.

And he enjoyed it.

Immensely so.  

He thought of it often. Of the blood, of that feeling of power. But mainly, he thought of those few brief moments where it felt as though that helplessness inside of him, the one brought on by his mother leaving, was overshadowed by the sweet thrill of revenge. He latched onto that feeling and held onto it for dear life, especially where Sidney was concerned.

He knew he was blinded by that rage, by the thrill of chasing that high of revenge he felt that night all those months ago, but he didn’t care to stop it. In fact, he needed it. Now, more than ever. He and Stu had put so much fucking planning into just how they were going to get their hands on Sidney Prescott that it needed to happen. He needed to see it through.

Even if that meant staying with the one person he wanted gone all the while hurting the one and only woman he loved so wholly that it nearly killed him.

You were the sweetest high of them all.

Revenge, chasing that feeling of blood between his fingers, all of that paled in comparison to you. You were the one perfect thing in a world of carnage. The light in that overbearing darkness inside of him. You were…effervescent. And he was so entirely consumed by you that it scared him.

His feelings for you were intense and wild and ran so deep that the idea of losing you made him physically ill. He’d told you last night, as he worshipped your body like the deity you were, that he’d kill for you and god, did he mean it. Kill for you, die for you, he’d do just about anything for you except the one thing you needed most. The one thing you deserved more than anything.

He couldn’t fully give himself to you.

His heart was yours for the taking, he hoped you knew as much, but the title of boyfriend and girlfriend, the ability to walk around Woodsboro together, the fundamentals of a normal relationship…that wasn’t feasible for you two.

Not yet.

He couldn’t dump Sidney yet. He needed to see his plans through, and part of those plans, a pretty fucking big part of those plans, relied on his relationship with Sidney.

Every fucking day he kicked himself for not breaking up with Sidney when he had the chance. Before his mother left, before these goddamn plans relied on his relationship with her, before everything went to shit. One month prior to his mother leaving, Billy had his fucking chance of leaving Sidney to officially pursue you and he’d royally shit the bed.

He could remember the night the pair of you had gotten together as clear as day. He thought about it so fucking often, fucked himself to the thought of you that night so goddamn often that it felt more like a movie, at this point, than real life.

It had happened by accident, if he was being honest. He’d had the biggest hard-on for you for years but the timing of everything was always so fucking complicated. He would be single, then you’d be dating someone, you’d break-up with whatever golden boy you were with and he’d start dating whoever caught his interest that week.

And then Sidney happened.

He had loved Sidney once. He wasn’t that fucking heartless. He and Sid ran hot and heavy for a solid year all the while you casually dated around. But, even as his feelings with Sidney strengthened, those niggling feelings he’d always had for you were always there.

Simmering.

Kept at bay for the sake of your friendship. For the sake of his relationship.

Until one day, those feelings became too much.

It was a Tuesday. The worst day of the week, in Billy’s mind, but the best fucking day of his life thus far. It was your birthday and you looked so fucking perfect in your slip dress and black boots. You were glowing, you were happy. And as you strolled into English ten minutes late with a guilty smile on those pretty lips, something inside of Billy switched.

He suddenly felt as though he was suffocating as you slipped into your seat and flashed him one of those small smiles that had always driven him wild. It was the first time he’d seen you that day, having woken up late as per the usual, and as he slipped you a small piece of paper with the words happy birthday, gorgeous written in his shitty handwriting, the look he’d gotten in return almost killed him.

It was a look between bashfulness and sheer joy, one obviously torn on account of the word gorgeous because for as close as the two of you were, there was a line drawn in the sand of what was appropriate and what wasn’t. That wasn’t appropriate, he knew that much. But, fuck, did he need to say it.

Say it, scream it to the high heavens, write it on every surface imaginable. He just needed you to hear it. Even just the once.

And then he saw you flip the paper over to scribble your own note.

Movie at mine tonight? I invited Sid + the gang. Would have invited you earlier but you’re a lazy piece of shit and slept in.

He’d grinned at that before ripping another piece of paper off of his untouched notebook.

I’ll be there.

And, he was. A little after six, he and Sid had rolled up to your house only to find Randy, Stu and Tatum already there. You were still in that goddamn dress, still wearing that same smile that drove him to madness, when you’d swung open that front door and as the night progressed as you all mindlessly watched shitty movies and drank cheap beer you’d managed to steal from your parents, Billy was finding it harder and harder to focus on anything but you.

He’d blamed it on the alcohol at the time, but he knew better with a sober mind. He’d wanted you for so damn long and there was something about that day, about your birthday, about that random Tuesday that made all of those buried feelings come to the surface.

It was somewhere between the second and third movie that Billy’s hands slipped beneath the blanket that was strewn across your lap to gently squeeze your thigh. You’d jumped at the sensation and he could remember, clear as day, that look on your face when your eyes met his. Something between shock and awe, confusion and elation, marred that pretty face. But it was the look of curiosity that settled on your face that made Billy’s hand slowly proceed up your bare thigh.

At first, before he’d reached anywhere near the hem of your dress, his hand stilled. He didn’t want to push you or assume you wanted this but, as he watched you swallow hard and as he felt your thighs slowly part for him, almost on instinct, he couldn’t help himself. Slowly, agonizingly so, his hand inched up your thigh as the movie played on. It was risky, he knew it was. Sid was right beside him, Stu and Tatum splayed out on the floor in front of you guys and Randy was half-comatose on the chair to your right.

You were both surrounded, but try as he might to stop himself, to will some semblance of willpower to his brain, his hand continued up your leg until he was pushing your panties to the side with shaking hands.

He’d wanted this, wanted you, for so long and as his fingers slipped through your sopping folds, Billy swore he’d never been harder in his life. He’d never been more turned on, more aroused, and it was all because of you.

His fingers were slow, deliberate, methodical, as they coaxed your clit and while he kept his head forward, he was watching your every move out of the corner of his eye.

Memorizing you, mesmerised by you.

The way your lips parted, the way your chest began to heave, subtly so, as your breathing slowed. You were struggling to keep your eyes open as your thighs spread even wider for him, but he dared not quicken his pace. He wanted this vision of you looking so fucking ethereal to last. He needed it to in fear that this would be both the first and last time he would be the reason for that very look on your face.

“Honestly,” Tatum’s voice had sliced into the silence of the room, startling both you and Billy as his pace on your clit ceased entirely. “Keanu Reeves could do anything to me, like, anything, and I’d thank him.”

“I’m going to grab some air,” you’d choked out, pushing his hand away as you sprang up from the couch faster than a bullet. You’d barely glanced over your shoulder when Randy screamed for another beer but, with a wave of your hand, you agreed nonetheless and slipped outside before Billy could so much as fathom what had just happened.

Nobody but Billy seemed to bat an eye at your absence, all too engrossed in the movie or about how hot Keanu Reeves was to so much as question as to why the birthday girl had disappeared. But, as guilt began to fenagle into his gut, Billy knew he had to apologize.

“I’m going to grab another beer,” Billy’s lips brushed against Sid’s hair.

“Sure,” she’d nodded, still enraptured in whatever shitty movie you’d thrown on.

“Grab me one too, buddy,” Randy yawned, “birthday girl’s taking her sweet ass time.”

Sure enough, as Billy crossed the kitchen towards your back door, there you were. Sitting on one of the steps looking out into the dark yard with an unopened can of beer in your hands. Randy’s fucking beer, he’d guessed.

“Hey,” he was quiet as he slipped out the back door and as he lingered far enough away from you to ensure he’d given you enough space, the look on your face left him reeling. “I owe you an apology.”

“Billy,” you’d groused, staring him down. “What the hell was that?”

A moment of weakness, he’d wanted to say. But instead, “I was being stupid. I wasn’t thinking.” Only he had been thinking. Probably the clearest thinking he’d done since laying eyes on you way back when in freshman year.

“Neither of us were thinking.” You’d sounded so flustered, so angry, but the look on your face was pure confusion. “You’re with Sid. She’s my best friend. You’re one of my best friends. Whatever that was, shouldn’t have happened.”

“You’re right,” he was silent but nodding along to your words. “I’m sorry.”

He could remember the way your shoulders sagged in what appeared to be defeat as you shook your head. You were torn and it was obvious. “Why did you do it?”

It was a question he shouldn’t have answered, he knew that. He should have apologized again and begged for your forgiveness but, instead, for the first time in a long time, he was entirely honest with himself.

With you.

“Because I wanted to,” he’d pushed out slowly. “And, if your reaction was any indication, you wanted that, too.”

“Billy!” You’d yelped and sprang to your feet. In three steps, you’d crossed the threshold of your porch to gape across at him. “What the fuck? Whether or not we wanted that at all shouldn’t matter, dipshit. You’re with Sid, you fucking idiot!”

“I know,” he’d nodded, half expecting you to leave the porch right then and there to tell Sid everything. That was when your words truly sank in. Licking his lips, Billy’s brow furrowed as he stepped towards you. “Wait, what did you say?”

“I called you a fucking dipshit, you dipshit. You’re with Sid, you—”

“After that,” he’d muttered, “you said whether or not we wanted it.”

It was the look he’d gotten out of you right then and there that sealed his fate. It was the slow realization of your wording, the look of fear mixed with relief. You’d stormed back into your house after that without so much as another word with Randy’s beer in tow, but he’d come back to your room that night demanding answers.

And he’d gotten them.

You’d nearly bit his head off as you whisper-yelled at him and slapped him across the face to really drive your point home. But then he’d kissed you and it was game over. After years of burying his attraction to you, years of concealing those fucking feelings, he had you all to himself.

You hadn’t fucked that night and, frankly, he didn’t give a shit. He’d touched you though, all night long, and tasted every inch of you as he worshipped your body the way it was meant to be worshipped, the way he’d wanted to for all those years. If it had been up to him, he never would have left your room that night. He would have holed up in your bedroom for the rest of his days if it meant having you all to himself without the outside world having any effect on you.

But that wasn’t the way life worked.

He had plans to break up with Sidney about a week into your affair but pussied out when she’d had a particularly shitty day on account of an argument with her parents.

So, he waited another week. And then his mother left, and everything went to shit.

Everything, except you.

He’d punched a brick wall when his mother had left and, rather than go to his girlfriend’s house, he went straight to yours. He’d cried that night, much to his chagrin, more than he’d ever cried in his life. But you were there through it all. Holding him, kissing him, listening to him pour his heart out as he tried to make sense of what the fuck had happened.

He’d been open with you about everything that night. Which was ironic given not seven days later, he’d killed Maureen Prescott with the help of Stu and, in turn, completely closed that part of himself off from you.

It was a strange feeling. You knew so much about him, more than anyone ever had, but he couldn’t bring himself, wouldn’t bring himself, to tell you about the killing. About his plans for Sidney. Because, frankly, he knew the chances of losing you were far too big.

He couldn’t quite gauge how your reaction would be. What if you ran screaming? What if you tried to call the police? Or, possibly worse, and the one that kept him up most nights, what if you left? What would he do then?

Without you, Billy was numb.

You were the light in that darkness inside of him. He couldn’t lose you, couldn’t involve you. Not if he had a say in it.

So, he’d continue on like this for as long as he could push it until it came time to ridding himself of Sidney Prescott. He only hoped that you’d grant him that time he so desperately needed because if you left him again…

No, he wouldn’t think like that. He couldn’t.

He loved you too fucking much to think of losing you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your voice snapped him out of his reverie and, as he focused in on your face from across the dock, it was as though he was seeing you for the first time. You looked so gorgeous with the moon cascading down on your face, so beautiful that he’d nearly lost his breath. He’d never loved anything in his life as much as he loved you and he was sure that he never really would.

Reaching across the divide, he grabbed your hand and brought it up to his lips. “You,” he simply said. “They’re always of you.”

He watched that grin on your face broaden as a bubble of laughter filtered out of your lips. “Jesus, Billy,” you groaned, “lay it on thicker, would you?”

“C’mere,” he beckoned, pulling your arm towards him. When you stood up to your full height only to then plop down on his lap, he circled his arms around your waist and leaned his chin on your shoulder. “Did you have a good time up here?”

You hummed and nodded. True to his word, he’d taken you out earlier that day. To the movies, to a random Farmer’s Market you’d laid your eyes on. Anywhere you wanted, he went, and he held your hand and pulled you in close to kiss you any chance he could.

“It’s nice being able to just…be, you know?” You leaned against his chest. “Just be us. Without worrying about anything or anyone.”

“Just you and me, baby,” he squeezed you and kissed your shoulder. “And I promise, it’ll be like that for us one day. In Woodsboro, in fucking Los Angeles – wherever you want. It’s always going to be me and you, okay?”

You turned to face him and gave him a smile that nearly killed him. “I like the sound of that.” Slowly, you leaned in and your lips met in a gentle kiss. No matter how many kisses the two of you shared, how many nights he spent praising your body, he could never get enough of them. Of you.

Before he could further it, however, you pulled away and grinned down at him. “Up for a swim, Lover Boy?”

Billy’s brows furrowed. “It’s fucking freezing.”

You stood up from his lap and held his stare as you slipped your oversized crewneck over your head, tossing it at him with a quiet chuckle. “And?”

“And…” He watched you squirm out of your jeans, dragging your thong down with them as you slid them down those perfect legs of yours. He swallowed hard. “And I’m finding it harder to come up with a reason as to why this is a bad idea.”

The last thing he saw before you turned to jump into frigid water was your cheeky smile before you disappeared beneath the dark, murky surface. In the few seconds it took for you to swim up, Billy had already rid himself of his own pants and shirt and had jumped in to follow you.

Just as he thought, it was fucking frigid.

But, as he breached the surface only to find you grinning, albeit whilst shivering across at him, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Your answer came in the form of dunking his head beneath the water but when he dragged you down with him only to kiss your purpling lips under the water, no other words were said.

All he could focus on was you. Even as you both swam to the surface and once his lips found yours yet again, the freezing temperatures were nothing compared to the heat spawning between you.

Your nipples were pert buds in his palms as he kneaded them, warming them in his hands as your tongues battled for dominance. But it was too cold to do anything in that lake and as you both came to terms with that with a simple laugh and another chaste kiss, the two of you made your way out of the lake and back into the cabin where you settled into the same bed he’d tied you up in the night prior.

Unlike before, this kiss that followed was not chaste.

It was bruising and hungry and fueled by every circumstance that prevented you from doing this more.

Billy’s fingers curled into the flesh of your hips as he held you there, kissing you with everything he had for every second he couldn’t before now.

Rolling you over so that you were on your back, Billy never once broke the kiss as he hovered beside you, leaning on one arm as his free hand trailed down that perfect body of yours. He pinched at your nipples, tickled the skin of your stomach, ghosted his way down across your mound before slipping his middle finger into your wet folds. Just as he’d done to you that first night on the couch on our birthday.

Fuck, he loved the feel of you.

He knew your body so well, knew that cunt so fucking well, and as he began to circle your clit with his middle finger, the moan that crawled through your lips made his already rock-hard dick twitch in delight.

“Fuck,” you hissed, breaking the kiss long enough for Billy to continue his assault down your jaw, your neck, and your clavicle before reaching your breasts. Sloppy kisses and gentle nips were all you felt before finally feeling the warmth of his mouth envelope your nipple. A soft groan tumbled out of your lips as he gave one of your nipples one long, firm suck before releasing it with a loud pop.

Slowly, those brown eyes met yours as he took your other nipple in his mouth, this time suckling softly as he leisurely continued to rub your clit. Reaching one hand up to the breast he wasn’t currently suckling on and the other to his hardened cock, Billy melted into your hand as you teased both him and yourself as you pumped his length.

He wanted nothing more than to have his cock slice into you, to feel you all over him and send you into a trembling fit, but neither of you were in that much of a rush to get this over with.

Spreading your legs, you bucked into his hand in an attempt to coerce him to go a little faster. He was teasing you and fuck was he good at it, but you needed more. You needed to feel him finger fuck you at the very least as he teased your clit – but Billy wanted you to beg for him. And he wasn’t quite ready to let you get there just yet.

“Billy, please,” you whined, sounding like a brat, but you didn’t care.

He laughed against your nipple and, much to your delight, he slipped two fingers inside of you as his thumb took over rubbing your clit.

Your head fall back against the pillow as a wave of ecstasy overtook you. You were giving him the most half-assed hand job in the entire world, but neither of you cared all too much. Billy was far too engrossed in watching your body writhe on account of his mouth and fingers and you were far too happy letting him do just that.

He just loved you so damn much and it scared the hell out of him. Never had one person pierced his heart the way you had. You were both the devil and the angel, and he couldn’t bring himself to stay away.

“Where did you go?” Your quiet voice tore into the silence of the room.

Releasing your nipple, brown eyes swept across your face but those dept fingers never stopped. When he didn’t answer right away, he watched your brows pucker in concern as you reached up to brush the hair back

“Hey,” you whispered, smoothing his hair down, “you’re a million miles away right now, where did you go?”

“Sorry,” he breathed out a quiet laugh through his nose. And then, he spoke the words he’d been terrified of voicing aloud in fear of the ruin that he seemed to cause. “I’m just…happy.”

And he was.

Even if he knew that the chances of it lasting were slim.

You chuckled softly. “That’s a good thing, right?”

He nodded and swallowed back his nerves. “Sorry,” he pushed out a forced laugh. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, idiot,” you smiled, pushing his hair back. “You’re allowed to be happy.” Your thumbnail scraped along his bottom lip. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” he avowed. “More than okay.”

Just as he had moments ago, Billy kissed down your jaw, your throat, your clavicles and your breasts – stopping briefly to tenderly bite and suckle on each one – before continuing down your stomach. Placing a sloppy kiss on the patch of hair gathering across your mound, Billy licked and sucked and nipped further and further down before placing one last kiss to your sopping lips before that tongue slipped into your folds, finding your clit immediately.

Billy didn’t hold back when it came to you, he never quite could.

How the fuck did he manage to get so lucky? You were a goddess in his eyes, this fucking force of a woman and you chose him?

He didn’t deserve it, he knew he didn’t, but he was done questioning it.

Since his mother left, Billy had almost deemed himself unworthy of affection. But you were always there, always reassuring him and it was his turn to show you just how fucking much he appreciated you. Loved you. Needed you.

He’d lost you once and somehow here you were. Trembling and pulling at his hair as he sucked and nipped at your clit.

“Billy, fuck,” you cried out, “baby, don’t stop.”

Fuck he loved that unintelligible side of you that came out when you were about to come undone. His tongue swirled and suckled at your clit as he kneaded your hips, pulling you further and further into his mouth as your entire body racked with pleasure. Your fingers pulled at his hair as your free hand groped your tits, pinching at your pert nipples with a ferocity so unhinged it made his cock pulse.

Your legs were the first things to give into the orgasm as it ripped through your entire body. They trembled and shook and bucked as that white-hot sensation warmed your entire body. His name ripped out of your throat as he continued to suck, not giving you a moment of peace as your body fought for control.

The veins in your neck swelled to the surface as you thrashed against that pillow. He wanted to make you come again and again, over and over until the weekend was long behind either of you. He never wanted to leave this room again, if he was honest. Fuck Woodsboro, fuck school and everyone else who had the nerve to expect something out of him when he had you here looking this fucking angelic.

Just when he was sure you weren’t going to take much more, he released your clit and crawled up your body before slipping inside of you.

You were soaked and the heat of your pussy as opposed to the cold of the lake made him breathe out a quiet groan as his forehead fell against yours. Your slick was all over his chin, his lips, his nose, but all you did was lean up and kiss him with every bit as urgency as he felt as he pumped into you.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, not from the amount of build-up he’d just endured watching you get off to both his fingers and his mouth, but he wanted to preserve this moment in his memory for the rest of time.

The kisses were sloppy and lazy as he sliced into you. The both of you were breathless and sweaty but never had either of you felt so fucking close to the other. Nothing outside of the cabin existed in those few sacred moments.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed out, his voice thick and gruff, “you know that?”

Your answer came in the form of a mere kiss as your nails dug into his back, but he wasn’t quite done with the proclamations.

Not yet.

Pulling away just enough to peer down at your face, Billy smoothed every fly away piece of hair and slowed to a halt inside of you. Your thighs were wrapped around his hips, your nails still bled into the skin of his back, but the second those gorgeous eyes opened up to find his, the words were out of his mouth before he could think to stop them. “And I love you. So fucking much. More than I probably should.”

You smiled up at him and ran your fingers through his hair one final time before leaning up so that your lips were right beside his ear. “Show me how much.” Was all you said before giving his earlobe a gentle bite.

So, he did.

And he wouldn’t stop until he was sure you knew just how fucking serious about you he was.