#and only have so much time and energy after work

[moonriizing]

urs | p.sh (18+)

You weren't supposed to want more, but you did. What started as a casual fling became more complicated when you found yourself caught between your desire and the reality that Park Sunghoon's heart belonged to someone else.

Genre: college au, situationship, smut Pairing: Park Sunghoon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), NOT PROOFREAD. I'll come back to do that when I can lol. Notes: 10k words. Listening to urs by NIKI. My first Sunghoon fic and it's written on a whim! lol. I wrote this instead of working on my overdue wip lol. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally nor claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

Enjoy~

You first met Park Sunghoon at a frat party you had no real interest in attending. It was the first night of the semester, the music was good, the drinks were flowing, and the energy was exactly what you needed. It was the kind of night that made you feel young and invincible, where bad decisions were just part of the fun. And tonight, you were on a mission: hook up with a hot guy.

It was a promiscuous mission, you knew that. And you would be lying if you said you weren’t that kind of girl because you were! But you weren’t the reckless, messy type. No, you were the smart kind of promiscuous. The kind who could have fun without losing control. You were practical about it—always sober enough to make sound decisions, always keeping your boundaries clear. Simply put, you were the best type of promiscuous.

As a college girl with ambitions, you couldn’t afford to get tangled in romance and all that commitment nonsense. Too much work. But you had needs, and fulfilling them meant nights like this—scanning the crowd for a guy who could tickle your fancy, no strings attached.

That was how you spotted him.

Tall, handsome, but oddly out of place. While the rest of the party thrived on the chaos, he stood by himself in a corner. He had a cup in his hand, but it wasn’t like he was enjoying it. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—his posture slouched just enough to suggest he wasn’t a part of this. He had that bored, almost irritable look on his face, the kind that made you wonder if he was only here because someone dragged him along.

You were not the type to hesitate, so you didn’t. You’d done this enough times to know exactly what you were after, and right now? You were after him.

“Is this your first frat party, or are you just too cool for it?” you asked, leaning in just enough to get his attention.

He glanced at you, his eyes flicking over your face for a second before landing on your lips, then back up to your eyes. Up close, he was even more good-looking—long lashes, sharp features, lips that curled just slightly at the corners like he was already amused by you, and a couple of beauty marks on his face that made him even more striking.

He was definitely your type.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” you added, taking a sip of your drink, not breaking eye contact.

“That obvious?” he asked, his voice low, almost melodic.

You smirked, liking the way his voice was as perfect as his looks. “You look miserable,” you pointed out, still grinning.

He chuckled lightly, amused but not exactly thrilled. “What about you? Having fun?”

You shrugged. “I wasn’t. But right now, I think I might be…” You let your gaze wander, deliberately slow, from his face to the exposed skin of his chest where a few buttons were undone.

Sunghoon smirked, his gaze trailing over you in a way that was appreciative without being too obvious. “Well, that makes two of us,” he replied suggestively.

He flirted right back!

“I’m Sunghoon,” he said, offering his hand for a shake. You took it and gave him your name.

Your eyes locked with his—now more curious, sizing him up. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you staring each other down, trying to gauge each other’s thoughts with your hands still joined. Then you saw a flicker in his eyes that made you come to an agreement with your own intuition.

You tilted your head, eyes still locked with his. “Do you wanna have sex with me?”

His eyes widened slightly, his brows lifting in surprise—visibly caught off guard by your suggestion. His grip on your hand loosened, though he didn’t let go completely. You kept your gaze steady, showing no hesitation and letting him know you were serious. A few seconds of silence passed where you almost thought he’d say no, but then he exhaled a soft laugh.

“Are you always this forward?” he asked, amused now.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Only when I see someone I like.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And you like me?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

With that, his smirk widened, and before you could second-guess yourself, he set his cup down. “My place or yours?”

And just like that, you were out of the party and heading to whatever the hell came next. No strings, no pressure. Just the way you liked it.

You didn’t know it then, but that was when the tsunami that would come crashing in began to take shape.

You didn’t mean for it to happen again. It was supposed to be a one-time thing—fun, uncomplicated. But he was phenomenal, so it happened a second time. And a third. And eventually, you just lost count.

Maybe it was because, other than the fact that he was really good at it, he was also easy to be around. He wasn’t like the others—the ones who got clingy after a night or acted like they were doing you a favor by sleeping with you. Sunghoon was different. He never overstayed his welcome, never asked for more than you were willing to give, but he wasn’t distant either. If anything, he was… nice.

Not in a fake, trying-too-hard way. Just nice. Made you feel comfortable, always made sure you finished before he did, and never left without saying something witty that made you roll your eyes. He had this way of being detached but not cold, like he had mastered the art of keeping things casual without being an asshole.

“You know,” you mused, sprawled across his bed, still catching your breath, “my first impression of you was that you were boring and miserable. Turns out you know how to make a girl have fun.”

Standing by his closet, Sunghoon threw you an amused glance as he pulled a sweatshirt over his head. “Yeah? I aim to please.”

You smirked. “That sounds like something a guy who thinks he’s good in bed would say.”

He let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair before turning to you, looking almost too put-together for someone who had just spent an hour between your legs. “And? Am I not?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. You’re alright.”

He scoffed, tossing a pillow at you, which you barely dodged. “You’re a bad liar.”

You grinned, stretching lazily. “Well, I can’t have you getting a big head, can I?”

Sunghoon shook his head, his lips curling into that infuriatingly charming smirk. “Too late for that.”

It was easy. Too easy. Maybe that’s why you let it keep happening.

Behind closed doors, there was no restraint. It didn’t matter if it was your place or his—once the door was closed, your hands were on his neck, his lips found your skin, and clothes barely made it past the foyer before being discarded.

Sunghoon was incredible in bed. He was controlled, precise, yet somehow still desperate when he kissed you, when he pressed you against the mattress, when he groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling. And you? You had mastered the art of making him unravel.

You knew exactly what made him weak, how to turn his composure into incoherence, how to make him grip your waist a little harder or breathe your name in a way that made your stomach flip. It was exhilarating, effortless—two people who just fit perfectly when it came to this.

But outside? You were mere acquaintances.

A nod in the hallway. A fleeting smile across the quad. If you happened to pass each other at a party, he’d tip his cup in your direction, and you’d lift a brow in acknowledgment. No one knew. No one suspected a thing. And you liked it better that way. You were both civil and could control your urges.

Except for when you couldn’t.

Like now.

You were leaving class when Sunghoon caught your wrist, pulling you into an empty lecture hall.

“What—”

He kissed you before you could finish, his hands already gripping your hips, pressing you against the nearest desk. The kiss was hot, urgent, like he had been holding back all day.

“Wow, I think you missed me a little,” you teased when he finally pulled away, breathless.

Sunghoon scoffed, but his fingers traced the sleeve of your dress like he wasn’t done with you yet. “You should wear this more often.”

You smirked. “What? Hoon, you did not pull me in here just because I’m wearing a dress.”

“It’s a really nice dress,” he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, snaking your arms around his neck. His hand slipped under your dress, squeezing your thighs firmly. When the familiar warmth started creeping up your chest, you held his hand to stop him.

“This is not a good idea,” you told him, smiling at the puppy-like look on his face.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head like he regretted his own impulse. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in again, his lips brushing yours like he couldn’t help himself.

And then you heard the sound of voices just outside the door.

In an instant, Sunghoon stepped back, running a hand through his hair like nothing had happened. You casually adjusted your dress. When the door creaked open, and a couple of students poked their heads in, you and Sunghoon were already on opposite sides of the room.

“Is this Professor Smith’s class?” one of them asked just as you spotted the same name written on the board in front.

“It is,” you said smoothly, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you strode past Sunghoon without so much as a glance.

Outside, in the open air, you felt his presence behind you, his steps easy and unhurried. As you reached the main path to the quad, he finally passed you, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly.

“See you around,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You smirked, not looking back. “See you around.”

But even with all of that, you could tell he was drawing a line between you. He didn’t have to say it. You could see it in the way he never texted first, the way he kissed you like he meant it but pulled away too quickly after. The way he made you laugh but never let the moment linger too long.

And maybe you should have done the same.

You didn’t mean to fall for him. You really didn’t. But it was hard not to when, in between the sneaking around and the mind-blowing sex, Sunghoon was just... Sunghoon. Nice and thoughtful in a way that made it almost impossible to keep things casual.

Like when the lightbulb in your room went out, and he arrived at your place with a new one, climbed on a chair, and replaced it himself.

“I was gonna do that, you know,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the wall, watching him screw the new bulb into place. “I’m just a little busy these days.”

He climbed down, dusting his hands off. “Yeah, but can you even reach that high?”

You rolled your eyes, but when he patted your head like you were some kid, you didn’t swat his hand away. Instead, you found yourself watching him as he moved around your space so easily.

Or the way he always refilled your bedside tumbler before he left your place. You didn’t even notice it at first, but one morning, you woke up, throat dry, and reached for it instinctively—only to realize it was full. Ice-cold. Like he had just topped it off before slipping out.

And then there was the night you were cramming for an exam, drowning in highlighter ink and frustration, when your door swung open, and Sunghoon walked in like he owned the place.

“I’m about to become your favorite person in the world,” he announced, dropping a thick stack of papers on your desk.

You blinked up at him. “What is this?”

“My old notes,” he said, ruffling your hair before plopping onto your bed like he had all the time in the world. “They’re neat. Better than whatever middle school doodles you have going on.”

You flipped through them, and he wasn’t lying—his notes were immaculate. Organized, highlighted, complete with diagrams. You stared at them, then at him, sprawled out on your bed like he had no idea what he’d just done.

“You didn’t strike me as a guy who took his studies seriously,” you teased, although you didn’t really think that way about him.

Sunghoon smirked, turning his head to look at you. “Why? Did you think the only thing I knew how to do was make your legs shake?”

You rolled your eyes, but it didn’t stop the warmth creeping up your chest. “Be real, Hoon. You’re not that good.”

“Liar liar, pants on fire,” he lilted, his eyes shifting back to his phone.

You fell for him because hookups weren’t supposed to be this thoughtful. Hookups weren’t supposed to linger after sex to fix your lightbulb or make sure you stayed hydrated. They weren’t supposed to look after you in ways so small, so casual, that you almost missed them.

You caught yourself wondering. Did he care about you more than just a hookup? Or worse—did you want him to?

You were at a café with your friends when his name came up. 

It started casually enough—half-listening to the conversation while stirring the melting ice in your drink, until one of them, Lily, suddenly said, “Oh, by the way, I saw Sunghoon at your apartment complex the other day. Didn’t know you guys were neighbors.”

Your hand stilled, heartbeat picking up pace at the sudden mention of his name. You blinked once, twice, before mustering up an easy shrug. “Huh. Neither did I.”

Lily laughed, oblivious. “Right? He was coming out of your building. I was gonna say hi, but he looked like he was in a hurry.”

Across the table, Tammy tilted her head. “Maybe he was visiting someone? From what I know, he lives with Jake in a different neighborhood.”

“Maybe,” Lily mused, sipping her drink. Then, as if the thought just occurred to her, she added, “Oh! You and Jenna are neighbors, right?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know any Jenna.”

“Jenna! The girl who won the poll for prettiest student last year!” she explained, her expression turning conspiratorial. “She’s Sunghoon’s ex.”

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

Lily went on, oblivious. “Guess he’s still hoping she’ll take him back.”

The words landed like a slap. You almost asked her to repeat herself, but the way Tammy nodded in understanding told you that you heard right.

“Yeah,” Tammy said. “They were together for two years. I heard he was really sad when they broke up.”

Lily clicked her tongue. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did get back together. They were that couple, you know?”

That couple. The ones who belonged together. The ones who had history, real history—not just stolen moments behind closed doors.

You swallowed, forcing a small smirk. “Didn’t know you guys were keeping up with Sunghoon’s love life like this.”

Lily nodded. “Jenna and I used to hang out when I was still in the council.”

Then she started rambling about their history, how Jenna broke Sunghoon’s heart, how he never really moved on. You nodded along, pretending to listen, but your mind was stuck on every moment you spent with him. The way he pulled you closer in his sleep, how he never let you walk home alone, the way he looked at you sometimes—like maybe you were something more special to him.

But you weren’t. You weren’t the one he wanted. You never were. And just like that, the guessing game was over.

He didn’t want you like you wanted him. You were genuinely just a fling.

Still, you smiled, made some joke that had your friends laughing, and sipped your drink like nothing was wrong. Like your stomach hadn’t just dropped to the floor.

Later, when you saw Sunghoon again—when he let himself into your apartment with that lazy smirk, hands already reaching for you—you didn’t hesitate. You let him touch you, let him kiss you like nothing had changed.

Because for him, nothing had.

And if he didn’t know the difference or couldn’t see the shift, then you sure as hell weren’t going to show him.

Does it make sense to want your ex back and exclusively sleep with someone else? NO.

It was stupid. Sunghoon was stupid. That was what you told yourself every time the thought crossed your mind—every time you caught yourself comparing.

You never voiced it out loud, though. Not to your friends, because Sunghoon was popular, and they’d pry if they knew you were sleeping with him. Not to him, for obvious reasons. And mainly because you had pride. You were the one who said you wouldn’t get attached—the one who laughed at girls who caught feelings for a fling.

But knowing better didn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

His ex was his senior, a fine arts major. Pretty. Smart. Talented. One of those girls who just had it. The kind people didn’t get over easily. You told yourself it didn’t matter. If he wanted her back, that was his problem, not yours. It wasn’t like you and Sunghoon were anything.

And so the days with him continued to be easy and light.

You spent more time together, and the more you did, the more you noticed his quirks—his own brand of annoying charm. Like how he always picked up your keys instead of his whenever he left your apartment, or how he liked to roll his sleeves and ruffle his hair absentmindedly.

One evening, lying side by side on your bed, you scrolled through your texts, absentmindedly opening your chat with him. A dozen images filled the screen, almost all of them mirror selfies. Some in elevators, some in his room, one even in a convenience store.

“You like yourself a little too much, don’t you?” you mused, tilting your phone so he could see.

Sunghoon barely glanced at it. “What?”

“These,” you said, scrolling through. “Almost every picture you send me is just you.”

He smirked, resting his head on his arm. “What, you don’t like them?”

You huffed. “You’re hot and you know it, is that it?”

He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side to face you. The glint in his eyes was naughty and suggestive. His next words, even more so: “Would you rather I send you something else?”

He was looking at you like he knew exactly what he was doing, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand.

“Maybe,” you said, feigning deep thought. “Like a cat picture. Or, I don’t know, an interesting rock.”

Sunghoon snorted. “An interesting rock?”

“I like rocks.”

“You’re weird.”

“And you’re a narcissist.”

He only grinned, as if he didn’t mind the label. You shook your head, rolling onto your stomach, but your lips twitched when your phone vibrated a second later.

A picture. Of a rock.

You bit back a smile, and Sunghoon, watching you, caught it anyway.

“What?” he asked, amused.

“Nothing,” you said, tossing your phone aside.

You had never once felt insecure about what you had with Sunghoon, but after what you heard from your friends, you started to notice the little things. It almost seemed like outside the four walls of your apartments, you were nothing to each other.

You used to think he was just a lazy texter. His replies were always short, sometimes delayed, sometimes just emojis. But knowing what you knew now, you wondered if he just wasn’t interested enough.

The thought crept under your skin, making you overthink the things you once brushed off.

Before, when you texted him to come over and he said he couldn’t, you didn’t think much of it. But now? Now, you wondered if he was with her when he wasn’t with you. If he looked at his phone, saw your message, and made a choice.

Yet, you kept crawling back for more.

You were an intelligent woman. You knew this was foolish. You knew how it made you look. But it was fine, because no one else knew how you felt—not your friends, not even Sunghoon himself. It was fine because you were foolish only in your own eyes. There was no need for anyone else to know.

Despite the foolishness of it all, you were happy. You were content enough to be able to spend time with him, to be touched and worshipped by him, to know you had the power to tease out a part of him that not everyone had the privilege to see.

“Sunghoon,” you sighed, fingers pressed against your temple as you looked out of the car window. “We’ve been circling this block for ten minutes.”

You had tagged along with Sunghoon on a quick trip to pick up some pieces for his department’s upcoming art exhibit. It was unplanned. You were outside the campus after class when he spotted you and asked if you wanted to join him. Since you didn’t have anything planned for the day (and because you could never say no to a chance to hang out with him), you got into his car and let him drive without even asking where you were going.

But Sunghoon, as it turned out, had a terrible sense of direction.

“I swear it was supposed to be around here,” he muttered, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping aimlessly at his phone.

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

He shot you a glance, sheepish. “Well, I meant it twenty minutes ago.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned back in your seat, stretching your legs. The map app on his dashboard kept recalculating, rerouting him to roads that either didn’t exist or led straight to nowhere. And when he finally admitted defeat, pulling over to rethink his next move, you both stepped out and realized something.

The ocean was right there.

Waves lapped lazily at the shore, the sky was clear, and the sun was warm but not overbearing—the kind of day that practically begged to be wasted at the beach.

“…Screw the errand?” you offered.

Sunghoon stared at the water for a moment before shrugging. “Screw the errand.”

And just like that, the detour became the destination.

The day unfolded spontaneously. You bought overpriced street food from a vendor by the shore, eating as you walked, laughing when Sunghoon scrunched his nose at the spicy kick of the sauce. He had an annoyingly specific taste in food and the smell, but he still let you shove a piece of yours into his mouth.

You found a little souvenir stand and tried on ridiculous sunglasses, taking pictures of each other in frames shaped like hearts and palm trees. Sunghoon snapped candid shots of you when you weren’t looking, and though you pretended to be annoyed, you never asked him to stop.

At some point, the tide crept in, and you played a round of rock, paper, scissors and dared the loser to get into the water. You weren’t even surprised when you lost. You sucked at this game.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” you grumbled, kicking your sandals off. “By myself, no less.”

“Hey, it’s a game. We both agreed to this,” he retorted, stepping back. “And I can’t go in there. I’m wearing jeans.”

“And I’m wearing a skirt,” you countered, already wading in, your hem darkening as the waves reached you.

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, probably wondering if you were actually sulking over a punishment you’d happily agreed to before you lost the game. Of course, you weren’t, but it was fun to tease him and see what he’d do.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said after the scowl never left your face. In a moment of impulsive surrender, he walked straight in after you, the water soaking up his pants. You’re actually unbelievable,” he added, shaking his head as the chill hit him.

You grinned triumphantly, making him brush his hair back in playful exasperation. Then, shaking his head in defeat, he said, “I knew it. It was a farce. You knew I was gonna give in!”

“You fell for it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes playfully. “Don’t blame me,” you added, flicking water at him.

Sunghoon blinked at you, unimpressed, before flicking some back with just the tips of his fingers.

“Oh, come on,” you taunted. “Is that the best you can do?”

His eyes narrowed slightly—just enough of a warning before he sent a full splash your way, drenching your arms. You gasped, stumbling back with a laugh.

“Oh? So that’s how it’s gonna be?” you shot back, scooping up water with both hands and throwing it right at his chest.

He retaliated, sending another wave toward you, and suddenly it was war. One splash turned into another, then another, until you were both breathless, clothes sticking to your skin, hair a mess.

Sunghoon pushed his dripping bangs back with a huff. “This is your fault,” he said, smiling his usual warm and blinding smile—the smile that made his eyes crinkle, the smile that revealed dimples carving deep into his cheeks, the smile that could make anyone think Sunghoon had never forced a grin in his life.

He was beautiful, and you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper, with no way out. You were falling so deep that it made your heart ache a little—the way you liked him, the way you wanted him to be yours, the way you wished today could last forever.

As the sky started to turn amber, you collapsed onto the sand, watching the sun lower itself into the horizon.

The waves rolled in, steady and endless, curling at the shore. The air smelled of salt, and the golden glow of the sunset painted the world majestically. You sat side by side, talking and laughing about random things, content to share the warmth of a single jacket.

Then, somewhere between the soothing sound of the waves and the silly jokes, the conversation drifted deeper.

You talked about things you never had before—about college, about dreams and ambitions, about the way people always say you’ll just know when something is right.

“How do you know for sure that that’s what you wanted to pursue?” he asked while you were tracing idle patterns in the sand. “What if you think you know, but when you get to the end of it, you realize it was the wrong choice?”

You looked out into the ocean, tilting your head slightly, considering. “I didn’t really know it was the right choice. I don’t think anyone ever really knows,” you admitted. “Not in the moment, at least. Maybe you just choose something, and later, that choice becomes the right one.”

You turned to look at him only to find out he already had his eyes on you. The admiration in his gaze was subtle, but it was there. Seeing that made your heart trip over itself, it made you forget, for just a second, that this wasn’t real.

And when he leaned in, when his eyes flickered to your lips and your breath caught, you stopped thinking. You knew what was coming. You knew he was about to kiss you, but somehow, for some reason, this time felt different. Like this kiss was gonna determine a major point in your relationship.

But before anything could happen, Sunghoon’s phone rang, jolting you both out of the trance. You both looked away in embarrassment, clearing your throat like you’d caught yourself doing something you shouldn’t. Which was ridiculous because you’d done nothing but kiss him in the past few months.

Sunghoon cleared his throat as he picked up his phone on the sand then answered the call with a quiet, “Yeah?”

It was the committee for the exhibit and you watched him talk on the phone for the next few minutes, explaining what had happened and why he couldn’t finish the errand. By the time he hung up, the sky had darkened completely, and the air had turned crisp.

“It’s late,” he said, brushing sand off his hands. “You okay with crashing at my place?”

You blinked. “Your place?”

“Our old family house. It’s not far from here.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged. “Sure.”

The car ride was quiet, thick with the tension that had been ignited by the near-kiss at the beach. Neither of you spoke, but your gazes met every now and then—quick glances, fleeting and heated, before darting away like you hadn’t been caught.

Sunghoon was the first to break. His hand drifted from the wheel, finding your thigh in the dim glow of the dashboard, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. He squeezed, testing, and when you didn’t stop him, he grew bolder, pushing the hem of your dress up just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. His fingers traced your skin with slow, deliberate strokes, inching higher into your inner thighs and lightly brushing your sex.

The heat of his touch burned through you. While you sat there feeling hotter as your heartbeat hammered wildly in your chest, he remained composed and quiet, his face unreadable save for the occasional twitch of his jaw. He kept his eyes on the road, but the way the car gradually picked up speed as he stepped harder on the gas told you everything you needed to know.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter until the car rolled to a stop in their driveway. He exhaled sharply, as if regaining control of himself before stepping out and opening the door for you like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

The lock to their house’s main entrance clicked, the door creaked open, and the second you stepped inside, all restraints snapped.

You barely had a moment to take in the house before his hands were on you, pulling you in, mouths crashing in a kiss that was desperate, needy, and greedy. He backed you into the foyer, hands mapping the curve of your waist, and the shape of your hips.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling, tugging, holding on for dear life as the heat of his touch woke something primal in you. He barely broke the kiss as he guided you further inside, not caring where you ended up as long as you got there together. You went past the foyer and the living room, but all you felt was the press of his body, the way he kissed you with the kind of hunger that made your head spin.

He pushed a door open, urging you inside but you hesitated, pulse hammering.

“Sunghoon,” you breathed between kisses, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “Your parents—”

“They’re not home.” His voice was low, steady, but his eyes burned through yours.

You barely had a second to process before he kissed you again, silencing every last doubt as he pushed you inside the door he had just opened. When he clicked the lights on, the glow of a bathroom light flickered on, reflecting off the tiles and the mirror above the sink.

“Figured you’d hate the taste of the sea on my skin,” he murmured, grinning as his fingers grazed your hip. You were suddenly reminded of the saltwater clinging to your skin, and the sand on your legs, remnants of the day you’d spent together.

You swallowed, nodding. But the moment he lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, you knew washing up wasn’t gonna be the only thing happening in here. 

You shamelessly ogled him—his bare skin, damp from sweat and seawater, and his lean build with well-defined muscles that you’d seen several times before but still found alluring. He caught you staring and smirked, stepping closer, close enough that his fingers found the buttons of your top.

“Did you know I’m good with buttons?” he asked softly, making you giggle.

“Yeah. I’ve seen your skills,” you said, watching him.

His fingers were deft, undoing your buttons slowly, teasingly. When he was done, he gently tugged it off, letting it fall on the floor. His hands didn’t leave you, though. They skimmed down your arms, and your waist, examining every curve like he had it memorized and wanted to see if anything was different.

The next thing you knew, warm water was cascading over your bodies, steam enveloping you in the small space. The spray soaked your hair, trailing down your spine, but you barely noticed because Sunghoon was there—his hands smoothing over your skin, his lips brushing against your shoulder, your jaw, his canines grazing your skin ever so slightly.

“We’re supposed to be washing up,” you teased, though your voice was breathless.

“We are,” he murmured, his fingers sliding down your stomach, inching lower. “Just making sure we’re doing it thoroughly.”

You let out a quiet laugh, but it faded into a sigh when he pressed you back against the cool tiles, his mouth finding yours again. He didn’t stay for long, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, all the way to your chest where his kisses turned a little more intense. He sucked and squeezed, sending a pleasant ripple through your body that made you arch forward for more. The water drowned out the sound of your quiet moans, the warmth of his mouth making every touch feel more heady, more intoxicating.

When did he take off his pants? You didn’t even notice until he pressed his body against yours and you felt his manhood pulsating against your torso, hot and raging. He kissed your lips again, shoving his tongue inside as his breathing turned rougher.

“Turn around,” he rasped in your ear, and you obliged, finding yourself face-to-face with your own reflection.

You pressed your hands against the glass, your entire body tingling with anticipation as he positioned himself behind you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, kissing the side of your neck as you felt his tip prodding your pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, biting your ear. “Do you have any idea how you drive me crazy all the damn time?”

You were about to respond when he pushed himself inside you, making you let out a throaty gasp instead. Sunghoon stayed still, shushing you gently and kissing your shoulder.

“It’s alright. We’ve done this before,” he chimed and you could see him smirking in your reflection. 

“You’re used to this, right?” he asked, moving delicately so you could properly adjust to his length and girth. “Right, baby?” he asked again, and the lilt in his voice made you close your eyes and nod.

“That’s right. You said you love it, didn’t you?” 

You could only let out a deep sigh, tilting your head back. “Yes, Hoon. I love it,” you whispered back.

“Good. I know you do,” he chimed, gently bending you forward. “I know you’ll love this too,” he added before his hands settled on your waist and he started thrusting into you.

His pace was urgent, with enough force to make your knees weak each time he slammed into you. You didn’t even bother to stifle your moans anymore, letting them out completely, not caring if there were neighbors nearby who might hear you. You were lightheaded with lust, spiraling into the titillating euphoria that Sunghoon never once failed to deliver. Your entire being came alive and you were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice your knees buckling underneath your weight.

Sunghoon’s grip tightened as he helped keep you up, pulling out to give you a quick break and to turn you face-to-face with him again. His grin was unmistakable, pleased to see your fucked-out expression. “So so beautiful,” he said, sweeping your hair out of your face.

He pressed you against the cool tiles, his lips crashing onto yours, urgency overtaking everything else. You gasped when his hands gripped your thighs, lifting you against him. The water poured over his shoulders, down your back, as he moved with reckless need, his breath ragged against your ear. 

“More, Hoon. Please, more,” you pleaded, as if he wasn’t already ramming mercilessly into you making every nerve in your body dance in pleasure.

“You’re so horny for me,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers gripping your thighs as he lifted you against him. “Can’t even wait till we got to the bed, huh?”

Your breath hitched as he pressed into you, the heat of the shower only amplifying the sensation. “This was your idea,” you whispered, but it came out shaky, wrecked.

He chuckled, low and deep. “I know. But you want this too, don’t you?” he said, voice smooth as his lips traced down your throat. “You want me so bad. You’re begging me for more, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t answer—not in words, at least. But when you tightened your grip around his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin, he took it as confirmation.

“That’s it,” he groaned, rolling his hips into yours. “Come on, baby. Let me hear you.”

You whimpered when he hit a delicious spot, holding onto him tighter. “Hoon, you fuck so good.”

He grunted, spurred on by your admission. He was fast, desperate—like he couldn’t get enough, like he had to claim every inch of you right then and there. When he finally tipped over the edge, dragging you down with him, he held you through it, his lips pressing on your temple as your body trembled in his arms.

The moment was fleeting, but the desire didn’t leave just yet. You could still feel it in his touch even as he set you back on your feet. The moment you stepped out of the shower, Sunghoon grabbed a towel, barely bothering to dry you properly before he lifted you off your feet, carrying you out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and into what you only assumed was his bedroom.

This time, there was no rush.

He laid you down, his hands smoothing over your skin, his touch softer now, more reverent. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes tracing over every inch of you, dark with something more than just lust. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

Your breath came uneven as he leaned down, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down your chest, lower—each one dragging a gasp from your lips.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin.

“You,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Then take me,” he added, just before he filled you up again.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent, or desperate. It was slow, deep, and overwhelming in the most delightful way. He kept his forehead pressed to yours, breath warm against your face, whispering in between kisses.

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” he murmured, moving languidly. “You feel so good. You’re taking me so well.”

Every whispered praise sent shivers down your spine, made you cling to him even tighter, and made the pleasure build until it was unbearable.

The night was young and it was not gonna end just yet. And so the hours blurred into moments of euphoric highs, fleeting clarity, and intense need to ravage and be ravaged. His name was the only thing you could say—over and over—until you were both left breathless, tangled together in the sheets, completely undone.

In the morning, you probably wouldn’t remember every detail of tonight, but you’d remember this—remember the way his hands felt on your skin, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. In the dim glow of Sunghoon’s bedroom, your fingers tangled in his damp hair, lips swollen from too many kisses, you let yourself forget. Forget the rules. Forget that this was never supposed to feel like more. Just for tonight, he was yours, and you were his.

The morning light streamed in through the sheer curtains, hurting your eyes a little. You blinked awake, momentarily disoriented, until the scent of Sunghoon’s shampoo on your skin and the warmth of the bed beneath you reminded you where you were.

You turned over to find him already awake, his arm tucked behind his head as he looked at you with a lazy smile. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep.

His fingers skimmed down your arm. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

A slow blink. Then, a scoff. “Liar.”

“It’s true.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as his gaze flickered down to your lips. “You drool a little, though.”

You smacked his arm. “I do not.”

His laughter was low and teasing, as he caught your wrist then tugged you closer. His body was warm against yours, and his breath was even warmer as he kissed the curve of your neck.

“We should get up,” you said, but neither of you moved.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his soft kisses trailing down to your shoulder. “In a bit,” he added before reaching to cup your cheek and kiss your lips.

One thing led to another and suddenly, you were underneath him again, his body pressing into yours like he couldn’t bear to be apart.

The morning air was cool, but his hands were warm as they skimmed down your waist, his touch slow, and smooth. 

“You’re insatiable,” he murmured against your lips, smiling when you shivered under him.

“So are you,” you whispered back, running your fingers through his hair.

He hummed, nipping at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “Guess we’re even, then.”

His hands slid over your bare skin, his touch reverent. He kissed you deeply, guiding you through the lazy tangle of limbs and soft gasps, dragging it out like he had all the time in the world.

By the time you finally got out of bed, Sunghoon had already dug through his closet, tossing you an old hoodie and some sweatpants. You pulled them on and followed him down the quiet hallway.

The house felt still—too still. Only then did you notice the dust gathering on the bookshelves, the faint scent of time in the air.

“This place has been empty for a while now,” Sunghoon said casually from behind you when he noticed you looking around. “My family moved a few months ago to take care of my grandparents.”

Your brows lifted. “So no one lives here?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I come by sometimes. I technically still live here, I'm just not here often.”

That made sense. There was something about the house—it felt untouched, frozen in time, like stepping into a memory. You walked further into the hall, your fingers grazing along the walls and stopping at the framed photographs hanging there.

You studied them, tilting your head. Sunghoon as a kid, bright-eyed and grinning, a missing tooth on full display. A younger version of him on a skating rink, mid-game, frozen in motion. Another picture—him and his family, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and several of him in a skating rink, different poses, taken in the middle of a routine.

“You skate?”

Sunghoon smiled, standing beside you and looking up at the photos. “Used to. I was in the national team for a while.”

“Why did you stop?” you asked glancing up at him and seeing the reminiscent look on his face.

He simply shrugged. “I had to be realistic. I enjoyed the sport but I couldn’t see myself doing it for a long time.”

You bit back a smile. “You were kind of adorable.”

Sunghoon scoffed, stepping up behind you. “I still am.”

“Debatable.”

He tugged at your hoodie—his hoodie—pulling the hood over your head before nodding toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”

The drive back to the city was uneventful, the radio playing softly in the background. Sunghoon’s hand rested on the wheel, his other lazily draped over your thigh, tracing absentminded patterns through the fabric of his sweatpants that you were still wearing. You were talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at him between songs on the stereo.

At some point, he cleared his throat. “So… what are you doing later?”

“I have a group project.” You groaned, leaning back against the seat. “I’m meeting up with my classmates later.”

“Right. Group project.” He nodded slowly, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Sounds boring.”

“It is,” you huffed. “Why’d you ask?”

“No reason.” His eyes stayed fixed on the road, but you caught the way his grip on the wheel tightened just slightly. A second passed before he spoke again, this time even more nonchalant. “What about tomorrow?”

You tilted your head. “Tomorrow? I’m not sure. Just classes, I think.” You turned to him, raising a brow. “Why?”

“Do you wanna grab lunch with me tomorrow?”

You stared at him for a moment, then grinned teasingly. “Are you asking me out on a date, Park Sunghoon?”

His ears turned the faintest shade of pink, but he scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. “I’m just saying we should get lunch.”

“Mmm.” You pretended to think. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“It’s not a date.”

You scoffed in playful exasperation. “Dude, I was naked on top of you last night and a couple of other nights before. Surely we’re way past shy invitations for lunch dates?”

“I’m asking you to eat.” He paused, then added with a tilt of his head, “But if you wanna call it a date, that’s fine too. Labels are overrated.”

You hummed, pretending to think about it. “Hm. I guess I’ll allow it.”

Sunghoon chuckled, shaking his head. “Good. It’s settled then,” he said, stopping at a red light.

He leaned over to kiss you, catching you off guard but only for a moment. You kissed him back, albeit a little confused. When he pulled away, he was wearing a proud smirk on his face and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he asked, shifting the gear as the light turned green again. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing it to his lips.

One hour later, you reached your apartment complex, but had to you stay a few more minutes in his car because he couldn’t seem to get enough of you, kissing and touching right there in the parking lot. You had to forcefully push him away and remind him that you had classes and important stuff to attend to. Even then, he was reluctant to let you go.

After a dramatic goodbye that had him pouting as he drove away, you climbed up the building with a sickening grin on your face. You unlocked your door, stepping inside with a lightness in your chest, breathing in the familiar smell of your home. 

The past few days had been a rollercoaster for you, with all the guessing and expectations and disappointments. But now, you were feeling much lighter, much happier. The good days with Sunghoon were all you could think of, playing back in flashes—the sound of his laugh in your space, the weight of his arm over your waist in the morning, the smell of his skin at night, the way he always left the bathroom mirror fogged up because he took ridiculously hot showers.

Tossing your bag onto the couch, you leaned against the door for a moment, smiling to yourself. Sunghoon was nice, but he always drew an invisible line. Not this time. You could tell by the way he held you this morning, the way he was reluctant to part from you, and how he’d asked to hang out with you for lunch—outside, in public. It felt like, for once, you both wanted the same thing. No second-guessing, no mixed signals—you were finally moving the same direction.

Your gaze drifted to the hoodie he’d left draped over the chair, his specs on your nightstand, and the half-empty tumbler beside it—subtle proofs that he’d started leaving pieces of himself behind. You wondered if he even realized it.

And more than that, you wondered where this would go next.

The next morning, you woke up too early. Way too early.

You groaned into your pillow, rolling onto your back as you stared at the ceiling. It was ridiculous. You’d seen Sunghoon plenty of times before—hung out, spent nights together, and shared more than just passing glances. But the idea of today, of a proper lunch date, had you wide awake before the sun was even fully up. Maybe it was because, for once, you weren’t just meeting up in the comfort of your apartment or his. It would be something different. Something real.

You giggled at the thought, covering your face with your blanket and then flailing your arms and legs. 

Admitting that to yourself felt embarrassing, so you dragged yourself out of bed and decided to be productive. If you were going to be up this early, you might as well make the most of it.

A jog around the neighborhood. A quick stop at the store. And before you knew it, you were back in your apartment, unpacking groceries and deciding, on a whim, to actually cook breakfast. When was the last time you did that? You couldn’t even remember.

By the time you arrived on campus, you were still riding the high of a morning well-spent. Your good mood didn’t go unnoticed—your friends picked up on it immediately, teasing you about the extra bounce in your step. You brushed them off with the excuse of getting enough sleep, but they weren’t wrong. Everything just felt lighter today.

Even classes didn’t seem so unbearable. You participated. You took notes. You weren’t counting down the minutes to leave—well, not exactly. But the closer lunchtime got, the more restless you became, checking your phone every so often even though you knew you were the only one keeping track of time this obsessively.

Then, just as you were leaving your last morning class, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: Hey pretty. Something came up. I can’t do lunch today. I’m sorry. Sunghoon: I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?

Your steps slowed, but you kept moving, staring at the text longer than necessary.

Bummed. That was the best way to describe it. You weren’t mad—plans get canceled all the time, and at least he let you know ahead of time—but disappointment still settled in the pit of your stomach. You took a breath, shook it off, and responded with a simple, It’s fine. See you later.

Lunch with your friends helped a little. You laughed, caught up on random gossip, and even let them drag you to a café afterward. You weren’t dwelling on it. Really, you weren’t.

Until you stepped out of the café and saw him. Sunghoon, standing outside the campus gates. And he wasn’t alone. 

Jenna was with him.

You stopped in your tracks, heart lurching in a way you hadn’t felt before. It wasn’t just that he was there, but the way he was standing close to her, the way she was talking, nudging his arm like she had every right to be in his space.

Sunghoon must have felt someone staring at him because he glanced your way and saw you. His eyes brightened in recognition, and he greeted you casually, like nothing was out of the ordinary. But you didn’t even know how to react. Your body moved before your brain could catch up. You walked past him, barely sparing a glance, pretending as if you weren’t close. As if he was just someone you barely knew.

Your friends who saw that were confused, following behind you after quick greetings to both Sunghoon and Jenna. 

Tammy caught up to you, nudged your arm, and asked, “Where are you running off to after ignoring Sunghoon like that?”

“I wasn’t ignoring anyone,” you muttered.

“You totally were,” Lily chimed in, linking arms with you as she leaned to speak in a quieter voice. “That’s so fishy. What’s going on?”

You didn’t respond, your mind too muddled to even try and come up with a good answer. As you rounded the corner, your phone buzzed a second later.

Sunghoon: Hey. What was that?

You ignored it, as well as the other messages that followed. 

The rest of the afternoon slipped through your fingers in a haze of self-pity. You curled up on the couch, aimlessly flipping through movies, but nothing got your attention. The voices blurred together, scenes passed without meaning. You weren’t devastated. You weren’t heartbroken. You were just... mad. Annoyed that after everything, after how good things had been, this was what it came down to. But getting worked up wouldn’t do anything. So, you forced yourself to let it go. 

Or at least, you tried. It was impossible when he kept creeping into your thoughts—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you just yesterday—like he wanted this as much as you did.

You didn’t even realize you had dozed off until the sound of your phone ringing jolted you awake.

You blinked against the glow of the screen. Sunghoon.

For a moment, you stared at his name, your heartbeat loud in the quiet of your apartment. You could ignore it. You could let it ring out and pretend you were still asleep. You could put an end to this charade, to tell him you were done and sick of it. But you didn’t.

You answered. His voice was gentle, cautious. “Can I come over?”

You should say no. You should end this here and now. Enough is enough. But… “Yeah. Of course,” you said, trying your best to sound normal.

Half an hour later, he was in your apartment, hands on you, lips on yours, familiar and desperate. And, as always, you let him in—physically, emotionally, despite knowing better. You let yourself believe that maybe, for just a little longer, this could be enough.

Afterward, you slipped out of bed, padding into the bathroom to wash up. By the time you returned, the room was dark, the only source of light was coming from Sunghoon’s phone on the nightstand. He was already asleep, his breathing even, his body sprawled across your sheets like he belonged there.

You reached for the blanket to pull it over him when his phone buzzed, the screen glowing against the dim light. Your gaze flickered to it, drawn by instinct.

Jenna calling...

Your chest tightened at the name. For a moment, you just stood there, watching the name flash across the screen before it faded into darkness. You could answer it. You could see what she wanted, hear her voice, and confirm everything you had been trying so hard to ignore.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you climbed into bed, curling up beside Sunghoon, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You knew what you had to do. Knew that when he woke up, this had to end for good.

But not yet.

For now, while he was still yours—warm, close, familiar—you let yourself have this one last moment. You closed your eyes and pretended everything was okay, even though you knew exactly what tomorrow would bring.

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. The space beside you was cold. 

It was over.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. You had spent the night convincing yourself that you were ready for this, ready to end things, but the second you woke up to find him gone, the ache in your chest became unbearable.

Tears welled up before you could stop them. You curled into yourself, pressing your face against the pillow, sobbing into the fabric as if that could somehow muffle the sound. This wasn’t supposed to hurt. You weren’t supposed to grieve something that was never really yours. But you did.

You let yourself fall apart, mourning what could have been, whispering prayers into the silence that it didn’t have to end this way.

And then the door creaked open. You gasped, jolting up, eyes red and blurry as Sunghoon stepped into the room, holding your tumbler in his hand. 

His brows furrowed at the sight of you, eyes widening in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asked, rushing to your side, setting the tumbler down before cupping your face and wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Hey—why are you crying?”

You shook your head, unable to form words. He pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as you sobbed against him. He didn’t ask any more questions. He just held you, rubbing your back, shushing you gently even though he didn’t understand what had you so upset.

After a long moment, you finally managed to choke out, “I thought you were gone.”

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, blinking at you in confusion. Then, to your utter annoyance, he started laughing.

“What do you mean, gone?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I literally just went to shower and get you some water.”

You smacked his arm, your face burning. “Don’t laugh at me, you jerk!”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, though he was definitely still laughing.

Something about his amusement made you snap. Maybe it was the pent-up emotions, or maybe it was the fact that you had nothing left to lose—but suddenly, everything came spilling out.

You confessed it all.

How you weren’t supposed to catch feelings, but you did. How you tried to push them down, to ignore them, but they never really went away. How you had spent so long pretending to be fine with this casual arrangement, knowing deep down that you weren’t. How much it crushed you to think that he was trying to win Jenna back, how much it hurt when he canceled on you, and how stupid you felt for letting yourself get so attached.

Sunghoon stared at you, utterly dumbfounded.

You sniffled, swallowing back the last of your tears. “Well? Say something.”

And then, to your horror, he started laughing again.

Your stomach twisted. “Are you kidding me right now?”

But before you could shove him away, he grabbed your face and kissed you. Hard.

Your breath hitched, but you melted into it, gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment all along. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice quieter now. “I like you,” he admitted. “A lot.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going. “You’re fun, you don’t take my shit, and you get me in a way that most people don’t. I’m always looking forward to seeing you. To hearing whatever sarcastic thing you were gonna say next. To just… being with you.”

“Then why—”

“I wasn’t with Jenna because of what you think.” His hands slid down to hold yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “There was an accident with the exhibit setup, and I had to be there. She just happened to walk out with me.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And the part where you’re trying to get back with her?”

Sunghoon made a face. “Where did you even hear that?”

You hesitated before mumbling, “A mutual friend.”

He huffed. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“I don’t know!” You did, but you weren’t about to admit that you didn’t want to seem like you were expecting too much from him—like you were demanding something that was never part of your deal.

Sunghoon sighed, squeezing your hands. “I don’t know where you got that idea, but I only have eyes for you.” His lips quirked. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t realize how much I liked you at first, but ever since we started this, I haven’t thought about anyone else.”

Your heart stuttered.

Then he smirked. “I thought we had an understanding. Did we really need a label for it?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Right. Labels are overrated.”

Sunghoon kissed you deeply, and this time, you returned it with the same amount of sweet abandon. Then he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’m all yours, baby,” he murmured. “And right now, I’m wondering if you’d wanna be mine too.”

You let out a sharp breath, your chest tightening at his words. For a second, you just stared at him—his dark eyes searching yours, his expression completely open, completely vulnerable.

Then you scoffed, shaking your head with an exasperated laugh.

“For fuck's sake, Sunghoon.” You squeezed his hands, tugging him just a little closer. “I’m already yours.”

His lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else, stealing the last of your breath, and this time, you didn’t hold anything back.

[fin]

[lvnleah]

west end star | leah williamson.

You were lounging on the couch, Leah sitting beside you with your legs draped over her thighs. Today was the day you could find out if you had landed your first major West End role, the one you’d been dreaming of since you were a kid.

Your whole life had been dedicated to musical theatre. From performing in summer recitals at age six to moving all the way to London from Manchester for Musical Theatre college, your whole life had revolved around it. Sure, you had done a few ensemble parts here and there after college but nothing like a major role. 

A few months ago you had auditioned for Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia the Musical on the West End. You had poured everything into that audition. Every note, every step, every ounce of emotion you could muster had gone into your performance. 

Sophie Sheridan in Mamma Mia. Even saying it to yourself felt surreal, but it was what you’d been dreaming of for as long as you could remember.

The callback process had been gruelling. Weeks of singing, acting, and dance workshops, surrounded by people who were just as talented and hungry for the role as you were. You’d tried to stay grounded, but deep down, you knew you wanted this more than anything.

Leah had been your rock throughout the process. She’d spent countless nights helping you run lines, watching you practice choreography in the living room, and reassuring you when the self-doubt crept in. 

“You’re going to get it,” she’d said every time you worried. “I can feel it.”

Now, here you were, sitting on the couch, staring at your phone like it might explode. Leah was gently tracing patterns on your shin, pretending to scroll through her phone but clearly keeping an eye on you.

“You know you’re allowed to breathe, right?” she teased, glancing up at you with a small smirk.

“I am breathing,” you shot back, though it felt like your lungs were only half working.

Leah rolled her eyes. “Barely. It’s going to be fine, love. Whatever happens, you’ve done everything you could. You were incredible in that audition.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. Both of you froze.

Your agent’s name lit up the screen, and your heart started pounding.

“Don’t just stare at it, woman!” Leah said, her voice suddenly serious. “Answer it!”

With trembling fingers, you picked up the phone and pressed it to your ear. “H-hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart, it’s Miranda,” your agent said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good,” you managed to say, though your voice cracked slightly. Leah gave your leg a reassuring squeeze. “Do you have… um… any news?”

Miranda let out a little laugh. “I do. I just got off the phone with the casting director, and they were absolutely blown away by you. They said your energy was perfect, your vocals were spot on, and well, they want you for Sophie.”

The words hit you like a wave. You sat there, frozen, as Miranda’s words echoed in your ears. “I what—wait. I got it?”

“You got it!” Miranda confirmed, laughing again. “You’re going to be Sophie Sheridan on the West End. Congratulations, sweetheart. You deserve this.”

Tears filled your eyes as you tried to process the moment. “Oh my god, I—Thank you, Miranda. Thank you so much.”

“Go celebrate,” she said warmly. “You’ve earned it. I’ll be in touch soon with all the details.”

The call ended, and you slowly lowered the phone, staring at it like it might suddenly disappear.

“Well?” Leah asked, “Babe, talk! You know, use words?”

You turned to her, the biggest smile breaking across your face. “I, um, I got it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Leah, I got it.”

Leah let out a cheer, pulling you into her arms so quickly that you nearly toppled off the couch. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, kissing you all over your face as you laughed and cried at the same time. “You’re going to be Sophie! On the West End!”

“I can’t believe it,” you said, burying your face in her shoulder. “This is actually happening.”

Leah pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands framing your face. “You worked so hard for this, and you deserve every bit of it,” she said before attacking you with more kisses. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

You smiled, giggling as her kiss attacks stopped. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been my rock through all of this.”

“And I’ll be your rock through everything else, too. Now,” she said, standing up and pulling you with her, “we are celebrating. Whatever you want, dinner, drinks, dessert, name it, and it’s yours.”

You laughed, wiping your tears. “Can we start with some champagne?”

“Absolutely,” Leah said, already heading to grab a bottle. “Only the best for my West End star.”

Your debut arrived quicker than you ever expected. Weeks of rehearsals and costume fittings flew by in a blur. The nerves hit as soon as you woke up that morning, a constant flutter in your stomach that didn’t ease, no matter how many times Leah reassured you.

“You’ve got this,” she said that morning, handing you a cup of tea as you sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and everyone’s going to see how incredible you are.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Leah asked, sitting across from you after a few moments of silence. 

“Just… everything,” you admitted. “What if I mess up? What if everyone hates me?”

Leah smirked and reached for your hand. “If anyone doesn’t like you after tonight, they’re either blind or tone-deaf. You’re going to be the best Sophie Sheridan that stage has ever seen.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “But I’m also right.”

She was the steadying presence you needed that day, texting you little messages throughout your pre-show prep: You’re a star, babe. Don’t forget to breathe. Save some talent for the rest of the cast, yeah?

When the curtain finally rose that evening, the nerves melted away, replaced by the joy of being on stage that you always had. The music, the lights, the energy of the audience, it was everything you’d ever dreamed of. By the time the final bows came, the roar of applause felt like it might shake the building.

When you finally emerged from the stage door, your breath caught. There Leah was, standing with Amanda and Berny, a bouquet of flowers in her arms. Leah’s face lit up the second she saw you, her grin wide and proud. She stepped forward, holding out the bouquet, but before she could say anything, you launched yourself into her arms.

“You were amazing,” she whispered into your ear, holding you tight.

“Thank you,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were sparkling with pride, and the sight made your stomach flip.

Amanda stepped in next, wrapping you in a warm hug. “That was incredible, sweetheart. I was in tears during ‘Slipping Through My Fingers.’ You’ve got such a gift.”

“You were made for this role, darling,” Berny added, smiling warmly. 

“Thank you, both of you,” you said, overwhelmed by their kindness.

As the four of you walked toward a nearby restaurant to celebrate, Leah squeezed your hand. “You know,” she said softly, so only you could hear, “watching you up there… I’ve never been so proud in my life.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Stop it. You’re going to make me cry.”

“Good,” she said with a grin, “because I cried. Twice. And if I have to admit that, you can at least tear up.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed you.

“And you’re brilliant,” she said, leaning over to kiss your temple. “Don’t forget it.”

[cutielando]

back with you | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which he can't bear to see you with someone else

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

You and Charles had been together for nearly 4 years - a relationship filled with passion, love, and shared dreams.

But in the end, unfortunately, it just hadn't been enough.

The break-up had been devastating, leaving you heartbroken while Charles seemed to have moved on effortlessly, like your relationship had meant nothing.

A month after your split, you found out he had gone back to his ex, and it was safe to say that it had gutted you. The betrayal sliced deeper than the break-up itself, at least that's how it felt. While you had been drowning in sorrow, barely able to find a reason to get out of bed in the mornings, he had been rekindling an old flame, someone he had always told you not to worry about.

It was almost a cliche.

Finding that out was the moment when you had decided you wouldn't - couldn't - let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt you with this.

And so, when the Las Vegas Grand Prix rolled around, you made a decision - you were going to make Charles jealous and make him regret his decision of ever letting you go and breaking up with you. And if you were going to do it, you were going to do it spectacularly.

Enter Grayson Dolan - famous YouTuber, charming, effortlessly attractive, and conveniently more than willing to help you prove your point and have some fun at the same time.

The Las Vegas strip shimmered under the neon lights, the energy of the race weekend pulsing through the air.

Cameras flashed as you and Grayson arrived at the paddock together, walking closely, your laughter light and effortless as you let your fingers graze his arm.

The sleek black revenge dress you wore hugged your curves perfectly, exuding confidence, power, and the very message you had wanted to send - you're thriving, even without Charles Leclerc with you.

And oh, did he notice.

Charles had been standing near his Ferrari garage when he saw you, his easy demeanor faltering as his gazed locked onto you and Grayson. His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides as jealousy flared in his chest. You had always been his, and seeing you with someone else - someone who wasn't him - was like a punch to the gut.

The tension only thickened at the afterparty. The club was alive with pulsing music and flashing lights, a place where celebrations and inhibitions blended together.

You were dancing with Grayson, your bodies close, your laughter slipping between you as his hands rested casually on your waist. It was all for show, of course, but it was working.

Maybe even a little too well.

Charles had been watching you all night, his patience slowly wearing thin, his jealousy bubbling over.

And then, just as Grayson leaned in, Charles snapped and lost all control of himself.

Before anyone could even understand what was going on, Charles was shoving Grayson back with enough force to make everyone around you stop to stare and gasp.

"That's enough" Charles said, his voice low and full of warning, his eyes locked onto yours.

Grayson held up his hands, stepping back, but you weren't about to let Charles dictate your life, not anymore.

"What the hell is your problem?" you snapped at him, your voice cutting through the music as Charles grabbed your hand and pulled you outside the club.

The cool night air did very little to cool the fire between you two.

"What was that, Charles? You lost the right to care about what I do the moment you ran back to her" you said, accentuating your last word with disgust in your voice.

Charles ran a hang through his hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Do you honestly think I don't care? You think it didn't kill me inside, seeing you here with him?" he said.

"You don't have the right to be jealous! You left me, Charles. You moved on!" you shot back, your voices echoing on the empty street.

"I never moved on!" he shouted, his voice cracking at the end. "I tried, but I couldn't. Being with her wasn't the same. She's not you, and she'll never be you" he said, shaking his head and exhaling sharply.

Your breath hitched, emotions warring within you as his confession settled between the two of you.

"I miss you, mon amour" he whispered, stepping closer, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "I never stopped loving you"

You wanted to fight it. You truly did.

You tried to focus on the pain and betrayal that he had made you endure, the deep resentment that you help for him in your heart ever since you found out he had ran back in the arms of the one person he had told you he didn't think about anymore.

But even so, your heart betrayed you completely.

Truth be told, you missed him too. God knows you missed him more than you should, given the situation. But how could you possibly stop loving the man that you wanted to spent the rest of your life with? How could you hate the love of your life? How?

The anger, the jealousy, the pain - everything melted away as Charles cupped your cheeks in his hands, his gaze searching yours.

And then, with the world quiet around you, you crashed into him, your lips finding his in a kiss that spoke everything left unsaid.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was inevitable, in some way. Maybe you were going to regret it.

But in that moment, all that mattered was that Charles Leclerc was yours again.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

support my ko-fi

[kaiserposting]

My Worries Come in Phallic, Freudian Shapes

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Established Relationship, It's basically just Kaiser tweaking for no reason 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ (I find it funny but interpretations may vary) WARNING(S): Kaiser's overactive imagination?

Kaiser would like to say he’s quite numb to being separated from you. Sometimes you come along with him at away games, if possible, but in other instances you have to be apart sometimes even for months, and Kaiser likes to think he manages it well.

You’re not on his mind much when he’s training or during a game. Mostly his times of weakness happen outside of that, though Kaiser doesn’t let it get to him. For example, he does this fun exercise where if his mind strays towards you too often or when he can sense the void in his chest is beginning to take on a suspicious shape, he holds out on texting or calling you for as long as possible. To test his will — which is something normal people do like all the time, of course — and because wanting to distract himself gives him extra neurotic energy to burn when he’s doing his exercises.

Not that Kaiser becomes neurotic over you or anything. It’s not even a big deal to him.

He’s sure you miss him more than he misses you. He’s confident you do. After all, to him, it’s no big deal, as previously stated. It’s true.

He doesn’t worry about small and nonsensical things like how you’d probably prefer a more present and available boyfriend, and how you’re free to do whatever you want with remarkable ease when you’re seas and oceans away from him.

Kaiser’s eye twitches while he continues shoving the last of his belongings back into his luggage, since he needs to pack for his flight back home. This train of thought isn’t going anywhere good — he needs to abandon it. Besides, a second with Michael Kaiser is worth way more than a month with some stupid, worthless commoner. Your shitty replacement for him will never rival the real deal.

No, this is stupid. You love him, you don’t have a replacement for him. Right? You wouldn’t betray him while he’s away. You’re his first and only love, you can’t do that to him, can you? You know he’d kill you if you did it and he found out, don’t you?

This is stupid. He wouldn’t kill you! Kaiser doesn’t want to kill you. He should stop thinking about this… You wouldn’t do it to him either anyway, you love him back. Kaiser knows you do, so why does it not feel real most of the time?

What if you’ve fallen out of love with him, though? Maybe you look forward to when he has to go away for long. Forget all about him the moment he’s out of your sight, don’t spare him a single thought, have fun with your little friends while he’s gone, all that.

You probably get together and you start shit-talking him with them the way people do about their good for nothing boyfriends sometimes. They call his haircut stupid and you cackle along with them, then you tell them how insecure and unlovable he really is, and actually his dad beat him as a child so now he’s barely human, how it makes him an arrogant and pretentious piece of trash pretender, and then you’re like ‘I wish I had a normal boyfriend instead of Michael’, and they’re all like ‘you deserve a normal boyfriend, this is fucked up’, and you’re empowered to free yourself of your burden. So he comes back home and you pick him up from the flight and you break the news to him that you’re leaving him and he has to move his belongings back to his place.

Maybe you have a new fling already, but it’s nothing serious because you still need to dump Kaiser and all. And he’s like in finances or something, an accountant maybe, who works normal hours (not the overachieving workaholic type who stays behind to do extra), and he probably doesn’t have footage of him having meltdowns on live TV for everyone to see. There are no interviews where he’s acting bitchy, no compilations of him acting cruel or ‘crashing out’ or whatever else. And he probably grew up in an average household — they weren’t rich or anything, but his parents made time for him. They were loving and nurtured him to be a rightful member of society, raising him to be someone worth your affection…

Holy shit does Kaiser feel unhinged. Literally why is he making up this entire story in his head? It never happened.

It didn’t, right? You wouldn’t do it to him, would you? You love him. You really, really, really love him, like from the bottom of your heart, somehow you love him and you don’t want to hurt him, even if you’re probably sick of him being away and of his problems and his attitude and his everything. If you had a magic wand, he wagers you’d wave it and change him on a neurochemical level, keep his looks and his successes, but get rid of the unnecessary baggage.

Or would you keep him as he is and love that ugly thing? Can you? Do you have it in you? Are you just tolerating him for some monetary benefits or out of pity with your knowledge of his past? Do you still love him? Will you love him a few hours from now or are you going to get bored? Are you bored and antsy waiting for him and is it affecting your feelings, suffocating your love to zero each moment he’s not by your side, each reunion only serving to put off the inevitable? Is the novelty wearing off? Do you need novelty?

Kaiser fights off the impulse to write you a text message threatening suicide and then turning off his phone until the end of the flight to keep you on your toes. A flashy move in attention seeking for sure, but for one you don’t even know he’s in a mind war with you, so you’re more likely to be confused than begging for him not to do it and for his forgiveness, though maybe it could earn him a reassurance of love and care. Regardless, Kaiser is not taking the chance because if you ignore him or don’t see the message it’ll just devastate him.

And also he kind of doesn’t want to act like that. Well, he does, but the rational part of him is also still awake and holding him back. You won’t appreciate that. Right now the strife he’s going through is completely imaginary, but if he goes and acts crazy outside the confines of his mind, he really might fuck everything up.

If he makes too many mistakes, you might fall out of love with him, and if you fall out of love with him, you’ll leave him. Kaiser thinks about what he’d do in that case. Without you he is nothing besides an unwanted waste of breath — you’re the sole person who got close enough to see beneath his nonsense and decide to tolerate it, attracted beyond frivolity for an enigmatic reason.

Maybe the perpetrator behind this strange limbo of weird hysteria is Kaiser’s low self-esteem. It always circles back to that and he is sick of it. He doesn’t understand why you subject yourself to him and here, a whole ordeal.

Whatever anymore. Kaiser doesn’t even care. It’s a pointless matter to lose his mind over. He knows you cherish him, and even if you didn’t, he’d get over it. Life moves on. There are other fish in the sea…

Actually, if you tried to leave him, Kaiser has so many things he would do, they’d earn him a restraining order. First he’d resort to begging and ugly crying, but he doubts it’d sway you. He’d need to be more extreme.

No, that’s silly. If you separated, he’d react to it like a normal person, right? He wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let you leave without any theatrics and move on. Right? It’s what he would do, Kaiser decides.

Or maybe he can get a leg up on you and catch you out when you begin losing interest in him and he can work to win you back over. You won’t even know what hit you. Yea, Kaiser will scheme to sweep you off your feet.

Not that he cares that much to put so much effort in… It’s just his strength and natural calling as an unbothered male manipulator.

___

After the packing and the waiting at the airport and all that, Kaiser survives a restless flight. He tried to read a book during it, but he turned out not to enjoy it whatsoever (catastrophe). Then he turned to Gesner, who was sitting next to him and seemed like he wanted to kill himself, and told him in detail about all the plot problems and why this was what made nonfiction superior.

To Gesner’s relief Kaiser also spent a good chunk of it trying to sleep, though the endeavor was useless. He closed his eyes and his pattern of anxious cyclical thinking continued and he failed to doze off. What do you think about accountants? Maybe your side piece wouldn’t have any tattoos because you secretly find his corny and you’ve sworn off tattooed men. ‘I mean, seriously, just put the eyeliner on like a real man.’ Kaiser would bet this is what you’re saying to your friends.

Anyway, again, his flight was spent stirring in ridiculous thoughts in that vein. If nothing else, actually, if you knew what was running through his head, that would be what would put you off of him. But you don’t. He needs to just… keep it to himself and it’ll be fine.

So you find each other after some stumbling and chaos and some vague text exchanges like ‘where are you?’, ‘At the airport obviously’, ‘you think you’re so funny’, and so on, and when you spot each other, you grin upon the sight of him (hard to fake such immediate happiness, Kaiser concludes) and spread your arms out for a hug.

Kaiser rolls his eyes. You’re so cute, he wants to squeeze you to death, but regardless he puts on a big show of what an inconvenience this is and gives you a stiff, nonchalant embrace. The way you hold him is a small reassurance. You’re still in public though, so he needs to play it cool for a bit longer, and he reluctantly peels himself away from you.

You interrogate him about his time away while he’s your passenger princess on the way home. Kaiser takes it as a good sign you’re still interested in his life at least enough to ask, as if there was a possibility he was going to come back and you just… wouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he’s been up to. He keeps his answers vague, trying not to let on the almost daily mental torment he’s been subjecting himself to just because his brain can’t stop making up stupid narratives.

Once you two arrive, and only when you’re inside, does Kaiser give into his desire for your affection. He wraps you up in a way tighter embrace without intention of letting go and peppers your face in kisses.

The first time he acted like that with you upon coming back, you were rightfully weirded out, but now you’re used to this whole routine and let him have his moment of rare forwardness.

“You know,” he says, “I missed you like, a little bit.”

“It’s hard to tell,” you say, sarcastic.

Kaiser ignores it. He bites your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt at all, but it’s a strange sensation.

“So gross.”

“I hope you weren’t doing anything stupid without me. I wouldn't want to miss out on any fun.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What do you think about accountants?”

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, but humor him anyway. “Can’t say I think anything in particular about them.”

“Is that so…”

For some reason, you find his tone to sound suspicious? There is a harder bite — your skin might be a bit irritated around there for a few minutes. You wonder if Kaiser was arguing with management or something somewhere abroad.

___

I just wrote this because I thought Kaiser having emotional impermanence (which is likely) would be hilarious I promise I'll write a more plot-oriented one shot soon again

[writeriguess]

i love your works and i have a request

bakugou x reader where the reader is the only one who can calm him down? he is arguing with kiri and she only has to look at him to calm him down and everyone is stunned by it

author's note: Thank you <3

Serenity

It was a normal day at U.A., or at least as normal as it could get with Class 1-A. Training had gone well enough, and everyone was winding down, gathering in the common room after dinner. That peace, however, didn’t last long—because Katsuki Bakugou and Eijiro Kirishima were at each other’s throats.

Again.

“You’re so damn stubborn, Bakugou!” Kirishima snapped, his usual easygoing demeanor nowhere to be found. His sharp teeth bared slightly, frustration clear in the way his brows furrowed. “Why can’t you just let someone help you once in a while?”

“I don’t fucking need help!” Bakugou growled, hands twitching at his sides as small explosions crackled from his palms. His crimson eyes burned with intensity, shoulders tense and jaw clenched. “I’m not some weakling who needs to be babysat, shitty hair!”

It wasn’t unusual for Bakugou to get like this. He had a short fuse, and sometimes, even Kirishima’s patience couldn’t keep up. The rest of the class had learned to steer clear when the blond was in one of his moods, but tonight, something felt different. His explosions were sparking closer to the ground, the air crackling with the raw energy of his anger.

“Dude, we’re your friends!” Kirishima pressed on, his voice rising to match Bakugou’s. “We’re not saying you’re weak, but—”

“I don’t need a damn pep talk!” Bakugou interrupted, his voice nearly a roar now. His fists clenched tightly, explosions bursting erratically at his sides. “I—”

You sighed.

You had been sitting on the couch, watching the argument unfold, but now, you decided it had gone on long enough. Without a word, you stood up and stepped between them, placing yourself directly in front of Bakugou.

And then—

You looked at him.

Not with fear. Not with exasperation. Just looked at him.

His breath hitched. The tension in his shoulders sagged almost instantly, and the crackling explosions from his hands flickered before fizzling out completely. His hands dropped to his sides, fingers flexing as though searching for something to do now that they weren’t radiating anger. His brows knitted together, his lips parted slightly, and a deep exhale left his chest as if he had been holding it in this whole time.

The entire room went silent.

The rest of Class 1-A exchanged glances, stunned beyond words.

Kirishima blinked, taking half a step back. “Uh… what the hell just happened?” he muttered, looking between you and Bakugou like he had just witnessed an act of sorcery.

“Did… did Y/N just calm Bakugou down?” Kaminari whispered, eyes wide.

“No way…” Mina breathed, leaning forward as if she needed to see it closer to believe it. “That’s impossible.”

Yet, it was happening.

Bakugou, who had been one second away from either blowing up the room or storming off in rage, now stood completely still, his face unreadable. His sharp, furious crimson eyes had softened, the tension in his body had drained away, and the only thing that had changed was that you had looked at him.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes searching his, waiting for him to say something.

His jaw clenched. Then unclenched. Then, in a voice much quieter than before, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

That was as close to an admission of surrender as anyone would ever get from him.

Your lips curled into the smallest of smiles, and that alone made Bakugou avert his gaze with a scowl, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed.

The silence stretched, thick with disbelief.

Sero was the first to break it. “Holy shit,” he said, staring at you with newfound awe. “That was… insane.”

“Right?” Kaminari agreed, his mouth slightly agape. “I’ve literally never seen Bakugou calm down that fast in my life.”

“You might actually have superpowers,” Mina whispered, completely serious.

“Forget heroes,” Kirishima said, blinking at you. “You might be a damn miracle worker.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Shut up,” he grumbled, though there was no bite to his words. His usual anger had dimmed into something else—something quieter. Something softer.

You simply shrugged, turning back to the couch and sitting down again like nothing had happened. “You guys overreact too much,” you said lightly, leaning back into the cushions.

“We overreact?” Mina scoffed. “You just tamed a whole-ass dragon with one look.”

Kirishima shook his head with a small chuckle. “Man, that was wild.” He crossed his arms, his frustration from before already forgotten. “But hey, at least it worked.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugou grumbled, rubbing his temples. He was still looking at you out of the corner of his eye, like he was trying to figure out exactly how you did what you just did.

The others continued murmuring about it, but you just shot Bakugou a small smirk before focusing back on your phone.

And despite himself, despite all the eyes on him, despite how infuriatingly obvious it was that you had some kind of effect on him—Bakugou didn’t look away.

He just sighed, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and sat down next to you, the tension completely gone.

Like it never existed in the first place.

[ramp-it-up]

Peach VI

Peach V | Peach VII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. You two FINALLY admit your feelings for one another and seal the deal. But how far are you willing to go for this love?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: This is it! I hope the smut is up to par. When I tell you I’ve agonized about this. But thank you to all who were in my inbox and dms giving me encouragement this week. Love you bunches! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach V. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, Mutual pining, idiots in love, eye fucking, Steve Rogers is an artist, y'all!, sending (almost) nudes, phone sex, possessive Steve, references to shibari, mutual masturbation, pining, references to sex in a car, the "L" word, oral (f recieving), fingering, overstimulation, nipple play, size kink, pleasurable pain with sex, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint, references to murder. Something big may or may not happen after the last line.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering, emotional, mess.

He’d made you cum, hard, but you felt that he was holding back, that if you’d told him how you felt it would have been so much better.

Or maybe that was all in your mind. Steven Grant Rogers was on your mind a lot since you met him as Grant Stevens in Atlanta.

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out. 

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

What’s the worst that could happen? You weren’t going to marry the guy, you just want to explore these mutual feelings. It shouldn’t be complicated.

Right?

You still had the rest of the week in New York to stress out about it, so that was a plus. The afternoon was ahead of you and the next day was the Summitt.

After that, you had your one on one with Steve.

Bucky told you about Steve being an artist himself during your meeting with him. So, for your meeting with Steve, you requested that you see some of his artwork, and he agreed.

You were curious to see what he could create, and you were anxious and turned on at the thought of him as a creator.

You were so into Steve Rogers.

And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that.

—--

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left. He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage.

He needed a drive and a little alone time to clear his head and come down from you, but he also needed his friend’s help.

“Wassssaaaap! Did you get the–”

Steve cut Bucky off.

“Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Meet me on 47th street.”

—-

That afternoon, you just kept your distance from Sharon and ignored her, focusing on the task at hand and all business. You didn’t want to waste energy on her.

Your energy was spent on thinking about Steve and wondering if he was thinking of you too. You wanted to text him, but you were chilling. You didn’t want to seem to eager.

You were successful in your self control until 11 pm as you tossed and turned in your hotel king bed. Doubts, but mostly need and desire, coursed through you. 

You were going to find out exactly what Steve was doing right now and who he might be with. You shook your head at how much you cared; it was definitely not something you regularly did. You weren’t used to feening for someone.

You were choosing violence as you posed on the bed in front of the mirror. You sat on the bed, crossed your legs and snapped a picture.

You weren’t naked, but your panties were skin tone and your sleep bra was sheer and you were feeling needy.

Before you thought too hard, you sent it to Steve, then jumped in bed and pulled the covers over your head with that feeling of dread and panic when you don’t know if you’ve done something supremely reckless or not.

—

Steve was ready for the Summit, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you. Sleep was elusive, so he was self medicating, sketching your body from memory of mostly touch.

His phone vibrated and he almost didn’t pick it up, but when he saw your name, his heart sped up.

He clicked through to your message and his heart started hammering in his chest. 

Sorry, wrong thread.

The picture you sent along threatened to give him a heart attack. He zoomed in a couple of times and then read the message again. What the fuck?

——-

In less than a minute your phone was ringing. You picked up immediately.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Peach.”

Steve’s growl got you wet, but you instantly regretted your horny decisions.

“It was a mistake.”

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?”

You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

Your voice was needy and that awakened a hunger in Steve. He was beyond frustrated that he wasn’t there to spank your ass raw, but he remained quiet.

You sensed his mood.

“If I were there, I’d make it up to you…”

You were testing the waters, experimenting to see if he would give you what you wanted despite his annoyance.

If he would give you what you needed.

“What would you do?” 

Steve’s baritone was silk in your ear.

“What?” 

You suddenly found that you couldn’t breathe.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d kiss you,” you rushed out in a whisper.

Steve paused, letting your sentence hang in the air.

“And?” 

There was an edge to the question. 

“And… My lips. All over you.” 

Fuck, he was hard. Just a few words in your husky voice, and Steve delirious, imagining his hands in your hair as you kissed him.

“Where?” he asked mercilessly, his voice broken with lust.

“Everywhere…your face, your neck, your nipples, your abs. Your cock.” 

You were definitely not a virgin, but you were blushing through the phone although your hand was rubbing the skin at the edge of your underwear.

“Want you in my throat.” 

Steve had to concentrate to stay hard. 

“Oh? What if I want more than that?” 

“You can have whatever you want...” 

A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission.

“You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly. 

“I trust you.” 

Holy fuck. Why did that mean everything to him?  He cleared his throat.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

“Okay.” 

You complied so readily, it made Steve even harder.

Your clit was so hard as you circled it.

“Are you wet, Sweetheart?” 

You moaned and Steve reached into his sweats and curled his fingers around his aching cock.

“My pussy is so messy for you, Mr. Rogers,” you whispered, thrilled and afraid of how much you wanted him. 

Steve rolled his eyes as his cocked jerked for you.

“Such a good little slut.” 

“Fuck…” 

You realized the breath you’d been holding as you listened for his voice.

“Your pussy is so beautiful Peach. And god, you taste so good. Just like a sweet peach.”

Steve knew he had you in the palm of his hand. But fuck, you had him in yours too. 

“But your cunt is so tiny. I’m gonna needs to get you ready for me, Baby.”

“Is it going to hurt me?” you whined. 

Steve was about to explode at your little innocent voice asking the most nasty question.

“Yes, Peach. It is,” he growled as your anticipation reached 100.

Your breath sped up and so did your fingers. Steve grunted, his fist moving faster, thumb swiping the copious dribbles of precum dripping from his slit.

He should have known it was over as soon as he opened your message.

Hot sex was happening.

Electronically.

As the coil in your belly wind tighter, you realized with both joy and dismay that you were addicted.

“Steve, “m so close…” 

“Of course you are.” 

Steve soaked up your cute little sex sounds, thirsty for more. 

“You know what I’m thinking about, Doll?” 

A shaky breath was your only response. Steve continued.

“I think I want to tie you up. Silk ropes all over you, pretty little knots. I’d tie your arms behind your back, so those tits would sit up pretty for me to slap, lick and suck. That ass would be tied up so sweet and open so I could eat it.”

Your eyes rolled at the sensations his words and your fingers were sending to your clit. 

“I’d fuck your throat and cum all over that soft, sweet body. Over and over, while I tease your greedy little cunt. I want to see it drip down your delicious nipples, your belly, your hungry pussy, your pretty face. I need to see all of you covered in my cum. Everywhere, marking you as mine…Mine.” 

You gasped, and then moaned and your entire body tightened up then released.

Your mouth hinged open as you came. 

“Mine,” Steve hissed, tightening the knots around you both and jerking his cock until cum spurted out. He listened to your breathing and knew that you’d just cum as well. 

Suddenly, he missed you.

“You good, Peach?”

You hesitated.You heard the yearning in his voice and you wanted to be in his arms, but you lied to him anyway.

“Yeah.”

Steve smiled at you. He shook his head even though you couldn’t see.

“Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow.”

“Night Steve.”

—---

You needed a distraction.

Steve looked so delicious this morning, sitting on stage and serving art intellectual in a dark turtleneck and brown corduroy suit. A suit that was tailored to the detriment of everyone who looked at him. 

Holy shit.

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good.  

And he made you feral.

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp.

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

You teased her some more until you saw Steve. You sighed and gazed at him, straightening your spine as you remembered how he made you cum twice yesterday. And he’d hardly touched you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Steve’s head turned. Those mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared in an instant. For a moment, you were frozen. Pinned in your seat by his magnetism.

This feeling was so heady.

When you realized you’d been caught staring Steve down, you tried to change the unspoken subject.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

“Fucking-A.” 

Her chuckle was all-knowing. Then she read you.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You couldn’t front anymore.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea about everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

She was speechless and so were you. You both continued enjoying the forum when your phone buzzed.

You look beautiful today. You’re my favorite thing to study. Can’t wait for today’s art experience. Meet me at the Laguardia Place entrance immediately after the talk. Sunlight is precious.

You were his favorite thing to study!

You waited on the edge of your seat until the end of the summit. Then you were up and walking out toward the entrance post haste.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when you saw Steve watching you from the door of Rosenthal Pavilion.

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs.

In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers. 

Holy hell.

His deep voice greeted you as you arrived.

“I’m anxious to get started.”

Steve searched your face and found a different look from the partially closed off expression you’d showed him since Thanksgiving.

Your face was open and trusting. His heart did a funny thing in his chest. It was almost too good to be true.

Could you love him, too?

He tempered his mood with sensible words, filling the space that he wanted to fill with romantic declarations.

“I’m going to take you to my favorite artistic landmark in the city. I’ve loved it since I was a boy.”

You smiled up at him and took his hand.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

—--

The driver that was taking you and Steve to your meeting place was the same one who picked you up from the airport. The one that your cousin knew so well. 

You stared at the back of his head and then glanced over at Steve. He raised his eyebrow at you because of the look on your face. You grinned back, then leaned forward to tap the driver on the shoulder.

“So… Nico…” 

Your eyes cut over to Steve with a mischievous look. His heart beat out of his chest at the joy you were serving him along with your chaos. 

“You ever drive my cousin and Bucky around the city?”

Nico stole a look at you and smiled.

“Yes ma’am. All the time.”

“Do they ever do the nasty back here…?”

Nico laughed heartily as Steve shook his head.

“Peach…”

You shushed Steve.

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…”

Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

—-

Nico stopped the car at the Washington Avenue entrance to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Steve got out, shouldered his backpack, and then reached for your gloved hand with his own.

For some reason, you felt like a princess as you stepped on the path. The air was crisp, and there were traces of snow lingering on the ground.

You came out of the car chattering and laughing, making Steve’s heart light.

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….”

“Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…” 

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes, although he fantasized about christening the backseat of the Lincoln for you and him.

The wrought-iron gate creaked softly behind you as you entered the Garden, and you looked around in wonder as the gravel path crunched beneath your boots. A magnificent metal and glass structure was in front of you.

“This is the Steinhardt Conservatory. Wait until you see the inside.”

Steve smiled and took your hand as you stepped through the glass doors into sudden warmth shaking your head at him. 

There was a heavy scent of flowers and a haze of the waning rays of sunlight beaming through the glass panels overhead. It gave everything golden highlights, including you and Steve. 

You squeezed his hand as you looked around in awe. 

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

And then you noticed that he was looking at you. 

“Yes…”

You grew warm as you looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“It’s like a completely different world in here.”

“It’s our world for the moment. Just you and me.”

He wanted to add the word Forever, but he didn’t. You felt it though.

You started on an indoor path and Steve pointed out the unique flowers and plants in his warm baritone. You were impressed, again, with how much he knew.

Steve Rogers was not a stereotypical mobster. This was a man who followed a path in life that landed him where he didn’t want to be and was trying to make up for it. 

As he spoke, Steve drew you into his enthusiasm, and you found yourself smiling and relaxing, asking questions and marveling at the vast indoor space. 

When you came to a small alcove furnished with a wooden bench and beneath a sprawling magnolia tree, Steve stopped and took his backpack off his shoulder, and then taking off his coat and draping it over the bench as you did the same.

"Please, sit." 

His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the subtle command.

You hesitated. 

"Why?"

"So I can sketch you."

Your stomach did an odd little flip. 

"Here? Now? I wanted to see your sketches, not be your sketches."

You performed on stage in front of hundreds with barely no clothes on and you were so nervous to let Steve Rogers sketch you with winter layers of clothes on. What was wrong with you?

Steve raised his eyebrow and his gaze swept up your body slowly, making you shiver. Clothes couldn’t stop the intimacy of that look.

“Too late for that.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and you felt irrationally happy. Steve had drawn you.

“Do you not trust me?”

You regarded him, guardian your reaction because you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“I do Steve. I trust you.”

It was true.

Steve smiled. 

“Then please, sit down.”

You gave in with a sigh and lowered yourself onto the bench. 

"Fine," you muttered. "But no weird artistic liberties. I better have a nose."

Steve chuckled, flipping open the sketchbook. 

"I make no promises."

You watched as he proceeded to balance the sketchbook against his bended knee. Then he looked at you seriously, holding your gaze for a moment before his attention returned to the page, and his pencil began gliding effortlessly across the paper. 

His thick fingers were surprisingly agile, moving with long, sure strokes. But then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised, with the way his fingers had previously made you feel…

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft scratch of his pencil against paper. 

You attempted to sit still, staring at the plants around you. You also tried to pretend that you weren’t aware of the way he studied you with that relentless focus, switching his gaze between you and the sketchbook.

After a few minutes, Steve made a soft noise, something between a hum and a chuckle.

“What?” you asked, turning your head and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing.” 

He didn’t look up. But he spoke.

“It’s just... you’re trying so hard not to move, but you’re fidgeting anyway.”

You caught the hint of humor in his tone and it made you a little too happy again, so you decided to cause problems. 

"Well, maybe if you didn’t look at me like that.”

"Like what?" 

His lips curled into a knowing smirk, looking up at you quickly, then back down.

You fidgeted again.

"You know…"

Steve chuckled, deep and low and shook his head.

"Oh. Am I ‘sparkling my eyes at you again?’”

You scowled at him and he laughed.

“I'm an artist, Peach. I study form." 

His eyes traced up and down your body, lighting you on fire again.

You clenched your thighs together to fight the flow of arousal threatening your thighs. This was dangerous. Steve was dangerous.

"You're insufferable, Steven."

“Well, can you suffer on a little longer, so I can capture more detail?”

You cocked your head in that adorable way.

“What details do you need?”

“I need…” 

Steve looked at you like he needed all of you. 

And he did. 

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

You unclenched your hands and sat back.

“You’re making me nervous.”

He tapped his pencil against the sketchbook. Then he looked down again to continue drawing.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

He licked those red lips of his and your eyes tracked the movement.

"The fact that I make you nervous."

The way he was looking at you made butterflies riot in your stomach. That special electricity was buzzing around you both. 

Suddenly, his pencil stopped. Then, without warning, he reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face slightly.

You stiffened.

"Hold still," he murmured. 

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw and settled at the edge of your throat.

Your breath hitched.

Steve’s eyes were dark now and his voice was softer when he spoke again, but there was an edge to it now, hinting at something rough beneath the surface.

“You always do this?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“React like this when someone touches you.”

You pursed your lips together and shook your head. 

Just you.

"You’re doing it again," he mused as he stroked the side of your throat with his thumb.

"What, Mr. Rogers?"

You were about to combust. He clenched his jaw and increased the pressure of his fingers on your neck.

"Fighting it."

"I- I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You do," he intoned, his voice stern.

"Don’t hide from me, Peach." 

Your pulse beat beneath his fingertips.

"You think I don’t notice how you react to me?" 

Steve’s hand grasped your throat, pressing more firmly before he let go.

"Hold. Still," he murmured, those blue, blue eyes stormy.

His fingers tilted your face up with authority now. You froze for a moment as his thumb came up to pull your chin down to open your mouth.

“Breathe.”

He slowly pulled his hand away and you had to stop yourself from chasing his touch. 

Steve clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself. If he had to guess, you were wet and ready for him to do whatever he wanted to you right now. But he willed himself to be patient. 

He picked up his pencil again, rolling it between his fingers, like nothing had happened. 

"Good girl," he offered to the page as he returned to his sketch.

Steve knew what he was doing. Knew exactly how much he affected you. You waited impatiently, clenching your thighs together desperately as his pencil continued to scratch on the paper. 

"Done," he said, as he lifted the sketchbook toward you.

You gasped as you looked at the page. 

The drawing was stunning. Steve had captured you with uncanny accuracy, from the curve of your parted lips to the shading of the different colors in your eyes. The hollow of your throat seemed to pulse, and you could almost see the indentations of his fingers. 

The portrait was beautiful. And it told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

“This is… how can I thank you?”

Steve’s heart flipped in his chest as he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you toward him on the bench.

"Steve…"

His eyes went to your mouth.

"Say that again," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Your whole body was burning, but you stayed quiet. You were paralyzed with the possibilities.

"No? Too shy now?"

His voice made you impossibly wet. If you gave in, you were about to get everything you didn’t know that you wanted. And that scared you.

You let out a shaky breath. 

"Steve."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Something hot.

“Have I told you that I love the way you say my name?”

His hand came up again against your side, slowly, more deliberate. His fingers moved over the curve of your side, and slid against your breast, his thumb ghosting over your nipple.

He continued, tracing over your cleavage and finally landing against your throat again, pressing against your pulse and driving you crazy.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, thick with need.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and gave you a kiss against your throat. And he lingered, lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to smile against your skin.

Your whimper told him so much. 

"You act so tough, but you’re so easy to ruin."

You raised your arms and pulled him close, fingers playing at the nape clutching the hair spilling over his collar.

“You made me this way, Steve. And I don’t want you to stop.”

His now dark blue eyes searched yours as his fingers tightened on your waist. 

“What does that mean, Peach?”

He’d pulled you closer, his eyes on your face as he waited for your answer. The anticipation was so much. He huffed and then dove into the curve of your neck, inhaling and tasting you there, as if he couldn’t help himself. His large hands palmed your breasts, pressing your nipples insistently.

“Oh…my….Steve!”

You squirmed in his grip.

“I asked you a question. Do I need to stop touching you so you can answer?”

“Please, no, Steve. Need you...”

You were the queen of changing the subject.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

His lips were on the curve of your jaw, so close to your lips. You whined. He cocked his eyebrow, the question not so silent.

You huffed, making your decision to go for it as your hands came to the side of his face so that he knew your intentionality. You wanted to look into his eyes when you said it.

“Moment of honesty? I want you Steve. I feel…I want to be yours. Really been yours since you put your hands on me in Atlanta. I can’t categorize or control this feeling. So I’m giving in. Are you ready for the chaos that is me being yours?”

Steve’s eyes lit up and he reached for you, pulling you into his lap as his lips crashed into yours. His hands were everywhere. He tugged you closer as he kissed you and both hands came down to grab your ass and pull you onto his erection. His desire for you was apparent.

When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…”

His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“And this feeling? This is exactly how it should feel when it's meant to be.”

He kissed you again and his mouth took possession of yours in a way that was tender, yet full of promise. 

“I gotta let you know that if you’re mine, I’m gonna give you what you need. When you need it. Do you want that? Do you trust me with that?”

This was the important question.

“Yes, please. I want that, Mr. Rogers, sir. And I trust you.” 

"That’s so fucking hot… but I’m trying to behave. Even though I reserved the pavilion just for us, we’re still in a public place,” he murmured. 

His voice was calm, controlled. But those sea blue eyes told a different story.

"You call this behaving?"

You rolled your hips against his cock. Steve kissed you again and let out a sexy chuckle, then stood you both up, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"If I wasn’t," he murmured, "you’d already be begging me for more." 

You linked your arms around his neck and looked up at him as the cutest woman on earth.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.”

Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled.

“We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Steve reached for your coat and helped you with it before putting his own on and gathering his things. He took your hand and led you out and across the grounds. He pointed to a familiar building. 

“Your hotel is right there. Or do you want me to call Nico to take us to my place?”

You looked up at Steve as your breath vaporized in the cold air.

“We need my hotel. I’m ready. Right now.”

—--

You were in your room again, not entirely sure how you arrived, the journey through the park hurried and full of anticipation. You weren’t thinking too hard, you just knew you needed Steve. Immediately.

You were pushing his coat and blazer off his body and feeling his chest. The steady thrum of his pulse tapped a staccato in your palm.

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered. 

“You do that to me, Peach.” 

“Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“You have no idea how much power you have, do you?” 

“Me?” you asked in a small voice. 

Steve nodded.

“You drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” 

It was confession time.

“It’s you that has the power, Steve. I can't stop thinking about you. Your voice gets me there.” 

You felt tongue tied as you told him your raw feelings, all the while taking off your and his clothes. 

“Sometimes I — I think I'm going to cum just from hearing you speak. Today, at NYU, I could hardly sit still. You're like a drug, pulling all my attention.” 

Steve’s shirt was off now and you were in your bra; he pulled you near him to get his mouth on you.

“When I'm near you, I'm so hard it aches.”

 “Really?” you whispered. “Are you aching right now?” 

Steve groaned as you pulled back to unzip your skirt and take off your boots. He leaned back against the wall and palmed his crotch over his pants. 

“Like you wouldn't believe.” 

Steve couldn’t believe that he had you here like this, giving yourself to him. He had to tell you the truth.

“Look at me, Peach.”

You looked into his eyes.

“I’m In love with you.”

His rough voice pulled an involuntary sound from you. 

“You're mine, Peach You always have been.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart thudded against yor ribs.

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.”

Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry. 

Not at all. 

He laughed as an expression of joy and then your lips met.

The kiss wasn't soft or sweet. This was feral, sharp, and intense. You moaned into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into yours as he unhooked your bra.

“I fucking want you,” you whimpered into his mouth. 

Steve smiled against your lips.

“Good, cause I fucking need you, my sweet Peach.”

Steve stood, looming over you, all big and fucking magnificent. The vision of him, all lithe muscles covered in smooth skin, and light feathering of hair making its way down his torso, between the defined planes of his abs and into his waistband, was… Good Lord.

You licked your lips, mouth instantly dry. 

Steve’s mouth hooked up on one side as his fingers worked his belt and fly. His pants fell in a matter of seconds, and there he was, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs.

Steve was all thick thighs, and long, powerful legs, his hand slowly stroking himself over the sizable bulge in his underwear. 

You gaped at him. 

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

His dick was long and wide, at least eight or nine inches, and curved eloquently (if a dick could do that) against his abs. It was so pretty and your mouth watered for it at the same time your pussy clenched, as you were thinking he was correct. You would struggle to take him.

His smirked deepened as he reached for you and pulled your panties down slowly, his short fingernails scratching your legs and making you shiver.

For a moment he just stared, drinking in the sight of you spread before him

“Fucking sublime,” Steve breathed, the words filled with reverence. 

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.” 

He leaned over you and set about doing just that, kissing you deep and filthy, tongue diving to claim every inch of your mouth. You cried out, scratching at his broad shoulders as he suckled and nipped, worshiping your breasts until you were mindless with sensation. 

Steve took his time tracing your torso with his lips, teeth and tongue, learning your body and  paying attention to every sigh of pleasure as he climbed down your body.

The press of his mouth to your pussy made your back arch, and a ragged moan escape your mouth. Steve growled into you, the vibrations running through your soaked cunt.

He parted your pussy lips with his thumbs, and dove to lick your clit with the hot velvet of his tongue. 

Slow, thorough licks made you writhe beneath him. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Ride my face, Sweetheart. Fuck my mouth ‘til you cum all over it.” 

You arched like a bow as he latched on to your clit and sucked, two thick fingers thrusting deep to stroke along your inner wall. His practiced fingers found your g-spot and massaged it ruthlessly, curling and scissoring until you sobbed his name.

“Love when you call my name, Peach.”

He looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, and then continued what he was doing. When Steve bit down gently on your clit, your orgasm crashed over you in a burst of white light. 

You shuddered through the aftershocks, trembling as Steve lapped at your folds. Each lick sent a jolt of electricity through you, on the edge of too much. 

Rising to his knees, the thick, heavy length of him rose up again, even more swollen and glistening at the tip. 

Steve notched the thick head of his cock at your entrance and his eyes crossed as he slowly sank into your tight, dripping heat. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

When he bottomed out, you both groaned at the intensity of the connection. He looked you in your eyes as your hearts pounded in sync, your breaths mingling as you got used to his size.

“I’ve never felt so full, Stevie…”

You quivered in his arms. And he knew that he was utterly possessed by you. It was more than just physical; it was an overwhelming sense of rightness. 

“Perfect,” Steve rasped.

“So fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Like you were made for me.”

He dropped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point. 

“Please,” you whimpered, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “Move.”

“As you wish.” he whispered, brows knitted together. 

You whimpered and your hands grasped the sheets as he started to move. He bent and sucked your nipple hard, causing a jolt of electricity through your body. Your brain was cloudy and you scratched his back as your eyes shuttered closed.

“Open your eyes, Peach,” Steve ordered darkly. 

As he looked you in your beautiful eyes, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. He started increasing his pace until he was fucking you roughly, pushing your knees to your chest. 

“Yes.. feels so good Steve. Oh my godddddd, fuck me!”

Steve’s eyes roamed your body as he did as you asked. Your beautiful breasts bounced. The bed knocked against the wall and you gasped for breath, your face transfixed on the eye contact between you and Steve.

He was lost, one hand gripped your hair, and the other braced on the headboard. He fucked you hard, grinding against your clit with every stroke. 

You were whimpering, on the verge of screaming as you two made noise up and down the hotel hallway.

He leaned up and grasped your throat, gritting his teeth as he asked a question.

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?”

“Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….” 

You opened your eyes and pouted up at him.

“Paint my walls, Steve...”

Steve choked on air as he spurted hot cum into your welcoming pussy, but he pulled out, shooting the last jet of cum on your clit and pussy lips. Then, like a heathen, he bent between your thighs and started licking. 

You sobbed, writhing as he devoured you. 

“Need to eat you more than anything, my sweet, sweet Peach. 

“Steve, Stevie… oh my god!” 

You clutched his hair, tugging sharply. It was too much.

“Oh my God. Please Steveeeee!” 

He raised his head, grinning as you fully collapsed, limp and spent. Your pussy was tender, your face flushed, your eyes gleaming. 

You were beautiful.

You looked at him and shook your head as he took you in his arms. 

“Are you mine?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered out. 

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair.

“I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.”

“I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

—

You and Steve stayed up late, ordered room service and talked about a lot of things, music, your parents, his friendship with Bucky, Nat, and Steve, everything.

You laughed and cried, and then settled back in his arms in the dark to sleep, his hand rubbing your hip as his breathing began to slow.

“Steve, can I ask you a question?”

It had been nagging at you for a while.

His sleepy voice answered you.

“Shoot.”

You chuckled.

“That’s just it. Have you ever… have you ever killed someone?”

Steve stirred, pulling you closer to him and moving his mouth next to your ear.

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.”

Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

“What?”

You tried to keep your voice even. You didn’t know what this feeling was that came over you. Steve continued, seemingly calm and not spiraling like you were.

“You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

You were silent for a good while.

“Oh.”

Steve stirred, leaning up against his elbow.

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?”

Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

You laughed.

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.”

“True. But when you know, you know.”

Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating.

“Would it make us look crazy…?”

You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark.

“…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Steve wrapped you up in his arms and settled down again. Your mind spun as his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and you spoke again. 

He was probably asleep, but you had to get it out.

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

——

I’m so anxious about this one! Please let me know how you feel? Reblog, comment, like. TIA!

[cranberry-queen]

@vanlydmarso Sure! So here's a chapter of a book I'm working on. In it:

Voice-of-Reason: Mark

The Wild Card: Andre

The Observer: Tina

The Instigator: Lily

The Driver: Sam

Mark pushed his way into the house, the weight of a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. He barely had time to shut the door before Tina’s voice—sharp and fast—rang through the house. Spanish. Heated.

In the kitchen, between the fridge and the island, Tina stood with her arms crossed, her foot tapping in that deadly, rhythmic way she did when her patience ran thin. Andre stood opposite her, rubbing the back of his neck, his shoulders hunched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mark didn’t need to understand the words to know the fight’s cause: Andre’s latest bout of unemployment.

Mark swiftly averted his gaze. Tina was the only person in the house who had no problem dishing out scoldings when necessary, and he had no intention of getting dragged into the crossfire. He made a beeline for the counter, dropped Andre’s change into the battered “Council Jar,” and set the Coke beside it before hopping the two steps down into the sunken living area. Without a word, he dropped onto the couch beside Lily and extended his bag of Sparkles toward her.

She beamed at him, plucked a yellow one from the bag, and popped it into her mouth after unwrapping it. Her thumb scrolled idly through a social media feed on her phone screen, but her ears were tuned to the kitchen. Lily was the only one of the other housemates who understood any Spanish—badly, but enough.

“Andre lost his job again?” Mark asked, voice low.

“Yup,” Lily said, still chewing. “His bartending gig was supposed to make up for the fact that Tina switched to part-time at Woolworths.”

Mark frowned. He remembered when Tina had cut her hours at the clothing store, relieved to finally focus on finishing her degree. They’d even celebrated.

“What’s worse,” Lily added, her voice dropping, “is that her contract’s locked until the next hiring cycle.”

Mark exhaled sharply through his nose. That explained why Tina’s voice had taken on that sharp, clipped edge. He watched as Lily reached for another sweet but paused, her gaze unfocused.

“Tina…” she tilted her head, listening, “She’s giving him a week to find a new job or she’s renting his half of the basement to someone else. He’s trying to guilt-trip her, but she’s not having it.”

Mark rubbed the back of his head. He could spot them the rent, had done it before. But Tina would shut him down before he even finished the offer. She’d told him once, in that firm, no-nonsense way of hers: If you make allowances for one person, you have to do it for everyone. If Andre knew there was a safety net, he’d never get a job. Pride thing, maybe. But Mark cared too much about both of them to undermine that.

A familiar jingle at the front door made them both glance up. Sam.

Even though the door was always left unlocked during the day, she always used her key. Habit, she claimed. Six months wasn’t enough to break it.

The door swung open, and Sam waltzed in, a brightly colored box in her arms. She kicked the door shut behind her, her usual energy undeterred by the shouting match in the kitchen. Tina and Andre, caught mid-argument, paused long enough for Tina to sigh and give Sam an apologetic look.

“Sorry, guys. Give us a minute.” She grabbed Andre’s forearm and dragged him toward the basement door.

Once they were out of sight, Sam dropped the box onto the kitchen island with a grin.

Mark and Lily pushed off the couch, leaving the half-eaten bag of sweets and instant noodles behind. Sam saluted the faded photo of Mark’s parents on the fridge before popping the lid open.

“Since when is your manager this nice?” Lily asked as they settled onto the barstools.

“New manager,” Sam replied, filling the kettle. “Layla. She lets the closing staff take leftovers before they get tossed. Hates waste but doesn’t want upper management to sniff around.”

“She’s not worried someone will rat her out?” Mark snagged a chicken mayo sandwich.

Sam tossed a few crumpled receipts into the bin and dumped her spare change into the “Council Jar.” “And lose free food? Not a chance.”

“I’m not complaining,” Lily hummed around a chocolate jam doughnut.

Mark chuckled at her choice before nodding at Sam. “You actually make it to the lab on time this morning, or did you sweet-talk your way out of being late again?”

Sam rolled her eyes, stuffing a cinnamon bite into her mouth. “Made it. Barely. Professor Lennox would’ve lost it if I strolled in late again.”

“What are you even working on now? Thought you said it was some kinda cube?” Mark asked.

“An energy cube,” Sam corrected, setting their coffees in front of them. She took a seat. “It’s a self-sustaining generator. The casing works like a Faraday cage but channels electromagnetic energy into the core instead of just blocking it.”

“So it absorbs power?” Lily squinted, bracing for the answer to be wrong.

“Exactly. The core’s a supercapacitor, paired with what we call a ‘quantum resonance matrix.’ It stabilizes the absorbed energy, making it constant. Once powered, it emits a localized field that wirelessly powers electronics. Like Wi-Fi, but for electricity.”

“So, my phone would charge just by being near it?” Mark folded his arms, intrigued.

“Yup.” Sam’s face lit up. “No wires, no batteries. Just this little cube in the corner of the room.”

Lily arched a brow. “That sounds terrifying. What’s stopping it from frying everything?”

“That’s what we’re figuring out.” Sam shrugged. “We gotta break a few devices to get it right.”

Mark smirked. “So it’s either a game-changer or a phone-melter.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Lily muttered, sipping her coffee.

Sam grinned and reached into her bag, pulling out a cube the size of a coffee mug. “This one’s defective. Too small for the prototype, so I gotta toss it tomorrow.”

Lily reached out but yelped the second her fingers brushed it, dropping it straight into her coffee.

Mark swore and fished it out with a dish towel, his whole body jolting from the shock. Every cell in his body felt awake.

Sam frowned, brushing off Lily’s frantic apologies. “Weird. It shouldn’t have done that—”

Before she could finish, Andre and Tina reappeared.

“What’s that?” Andre snatched the cube before Sam could stop him. He held it up, studying it—then winced, hand jerking back. “Ow—what the hell?”

“Give it back.” Sam reached for it.

Andre smirked and pulled it just out of her reach. “Relax, Doc, I’m just—ow! Damn thing shocked me.”

Tina sighed, smacked him upside the head, and took the cube. The second it touched her palm, she yelped and dropped it.

Sam caught it mid-air and stuffed it back into her bag. “Right. No one touch the shiny, defective, probably-shouldn’t-be-here cube.”

Tina gave her a long look before grabbing her coffee and sitting down. Andre followed suit, still shaking out his hand.

Sam grinned at them. “So, dinner’s on me?”

Tips from a Beta Reading Writer

This one's for the scenes with multiple characters, and you're not sure how to keep everyone involved.

Writing group scenes is chaos. Someone’s talking, someone’s interrupting, someone’s zoning out thinking about breadsticks. And if you’re not careful, half your cast fades into the background like NPCs in a video game. I used to struggle with this so much—my characters would just exist in the scene without actually affecting it. But here’s what I've learned and have started implementing:

✨ Give everyone a job in the scene ✨

Not their literal job—like, not everyone needs to be solving a crime or casting spells. I mean: Why are they in this moment? What’s their role in the conversation?

My favourite examples are:

The Driver: Moves the convo forward. They have an agenda, they’re pushing the action.

The Instigator: Pokes the bear. Asks the messy questions. Stirring the pot like a chef on a mission.

The Voice of Reason: "Guys, maybe we don’t commit arson today?"

The Distracted One: Completely in their own world. Tuning out, doodling on a napkin, thinking about their ex.

The Observer: Not saying much, but noticing everything. (Quiet characters still have presence!)

The Wild Card: Who knows what they’ll do? Certainly not them. Probably about to make things worse.

If a character has no function, they’ll disappear. Give them something—even if it’s just a side comment, a reaction, or stealing fries off someone’s plate. Keep them interesting, and your readers will stay interested too.

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas.* Fluff, sweetness, flirting, crushes, reader's meddling bestie. Summary: Waking up beside your soulmate the morning after your wedding, you reflect on the meetings that brought you here. Notes: Welcome to a new story, friends! We're using date stamps as we tell this story, as scenes may appear out of chronological order. Enjoy!

Saturday, April 6, 2024

Normally waking up is hard for Javi. Too used to having his own schedule, late nights and lazy mornings. Things have changed over the past few years, the loss of his family fortune and business. Not that he minded no longer being the face of an arms dealer family, even if he wasn’t the one selling the weapons. That was his now incarcerated cousin, Lucas’s doing.

No, now waking up meant an alarm instead of the fragrant smell coffee being brought by a servant, he had to get up and make it himself if he wants.

This morning, this morning his eyes are open before the sun even thinks about peeking over the horizon. The early morning lighting up gradually as he watches your face, so peaceful in sleep. His soulmate. His wife.

Sunrise isn't normally your wakeup call. The mornings are always an early start for you because you like to get as much out of your day as you possibly can. It's been so many years of it now that you even wake up early on the weekends – but not today.

A rare morning of sleeping in means that the bright sun streaming through the windows penetrates your sleep to warm your dreams and drift you closer to reality. Although really, the thing that wakes you is the shifting of the mattress. The last time you shared a bed with anyone before last night was...a year ago? More?

But when you open your eyes, knowing it's your soulmate next to you is so exhilarating.

“Good morning.” Javi’s smile is bright, radiant like the sun as he reaches out and caresses your cheek. “How did you sleep? I think I only slept for two hours but it was the best two hours of my life.”

"Good morning." Like a magnet, you slide towards him on the mattress to tuck yourself into his side. "It's a whole new day. What did you want to do with it?" Neither of you have to work, so it's just...going to be beautiful all on its own.

“I should treat you today, no?” He asks with a grin. “It is technically our honeymoon?” The ring on your finger is just barely ten hours old, the excitement of that fact still humming through his system and coming off as nervous energy.

"We've got a whole weekend to do whatever we want." Honeymoon. It's your honeymoon. The last twenty-four hours have been a complete whirlwind. This time yesterday you were already at work. "I feel silly asking but...what do you like to do for fun?"

“Watching movies.” Javi admits shamelessly, although he no longer has the movie theatre he once did. “What is your favorite movie?”

"Oh gosh, that's such a hard question." Shamelessly happy that you can do so, you lay a kiss on his shoulder and gaze up at him.

Your soulmate is so fucking handsome. How did you get so lucky?

"Maybe..." You laugh at how ridiculously hard it is to choose. "I think I have more like a top three. And they rotate depending on what kind of mood I'm in. But one of the top three is always The Princess Bride."

“That is a good one.” He grins, happy that you seem to light up and have a hard time choosing. “I always liked Wesley.” He admits shamelessly and winks at you. “As you wish.”

"Hush." Even though you nudge him a little, your warm cheeks have nothing to do with the morning sun. It's all mixed in with the dreamy expression on your face as you talk with him. Your husband. Your soulmate. "What's your favourite movie?"

“You must promise not to laugh.” He tells you seriously, although there is humor twinkling in the depths of his dark eyes as he gazes into your hauntingly beautiful ones. “Paddington 2.” He admits, his tone flat and honest.

“Why would I laugh? That’s such a sweet movie!” Daring to reach up to brush a curl out of his eyes, you end up smiling all over again. “I…actually really love watching kids’ movies. They’re great for comfort and cheering me up when I don’t feel too good.”

“They teach us lessons we could all use.” He agrees, capturing your hand and kissing the back of it. “We can watch them together. Snuggled up.”

“That sounds perfect.” Practically everything he suggests sounds perfect, and it’s not just the gorgeous purr of his accent. “It can be a sweet way of unwinding at night.”

“You would not mind?” He asks, brows raised and a hopefully look on his face. “I wish I had my old movie theatre, but we can turn the second bedroom into a viewing room?”

"You..." Confusion makes your eyebrows draw in. "Used to have your own movie theater?"

He tilts his head. “Of course.” He nods. “I will have to build one again. It will not be as big as the one in Spain, but the house will be much smaller too.” He sighs softly, feeling a little bit like a failure for not being able to give you the things he once had. Before he ever knew you carried his marks. “But maybe one day, no?”

"If it will make you happy, then we will absolutely do that." There are plenty of things that you don't know about each other yet, but you have every confidence that you'll be able to settle into things together well. You're soulmates, after all. You're meant to be together. "I just...I've never known anyone who had their own movie theater before. That sounds so fancy."

“It was a large house.” He admits, frowning slightly. He loved the house, hated the bad memories of some of the things that happened there. Although it was never all bad. “You know, Nic Cage came to my birthday party there?” He asks. “It’s how we met.”

"Is it really?" He had told you that they were friends -- hell, the Cages had come to your wedding last night -- but it was still something that you were wrapping your head around.

“Yes.” He chuckles. “I paid him one million dollars to come to my birthday, and somehow, we became friends.”

Your eyes widen, catching on a breath of disbelief. "So that's how you get a movie star to come to your birthday? Color me impressed."

He hums. “Back then, yes.” He admits, leaning in and kissing your shoulder gently. “Now, they are starting to want to come on their own. Not because I pay them.” He doesn’t have the money to do that anymore.

"You're an amazing writer. I'm sure you're just at the start of something really grand." The two movies he has had made so far have both been fantastic. You went home and watched them back-to-back after the first time he told you he was a screenwriter. "I consider myself very lucky that I'll get to be beside you during all of it."

“Really?” His eyes widen, as if he had never really considered that you would be happy to have him as your soulmate. “You want to be beside me?”

It almost makes you laugh, but the wonder on his face is so genuinely sweet that it sort of comes out as a sound of disbelief. "Of course," you promise him, and take his hand to hold both his and your left hands in his view. The hands bearing your brand new wedding rings. "That's what this means."

“Married.” The word is whispered, almost reverently, as if he is still in disbelief that it was ever possible. For him, it had started to look that way. He had loved Gabriella and had been determined to be a good partner no matter if they had not shared marks, but she had left him. He had floundered slightly, bemoaning love and at the encouragement of Nic to start working on his next screen play, he had stumbled upon the soulmate he had always yearned for.

******

Tuesday, February 14, 2023 Valentine's Day

The slowest pay of the week for the museum seems punctuated with particularly melancholy moments today. There was a private tour this morning with a proposal, and the squealing bride-and-groom-to-be had been allowed to take photos together on the grand staircase before regular visitors began arriving for the day. Their family and friends had been hiding in the house, waiting for the moment, all ready to burst out and shout with joy after the question was asked and answered. It had left you with a migraine.

Another lover had popped their question to her beloved out in the gardens while you were trying to get some fresh air on your short morning break. You'd fled back to the breakroom and hung your head in your hands for the rest of your fifteen minutes of quiet.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, there are so many couples on dates strolling through the halls of Hazelwood House that it felt like an intentional taunt. Being fresh off a breakup at Valentine's Day is no one's idea of a good time. So you just pace your area, walking through the three rooms of the house museum that are under your care for this hour, and hope that the floor just opens up to swallow you whole.

Which is how you accidentally walked straight into a guest.

"Oh! Excuse me! I'm so sorry, that was entirely my fault."

Javi Gutierrez manages to keep himself from stumbling but immediately reaches out to steady you. “No, no, I was wandering around.” He shakes his head, ready to take the blame himself as his eyes meet yours and he swears that his heart skips a beat. He straightens slightly, still holding your arms. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, as if you had been injured by the minor collision.

"I'm totally fine." Shaken, sure, but only because of your own clumsiness and the fact that you just had to bump into the hottest guy you've ever seen in your entire life. "I—I'm sorry." Come on, get it together. "I was distracted." Lie, for fuck's sake. "I just noticed a little detail in the flooring that I had never seen before."

“The floor?” Javi frowns as he looks down at the intricate tiles beneath both of your feet. “What about the floor?” He asks curiously, wondering if it is something special.

"Well..." It's nerdy. It's so nerdy. But there actually is something special about the mosaic tile in this particular room of the house. "The billiard room is covered in mosaic, but I've never paid much attention to the grain of the marble before." An utter lie, you stare at it every day. "Do you see the swirls of blue and gray here? It's the same marble as the fireplace."

Instead of looking at you like you are crazy, Javi squats down and brushes his fingers over the glazed tiles, staring at the colorful patterns for a long moment, memorizing them. Then he lifts his head to stare at the fireplace. “So they tiled the mosaic with marble instead of regular tiles?” He asks, trying to follow.

"It looks like it." He gets excited easily, this incredibly handsome man, and it relaxes you a little. Guests who get excited about little details are one of the things you love most about working in a museum. "Now I'm thinking about taking a photo of the different colors and comparing them to the other fireplaces in the house."

“Can you backtrack through the house?” He looks around worried for a moment and then back at you. “The guides won’t get mad?”

"You're only a few rooms in, I can walk you back to the first fireplace if you'd like?" That would be the breakfast room, which is an easy stroll backward from where you are now and you point it out to him on the map that is printed on the packet of information in his hand. It seems he opted not to download the audio tour as so many do.

He tilts his head, contemplating it seriously. “Then we should do it, no?” He asks. “See if it matches? It should, or no? Maybe it depends on the style of the room?”

"Let's find out, if you're curious. We can check the three fireplaces in this section of the house and you can compare the pictures you take here to the others as you keep moving through the house." You would walk with him, guide him yourself, because it's just so nice to stumble upon someone nice and not on a date today...but abandoning your area of the house would get you in a hell of a lot of trouble.

“Okay.” He smiles at you and wonders if you are waiting for your partner to arrive. It’s Valentine’s Day after all and he had thought to distract himself with work. “The house is very, um, nice.” He says as you start to steer him back towards the other rooms. Small talk can be awkward and he’s not as good as it as he would like at times. Nervous about making a negative impression.

"The whole place is gorgeous." The grounds are a popular tourist attraction, with plenty of weddings and other parties happening on the grounds in addition to the mansion being a museum. "Have you ever visited Hazelwood Park before?"

“This is my first time.” Javi confesses. “I have heard of it, but woke up this morning and decided today was the day.” He had honestly figured there wouldn’t be a lot of couples here. He had been wrong.

"Well, welcome." Back in the breakfast room, you turn to face the soft green marble fireplace. "This does look like the same green of the turtle in the mosaic," you admit. The shades are remarkably similar.

“So they matched the edging of this floor to the fireplace.” The entire floor isn’t a mosaic, but the banding around the edges is. “This fireplace is larger.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps they did not have enough of the leftovers to use, hm?”

"If they only used the pieces that were considered scrap during the carving of the fireplaces, then it would make sense that they wouldn’t have any large pieces." The thin tile line around the otherwise parquet flooring has always charmed you unexpectedly. You had never seen anything like it before.

“It is a good way to use up all the materials.” He agrees. “Because I’m assuming the marble was imported?” It’s nothing he’s ever considered before but your enthusiasm for the details excites him.

"Oh yes, absolutely." In fact, you had had to memorize where all of it came from as part of your knowledge test to be a full-fledged docent. "This particular stone comes from Italy."

“You know a lot about this.” He smiles. “Is the house a favorite place to visit for you?”

"Oh!" You break out into a nervous laugh and realize that this entire time, the nametag and lapel pin that you wear on your cardigan marking you as an employee haven't been visible. "No, I--I work here. I've been here about a year now."

“Oh…oh I am sorry.” He bites his lip as he tries to hide the embarrassed grin. “I didn’t realize. I thought you were just an enthusiast.”

"Being an enthusiast is sort of how I got the job," you admit. Shrugging your shoulders, you straighten out your cardigan again and do up one button to make sure both pins stay visible. "It turns out that I really love it. Beyond just thinking the place is beautiful."

“That explains your comment about this section of the house.” He chuckles, wiping his hands on his pants and shoving them in his pockets. “I had assumed you were waiting on someone. Now I know that’s it’s other tour groups.

"Have to stay in my section." A light, awkward laugh travels between you but even that little sound from him sounds angelic. "But if you like these first few rooms, then you'll love the rest of the house."

“Which is your favorite room?” He asks, looking down at his map.

"Today?" You laugh a little, emboldened by the way he seems to smile with his whole face. Like he really doesn't mind talking to you. Like he might even enjoy it. "I love them all, but I think the library might be the best part of the whole house."

“Do you like to read?” He asks, charmed by your laugh and the way you seem to light up at the question. As if you aren’t normally asked a personal question. “The library was always where I was chided, but then it was also where I could escape into different worlds when I couldn’t do other things.”

"That's the beauty of books." Something you believe unabashedly. Stories are an escape -- whether that is books or movies or plays, or whatever else. "Being able to run away into a different world is powerful. It's freeing." Warmth creeps up your neck and into your cheeks and you nearly feel embarrassed for getting so excited about it except that he's still smiling. "The library in this house? I would curl up in front of that fireplace with a stack of books beside me on the chaise lounge and one of those little table all covered in the blue China from the butler's pantry and a whole plate of scones. I would just stay there all day and night."

“That sounds perfect.” He hums. “With the fire built up?”

“Oh, of course.” The scenario has played out in your head a thousand times, and one day you might just have to go antiquing for your own chaise so you can fulfill it. Of course…you’ll also need a home legitimate enough to have a fireplace. Not your shitty little studio apartment.

“Storm beating against the windows?” It would be a miracle in California, but he could imagine it in the setting of his latest screenplay. “Or snow?”

"Oh, it's been years since I saw a good snowstorm. I used to hate them, but I sort of miss it."

“I have not ever lived somewhere where there was snow.” He admits with a small shrug. “It is beautiful in pictures but I do not think it would be fun to have every day.”

"Oh, it's definitely not." Not even a little, and your immediate answer elicits laughs from both of you. "My favorite was when I was going to college in Boston and the college dug out our sidewalks for us. All the beauty of snow with none of the work."

“That is probably the best way to have the snow.” He admits with a laugh.

"Well..." Realizing you've probably monopolized enough of this extremely handsome, extremely charming man's time, you offer him a smile and try to smother the butterflies accumulating in the pit of your stomach. He has the most beautiful, soulful eyes you've ever seen. "Enjoy the rest of the museum. Take an extra look at the library when you pass through the south wing and you'll see what I mean about it being comfy."

He’s entirely disappointed to realize that he’s being dismissed. Enjoying the way you banter with him, he wishes he could ask you to give him the tour of the entire house so he could continue talking. Feeling more at ease with you than he has with anyone ever. “Thank you.” He hums softly. “I hope you have a wonderful day, full of beauty.”

"You too." You flounder for a few seconds, but you know you'll get in trouble if your supervisor sees you on the surveillance cameras talking to the same guest for too long, so you gently extract yourself to stroll as casually as possible back into the corner of the great hall that is included in your area of the house right now.

Javi watches you walk off and he sighs before he looks down at the map and pulls out his phone to take pictures of the rooms. Your attention to detail will have to be included in the film.

******

Saturday, December 23, 2023

It's the Christmas season the next time you see him, when the house is all done up in twinkling lights and wreaths with trimmed trees in almost every room. Bowls of chestnuts and pine cones and cherries replace the usual decorative hazelnuts and oranges. Pine boughs and poinsettias instead of big, beautiful flower arrangements. It's a nice change of pace, honestly, and on the weekends guests can buy tickets to the after-hours light display on the grounds. Out in the garden there are even refreshments and music plays from the trees that drip with even more lights.

Javier tucks into his light jacket. It’s not completely necessary, but it helps the spirit of the season. The lights are beautiful and he’s heard that the decorations are truly a sight to see.

The music outside just reminds you of the years that you worked in retail -- repetitive and sickly sweet Christmas songs pouring through speakers, but you dole out cups of cocoa and coffee at one of the refreshment tables outside with good enough spirits. There's bits of broken cookie to sneak every now and then, and the little gingerbread men are tasty morsels when you and the other docent working at the table can grab them.

“You were right about the library.” He hadn’t been looking for you. At least that’s what he tells himself, although he lights up for some reason when he recognizes you. “It’s perfect for a cozy day reading.”

"You..." It takes all you've got not to grab your friend's hand beside you, as the specter of the random guest you've had a crush on for almost a year materializes in front of you. "You remembered?" The full sentence is 'You remembered me?' but you don't say that.

He grins bashfully as he steps up to the table and looks down at the cookies and paper cups, trying to keep from staring at how pretty you are. Javi’s been around gorgeous women, but there’s something about the naked honest in your eyes that makes him feel almost feverish. “Of course I did.” He chuckles. “I went back through to find you that day, but you must have already gone home.”

“We move around the house every hour. To keep on our toes and so we don’t stare at the same set of walls the whole day.” Did he get even more attractive since last time? That would be so unfair. Criminally unfair, actually. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Enough to come back, even.”

“I had to see it during Christmas.” It also got him out of the tiny cottage he lives in. Around other people. Hopefully to distract from the loneliness of the holiday. “I don’t know if this might not be the best look for this place. Although I see it with candles lit all around.”

“It’s perfect in spring,” you tell him all too quickly, and end up flustering yourself so you have to tear your eyes away from his to look down at the grounds gather your damn wits back. “I mean…in early spring is when all the orange and hazelnut trees blossom. That’s how the property got its name. Hazelwood Park.”

“Is that so? I will have to check it out.” He looks suitably impressed and then motions to the table. “So, um, how much for a cookie and a cup of coffee?” He asks, not sure what else to say, but wanting to continue the conversation.

"Oh, they're free for guests. Help yourself." Your coworker offers helpfully, seeing you fluster and thoroughly enjoying the level of teasing that is going to happen after work tonight. "Why don't you take your break while we have a lull?" She suggests, practically batting her eyelashes with glee over the suggestion.

"Thanks, Moira," you hum with a tone that suggests you're going to kill her later. Then again? She has a point. These days that there are special events at work can be long. You've been on your feet for hours.

Javi is disappointed, sure that you will disappear on him since you have a chance to get off your feet and possibly get something to eat or drink yourself. “Oh, um, okay.” He takes a cup of be coffee and a cookie. “Thanks.”

"Make sure to show him your bench!" Moira suggests, far too loudly and excitedly to not be obvious, as she thrusts a cup of cocoa and a gingerbread man into your hands.

“Your bench?” He could kiss your friend for giving him something to grasp on to in order to keep the conversation going. “What is your bench?”

"It's...it's over on the west side of the property." You gesture to the left of were you're both standing and try to suppress the giddy and awkward shivers running up and down your spine. "Do you...would you want to walk?"

“Are you sure you want to?” He asks seriously, happy about spending time with you but it’s your break. “You don’t want to rest?”

"Benches are made for resting." Now that the chance has presented itself, you would actually be pretty bummed to miss out on the chance to chat with him again. And, in all honesty, you're pretty sure it's not your break at all. Moira just threw you out of the nest like a mama bird.

“Okay.” He agree to that easily and shifts to move the cookie into the same hand as his coffee to offer you his arm. “Lead the way.”

The chivalrous gesture damn near makes your knees buckle, and you follow suit. Shifting your snack into one hand lets you take his arm to lead him toward the ocean. "It's just...where I like to come sit." Of course it is. You groan at yourself internally. What else would you do at a bench but sit? "I take my lunch out here sometimes and things like that."

“So it’s your special place.” He likes the sound of that. Showing him something that you might not show every guest.

"I suppose you could say that." It's only a touch chilly tonight and the breeze coming off the ocean is welcoming. "It's a nice place to sit and think. To just watch the ocean and...dream."

“Hopefully the dreams are nice ones.” He offers, wondering what you might dream about. “Having a quiet place to think is always a good thing. I used to sit out at the cliffs and dream, plot, plan.”

"Cliffs?" Hazelwood Park is more or less on a cliffside, and you motion out toward the ocean again. "Like this one?"

“A little larger than this one.” He smiles as he thinks back to jumping off the cliff with Nic. “Mallorca has cliffs that go hundreds of meters in the air.” He tells you. “Some so steep you would be terrified to slip off the edge.”

“Mallorca?” Spanish. Damn. They really do make hotter men in Europe. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. You…traded one beautiful place to live for another?”

He shrugs slightly. “Hard to write movies anywhere else but Hollywood, no?”

“Hard, but not impossible.”

So there it is. Even the screenwriters in Hollywood are sexy. Maybe you should be grateful to live so close by, then? Southern California does have some fun things that back home didn’t. Rather than fawn over him — that’s never been your style — you just smile. “So you like libraries and you’re a writer. Stories run through your veins.”

“I would live in them if I could.” He admits wistfully. The little bench is drawing closer and he can see from the view from this point why you would like it. It’s a stunning place to look out over the water. The wind just a touch brisk as it ruffles his hair. The smell of the saltwater taking over.

“Me too.” And for reasons you can’t quite discern, you just keep talking. “That’s why I like history so much. It’s all just stories. Especially in big houses like this. Somebody’s whole life — their whole story — is wrapped up in that house.”

“And do you sometimes pretend you are the lady of the house?” He asks, imagining you in the skirts from that time.

"It would be sort of a shame to dream about the place and not dream the grand, elegant things. Wouldn't it?" When you reach the bench together, he seems to set you down first, letting you settle, and then sits beside you. "I think it's romantic. Curtis Hollingsworth built the place as a birthday gift for his wife. They were outgrowing their home because they were pregnant again, and he'd made millions helping to turn Santa Barbara into a spa town." The soft smile on your face is whimsical, but you can't help it. "Apparently, she loved oranges and hazelnuts. Which is why the trees are everywhere."

“He brought those to her.” He looks out over the water and takes a sip of the rich coffee. At least they had served a strong brew instead of something heartbreakingly weak. “To build a house for someone you love is a perfect way to show it.” He frowns slightly, remembering that he has a building site that was halted before the foundation was ever poured.

“It’s certainly a grand gesture.” Something in his tone and manner makes you hesitate, but you don’t know this man nearly well enough to ask a single personal question so you try to just press past it. “Of course, grand gestures aren’t the only way of showing love. Not by any means. But they do make wonderful stories.”

“Sometimes it’s just listening.” He agrees, thinking about how things between him and Gabriella had turned after moving to L.A. two years ago. She had been uninterested in the future he envisions and started working towards. Stopped talking to him about anything that wasn’t part of her own interests. He had tried to course correct, but it had ultimately not meant to be.

“I couldn’t agree more.” This time you do chance to look at him — sharp jaw and soft cheeks outlined against the night sky like a fully grown cherub, golden brown curls neatly and artfully tousled and waving in the breeze. He looks like a Romantic painting. “Lots of people talk about communication but not enough realize listening is included in that.”

His eyes find yours again, seeing the softness and understanding swimming in their depths and he feels like bearing his soul to you. “Is it probably the most important part.” He admits. “The world would be better if people understood that.”

“Again…” you swallow hard, feeling your mouth has run dry and chest fairly ripped open with the feeling of familiarity. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The silence falls between you. It’s not unpleasant, it’s almost hesitant. As if both of you are afraid of disturbing the uncluttered beauty of the moment as the waves crash against the coast at the wind batters playfully against your cheeks. Javi breaks off a piece of the cookie and dips it onto the coffee.

“You chose a beautiful night to come visit.” It’s clear and typically warm despite the ocean breeze, and even in the end of December, Southern California is a beautiful place to be. He could have gone to any of a thousand places but he chose to come here, and a small voice in the back of your head wonders — hopes — that maybe you had a part in making this place happy for him.

“I was compelled to come back.” He admits softly, looking over at you for a moment before breaking off the gaze to look out at the sea again.

“The house is like that.” When he looks away, you do too. “It draws people in.”

It’s not the house, but it would sound crazy to say that he wanted to see you again. Instead he hums. “I don’t think it’s just the house.”

“Well…” If you wanted to take that to heart, you feel like you could. It wouldn’t be difficult to give yourself that little bit of hope. But despite being easy, it would probably be very foolish. “I hope it helps you miss home a little less to sit on these cliffs, instead.”

“I think it does.” He takes the bite of the cookie and groans happily. “These are good.”

“Gingerbread is highly underrated,” you agree, and take a bite of your own after dipping it into your cup of cocoa. “I get why they’re seasonal but I wish I could find them so easily all year long.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “They would be good anytime.”

“What’s your favourite kind of cookie?” The question is innocuous enough, but you find yourself curious anyway. Curious to know about anything he feels like telling you.

He chuckles and lifts a shoulder innocently. “A good chocolate chip cookie is always a comfort.” He admits. “Sometimes the simple things are the best.” He twists his head and looks over to you. “What is yours?”

“Have you ever heard of a hermit cookie?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, and grinning in amusement when he looks confused. “It’s a soft, spice cookie. Like gingerbread. Sometimes with raisins and nuts in it. They’re a bit old fashioned, but wonderful with coffee.”

“They sound like I should try some.” He would try anything you recommend right now, a fact that should scare him but it doesn’t. “How old are the cookies?” He asks, thinking about his screenplay.

“They’re from the 1880s or 90s, I think?” It does not escape your amusement or notice that this is the same time that the house you work in was built. “I don’t know if they’ve ever been popular outside of New England, but we do love them there.”

He hums and takes note of that. Deciding he will research it. “Hermit cookies.” He repeats. “Are there recipes for this? Online?”

"Probably." His entire attention has now focused in on this just because you said it was your favorite cookie and that makes you smile in a way you can't quite explain.

“Then I will have to look it up.” He smiles as he takes another sip of his coffee. “I like researching things. It is very interesting. Like your marble mosaic tiles.”

"You researched the tiles?" It's the sort of thing that you would only think of you or your coworkers doing, but hearing that he has enjoyed his time in the house -- and possibly with you -- so much warms your heart.

“It was interesting to learn how they chose the marbles.” He nods. “I never imagined a trip to Europe to pick out building materials.”

"It's a heck of a reason for a vacation," you agree, laughing slightly at the opulence of it all.

“Yes. And trips would take months.” He chuckles.

"I can't even imagine." To take a vacation at all would be a miracle. But one that was months long? It sounds positively absurd to your ear.

“Do you think they ever got bored?” He asks curiously. “Or tired of being away from home?”

"I have to imagine that they did." It's a question you've thought on more than you want to admit, but the stories in your head are always about everyday things. Wondering what the mundane things were like. "If I had a home like this I can't imagine ever wanting to be away from it. But I suppose the right person can make anything worthwhile."

“Were they soulmates?” He asks softly, having avoided the personal backgrounds of the homeowners when taking the tour. He had tried to keep his own characters in mind.

“They were. And when they left the house to their daughter, she married her soulmate here. And then her daughter married her soulmate here, as well. The house has a history of lifelong loves.”

“That is nice.” His tone is wistful. “I don’t know if I will ever meet my soulmate.” Javi confides, normally keeping that information to himself but he blurts it out. “I worry about it sometimes.”

“I don’t know a single person who hasn’t worried about it at some point.” Even your sister, who said she didn’t mind not marrying her soulmate as long as the woman she found was a loving partner, had been thoroughly overjoyed when she had found her now wife on Mate Marks. Everyone thinks about it — worries about it — even if they don’t want to admit it. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you.” You offer him a smile, knowing you’ve gone over your fifteen minutes for your break and not wanting to be caught flirting with a guest on company time. “Whoever you do find is going to be very lucky to have you.”

He smiles again. “Have you found yours?” He figures you probably have, you are beautiful and captivating.

"Not yet." Even though you'd rather not, you stand from the bench. "I don't know if I ever will. Only time will tell."

“I know you have to go back to work.” Javi leaps off the bench and shuffles, wishing he could ask you to stay. “Thank you for showing me this place.” He bites his lip. “Uh, can I walk you back?”

The warmth rushes back to your cheeks, and you practically squirm with delight. "Thank you. I'd like that."

He offers his arm again, taking your empty hot cocoa cup from you to hold with his own trash. “Imagine the parties they used to hold here.” He breathes out as the two of you turn back towards the house.

"We're setting up an exhibit with some of the gowns. It's meant to open in about six weeks." You light up with that fact, excited to see all the swishing gowns and glimmering jewels for yourself. "Descendents of the family donated a large collection of clothing, shoes, and jewelry to the museum this part year."

“Wow.” He chuckles, thinking about the parties he would throw when he was pretending to be an olive oil exporter. He’s much happier being a screen writer, even if he can’t afford those parties and bought friends anymore. “That was generous of them.”

"They say the most spectacular pieces are still privately owned by the family, but the things I've seen so far have been absolutely gorgeous." If you're a little dreamy-eyed at the prospect, he doesn't seem to mind.

“It sounds like you would have loved to live during that time.” He smiles, knowing that he will have to insist the movie be filmed here.

"I'm probably overly romanticizing it," you admit. But the tent is in view already and you hate the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that wonders if he'll ever come back again. "I hope—" Biting back what you really hope, you go for a polite encouragement instead, "That the things you've found in your research have given you plenty to think about. And maybe romanticized it for you, too."

“It has.” Even if you have no interest in him, you’ve given him a focal point for his movie. “Thank you. This is a magical place.”

"Then I hope you'll come back again." At least in that you can be honest. There is nothing you would like more than to see him again.

“Really?” He’s surprised by your comment. Unless you are just being polite.

"Really." You promise him, but at the edge of the refreshments tent, you have to let his arm go.

He’s disappointed by the loss of your fingers on his jacket. “Well. I hope the rest of your night is magical.” He offers, bowing slightly and smiling at you.

"I can all but guarantee it now." One more smile. One more lingering, dopey smile, and you know you have to tear yourself away. "Have a good night..." Oh no. Have you really gone and sat and flirted with this man for your whole break and not even learned his name?

He nods and turns away, sure that it would be rude to try to extend the conversation. He will just have to go home and write about this, working it into the plot of his movie somehow.

******

Monday, June 10, 2024

The email went out before opening time, when only your bosses were up in the offices and the docent core hadn’t gotten to work yet. You’d nearly crashed your car in excitement while CarPlay read the email out to you on the highway.

A movie. An actual Hollywood movie is coming to film at the museum!

The second you clocked in and sprinted to the break room to put your things away, you almost clobbered Moira with squealed, giddy glee.

“Did you hear?? Did you see Leslie’s email?!”

“Oh my god, yesssss.” She lights up and nods quickly. “It’s a movie by that guy who did the Nic Cage movie a couple of years ago.” She informs you. “The one that won an Oscar and restarted that man’s career?” After a long slump of bad movies, the older actor had exploded back on the scene, apparently full of new life and motivation for his trade.

“I can’t wait until we find out more!” Being able to hug your friend and squeal together is such a rush. The two of you have become joined-at-the-hip work friends to the point where the friendship has bled into everyday life. “A name, a plot, any of the stars?”

“Actors.” She sighs dreamily. “Imagine if your soulmate or mine, is an actor who comes to film?” She loves the glitz and glam of Hollywood and always secretly imagined being an actress herself, although she’s realistic enough to understand that it would be impossible to have happen.

“Maybe yours will be.” You laugh, hugging her again before you have to break away to pull your radio headset out of your bag. There is still work to do today, desire the excitement. “You’ll have to make sure you always wear your hair up so your tattoo is visible.” The little raven behind her ear would be a hell of a lot easier to show off than the tarot card on her though, anyway. Moira’s tattoos are gorgeous and just unique enough that you would bet there was no duplicate in the works besides her soulmate.

“Oh I’m planning on it.” She licks her lips and waggles her brows suggestively. “What about you? Yours aren’t so visible.” She knows how much you secretly want to meet your soulmate and be with them. It was a drunken girl’s night confession but she had never teased you over it.

“There’s no reason to go around showing everyone my marks.” You shrug a little and busy yourself with plugging into a walkie-talkie and adjusting your headset in your ear. “A lot of people have ankle scars, don’t they? And I can’t exactly show off my butterfly.” Exposing that much skin is definitely against dress code.

“Is it your scar or his?” You had never mentioned that, just that you had a scar.

“It’s theirs.” However your soulmate is, you’ve tried very hard not to make assumptions about them. The person you hope for might not be the person you get, and that wouldn’t be fair to them. “I was nine when it appeared, so my best guess has always been they fell out of a tree or play sports.”

“And the tattoo is yours?” She knows, she’s just chatting because it’s better than actually getting ready to work right now.

“Twenty-first birthday.” You nod, knowing that she knows but that Moira likes a slower start to her day than you usually do. “I did the opposite of most people. I got the tattoo and then went out to get drunk.”

“Which is a very valid and smart thing to do.” She praises. “That way you don’t bleed too much and it’s a nice way to numb the pain after.” Her own walkie comes out to begrudgingly clip to her waist. “But this movie, it has to be a period piece, right? No way a modern millionaire would live in a house like this.”

“It has to be. There’s no point in renting out a historical house museum for four entire months unless you’re going to use it all.” Not that you know too much about the filming process, but it just makes logical sense. “And besides, they’re here in spring and summer, which is usually our busy season. So I’m sure Leslie charged them a fortune. But HBO can afford it, I guess.”

“What if they let us be extras?” Her eyes widen at the sudden thought. “Oh god, we could wear our work!” She giggles happily at the thought.

“I assume there will have to be extras somehow.” Truthfully, you’d let your Hollywood dreams die out a long time ago. Moira’s were much more present. It would be amazing to see her to be able to fulfill them with even just a morsel like being an extra. “I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

“When it gets closer you will be just as excited as I am.” She predicts with a knowing grin.

“I’m plenty excited,” you promise, happily hugging her to your side as the two of you head out into the house together. “I just think you belong in front of a camera much more than I do.”

“You’ll change your mind.” She teases. “When you see what gorgeous actors and actresses they bring, you will be begging to flirt with them. On and off camera.”

“Maybe.” Her confidence is catching, and you laugh again at the thought of it. Hollywood has come knocking on your door and it’s already making work a hell of a lot more fun.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 25

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n thankyou so much to everyone that left comments on the last chapter, i forgot how much i love hearing from you! and thankyou to everyone that came back, even the lurkers, this chapter is only here because of you

previous | masterlist | next

---

[EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT: STRAY KIDS X JYP 'ALL IN' SPECIAL INTERVIEW]

- Q4: How did you come to the decision to add another member to Stray Kids two years after their debut?

JYP - Ah...as a company, we had a trainee that was the right age to debut, had been with us a long time and proved that she was an extremely hard worker and very dedicated, and had developed all the skills to debut - but we didn't have a group that we could envision her in. And so we discussed, the possibility of debut as a solo artist...or the opportunity to  replace the vocalist that Stray Kids had lost a year ago - a year before - and she's an absolutely stunning vocalist, a really capable singer - and through those discussions, and recommendations from her trainers, and looking at our, our vision for the future, we decided that she just matched the energy and the personality of Stray Kids too perfectly to let it go.

Bang Chan - At first...at first we didn't think we would need a ninth member anymore, but as a team we heard about Y/N and the idea to bring her in as a member, and we heard her sing and - well first, I thought that voice was amazing, and of course it was very different to any of ours and a whole new colour that we could bring to our music. And we heard about her hard work, and when we met we liked her, and so we decided that maybe she was a Stray Kid too, and she joined our group, and she is a very trusted member of our family now and our loved noona and still the hardest working member, and we're very happy the way that we are.

Changbin - Yes, our noona~

Felix - Yes, yes.

-Q5: Y/N, how do you feel about what JYP just said, and what was it like to join Stray Kids?

Y/N - It feels...very good. Very good. I've worked hard for a long time, and missed many chances, so to be able to join this group and finally find a place to belong and go forward with my dreams is...is a dream. To hear JYP PD-nim say that the company saw all my hard work and wanted to keep me on with them even when the debut with Midnight wasn't an option; it's very humbling, I didn't know that, and when the kids say that they liked me and wanted to welcome me to their group-

Han - It's awkward, right?

Y/N - It is! But I'm so grateful. And I'm working very hard to bring my own colour to Stray Kids and to represent the group as best as I can.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[heartsriki]

SYMPHONY OF US ⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Park Jongseong | Next

pairing ᝰ jay x fem!reader — word count: 4.6k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au!, friends to lovers, mutual pining, bantering, song composer x guitarist, fluff, kissing.

synopsis — As music majors in college, You and Jay have always been seatmates in class—passing notes, sharing playlists, and teasing each other between lectures. But when you get paired for the annual Valentine’s Open Mic Night, your usual banter turns into long practice sessions, late-night coffee runs, and a song that sounds a little too much like a love confession.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊Hey Ermmuhh I couldn’t sleep so I cooked this one up and I actually like it. Guys I would do anything for guitar Jay, whos with me.. raise your hand..

The first time you ever sat next to Jay, it wasn’t by choice.

The lecture hall had been packed, students filing into seats with that first-week energy—half of them eager, the other half exhausted. You had arrived late, the only open seat left beside a guy in a coat, his foot tapping lightly against the floor in a steady rhythm.

“Bad day?” he had asked as you slumped into the seat.

You had barely looked at him before muttering, “Bad parking.”

That had made him chuckle. “Yeah, parking’s a nightmare.” Then, as if he could sense your irritation, he slid a packet of sheet music onto your desk. “Here. Since you missed the first part.”

That was the beginning of it.

For the rest of the year, Jay remained your unofficial seatmate. You didn’t plan it—it just happened. Every class, every semester, no matter the time or the professor, there was an unspoken agreement that you would end up beside each other. He passed you scribbled jokes in the margins of his notes, you stole his guitar picks, and somehow, you two had developed a routine that made even the dullest lectures bearable.

So when the Professor announced that the Valentine’s Open Mic Night would be a graded project this year, it wasn’t a surprise when he paired you and Jay together. What was surprising was the flicker of hesitation on Jay’s face when your names were called.

“You good?” you asked as you packed your things after class.

Jay blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had been on his mind. “Yeah. Just… never done a duet before.”

You raised a brow. “You literally performed at the Winter Recital last semester.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing down at his shoes before flashing you a lopsided grin. “I didn’t have to sing with you.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Relax, I’ll try not to make you sound bad.”

And that was it. That was how your simple routine with Jay turned into something a little bit more.

You would think that after almost a year of sitting next to each other, sharing notes, and teasing back and forth, you two would have naturally grown closer. But there had always been a boundary—an invisible line neither of you dared to cross. You weren’t sure if it was because of the way Jay always seemed so effortlessly cool, or because you had convinced yourself that your dynamic worked best when there were no expectations beyond the classroom.

But something about today felt different.

As he turned to leave, you blurted out, “Would you like to get some coffee?!”

Jay froze mid-step at your sudden outburst, then turned slowly to meet your gaze. The smirk that curled at his lips sent a flicker of heat to your face.

“You asking me out?”

Your entire body stiffened. “No! No,” you rushed to say, waving your hands frantically. “I mean—for our music piece. Y’know? So we can brainstorm or whatever.”

Jay tilted his head, pretending to consider it, even though you could tell he was enjoying your flustered reaction way too much. After a beat, he shrugged. “Alright. Lead the way.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting across from him in a small café just off campus, a half-empty coffee cup between your hands. The place was cozy, the hum of conversation mixing with the soft jazz playing overhead.

Jay had abandoned his coat, rolling up the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt as he leaned back in his chair, watching you with mild amusement. “You’re overthinking it.”

You frowned. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he said, tapping a finger against your notebook. “Look at this. You’ve got three different song structures written down, but you haven’t committed to any of them.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Because I don’t know what works best. I mean, do we go for something upbeat? Or do we lean into the whole Valentine’s theme and make it, like… disgustingly romantic?”

Jay huffed a laugh, picking up his coffee. “You sound like love songs personally offend you.”

“They do when they’re forced,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the table. “I just don’t want it to sound fake, y’know?”

Jay was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “So let’s not make it fake.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nudged your notebook toward you. “Let’s write something real. Doesn’t have to be some cheesy love song. Just something that actually means something to us.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. For all the teasing and banter, Jay had a way of slipping in these unexpectedly earnest moments that made you pause.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. Something real.”

“Good.” He grinned. “And if it just so happens to be a love song, well…” He shot you a teasing look. “Guess that says something about us, huh?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “Don’t make stupid jokes.”

Jay just laughed, but even as you refocused on your notes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, things were changing between you two.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low hum of the cafe filling in the gaps as you both stared at your notebooks. Every so often, Jay would absentmindedly tap his fingers against the table, a steady rhythm that somehow made it easier for you to think.

You glanced up at him. “So, what’s something real to you?”

Jay’s fingers paused mid-tap. He looked at you, eyebrows raising slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to actually ask. Then, after a moment, he shrugged. “Music, obviously. Late-night drives. My guitars. Oh, and good coffee.” He lifted his cup in emphasis before taking a sip.

You hummed, jotting down a few words in your notebook. “Alright, so we’re writing a love song about caffeine addiction.”

Jay chuckled. “That’s what you got from that?”

“You said ‘good coffee.’ That’s passion.”

He rolled his eyes but leaned forward, glancing at your notebook. “Okay, your turn. What’s something real to you?”

You hesitated, tapping your pen against the page. It was a simple question, but answering it felt more intimate than you had expected.

“Uh… sunrises,” you said finally. “When you’ve been up all night, and everything’s quiet for a few minutes before the world wakes up. That first breath of cold air in the morning. And…” You trailed off, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Jay tilted his head, waiting. “And?”

You exhaled, deciding to just go for it. “That feeling when you’re playing music, writing it, and for a second, it’s like… everything just clicks.”

Jay was quiet. When you looked up, he wasn’t smirking or teasing. He was just watching you, something unreadable in his expression.

“Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I get that.”

Something shifted then—an unspoken understanding settling between you.

Jay reached for his guitar case beside his chair, flipping open the latches. “Alright,” he said, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. “Let’s see what we’ve got so far.”

You bit your lip, flipping through your notes. “I mean, we don’t have much yet, but…”

Jay started strumming, a simple, easy melody filling the space between you. You listened, letting the rhythm settle in before you hesitantly hummed a melody over it.

Jay’s lips curled into a smile. “That works. Keep going.”

And just like that, the song started to take shape.

Hours later, you were still at the café, empty cups pushed to the side as you sat next to Jay in the booth, your notebooks a mess of scribbled lyrics and crossed-out ideas.

“Alright, what about this?” Jay said, adjusting his guitar. He played a soft progression, nodding toward you. “Try it with the lyrics we just fixed.”

You took a breath and sang the first few lines, the words tentative but starting to feel more natural the more you repeated them. Jay watched you as you sang, his eyes focused—not in the way he usually looked at you when he was about to tease you, but in a way that made something in your chest tighten.

When you finished, he nodded slowly. “That was good.”

You laughed lightly, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Jay’s grin returned, but there was something gentler about it this time. “Yeah. We still have a lot to work on but.. its good.”

You glanced at the clock, realizing how late it had gotten. “We should probably head back before they kick us out.”

Jay sighed dramatically, strumming one last chord before setting his guitar aside. “Fine. But only because I don’t want them banning me from my favorite cafe.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you started packing up your things. As the two of you stepped outside, the cold night air bit at your skin, and you shivered. Before you could react, Jay wordlessly shrugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

You blinked at him. “Jay—”

“Don’t start,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You looked cold.”

Your heart did a stupid little flip, but you quickly masked it with a playful smirk. “This is just an excuse to save your seat tomorrow isn’t it?”

Jay shot you a playful hurt look. “Wow, you think so little of me.”

You laughed, hugging his coat closer around you as the two of you walked back toward campus, the melody of your half-written song still lingering in the air.

The next few days fell into an easy rhythm—class, study sessions, and sneaking into the music room whenever it was free. You and Jay spent more time together than ever, working through melodies, tweaking lyrics, and getting lost in conversations that had nothing to do with the song at all.

And somehow, somewhere between all of that, the line between “just seatmates” and something more started to blur.

“Okay, one more run-through,” Jay said, adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the piano bench. “Jay, we’ve done like… twelve run-throughs.”

He shot you a look. “And yet you still mess up the second verse.”

“Hey!” You sat up, pointing at him accusingly. “I wouldn’t mess it up if you didn’t look at me like that.”

Jay smirked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to laugh every time I hit the high note.”

“I am trying not to laugh,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “Not because of your singing—your singing’s great. It’s just…” He paused, grinning. “You scrunch up your nose when you go for high notes. It’s cute.”

Your breath hitched for a second.

Jay must’ve realized what he said, because his fingers fumbled over the guitar strings. He cleared his throat, suddenly focused on his instrument.

You stared at him, the warmth creeping up your neck completely unrelated to the heated room. Instead of responding, you exhaled and picked up your lyrics sheet. “One more run-through,” you mumbled.

Jay glanced at you, lips twitching. “One more.”

By now, late-night practice had become routine. But this was the first time you’d ended up at Jay’s apartment.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, tossing his keys onto the counter.

You glanced around, taking in the space. It was exactly what you expected—minimalist, with music posters and a guitar stand in the corner. A few records were stacked near a player, and his desk was cluttered with sheet music and unfinished compositions.

“You live like an actual musician,” you mused, running a finger over a worn-out lyric book on his desk.

Jay snorted. “I thought I gave off business major energy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze landed on the couch, where a soft-looking blanket was draped over the armrest. You raised an eyebrow. “You keep a blanket on your couch?”

Jay glanced over and shrugged. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “Didn’t take you for a cozy guy.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I have layers.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled onto the couch. Jay sat beside you, guitar in hand. The song was almost finished now, just a few refinements left before the performance.

“You wanna run through it again?” you asked, pulling your knees up.

Jay nodded, but he hesitated, fingers hovering over the strings. When you looked at him, he wasn’t smirking or teasing like usual. There was something thoughtful in his gaze, something… uncertain.

Jay’s fingers moved over the guitar strings effortlessly, the melody filling the space between you. Your voice wove through it, soft but steady, carrying the lyrics you’d both spent hours perfecting.

But tonight—tonight, the song felt different.

It wasn’t just words on a page anymore. It wasn’t just an assignment. It was something heavier, something unspoken. Something neither of you dared to name.

When the last note faded, silence settled between you.

Jay exhaled, setting his guitar aside. “That was…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words.

You nodded slowly, barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved.

You were still sitting cross-legged on the couch, his blanket draped loosely over your shoulders. Jay was beside you, leaning against the cushions, his arm resting on the back of the couch. Close. Closer than before.

The tension hung thick in the air, pressing against your skin.

Jay’s gaze flickered to your lips for half a second—so quick you might’ve imagined it. But then his fingers twitched against his knee, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew that if you leaned in, if you closed the space between you, something would happen.

Your pulse pounded.

Jay shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours. He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing—just watching you, waiting, like he was caught in the same pull that had tightened around your chest.

Your breath hitched.

Jay tilted his head just a little, like he was debating something. Like he was giving you the chance to stop this before it went somewhere neither of you could take back.

Your heart was a drumline in your chest.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

You should move. Say something. Anything.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your gaze dropped—just briefly—to his lips. And that was all it took.

Jay leaned in.

Your breath tangled with his, warmth ghosting over your skin. Your lashes fluttered. He was close enough now that you could see the night shine in his dark eyes, close enough that you could feel the slight hitch in his breathing.

A fraction of an inch. That’s all that was left.

Then—

BZZZT.

Jay jerked back, exhaling sharply as his phone vibrated against the coffee table.

The hypnotic spell shattered.

You blinked, heart still hammering, trying to process what almost just happened.

Jay cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. I should… probably check that.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

You nodded stiffly, gripping the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.”

Jay reached for his phone, glancing at the screen. “It’s my friend Jungwon,” he muttered, like that somehow explained the whiplash of the moment you’d just shared.

You took the opportunity to stand, needing space, needing to breathe. “I should—um, I should go. It’s late.”

Jay’s head snapped up. “Wait—”

But you were already grabbing your things, shoving your notebook into your bag. Your fingers still trembled slightly.

Jay stood too, stepping toward you, but he hesitated. Like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you. Like he wasn’t sure what to say after what just happened.

And honestly? Neither were you.

So instead, you forced a small, strained smile. “See you tomorrow?”

Jay held your gaze for a beat longer, something unreadable in his eyes.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

You turned quickly, stepping out of his apartment before you could second-guess yourself.

The night air was cold against your burning skin.

And as you walked away, heart still racing, one thought repeated in your head over and over again.

What the hell just happened?

The Valentine’s Open Mic Night had arrived.

The auditorium buzzed with energy—students chattering excitedly, couples whispering to each other, friends hyping up performers. The warm glow of stage lights bathed the room in a golden hue, casting long shadows against the red-and-white Valentine’s decorations.

Backstage, you paced.

“Stop doing that,” Jay said from his spot on a folding chair, tuning his guitar for what had to be the hundredth time.

You shot him a look. “Doing what?”

“Walking back and forth like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“I feel like I’m about to confess to a crime,” you muttered, rubbing your arms. “Why does this suddenly feel so intense?”

Jay smirked, resting his guitar on his lap. “Maybe because we wrote a song that sounds suspiciously like a love confession?”

Your heart jumped in your chest. “It’s not a love confession,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

Jay arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

You opened your mouth—ready to argue, ready to insist that the song was just a song, nothing more—but the words didn’t come out.

Because the truth was, ever since you’d started rehearsing for this performance, something had felt… off. Not about the music itself—the melody was strong, the lyrics flowed effortlessly—but about the way it made you feel.

Every time you sang it, every time Jay harmonized with you, there was this undeniable weight behind it. Something unspoken, something too close to the surface.

And the more you listened to it, the more familiar it felt.

Like you’d heard it before.

Like you’d felt it before.

You swallowed, voice quieter now. “…Jay.”

His smirk faded slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, but then the realization hit you so hard, you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out.

“This song,” you murmured, gripping the hem of your sleeve. “It sounds like us.”

Jay stilled. His fingers froze on the guitar strings.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, he let out a slow breath, tilting his head at you. “You just figured that out?”

Your heart stuttered. “You knew?”

Jay’s lips twitched—not in amusement, but in something softer, something almost… shy. “I had a feeling.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Jay shrugged, glancing down at his guitar. “I figured you’d realize it eventually.”

Your mind spun. You thought back to every late-night practice session, every lyric you had painstakingly written with him, every melody that had come so naturally between you. You thought about how easily the words had formed, how every note had fit perfectly.

And then it hit you.

This wasn’t just a song.

This was your song. Yours and Jay’s. A reflection of everything between you—the teasing, the late-night conversations, the moments you’d never dared to name.

It wasn’t a forced Valentine’s song. It was real.

And it was about him.

The announcer’s voice crackled through the mic. “Next up, we have a duet from two of our very own music majors. Give it up for—”

You barely heard the introduction. Your heart was hammering too loudly, your thoughts running too fast.

Jay stood, slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder. But before he could step forward, he turned to you, eyes searching yours.

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that said, We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.

But the thing was—you were ready.

Because now, standing here on the brink of something terrifying and real, you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t just about to sing a song.

You were about to tell Jay—in front of an entire audience—exactly how you felt.

Even if you hadn’t meant to.

Even if he already knew.

You took a deep breath, steadied your racing heart, and stepped onto the stage with him.

The last note hung in the air, trembling like a secret waiting to be spoken.

Then, silence.

For a split second, everything stood still—your hands gripping the mic, Jay’s fingers frozen on the last chord, your breaths coming fast and uneven. You could still feel the weight of the song between you, still hear the echoes of every word that had slipped past your lips.

Then the auditorium erupted.

Applause, whistles, cheers—loud and overwhelming. The sound crashed over you, breaking through the haze that had settled during the performance.

Your chest rose and fell, heartbeat still trying to catch up with everything that had just happened. Slowly, you turned to Jay.

He was already looking at you.

The stage lights painted him in gold, catching the softness in his gaze, the hint of something unspoken lingering in the way his fingers were still curled around his guitar.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then, Jay exhaled, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, eyes searching yours.

We did it.

You nodded.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Jay turned back toward the mic, running a hand through his hair before giving the audience a lopsided grin. “Well,” he said, voice slightly breathless. “That was fun.”

A few laughs rippled through the crowd.

You could still feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your mind spinning from everything—the song, the way Jay had looked at you, the way the lyrics felt too real.

The host walked back onstage, grinning as he clapped his hands. “Wow. That was… incredible.” He turned to you and Jay, eyes twinkling. “Now, I gotta ask—was that just a performance, or was that something real?”

Laughter and teasing whistles rang through the crowd. Your breath hitched.

Jay glanced at you.

The stage lights made it impossible to see the audience clearly, but you could feel every pair of eyes watching, waiting.

Jay hesitated for only a second. Then, with a smirk, he leaned toward the mic.

“I guess that’s up to interpretation.”

The crowd groaned in playful frustration, but Jay just chuckled, sending you a quick, unreadable glance before standing up and adjusting his guitar strap.

You huffed out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as the host ushered you both toward the wings.

The second you stepped offstage, the noise of the crowd muffled behind the curtain, a strange weight settled in your chest.

Jay stood beside you, shifting his guitar on his back. He didn’t say anything right away, just let out a quiet exhale before turning to you.

For a moment, it was just the two of you again. No audience. No stage. No expectations.

Just you, Jay, and the song that had said everything you hadn’t.

He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something.

But before he could, someone called his name from the other side of the curtain, and the moment slipped away.

Jay hesitated for half a second, gaze lingering on yours—like he was waiting. Like there was something unfinished between you.

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he gave you a nod.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you standing there—heart still pounding, lyrics still echoing in your head, and a quiet, unshakable feeling that whatever this was between you and Jay…

It was just beginning.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

It started slow.

Not because either of you were unsure—because, really, after that song, after that performance, there was no denying what had been brewing for a while between you two—but because neither of you wanted to ruin what was already there.

The playful banter, the late-night coffee runs, the way you always saved him a seat in class, the way he always texted you first whenever he found a song he knew you’d love.

So for a while, nothing changed.

At least, not obviously.

But then there were the small things. The little shifts that made it clear that something was different.

Like the way Jay’s arm would rest along the back of your chair a little longer than necessary. The way his fingers would brush against yours when he handed you a sheet of music, lingering just a second too long. The way his texts became softer—not that they weren’t teasing, because Jay would always be Jay—but now they came with an undertone of something more:

Jay:

Late-night practice? I’ll bring coffee.

Song idea. I need your genius input. Also, your voice.

Are we calling this “studying” even if we just end up talking the whole time?

(Not that I’m complaining.)

And then there were the moments between the music.

Like the first time he reached for your hand without a joke to hide behind. You had been sitting in the empty auditorium after a long practice session, your head leaning against the back of your chair, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs.

Jay had stretched, rolling out his shoulders, and then—without looking at you—he just took your hand.

No teasing smirk. No offhand comment. Just his fingers curling around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it was.

Or the time he had walked you home after another late-night coffee run, and instead of his usual casual “See you tomorrow”, he had hesitated at your doorstep, looking at you like he was thinking about something.

You had raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Jay had tilted his head, lips twitching in amusement. “Nothing,” he had murmured. “Just… realizing I might be in trouble.”

Your heart had flipped. “Trouble?”

“For liking you too much,” he had said easily. “Feels dangerous.”

And you had laughed—because of course Jay would confess something like that with a smirk and a joke—but you had still felt your face heat up.

(And okay, maybe you had reached for his hoodie, tugging him forward just enough to kiss him on the cheek before quickly ducking inside and shutting the door behind you.)

And then there was now.

Sitting in the music room, your back against the grand piano, Jay’s guitar resting across his lap as he absently strummed through a melody you hadn’t heard before.

You tilted your head. “New song?”

Jay hummed. “Maybe.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Another love song?”

He smirked but didn’t deny it. “What can I say? Got a lot of inspiration lately.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered anyway.

Jay’s fingers slowed over the strings as he glanced at you, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I don’t think I ever actually asked you.”

You frowned slightly. “Asked me what?”

Jay set his guitar aside, turning to face you fully. “If I can be your boyfriend.”

Your stomach flipped. “Jay—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted with a grin. “It’s kinda obvious at this point. But still.” His voice softened, eyes meeting yours. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You exhaled, shaking your head at him. Hopeless.

But still, you smiled, nudging his foot with yours. “Jay, you’ve been my boyfriend since the moment we wrote that song.”

His expression shifted—just slightly. Just enough for you to catch the flicker of something real in his eyes.

Then, in typical Jay fashion, he smirked. “Oh, so you’re admitting it was a love song?”

You groaned, laughing as you reached over to shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Jay caught your wrist before you could pull away, tugging you toward him. And before you could react, before you could even tease him for it—

He kissed you.

Soft. Unhurried. Just enough pressure to steal your breath, just enough warmth to send a slow, steady hum through your veins.

When he pulled back, he grinned, voice barely above a whisper.

“So, you wanna write another one?”

Series Taglist — next • prev

@saphiranishimurashan @elairah @baribaaari @m1kkso @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @manuosorioh @moontyun @mbsnow @taesanoreohair @tiny-shiny @glimmerinaaa

- If you weren’t tagged you need to fix your visibility!

[rvmanoffbarnes]

Lingered looks || Joseph Quinn x Actress Reader!

Summary: Joseph and you can feel the tension. What will happen if both of you listen to what the're feeling?

Warning: The next one shot contains explicit content and sex scenes. MDNI.

They say that the eyes say more than words.

Apparently, the gazes between me and Joseph meant something beyond words.

The tension between us could easily be cut with a knife. Joseph was just inches away from me as we walked to the hotel elevator. It had been a busy day after doing interviews for our new movie and meeting some fans.

The elevator doors greet us and Joseph gestures with his hand to let me through first. "After you," he says with a slight smile. I thank him and enter the space, followed by him. The doors close and silence envelops us. It's only a few seconds until the Brit decides to break it.

"Are you tired?" he asks me. I can only nod my head. "It was a lot for one day. Honestly, this is what i hate about being an actress," I joke.

He laughs at that.

"Are you tired?" I ask him, looking at his profile. He has a beard from days ago and I notice that his shaved hair is growing longer every day.

He grimaces and leans against the elevator wall. "I still have a little energy left," he admits, "I have to use it all up before I can let myself go to bed." I raise an eyebrow at his response.

Usually, I do the opposite, even if I have energy left, I decide to go to bed anyway. These last few days, stress has consumed my being, so I opt for the healthy decision of putting aside the activities I had planned for our day off. Tomorrow I would make sure to get as much sleep as possible before going back to work.

"What will you do to spend that energy?" I ask him curiously.

He seems to think about it for a few seconds before turning to look at me, at the same time the doors open.

"I'll see if something comes up" A smile sneaks across his face.

We leave the elevator and he walks next to me with his hands in his pants pockets until he leaves me at the door of the room where I am staying. I stop in front of it and take out the card so I can open the door and get inside to rest for the rest of the night. I keep the card in my hands and neither of us seem to move.

These days I have felt a palpable tension between us, which has only increased every day since we had to share more moments together between the two of us to make the chemistry of our characters much more real. Although I have worked with Joseph before, the director asked us to deepen our relationship so that the friendly connection we had would be reflected in the film. Now, of course, we had to have a couple chemistry. I didn't think beyond the topic; I was an actress and my job was to be able to bring those emotions to life and to the film. However, I have been hearing my heart race every time Joseph and the character he played approached me for a scene or in our daily routine together.

I was almost sure it happened to both of us.

I bite my inner cheek and smile at him.

"Okay. This is it," I say in an attempt to break the silence that surrounds us. Joseph looks at the door and then guides his gaze to me. He nods and licks his lips, leaning his shoulder against the wall.

"Yeah...." he says.

I don't know what I expect exactly. The only thing that is clear to me is that neither of us wants to say goodbye at all. His gaze persists on me and a shine appears in his brown orbits. Joseph clears his throat as if suddenly reacting. He straightens his posture and points to the door with his hand and then puts it back in his pocket. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it," he mentions, "Have a good night, (Y/N)."

I smile. Almost dissapointed. I wonder why.

"Goodnight, Joseph"

He starts to back away and then turns his back on me to walk to his room which is a few doors away from mine. Before I can enter, he turns around and says:

"If you need anything," he begins. I look at him feeling my heart stop for a second "you know where I am."

I swallow and nod my head.

"Same here"

He smiles and waves his hand goodbye. We both go into our respective rooms and I close the door, leaning my back against it. A sigh escapes my lips and my eyes close. Heat invades my cheeks and I run my hand over my forehead. I take my bag off my shoulder and leave it hanging on the coat rack on the wall. Not even 10 seconds pass after I do that and I already hear someone knocking on my door with three firm and urgent knocks.

I open the door and widen my eyes when I see Joseph with a serious expression, which when he sees me changes to one of desire and desperation.

"Actually I do need something" he says.

Before I can ask him what, he kisses my lips fiercely. He grabs my waist with his arms and I allow myself to react to wrap my arms around his neck. In an agile and quick movement he leans his body back, still hugging me, to close the door. He gently pushes me against the wall and explores my mouth with his tongue.

He breaks away for a brief moment to look me in the eyes. He has his dark, eager gaze, his mouth slightly open and then whispers: "I couldn't take this anymore," he admits with heavy breathing.

He brings a hand to my cheek and looks directly at me.

"Joseph..." I say in a whisper. I have a whirlwind of emotions after what just happened.

He shakes his head dejectedly.

"If you don't want me to continue, I'll stop now and go to my room," he says. "It all depends on you."

I lick my lips and take his hand that is on my cheek to slide it around my waist. I smile slightly at him and say:

"Who says I want to stop?" He growls and smiles.

That action I do allows him to continue devouring my mouth as if there were no tomorrow. He pins his body with mine against the wall and spreads my legs with his knee, rubbing his pants against my underwear-covered crotch, which is now a wet mess. It's incredible the ability he has to make me wet in such a short time, just with a fierce kiss. He slides his hands from my waist to my butt to knead it as he wants. This causes me to cry because of the delicious sensation and I cling much more to his body, the word distance disappears as soon as he decides to continue squeezing my cheeks to his liking.

"Mhm...." I moan, clutching at his shirt desperately. I feel ashamed to be in that state so quickly, but after months of tension on the verge, I honestly shouldn't care about it.

He smiles amused and sighs against my lips. "I know we're going too fast, but it's impossible not to enjoy your body and your lips like this," he admits agitatedly.

"Please, Joseph. Don't lie to yourself; we've been wanting this for months," I say firmly and sure of my answer, even though I'm agitated. "To hell with the wait."

Joseph reacts to my words and continues kissing my lips passionately. He lifts the skirt of my dress and massages my ass like he owns it. With more and more lack of control. I venture to unbutton the buttons of his shirt clumsily, but when I manage to do so, he steps away from me for a few seconds and, without taking his eyes off me, takes off his shirt in a hasty movement. This gives me time to start taking off my dress. I lower the strap on one shoulder and then the other, feeling cold as my tits are exposed. I'm not wearing a bra.

"Oh, darling..." he moans.

He takes my waist again and connects his lips with mine. He walks with me until he sits on the edge of the bed and watches me with puppy eyes.

"I want you" he says.

"Then take me," I say.

I settle into his lap and finish lowering the dress with his help. I feel it fall to the ground and I sit back down on Joseph's lap. He looks at me pleadingly for a moment.

"Can...?" He points to my body, to which I nod. The brown-haired man runs his hands slowly over my skin, enjoying the moment. I lean on his shoulders while I'm only wearing my panties. I start kissing his neck at the same time that Joseph raises his hand to my tit, playing with it, while the other holds my waist. I let out a moan, moving closer to him. My hips take on a life of their own and begin to move against his crotch. Joseph curses under his breath and grabs my hips to move them urgently on top of him.

"I need you to tell me if... oh, fuck...." he doesn't stop the movements of my hips on him "I need you to tell me if you want to do it soft or hard."

I lick my lips.

“Fuck me hard, please,” I whimper.

I can't stand the pressure that forms in my lower area. My panties feel so sticky I just want to rip them off. Joseph moans and begins to unbutton his pants, kissing my neck. I stretch it so he can taste my skin better.

I feel his pants and boxers fall to the floor. I look down and see how excited he is. I smile and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The tip of his member is red and dripping precum from the situation. Joseph looks me in the eyes and smiles amused. He lowers his gaze to my lips while with his fingers he moves my panties aside and begins to caress and spread my clitoris.

"So wet. Is it for me?" He asks and I move against his fingers. "Yes, Joseph," I say, throwing my head back. "Please... it's just for you."

Joseph chuckles softly. He inserts three fingers again and again until he sees that I am at his complete disposal. He removes them and I instantly miss the sensation. Joseph licks his fingers clean and I swear the action he does can't look any hotter. He closes his brown eyes and enjoy my taste.

"Delicious," he says with a grimace, "just as I imagined."

I groan when I see it.

He places his hand on my cheek. "Do you want me to take control or would you rather ride me?" ask. So gentlemanly and thoughtful of him. I think about it for a few seconds, but with a mischievous smile I answer: "I want to ride you"

Joseph chuckles.

He lays on the bed with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Go ahead, darling"

"I'm clean," I tell him.

"Me too" he smiles in a sincere tone.

And that's enough for me.

I lower my body until I feel his hard member at my entrance and without thinking twice I get into it. I let out a pleasant whimper at the new sensation and watch as Joseph's face is invaded by pleasure.

"Fuck" he groans.

He grabs my hips and begins to guide me with the movements. I rest my hands on Joseph's chest, feeling the small hairs brush against my fingers.

"Oh Joseph," I stifle a moan.

"That's right, beautiful, take all of me" he pushes his hips against mine.

The obscene sound of our bodies is confused with our moans throughout the room. I'm about to cum. I need a little more stimulation, so I take one of his hands that is imprisoning my hip and guide it to my tit. He seems to understand what I want, so he starts massaging it and playing with my nipple. "So beautiful... oh, god" he says.

I moan. This time i'm moving faster.

"Joseph... i'm gonna cum" i admit.

He barely nods with his eyes closed.

"Yes, beautiful, cum for me" he lifts his body a little and hits deep into my body

"I'm ready too." A few more seconds pass until the climax reaches us. "Fuck!"

I feel all his semen spread in me, at the same time that I cum on top of him.

"Oh god" I try to catch my breath and feel him take me by the waist and gently lay me down next to him. I hug him and he smiles at me, looking into my eyes.

"Hey"

"Hey..." I say with a smile.

The rooms smells like sex and the temperatures is increasing.

"That was... incredible," he mentions. I nod my head.

He caresses my cheek softly and tenderly. "I don't want you to think that this will be a one-night thing," he begins by saying seriously, "I really want to try it with you."

My heart races.

"Only if you want it too," he adds. I kiss him to answer him. Joseph corresponds to me, and as we part I tell him:

"I would love to try it, Joseph."

He smiles and kiss my forehead.

"Joseph?" I ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Did you waste that energy left?"

He laughs.

"Yeah. I did"

--------------------------------------------------

Hi! I hope u enjoy this one shot... i'm so bad writing smut.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

✨ New Patreon Upload! ✨

Hey everyone! I’ve just uploaded a new Jude fic on my Patreon, and you definitely don’t want to miss it!

Head over now to check it out and show some love! 🙌

📖 Link in bio! ✨ Let me know your thoughts after reading! 💬

Don't forget my fics now available for ONLY $3; don't miss your chance to catch up on all the exclusive content!

Silent Conversations

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — After living in Madrid for nearly a year, Jude's gotten the hang of spanish. So he never thought he’d have to learn a new language just to flirt with someone—until he meets you.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Jude Bellingham x Deaf!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 9.7k

Warnings! FLUFF!! Jude is kind of obsessed with you in the best way, lover boy, you're very adorable in this one, reader speaks but can't hear, reader can read lips,

Preview

********** Being deaf and a chatterbox is a contradiction that most people don’t know how to wrap their heads around.

But it’s who you are.

Since you can remember, you've always loved to talk—loved filling spaces with words, with thoughts, with laughter. Being deaf has never stopped you. If anything, it’s only made you more creative in how you communicate.

People underestimate how much talking you can do with your hands, how much personality you can pour into a single sign, a raised brow, a quick smirk. They think "talking" only means sound, that conversations without voices are somehow lesser, as if the absence of noise makes words any less real. You’ve spent your whole life proving them wrong.

And tonight is no different.

Your little brother practically vibrates with excitement next to you, hands flying as he signs about how insane the game was. He’s been a Real Madrid fan for as long as he’s been able to walk, and your parents had gone all out for his birthday—jerseys, meet&greet tickets, the whole experience.

So far, the night has been going well.

Your family has been cheering and chanting for Real Madrid alongside the thousands of other fans packed into the stadium, their voices blending into the electric hum of excitement that fills the air. The game has been nothing short of exhilarating, each pass, each near goal sending waves of emotion through the crowd.

Your hands ache from the number of times you’ve signed to your brother, asking for updates on what’s happening when the movements on the field become too chaotic to follow. He’s been patient, grinning as he translates key moments for you, his enthusiasm infectious.

When the final whistle blows, confirming Real Madrid’s victory, the stadium erupts into cheers. Your family is ecstatic, jumping to their feet and embracing one another in celebration. You smile, soaking in the energy, but exhaustion is already creeping in. The weight of tomorrow morning sits heavily on your shoulders.

You love nights like this—love the way your father’s face lights up after a good match, love the way your younger cousins beam with pride, shouting the players’ names like they know them personally—but you can’t afford to linger. Not when your boss expects you bright-eyed and fully alert at the crack of dawn.

You sigh, glancing at the time. If you leave now, you’ll get home at a decent hour, and maybe you'll get six hours in tonight. I should go, you sign to your brother.

He frowns. So soon?  

"I have work in the morning."  

He relays this to the rest of your family, and they groan in unison. Your mother reaches out, squeezing your arm in understanding. "Text us when you get home," you read on her lips.

You nod, exchanging quick hugs before making your way toward the exit.

The corridors are still crowded with lingering fans, some of them stopping to take pictures or rewatch highlights on their phones. You weave through them, emerging into the crisp night air just outside the stadium, and pull out your phone to call for an Uber.

Five minutes.

Not too bad.

You exhale, shoving your free hand into the pocket of your jacket as you make your way toward the designated pick-up area near the parking lot. Your feet ache slightly from standing for so long, and the cool breeze is a welcome relief after being surrounded by so much body heat. You scroll through your phone absentmindedly, debating whether to pass the time by answering a few messages or just watching the people around you.

That’s when you feel it.

A presence.

It’s subtle at first—a shift in the atmosphere, a slight prickling at the back of your neck. Then, footsteps. Slow. Unsteady.

You look up just in time to see him stumbling toward you.

The acrid scent of alcohol hits you first. It’s overpowering, the kind of stench that clings to a person’s skin and clothes, the kind that makes your stomach churn. He’s disheveled, his jacket slipping off one shoulder, his eyes unfocused. But there’s something sharp in the way he grins at you, something that immediately puts you on edge.

"Hey," he slurs.

Your grip tightens around your phone. You don't respond. Instead, you take a step back, angling your body away from him. But before you can put more distance between you, his hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength.

"I'm talking to you, you little bitch!"

Panic spikes through you like ice water.

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering as you instinctively jerk back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. Your hands move on their own, the motions quick, desperate. Leave me alone.  

The man’s face scrunches in confusion. "What? What are you doin' with your hands?"

You swallow hard, pulse racing. You try again, this time forcing yourself to speak, hoping the sounds come out right. "I can't hear you. I'm deaf."

His expression twists into something cruel. "Deaf?" He laughs, loud and mean. "You serious?" His grip tightens. "C'mon, don’t be like that. Just talk to me.I can show you a good time."

Your throat constricts. You shake your head quickly, signing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over, even though you know there’s nothing to apologize for. It’s just instinct. A plea for him to stop, to let go.

But he doesn’t. If anything, your silence only makes him angrier.

"Stop doin' that shit!" he snaps. "Just say something!"

Before you can react, before the panic fully settles into terror, a shadow moves behind him. Fast. Deliberate. A hand clamps down on his shoulder, yanking him backward with enough force that he nearly loses his balance.

"That’s enough, mate." The voice is low, firm. Unmistakably authoritative.

The drunk stumbles, blinking in confusion as he turns to face whoever pulled him away. And that’s when you see him.

Jude Bellingham.

He’s taller than you expected, broader too, his frame imposing even in casual clothes. His coils are damp, like he just stepped out of the showers, and there’s an undeniable exhaustion in his features—deep shadows under his eyes, a certain heaviness to the way he holds himself.

But none of that matters right now. Right now, his entire focus is on the man in front of him, his jaw tight with barely contained irritation.

The drunk sneers. "Who the fuck—"

"Walk away," Jude says flatly.

The man wobbles slightly, his mind struggling to catch up as he starts recognizes Jude. His eyes widen. "I was just—"

"I don’t care." Jude’s voice is sharper now, cutting through the drunken haze like a blade. "She’s not interested. Walk away."

There’s a moment of hesitation. A beat where the drunk seems to consider whether or not this is a fight worth picking. He glances between you and Jude, his lip curling in annoyance, before finally, begrudgingly, releasing a scoff.

"Whatever," he mutters, stumbling back. "Wasn’t even worth it."

You don’t breathe until he’s gone.

The moment he disappears into the crowd, your entire body sags, tension draining so quickly that your knees feel weak. You swallow, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to steady yourself.

Jude turns to you then, his brows knitting together in concern. "You alright?"

You nod automatically, even though you’re not entirely sure it’s true. Your hands tremble slightly as you sign, Thank you.

Jude watches your hands carefully, and your gaze shifts to his lips expecting him to say something next—to offer words you wouldn't be able to hear. Instead, he hesitates, then lifts his hands.

You… okay? The sign is clumsy, the movements stiff, but the effort makes your heart stop.

He had recognized what you were signing before. He had understood. you think.

You nodded, your throat tight with gratitude. He relaxed a little at your response, but still glanced around, protective. "You waiting on someone?" His lips move slower this time, giving you a chance to read them.

You nod again, holding up your phone. "Uber." The words come out in a bit of a slur but he understands them.

Jude frowns, looking at your screen. "Two minutes?"

He must have seen the time displayed on your phone because there’s no way he could’ve understood the tone of your nod. "Yeah."

The way he scowls in response makes you think that’s not an acceptable answer. His eyes shift, scanning the parking lot, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his mind. "Look, you want to wait inside? The security team can keep an eye on you till your Uber arrives."

His concern is sweet, and you find yourself nodding before you can think. "Okay. Thank you."

You let him lead you back to the main building, where there’s a security team waiting by the entrance. He explains your situation, and they offer you a smile. They won't let you stay inside the stadium since the game has already ended, but they’re willing to stand outside with you until your car arrives.

You nod in gratitude and wave a goodbye as Jude makes to leave. You expect him to keep going, to be on his way, but instead, he hesitates. For a second, he just looks at you, as if deciding something, but he shakes his head, offering a quick smile as he slips away into the night.

The security team stays with you the whole time. They make sure you’re safe and wave down your Uber when it arrives. You thank them and climb into your car, making your way home.

That’s it, you think. That’s where the story ends.

But it’s only the beginning.

**********

-Bianca🌻

[sad-girl-hours23]

All the Hours and Minutes In Between

For @bucktommyfluffebruary Day 9: Moving In Together

The commute to Harbor from Evan’s apartment is fifteen minutes shorter than it is from Tommy’s house. If they stay at Evan’s place the night before a shift, they get to have fifteen more minutes together: cuddles in bed, unhurried kisses, quiet conversations in the kitchen over cups of coffee.

It’s why most of the nights they’re together, they’re spent at Evan’s.

And while those fifteen minutes add up day after day, they only leave Tommy wanting more.

One morning, Evan stops Tommy on his way out the door. He hands Tommy the lasagna pan he used the week before when they had dinner at his house. The pan looks brand new and not at all how it looked in Tommy’s cabinet—of course it does—because Evan always leaves things better than he found them.

“You can keep it,” Tommy says. “I prefer your lasagna any day.”

Evan tilts his head and laughs quietly. “That’s sweet, but I already have four. I think I’m good.”

Tommy accepts the lasagna pan and a lingering kiss on his lips.

He spends the whole walk to his truck wondering why he feels so rejected.

∗∗∗

Tommy hasn’t been to his house in over a week. Evan’s schedule and his matched up perfectly and even though they wouldn’t have time or energy to do much more than eat and sleep between shifts, when Evan texted him: come over after work? Tommy did each time. And at the end of their work week, one date night somehow turned into three. 

They’re lying together, Evan squished between Tommy and the back of the couch, watching Pretty Woman when Tommy shivers. Evan holds him closer. “Do you want a hoodie? You left a few here.” “Yeah. Where are they?” Tommy moves to sit up, but Evan stops him.

“Stay. I’ll get it,” Evan says as he climbs over Tommy.

Tommy smiles as he watches Evan walk away. He wonders which one he’ll bring back: the one from the Muay Thai gym he goes to or any one of the alarming number of LAFD hoodies he owns. 

When Evan returns, he sets a laundry basket on the floor and picks out a navy hoodie that says Kinard on the back. He smiles sheepishly at Tommy. “I was—uh—doing laundry and found a bunch of your clothes so I threw them in with mine. Figured you might need them when you go home. You can just bring the basket back whenever.”

Tommy stares down at the full basket and can’t quite remember how or when he’d squirreled away so many articles of clothing, but he desperately wants to tell Evan to put them all back where he found them. He doesn’t even have a drawer of his own in Evan’s dresser but still he wants more, more, more .

Evan shifts his weight and clutches the hoodie to his chest. “Was that—okay?”

The hitch in Evan’s breath shakes Tommy out of his daze. He tugs at Evan’s shirt until he’s standing between Tommy’s legs. “That was very thoughtful of you, sweetheart.” 

A small smile tugs at Evan’s lips. Tommy kisses Evan until the light returns to his eyes and a soft blush settles on his cheeks.

Evan unfolds the hoodie. “Now put this on so we can start Runaway Bride . Lift up your arms.”

Tommy asks, “is this really necessary?” but he does as he’s told and lets Evan slide the hoodie over his arms and head.

After they’re back on the couch, Evan—curled against Tommy’s back—says, “I love taking care of you.”

Tommy places his hands over Evan’s, where they’re settled on Tommy’s stomach, and laces their fingers together. 

He really loves Evan taking care of him too.

∗∗∗

Tommy has to park in a space that couldn’t be further from Evan’s apartment, but it hardly fazes him anymore. Soon he’ll have Evan in his arms and it’ll be more than worth the trek.

When Evan opens the door, he frowns. “Did I forget we had plans?”

Tommy sighs and shakes his head.  “No, we didn’t. I just drove here after my shift out of habit. I wasn’t thinking.”

Evan smiles and opens the door the rest of the way. “Well you’re here now, so come in.”

Tommy takes off his shoes and lines them up next to Evan’s, drops his keys in the bowl right next to his. “Actually, that’s a lie.”

“What?”

“I said I wasn’t thinking, but that’s not true. Coming home to you—it’s all I can think about. It’s all I want to do. I want to wake up with you and go to bed with you. I want all the hours and minutes in between.”

“Tommy—”

“I don’t want you to send me back to my house with clean dishes and laundry.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want more than just a drawer in your dresser and a key to your place.”

Evan takes Tommy’s hand in his. Like so many times before, they’d gravitated toward each other without realizing it. “Babe. I really need you to spell this out for me.”

“I want to move in with you.”

Evan smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Tommy, I wanted you to move in with me six months ago.”

“Well, a lot has happened since then. I didn’t know if the offer still stood.”

Evan squeezes Tommy’s hand.  “It stands.”

Tommy sighs. “Okay. Good. Does that mean I can stay the night?”

“It means you can stay forever.”

Tommy places Evan’s hand over his heart, where it beats mercilessly against his ribcage. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Also on AO3

My Fluffebruary works collected here

[nightbeforethend]

how would each member of xdinary heroes react when you pick them up from a bar/restaurant and their drunk asf.

I imagine hanjun being quiet and reserved about pda sober but a drop of alcohol in him he becomes a koala, clinging to you and just giggling away

☆*･ﾟdrunk // xdinary heroes ﾟ･*☆

a/n: thank you for this request! I truly had way too much fun working on it and I hope you enjoy anon!

warning(s): drinking/drunk behaviors

want to request something? check this out

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gunil <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ absolutely shocked by the baddie he managed to pull by being a dork and having a funny laugh all the time but especially when he’s drunk

*ೃ༄ knows you’re coming to meet him and the guys at a restaurant after you leave another outing but he’s still stunned into silence when you walk in

*ೃ༄ granted he’s drunk out of his mind but still

*ೃ༄ the type to say some shit like “that’s mine right there” with a cocky smile on his face when he sees you walk into the restaurant like his red cheeks and ears aren’t giving away that he’s flustered and absolutely blasted

*ೃ༄ realizes once you don’t take the seat next to him that you’re there to pick him up now instead of hanging out

*ೃ༄ insists he’s fine just to convince you to stay when he knows damn well that he’s a drink and a half away from yacking all over the table

*ೃ༄ a bit stubborn just because he likes you babying him more than he’s willing to admit when he’s sober but it doesn’t take too much convincing to get him out of his seat and to your car

*ೃ༄ (silently a bit upset that jungsu and o.de carry him there for you like he doesn’t go to the gym almsot everyday. truly expects you to give him a piggy back ride like he doesn’t have one of the craziest sleeper builds known to man, god bless)

*ೃ༄ 9/10 experience overall

*ೃ༄ a pretty easy experience regardless of him yapping just to yap the entire way home

*ೃ༄ 7.5/10 depending on whether or not you having to stop the car a couple times so he could indeed yack on the side of the rode would get on your nerves or not

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jungsu <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ I truly don’t think that he’d be that bad

*ೃ༄ like at all

*ೃ༄ maybe a giggly drunk, red as hell from drinking entirely too much but he doesn’t give difficult drunk energy

*ೃ༄ except for the stubbornness that could come with it

*ೃ༄ my first thought is that one picture of jeonghan from seventeen having to get on his knees and beg dino to get in the taxi so they could get his drunk ass home

*ೃ༄ literally this

*ೃ༄ like he’s perfectly fine with leaving with you and he doesn’t even have a problem leaving the guys and following you to your car but the moment you go to open the passenger door for him his mouth falls open in shock because how dare you open the door for him when he can do it himself??

*ೃ༄ it’s enough to make him refuse to get in the car which is crazy because up until this point he’d been acting so normal that you thought the guys might’ve been joking about how much he had to drink

*ೃ༄ the easy solution should’ve been you closing the door and him opening it himself but of course it’s not that easy

*ೃ༄ you close the door? He opens it again. You try to guide him inside? Now he’s a statue. You threaten to leave him there? Suddenly, he’s a lawyer with a five-minute argument on why that would be a human rights violation

*ೃ༄ has the most crazy pout you’ve ever seen on his face when you finally get him in the car because he thinks you’re “manhandling” him (you barely even touched him, he just low key doesn’t even know how his own legs got him outside at this point, better yet how you got him in the car)

*ೃ༄ actually sits in silence for a solid three minutes after you start driving, only to suddenly hit you with a quiet “I could’ve driven” followed by the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen from him

*ೃ༄ absolutely will not let go of your hand on the way home though because he’s not about to lose out on a little physical affection even in the midst of his little drunk attitude

*ೃ༄ 6/10 experience because why the hell do you have to fight him from the time you picked him up to the time you got him in bed??

*ೃ༄ quickly becomes a 8.2/10 the next morning because he makes you breakfast and coffee the next morning despite his hangover simply because he feels bad

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> gaon/jiseok <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ huge believer in him being such a normal drunk human being. Like he’s still mostly sweet and harmless, but suddenly his fight-or-flight kicks in at the worst possible times

*ೃ༄ because when you show up to take him home, he does NOT recognize you

*ೃ༄ like at all

*ೃ༄ he’s squinting, tilting his head, looking you up and down like you’re some stranger trying to seduce him away from his very real, very loving partner (who is literally you even though he won’t believe you or anyone else trying to convince him of the fact)

*ೃ༄ keeps repeating “sorry, I’m in a relationship” in the nicest way possible because he doesn’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings but the fact that someone that could be your doppelgänger is trying to take him home is freaking him out so bad

*ೃ༄ you think he’s joking until he’s literally running away from you every time you physically try to get him to leave

*ೃ༄ why he thinks his loyalty is being tested is beyond you but having to chase this grown man through a crowded bar has you about ready to tell security that he’s causing a scene just to have someone else easily drag him outside

*ೃ༄ "Jiseok, get in the car!"

*ೃ༄ "I told you I’m in a relationship you freak” is his only response at this point and he means that shit

*ೃ༄ something finally clicks in his brain and makes him call you for some kind of help since his equally drunk friends weren’t helping and he’s beyond flabbergasted when he hears your phone start to ring in your purse

*ೃ༄ cue the slowest realization in human history

*ೃ༄ you can literally see the cogs in his brain starting back up

*ೃ༄ “Ohhh... that’s why you’re so pretty...”

*ೃ༄ absolutely devastated by his own actions immediately after

ೃ༄ like the 180 he pulls when he finally gets into the car and pouts the whole way home actually needs to be studied

*ೃ༄ 5/10 experience overall, only because of the chase

*ೃ༄ 7.5/10 if you found it funny

*ೃ༄ 9/10 if you got it on video to use against him later

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> o.de/seungmin <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ down atrociously bad for you in a very visual way while he’s sober just to act like the shyest, most love struck teenager that’s ever existed the moment he gets a drop of alcohol in him

*ೃ༄ like on a normal bases he’s not afraid to leave kisses all over your face as he’s calling you the love of his life in fifty different ways whether people are around or not

*ೃ༄ but the moment you approach him at the bar he’s avoiding eye contact like he barely knows you

*ೃ༄ crazy work for someone who called you himself three separate times to ask you to pick him up because he wanted to, in his own words, “cuddle you until you both became a single being like you’re two crystal gems in Steven Universe” but alas

*ೃ༄ he truly can’t bring himself to even hold your hand for longer than a few seconds at a time when you try to pull him out of the building and to your car

*ೃ༄ he’s redder than you’ve ever seen him because for some reason the alcohol has made him hyper aware to being perceived by others; especially the friends he’s been smooching you in front of way too much now for him to be this embarrassed

*ೃ༄ can stumble his way to your car on his own and literally doesn’t say a word until you’re both inside and he feels like you’re alone

*ೃ༄ literally sighs like he’s been holding in the world’s biggest secret as you pull away from the bar, immediately trying to bury his face in your neckline you stop at a light

*ೃ༄ “I didn’t think I’d ever be able to finally touch you… so many people around… do you think they noticed we’re a thing?

*ೃ༄ “you mean the friends you’ve kissed me on the mouth in front of on several occasions?? I think they know”

*ೃ༄ clings onto you like a koala bear the whole rest of the way home like he’s making up for the few minutes that he wasn’t all over you

*ೃ༄ 9.5/10 experience simply because witnessing what he’d be like if he ever cared about being perceived is extremely cute

*ೃ༄ half a point off because the energy he brings to the table while being uncharacteristically shy is a bit alarming

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> junhan/hyeongjun <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ The liquid courage that would run through this man after a night out needs to be studied

*ೃ༄ He gives the same drunk energy as me I fear (can drink like 5 cocktails, 6 shots, and two beers and there’s no personality difference outside of being extremely affectionate)

*ೃ༄ Like he’s fine, everything’s fine, he’s drunk as hell but he’s not a runner or an intoxicated mess so he’s truly just chilling when he suddenly remembers he has a partner that he NEEDS to be touching right now or he might die

*ೃ༄ and while he doesn’t look as fucked up as he is on the outside, he’s cancelling the uber he got to take him home and calling you to ask you to join them

*ೃ༄ you think he’s joking until gunil calls you to tell you that he’s indeed planted himself on the ground outside the club, sitting criss cross applesauce, waiting for you to get there

*ೃ༄ like he’s not even making a fuss or saying anything crazy

*ೃ༄ he just refuses to leave until he gets a kiss from you (you literally live together but alcohol will fuck up his logic and reasoning every time)

*ೃ༄ when you show up to pick him up he’s literally all over you before you can even speak

*ೃ༄ I’m talking arms wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe, kissing every inch of your face he can reach, lifting you off your feet just so he can spin you around type of touchy

*ೃ༄ not only does it spook the guys (who have never EVER seen him be this touchy with anyone) but also you, who had gotten used to never EVER doing more than holding hands in public

*ೃ༄ very willing to get in the car and go home after he’s gotten what he wanted

*ೃ༄ 8.8/10 experience only because you now have to deal with his homies making kissing noises at the two of you whenever they see you

(`·.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.-> jooyeon <-.¸¸.·´`·.¸¸.·´)

*ೃ༄ I fear he’s a runner

*ೃ༄ like the type to disappear, reappear while talking, reappear across the bar, and then by time you get to him he’s gone again

*ೃ༄ although he can’t sit still to save his life he’s surprisingly quiet

*ೃ༄ so you’re not shocked at all when you show up to the bar and spot Jooyeon alone on the patio with whatever pretty drink the bartender suggested and none of the other guys in sight

*ೃ༄ spots you coming and his eyes light up like he didn’t just see you right before he left earlier to go to the bar

*ೃ༄ not a drunk man of many words (surprisingly, considering that he’s one of the biggest sober yappers you know)

*ೃ༄ “took you long enough to get here” headass

*ೃ༄ literally chugs the rest of his drink, throws his arms around you, and you’re now stuck with him clinging onto you for the rest of the night

*ೃ༄ the yapping might go away temporarily but I fear the clinginess is forever

*ೃ༄ the actual pickup itself isn’t the hard part whatsoever once you get him to situate himself in one place

*ೃ༄ it’s after the car ride you’re concerned about, and rightfully so

*ೃ༄ 5.5/10 experience ONLY BECAUSE although I don’t see him being an insane drunk, he’d fall asleep the moment he heard the hum of the engine but now you have over a hundred pounds of dead weight to get upstairs to your apartment once you get home

[4lexnilsen]

alex doesn’t elaborate any further on his feelings,  but doesn’t completely barricade his heart either this time.   they’ve been through hell and back together tonight.   he’s put her through hell…   he can’t keep going like this,  doesn’t have the energy for it.   a small smile breaks across his features at the explanation,  his elbow gently bumping against her side as he teases,   “and there i was,  thinking it was meant for harry’s face.”   war and peace worked wonders,  though.   over a thousand pages and hardcover?   he wouldn’t be surprised if that big nose of his was broken,  after all.   “same.   i don’t find bars particularly interesting or stimulating so i always bring a book,”   he explains shyly,  seeing helena’s reaction and how it matches his own,  and feeling a sense of togetherness once more.   there’s a faint connection rekindling,  and it frightens him in a way.   he doesn’t deserve her.   he shouldn’t be feeling like this.   “i prefer cafes and bakeries over bars and clubs.   i’m boring like that.”   it’s something sarah said to him a while back,  and he can’t help but agree —   he isn’t the life of the party.

“well,  i feel very out of my element right now.   don’t look towards the pool table.   strange things happening over there,”   he laughs softly,  for the first time since they left the ice skating rink.   a look of surprise overtaking his features when she decides to trust him and takes his hand,  lengthy fingers curling around her own,  squeezing gently,  apologetically.   their surroundings are…   eerie,  to say the least.   and there’s so much cigarette smoke in the air that alex can barely breathe without coughing,  but he smiles at helena all the same.   “the only thing that actually does look great here,  and it tastes good,  too.”   he takes another sip,  letting the sweet,  fruity beverage linger a little longer on his tongue before swallowing.   he didn’t think it could be this delicious,  not in a place that looks like a drug den.   “i always say that virgin drinks taste way better than the spiked ones.   i mean,  who genuinely likes the taste of vodka or tequila or something?   gross.”   he grimaces,  licking some of the sugar off the rim.   

by the time he sets the glass back on the bar,  half of its contents is gone,  and his eyes are focused solely on helena.   watching with sheer fascination as she rummages through her kits and offering,   “can i help you take care of that cut?”   he reaches a hesitant hand out,  tucking the strands of hair that got pulled out of her braid behind her ear.   the bow is barely hanging on and so he carefully removes and places it on the counter in front of her.   “what’s that?”   he wonders,  taken aback by her kindness,  shaking his head because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it but turning to face her at the same time.   there are tears in his eyes again,  and if she asks,  he’ll blame them on the smoke but it’s just…   these little acts of kindness make his heart beat differently.   “why are you so good to me?”   he whispers,  pouting to expose the cut to her fingers.   “you know,  this is technically the second time you’re tending to my injuries.   hopefully,  there won’t be a third.”

did he really just go about admitting that? the words still rotating inside helena's mind at the fact he's turned another shade and she has to dwell on this drastic switch up. mind torn in even more conflicted places, she wonders how she's supposed to forgive him but obviously she can't discredit him for admitting the reasonings why he had to act like that towards her, but why did he have to at all? brows scrunched, dwelling while they're pulling up to the spot he picks. "it is a hammer. a mini one. i thought i'd need it for . . ." multi-purposes. "breaking a hole in the window?" or the door, if she really had to. "are you? so would i. if–– i actually went to bars more often." an awkward laugh, staring out her window, eyes growing sadder at the katy perry song that can provoke a lot of emotions whether one can relate or not.

once he leaves his side of the car, helena turns to reach back into the backseat of the mustang. taking her purple makeup bag AND first-aid kit box out from underneath the seat, shifting back around, the buckle clicks and her seatbelt flies off. flinching at the surprise of her door coming open, raven haired girl halts momentarily, brown eyes falling on his hand . . . gaping at it like it was a surreal thing and not just an offered hand.

eventually, after her brief pause, she moves and her feet touch the ground. taking the hand and standing up from her seat, "thanks." smiling in surprise, she'll definitely have to take care of his lip, hopefully something will be in her box. "wow, check out this place." glancing around her surroundings, certainly nothing she's ever been used to. her dad would be furious right now. some suspicious looking burly men in each corner, crass women over by the pool table, she quickly looks away from when the motorcycle biker guy behind her has his hands all over her and helena's eyesight goes right to it. setting up her work station once alex helps her sit, opening the first aid kit and makeup box, she's digging into the first aid when the drinks are placed down. surprisingly appearing delicious. "that looks really good." eagerly taking it, before pausing, is she really trusting they didn't put something in her drink though? hardly . . . but what's one more risk tonight. "yeah, WHAT a night." the strawberry flavor easily becomes addicting so she's taking another sip before pausing on it for a bit. "your lip could definitely use some of this." pulling out the neosporin lip ointment, squeezing some onto her finger tip, "here." helena announces, waiting for him to turn towards her.

[hestzhyen]

"Geniuses" in Kagurabachi

We have three different kinds of "geniuses" in the series so far. It's causing some bullshit buzz about "talent" overriding hard work too, sadly. Each character has a different take on the concept, so let's take a short look since I'm going to have this in my notes anyway...

Chihiro

Type: Mimicry

The chapter that added Chihiro to a dozen bad faith "Talent vs. Hard Work" comparison charts.

All these takes about Chihiro having "natural talent" that doesn't require him to work hard to master fighting drive me nuts. At best he's got a significant leg up thanks to all the time he spent with his dad in the forge, nothing to do with whacking dummies and seeing Samura do a clean slice once.

Once again: Chihiro is not using some secret super special ability to copy Samura and neither was Kunishige when he was forging the Enchanted Blades. Both the father and son have a natural talent for observing minute details others miss, and both used it on a near-daily basis for many years.

It's the kind of skill that can apply to many different situations outside of where it was used most (forging blades in their case). So yeah, Chihiro's good at picking things up after seeing them once. But that doesn't mean he's suddenly competent at the skills he's copying. He still needs to train to hold his own against people with experience!

But oh yeah. Chihiro did train. He even eschewed resting to get that training, and after all that he's still not confident in his skill. He knows he's still got a long way to go.

Not a guy who's suddenly mastered the blade.

Also, if Uruha hadn't given Chihiro a primer on how the style worked (dumping spirit energy into "kata" [型 basically, a proper "form"]), he probably wouldn't have been able to actually to the Iai move in the first place. So the type of genius that Chihiro has is "mimicry" if anything. He notices everything he needs to start using someone else's technique if they explain the esoteric bits and can start to practice it.

If Chihiro really was naturally adept at swordfighting instead of applying this mimicry ability to it, he'd be a lot more like a certain someone who fully relies on intuition. But he's just a smart guy using a talent he cultivated for about a decade on becoming a better fighter. Still a genius, but not in a way that erases his need to work hard for mastery.

Hakuri

Type: Rare Gift

He IS the special boy after all!

Hakuri is pretty straightforward. He's an incredibly rare talent who was born with the ability to use two different kinds of sorcery in a world where most people can only use one. The first of his kind in his family since the Sazanami Patriarch started the clan over 200 years ago, and the first one Shiba's ever seen.

The storehouse sorcery in particular seems to be special due to it's "heretical" nature (which we still don't have context on). It's so rare that it gets passed down from Patriarch to Patriarch through a ritual instead of through natural inheritance like Isou, and did not reappear once until Hakuri was born.

But he's not at all overpowered after going from zero to hero...

Poor guy.

Much like Chihiro, just because Hakuri has unlocked his potential doesn't mean he's suddenly going to solo everyone he fights. He's pushed himself much too far after his ascension and now might lose his sorcery forever. This probably won't happen for many narrative reasons, but he's still very much out of commission for the foreseeable future.

His capacity limitations will probably be around to keep him in check even as he trains. We still have a lot to learn about how Hakuri's unique situation is handled in terms of allocating his power, but he's quite limited right now- especially when using the storehouse powers. Connecting to the subspace is what taxes him the most (Kyora did remark that it's "incredibly diffcult" to do) so we probably won't see him teleporting things around and dropping anvils on folks between Isou blasts any time soon. Would be rad as hell though.

He's also got to get used to combat. He had four years of foundational training that all Sazanamis get to circulate sorcery within their bodies, but Hakuri's far more used to being a punching bag than actually holding his own in a fight. He's not a total beginner but he's still got a lot to learn most likely. At least he's already used to pain and bloody violence thanks to his family...?

I love him so much, please let him come back to the story soon.

But anyway. Hakuri, the boy with a Rare Gift. Once he gets back in the story and learns how to use them, he'll be quite the formidable sorcerer.

Hiruhiko

Type: Natural Talent

And then there's THIS guy.

Anyone who wants to complain about "talent vs. hard work" needs to take a look at Hiruhiko and start shoving him in those stupid charts instead of Chihiro. This guy was a top-class sorcerer and is now going to learn how to fight with a sword through instinct. Seriously, this is the type of "genius" that so many people complain about most of the time- he picks up a sword and a few swings later he's beating a master of a style that was passed down for 150 years. Head empty, no training, just pure intuition.

And the worst part is, John's free-wheeling approach to Hiruhiko's growth is working. His precious little boy is actually figuring things out by feel like he said he would and will now challenge Chihiro, someone who's using a proper form and style with some practice under his belt... and in all likelihood win or force a draw.

Her fears were unfounded.

I get not wanting to have extended training arcs -appreciate it even- but if this type of genius was given to make Hiruhiko more hateable then good job on the author's part. I'm not really one to complain about geniuses who figure things out on their own through trial and error (I'd have a hard time being an anime/manga fan if I was) but Hiruhiko could stand to be humbled again. Please let him lose his arms again or something.

He's the newest so we've still got more to see from him and how far his improvised techniques will take him. For now though he seems poised to be Chihiro's equal in sword combat already. Fucker.

This page turn gnaws at my brain almost as much as Chihiro and Hakuri sharing snacks and Chihiro wanting to be Hakuri's samurai does.

Anyway, those are Kagurabachi's three geniuses who are supposed to be "equals" through different methods. One swordsman, one sorcerer, one sorcerer turned swordsman. Two 18 year-olds and one 17 year-old. Two who need to work hard despite their talents, one who can just do whatever wants. Two steeped in violence practically from birth and one who chose it later. All killers before their 18th birthdays. All gifted in different ways so we can skip extended training arcs.