#and i can go back and adjust things as need be

[gottencents]

CAUSAL - Yu Jimin

pairing. mean girl!karina x star soccer player!reader

synopsis. at Changryeo University, Yu Jimin or just Karina is the ultimate “mean rich girl” — popular, wealthy, and always seeking ways to stay on top. After setting her sights on Sunghoon, the charming soccer captain, Karina shifts her focus to Y/N, an up-and-coming soccer star with an unexpected breakout season. Unlike the polished Sunghoon, Y/N is more of an outsider who got by on talent but doesn’t fit the typical college elite mold.

Realizing that Y/N is the only one who doesn’t care about the social hierarchy, Karina proposes a deal: they’ll fake date so Karina can boost her popularity, while Y/N gets protection from relentless attention. Reluctantly, Y/N agrees, and the two navigate a world of social manipulation, only to find that their fake relationship might lead to something more real than either expected.

Changryeo University was everything Y/N despised about high school, except on steroids. The social hierarchy was alive and thriving, fueled by wealth, good looks, and the kind of academic and athletic achievements that could only be purchased or inherited. Y/N, on the other hand, had gotten in on her soccer skills alone. And while she was proud of her co-captain status, it came with one massive downside—people were starting to notice her.

One of those people was Karina Yu .

Karina was the embodiment of every “mean rich girl” stereotype that Y/N had tried to avoid. She was the queen of Changryeo’s social pyramid, the head cheerleader, and the reigning queen bee. The worst part? Karina wasn’t just popular. She was strategic. Every move she made was calculated, designed to keep her at the top.

So when Y/N walked into the campus coffee shop one afternoon and saw Karina waiting for her with a smile that could freeze fire, she immediately knew something was up.

“Y/N,” Karina said smoothly, her manicured nails tapping on the table in front of her. “Sit.”

Y/N sighed. “What do you want, Karina? I’m kind of busy.”

Karina tilted her head, giving her an incredulous look. “Busy doing what? Pretending to ignore the fact that you’re the most talked-about soccer player on campus right now?”

Y/N frowned, adjusting the strap of her soccer bag. “I’m just trying to focus on my grades and practice. I don’t really care about all… this.” She gestured vaguely to the bustling café, full of students whispering and staring.

Karina smirked. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. You can’t just ‘not care.’ You’re part of this world now, whether you like it or not.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And let me guess—you’re here to welcome me to the ‘world’ with some sort of deal?”

Karina’s smile widened. “Exactly. I knew you weren’t as slow as you pretend to be.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Here’s the thing, Y/N. I need someone who can keep my social status intact until graduation. Someone who’s popular enough to keep people talking but also low-maintenance enough that I don’t have to babysit them. You, unfortunately, check both boxes.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait… what?”

Karina sighed, as if she were explaining something painfully obvious. “Fake date me. You get everyone off your back—because trust me, no one messes with what I call dibs on—and I get to ride your… what do they call it? Soccer hype?”

Y/N stared at her, trying to process what she was hearing. “You want me to pretend to date you? For popularity?”

Karina rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get to focus on your precious soccer and grades, and I stay on top where I belong. Everyone wins.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “Except I don’t care about popularity, Karina. And I’m not sure why you’re even interested in me. I’m not exactly your type.”

Karina’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “That’s exactly why you’re perfect. You don’t care about any of this. You’re not going to embarrass me by trying too hard or starting drama. And honestly? People love an underdog. It’s… charming.”

Y/N scoffed. “Charming? You’ve spent the past two years pretending I don’t exist.”

Karina shrugged. “I didn’t need you then. Now I do.” She leaned back, crossing her legs. “Look, you can say no. But I guarantee the attention you’re getting right now? It’s only going to get worse. And when people start digging into your past or spreading rumors about you…” She trailed off, her expression smug. “Well, let’s just say it’s easier to let me handle it.”

Y/N hesitated. She hated everything about this. But she also hated the constant whispers, the stares, and the endless stream of people trying to insert themselves into her life. As much as she wanted to tell Karina to take her offer and shove it, she couldn’t deny that it would be easier to let the queen of the social ladder scare everyone off.

“Fine,” Y/N said finally. “But I have a few conditions.”

Karina raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? Do tell.”

“One,” Y/N said, holding up a finger, “this ends the second I don’t need it anymore. Two, you don’t get to micromanage my life outside of this… whatever this is. And three, you don’t get to pull any of your mean girl crap on me. Got it?”

Karina’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. I’m always nice to my significant others.” She extended a hand. “Deal?”

Y/N stared at her for a moment before reluctantly shaking her hand. “Deal.”

As Y/N walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life. Karina, meanwhile, watched her go with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Karina murmured to herself, already planning her next move.

Y/N left the café feeling like she’d just signed a deal with the devil. What had she gotten herself into? Fake dating Karina Yoo? The girl who practically ruled Changryeo University with an iron fist wrapped in designer gloves? It sounded insane.

The next day, Y/N started to see the consequences of her decision almost immediately. She was walking to class when she noticed people whispering and pointing at her. Some of the cheerleaders giggled as she passed, and a group of guys from the basketball team gave her an approving nod.

Y/N sighed, pulling her hoodie up in an attempt to block out the attention. But just as she thought she’d make it to class unnoticed, she heard the sharp click of heels behind her.

“Y/N!” Karina’s voice rang out, cutting through the crowd like a knife.

Y/N froze. Here we go.

Karina strutted toward her like she was walking a runway, her designer bag swinging at her side. She was dressed to perfection, as always, in a tailored outfit that probably cost more than Y/N’s tuition.

Karina stopped right in front of her, giving her a radiant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You were just going to class without me? What kind of fake girlfriend are you?”

Y/N blinked. “I—what?”

Karina sighed dramatically, looping her arm through Y/N’s before she could protest. “We’re supposed to sell this, remember? People are watching.”

Y/N glanced around and realized Karina was right. Half the students in the courtyard were staring at them, some openly gaping, others whispering behind their hands.

“Fine,” Y/N muttered, awkwardly adjusting to the sudden closeness. “But could you maybe not treat me like a handbag?”

Karina laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re not a handbag, Y/N. You’re an accessory. There’s a difference.”

Y/N groaned. “This is going to be a long semester.”

Later that day, the two of them walked into the dining hall together, and Y/N instantly regretted agreeing to this arrangement. The room went silent the moment they entered, and all eyes turned to them.

Karina didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, she seemed to thrive under the attention, walking with her head held high and a confident smile on her face. Y/N, on the other hand, wanted to disappear into the floor.

They made their way to a table where Winter and Ningning were already sitting. Winter raised an eyebrow as they approached, her expression somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“Wow,” Winter said as they sat down. “So it’s true. The queen of Changryeo has a new trophy.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Please don’t start.”

Karina, however, looked completely unbothered. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and smirked at Winter. “Jealous?”

Ningning snickered, nudging Winter. “I think she’s just surprised. Everyone is. Y/N doesn’t exactly scream ‘Karina’s type.’”

“Hey,” Y/N protested. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Winter shrugged. “You’re not… polished. No offense.”

“None taken,” Y/N muttered.

Karina leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs. “Y/N is refreshing. She’s not trying too hard to impress me, unlike certain people.” She gave Winter a pointed look, and Winter rolled her eyes.

“This is going to be fun to watch,” Ningning said, her grin widening. “You two are so different it’s almost funny.”

“Almost?” Karina asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. It’s hilarious,” Ningning admitted.

Y/N groaned again, slumping in her seat. “This was a mistake.”

Karina reached over and patted her hand in an overly dramatic gesture. “Oh, sweetie. It’s not a mistake. It’s an opportunity. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Winter and Ningning burst into laughter, and Y/N could only sit there, wondering how she was going to survive the rest of the semester with Karina Yoo as her fake girlfriend.

Meanwhile…

Karina was already planning their next big “date.” She knew Y/N wasn’t going to make this easy, but that only made it more interesting. Y/N wasn’t like the others—she didn’t care about status or appearances, which made her unpredictable.

For Karina, it wasn’t just about maintaining her social status anymore. There was something about Y/N’s unwillingness to play by the rules that intrigued her. Maybe this arrangement would end up being more fun than she’d originally thought.

But for Y/N, this was already a nightmare. The attention, the whispers, the constant proximity to Karina—it was overwhelming. All she wanted was to get through college quietly and focus on her future. But now, thanks to Karina’s scheme, she was front and center in the social spotlight.

And whether she liked it or not, there was no turning back now.

Y/N was convinced she was cursed. It was the only explanation for why her life had spiraled into this chaotic mess. Before the fake dating arrangement, she was invisible—just a girl who played soccer and tried to keep her head down. But now, every step she took was met with stares, whispers, and the occasional wide-eyed double-take.

Even her teammates had started treating her differently.

At practice the next day, Y/N barely had time to put her cleats on before her co-captain, Sunghoon, jogged over, smirking.

“Y/N,” he said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “So, you and Karina Yoo, huh?”

Y/N groaned, already dreading the conversation. “Don’t start, Sunghoon.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he teased. “You’re dating the most popular girl on campus. You’re practically royalty now.”

“She’s not really my girlfriend,” Y/N muttered under her breath, lacing up her cleats.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sunghoon said, grinning. “You know she’s sitting in the bleachers right now, right?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “What?”

He pointed over to the stands, where Karina was lounging in her designer coat, her legs crossed as if she were attending a fashion show instead of a soccer practice. She was scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious to the curious glances from the rest of the team.

Y/N marched over to the bleachers, her heart pounding. “Karina!” she called, trying to keep her voice low enough so the entire team wouldn’t hear. “What are you doing here?”

Karina looked up, smiling innocently. “Watching my girlfriend practice, of course. Isn’t that what supportive partners do?”

Y/N resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. “You didn’t have to come. This is just practice.”

Karina tilted her head, pretending to be hurt. “Are you embarrassed of me?”

“Yes,” Y/N said immediately. “I mean, no! I mean—ugh.” She ran a hand through her hair, already regretting her decision to agree to this arrangement.

“Relax,” Karina said, waving her off. “I’m just here to make sure the other girls on your team don’t get any ideas. Can’t have them thinking you’re single, now can we?”

Y/N groaned. “Karina, no one on this team thinks that—”

“Y/N! Who’s your friend?” one of her teammates called from the field, cutting her off.

Karina turned and waved, flashing a dazzling smile. “Hi! I’m her girlfriend.”

Y/N could feel her teammates’ collective jaws drop.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Later that day…

After practice, Y/N trudged into the dining hall, fully prepared to eat her dinner in peace. Unfortunately, peace wasn’t on the menu.

Karina was already sitting at their usual table with Winter and Ningning. She waved Y/N over as soon as she walked in, her smile bright and attention-grabbing.

Y/N reluctantly joined them, sliding into the seat next to Karina. She immediately noticed the looks from other students in the dining hall. Some were staring openly, others whispering behind their hands.

“Everyone’s staring,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“Of course they are,” Karina said, flipping her hair. “We’re Changryeo’s new power couple.”

“We’re not a couple,” Y/N said quietly, picking at her food.

Ningning leaned forward, grinning. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N. Karina is selling this so well it’s practically an Oscar-winning performance.”

Winter snorted. “I’ll give it to her—she’s committed. But Y/N? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Y/N sighed, slumping in her seat. “That’s because I would be.”

Karina reached over and patted her hand, her touch light but deliberate. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re doing great. And for the record, you’re lucky to have me as your fake girlfriend. Most people would kill for this opportunity.”

“Most people don’t have to deal with you,” Y/N shot back, unable to stop herself.

Winter and Ningning burst out laughing, and even Karina cracked a smile.

“You’re lucky I find your sass endearing,” Karina said, leaning back in her seat with a smirk.

A few weeks later…

The fake dating arrangement had started to feel like a full-time job. Karina was everywhere—showing up to Y/N’s practices, dragging her to parties, and insisting on coordinating outfits for their “dates.”

But the weirdest part? Y/N was starting to get used to it.

Karina was still Karina—bossy, overconfident, and annoyingly good at getting her way. But every now and then, Y/N caught glimpses of something deeper. Like the way Karina would soften when talking about her younger sister, or how she’d quietly help out a classmate who was struggling without making a big deal about it.

It didn’t make her any less infuriating, but it did make her… interesting.

One night, after yet another party where Karina had spent most of the time pretending to be the perfect girlfriend, Y/N finally spoke up.

“Why are you doing all this?” Y/N asked as they walked back to their dorms.

Karina glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“This whole fake dating thing,” Y/N said. “You’re already popular. You don’t need me to stay on top.”

Karina was quiet for a moment, which was rare for her. Then she shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Maybe I just like having someone around who doesn’t kiss up to me.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You… like having me around?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Karina said, smirking. “You’re tolerable. That’s all.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Karina smiled, and for once, it wasn’t calculated or forced. It was just… genuine.

Over the next month, the lines between their fake relationship and reality began to blur in ways Y/N hadn’t anticipated. Karina was still annoyingly bossy and dramatic, but Y/N couldn’t deny that she was also surprisingly attentive. She remembered little things, like Y/N’s coffee order or how she hated when her cleats weren’t broken in yet.

Y/N, for her part, started to see sides of Karina that no one else seemed to notice. Like how she’d subtly steer conversations away from Winter’s nervous stuttering in class presentations or how she always brought snacks for Ningning, claiming it was “just in case” but always ended up handing them over.

And then there were the moments when Karina’s carefully constructed mask slipped entirely. Like the night of the big soccer game against their school’s rival, where everything changed.

Game Night

The stadium was packed, buzzing with energy as Changryeo prepared to face its fiercest rival. Y/N felt the weight of the crowd’s expectations as she warmed up on the field. Being co-captain was no joke, and all eyes were on her to deliver.

Karina was there, of course, perched in the VIP section with Winter and Ningning. She was decked out in Changryeo colors, her designer coat somehow perfectly matching the school’s logo. She looked like she belonged on a billboard, not in the stands of a college soccer game.

But even from the field, Y/N could feel her presence. Karina’s gaze was sharp, focused entirely on her.

As the game began, Y/N threw herself into it, blocking out everything but the ball, her teammates, and the roaring crowd. By halftime, they were tied 1-1, and the pressure was mounting.

In the locker room, Y/N sat on the bench, trying to catch her breath. Sunghoon clapped her on the back. “You’re doing great out there. Just keep your head in the game.”

“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, wiping sweat from her face.

But her focus was shaken as soon as she stepped back onto the field. The rival team’s captain, a cocky player named Minjae, smirked as he jogged past her.

“Your girlfriend’s got the whole stadium staring,” Minjae said with a sneer. “Must be nice having the queen of Changryeo cheering you on.”

Y/N gritted her teeth. She knew he was trying to get in her head, but it still worked.

By the time the second half ended, the score was still tied, and they were headed into overtime. The tension was palpable.

As Y/N lined up for a crucial penalty kick, she glanced at the stands and locked eyes with Karina. Karina gave her a small nod, her expression serious for once.

“You’ve got this,” Karina mouthed.

Y/N took a deep breath and focused. The world seemed to slow as she approached the ball, her foot connecting perfectly. The stadium erupted as the ball sailed into the net, securing their victory.

Post-Game

After the game, Y/N was mobbed by her teammates and the crowd. She barely had time to breathe before Karina appeared, pushing through the chaos like it was nothing.

“There’s my star player,” Karina said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

Before Y/N could respond, Karina grabbed her face and kissed her.

The crowd went wild.

Y/N froze, her brain short-circuiting. When Karina finally pulled back, she smirked. “You looked like you needed some motivation out there.”

Y/N blinked, still processing. “Motivation? I just won the game.”

“Exactly,” Karina said, flipping her hair. “You’re welcome.”

Winter and Ningning appeared behind her, both grinning like they were enjoying the show way too much.

“Wow, Karina really went all in,” Winter said.

“I’m living for this drama,” Ningning added.

Y/N groaned. “You guys are the worst.”

Karina, however, looked entirely unbothered. She leaned closer, her voice dropping so only Y/N could hear. “Relax. You’re a hero now. Everyone’s going to be talking about this for weeks.”

Y/N glanced at her, a mix of exasperation and something she couldn’t quite name. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep agreeing to my plans,” Karina said, smirking.

As the night went on and the celebrations continued, Y/N found herself smiling despite the chaos. Maybe this whole fake dating thing wasn’t as fake as she’d thought.

Later That Night

Back at their dorms, Y/N sat on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Karina was perched on the armrest, scrolling through her phone.

“You didn’t have to kiss me, you know,” Y/N said suddenly.

Karina glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “It worked, didn’t it? The crowd loved it. You’re basically a legend now.”

Y/N shook her head. “That’s not the point. You keep doing all this stuff like it’s some kind of game.”

Karina’s expression softened, just for a moment. “It’s not a game,” she said quietly.

Y/N turned to look at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. “Then what is it?”

Karina hesitated, her walls cracking just enough for Y/N to see something real beneath them. “It’s… complicated.”

Y/N studied her, realizing for the first time that maybe Karina wasn’t as confident and untouchable as she seemed.

“Complicated, huh?” Y/N said, her voice soft.

Karina gave her a small, almost shy smile. “Don’t overthink it. Just… go with it.”

For once, Y/N decided not to argue.

“Alright,” she said. “But if you pull another stunt like that in public, I’m kicking your ass.”

Karina laughed, and the sound was lighter than Y/N had ever heard. “Deal.”

And for the first time since this whole thing started, Y/N felt like maybe, just maybe, they were onto something real.

The Morning After the Game

Y/N woke up the next morning to chaos. Her phone was blowing up with notifications—texts, Instagram tags, even a few congratulatory emails from professors who were clearly too invested in Changryeo sports. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as she scrolled through the messages.

Her teammates had turned the group chat into a full-on meme fest. Screenshots of Karina’s dramatic kiss at the game were plastered everywhere, complete with captions like “Changryeo’s new power couple” and “Karina really said, ‘My girlfriend won the game.’”

Just as Y/N was about to bury her face back into her pillow, there was a knock at her door.

She opened it to find Karina standing there, holding two cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

“Good morning, star player,” Karina said with a smirk, pushing her way into the room without waiting for an invitation. She set the coffee and bag on Y/N’s desk before sitting on the edge of her bed like she owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked, still half-asleep.

“Damage control,” Karina said, scrolling through her phone. “Your PR image is my responsibility now, remember?”

Y/N blinked. “PR image? What are you talking about?”

Karina rolled her eyes, turning her phone to show Y/N the flood of posts on social media. The school’s official athletics account had reposted a photo of their kiss, and the comments were a mix of admiration, jokes, and speculation.

“Karina Yoo kissing Y/N on the field after the game? Iconic.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Y/N gets swept up by Changryeo’s queen bee.”

“Plot twist: Karina’s actually soft for her.”

“I thought Karina only cared about status. Maybe this is real???”

Y/N groaned, sinking onto her bed. “This is a nightmare.”

“It’s a dream,” Karina corrected, sipping her coffee. “The PR is gold. You’re officially untouchable now.”

“I didn’t ask to be untouchable,” Y/N said, rubbing her temples.

Karina tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “You didn’t have to ask. That’s what I’m here for.”

Y/N looked at her, trying to figure out if Karina was joking. But her tone was serious, and for once, there wasn’t a trace of her usual sarcasm.

“Thanks… I guess,” Y/N said awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” Karina said, waving her off. Then, as if remembering something, she added, “Oh, and don’t forget—we’re going to that party tonight.”

“What party?”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “The victory party, obviously. The soccer team’s throwing it, and as your girlfriend, I have to be there.”

Y/N sighed. “Do I have a choice in this?”

“No,” Karina said with a smug smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

“Gee, thanks,” Y/N muttered.

The Party

That night, the victory party was in full swing by the time Y/N and Karina arrived. The team had rented out one of the biggest event spaces on campus, and the room was packed with students. Music blasted from the speakers, and the energy was electric.

As soon as they walked in, all eyes turned to them. Y/N felt her shoulders tense under the weight of the stares, but Karina didn’t seem fazed at all. She grabbed Y/N’s hand, lacing their fingers together as she led her through the crowd.

“You’re doing great,” Karina whispered, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but didn’t pull away.

They joined Sunghoon and the rest of the soccer team near the bar, where Winter and Ningning were already waiting with drinks in hand.

“Well, well,” Winter said, raising her glass. “If it isn’t the couple of the century.”

Ningning grinned, nudging Y/N. “You look so uncomfortable. It’s adorable.”

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” Y/N muttered.

Karina, however, was in her element. She charmed the team effortlessly, laughing at their jokes and pretending to be genuinely interested in their stories. Y/N couldn’t tell if it was an act or if Karina was just naturally good at winning people over.

At one point, Sunghoon leaned over to Y/N, his voice low. “She’s really something, huh?”

Y/N glanced at Karina, who was animatedly telling a story to the rest of the group. She was gesturing wildly, her face lit up in a way that made it hard to look away.

“Yeah,” Y/N said softly. “She really is.”

Later That Night

As the party wound down, Karina and Y/N found themselves sitting on the steps outside the event space. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the chaos inside.

Karina leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the stars. “You survived your first official event as my girlfriend. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted,” Y/N said honestly.

Karina laughed, her voice soft and melodic. “You’ll get used to it.”

Y/N studied her for a moment, the glow of the streetlights casting shadows across her face. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“Being… you,” Y/N said. “Always in the spotlight, always being perfect for everyone.”

Karina was quiet for a moment, her confident facade slipping just enough for Y/N to see the vulnerability underneath.

“Sometimes,” Karina admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s the only thing I know how to do.”

Y/N frowned. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know. You’re allowed to just… be yourself.”

Karina turned to look at her, her expression unreadable. “And what if I don’t know who that is?”

Y/N hesitated, then reached over and took her hand. “Then maybe it’s time you figured it out.”

Karina stared at her, and for once, she didn’t have a clever comeback.

The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, and for the first time, Y/N felt like she was finally seeing the real Karina—the one who hid behind all the glitz and glamour.

Life didn’t slow down after the victory party. If anything, it picked up speed. The school was abuzz with gossip about Y/N and Karina’s “relationship.” Everywhere Y/N went, people whispered or stared. Some congratulated her on her game-winning goal, but most wanted to talk about Karina.

“So, is it real?”

“How did you even bag Karina ?”

“Are you two, like, for real-for real?”

Y/N tried to dodge the questions, but Karina seemed to thrive on the attention. She’d casually wrap an arm around Y/N’s shoulder in the cafeteria or bring her a coffee in the middle of class, always with a knowing smirk. It was like a game to her—a game Y/N wasn’t entirely sure she was winning.

By the end of the week, Y/N was exhausted. She trudged into her dorm room after soccer practice, still sweaty and aching, only to find Karina lounging on her bed like she owned the place.

“Do you not have your own dorm?” Y/N asked, dropping her bag onto the floor.

Karina looked up from her phone. “Mine’s boring. Yours has personality. And snacks.”

Y/N sighed, pulling off her cleats. “What do you want, Karina?”

Karina sat up, crossing her legs. “We need to strategize. There’s a gala next weekend, and we have to make an appearance.”

“A gala?” Y/N repeated, groaning. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Karina said, standing up and walking over to her. “You’re my girlfriend, remember? People will expect us to be there together. Plus, it’ll be fun.”

“Your definition of fun is very different from mine,” Y/N muttered.

Karina tilted her head, a sly smile on her lips. “You’ll survive. And who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

The Night of the Gala

The Changryeo University gala was nothing like the sweaty chaos of the victory party. It was a high-class affair, with students and faculty dressed to the nines in designer suits and gowns. The event hall was decorated with glittering chandeliers and pristine white tablecloths, and a string quartet played softly in the background.

Y/N felt completely out of place. She adjusted the cuffs of her borrowed suit, glancing nervously at the crowd.

Karina appeared beside her, radiant in a sleek, black dress that hugged her figure perfectly. She looked every bit the queen bee, her confidence practically oozing from every pore.

“You clean up well,” she said, eyeing Y/N with an approving nod.

“You mean I don’t look like a sweaty soccer player for once?” Y/N asked, tugging at her tie.

Karina smirked. “Exactly.”

She grabbed Y/N’s arm and led her into the crowd, greeting people with effortless charm. Y/N tried to keep up, but it felt like Karina was operating on a completely different level.

At one point, they were cornered by a group of Karina’s friends, who bombarded Y/N with questions.

“So, how did you two meet?” one of them asked, batting her eyelashes.

Y/N froze, her mind going blank. She hadn’t prepared for this.

“Y/N heroically saved me from a terrible date,” Karina said smoothly, looping her arm through Y/N’s. “It was love at first sight.”

The group burst into laughter, and Y/N shot Karina a look. She just winked at her, clearly enjoying herself.

Later That Night

After hours of mingling, Y/N finally managed to escape to the balcony. She leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.

A moment later, Karina joined her, holding two glasses of champagne.

“You’re not hiding, are you?” she asked, handing Y/N a glass.

“Maybe,” Y/N admitted, taking a sip. “This whole thing is… overwhelming.”

Karina leaned against the railing beside her, her expression unusually soft. “You’re doing fine.”

Y/N glanced at her. “Why do you even care about all this? The parties, the popularity, the drama. What’s the point?”

Karina was quiet for a moment, staring out at the city lights. “Because it’s easier to play the game than to let people see the real you,” she said finally.

Y/N frowned. “And what’s the real you like?”

Karina turned to her, a small, almost shy smile on her lips. “I guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but didn’t look away. For a moment, it felt like the world had gone quiet, leaving just the two of them standing there under the stars.

“You’re… complicated,” Y/N said eventually, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

Karina laughed, the sound light and genuine. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

As the night went on, Y/N realized that maybe, just maybe, being stuck in Karina’s world wasn’t as bad as she thought.

[melosliving]

aaron pierre x wife!reader

I love you but I hate when you… (reader is pregnant in this one)

The camera clicked on, showing you and Aaron sitting on the couch. You were practically glowing (thanks to the pregnancy hormones), while Aaron gave the camera a resigned, knowing look. “Alright,” you started, adjusting your phone. “We’re doing the ‘I love you, but I hate when…’ challenge.”

Aaron groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “You’ve been waiting for this one, haven’t you?”

“Of course.” You grinned mischievously. “Okay, I’ll start. I love you, but I hate when you leave your cups everywhere. The bedside table, the couch, the bathroom sink—” Aaron’s head snapped up. “The bathroom sink?! Nah, now you’re just lying for content.”

“I am not lying!” you shot back, trying not to laugh. “You’ll leave tea in the cup for so long it becomes an actual science experiment!”

“It’s called letting the flavor marinate,” he said smugly, crossing his arms. "Marinate is crazy."

Aaron was already shaking his head, trying to fight the smile spreading across his face. “Fine, fine. My turn. I love you, but I hate when you ask me to taste-test your food when it’s still fresh out of the oven.”

You gasped. “Wow. I didn’t know you hated being part of the creative process.”

“No, what I hate is feeling like I’ve burned my taste buds off!” He leaned forward, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Baby, I’m all for supporting you, but how am I supposed to help when I can’t even taste anymore?”

“It’s part of the job,” you said, waving him off dramatically. “And you’re good at it. Next!”

“I love you,” you began, pausing for effect, “but I hate when you ‘borrow’ my bonnet and stretch it out.” Aaron’s jaw dropped. “Okay, now hold on! First of all, it’s not my fault I’ve got a big head.” He gestured at his head with both hands. “I’m working with dimensions, alright?”

“It’s not built for dimensions! And you don’t even need it.” you laughed. “It’s built for my hair. Now I need a new one!”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said with mock seriousness. “But don’t act like I don’t look good in it.” You rolled your eyes, laughing, but before you could respond, Aaron smirked and went in for the kill. “Alright, I love you, but I hate when you hum while eating. Every bite. Every single bite.”

“First of all, I know you did not say that. That’s how you know the food’s good!” you said, glaring at him. “You should be flattered!”

“I was flattered the first three times,” Aaron replied, barely holding back his laughter. “Now I feel like I’m at a private humming concert every time we eat.”

“Wow. not the humming concert ! ”

He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes like he was about to say something serious. “I love you, but I hate when you’re stubborn about asking for help.”

Your expression softened. “That’s not fair. I’m not stubborn.”

“Babe.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, rubbing your belly. “But you’re not exactly innocent. I love you, but I hate when you hog the duvet at night.”

“Me?” Aaron’s eyes widened. “Babe, you’re pregnant. You wrap yourself in it like a burrito.”

“It’s called survival.” The two of you dissolved into laughter again, and you leaned into him with a happy sigh. “Alright, jokes aside, I love you, but…”

Aaron tilted his head, smiling. “Go on.”

“I hate when you act like you’re not the sweetest man on Earth,” you said softly, a bit of shyness creeping into your tone. Aaron’s expression softened completely as he reached out and tucked a stray curl behind your ear. “That’s funny,” he said quietly. “Because I love you, and there’s not a single thing I hate about you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. “You’re ruining the fun.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, kissing your temple. “You’re my favorite person, humming and all.”

#tiktok!comments

@user 1 NOT HIM RUINING THE CHALLENGE WITH PURE ROMANCE 😭.

@user 2 Can we talk about how he’s the duvet thief, though?

@user 4 Black love supremacy in its rawest form. I’m crying.

@user 5 Girl, drop the recipe for what made him talk like that.

@ melosliving 2025

[insidekatmind]

Bunny-Jude Bellingham

Wearning:+18,smut

It was a quiet evening in Madrid. The city sparkled under the night lights, but inside your home, the atmosphere was cozy and intimate. Jude was sitting on the couch, remote in hand, looking for something interesting to watch. You, on the other hand, were strolling around the living room with a playful smile, wearing a short black dress and a headband with bunny ears that you had found as a joke in the wardrobe.

“What do you think?” you asked with a little grin, spinning slowly to show off your look.

Jude glanced up from the TV and was momentarily speechless. Then, that smile of his— the one that always made you melt— spread across his face. "I didn’t think you could make such a simple accessory look so... irresistible," he said playfully, though his eyes betrayed how much he truly liked it.

You walked over to him and perched on the armrest of the couch, playing with a strand of his hair. "Were you watching something interesting, or did I distract you?"

He laughed and reached out to gently grab your waist. "Distract me? Absolutely. But I’m not complaining."

He pulled you onto his lap and held you close, while you laughed gleefully. The connection between you filled the room, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You smile on his lap and show more of the cleavage of your dress. "so you like it?" You murmur seductively touching his muscular shoulders with feigned innocence.

He responds with an almost primal low growl, his hand slowly trailing up your leg. "I love it. You wear it so well."Jude can feel the heat rising in his body and the subtle shift in the air around him, as he tries to contain the desire slowly building up inside of him. His hands explore your torso, gently caressing your bare skin."But it might be a bit distracting," he whispers, his voice hoarse with lust. "I was trying to watch something, after all."

You smile as you continue to caress his shoulders. “I'm much more interesting than a stupid movie, don't you think?” you say in a cheesy and seductive voice. Jude laughs softly and pulls you closer, his hand going around your waist to bring you flush against his chest. He can feel the warmth of your breath, and the subtle scent of your perfume driving him crazy.

"There’s no contest," he murmurs, kissing your neck. "You're the most interesting thing in this room without even trying."

You smile and nibble his earlobe playfully. "You know Jude I wanted to wear this dress for the masquerade party that my friend had organized" you say teasing him. "But I prefer to do something else" you continue to say, teasing him.

His gaze darkens with desire as you nibble on his earlobe. He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer. Your teasing tone is driving him wild, and he can feel the heat building up inside him, his control slowly slipping away."Oh really?" he responds with a hint of jealousy in his voice. He runs his hands shamelessly down your back, enjoying the feeling of your bare skin. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

You smile feeling his hands on your ass and bite your lip looking at him. “I was thinking that I rarely do a striptease for you,” you say, teasing him as you mischievously adjust the neckline of your dress. His hands squeeze your ass appreciatively as you bite your lip. The sight of you teasingly adjusting your neckline is almost too much for him to handle, and he can’t help but imagine the striptease you’re talking about."Is that so?” he responds in a low growl. “I’m a little disappointed that you haven’t done one for me yet."

You smiled and sucked on his lip as you still felt his hands on your ass. “let me make it up to you darling” you murmur seductively kissing his jaw.

He moans softly as you suck on his lip, his need for you growing with every second. Your seductive whisper and the feel of your lips on his jaw send shivers down his spine."Yes please,” he breathes huskily. "Please make it up to me. I don’t think I can hold back much longer."

You smiled and stood up from him, taking his hand and dragging him into your room as you moved sensually and seductively, putting your body on full display for him. He follows you willingly, his eyes roving over your body as you move, drinking in every inch of you. There’s an edge of desire in his gaze, raw and unfiltered. He wants you, badly, and it shows.

Once in your room, Jude closes the door behind him and looks at you intently as you saunter further into the room. "You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes. "Teasing me like this."You gasped in excitement feeling Jude's hands on your ass as he nibbled on your neck. “You're a bad bunny,” he whispers in your ear and you bite your lip excitedly.

His hands on your ass feel like a brand, leaving hot, possessive marks on your skin. You moan softly as he nibbles on your neck, the combination of pleasure and slight pain driving you wild. "Is that a promise or a threat," you respond breathlessly. "To punish this naughty bunny," you tease in a provocative tone.

Jude turns you around, his grip on your body firm and authoritative. He pins you against the wall, his eyes darkened with a dangerous need."Don’t act like you don’t want it," he whispers, his voice filled with a subtle warning. "You’re practically begging to be punished, aren’t you, bunny?"

You smile and lick his cheek and Jude laughs humorlessly and slaps your ass hard making you moan. “Do you really want me to ruin yourself with my cock, yes?” Jude murmurs without letting go of his ass with his hands. You gasp and moan shamelessly as he slaps your behind, the sharp pain only serving to heighten your excitement. You feel completely at his mercy, a slave to the growing heat between the two of you.

"Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need. "Yes, god, I want it. I need you, Jude. Make me yours." Jude smiled and gave your ass another squeeze. “Undress and give me a nice striptease,” he orders, looking at you.

You nod breathlessly and slowly start to tease him by getting rid of your dress, taking your time, enjoying how his eyes roam over your body. The anticipation in the air is thick, and you know he's enjoying every second of this. "You'd like it, wouldn’t you,” you murmur, seductively rolling the dress over your hips. “To watch me, naked and ready for you."

Jude can barely keep his hands off of you as you slowly unveil your body. He's staring impatiently, his lips slightly parted, as you continue to tease him. "You're driving me insane," he growls lowly, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily. "I want you, now." You know better than to make him wait, so you continue your striptease more quickly, discarding what's left of your dress.

“How badly do you want me?” you ask, your voice dripping with a mixture of sultriness and tease. “Enough to lose control, Jude?” He grabs you by the arms and pulls you against him, his hands roaming possessively over your body. He's holding himself back, his self-restraint hanging by a thread.

"You have no idea," he whispers, his voice rough and strained. "No idea how badly I want you, darling. And you're about to find out how much I can lose control.” Jude looks at you and bites your lip making you moan. "get on all fours on the bed" Jude orders you.

You shiver at the commanding tone in his voice, and your body responds instantly to his order. You get on all fours on the bed, feeling incredibly vulnerable and yet, completely excited."Like this?" you ask, looking over your shoulder with a mix of shyness and anticipation.

He smiles as he comes closer and slaps your ass. "yes bunny". You gasp at the slap, feeling the heat of his hand against your skin. The pleasure of his touch is mixed with a hint of dominance, and you feel completely at his mercy.

"Yes,” you respond obediently, your voice quivering. "Whatever you want, Jude." He watches you with a mixture of desire and satisfaction, enjoying the submissive position you're in. His hand goes to your hair and he grabs a handful, pulling you closer to him.

"That's right, darling. I'm going to do whatever I want with you tonight," he whispers huskily. "And you're going to love it." His other hand moves to your hip, positioning you just where he wants you. You can feel his breath on your skin, his body pressed close against yours, and your excitement grows as you realize just how much he's in control.

"Do you trust me, bunny?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. You nod, feeling your heart pound in your chest. There's no hesitation in your response. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with a mix of desire and submission. "I trust you completely Jude.“

A satisfied smile spreads across his lips as he hears your response. He knew you would trust him completely, and that trust only makes him want you even more. "Good girl," he murmurs, his hand tracing along the curve of your spine. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

Jude unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his boxers, taking his cock in his hand and grinding against your ass. "You can swear I'll ruin you tonight" Jude murmurs near your ear. Hearing his words and his cock pressed against your ass you moan.

He enters you in one thrust making you bend over the bed and making you moan. Jude places a tighter hand around your waist to keep you from moving. You gasp and moan loudly as he enters you, the pleasure and surprise sending shockwaves through your body. You feel completely filled, and yet, completely at his mercy.

"God,” you manage to gasp. "Jude, that’s… that’s so…”You're unable to continue as he keeps you still, his grip on your waist firm.

Jude groans and pushes himself harder into you, slapping your ass every now and then. “You take it so well, bunny,” Jude murmurs, grunting. You respond with a guttural moan, the mix of pleasure and pain driving you wild. You can feel his every movement, and it’s making you lose your mind. “You feel so good," you gasp. "So good. I can’t… I can’t get enough of you."

Jude grabs a handful of your hair making you arch up for more. “Do you like taking my cock rough, yes bunny?” Jude says purring near your ear. You whimper and arch your back, your body responding to every little thing he does. His words, his voice, his grip on your hair, it's all driving you insane with desire.

“Yes, god yes," you manage to reply. "I love it, Jude. You know I do. I want you, any way I can have you." He smiles smugly, hearing your words. He loves how much you want him, how much you need him. It only fuels his desire, his need to claim you as his. He pulls your hair harder, the pleasure of being rough with you mixed with a possessive need.

"That's right. You are mine, aren’t you?" he growls. "All mine. And I'm going to give you everything you want, bunny." You moan loudly, the combination of pleasure and surrender making you dizzy. You feel completely under his control, and yet, you love every second of it.

“Yours," you breathe, your voice quivering with need. "All yours. Completely and utterly yours, Jude. Please—"you moan.

Jude groans at your pleas and pushes himself even faster slapping your ass. “So needy bunny” he murmurs nipping at your neck. You gasp at the onslaught of pleasure, your body consumed with need. His words and his touch drive you crazy, leaving you on the edge of ecstasy.

"God, yes," you manage to gasp. "So needy, just for you. I can’t help it. You make me want things I never knew I needed." He smiles again, knowing that he has you completely at his mercy. He loves how much you want him, how you give yourself to him so willingly.

"And I'll give you everything you need, darling,” he purrs, his voice rough with desire. "Everything. I’ll give you everything I have to give, and then some." You moan, your body trembling with pleasure. His words only make you want him more, his promises of everything to give and more, fueling the fire inside you.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “More, please. I need more. I need all of you.” He grins and grips your hips possessively as he fucks you quickly. In the room you can only hear your skin meeting and your screams. The sounds of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, adding to the primal atmosphere. You can feel the intensity of his desire, and it's driving you to the edge. Your scream fill the air, your body completely lost in the moment.

“God, Jude,” you gasp. “You make me feel so good, so wanted. I don’t ever want you to stop.”

Jude moans and grabs your neck making you dizzy kissing you as you continue to fuck yourself. Your body responds to his touch, and your mind is a whirlwind of sensation and pleasure. His kiss is dizzying, adding to the feeling of being completely consumed by him. "Yes," you gasp between kisses. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop, please."

Jude sucks your lip before spitting in your mouth. “So sexy bunny and all mine” he murmurs grunting as his thrusts into you became harder and harder. You feel a wave of heat wash over you as he claims you as his own. The mixture of desire and possessiveness in his voice makes you feel dizzy with pleasure. You moan against his mouth, the taste of him mixing with the feeling of him inside you driving you wild.

"Yours," you murmur against his lips. "Completely yours, Jude. I'm all yours." He groans in satisfaction, feeling your submission to him, your acceptance of being his. It only fuels his desire, his need to claim you even more.

"And I'm all yours, darling," he whispers husky. "You've got me completely wrapped around your fingers. I’m yours for the taking, however you want me."You moan at his words and hold onto him as you come. After two more hard thrusts he comes inside you.

He nips at your neck and pulls out, laying down on the bed making you straddle him. “oh bunny, don’t think I’m done with you” he says aligning himself with your slit. “you ride my cock like the good girl you are to me” he murmurs looking at you hungrily.

You gasp and shiver at his words, feeling your body respond to his commands. The mixture of pleasure and anticipation makes your head spin. “Yes, Jude,” you breathless. “I’ll do anything you ask. Anything.”

He slaps your ass while his free hand moved your hip making you ride his cock. "Good girl," he murmurs. You moan loudly, feeling completely enveloped in pleasure. His words and his hands on your body, guiding you, make you feel completely helpless against his touch. “Yes,” you gasp. “I’ll be a good girl for you, Jude. I’ll do anything you want me to do."

He smiles, satisfied with your submission. Your body is completely his, completely at his mercy, and he loves it. Jude continues to guide you, his hands on your hips, his eyes on your face, watching you as you pleasure him. “You look so beautiful like this, bunny,” he whispers. "So beautiful, so submissive. You’re all mine, aren’t you?” he hums giving you another slap on your ass as he pushed his cock into you making you moan.

“Yes, all for you” you say riding faster moaning, rolling your eyes from too much pleasure. You ride him eagerly, your hips moving against his, seeking more and more of his touch. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, and you feel yourself losing control. “G-God,” you gasp. “That feels so good, Jude. You make me feel so good. Don’t stop, please”.

His eyes, darkened with lust, never leave your face, taking in every expression, every gasp, every little thing that tell him how much you are enjoying this. “You’re so beautiful like this, darling,” he mutters, his voice rough with desire. “So completely mine.” You cry out in pleasure, riding faster and moaning.

“Yes, that’s it,” he encourages, one of his hands sliding up your body to your neck. He applies a gentle but firm pressure. You moan feeling his hand on your neck and you roll your eyes again in pleasure, moaning loudly.

He smiles as he sees you fall apart in pleasure, taking pleasure in the effect he has on you. He wants to see you lost in ecstasy, completely undone because of him. “That’s it, bunny,” he mutters, increasing the pressure on your neck slightly. “Let go, let me see how I make you feel.”

You whimper instinctively, the mixture of pleasure and pressure on your neck making you feel even more dizzy. You're completely lost in the moment, completely at his mercy. The only thing that matters is doing everything he wants you to do. “Yes,” you manage to whimper. “Please, more. Make me feel more.”

He knows what you’re asking for, and he’s more than happy to give it to you. He increases the pressure on your neck just enough to make you gasp, his eyes darkened with lust, watching every expression on your face. “Like this, darling?” he whispers huskily. "Is this what you want from me?“

You can barely speak, lost in the pleasure and heat of the moment. But you manage a weak nod, your eyes pleading with him to give you more. “Yes,” you gasp again, your voice a broken whisper. “Yes, please. More. Give me more.“

He smiles again, loving how much you want him, how much you need him. He tightens the grip around your neck just a little more, the pressure increasing the pleasure you’re feeling. “You like that, bunny?” he purrs. “You like being mine, completely and utterly mine? Letting me do whatever I want with you?“

You can only respond with a strangled moan, lost in the pleasure and desire he makes you feel. You want more, you need more, you want him to push you to the edge and keep you there. “Yes, Jude,” you gasp, your voice a hoarse whisper. “Yours. All yours. Forever. Do whatever you want with me, anything you want.“

You moan and bounce more, screaming in pleasure. “Jude I'm cumming” you say, your voice laced with pleasure. He grins, loving the sound of your pleasure. Your words and your screams are like music to his ears, and he wants to hear you scream his name even more. “Yes, bunny, that’s it,” he growls, gripping your hip. "Let go for me. I want to hear you” he said.

“Come for me, bunny,” he whispers, leaning forward to brush his lips against your neck. "Come for me, I want to see you completely undone because of me.“You wail in ecstasy, the mixture of the pressure on your neck, his voice, and the feeling of him inside you pushing you over the edge. "Jude," you gasp, your body shaking with pleasure. "Jude, oh my god” you scream.

"Yes," he mutters, his voice rough with desire. "That's it, darling. Let me see how good I can make you feel."He continues to hold onto your neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to keep you right on the edge, prolonging your pleasure as long as possible.

You moaned and bounced harder on him, riding him as you rested your hands on his shoulders.”YES,YES,YES,YES” you screamed coming on top of him. He grins, loving the sounds of your pleasure. You look beautiful on top of him, completely lost in the moment, completely his.

“That’s it, bunny,” he encourages, still holding onto your neck. “Scream for me, scream my name." You can't help but follow his command, your body and mind completely surrendered to him. Your screams fill the room, his name leaving your lips like a mantra. You’re completely lost in the pleasure and ecstasy he's giving you.

“Jude,” you gasp, your voice hoarse. “Jude, I… I can’t…“. Jude grunts and comes into you again, pinning your hips to keep you from moving.

"Yes," he gasps, his voice tight with pleasure. "That's it, bunny. Take it all. I want to fill you up." He holds you down on him, keeping you in place, his eyes locked on your face. He wants to see every expression, every shiver,every little breath.

You moan feeling his cum inside you and close your eyes keeping your hands resting on his chest, breathing deeply and smiling satisfied. He smiles too, loving the sight of you, completely undone on top of him. You look sexy and wrecked, and he can't help but feel a surge of satisfaction and possessiveness. "You're mine," he mutters, his hands still on your hips, his eyes locked on yours. "All mine, darling."

He leans forward, brushing his lips against your neck and planting soft kisses along your collarbone. "I hope you know that, bunny," he whispers, his voice still hoarse with pleasure. "You're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

You smile leaning against him, on his chest. “I love you Jude,” you say in a low voice, laced with pleasure. His heart skips a beat as you say those words, his heart full of love and satisfaction. He loves hearing you say it, loves knowing that you belong to him.

“I love you too, bunny,” he whispers, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. “More than you can imagine.”

[chrisstvrns]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐜.𝐬.

warnings: REUNION REUNION REUNION! kinda angsty but calm reunion, accepting parenthood/coparenting, one mention of pregnancy stretch marks, please let me know if i missed anything! 

word count: 4,198

part one | part two | part three | part four

it had been six months since you last saw chris. you hadnt seen him since the day he broke up with you. that night, when you got home, you tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. he blocked you. 

eventually, you got yourself together again. you scheduled a doctors appointment to further confirm your pregnancy, you got a nursery set up, and started telling your family and close friends. now? you were sitting up in your bedroom of your childhood home, your living room filled with your family and your mothers friends, all there to see your child. 

two weeks ago, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, with big, blue eyes that looked identical to her fathers. everytime you looked down at the little bundle in your arms, all you saw was chris looking back at you. 

there were little things in your pregnancy that constantly reminded you of chris. you were emotional, and you brushed it off as hormones, but everywhere you went, you saw him. the biggest thing being that one of the most obvious stretch marks on your stomach was in the shape of the letter ‘c’. 

the biggest help in your pregnancy, besides your parents, was nick and matt. at least once a week, anytime they were in boston, they came to your house to check up on you, and they kept their promise to not tell chris. 

it hadn’t been easy, but nick and matt had stepped up in ways you never expected. despite their complicated feelings about keeping the truth from chris, they’d thrown themselves into being there for you and the baby. they showed up with groceries, helped you assemble furniture for the nursery, and even accompanied you to a few doctor’s appointments when your mom or dad couldn’t.  

it was almost surreal having them around so much- two pieces of chris in your life, while the biggest piece stayed missing. sometimes, when nick made a certain joke or matt gave you one of his signature serious-but-caring looks, it felt like chris was in the room, just out of reach. and every time, it brought that familiar ache back to your chest.  

but now, as you sat in your childhood bedroom, rocking your baby girl in your arms, the ache was dulled by the overwhelming love you felt for her. her soft coos and the way her tiny fingers wrapped around yours were enough to make the world feel okay again, even if just for a moment.  

there was a knock at your door, pulling you from your thoughts. “hey, can i come in?” nick’s voice was quiet, careful not to wake the baby.  

“yeah,” you said softly, adjusting your grip on her as the door opened. nick stepped inside, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a soft blanket in the other.  

“thought you might need this,” he said, placing the tea on your bedside table before draping the blanket over your lap.  

“thanks,” you murmured, smiling up at him. nick sat down on the edge of your bed, his eyes immediately falling to the baby in your arms.  

“she’s so perfect,” he said, his voice full of awe. “looks just like...” he trailed off, and you both knew what he was going to say.  

“just like chris,” you finished for him, your voice barely above a whisper. nick nodded, his jaw tightening.  

“yeah,” he said. “but she’s got your nose.”  

you let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. “maybe a little,” you admitted, brushing a finger gently across her tiny button nose.  

nick hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “matt and i were talking earlier,” he began, his tone careful. “and... we just want to make sure you’re okay. really okay.”  

you looked up at him, your smile fading slightly. “i’m managing,” you said honestly. “some days are harder than others, but... madi makes it worth it.”  

he nodded, but there was something else in his eyes—something he wasn’t saying. “you know,” he started, “you don’t have to do this alone forever. when you’re ready… if you’re ever ready… we could talk to chris. you don’t have to, but-”  

“nick,” you interrupted gently, shaking your head. “we’ve been through this. i don’t want him to know. not now. maybe not ever. he made it clear where we stand, and i’m not going to force him into something he doesn’t want. if he finds out, sure. he deserves to know about his daughter. but i dont know if im ready for him to know.”  

nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i know. i just… i see the way she looks at you, and i can’t help but think about how much he’s missing out on. but it’s your call. it always has been.”  

“and it always will be,” you said firmly, though your voice softened as you glanced back down at your daughter. “she’s my priority now. no one else.”  

nick reached over, resting a hand on your shoulder. “we’re here for you. whatever you need, whenever you need it.”  

“i know,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “and i’m so grateful for you and matt. i don’t know what i would’ve done without you both.”  

nick gave you a small smile before leaning down to brush a finger gently against the baby’s cheek. “she’s gonna grow up surrounded by so much love, you know that? even if chris isn’t in the picture, she’s got you, your parents, and me and matt. and that’s more than enough.”  

you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “yeah,” you whispered, holding your baby a little closer. “it’s more than enough.”  

“is he.. is he here?” you mutter, your heart clenching. 

nick lets out a deep breath, about to speak when theres another knock on the door. matt pokes his head in, looking at you and nick as he gently speak. “can i come in?” 

you nod, shifting on the bed. he takes a seat next to you, eyes locked on your baby as he smiles, gently whispering 

“gimme my niece” he jokingly mutters, reaching for her

you pass her to him with ease, her little, soft coos filling the room. 

nick looks at you sympathetically, like he knew something you didnt. 

“hes downstairs” nick mutters, awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs 

you take a deep breath, your heart about to jump out of your chest as you nod. “okay.. does he know about her? like, this is a party for her, so how much does he know?” 

“i dont think he knows. theres nothing down there that indicates that theres a baby, unless someone says something.” 

nick and matt exchange a quick, meaningful glance before nick finally says, “we didn’t tell him. he thinks this is just some get together, barbecue thing your parents are throwing. theres so many other people down there, and your parents technically invited our parents, we just tagged along. and, we figured it wasn’t our place to say anything... but he’s bound to find out now that he’s here.”  

your heart pounds harder at his words. chris is downstairs. chris, who you haven’t seen in six months. chris, who left without looking back. chris, who slammed the door in your face. chris, who doesn’t know he has a daughter upstairs.  

you glance at your daughter in matt’s arms, her little hands waving in the air as she coos softly. she has no idea what’s happening, no idea that her father is in the same house.  

nick leans forward, his voice quiet but firm. “we can handle this however you want. if you don’t want to see him, matt and i can say we need to refilm something for the channel to get him to leave. but if you’re ready to talk to him… we’ll be right here.”  

you take a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. part of you wants to hide, to keep the walls you’ve built around yourself firmly in place. but another part of you knows this moment was inevitable.  

“he deserves to know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.  

nick raises an eyebrow. “you sure?”  

you nod, even though you’re not sure at all. “yeah. i think so. but, i need a minute. can you keep him down there for now?”  

matt stands up, cradling madison gently in his arms. “we’ve got you,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “take as long as you need.”  

nick gets up as well, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before the two of them leave the room.  

as soon as the door clicks shut, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. you stand up and pace the room, your thoughts racing. how are you supposed to face him? what are you supposed to say?  

a few moments later, a knock at the door startles you, but it’s just matt again. “she’s asleep,” he says softly, holding up the baby monitor. “we put her in the crib in your moms office downstairs, away from everyone. nick’s keeping an eye on chris.”  

you nod, your chest tightening. “thanks.”  

“you okay?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.  

“no,” you admit, your voice cracking. “but i don’t think i ever will be.”  

matt gives you a small, sad smile. “you don’t have to do this alone, you know. you’ve got us.”  

“i know,” you whisper. “but this? this is something i have to do on my own.”  

matt hesitates but nods, stepping aside as you make your way to the door. you pause for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, before opening it and stepping into the hallway.  

the sound of voices and laughter drifts up from downstairs, but all you can focus on is the fact that chris is down there. you walk slowly, your heart pounding with every step, until you reach the top of the stairs.  

there he is. standing by the kitchen, a drink in his hand, looking as effortlessly handsome as ever. your breath catches in your throat. he hasn’t seen you yet, but the sight of him brings back a flood of memories- both good and bad.  

nick spots you first, his eyes widening slightly as he gives you a subtle nod. matt, standing nearby, follows nick’s gaze and tenses slightly, as if preparing for the worst.  

and then chris looks up. his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades away.  

the room goes silent, or at least it feels that way. chris sets his drink down, his expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable. he takes a few steps toward the stairs, and suddenly, you’re face-to-face with the man who broke your heart.  

“hey,” he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth that once felt like home.  

you swallow hard, your fingers gripping the railing of the staircase. “hey.”  

for a moment, neither of you says anything. then chris glances around, his brow furrowing slightly. “what’s going on? nick and matt wouldn’t really tell me. is this some kind of surprise party?”  

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “not exactly,” you say, your voice trembling.  

chris looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “then what is it?”  

before you can answer, a soft cry comes from the monitor in matt’s hand, who was standing a few feet away. chris glances at it, then back at you, his confusion deepening.  

“whose baby is that?” he asks, his voice cautious.  

you take another deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you have. “she’s mine,” you say quietly.  

chris stares at you, his jaw tightening. “yours?”  

you nod, your throat tightening. “and... yours.”  

you refuse to look up at him, as his breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stands there, frozen, as if trying to process what you just said. his face pales, and his hand grips the back of a nearby chair as if he needs something to hold onto.  

“wait... are you saying...?” he trails off, his voice wavering, eyes flickering between you and the baby monitor.  

you nod, barely able to meet his gaze. “yes. she’s yours.”  

the silence between you both stretches, thick and suffocating. chris’s face changes from shock to disbelief, his lips parting as if he’s trying to find the right words but nothing comes out.  

finally, he finds his voice, though it’s barely above a whisper. “why didn’t you tell me?”  

the question feels like a punch to the gut, and you instinctively glance at the room where your baby is, with nick. you want to say something, anything, to make this feel less like a bombshell, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.  

“can we go somewhere else? theres alot of people here..” you mutter, glancing around at your parents friends 

he nods, motioning for you to lead the way to wherever. the only place you can think to go is your moms office, not feeling comfortable enough to give him the privilege of being in your bedroom again. not yet, anyways. 

you creak open the office door, your eyes landing on nick watching your daughter in her bassinet. you hear his breath hitch in his throat at the sight, and you sit in a chair next to chris as nick takes it as a sign to leave the two of you alone, going out in the hallway with matt. 

you see him wipe his face, taking a seat on the couch. 

“so.. why didnt you-” he starts

“you left,” you say softly, your voice cracking. “you made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with me. you slammed the door in my face.”  

chris’s face softens, his brow furrowing in regret. “i never wanted that. i didn’t mean to hurt you... i thought i was doing the right thing. i didn’t want to see you continuously getting hurt because of my fans.”  

you take a deep breath, finally looking him in the eyes, the weight of the months of silence between you both heavy in the air. “you didn’t know because you didn’t want to know. i tried to reach out, chris. but you cut me off. you blocked my phone number, and on social media. you left me with no choice.”  

chris’s face falls, and he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. "i... i messed up, didn’t i?" his voice is shaky, the anger and frustration that used to define him replaced with a quiet vulnerability that you hadn’t expected. "i never wanted to hurt you. i just... i didn’t know how to deal with everything. i thought i was protecting you by walking away, but now... now i see how much i fucked up."

you stare at him, the pain in your chest still raw, but there’s something else there too—a flicker of relief. you were angry. you were hurt. but hearing him admit his mistakes, finally, felt like a sliver of justice, even if it couldn’t undo the past.

"i never wanted you to walk away," you whisper, your voice trembling. "i never wanted to go through this alone. you didn’t have to protect me from your fans or from anything. we could’ve figured it out together. but you left. and now, we’re here. and you missed so much."

chris swallows hard, his eyes darting to the baby in the bassinet, his brother still sitting next to it as he takes in the weight of your words. "i... i didn’t think you’d ever forgive me," he admits, looking down at his hands, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. "i didn’t think i deserved it."

you shake your head slowly, the tears still stinging your eyes. "it’s not about forgiveness right now," you whisper. "it’s about her. she deserves to know her father, whether you think you deserve it or not."

he looks up at you, his eyes brimming with emotion. "i don’t even know where to start. i’m so sorry. i... i can’t believe this is real. i can’t believe i have a daughter."

you nod slowly, fighting the urge to cry. "i didn’t want this for her," you say, your voice small. "i didn’t want her to grow up with one parent and never knowing the other. i wanted to protect her from the pain of not having you in her life. but i can't do that anymore. she deserves better."

chris stands up abruptly, pacing across the room, his hand gripping the back of a chair. "im so sorry.. i.. shouldve let you explain, but i just shut you out. i just left you, i slammed the door in your face. god, im so sorry.. she’s... she’s my daughter."

you watch him, your heart heavy with the weight of the past few months. it’s hard to accept that the man who walked away so easily is the same person standing here now, remorse in his eyes.

"but it’s not just about you anymore, chris," you say, your voice gaining strength. "it’s about her. and i need to know you’re ready for that responsibility. i need to know you’re ready to be her father, whether that means stepping up now or stepping aside. but if you’re going to be a part of her life, you can’t just show up when it’s convenient for you."

his face tightens, and he turns to face you, his eyes serious. "i don’t want to step aside. i want to be there for her, for you. i want to be the man i should’ve been six months ago. i know i don’t deserve your trust, but i’ll spend the rest of my life earning it, if that’s what it takes."

you nod slowly, your breath catching as the reality of the situation settles in. "we’ll see. one step at a time, okay?"

he gives a small, shaky nod in response. and as you both stand there, the tension between you is palpable, but there’s also a flicker of hope—however small it may be—that maybe, just maybe, things can start to heal. for you, for chris, and most of all, for your daughter.

after a moment of silence, he speaks up again, his voice soft and caring. “whats her name?” 

“madison. madison nicolette sturniolo.” you mutter, glancing at your sleeping baby in the bassinet 

“madison...�� he repeats to himself, staring at the baby ““can i hold her?” chris asks hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

you pause, your protective instincts kicking in. it feels monumental—this moment where he meets his daughter for the first time. but you nod, your voice steady despite the nerves swirling in your chest. "yeah. just be gentle."

matt stands, giving you a supportive nod as he steps aside, watching as you lift her from the bassinet, cradling the baby carefully before transferring her into chris’s waiting arms. chris’s hands tremble slightly as he holds his daughter for the first time.

his breath catches as he looks down at her peaceful face, her tiny features soft and perfect. "she’s beautiful," he murmurs, awe and disbelief coating his voice.

"she is," you agree softly, watching his expression shift as the weight of it all sinks in.

chris’s lips part as he whispers, "hi, madison," his voice cracking. "i’m your.. im your dad."

your throat tightens at the tenderness in his tone. the man who had once shut you out now stood before you, humbled by the reality of what he’d lost and what he now had the chance to gain.

madison stirs slightly in his arms, letting out a soft coo, and chris lets out a breathless laugh, blinking back tears. "she looks so much like you," he says hoarsely, though his eyes flicker back to hers. "but those eyes... god, they’re mine."

you let out a faint laugh despite yourself. "yeah. she makes it hard to forget." there’s a long, quiet pause before chris speaks again. "thank you... for keeping her safe. for doing everything i should’ve been there to help with."

"you weren’t there," you admit honestly, but your voice is softer now. "but nick and matt were. they stepped up when i needed someone."

chris flinches at the truth but nods. "i’m glad they did." he looks at you, sincerity etched across his face. "but i’m here now. and i want to be here- for you and her. no more running. i promise."

there’s doubt lingering in your chest, but for the first time in months, there’s also the faintest glimmer of hope.

"one step at a time," you remind him firmly, needing to protect not just yourself, but madison too. "we’ll figure it out."

chris nods, holding madison a little closer as if silently vowing never to let go again. "yeah," he agrees. "we will." 

in that small, cluttered office, surrounded by lingering pain and tentative hope, the first step toward healing is taken. for madison. for you. and maybe, just maybe, for chris too.

“chris?” you whisper, a tear spilling from your eye

without taking his eyes off of madi, he hums in response. 

“we need to talk. about.. us..” 

before you can get another word out, he cuts you off as he mutters, yet its clear enough for you to hear “i still love you.” 

your breath hitches in your throat, staring at him. 

“and i know, before you say anything, i know i left you. but i thought that would be best. i couldnt stand watching you get hurt by the fans everyday. i wanted to call you, and i wanted to explain. i just couldnt. i didnt know if youd believe me, if youd want to talk to me.. nick and matt told me to just keep giving you space.. and now i know why..” he glances up at you, a tear falling from his eyes as you stare at him, your lips slightly parted, your eyes watering with tears 

“i wanted you to come back.” you whisper, honestly. “i wouldve taken nick or matts phone and called you and begged you to come back. i just.. i didnt want you know about madi. i didnt want to force you to stick around if you didnt want to. i didnt.. i didnt want trap you.” 

“god, baby dont say that. dont say you didnt want to trap me. you wouldnt have. i wouldve- i shouldve- never broken up with you. i wouldve stayed, been there through the pregnancy, been there to hold your hand when you were giving birth, i..” he trails off, tears falling from his eyes. “i love you. i always have. and i always will. nothing is ever going to change that.” 

you clench your jaw as tears fall from your eyes, chris gently taking a few steps closer to you. he carefully holds madi in one arm, his other reaching down to cup your cheek. 

“come back to me. please. let me be a dad to madi. let me.. let me be your boyfriend again. and maybe.. maybe eventually youll let me be your husband. we can raise madi. together. be our own little family. because i love you, and now i love madi. please, baby.” 

you nearly sob at his words as he wipes tears from your face, eyes locked on yours. 

“let me come back.” he whispers yet again, followed by you gently nodding, a soft smile appearing on your face

“i love you.” you whisper

“i love you too.” he responds, his eyes locked on yours 

“always have...” you trail off, waiting for him to finish the promise you made to each other when you were younger

“always will.” he finishes, resting his forehead against yours as the both of you close your eyes, finally okay again. 

you let out a soft laugh, placing a hand on his neck, opening your eyes to see your daughter, being held in her fathers arms for the first time. he softly pulls away, carefully placing madison in the bassinet, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist. you stare up at him, smiling. you wrap your arms around his neck, looking into the eyes of the love of your life. 

he gently tilts his head down, tilting it as he connects his lips to yours, passionately kissing you for the first time in six months. 

you melt into the kiss, tightening your grip around his neck as tears stream down your face. after a few more seconds, you pull away from the kiss as the two of you tightly hug each other. 

“i love you. so much. and im not going anywhere. i promise you that.” you mutters, placing a kiss to your temple. 

“i love you too, chris. i know youll be a great dad to madi.” you whisper, burying your face in the crook of his neck 

he places one final kiss to your temple, taking your hand in his, glancing down at your sleeping daughter. 

“come on,” he whispers, reaching down to lift madison. “lets go back out to the party.” 

and you knew that this was it. chris was back. for you, and for madi. you were going to be a family. 

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: IM GONNA CRY i had so much fun writing this series there MIGHT be a part 5 but idk yet???

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

find other parts of this series here

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

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Without You {LnDs boys i.e. The LADS x Reader}

So i woke up one morning with this on my mind and couldn't help myself :D

I died making it ಥ_ಥ, but enjoy XD

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

Something is wrong… So very wrong

the briefing said that this mission was, at best, a C grade mission.

“You’ll be in an out before you know it.”

“Just a clean-up job, really.”

“Think of it as a little break.”

but ever since you and your squad mates stepped foot into this factory, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being watched… stalked

one of the other hunters use their evol to light your way

In the dim light, you squint, waiting for your eyes to adjust

It reveals rows and rows of multi-storey shelves lining the large room.

Your eyes can’t help but flicker to any- and everything in the room. You just can’t seem to shake off that feeling that there are eyes on you

But you brush it off - it’s probably because it’s dark and we know there are wanderers lurking here somewhere

As you go deeper into the building, you see figures sprawled out on the floor

People?

You walk a few paces ahead of your squad mates to get a closer look, They might be some of the workers. Are they hurt?

“Hey, MC! Don’t go too far ahead, we still don’t know where the wanderers are.”

You turn back to your squad mates, “I think there are people over there,” You point to the figures on the ground, “Can you see it? They might be some of the workers.”

They catch up to you and peer into the darkness, “Yeah, we should call for medical assistance.” one of them lift their wrist to access their watch.

As you get closer, you realise that they weren’t humans but rather the corpses of wanderers

Instantly, the hairs on your arms and nape stand on end

Upon seeing this, one of the members asks, “They haven’t sent anyone else to do the job, right?”

Another chuckles, “Maybe Xavier came and finished it off for us.”

Your brows furrow, “No…”

They turn to you for an explanation.

“He’s stuck at HQ, he needed to renew his hunter’s license but he hadn’t finished any of the paperwork. Jenna forbade him from taking on any missions.”

They look at one another, smiles quickly fading.

“Something - or someone - “ you emphasise, “has killed all of these wanderers.”

One of your squad members, dons a glove and kneels down next to one of the corpses, “Their protocores…” Her hand hovers over the centre of the wanderer, motioning to where the protocore is usually found, “They’ve been…pulled out.” She looks at you with concern written all over her features, “Forcefully.” She adds

Your brows pinch, “Let’s get out of here and contact HQ.” You make a quick decision, not wanting to continue with a mission that was potentially out of your team’s depth.

The others turn around to exit, but you stay back as the the girl gathers her things

From far away, a glimmer on one of the top shelves catches your eye - A silhouette moves just out of your view

It looked too human to be a wanderer, but how could anyone be up that high with no equipment in sight?

From behind you, a thud resonates around the building - one of your team mates has been shot down.

Your head whizzes to where the shot came from, and again, that humanoid silhouette shuffles just out of sight

As your eyes adjust more to the darkness, you see the figure is taking languid steps towards you

As it steps into the light, you see that he has a crossbow poised and aimed at you!

Swiftly, you aim at his chest, but the adrenaline makes your hand tremble - your shot misses, but it hits his crossbow.

The impact was enough for him to drop it, and it falls to the floor

From that high up, the fall was more than enough to shatter the weapon into pieces.

“Oh, come on.” The voice resounds in your ears as if he was right next to you.

As he tilts his head to the ceiling and whines, you use the opportunity to usher your team mates out, “GO!” You shout, “Get to the exit!” You say, waving them over towards you.

The voice speaks again, “I liked that one, you know!”

In a flash, the man’s on the ground, having dropped multiple stories without harm - the kind of scene you see in movies

“What…” You’re taken aback, steps faltering.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Your friend over there,” He points to the one he shot down, “has left a pretty, little rifle, just for me.”

At this comment, dread spreads throughout your body

With a scream, one of your team mates has made a full sprint towards the exit.

But having stayed back with the other girl, you’re too far away to run from him now.

You scan your surroundings and on your left is a wooden table.

You flip it on its side and hide behind it for cover.

You know it won’t do much against a rifle, but it’s all you’ve got.

Peeking out from the table, you see him stretch his arm out towards the gun and it flies towards him and into his grasp.

A loud bang from the gunshot makes you duck for cover, and soon another one of your members has fallen to the floor, a few metres shy from the exit.

He laughs and imitates the thud of your squad member falling to the floor.

It sets your anger ablaze and with all the courage you could muster, you shoot at the man before ducking back behind the table.

It drew his attention to you, and for a split second, as his cold, dark eyes met yours, your body was numb, completely frozen in it’s spot.

His skin was pale - lighter than the indigo that most wanderers have, but it has the unmistakeable stone-like texture of a wanderer

Your vision goes dark for a moment, and you collapse onto the floor, knees buckling underneath you

He purposefully fires at the table and lets out a hearty laugh when you scream

How is this possible? Was he the one that killed all those wanderers? You heard of reports of self-aware wanderers but he was more than just self-aware, he was toying with you.

From behind the table you hear his footstep drawing near.

Faster.

and Faster.

The sounds draws closer.

You bolt out from behind the table with your twin pistols aimed in his direction, but in the split second that you do, he has telepathically pulled the table to cover your shots before flinging it in your direction

You scamper backwards and carelessly fire a few more rounds in an attempt to distract him as you compose yourself, but the bullets stop inches from his body and clatter to the ground

All the while, he is striding closer and closer and closer

Your breathing goes ragged and you aim at him, but your gun just clicks. clicks. clicks.

Out of ammo already?! It can’t be. Is he jamming it?

In a blink, he has gathered a dagger from his waist, spinning it along his fingers before swiping at you.

The metal met your warm flesh before you could even gasp.

Your body drops to the floor and everything goes dark

All you can hear is your squad mates’ screams amongst the wanderer’s wicked laughter.

Sylus ❖· ────── · ·

Was the first to find out

He had Mephisto tailing you in secret - He knows you would have scolded him if your colleagues caught even a glimpse of the crow

It wasn’t long after the first gunshot that Mephisto flew back to Sylus, but it was too late by the time they arrived at the factory

From your location, it seemed that you were on your way to Akso Hospital

...

The next morning, the news spread like a wildfire throughout Linkon - Your name having come up as one of the the casualties

“Last night, three hunters have unexpectedly lost their lives to what the Hunter’s Association are calling ‘An intelligent wanderer’. Another two are in critical condition, but are expected to make a full recovery…”

A few days later, Sylus has been mulling about in the base. He has so much anger directed at himself, but it was incredibly unreasonable anger

One that said why wasn’t he there with you? Why wasn’t he fast enough? Why didn’t he just let Mephisto tag along? Why hadn’t he finished that custom crow that he promised? Why? Why? Why?

With all these thoughts clouding his mind, Sylus spends more time in the boxing gym, needing something to relieve his restlessness

With all this anger, Luke and Kieran have begun to walk on eggshells around him. There was an unsettling tension whenever they were with Sylus

Whilst this atmosphere was great when making business deals in the N109 zone, it set them on edge.

When you were here, there were sides of the bossman that they had never seen. Ones, they realised, that only you were capable of bringing out.

Mephisto began acting differently too. He would be too quiet, not even a single caw. He would stay on his perch as if he was tied down and unable to fly.

It isn’t long before Sylus tried to distract himself by trying to “fix” Mephisto. He would give him upgrades or take out the ones that he had made specifically for you.

But recently, Mephisto is shut down, splayed out on the workstation with screws and bolts scattered around him

Sylus has lost the motivation to fix him. Always saying to himself that, maybe he will find the time to do it tomorrow.

OHHHH his sleep schedule would be so messed up… I mean, it already was since he was nocturnal, but now he wakes up at the most random times but more often than not, he finds himself sleeping as the moon took its place high in the sky

bro went back to default settings because of you

He would wake up in a cold sweat, or simply just cold.

His body was so used to your warmth, but now it’s gone… You’re gone.

When he wakes, his hand subconsciously reaches out to the space beside him, but it’s empty

Your presence was sapped away from the base, save for a few little trinkets you’d left - A Pile It Up block here, or a kitty badge there, a few plushies that lined Sylus’ shelves

His eyes drift to his nightstand where the sketch from the vendor at the New Year’s market was framed and regret spreads through him

he was always so hell bent on removing any trace from his bases, including yours, so now all that’s left are memories of you stored in useless trinkets

Had he become too overconfident in your Evol linkage? Why didn’t he think that it could be broken? Did your curse not apply in this lifetime?

Although, he had seen your death many times before, he had always been confident that fate would bring you together over and over again, but for once in his life he began to doubt that he would ever see you again

Zayne ❖· ────── · ·

Was at work when he found out.

It was late at night and he was the on-call surgeon for that day.

He was at the nurse’s station requesting an ECG to be done on one of his patients when a commotion happens at the front entrance

There’s a team of people pulling in a stretcher - He recognises their uniforms as the first responder’s team of the HA

Like clockwork, he gets ready to see what the situation is, asking the team what happened

“Gunshot wound, Dr. Zayne, it’s lodged in his—”

“Dr. Zayne!” someone calls out to him and he sees a few more stretchers being pulled into the emergency unit.

He quickly turns back to the man before, “Get him to operating room 1.” He motions to his right where the operating theatres were, before heading to the nurse that called him

When he looks down at the next stretcher, he see you with gauze pressed to your neck and another at your chest

His heart turns to ice at the sight

“—Knife wound — like her heart’s been pulled — Dr. — Dr Zayne!”

He snaps out of his trance, “Get her to OR 2. Now!”

He’s hurrying all available personnel into OR 2, He turns to one of the nurses, “Call the anaesthetist, I’ll operate on her first.”

The nurses stops him, “Sir, you can’t just play favou—”

Coldly, he turns to her, “I’m not. A wound to the neck and chest with this much bleeding could mean her artery has ruptured.”

Despite his steady words, the nurses can tell that he’s frantic. Truthfully, this is the most urgent that anyone has ever seen him.

In the operating room, the nurse is helping Zayne scrub in.

Moments later, another surgeon walks into the room with Yvonne.

“Dr. Zayne, unscrub and get out.” The older man orders.

Zayne looks at him incredulously, “I beg your pardon.”

“I’ll take over from here, son.”

Yvonne takes a few steps forward and tugs on his wrist, “Dr. Zayne, you’re not thinking straight right now. You’re not in any condition to operate on her.” Yvonne explains and begins nudging him out of the OR.

“No, I’m perfectly fine.” Zayne resists and Yvonne has to use all her weight to push him out.

Zayne moves back inch by inch, watching at the more senior surgeon begins donning his gown and gloves to operate on you.

“No, let me assist in the surgery!” His tone has raised and he struggling against Yvonne’s efforts to push him out.

“I can’t let you do that, doctor.” She and another doctor are blocking Zayne’s way, restraining his arms.

“At least, let me sit in! I need to see her.” Zayne pleads to Yvonne, “Please!”

Yvonne’s eyes melt with pity, but she shakes her head, “I can’t.” She pushes more, “You know it’s hospital policy not to operate on those you are close with. You could lose your license by going in there, Zayne!” She reasons with him.

It takes him a whole hour to settle down enough to not enter the OR. Nevertheless, he paces the hall, and when he sits he bounces his leg and bites his knuckles

…

The next time Zayne wakes, the sun has risen. He blinks to adjust to the bright lights, “Where is she?” He mumbles into the air.

“Dr. Zayne!” It’s Greyson this time.

“Where is she?” Zayne repeats

Greyson averts his gaze and solemnly shakes his head, “She… didn’t make it.”

Zayne bolts upright, “What?!” For a moment anger flickers wildly in his mind, “This is why I should have been the one to oper—”

“Dr. Zayne!” Greyson reprimands him, disregarding Zayne’s medical superiority over him.

…

For the next few days, Zayne finishes his rostered week of work.

Although, he is generally seen as cool, calm and collected, now, it’s more of an indifference. Almost as if he was only there physically whilst his mind was somewhere far away.

He would be more distracted, lost in thought. Sometimes it would seem as if he was frozen in time.

When he snaps back to reality. He’s in his offices and in his palm a jasmine made of ice.

He closes his fist and crushes the flower, a painful reminder of each of your deaths that he has experienced before.

Not long after, the usually hard-working Dr. Zayne uses up ALL of his annual leave to stay cooped up in his home.

When the staff hear of the news, they send a few gifts to him. They’ve never seen him so withdrawn.

He probably starts eating so terribly, either skipping meals or binging on sweets, because you’re not there to keep him in check

He probably gets sick, both from not taking care of himself, but also as a manifestation of his grief

When he gets really bad, he loses control of his Evol and he thinks that maybe soon, if it takes over completely, he could see you again.

Grayson visits a few times and mentions how Zayne’s patients are doing well and they’re thanking him for his good work

And as selfish as it sounds, all it does is make Zayne wonder, what’s the point?

He became a cardiac surgeon in this lifetime with the hope that he could help you with the Aether core in your heart, but what’s left if you’re no longer here?

Rafayel ❖· ────── · ·

We all know Rafayel hates waiting, and I imagine that you were meant to meet up with him after your mission

but…you never came

He had heard the news about the new wanderer, but he hadn’t stayed long enough to hear that you were one of the casualties. It never even crossed him mind.

so when the day comes for you to meet him, he’s at his studio waiting…waiting…waiting

at this point his phone is going off but he hasn’t bothered checking the notifications. It was probably from Thomas anyways.

but then he begins to think

what if one of those messages were from you? saying that you were busy or something and couldn’t meet with him

maybe she forgot…

I’ll message her now >:( poor bbg

Just as he pulls out his phone, the doorbell rings

his face lights up at the thought of you. He’ll forgive you this time, he guesses

Swinging the door open, he’s not met with the sight of your smile or your sheepish apology for being late, but his manager, Thomas

What a let-down

He blows a raspberry and sighs, turning away from Thomas to walk into the studio

He scratches his head, ready to have his ears fall off from Thomas’ nagging, but there’s only silence

And from the doorway, Thomas stands looking at the ground, mouth opening and closing

“What’s the problem? You look like a fish with your mouth like that.” Rafayel chuckles, but something at the back of his mind tells him something is wrong

Thomas doesn’t know how to break the news to Rafayel, he knows doing so would absolutely break him (keep in mind Thomas doesn’t know that MC reincarnated before)

“I… MC…” Thomas can’t seem to find the words to say, “Rafayel, she passed away in the hospital late last night.”

“Very funny.” Rafayel brushes it off with a scoff. He walks to the door and Thomas moves out of his way.

“She’s gotta be hiding here somewhere.” He looks to the left and right of the doorway, “You guys are just playing a prank on me, right?”

He looks back at Thomas whose expression hasn’t changed. He only shakes his head.

“You’re…joking, right?” He steps towards Thomas, “Right?!”

Thomas shakes his head once more and brings up the news repost on his phone

under the heading of casualties is your name.

the revelation knocks the air straight out of Rafayel’s lungs

…

Weeks after your passing, Rafayel has been cooped up in his studio painting and painting.

All of them clearly capturing your essence.

All of his painting were of you. I mean, they already were, but the sense of hurt and longing within them has returned

With all of the emotion tied to each piece, his works quickly become hits amongst the citizens

and as easy as it makes Thomas’ job, he can tell how much Rafayel is hurting.

He never thought there would come a day where he would want Rafayel to stop and slow down, but he knows that doing so would make it harder for Rafayel to cope with the situation.

All Rafayel can do is paint every last memory of you. Immortalising you in each and every canvas.

With each stroke of the brush, he thinks how long would he have to wait to see you again?

Xavier ❖· ────── · ·

Xavier would dive head-first trying to hunt that wanderer down.

Against all of the HA’s warning and threats to revoke his license as a hunter, he pursues the wanderer day and night.

The reason he travelled back in time and became a hunter was to stop the future of Philos from repeating itself, to stop you from being sacrificed for the Aether core in your heart.

So, similar to Zayne, even if he was still a hunter, there was no point if you weren’t here.

Nonetheless, he would spend days in his apartment tracking down every bit of information about the attack that night

He would pull some strings, asking Jeremiah for favours to fish for information amongst the higher ups

I feel that he would become so consumed by this that he would skip meals just to keep up-to-date with the whereabouts of that wanderer. This was unusual for someone who would often eat so heartily

When he passes out from exhaustion all that goes through his mind is resentment towards the HA for sending you out on that mission.

But he knows deep down that they couldn’t have anticipated a new and intelligent wanderer

That stupid paper work for that stupid hunter’s license! The stupid association!

You reminded him multiple times to get it done - “You know Jenna’s going to hunt you down, right?”

If he had listened to you earlier, he would at least have been able to go on that mission with you.

Maybe he should have just ignored the association and gone on that mission with you.

Why didn’t he? He could have protected you - would have traded his life to do so.

I’m willing to bet that Xavier would visit the N109 zone to get whatever information they had

He knows that Sylus wouldn’t just let this go

If he has to work with his “rival” to bring you justice, then he won’t hesitate.

Caleb!!! ❖· ────── · ·

Was contacted by Linkon City Hall with the notification of your death since you had him as one of your emergency contacts

At first he thought it was a joke

That they got the wrong hunter

Because you were skilled, your Evol was powerful

It couldn’t have been you

Sure, he had always worried since your job as a hunter wasn’t exactly the safest, but he never doubted your skill, and he had never doubted himself to be there for you as he promised

Being in Skyhaven, the news about the new wanderer came later than if he had been in Linkon like the others.

His position as Colonel forces him to put up a façade to lead his fleet

Caleb has been so accustomed to holding back his feelings, so he did the same with his grief

But when he goes to the city hall and then hand over your death certificate, it breaks him

I read a post recently that unlike the other boys, Caleb sees MC is the one, not a version of the one - so your death was something that he had never even fathomed

With the spare key that you had given him, he goes to your apartment in Linkon

Your scent hits him so heavily

He makes his way to the living room and just collapses onto the couch, tears falling uncontrollably

After a while he would compose himself - a small part of him thinking how much of a weakness this is and how ashamed he would be if you had seen him like this

BROOOO he probably took one of your blankets back to Skyhaven and just lays there with it in his room, uggghh i’m dead.

He tosses up the idea of using his status as Fleet Colonel to dig up some information on what happened and if this was connected to Ever or even the Fleet

… I imagine that he prematurely returned to the Fleet - convincing himself that he was strong enough

but in moments when he’s alone, all those emotions spill out and he has to quickly compose himself, discretely wiping the tears away.

His vulnerability is instantly sealed behind the iron wall that is the Farspace Fleet Colonel

He always ends up pinching his arm or palm whenever he thinks of you - it becomes a way to comfort himself

…

On his day off, he returns to Linkon

Clenching his teeth he walks through the gravestones, the bouquet of flowers almost crushed with the strength of his grip

Right next to Gran was your grave.

He quickly swipes the stray petals from previous bouquets away from your graves and sits between the two of you

For a moment he’s silent, unsure of what to say

Then he places a hand at your gravestone and greets you with a meek, “Hey, pip-squeak.”

That alone has the tears rushing down his cheeks, so he greets Gran as a way to turn away from you

Honestly, he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore

He probably goes back and listens to your voice messages or rereads your texts

He remembers you when he dries his hair, when he cooks he subconsciously makes portions for two. Nowadays, he can’t bring himself to go back to Linkon because he sees you everywhere.

He has that photo of the two of you from his graduation and he stares at it for a while, reminiscing all the memories you had together, gently tracing your smiling face through the frame

Spending time away from you after that explosion at Bloomshore was torturous enough, but now, he has to do it for the rest of his life… and he doesn’t know how.

Girls, if it weren't for those meddling kids Sylus, I WOULD HAVE BEEN THE BIGGEST CALEB GIRLIE!!!

Let me tell you, I used to reread Caleb's chapters and the messages, etc. etc. especially when i read those chapters for the first time.

And then Sylus came, and boom... too little too late, Caleb (._.)

...

Caleb coming back from the dead: ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Me having convinced myself that surely Infold wouldn't make him an LI: (ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

|| Masterlist ||

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!

Edit: bros i just read some of the chapters in part 2 and like damn, caleb's so obsessive, like massive red flags??? Damn

-Seven

[ayrtonswnna]

⠀⠀⠀LITTLE PRINCESS 〃 george russell oneshot.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀↳ drop a request! ↳ check my masterlist!

⠀⠀⠀george russell x lianna hamilton (hamilton!female oc)

lianna goes on a skiing trip with her brother and his team crew. her historical bickering with george russell turns to something else. ↳ fluff/crack. 4.6k words.

warnings: making out (like... twice. but good provocative making out), author recently started to get some british english studies so it might have gotten a bit carried away, characters with a backstory, lewis hamilton older brother core™ , george being really good with words, spoiled and petty character.

"Imagine you're cold, your brand-new-expensive Moon Boots are wet, you've just lost your favorite Vivienne Westwood necklace, you can't drive to save your life, your hair’s frizzy from the weather, and your older brother keeps talking about how much of a blessing it is to enjoy nature. Life is tough! Too tough!"

Lianna didn’t think joining her brother on this skiing trip would be such a disaster. She imagined cute outfits, sipping hot chocolate by a roaring fire, and maybe getting a few aesthetic paparazzi snaps for good measure. Instead? Wet boots, freezing wind, and an actual uphill climb.

“Lianna, for God’s sake!” Lewis groaned, turning back to stomp a footprint into the snow. “Can you stop whining for five bloody minutes? It’s not the first necklace you lose- and no one forced you to come. And if you don’t stop, I’ll nick those Moon Boots myself, and you can do the rest of the walk barefoot.”

“Wow. Just wow. This is who you call an idol, people? I’d be embarrassed.” She huffed, adjusting her oversized backpack like the world’s most annoyed mountain climber. “Next time, we’re going to Ibiza. Or Mykonos. Somewhere civilised. I’ll start shopping for bikinis as soon as we’re back.”

“Next time,” a voice in the back muttered. “you’ll be in red with Charles Leclerc for company. Keep up, Little Princess.”

Before she could snap back, George Russell breezed past her like he was strolling through Hyde Park, not hiking up a snowy mountain.

“Feeling sad, Mr. Russell? Gonna miss me this much?”

Mutual pining at its finest; that was their thing. George’s endless teasing, her exaggerated reactions — it was like they had their own language.

“You can’t imagine how much, Miss Little Princess,” he replied with a smirk, offering her a hand as they reached a particularly icy bit. “Now come on, or you’ll end up stuck here till spring.”

Lianna sighed dramatically but took his hand anyway. “If I fall, ruin my coat, or twist my ankle, you owe me a new outfit. And not your boring beige nonsense.”

“Noted, Miss Neon Everything.”

When they finally made it to the rented chalet — a cozy wooden house with floor-to-ceiling windows and a roaring fire — it was a much-needed respite. Lianna threw herself into the nearest armchair with a dramatic groan.

Lewis, ever the drill sergeant, clapped his hands together. “Right, we’re hitting the slopes this afternoon. Who’s in?”

Most of the group chimed in enthusiastically, but Lianna didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not. I’m staying here. Where it’s warm. Like a normal person.”

George, leaning against the doorframe, grinned. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on the princess. Can’t leave her alone with all this nature.”

Lewis rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. Try not to kill each other.”

The door clicked shut, and Lianna and George were left alone in the quiet warmth of the house. The youngest Hamilton groaned, tugging a throw blanket over herself.

At least they had phone area; she had some good real fun with Tiktoks before she could feel the pair of eyes over her.

“What?” she snapped, looking up.

“Nothing,” George said, trying to suppress a grin, coming back from the kitchen. “Just enjoying the theatrics. You could’ve been an actress, you know.”

“It is just not fair, my drama is really valid. You numpty.” she muttered, fidgeting with her sweater. “My boots are ruined, my mood is ruined, and now I’m stuck here with you.”

He chuckled, plopping onto the couch beside her. “Admit it, you’d be bored out of your mind without me.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I thrive in solitude.”

“Is that why you always find me at events?” George teased. “Or why you made sure it was me driving you home after my birthday?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she threw him a pillow without hesitating. "Everyone else was smashed, and you kept offering, like, three times. I said I’d just grab an Uber, but you bolted to get the keys like it was life or death."

“If it helps you sleep at night…” He just smiled, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. “You’re gonna miss me, though. Once you’re off in Italy with Lewis.”

“Nahhh… Not at all. Maybe just some of your paddock fits, and your private jet- Oh, I love the jet. But you?” her nose crunched, ready to keep the yapping but caught off guard when she took a few seconds to look up at him.

The damn blue eyes and the prince posture, even relaxed by the couch. Something like comfort floating in between them and the freedom the driver had while scanning her face.

Her bravado faltered for a moment; he seemed so sure of what he was doing that he even leaned closer. “Maybe a tiny bit, right? We can agree on that.”

She caught her breath. “Us? Agreeing? No way on God’s green earth.”

“You’ll be gutted when I’m not around, admit it.” he winked, in a cheesy way he knew would make her laugh. He is in fact really good with that. “Unlike you, Little princess, I am fully able to recognize I will miss making fun of your over-expensive clothes and your crying when Lew wins- and the tantrums over food! I’ll even miss that...”

“Oh! You clot! I dress well and I cry a lot - my brother is the biggest winner in your sport and I don’t enjoy much food besides mom’s. And the actual problem here is how obsessed you are with me! That’s a lot of information.”

“Obsessed? Nah, that’s too much” he said quietly, “But I guess I really do notice you a lot. You’ve got a presence.”

She blinked, her cockiness crumbling. “Don’t expect me to say anything like that about you- I only notice your boring clothes and your radio calls because they’re funny.”

“Again, if it helps you sleep at night…” he replied, his head only tilted more and more to the side, closer and closer to her. She’s noticed, of course she did. Suddenly it’s getting hot; and they're in the middle of the snow.

There’s something like tension in the air, it’s weird how they can get to that sometimes. It just never happened in a one-on-one environment. Silence grew thick and his breath could reach her cheek now. It is not like they haven’t been near before. 

They stood together in a full elevator once, her body stuck in between his figure and the wall as she kept conversation with their friends also inside the cabin. Tough time for Mister Russell, he fought for his life that day.

She feels that way when he lifts her up to get across the paddock, through the high-posted gates and the half-walls, or when he jokingly approaches her from behind during parties.

It is actually surprising they didn’t cross any line yet.

“I notice when you see me from the distance and you smile. It happens more in the garage… Sometimes I even forget it’s my job to hate you.” it slid from her lips before she could stop it; but, somehow. It felt right to say. The silence was suffocating.

“You smile back every time. You wave too… Like a Little Princess.”

They might not actually hate each other; in fact, it might be the other way around. Even Lianna could see it, now that she took the courage to lean to the side and stare back. Eye-in-eye action. A bold, strong one.

George’s gaze lingered, sharp but soft in a way that made her chest tighten. His confidence wasn’t overbearing, but there was no mistaking the certainty in his eyes. That kind of focus could stop anyone in their tracks, and right now, it was aimed solely at her.

“Little Princess, huh?” she said, her voice quieter now, the teasing edge fading into something she wasn’t entirely prepared for.

His lips twitched, almost smirking. “You wear the title well.”

Her mouth opened to snap back, but nothing came out. She felt trapped — in a good way. Her heart was speeding up, and there was no denying the pull in the air, like something unspoken was gaining weight with every second.

His hand rested on the couch between them, fingers grazing the cushion as though he was holding himself back. Hers wasn’t far off, her fingers clutching the edge of the fabric. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if the space between them was shrinking by the second.

“You’re staring,” she pointed out, her voice trembling slightly, betraying her.

“You’re letting me,” George shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to make her stomach flip.

She rolled her eyes instinctively, but her attempt at nonchalance was betrayed when her gaze dropped — just for a second — to his lips. He caught it, of course. How could he not?

His hand shifted, the movement slow, deliberate. His fingers grazed curls, moving them to the side before tracing the now free area of her face, featherlight, sending a shockwave straight up her spine. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she didn’t.

Her breath hitched. She wanted to say something — anything — but the words caught in her throat, tangled up in the pounding of her heartbeat. Her throat went dry as soon as he had more skin touching her, hand finding room in the side of her neck, the big palm rubbing against the sensitive part, gently and firmly holding her in place, as controversial it could feel.

The texture of his skin was warm, rougher than she expected, like he’d been gripping the steering wheel too tightly for too long. She’d never thought much about George’s hands before, but now? Now they were all she could think about.

Her own palm pressed lightly around his fist, and the simple connection felt intimate in a way she wasn’t ready to admit. It’s the implying; how his thumb ghosted around her cheek, secretly making way to her bottom lip, hypnotizing, striking. His fingers could get a hold of her hair now and that’s when he knew she was fully melted, just like her head did onto his hand, her eyes almost shutting closed. From the slighted touch. It would form an amazing joke if he could ever think of one at the moment. 

“Still don’t think you’ll miss me?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the tension crackling between them.

“Not even a little bit,” she lied, though her voice betrayed her again, soft and unsteady.

He leaned closer, the shift so gradual it was like he was giving her time to stop him. His breath was warm against her cheek, and she could feel the faint scent of his cologne — something subtle but crisp, like cedarwood and rain.

They’re closer now, her body betraying her with its natural instinct to lean toward him.

“You’re terrible at lying,” he said, his lips so close to hers now that she could almost feel the words as much as she heard them. “I really thought you were tough. But here you are, practically melting under my touch.”

Her heart felt like it might explode. The weight of his gaze, the heat of his hand against her skin, the sheer proximity — it was all too much and yet not enough. With his hand still holding her in place, his thumb brushed against her lip, as let out a soft laugh, his breath warm against her ear now. “So, this is what happens when I get you alone? Can’t say I’m complaining... but don’t think I won’t use this against you later.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she said, “Shut up, George.”

And then, as if her words were the permission he’d been waiting for, his lips brushed hers. It wasn’t a kiss, not yet. It was tentative, a question more than an answer. Her brother’s future-ex-teammate leading the hell they’ll turn into paradise, still keeping her where she is as he didn’t let the kiss really happen — driving her crazy. 

A single moment stretched into infinity as her mind raced and her body froze, caught between the overwhelming urge to pull him closer and the voice in her head screaming that this was a bad idea.

Her fingers curled tighter around his wrist, pulling him closer and making him smile teasingly, believing it was enough with the temptation. His lips pressed against hers, soft and warm and everything she hadn’t let herself imagine before.

The world fell away.

She didn’t move at first, too overwhelmed by the weight of it all. But then her body took over, her lips moving against his in a way that felt natural, instinctive. Her hand slid from the couch to his arm, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his shirt, and she could feel the muscles beneath tense at her touch.

His lips lingered on hers, teasing, before he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, both of them breathless. The world around them seemed to fade; there was nothing but the quiet of the room and the rapid beats of their hearts, out of sync but somehow perfectly aligned.

George’s hand slid from her neck to her jaw, his thumb brushing her lower lip, drawing her attention to it before capturing her mouth once more. This time, it wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t questioning. It was urgent, like they both knew the clock was ticking, and there was no going back.

Her hands were already tugging at his shirt, pulling him closer, her body instinctively arching into his as if it belonged there. She didn’t care about the consequences anymore. All she cared about was the heat of his skin, the way his lips moved against hers, the way his body fit against hers perfectly.

The kiss deepened, and her fingers slid to the back of his neck, gripping his hair, tugging him down as she tilted her head to get closer, to deepen the kiss. It was reckless. It was desperate. But it was also... exhilarating. Her body pressed harder against his, and she could feel the tension coil tighter inside her, like a spring wound too tight, ready to snap.

Just as she felt him pull her flush against him, his knee sliding between her legs, the door clicked.

They both froze.

The sound of the lock turning seemed to reverberate in her chest. In an instant, George shoved himself away from her, his chest heaving as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

She scrambled to adjust herself, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

“Hey, you guys, everyone alive?” Lewis’s voice rang through the room as the door swung open, revealing him with a knowing smirk. “Oh- Did I… Did I interrupt something?”

Lianna’s breath was still shallow, her hand clutching the side of the couch like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

George was trying his best to look unaffected, but his disheveled appearance wasn’t helping.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “You two are weird. Seriously, what is going on with you two? Are we gonna have to start an intervention?”

Lianna shot him a glare. “What do you want, Lewis?” she snapped, though her voice was a little too shaky to sound convincing.

Lewis, oblivious to the tension that had just enveloped the room, shrugged. “Oh, I just came to grab my... uh, charger. Is everything ok down here? You both seem… Weird?” He glanced between them, the smirk still dancing on his lips. “It’s almost like you’re in a friendly competition or something.”

George shot a glance at Lianna, and in a flash, they both tried to cover the awkwardness with false bravado.

“Oh, please,” Lianna scoffed, crossing her arms, trying to play it cool. “Competition with George isn’t competition. I win every time.”

George quickly jumped in, grinning like he didn’t just almost kiss her senseless. “Never won against me on paddle, karting, chess, soccer… You even lose bets. Don’t lie to-”

“Alright, alright. Got it. You still hate each other. Got it.” Lewis rolled his eyes, clearly not buying it, but he played along.

They both nodded in exaggerated agreement, too quickly to be convincing, but it seemed to ease the weirdness, if only for a second.

“Anyway, I’m off,” Lewis said, his voice light and carefree, though he was clearly still enjoying the strange vibe between them. “We’ve all got that race in an hour, and I don’t plan on being caught in a compromising position again.” He winked at them both. “You two might want to stay away from each other until then, yeah?”

He lingered for a moment longer, clearly sensing something was off but not quite knowing what, before turning to leave.

There was a long silence between them after he left.

Lianna let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “God, that was close.”

George just exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, if he noticed anything, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He leaned against the back of the couch, his expression half annoyed, half amused.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to hear anything if you weren’t so obvious,” she shot back, though there was still a slight edge to her voice. The playful bickering was slowly returning, but there was still a rawness in the air.

“You started it,” he said with a smirk, a challenge in his eyes as he crossed his arms. “You’re the one who can’t keep her hands to herself.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping away from him. “You kissed me, George.”

He grinned. “And you kissed me back.”

“Right, yeah. ” she shot back. “You kissed me, I kissed you back, Lewis got in and stopped us. End of the story”

“Fine, It didn’t seem like you wanted to end it before Lew- Ouch, Lianna!” he started normally, but a pillow hit his face half way through it. 

“Yeah, now stand up and let’s go change. You have to snowboard and I have to sit down and look pretty in my Fendi coat. Let´s go.”

That night, long after the others returned and went to bed, Lianna found herself pacing in her room. Her mind was a storm of thoughts, emotions swirling that she couldn’t quite name. Her heart was racing, every step against the cold wood floor seeming to echo through her. That kiss, that moment — she couldn’t shake it.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed a hoodie, padded barefoot across the hall, and knocked lightly on George’s door.

"Lianna?" His voice was groggy, thick with sleep.

When he opened the door and saw her standing there, his expression softened, eyes still heavy with sleep but already wide awake in that instant. His lips parted, a mixture of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite read.

Without waiting for him to say more, she pushed past him, climbing into his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t make it weird,” she said, her tone dismissive but her body betraying her nerves, every movement stiff as if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

“My room’s freezing,” she added, but even to her own ears, it sounded like a half-hearted excuse.

George chuckled, the sound low and warm in the dim room, sliding in beside her without hesitation. "Of course. Wouldn’t dream of it," he muttered, though his voice carried a teasing edge.

The bed creaked under them as they shifted, both finding an awkward comfort in the space between them. It was quiet — too quiet — but the it wasn’t uncomfortable. They lay there in the dark, the moments stretching out between them, until Lianna broke the silence.

“So…” she started, her voice uncertain. “Do you remember that time when we were at that dinner, and you were being all smug because you knew exactly what to order?”

George groaned, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know you hated the fact that I actually have taste.”

She snorted. “Taste? You were showing off like you were some gourmet chef or something. I swear, I almost choked on my water just to get out of hearing about your ‘expert’ opinions on wine.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm. “I was just trying to share some culture with you. Not my fault you don’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

Lianna raised an eyebrow, turning her head slightly to look at him. “You mean you just like hearing yourself talk.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “But at least you listened. That’s more than I can say for some people.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, her voice a little teasing now, though there was something in it that made it feel a little too intimate. “I listened. I just didn’t appreciate it. Just like the way you act like I’m some sort of charity case when you give me rides.”

George turned his head slightly, lips barely touching the top of her hair as he spoke, quieter now. “You know, you always act like you don’t like it. But I think you do. You like the attention.”

Lianna’s breath caught, her mind racing. She had always been so quick to brush off anything too personal between them, especially when it came to him. But now, with his voice so close, the words lingered.

She shifted, unsure of how to respond, but then, without thinking, she said, “Yeah, sure, I like the attention. I’m not ashamed of it.”

George smiled, a genuine warmth in his voice when he spoke again. “I noticed. You do like the spotlight.”

Lianna shifted again, her face now resting just below his collarbone. “I never said I liked it. I just like being noticed when I want to be.” Her fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt, and she cursed herself for making it sound so... intimate.

He paused for a second, the tension between them palpable. "I get that," he murmured softly. "You deserve to be noticed."

Lianna didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let the silence settle between them. She couldn’t ignore it anymore — the way he said it, like it was just a matter of fact. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable in a way that she hadn’t expected.

They both lay there in the dark, the tension creeping up between them, thick but not unbearable. He spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “I know we always bicker. It’s kind of our thing, isn’t it? But don’t pretend it’s just for fun, Lianna. You know I can’t resist when you get all worked up.”

She turned slightly, her face closer to his now. “Maybe I just like getting under your skin,” she said, her words coming out smoother than she intended.

“Oh, I know you do,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “But don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy when I noticed you, when I called you out on something. You liked the attention just as much as I did."

Lianna’s heart fluttered, the heat between them escalating with every word. “Yeah, maybe I did,” she said, her voice almost a whisper now. She was almost embarrassed by how much it was affecting her, but she didn’t pull away.

George’s fingers brushed against the side of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “I noticed you, alright,” he murmured. “Every little thing. Every smile, every look, every time you’d act like you didn’t care, when I knew you did.”

She let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening in response to his words. “I didn’t know you paid that much attention.”

“I always do,” he whispered, his lips so close to her ear now, the words brushing against her skin. “You’re hard to miss, Lianna.”

There it was again. The weight of his words, sinking in as he said it like it was just another casual thing. But it didn’t feel casual. It felt charged, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Lianna opened her mouth, about to reply, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she just let the moment linger, the silence swallowing them both up for a beat before he broke it with a soft exhale.

"You make it hard to keep my distance," George whispered, his lips brushing against the top of her hair.

Her heart skipped. His voice, the way he said it, made her shiver slightly. She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply stayed quiet, absorbing his words, trying to figure out what to say next.

But the air around them was electric now. Her body was pressed to his, the warmth of his skin making her chest tighten and her breath catch. Her hand found its way to his chest, lightly resting against him, and it almost felt like a reflex.

Then, without thinking, she leaned in. Her lips met his again, soft at first, hesitant, as if they were both afraid of crossing some invisible line. But the second her lips touched his, everything else seemed to fade away. It deepened naturally, a quiet urgency behind it, as if they both had waited long enough to let this moment stretch between them, just like they knew there’s no going back; ever since earlier on the couch. They started something that’s impossible to just stop now.

Her fingers found the fabric of his shirt, gripping it just a little tighter, and the kiss deepened, slow and sure, like they had all the time in the world. His hands moved, tentative at first, tracing the line of her jaw before cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing the skin with a tenderness that made her heart beat harder.

There was something intoxicating about the way he kissed her—like he was trying to memorize the taste, the warmth of her, but also something urgent, a silent need that they both couldn’t name.

The kiss broke, but neither of them pulled away completely. Their foreheads rested together for a moment, breaths mingling, both of them unwilling to speak. The weight of what had just happened hung there, both of them knowing that it meant something, but neither of them wanting to say it out loud.

She could feel the hum in her chest, that buzzing tension that still lingered, but there was a certain calm, too. The kiss had been slow, deliberate, nothing rushed, nothing forced. And yet, it had been more than either of them expected.

“George,” she whispered again, this time quieter, almost as if she was trying to convince herself.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing patterns on her arm as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm tighter around her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, the world seemed to slow. Their lips found each other again in the dark, softer this time, less urgent but no less electric.

Before either of them realized, sleep began to creep in. The kiss faded, their breathing evening out as their bodies relaxed into the warmth of the bed. It was as if everything that had been said, everything that had been left unsaid, was allowed to rest, allowed to settle between them.

They didn’t speak anymore, didn’t need to. The quiet stretched on, thick with the unspoken understanding that something had shifted. And as the hours passed, with their bodies tangled together, both of them finally fell asleep, the tension lingering in the silence but no longer pulling them apart.

↳ requests are open!⠀⠀↳ check my AO3!⠀⠀↳ main content's table

[erinwantstowrite]

asking as i'm super nosy ( don't feel like you have to answer) but how long does it take for you to write each chapter? because they're so long and detailed and amazing, i just am being nosy so i don't feel as bad for how long i take to write things

usually it doesn't take me this long (i think it's officially been a month or so since i updated) but action scenes are my kryptonite. trying to write them cohesively is a struggle.

i typically spend a couple days after posting a chapter not writing and doing some art or reading or exercise, so i can have a more fresh mind when i get back to it. then i spend like 3-5 days (sometimes a week) looking at my overall outline for the fic, triple checking my plot points and how we get places/where we've gotten, adjust the overall outline, then write up a scene by scene outline for the chapter i need to write next (and then look at my overall outline a couple more times to make sure it fits). my outlines change a LOT during the process because when i get hung up, it usually means i don't like something in the outline/pov/set up to the scene.

it really depends on how i'm feeling or what type of scene i'm writing, but most days i can write like 2000-2500 words once i have my outline written, and on really good days i can write 4000. however for anyone who's like "what the fuck! i can't do that :(" it took me YEARS to get that kind of standard, and even now, i have weaknesses that i'm still figuring out. the amount says barely anything to the quality. sometimes i write like half of a chapter and then scrap it all because i hate it. and like i said above, action scenes are my biggest weakness as a writer. so i've been writing like 100-600 words a day. sometimes i don't make a dent in the word count but edited the entire time i was writing. sometimes i have a stare down with my draft and write nothing

(this is also thanks to having a good few hours of my day blocked out for writing time. i also write when i'm out doing things and have a moment to myself to jot something down real quick before i can forget it)

so it varies from 2- 3 weeks when i'm doing well, and then it can go longer if i'm really struggling

[toxicbrothel]

I miss Thighs Out, Tox. Can he write us a fanfic about his dirtiest desires? I AM CURIOUS :3

wet booth (18+)

bf's dad!Joel x f!reader, 900

by thighs, shoutout to step for inspiration.

You’re sitting in McDonald's getting horny as hell, fantasizing about joining the mile high club on the way to vacation. Joel has one planned, but won't tell you any details. He knows you like surprises like that time you were laying out on the beach. You're missing Daddy’s fat cock, and he misses you, too. You won’t be able to see him until tonight, and it’s driving you crazy.

God, I wish he’d stick it in my tight ass, you think to yourself.  He’ll stick it anywhere you want. 

You’re gushing onto the booth, probably soaking through your short little skirt. Your breathing is getting heavy and you have to undo the top 2 buttons of your button down shirt to cool off and let your tits heave up and down more freely. You're wearing a front-closure bra that could burst open if you stretched your arms behind your back. 

“Can’t wait for tonight,” you send Joel. You part your thighs to air out your dripping cooch. 

He responds in a few minutes, first with a pic of a big bottle of lube, and a stop sign emoji with a question mark. You send him a green light and moan softly out loud in the restaurant. A minute later, you get a pic that has a spoiler over it. Oh, God, it’s so hot when he jacks off. 

You hold the phone down in your lap, feeling the heat of your loins as you uncover the photo. It’s a closeup. His legs are spread and his knees are up. His hand is wrapped around his big, hard dick, and his balls are also in frame along with a butt plug. Everything is shiny with lube.

You send him another green light, but he sends back a text, “Show me somethin’ juicy.” Throbbing and desperate to get a video, you look around the fast food joint. You pull your soaked panties to the side, and under the table you snap a pic of your drooling cunt. 

“Fuck yeah,” he responds. He sends back a 5 second clip of his hand gliding up and down his shaft, and he says “you’re so goddamn hot, baby.”

“More, daddy. I wanna see you cum,” you reply.

“Show me your tits,” he responds. 

You adjust your skirt and feel a wet stop on the back. Fuck. Maybe you’ll just take off your shirt and tie it around your waist and go to the restroom. You’d be fine in your tight undershirt an bra and your tits overflowing. But he Texts back, “Right there. Not in the bathroom.” 

Oh, God, it turns you on. You think for a moment about how you can pull this off. You're sitting in the exact booth where Luigi Mangioni was caught, so it feels extra risky, which adds an extra thrill.

You take off your button down shirt and tie it around your waist, then you jog to the restroom with your tits bouncing with each step. You remove your bra then come back out to the booth and use a napkin to wipe up the slick on the seat before sitting down again. You stuff your bra in your purse, then put the shirt on, but leave it unbuttoned. 

Meanwhile, Joel is brainstorming  what you could stick up your cunt but he knows mcdonald’s doesn’t have Heinz ketchup bottles on the tables or serve beer so he’s drawing a blank. Fingers it is. 

You pull your tight undershirt down under your tits, making them swell up. Your nipples are hard. Your shirt is hanging open, barely covering your breasts. You nudge the shirt open on one side and take a selfie with your tit exposed before quickly nudging it to cover yourself again. 

“Both,” Joel insists.

You shouldn’t dishonor this of all booths with lack of courage. You stick your chest forward, making the shirt fall open enough to show both your nipples, and send a pic back to Daddy. Then you pull up the undershirt.  

He sends a voice note and you hold it to your ear.  “Ohhh, fuck, baby,” he moans, “Ya gotta do one last thing for me, k babygirl?” You nod even though he cant see you. He's breathing heavily. “I need you to fuck yourself and don’t press play til you’re about to cum, k baby. Mmmm God damn” 

He sends a video with a spoiler over it. You unhide it but don’t press play yet.

You rub yourself and finger fuck yourself, trying not to make a noise, but you’re so wet the squelching is audible. About to cum, your mouth opens with a grunt, then you press play and just pray no one hears. 

“fuck, you're so sexy” Joel breathes as he jerks himself.  “such a good girl, fuckin yourself in that booth for daddy, ohhh fuck.”

Your fingers keep squelching and you're about to cum when Joel erupts with a groan, cumming huge fertile ropes all over himself to the thought of you in that booth.

“Fuck," you mutter, then you moan and cum into your hand, squirting everywhere under the booth. You stare at your uneaten meal and catch your breath. 

“Good girl 😘,” he texts you.

The guy in the booth in front of you reaches back and places a stack of napkins on the table. He can't get up because he has a boner. 

[cantstoptheimagines]

By the Colonel’s Hand (Caleb | Love and Deepspace)

Summary — Caleb decides to punish you.

Warnings and Other Tags ➳ Smut (dubious consent; power dynamics; corporal punishment; bondage; fingering (anal, vaginal); object insertion (anal, baton); spitting (including spit as lube); aftercare); I care not for military procedures nor terms; Dark!Caleb is who we’ve been waiting for.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1087. ➳ Reader uses feminine pronouns (she/her). ➳ This was written as a gift for my best friend, Yoshino! Happy birthday, pipsqueak! (Please don’t kill me for calling you that!) >:3

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule

Cold metal glides over your spine before a sharp sting against your backside drags a loud cry from your lips. Or, at least, it tries to. Any and all noise is muffled by thick, black tape. Tears stream down your cheeks and over the tape with every painful strike you receive.

Draped over the lap of your own colonel, your entire body burns with humiliation. It had been hours since you’d been dragged into the dark office. Hands tied firmly behind your back, you were left with no choice but to endure whatever punishment he deemed fit.

“You should know by now to hold your tongue when we’re in the presence of other commanding officers,” hummed Caleb, palming at your bare skin in a false attempt to soothe the ache. “How will they know I’m capable of leading the Fleet if you’re being a brat?”

His metal hand strikes you again. Harder this time, all in the name of proving his point. Caleb quickly adjusts your position when you begin to slip from his knee. He smirked to himself at the sight of your clenched fists.

“Why so tense?” he asked, his tone heavy with amusement. “I thought you’d enjoy being put in your place for once.”

He spreads your cheeks and spits. Then, another cruel blow lands, though this one aims for your exposed folds instead. A hand digs into your swollen flesh, roughly keeping you open for him. The other swirls around your puckered asshole before two thick fingers dip inside.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion. Muffled shrieks try to break through the tape covering your lips. Another wave of tears comes along, but Caleb pays you no mind. Instead, he focuses on the way his digits pump in and out of you. He spits on your exposed hole a second time.

“One day, we’ll finally fit my cock in here,” he grinned. “Won’t that be nice? I’ll even make sure to spill my load inside you when the time comes.”

He quickly tampers a sudden bout of struggle as you squirm in his lap. His fingers only pump faster, sinking deeper each time they invade your quivering entrance.

“Don’t move too much. You might make me hard,” said Caleb, only to laugh seconds later. “Or are you trying to see if we can go ahead and squeeze my cock in here today? We don’t need to rush things, ya know? This hole still needs to be trained up a bit. But if you’re looking to speed things up…”

He removes his fingers, but your relief is short-lived. His metal hand runs over your gaping hole while the other reaches for something out of sight. Then, everything happens all at once.

The heavy strike of a baton cracks down on your bruised and aching backside. The pain is searing as Caleb expresses zero sympathy for your cries.

“Mmph! Mmph! Mm—Mmph! Mmmmph!”

Your muffled pleas hold no weight as Caleb attacks your bare flesh again and again. Your eyes roll back in response to the pain. It’s all too much, especially when the baton’s tip caresses your rear entrance.

“You’re gonna take it,” muttered Caleb, “then you’ll finally see how good I’ve been to you.”

Your entire body tenses when he puts a little more force behind the baton. Poking and prodding at your hole, he huffs in frustration. 

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” he said.

His metal fingers sink back inside your tight ass and pry you open to make way for the thick baton. He laughs upon seeing the tip of the object finally disappear inside you. 

He removes his fingers and admires the way your tightest hole clenches uncontrollably around the baton. He leans down to kiss the area before giving you another hard smack with his metal palm.

“Good girl,” he praised, pinching your bruised skin. “Bet it’s tight, huh? Let’s see how deep it can go.”

You can hardly comprehend what he’s saying now. Everything is a blur of indescribable sensations as the baton slowly begins to move inside you.

“Hmmm! Ngh!”

Caleb’s fingers smear his spit around your entrance. He shoves the baton deeper and deeper inside you, testing its limits, along with yours.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Fuck, you look so good like this.”

Every thrust is slow yet overwhelming. Caleb had never been one to rush things like this. He wanted to savor your trembling figure and desperate, muffled cries.

You’re shown no mercy as he fucks you with the baton. In and out, in and out, all while he admires the sight of your ass struggling to handle such rough treatment. He doesn’t hesitate to slap your bare flesh whenever you move too much for his liking. He even yanks your hair a few times for good measure, pulling your head up just enough to spit on your flushed expression.

He speeds up the baton just to make you squeal. Each time, spanking you harder for your failure in containing the noise. Your cheeks are sore and bruised from it all, though he doesn’t seem to care enough to ease the pain. Instead, he inflicts more and more until you finally soak yourself, his lap, and the baton.

Quickly, his metal fingers sink into your cumming pussy. The other hand, however, doesn’t let up, forcing the baton in and out of your ass at a much faster pace now that your release is pouring from your entrance.

“There you go!” laughed Caleb, pumping his thick, mechanical fingers deep inside you.

Your release finally dies down, your entire body humming with the aftereffects of such an overwhelming orgasm. You can only whimper quietly when the baton is slowly removed from your body.

Your wrists are unbound and the tape covering your mouth disappears as well. Exhaustion is taking over, so quickly that you barely notice when Caleb gently places you on a couch in his office.

Lying on your stomach, you moan thankfully into a pillow when Caleb silently begins massaging your aching backside with a soothing cream. He plants kisses across the bruised skin, only to suddenly prod at your gaping entrance with his tongue.

You tensed at the sensation, “Caleb.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled quietly.

He shifts his attention to your face, rubbing his nose against your cheekbone. He grins sinisterly upon seeing your eyes snap open when he lands one final, brutal slap to your ass.

Dropping the smile, he muttered into your ear, “But it’s still Colonel to you.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Govt gets kas!Eddie 6

Part 5

For the most part, everyone got used to Eddie and his new form relatively quickly. Considering his new attributes and the fact he was still working on forming full sentences, that itself was a feat. If anything, the part that took the most adjusting too was how he clung to Steve now. And he really clung. Steve was used to it, in private, at least. The first time Eddie hugged him from behind, pressing himself to Steve from shoulder to ankle, right when they were in the middle of discussing what to do about Vecna...well Steve thought he might die.

Everyone gave them looks but no one said anything. At least, not at the time. Steve wasn't ready for them to be completely out yet. But he wasn't going to push Eddie away. He thought he'd never get this again. Never see Eddie again, much less be held by him.

"I just don't get why he's so close with you all of a sudden", Erica said.

"I've been thinking the same thing", Mike agreed.

"They've got a weird bond", Dustin said.

"Yeah, but like, since when?", Lucas asked, also curious.

Eddie was out in the yard. It was dark out, so they weren't worried about anyone seeing him. And he'd gotten the urge to patrol lately. Maybe he could feel Vecna trying to get close or something? Either way, that left Steve to field the questions.

"He and I did go to school for years. Back when you guys were still in diapers", he snarked.

Dustin frowned. "Yeah, but that doesn't explain why you two are all-"

"Can we get back to the important stuff?", Steve cut him off. "Like anything else?"

"Okay, why are you in sweats all the time?", Erica asked. "Did you just give up on life or something?"

Steve groaned and rolled his eyes. He got up just when more people came in through the front door. One of which was Hopper. Who had been giving him and Eddie odd looks from the start. Steve escaped to the laundry room to do a load. Once alone, he put a hand to his stomach. He'd gone for sweatpants more often lately, simply because suddenly his jeans stopped fitting.

He brought a hand to his stomach but snatched it away when Hopper appeared in the doorway. His arms were crossed as he looked Steve up and down. Steve opened his mouth to ask what was up but Hopper beat him to it.

"I don't know just what's goin' on with you and Munson. But I know it's something."

"Yeah...so?", Steve felt defensive.

"Is that really how you wanna live?"

"And what's that got to do with you, Jim?", Wayne asked, coming by with a basket of clothes.

"I'm not the kind to judge. I just don't think they need to flaunt it. Especially in front of the kids."

"Get your head outta your ass", Wayne said, setting the basket down.

Hopper uncrossed his arms and frowned. "I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. What they do when they're alone is none of my business, but-"

"No buts, that's the end of the sentence. It's none of your business. These boys have been through too much to have to deal with you or anyone else telling them how to live."

"You sound like you're ready to fight for it", Hopper took a step toward him. "You remember I'm a cop right? And that I served?"

"Yeah we all got Uncle Sam's letter", Wayne said, taking a step towards Hopper. "You're tellin' me you never met anyone like them? People who got more letters from 'brothers' than from any missus? No one who took extra long in the showers?"

"That was wartime, it was different."

Wayne grinned and his shoulders shook like he was about to laugh and Steve was struck by how similar he seemed to Eddie.

"You just worry about Creel's boy. This ain't a fight you're gonna win."

Hopper let out a breath and turned to walk away. Steve sighed in relief and only then did he notice he'd had a hand to his stomach, almost protectively. Wayne said nothing as he put the basket of clothes in the wash and Steve appreciated that. It gave him a moment to think of how he'd approach a certain topic with Eddie later.

It was about midnight when Steve felt Eddie slip back into the nest. Wayne had pretty much moved into the guest room upstairs. Robin was in Steve's bedroom. And some of the kids had taken up residence in his parents' bedroom. Eddie's arms wrapped around his torso. Steve could tell he was in a mood more romantic than lustful tonight. Before the change, they'd taken whatever moments alone that they could and they did so now too.

The first time they'd made love in this nest had been about two weeks ago and since then they'd done it about every other day. Steve would have blamed Eddie's new form for the insatiability but they were both like this before too. Every time they did it though, Eddie talked of breeding. Steve's hand went to his front, where Eddie's hands were.

"Ed?", he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Am I...? Eddie did you-did we-?" He huffed and turned around to face Eddie, then grabbed a flashlight and put it on the couch near their heads to illuminate the room without having to get up and hit a switch.

"Steve?"

Steve met his gaze and then slowly lifted his shirt. It wasn't just his jeans that fit different. His shirts too. And now, in the near dark with only Eddie to see, Steve could admit it. His stomach was growing.

"I think I'm..." The 'p' word was on the back of his tongue and Steve felt like nothing short of his stomach heaving would make it come up.

Eddie was looking at him in awe. His hands, sharp to the point, touched him as gentle as ever. He cooed and Steve felt it before his brain registered seeing it. A wriggling in his gut. Now if, perhaps, Steve had been born with a body that held the right parts to receive and grow new life, he mightn'tve been so surprised. But as it was, he was not. So he could be forgiven for his reaction.

"AAHH WHAT THE SHIT!"

And since all in the house were experienced veterans in their own way, it could also be expected that they'd all converge, various kinds of weapons in hand.

"What is it?!", Robin asked, holding one of Steve's trophies.

"Demogorgon? Are you cursed?!", Dustin shrieked, brandishing his dad's fraternity paddle.

The rest were looking around to find the danger. There was absolutely no way in hell that Steve was telling them he was currently carrying...something.

"There was a...uh a spider", Steve said. "It's gone now."

The rest of them groaned but visibly relaxed and returned to bed. Sure, Steve's reputation was shot even more, but it wasn't like most of them held him in super high regard to begin with anyway. He laid back down, trying to relax as well and Eddie's hand was instantly on his stomach.

"Pups", he said simply, looking at his stomach in pure adoration.

Steve gave himself a minute to process it. He thought Eddie had simply been all talk. But something was inside of him now. Something that was growing. Something that Eddie was already fond of. He thought about them before. The dreams they'd had, the life they had wanted. Steve had never been shy about wanting a family that included children. They hadn't known how that'd be possible, given their circumstances. But Eddie had assured him.

"Gonna give you everything you want, sweetheart. You deserve it."

Steve was brought back to the present by something soft touching his belly. Eddie's lips. Steve stroked his hair.

"Pups", Eddie repeated.

"O-ours?", Steve stuttered out.

"Ours", Eddie echoed, smiling up at him.

Leave it to Eddie Munson to keep his promises in the way people least expect.

Part 7 coming soon

Taglist

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[woozinhos]

Hiiiii! Can i request cock warming with woozi while he’s in his studio working on a song?☺️

Notes: wooo finally did my Ateez masterlist hope you enjoy guys <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You walk into Woozi's studio, finding him hunched over his computer as usual. He's so engrossed in his work that he doesn't even notice your presence at first. You approach him quietly, a sly smile on your face. You lean down, your arms wrapping around his neck from behind as you press yourself against his back. He tenses slightly, but then relaxes when he realizes it's you.”What are you doing, love?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"Just wanted to see my favorite composer," you whisper, your breath tickling his ear.

He chuckles, his hand coming up to rest on your arm. "Is that all you wanted?" he asks, his tone teasing. You nuzzle into his neck, your lips brushing against his skin as you continue to hold him. He lets out a low sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he enjoys your touch.

"You're distracting me," he murmurs, his hand moving up to tangle in your hair. You smile against his skin, your hands wandering down his chest as you begin to undo the buttons on his shirt.

"Is that such a bad thing?" you ask innocently, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. He groans softly as you undo the last button, his shirt falling open to reveal his toned chest.

"You're a menace," he says, his voice laced with desire as he leans back into your touch. You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing over his abs and pecs. He lets out a shaky breath, his grip on your hair tightening as you tease him.

"You're going to make me lose my focus completely," he mutters, his hips shifting slightly in his chair.

"Please, just sit on my dick while I write," he pleads, his eyes dark with need. "I need to finish this song, but I can't focus with you teasing me like this." You chuckle, the sound low and sultry. "You're such a needy boy," you tease, but you move to straddle his lap anyway.

He lets out a groan as you settle onto his lap, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He quickly undoes his pants, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his hardening length. He lets out a shaky moan as you stroke him, his hips bucking up into your touch.

"God, your hands feel so good," he gasps, his fingers digging into your hips. You slide down onto him, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel him fill you up. Woozi's eyes roll back in his head, his grip on your hips tightening as he feels your warmth surround him.

"Fuck," he breathes out, his head falling back against the chair. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you sit still on his lap. He buries his face in your neck, taking a moment to catch his breath as he adjusts to the feeling of being inside you.

He tries to focus on the computer screen in front of him, but his concentration is shattered by the feeling of your body wrapped around him. Every time he attempts to type something, he's distracted by the way you shift slightly on his lap, sending jolts of pleasure through him. After several minutes of struggling, he lets out a frustrated growl and shuts the computer down.

"You're impossible," he mutters, burying his face in your chest. "I can't concentrate with you sitting on my dick like this." He runs his hands up and down your back, his touch almost reverent as he holds you close.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. "I can feel you clenching around me." He grips the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white as he fights to keep himself under control. He lets out a shaky breath, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispers, his eyes shut tight.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Hii! I'm literally obsessed with your Boothill x Mechanic!reader fics, so please can I request one where someone, maybe from the IPC, attacks the Reader, and Boothill comes just in time to save her🥰

a/n: i am SO sorry this took literally forever. sometimes things just sit in the inbox for months bc i dont have the capacity to roll out the content in a way that im content with *sobsob* anyway- IPC Goon Squad shoot down anyone? warning(s)!!: uhhh, y/n gets shot... whoopies

w.count: 2.4k

"this is so you're fault!"

"aw, come on, sugar! have some adventure!"

boothill's words wouldn't sound so shallow and unserious if you weren't in the middle of running for your life while he runs for his own entertainment. ore who is already buckled into the carabiner clasp on your shoulder goes the extra mile and clutches its metal hands into the collar of your shirt as it jostles with your movements.

the cyborg cowboy running just a step behind you hoots and hollers as you focus solely on running forward towards any exit you could come across. the sound of IPC goons hot on your heels.

-SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER-

part of you wonders how boothill managed to get you out of your shop for any extended amount of time to make a short trip off planet. boothill came to you with outsider info that contained the whereabouts of outer world tech that has been long outdated and apparently abandoned. a small dwarf planet that had once been an industrial planet of metal, oil, gas and more metal- was all but in abandoned ruin. the planet itself was safe to traverse and didn't have any unknown or dangerous gasses on the surface; and with all the potential of finding something to bring back to our shop?

...yeah okay so maybe it wasn't that hard getting you to close up shop for a few days to scavenge a junkyard planet.

loading into boothill's ship he uses to get to and from bounties and your shop intermittently, you immediately start tickering around with things he's allowed you to. unfortunately he's pretty set on not letting you fuss around with this control board in the cockpit, but everything else was fair game.

"hell, if you can fix a thing up or two- i ain't gonna stop yah." he tells you.

it was nice having you around like this. sitting on the floor of where he spends most of his time out in the nothingness of space just doing your thing. fixing and fumbling around with metal panels and wires as ore runs around on its own to explore all the little nooks and crannies. the galaxy ranger could lean against the wall with his ankles crossed watching you all day long.

when you both finally land, despite the planet being so long abandoned and overrun with rust, ruin and the occasional critter that whatever catastrophe happened here didn't die from, there was still smog hanging high in the atmosphere with smoke billowing out of tall towers of concrete. you wonder if the power source was just going to run until it burnt out- not like it would ruin anything anyway.

slipping on your gas mask, you adjust it around your head- it was one of boothill's conditions on taking you here.

"i don't need you contracting any weird forkin' diseases. take it or i'm going on my own," he had warned you. you didn't argue since you also didn't want to bring something nasty back from your little trip- be it airborne or otherwise.

the plastic shield over your eyes had already been fog proofed and the seal around the mask fit snugly onto your face so nothing could slip under it. your breathing and words were muffled through the filters by your mouth. you take a few deep breaths to make sure the valve at your chin works properly. additionally slipping on a pair of highly durable gloves so you could rummage around freely.

glancing at boothill, you watch with jealously as he just stands plain as day with crossed arms. as a cyborg, you guess personal protection gear was the least of his concerns. instead of sickness, he was more worried about failing axels or corrupting internal processing.

"jealous?" boothill, catching your glances, shifts his weight. leaning forward just to mock his height over you with his hands on his hips. cocky bastard.

"no," you lie before marching forward. you hear his mechanical toned chuckling behind you and have half a mind to try and lose him in the debris but think better of it. you don't need to be getting lost or losing track of him.

over the course of your exploring, ore would run a scan on any small materials you didn't know and if they were worth something, you'd shove your spoils into the pouch you have attached to your hip. boothill did little to contribute to your searching, but he did offer good company. chatting and cracking jokes all the while looking after you and making sure you didn't fall into any hidden traps or have some metal fall on you.

its when you venture into one of the many abandoned factories that things start feeling weird. the planet was supposed to be abandoned a long time ago. the general lack of life and regrowth of fungi and durable (and probably contamnated) plant life made that fact pretty clear. however, there was still things that didn't make sense.

you already thought it strange when the pillar of smoke funneled out like a running chimney. and while at first you thought it was just a power source yet to snuff itself out, you start to think otherwise.

what if people were here?

walking into a room that was clear of debris and almost clean gave you less hope that you two were the only bipedal, sentient beings on planet.

boothill's metal boots clank in the hallway beside you as you venture further inside. ore who hangs onto your shoulder can feel your tension- it's getting better at reading people and situations. if ore were a person, you wonder if this situation and your behavior would have it sweating. boothill also picks up on your demeanor's shift but isn't as worried. if someone- or something- is here, then he can deal with it no sweat. he wasn't just some rusty ole cowboy after all.

his ipc bounty made that pretty clear.

you aren't sure if boothill clues in on the fact that you all might not be alone or if he's deliberately not saying anything. the stupid grin on his face was leaning towards the latter.

not too much time later, you both enter a room with a still intact and activated door system. the door hisses open from the center and inside are those people you were suspicious of finding. a squad of IPC lackey it looks like from the dark armor and idle weapons.

both parties just stare at each other for a moment before boothill opens his mouth.

"well now, ain't this just a treat." as if shooting off a gun at a starting line, the IPC enforcers spring into action. you do as well, twisting on your heel, snatching boothills arm in one of your hands and using the other to urge ore into its carabiner. you take off down the hall.

"this is so you're fault!"

"aw, come on, sugar! have some adventure!"

boothill's words wouldn't sound so shallow and unserious if you weren't in the middle of running for your life while he runs for his own entertainment. ore who is already buckled into the carabiner clasp on your shoulder goes the extra mile and clutches its metal hands into the collar of your shirt as it jostles with your movements.

the cyborg cowboy running just a step behind you hoots and hollers as you focus solely on running forward towards any exit you could come across. the sound of IPC goons hot on your heels.

"you totally knew that this planet wasn't abandoned!" you accuse.

"I had a hunch," boothill brushes off.

listening to the cacophony of boot's hitting the hard floors of the halls behind you, boothill shoves your shoulder when you come to a cross road, pushing you in a direction without giving you time to hesitate. glancing back, you see the figures of two ipc field personnel armed with their guns and another security personnel with a long axe that would surely hurt if swung with even the smallest amount of force.

damn those supporters of qlipoth.

boothill's merry time of entertainment by indulging in an adrenaline chase by the cocky ipc followers is cut short when one of the those very same ipc goons takes a knee. halting his running, he steady's his gun and shoots.

boothill skids to a stop. ore flies off your shoulder as his carabiner breaks. and you- you hit the ground with a cry of pain as you gas mask you had been wearing all this time is knocked off. landing awkwardly and painfully on your side, you reach around your body to cradle your shoulder that the ipc had just shot through.

ore, recovered from its tumble, rushes back to you and grabs onto your wrist with an expression of shock. [｡ꏿ﹏ꏿ｡] it was just a small assistant robot- it didn't know how to help. and it couldn't cry- digital tears is all it could give you. if you were lucid enough, maybe you'd pat its head and say that was enough. but right now? you're too focused on your bleeding shoulder.

"aight," the galaxy ranger hisses, "no more playin around!" boothill, no longer in a goofing mood, draws his nine-millimeter and fires off expert rounds. taking out the scumbag who hit you first as his body gained three new holes. two bullets fly into the figure of the other field personnel while the security goon lucks out with only one.

with the newfound window of time, boothill opens his chamber and discards the empty shells onto the ground. snatching six new rounds, he reloads, clicks his barrel back into place and replaces the gun into its hostler. who knows when or if other ipc lackies will show up.

"come on, y/n," it has been so long since boothill called you by your actual name and he doesn't like that now has to be that time. "up you go." ore clutches its little hands onto you as boothill lifts you. he apologizes each time you hiss as he takes off into a sprint back towards his ship. towards safety.

once he's inside, he's quick to activate the auto-launch and subsequently auto-pilot while he takes you further inside to treat you. you've stayed awake and he's thankful for that, but now he's faced with just how clueless he is. when was the last time he ever had to treat an injury?

boothill doesn't get hurt. he breaks or malfunctions. he doesn't bleed unless you manage to get his head. he's pretty much 99% robot with the remaining 1% being his skull. the last time he ever treated an injury was probably on himself before all his modifications were done. when he only had one shoulder and one arm replaced with metal and axels.

ore is his wake up call. the little robot lets out a loud sound almost like it was trying to scream at him. ['(◣_◢)']

boothill blinks down at it while its digital face changes into a pixeled picture. a piece of cloth. stop the bleeding.

"got it," boothill relinquishes to ore seeing as the little guy had probably seen you dress small wounds all the time. it was better than he could do.

after a series of frustated beeping from ore, some censored cursing from boothill, and hissing from you, boothill finally has your shoulder bandaged and managed to stop the bleeding. you fell asleep a while ago and he almost thought you died if your chest wasn't still heaving.

plopping himself on the floor at the foot of the cot he's placed you in, boothill lets out a deep sigh, raspberrying through his lips. his hat has long been discarded, tossing it off when he had something a bit more important to worry about. he runs a hand through his hair, snagging the strands between his knuckles and curses at himself.

ore sits on boothill's shoulder offering him small beeps of encouragement and gives him a gleeful expression for his successful treatment.

"thanks lil buddy," boothill humors him. "hope your fixer ain't too mad when they wake up though." its a half truth. he doesn't like being on the receiving end of your ire. but in this case, he can't help but feel like he's got it coming. "it's my fault you got thrown around too, huh?"

ore responds with a giant x over it's digital face. [! X !]

"oh, it ain't, huh?" the cowboy chuckles as his robot pal displays three letters- [IPC]. "yeah, i hear you," boothill pokes ore playfully. it's the ipc's fault is what ore is trying to convey. no doubt you'd agree with him when you wake up and he explains it all when you were less foggy headed.

"it's the ipc's fault," you goad him with a frown and offensive stare that would have him sweating if he still had the glands for it. you woke up a bit ago and with some painkiller in your system, you were lucid and more or less managing fine. ore buried itself under your shirt collar and has been there ever since.

"look," boothill sighs, "i can admit when i did somethin' wrong, sugar."

"but you didn't." aeons, your stubborn.

"you got shot."

"and you," you jab a finger into his metal shoulder, "got us out of there alive."

"can ya just let me apologize!" he argues and feels his circuits whirling as you offer him an eyeroll. after a back and forth that goes no where, boothill relents and offers no apology because you don't want one and won't accept one even if he gives it.

when he manages to get you back home, he sticks around for a couple days. forcing you to go into town- which you dislike doing- and go see a proper doctor for your shoulder. just until he's sure you can manage without straining yourself too hard.

watching you rummage around in your shop with what spoils you did manage to bring back felt almost worth the trip until he remembers you got shot. he wonders if it'll scar- probably. he'll never feel like it wasn't his fault you got so hurt, but he knows he can't just expect you to stay on this planet forever either.

one day he'll want to take you somewhere else and you'll want to go along with him again. he can't confine you- so he'll just have to be a bit more careful next time.

and maybe get you some bullet proof gear while he's at it.

a/n pt.2- feels kinda rushed, ngl, but we ball

[injeolmibbingsuu]

Drunken Tendencies...

starring: svt leader and husband! seungcheol x wife! reader; member! mingyu; member! seokmin; member! woozi; member! joshua; member! minghao; member! seungkwan; member! jeonghan; member! vernon; member! hoshi

aus: fluff!!

warnings: kissing

synopsis: Y/N goes out drinking with the seventeen members... and who else would come pick her drunk self up besides her loving husband?

word count: 1172

A/N: I think we all need a whipped seungcheol to take care of us when we are drunk...

He had received a text from Mingyu.

Brother Mingyu: Hyung... you should probably come pick up your wife.

Leader Seungcheol: What happened?

Brother Mingyu: She's drunk.

Leader Seungcheol: So? She can drink.

Brother Mingyu: She's currently pouting and trying to fight Seokmin over whether or not she could beat him in an arm-wrestling match.

Leader Seungcheol: ...

Leader Seungcheol: I’m on my way.

—

When he arrived at the bar, he was met with the sight of his wife (a phrase he was still adjusting to… but loving to say). His usually composed, sharp-witted wife was leaning over the table, dramatically pouting at Seokmin, her arms crossed like a child.

“I swear I could win!” she argued, her words slightly slurred but her conviction unwavering “You’re just scared!”

Seokmin, looking both amused and slightly exasperated, raised his hands in surrender. “Y/N-ah, I promise you, I’m not scared—” 

“Then arm-wrestle me, coward!”

“Hyung, please get your wife,” Woozi called out lazily from his seat, smiling as he nursed his drink. “She’s been challenging everyone here.”

Seungcheol sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping closer. “Y/N.”

The moment she turned and saw him, her frustration melted away, and instead—her face lit up like he was the best thing she had ever seen. 

“Cheollie!” Y/N squealed, suddenly all giggly and shy, covering her face with her hands before peeking at him through her fingers. “Oh my God, you’re so handsome… Who let you out looking like this?”

The members burst into laughter as Y/N wobbled to her feet, stumbling slightly before dramatically pointing at Seungcheol. “Did it hurt?”

Seungcheol blinked. “What?”

“When you fell from heaven?” She giggled, swaying on her feet. “Because you are so fine, sir.”

“This is amazing—I’m recording this,” Mingyu whispered, already holding up his phone.

Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head fondly before stepping closer to Y/N, steadying her with his hands on her waist. “You’re drunk,” he said, amusement clear in his voice.

“I’m not drunk—” she paused, swaying slightly. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Y/N gasped dramatically, pressing her hands against his chest. “Wait, wait, wait—” She looked up at him with wide, dazed eyes. “Hey, are you single?”

Seungcheol nearly choked on air. “What?”

“Because I totally have a crush on you,” she whispered, blinking at him. “Like, you are so hot, I want to marry you.”

“You did marry me,” Seungcheol reminded her, exasperated but endeared.

She gasped again, this time in pure shock. “I did?! Who let me do that?!”

“You did,” Minghao answered, grinning as he sipped his drink.

“And you are very in love with him,” Joshua added helpfully.

Y/N turned back to Seungcheol, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer, her nose almost brushing his. “Oh my God. Good for me,” she whispered. “I have taste.”

Seungcheol sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist before lifting her up effortlessly. “Alright, that’s enough pick-up lines for one night—time to go home.”

As he carried her out, Y/N continued mumbling to herself, still giggling. “My husband is so hot. I’m so lucky. I should kiss him—”

“Let’s wait until we get home, yeah?”

“Wait, wait, wait—” she slurred, blinking at him with wide, glassy eyes.

He sighed, already knowing she was about to say something ridiculous. “What is it now, Y/N?”

“I just realized something super important,” she said dramatically, squeezing his cheeks so his lips puckered.

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes. “What—?”

Before he could finish, Y/N smashed a big, exaggerated kiss on his cheek.

And then another.

And another.

The members, who had stepped outside to watch, exploded into laughter.

“Oh my God, she’s attacking him!” Seungkwan shrieked, doubling over.

“This is amazing,” Hoshi gasped, pulling out his phone. “I’m never deleting this from my memory.”

"Wait, let me get the other side—" Y/N mumbled, twisting in Seungcheol’s hold to press a dozen more kisses all over his face—his forehead, his jaw, even the tip of his nose.

"Y/N—" Seungcheol tried to wriggle away, but she held onto him with an iron grip, giggling against his skin as she planted another kiss near his lips.

"Mmmwah!" she announced proudly, finally pulling back to admire her work.

Seungcheol, now thoroughly covered in bright red lipstick stains, groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”

Y/N beamed. “Now everyone knows you’re mine,” she said smugly, her drunken logic making perfect sense in her mind.

Mingyu was dying of laughter. "Hyung, you look like you just came back from war."

"A romantic war," Vernon corrected.

"Wait, Y/N-ah—give him one more on the forehead," Jeonghan encouraged.

Y/N, still giggling, leaned in and smacked a final kiss right in the center of Seungcheol’s forehead. "There! Now you look perfect!*"

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I am never picking you up from drinking again."

"Yes, you will," she whispered against his lips, grinning.

Seungcheol exhaled through his nose, his patience hanging on by a thread. "Let’s just go home before I leave you here."

As he carried her away, Y/N cuddled into his neck, still giggling. “You’re so warm, my handsome husband.”

Seokmin wiped a tear from his eye. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Seungkwan shook his head. “That was the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

—

Seungcheol barely got Y/N out of the bar before she demanded—not asked, demanded—a piggyback ride.

“Oppa! Give me a piggyback ride!!” she whined, stomping her foot like an impatient child.

Seungcheol, who was already sighing in exhaustion, turned to look at her. “Y/N, you’re drunk.”

“And you’re strong!” she countered, grinning up at him. “So be useful and carry your beautiful wife home—c’mon, c’mon!”

The members, who were still standing outside the bar, howled with laughter.

“I vote he does it,” Joshua said, crossing his arms. “It’s what a loving husband should do.”

“Yeah, Ddaddu,” Jeonghan smirked. “Don’t you love her?”

Seungcheol glared at them before looking back at Y/N, who was now fluttering her lashes at him dramatically. “Pleaaase, oppa~” she cooed, tilting her head. “You love me, right?”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “Get on before I change my mind.”

Before he could even bend down properly, Y/N jumped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Yay!!” she cheered, nuzzling into him. “My strong, handsome husband~”

Mingyu took his phone out. “Oh, this is going on Instagram.”

“Hyung, you’re the definition of whipped,” Seokmin teased.

“Shut up,” Seungcheol muttered, adjusting Y/N’s legs so she was secure. “I’m taking her home.”

As they walked off, Y/N swung her feet happily, her chin resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “You smell nice~” she murmured.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but softened. “And you smell like soju.”

“That’s because I’m a party girl, oppa.”

“You’re a handful, is what you are.”

She giggled. “But you love me~”

Seungcheol sighed but squeezed her thigh gently. “Yeah. I love you. Now hold on tight before I really drop you.”

From behind them, they could still hear the members laughing.

Tag List: @seungkwansflower!

[lvrgurlblobbu]

first encounter

college!zayne x fem!reader

⤿ CW: pure fluff!

⤿ word count: 1.4k

⤿ first part of code love series :)

The campus café was buzzing with students, the scent of coffee and pastries filling the air. You, still adjusting to the rhythm of college life, scanned the dessert counter and locked eyes on the last slice of tiramisu. Just as you reached for it, another hand brushed against yours.

Startled, you turned to see a tall, confident-looking guy eyeing the same dessert. He raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze.

“Well, this is awkward,” he mused, withdrawing his hand slightly but not stepping back.

“I saw it first,” you said, standing your ground. You looked at him and his hazel eyes met yours which made you slightly shiver, eye contact was never your thing as you find it hard to focus.

“So did I,” he countered smoothly, still not letting go of the dessert. You were about to counter when someone called him, causing for his attention to divert towards the person who called him.

So with his attention being focused on his colleague, you took this opportunity to grab the dessert, “Sorry, in a hurry!” you mumbled as you hurriedly went to the counter to pay for the dessert.

As you’re paying for the dessert, you noticed that he’s now seated beside the window, typing something in his laptop while his colleague is sitting infront of him as they continued to discuss something which seems to be serious.

“You’re a freshman aren’t you?” Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted with the voice of the cashier, who gave you a knowing smile as they rang up your dessert.

You blinked, momentarily distracted from watching the mysterious sophomore. “Uh… yeah. Is it that obvious?”

The cashier chuckled. “A little. First-years always have that wide-eyed look when they step into the café for the first time.” They handed your change. “That guy you were talking to—Zayne, right? He’s pretty well-known around here.”

You glanced back toward the window, where Zayne was still typing, his expression now more serious as his colleague spoke. “Well-known how?”

The cashier smirked. “Let’s just say he’s got a bit of a reputation. Smart, sharp-tongued, and impossible to read. Some people avoid him, some are drawn to him. Either way, you don’t forget him easily.”

You hummed in response, gripping the plate a little tighter. Your first interaction with him had already left an impression, and now you were even more curious. You couldn’t explain it but something is just pulling you closer to him.

“Good luck, freshman,” the cashier added playfully as you turned away.

With your dessert in hand, you hesitated for a moment before deciding on a seat—not too far, but not too close— but then, you saw that Zayne’s colleague already left which leaves him alone in his table, still typing in his laptop.

You bit your lip, contemplating whether you would seat because all tables were now occupied and it seems like no one wants to sit with Zayne. So, with a heavy breath, you stride towards his table.

When you placed your plate of tiramisu on his table, he suddenly stopped typing and he looked up at you.

“Yes? Is there anything you need?” He asked, you gulped and prayed not to stutter.

“Well, the place is a bit crowded so is it okay if I could sit with you? If not, I can just find another place to sit.” You replied, it seems like he’s contemplating for his answer. His eyes wandered throughout the whole cafe, scanning for any available seats before finally settling back on you. He hesitates for a moment, then exhales softly.

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead,” he says, gesturing toward the empty seat across from him.

You nod in appreciation and set your dessert down before pulling out the chair. As you sit, you take a moment to glance at him. He seems deep in thought, his fingers idly tapping against the rim of his coffee cup.

“Thanks,” you say, offering a small smile. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. This place does get packed around this time.”

A brief silence lingers between the two of you, not necessarily awkward, but noticeable. You wonder if you should strike up a conversation or simply enjoy the shared space in quiet.

You slid the spare fork which you grabbed earlier to his side, “I was thinking that their serving of tiramisu is big enough for two people.” you said as you smiled at him, he suddenly stares at the fork, then at you, his brows raising slightly in surprise. His fingers hover over the utensil as if debating whether to accept the silent invitation.

“Please have some, I felt bad taking the last slice when you were eyeing it too,” you said with a sheepish smile.

Zayne paused, his gaze flicking from the fork to you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re an interesting one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He took a small bite of the tiramisu, his expression thoughtful. “Depends on how you interpret it.”

You shrugged, rolling your eyes lightly, then took a bite yourself. The rich flavor of the dessert settled between you, and the earlier tension seemed to ease.

“So, you’re kind of a big deal around here,” you remarked, remembering the cashier’s words. Zayne’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Let me guess, the cashier filled you in?”

You nodded. “Yeah, they said you’re sharp, smart, and a bit… hard to read. Sounds pretty accurate.”

He leaned back, a small chuckle escaping him. “They always make it sound more dramatic than it is.”

You smiled, teasing, “Maybe. But I’m getting the vibe you don’t usually share your dessert.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Maybe not. But I’ll make an exception this time.”

His mini remark caused for you to smile, as you both shared your dessert. You both fell into a comfortable silence wherein only the chattering of students, clicking of keyboards and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended into the background.

As you were wandering your eyes throughout the cafe, your gaze immediately landed upon Zayne’s eyes who’s intensely focused on his laptop monitor, and from time to time he uses his fingers to push his glasses upward.

As you stared at him, that’s when you noticed his features. His jawline was sharp, giving him a slightly rugged yet refined look, and his dark hair fell messily over his forehead, as if he didn’t care to keep it in place. His glasses, though simple, added an air of intelligence to his appearance. His eyes, a deep shade of hazel, were fixed on the screen with such intensity that it almost felt like he was in a world of his own.

You couldn’t help but notice the subtle confidence in his demeanor, the way he exuded a calm yet focused energy. It was the kind of presence that made it hard to look away. As he pushed his glasses up again with a quick flick of his finger, the small action felt almost deliberate, like a little routine he did without thinking.

For a moment, you forgot to look away, your thoughts drifting as you observed him. There was something captivating about how he carried himself—like he didn’t need anyone’s attention, but somehow, everyone around him seemed to want it.

But then, it was suddenly interrupted when your phone alarmed and as you saw the time, you’re already running late for your next class.

“Shit!” you muttered which caught Zayne’s attention as you hurriedly fixed your things.

“What’s the matter?” He said as he noticed how panicked you looked, he immediately closed his laptop as he focused on you.

“I’m running late.” you said as you stood up, about to leave “Thank you for letting me sit with you, it was really nice chatting with you. Goodby-“ you were about to leave when he immediately grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, how am I going to treat you for dessert next time?” he asked which immediately caught you off guard.

“When we see each other on campus,” you responded, and when he finally let go of your grip, you hurriedly rushed toward the exit. You hadn’t gotten far from the café when you heard him call out to you.

“How am I supposed to find you when I don’t even know your name?”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, his tone playful but with an edge of curiosity.

“(Name)! That’s my name! I’ll see you around, Zayne!” you shouted back. As you turned away, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, trying to suppress the smile that was creeping up on you, especially when you noticed the smile that formed on his face upon hearing your name.

[whimsimille]

KEMPS!

Minsung x Fem! reader

Summary: Where Minho uses sex and rough words to forget how shitty his life is. It all works pretty well until he meets two people that can only ruin his game.

alpha x alpha x alpha

Word count: ~ 10000

Warnings: angst with happy ending, ptsd mention, coping mechanisms, sex, smut, +18, toxicity, use of alcohol and drugs, knotting, piv, creampie, roughness, dom and sub undertones, f and m receiving, oral, anal, dp, light bondage, breeding kink mention

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"When will I see you again?"

"There we go again."

Every time, the same scene played out: him tying off the used condom, thumb and forefinger working in sync while his gut churned with familiar self-loathing. His tanned legs slid from between the cheap cotton sheets like a lizard escaping midday heat and his shirt, reeking of cigarettes and bearing the evidence of pink lipstick on its collar, returned to its place along with what remained of his dignity.

"You didn't answer my question," she insisted, sitting up with her breasts exposed to the stale air. Her nose, red-tipped like she was fighting back tears, twitched as she caught his scent beginning to sour. "Why do you always run away like this? Is it because I'm a lower-class omega? Because I work at a convenience store instead of some fancy office?"

He had a headache, the kind that started at the nape where his undercut needed a trim and crawled upward. The kind that made his eyes throb as if someone was performing brain surgery with a rusty hammer. He needed to go home. He needed to go to her. He needed a scalding shower to burn away the shame. He needed to stop fucking thinking.

"Listen carefully because I won't repeat myself," he drawled while adjusting his hair in the mirror. "I'm not interested in seconds. I don't do repeats. I thought I made that crystal fucking clear. Or should I draw you a diagram?"

"But Minho-ssi..." she started, biting her lower lip in a way that probably worked wonders on lesser men.

"Cut the honorifics bullshit, Marina. We just fucked; we're not at a business meeting." He yanked his belt through the loops. "Got any coffee in this shoebox you call an apartment? And aspirin. Definitely need aspirin. My head's fucking killing me, and your omega pheromones aren't helping."

"Kitchen," she responded, finally pulling the sheet up to cover herself as if modesty had suddenly become a priority. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as her own bitter strawberry pheromones filled the room, mixing with his acidic alpha scent to create something that smelled like regret. "First door on the right. We're out of sugar though. And for the last fucking time, it's Melissa. Not Marina, not Mariana. Me-li-ssa, you entitled knothead."

"Perfect. Sugar's for people who can't handle reality." He fished out the crumpled pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, tapping one against his wrist. "Don't wait up, sweetheart. Or better yet, don't wait at all. Find yourself a nice beta who'll remember your name and buy you flowers or whatever the fuck it is you're looking for."

And he wasn't lying, not even a little. Despite the fact that this omega—Melissa, definitely not Marina or whatever the fuck he'd been calling her—could do things with her tongue that would make a Catholic priest renounce his vows and had a laugh like wind chimes in a summer breeze, Minho simply didn't keep dead weight in his deck. Melissa was nothing but a two of clubs in a hand that needed aces.

It was like a game of Kemps, the same one he played on Sunday afternoons with his friends drunk on soju in Chan's apartment. In the game, four players formed two pairs, each receiving four cards from the French deck. The objective? Get four matching cards before the opponent, discreetly signaling your partner to shout "Kemps!"—a wink, absently scratching your nose. If you were wrong and shouted without your partner having four matching cards? You lost points, just like in real life you lost your sanity. If you missed your partner's signal? More points lost, like the nights of sleep he lost thinking about persistent ex-lovers. It was a game of observation, timing, and strategy.

In the game, as in life, Minho was an expert at this. A pair of toned legs here, full lips there, a cheeky smile elsewhere—he picked up the cards that caught his attention and handed useless ones to the other players. Players like Hyunjin, with his preference for frustrated betas with colored hair, or Felix, who had a thing for alpha literature students who wore thick-framed glasses and quoted Bukowski between one orgasm and another. Minho had been doing this with men and women for years, receiving his cards—their sweaty bodies writhing beneath him, their moans, their phone numbers saved as "NEVER answer"—and discarding those that never made sense with his game. Simple. Quick. Practical. Avoided hysterical screaming at three in the morning, endless crying, ex-lover sex fueled by regret, pathetic relapses fueled by cheap vodka.

But then, on some October night, with the smell of burnt caramel not so characteristic of an alpha and jazz playing softly, there was his jack, the highest card in the deck after the ace. The jack that passed from hand to hand each round like a curse, disrupting the flow of the game until the next round started and the card kept circulating, destroying strategies and ruining plays that seemed perfect on paper. Everyone had to deal with it eventually, but no one wanted to play that card.

That night, as you moved above him with the precision of a hunting feline—hips undulating like waves breaking on the beach, slender fingers tightening around his throat until he saw stars—you had become his jack. The card he held so tightly that the corners were starting to crease, even when he should have discarded it long ago.

Serious relationships and monogamy were never his style. How could he be? His mother taught him that lesson at 8 years old, after swallowing an entire box of Rivotril and writing an apology, not to him, but to her ex. He still remembered the sound her nails made scratching the wooden floor while she convulsed, glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling as he screamed for help. But for you? For you he had tried. Really tried.

"Stay," he whispered, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his fingers traced meaningless patterns on the condensation-slick window. His reflection looked pathetically hopeful. "Just... stay for breakfast this time." A pause. "I make decent scrambled eggs."

You shifted on the bed. "Define 'decent.'"

"Edible enough not to kill you," he replied with a laugh that sounded too raw, too honest. "Maybe even good enough to convince you to come back for seconds."

It turned into months of domestic bliss—or his twisted version of it. Months of biting back territorial growls whenever you walked in carrying traces of other wolves' scents. "Just work," you'd say with that infuriating half-smile, and he'd nod like the lovesick fool he'd become. He ignored Chan's concerned glances over soju shots, Changbin's muttered warnings about alpha-alpha relationships being psychological warfare. Tried playing the reformed playboy even when some omega calling herself @sexygirl22 slid into his DMs with explicit photos and "Remember last week's quickie in the club bathroom?" while you danced barefoot in his kitchen, humming "Somebody to Love" and making condensed milk pudding like some domestic deity.

"This pudding..." His finger traced the edge of the mold, stealing a taste of caramel. The gesture was so childlike, so unguarded, you had to suppress a fond smile. "Tastes exactly like my grandmother's."

"Your grandmother made pudding?" Like a flower in bloom, your legs opened naturally as you leaned over the counter. A few centimeters up, the hem of your shirt—it was actually his, stolen a week ago—rode up, exposing that constellation of freckles on your hip that he loved mapping with his tongue.

"Every Sunday after lunch," he answered, eyes fixed on the exposed bit of skin. "She used to say that sweets made with love tasted different."

It's that in the beginning it was simple: you rode him like you were born for it, scratching his chest and whispering obscenities in his ear that would make even a demon blush. It was about smoking a joint on the balcony at three in the morning, your skilled fingers rolling the joint while he kissed your thighs still trembling from orgasm, waiting for the knot to deflate. "I'm getting addicted," he would murmur against your skin, and you both knew he wasn't talking about the weed. It was about the sacred ritual of watching you dress in the morning: first the black lace panties, then the bra that made your breasts look like works of art, the thigh-high stockings he loved to remove with his teeth, the jeans that hugged your curves like a possessive lover. It was about how you never asked about the scars on his left wrist but kissed them with such reverence that sometimes he found himself crying after you left.

"Why do you do that?" he asked one night, voice thick, his fingers digging into the sheets.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me... like that. Like they're not scars. Like they're not..." he swallowed hard, "ugly."

"Because they're not just scars. They're part of you."

Until it became something different: he stopped you from running out after sex one Sunday morning, pulling you by the waist for another round in the jacuzzi. That's when he discovered you were a teacher at a school in the south zone and taught literature to rebellious teenagers, while he was heir to a chain of five-star hotels spread across Asia. That you loved Seoul with its violence and chaos, the underground bars and narrow streets full of people, while he longed for the peace of Jeju, with its deserted beaches and the smell of tangerines in the air. That you had three rescue cats—Sylvia, Virginia, and Edgar, all named after dead writers—who were your fur children and that, surprisingly, he developed a genuine affection for these creatures, even when Sylvia vomited hairballs on his shoes.

It happened when you stopped being a scheduled fuck and started pulling out, one by one, his fingers from the little bag he always kept next to his heart. You never even said anything, never stopped him from leaving and always left the door ajar, because you hated trapping people and making them feel obligated to stay.

"You can go, if you want," you would always say, wrapped in messy sheets. "You don't have to stay."

And maybe it was exactly that—that frightening freedom, that lack of demands—that made him want to stay. Until he didn't want to anymore.

That's why he bailed.

With your makeup all over the bathroom counter and your underwear discovered beneath the bed like evidence from a crime scene, he couldn't stand you taking up space like a terminal illness. Couldn't stand your caramel perfume and alpha pheromones impregnated in the pillows, your toothbrush next to his, you parading naked through the 300 m² penthouse as if you owned the place. Hated you burying your face in his neck when he woke up screaming at 3:47 in the morning.

"Shh, I'm here," you would murmur, running your fingers through his damp hair, your lips brushing his temple. "It was just a nightmare."

But the real nightmare was the dangerous glimmer of hope he began to see reflected in his own eyes every time he shaved while you played in the bathtub, humming "Here Comes the Sun" by The Beatles.

One day, his hand froze mid-stroke with the razor, watching your reflection dance in the fogged mirror as soap bubbles crowned your head. With the sun creeping through the window and painting your eyelashes gold, Minho's fingers twitched around the razor handle. His phone buzzed in the counter (probably that cute bellboy from the Peninsula Hotel confirming their afternoon rendezvous, or maybe the yoga instructor sending another photo of her impossibly flexible poses). He should check it. Should definitely not be watching you emerge from the water like some fucking deity, all glistening skin and grace.

His thumb hovered over the screen, already pulling up his contacts list. Delete them all. Ask you to be his. Only his. The thought made his stomach turn even as his pulse quickened and he gave up.

At the sound of his loafers, you lifted your head while he perched on the edge of the tub like some lovesick fool, watching droplets trace paths he'd memorized with his tongue.

"Keep staring like that and I might start charging admission," you drawled, reaching for the shampoo.

"You're going to make me deaf with that caterwauling, little alpha," he shot back. "And since when did you become such a Beatles fanatic? Thought you were more of a 'We Will Rock You' kind of bitch."

"First of all," you said, pointing the shampoo bottle at him like a weapon, "the Beatles are fucking transcendent, you philistine. Second," your lips curved into that infuriating smirk that made him want to bite them bloody, "you were the one moaning 'Yesterday' in your sleep last night. Right after you called me 'baby' and tried to spoon me."

"That's bullshit and you know it," he snarled, but his ears burned red at the tips. "I don't fucking cuddle."

"Oh really?" You stretched languorously, water sloshing against the tub sides. Wet toes brushed his thigh, leaving wet prints on his expensive slacks. "Because I distinctly remember you nuzzling my neck and whimpering when I tried to move away. Face it, Min," you purred, and the nickname sent a jolt straight to his groin, "you're going soft on me."

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," he managed, even as his throat closed around the lie. "I just needed something warm to stick my knot in."

"Mhmm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your foot slid higher up his thigh. "That's why you sent flowers to my work last week? Because you needed somewhere to stick your knot?"

It was like watching an orange tree growing in the middle of his chest: first just a timid sprout, then branches spreading between his ribs, until the roots began to intertwine with his veins and arteries. And when the first white flowers bloomed, perfuming his entire circulatory system with possibilities, he knew he needed to cut it at the root before the fruits ripened and he found himself addicted to the bittersweet taste of your presence.

"Minho! What the actual fuck? It's four in the fucking morning, and you're here smelling like a distillery had an orgy with a perfume store."

"Still looking like a snack, my little alpha. Even with all these..." His hand made a vague gesture at your new appearance, "changes."

You watched as he staggered slightly, his bloodshot eyes trying to focus on a fixed point. Fragmented memories of a yellow taxi and questionable decisions in dark alleys flashed through his mind like a silent film. That you were different—unrecognizable, maybe—was the only thing that was certain. Your hair, now long and sprinkled with platinum highlights, framed your face in a profane halo. The thorny tattoo serpentined down your neck, disappearing beneath the loose collar. Beneath the typical caramel, you had a masculine, woodsy scent that made him sick to his stomach.

"You know what's funnier? I always knew you would do this. Always knew you'd leave me and then show up at my door wanting to stick your knot in some hole. It was just a matter of time, wasn't it, Lee Minho?"

Sylvia, that four-legged traitor who had always preferred him to you, was now rubbing against his ankles while trying to reach her favorite human. You pushed her away with your foot.

"Let's... let's talk properly, love. Smoke a joint, whatever. Like the old days, remember?" His hands were shaking so badly he had to shove them in his jeans pockets. "We always solved everything after..." A laugh escaped his lips. "Fuck, why is it so hard to talk about feelings without being high? Must be... dunno, must be the age, right?" The taste of blood in his mouth intensified. This time, he had bitten his tongue.

You let out a scoff—a sound that seemed to have been torn from the depths of your throat with a rusty hook. "Age?" Your head tilted to the side, and for a moment, Minho saw his mother in that same movement—moments before she swallowed the pills. "You were twenty-fucking-seven when you stood in the middle of Changbin's birthday party, so wasted you couldn't even spell your own name, and announced to everyone that I was, what was it again? Oh right! 'just another desperate hole begging for your premium alpha cock.' All because I had the audacity to ask if we could try being exclusive. Remember that night, Minho? Or did you drink that memory away too?"

As you eventually allowed Sylvia to come closer, he saw the cat rubbing her muzzle against your ankles as though she was aware of the precise location of the pain.

Love should heal, shouldn't it? Should stitch together the parts that were never united, fill the voids that echoed inside the chest like empty rooms from childhood. Minho knew this better than anyone—he had been sexualized his whole life, used and discarded like a broken toy.

"You don't have that right," you continued. "You don't have the right to show up here reeking of whiskey and..." Your hands gestured in the air, searching for words. "And talk about 'old times.'"

Minho swallowed hard, watching how your fingers now trembled against the doorframe—not from nervousness, but from contained rage that made your knuckles turn white.

Until his lungs pleaded for air, he had tried everything to fill the void you left: cigarettes. Strange bodies in his bed that never reached the right places, hands that tried to stitch him back together but always using the wrong thread. Like thieves in the dark, all stealing pieces from each other, but never finding what they were really looking for.

"Just let me in, yeah?"

A sob escaped his throat before he could contain it, words tangling in his mouth. Sylvia was now sitting between the two of you, her tail moving in a hypnotic rhythm.

You had been the only one to see through the cracks, the only one who didn't try to fix him like he was a puzzle to be solved. The only one who understood that sometimes a cat's rough tongue on the heels could mean more than a thousand empty words of comfort.

But he wouldn't, couldn't show you how much he loved you. Sex and dirty words were safer territory, familiar ground where he could pretend this was just another meaningless encounter.

"Do you still have that purple vibrator?" The words slurred out as his alcohol-heavy tongue caught on his canines. "You could use it on me today, yeah? Make me beg like I used to?"

Like a desperate merchant hawking counterfeit goods in some back alley, it was pitiful how he still attempted to use sex as currency. As if his body, marked with the fingerprints and teeth marks of countless strangers, was the only thing of value he had left to barter with. As if you still wanted that particular damaged merchandise. You had long since learned that his empty promises and fleeting affections were not worth the price.

"I guess old habits die hard, huh? Still the same horny kitten as always, Minho-yah."

At the sound of that old endearment, Minho's narrow hips jerked forward involuntarily, his lean body betraying him like a puppet with tangled strings. A bead of sweat traced the sharp line of his jaw as the lavender scent of his arousal began to saturate the air, mixing with the sour notes of whiskey and desperation.

"Just... just one more time," he begged. "I promise I'll disappear after. I swear on my mother's grave..." A sob ripped from his throat, more wolf than man. "I just need to feel you one more time. Need to remember what it felt like when someone actually gave a fuck about me."

It was almost poetic, you thought. The way Lee Minho could transform desire into pathology, how his lust manifested in muscle spasms and empty promises whispered through teeth that probably cost more than your yearly salary. His eyes, usually a warm chocolate brown, had taken on a reddish tinge that reminded you of blood diluted in water.

"Get out of here, Minho." You clutched Sylvia closer, her warm body and steady purring acting as a shield against the tsunami of alpha pheromones he was trying to drown you in. Her claws pricked your skin through your thin shirt. "Before I call the police."

"You'd never. You care too much; that's always been your problem."

"Try me." Your fingers found your phone in your pocket. "The last bus passes in ten minutes. But I think you'd prefer if I called your private driver. What was his name again? The one who always brought you aspirin and clean clothes after your... episodes?"

Minho's hand flew to the collar of his leather jacket, adjusting it with trembling fingers. "I don't need your fucking pity."

"I know you don't, Minho." You sighed, watching his shoulders hunch forward like a wounded animal. "But I also know you probably left another black credit card in the lost and found of whatever overpriced bar you were drowning in tonight. I bet you left without any cash. Again. Just like that time at The Rose, when you tried to pay for your cab with your Rolex."

"How the fuck..."

"Love, everything okay?" A sleepy voice emerged from the shadows of the apartment, warm and rough like honey mixed with gravel. The powerful scent of freshly ground cinnamon and handcrafted coffee filled your apartment and permeated the door, causing Minho's nostrils to uncontrollably twitch.

"Fucking hell," Minho muttered under his breath, watching as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Dyed an impossible shade of midnight blue that seemed to swallow what little light remained in the hallway, the man's hair stuck up in wild tufts, as if he'd been wrestling with insomnia rather than sleeping. A thin, silvery scar bisected his right eyebrow. Despite his cherubic cheeks and full lips, there was something lethal in the way he held himself, the casual violence of a loaded gun left on safety.

"Who the actual fuck are you supposed to be?" Minho's words slurred together.

The stranger's bare feet made no sound as he crossed the distance between them. Silver rings caught the fluorescent light as his hand found your waist, fingers splaying possessively across your hip.

"Han Jisung," the man's voice was deceptively soft. His tongue flicked out to play with the silver ring in his lower lip, a gesture that drew Minho's attention despite himself. "And you must be the infamous Lee Minho. The one who thinks it's acceptable to harass people at four in the morning because his wolf is feeling lonely."

The air grew thick with competing pheromones, your caramel sweetness, Minho's lavender, and Han's cinnamon colliding and transforming into something acrid and metallic, like blood left to oxidize. Minho's temple throbbed visibly, and he chewed the inside of his cheek until copper flooded his mouth.

"Christ, is this what you're into now?" Minho's eyes raked over Han's form--the scattered tattoos visible beneath his thin tank top, the messy blue hair, the multiple piercings. "Trading in a pure-bred for some street mutt with a DIY paint job?"

Han's scent soured, turning sharp enough to make your eyes water. "Babe," he addressed you without taking his eyes off Minho. "Should I call the cops, or would you like to watch me teach this trust fund pup some manners? Because I'm really curious if he's as tough when he's not marinading in scotch."

"Oh, sweetheart," Minho purred, stepping close enough that his breath ghosted over Han's face. His fingers played with the collar of Han's shirt, twisting the fabric like he was testing its breaking point. "You've got quite the mouth on you. Makes me wonder what other tricks you know." His gaze flicked to you over Han's shoulder, lips curling into something cruel. "Always did have a weakness for strays with attitude problems, didn't you, love? Tell me, does this one beg as prettily as I used to?"

Han didn't back down, but you saw how his fingers contorted—not into fists, but like claws ready to tear apart.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off." Gripping Minho's wrist, Jisung twisted it until he heard the gratifying sound of tendons being stretched to their breaking point.

What happened next made your breath catch in your throat. Minho—proud, arrogant, never-submissive Minho, who once told an alpha CEO to go fuck himself with a golden spoon—let out a sound that was pure, instinctual submission. His head tilted, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat where fading hickeys told stories of nights you didn't want to imagine. 

The gesture was so fundamentally wrong, so against everything you knew about him, that for a moment you thought the expensive whisky had finally corroded something essential inside him. But then his eyes found yours across the space between you—wide, confused, and terrified—and you saw it: his alpha, for only the second time since you'd known him, recognising another as superior. It had been with you the first time. Normally curled in that angry smirk, his lips quivered.

"What the actual fuck..." With surprise, Jisung's eyes grew wide, and the scar through his eyebrow stretched taut. His grip loosened fractionally, more from shock than mercy. "Did you just..."

"Ah," Minho's voice cracked, desperation bleeding through as he fought to regain control. As he attempted to balance himself against the wall, his hands trembled. "So the puppy has fangs after all. Want to show me how to use them properly, Han Jisung-ssi?"

It played out like a slow-motion car crash, stunning in its destruction. Jisung slammed Minho against the wall with enough force to make the cheap prints rattle in their frames. Something dark and broken slipped out of Minho's lips as his forearm pressed against his throat.

"So fucking predictable," Minho rasped around the pressure on his windpipe, his pupils blown so wide the brown was almost swallowed by black. "All you baby alphas..." His fingers found Jisung's bicep, nails, leaving crescent moons in the flesh. "So easy to provoke. So desperate to prove yourselves. Tell me, blueberry, how many others have you pinned like this?"

"I said," Han snarled, pressing harder until Minho's breath came in wheezing gasps, "shut that pretty mouth before I shut it for you. You reek of spoiled lavender and mommy issues, street pup. Did she not hug you enough? Is that why you're here, trying to ruin what isn't yours anymore?"

Following that, there was too much movement to follow—a haze of tattoos and high-end clothing. Suddenly Minho had reversed their positions, pinning Jisung against the wall. Han grunted in surprise at the impact, his teeth clicking together so forcefully that you winced with pity. 

In an attempt to humiliate the wolf who had dared to assert its superiority, Minho's thigh pushed upward between Han's legs and degraded him. Trembling but determined, his fingers tangled themselves into Han's blue strands.

"Who's the street pup now?" Minho tilted his head, letting his lips brush the shell of Jisung's ear. "So docile suddenly. Where's all that protective alpha posturing? Or does it only work when you're trying to impress my leftovers?"

What tore from Jisung's throat wasn't anything you'd heard before—not in your years of teaching children, not in nature documentaries about wolves, not even in your darkest nightmares. Kind of sound that made your bone marrow freeze and your hindbrain scream danger. At a frequency that made your teeth hurt, the cheap metal numbers on your door vibrated. A picture frame crashed to the floor.

Your own alpha stirred beneath your skin like a serpent uncoiling, recognising the precipice of violence you were all balanced on. 

Sylvia pressed herself against your arms. Her tail lashed the air like a whip, pupils blown so wide the green was just a thin ring. You knew, with the bone-deep certainty of prey watching predators circle, that this wouldn't end with just bruised egos and wounded pride. The territory—you, this hallway, perhaps even this entire narrative—had already been marked with invisible blood.

"That's enough! Both of you, stop this-"

But the words died in your throat as Jisung moved. One moment he was pinned against the wall; the next he was pure kinetic energy unleashed. His body curved like a question mark before springing forward, teeth finding the vulnerable juncture where Minho's neck met.

The sound that followed would haunt your dreams for months: wet, obscene, like overripe fruit being crushed under combat boots. Blood, startlingly bright against Minho's shirt, bloomed like a macabre watercolor.

—-----------

As soon as Minho stepped out of the rehabilitation center, his fingers began the routine dance of coffee, lighter, and cigarette. His eyes, still heavy from group therapy, focused on the cracks in the concrete while he tried to juggle the cheap coffee cup and red Marlboro. A curse that reverberated throughout the alley was evoked by the hot liquid that trickled down his hand.

"Fuck's sake, I can't even do this right," he muttered, licking the coffee that dripped between his fingers.

It was a total and utter catastrophe for him. First, Seungmin had shown up at his apartment at 6 AM with some green tea mixed with ginger and honey that looked more like rat poison. "For detoxing," he'd said, pushing the steaming cup into his hands. Then, Bang Chan practically broke down his door, dragging him out of bed while yelling something about "corporate responsibility" and how the shareholders were concerned about his erratic behavior. As if he didn't know the hotel franchise was crumbling under his fingers since you left him.

To top it all off? Jisung was the embodiment of his headache. An irritatingly attractive alpha who had the gift of making his blood boil—and not necessarily in a good way.

Since the incident that led them to the police station (and subsequently to the emergency room, where Minho needed five stitches in his neck and had to pray the bite hadn't been right on his scent gland, linking Jisung to him in a way that gave him chills just thinking about it), the judge had sentenced them to five months of group therapy. Two hours per week sitting in a circle with other "violence-prone individuals," as Dr. Park—a beta who always smelled like old socks—liked to call them.

And now, to make matters worse, whenever he had the chance, Jisung liked to rub his scent gland against yours right in the middle of the room, masking your natural scent. It was as if he wanted Minho to witness firsthand how you had moved on—the way he adjusted his motorcycle helmet every night after the session, his fingers lingering on your nape; how he whispered stupid jokes in your ear that made you laugh in that way that used to be reserved just for Minho; how he made sure to leave visible marks on your neck, transforming everything that once screamed "Minho" into cinnamon and a blue-haired alpha.

"Hey, princess, still haven't learned how to drink coffee without making a mess? Or do you need me to teach you how adults do it?"

Eyelids fluttering, Minho closed his eyes. After four months in this therapeutic hell, his fingers, now bitten down to raw flesh, involuntarily contracted, imprinting his palms with tiny crescents.

"Jisung, I thought we'd agreed to keep our distance outside of sessions. Or is your memory as short as your self-control?"

"Yeah, but then I saw you here alone," Jisung approached. The smell of cinnamon and coffee invaded Minho's personal space like an unwanted heat wave. "And I thought: 'What a waste.' All this drama, all this tension... for what?"

Carelessly, Minho propped one foot on a crushed trash can and leaned against the filthy alley wall. The cigarette hung loose between his chapped lips, smoke dancing in lazy spirals around his face.

"Go fuck yourself, Han."

"Your ex 'little alpha' is doing that quite well," Jisung responded, running his tongue over the piercing in his lower lip provocatively. "Thanks for asking."

Minho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. The taste of cheap coffee still burned his tongue when he raised his eyes to face Jisung. There was something there, hidden in the shadows of those puppy eyes, that almost made Minho choke on the smoke—something hungry, dangerous, electric. Jisung seemed to be planning something behind those long eyelashes, and Minho recognized the familiar crossroads: run or face it.

He should run, of course. Especially after Han had made his alpha behave like a submissive puppy with a simple touch to the wrist. But Minho never had a sense of self-preservation, and if he was going to die today—if Jisung decided to finish what he started that night, now that you weren't here to stop him—well, maybe it would be an appropriate end to all this mess.

"What do you want?"

Old combat boots scuffing the concrete, Han stepped forward. Gently, he reached for the cigarette trapped between Minho's lips. The touch was brief, but it sent electric shocks down his spine, as if someone had connected his nerves to a car battery. Han's eyes, dark as spilled coffee, never left Minho's as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers before crushing it under his sole.

"Sleep with us," Han said simply. "One night."

Time seemed to freeze. Minho felt his toes curl inside his shoes, as if searching for something to grip onto. Like a bird in a cage, his heart pounded against his ribs, and his tongue felt too heavy for his mouth.

"What the fuck?" The laugh that escaped his throat sounded hysterical even to his own ears. "After all that shit at the police station? After the stitches?" Unconsciously, his fingers brushed the scar on his neck.

Han shrugged. "You think I don't notice?" He moved closer. "How your eyes follow her during sessions? And how you stare at me when you think I'm not paying attention? How your pheromones change when I'm around?"

Minho knew your story with Jisung—it was impossible not to know. In the corridors of the rehabilitation center, the whispers reverberated like poisonous snakes. How you, the beloved suburban teacher, had started frequenting Han's studio to cover old scars. How the tattoo sessions turned into confessions, then into coffees shared in paper cups, then into stolen kisses against walls covered in faded flash tattoos. How Han had restored each broken piece of you—not with empty words or grandiose promises, but with small gestures: americanos left in paper cups with your name always intentionally misspelled, colorful post-its hidden with silly cat drawings, nights spent simply holding you while the world collapsed around you. How he spoke of you with a kind of reverent love that made Minho want to vomit—because he only knew how to express affection through bruises and cutting words.

But if Han loves you so much, why is he here offering you up like a piece of meat?

"You're sick."

Han tilted his head. "Maybe. But so are you. And her..." He paused, letting the word hang in the air like smoke. "She wants us. Both of us."

"Spare me this bullshit," Minho spat the words. "You talk like she's your property. Like you can just throw me into your bed like a new toy and expect me to..."

"Don't be naive," Jisung interrupted, taking another step forward. Tattooed fingers found Minho's chin, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "She has more free will than both of us combined. And knows exactly what she wants." His thumb traced Minho's lower lip, collecting a drop of blood where he had bitten too hard before bringing the same finger to his mouth. Minho almost moaned at the sight. "Just like I know exactly what you need. What all three of us need."

"You don't know shit about what I need."

"No?" Han teased, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. "Then why are you trembling?" His fingers moved up to Minho's nape, playing with the short strands there. "Why is your heart beating so fast I can feel it from here?"

"Tell me then," Minho challenged. "What does someone as fucked up as you think I need?"

"Mutual destruction," Jisung murmured against his ear. The cold piercing made Minho's earlobe twitch. "The kind that burns everything to the ground and rebuilds something better from the ashes. The kind that only three equally broken people can create."

A sound escaped Minho's throat. His hands found Jisung's chest. He didn't know if he wanted to push or pull, if he wanted to punch that irritating smile or taste it.

"You're poison," Minho whispered, his nails digging into Jisung's chest through the thin shirt. "The kind that kills slowly."

"And you," Han smiled against his skin, "are too thirsty to care about the antidote."

-----------------------------

Your diaphragm fluttered like a moth stuck to your ribs as you let out a deep breath. Main focus? Not choking on the saliva accumulated behind the gag.

There you were, tied and exposed like an avant-garde artwork on Minho's carpet. With the city lights watching your debauchery like voyeuristic stars, the floor-to-ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of Seoul's horizon.

A muscle in your left thigh spasmodically contracted, making the rope sink deeper into your flesh. It was a map of knots—legs folded and bound in a way that made you think of the origami cranes Minho used to fold when he was nervous. The hemp rope bit at two precise points: just above the ankles, where the bone slightly protruded, and at the top of the thighs, where the flesh was softest.

The metal spreader bar kept your legs open. Your pussy was exposed to the cold air of the penthouse and to the hungry gazes of both men.

From this height, you could almost convince yourself that the entire city was watching. Your wrists were bound with soft leather cuffs (Minho's contribution, always valuing luxury when it came to his house and sex toys), connected to the bar in a way that made your shoulders project backward, presenting your chest.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

It all started on one of those nights when the air conditioning failed intermittently, making an irritating noise that competed with the sounds of the city outside. A casual observation escaped your lips while you watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, alcohol uninhibiting your tongue and bringing up memories of Minho in therapy sessions—the way he would shrink in his chair, fingers drumming nervously against his knee, eyes jumping between you and Jisung like an anxious pendulum.

That specific night, you were sprawled on the Italian leather couch that Jisung so hated ("Who the hell spends so much money on furniture that sticks to your skin in summer?"), one leg hanging off the edge while the other rested on the back of the couch. The ice in your whiskey glass had long since melted, diluting the amber liquid into something more palatable.

Sitting on the Persian rug, Jisung's restless fingers were causing the strategically placed tears in his black jeans to further fray. The smell of caramel and cinnamon mixed with the residual aroma of cigarettes he had smoked earlier on the balcony.

"Jesus," you murmured, running your tongue over your dry lips. "Do you remember how he trembled? Standing there against the wall, with your hands on his neck..." Your voice failed for a moment. "Like a damn kitten lost in the rain. God, in all these years, I never saw Minho crawl back to anyone like that. Not once. I always... always gave him space to run when he needed it." A bitter laugh escaped your throat. "Never thought that after a whole year he'd still believe the door would be open, you know? That he'd still find..." You gestured vaguely with your free hand, searching for the right words. "...warm milk waiting."

Jisung tilted his head to the side, and he had that glint behind his eyes—that same look you saw when he was about to do a particularly painful tattoo on someone. "A kitten? What an... interesting choice of words, love."

You propped yourself up on your elbows so quickly that your head spun, alcohol and adrenaline making your heart stumble. Every vertebra in your spine screamed in unison as warning signals crackled through it. Shit. Shit. Shit."Ji, fuck, that's not what I—"

"Is that what you used to call him?" He interrupted while crawling towards you like a predator. "When he was between those thighs of yours?"

When Jisung's fingers found your ankle, your throat became parched. Just enough to remind you that he could, but not enough to cause pain, his thumb pressed the pulse point there.

"I bet it was." His other hand slid up to grab your knee, spreading your legs, "I bet you whispered 'kitten' when he had his tongue buried in that pussy of yours. That you told him what a good boy he was while he tasted you like you were the last drop of water in hell."

Since then, after each group therapy session, Jisung would extract your confessions like venom from a wound. Methodically deconstructed your sanity while fucking you against any available surface—the bathroom wall, the car's backseat, the kitchen table where you were supposedly meant to dine like normal people. He fed that part of you that you tried to keep locked away, the bitter and vindictive part that yearned to see Minho undone by both your hands. The words poured from your mouth unfiltered—how Minho's arrogant alpha became docile under your touch, the way his spine arched when you squeezed his throat ("Harder, please, harder"), how he begged for more when you fucked him with that ridiculously large purple dildo hidden in the second drawer of the dresser. How he moaned your name when you forced him to cum for the third time in a row, his muscular thighs trembling.

"Tell me more. How did he sound? How did he squirm? I want every dirty detail."

You swallowed hard. "He... he trembled. His whole body shook when he was too close. And he bit his lips until they bled, trying to hold back his moans. Sometimes... he cried."

"And when you tied him up?" Jisung played with the elastic of your panties, making small circles that made you squirm. "Did he fight against the ropes?"

"No," you answered, your voice breaking into a moan when he suddenly sank two fingers inside you. His thumb found your clit, making your thighs shake involuntarily. "He... God, Ji... he stayed completely still." Your nails dug into the leather couch when he curled his fingers inside you, easily finding that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Fascinating," Jisung laughed, the low sound reverberating against your skin while he felt you getting even wetter around his fingers. "The great alpha Minho, reduced to a submissive and desperate kitten. I can almost see him now, tied up and begging." His fingers sped up their rhythm, making you arch your back. "Do you think he'd do the same for me?"

"Ji..." You arched against him, your fingers burying in his dark hair, pulling slightly. "Please!"

His smile was pure sin against your skin. "Please what, love? Use your words."

Out of your mouth came the thoughts in a torrent of desperation. "Can we... Can we fuck him? It's just sex! One night!" Your voice trembled, betraying the desperation you tried to hide under a facade of casualness. "Just... just once. Please! I need to feel him again. I need to see you destroying him too."

"Shh..." His fingers continued their merciless assault inside you while his other hand rose to squeeze your neck lightly. "It's okay, baby. I thought you'd never ask. We'll make our kitten meow so pretty for us."

---------------------------------------------------

Minho didn't bother with his belt, fingers trembling slightly as he unzipped his trousers. He reached in, fabric rustling against skin as he freed himself from the confines of his designer boxers.

"You remember how she's good with her mouth, right?" Jisung's voice was honey-thick with anticipation as he sprawled on the sofa, legs spread wide, one hand absently tracing patterns on the armrest.

"God, yes." Minho's throat bobbed as he swallowed, kneeling beside your head. His fingertips ghosted over your temple, barely touching. "She doesn't just do it—she worships. Makes you feel like you're her whole fucking world." The muscles in his thighs twitched as he shifted closer. "You have no idea how I missed seeing such a pretty alpha like this."

"Show him then, darling.” Jisung commanded. "Show him what that mouth can do."

Minho's hand trembled slightly as he reached for the gag. The buckle clinked softly as he worked it loose, his breath catching when your lips parted automatically.

Honestly, Minho wasn't in the right headspace to think. After a terrible day at the hotels, he was thinking about how he would cherish every moment of this one night ever since he got home and was counting down the minutes until you and Jisung arrived. This last relapse. This final chance to have the duke in his hands before handing him over to Jisung definitively.

Due to the ball gag, your lips were red and swollen and glistening with saliva.

"There's that pretty little mouth," Minho breathed, tossing the gag aside. His thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, spreading the wetness there. "Fuck, I missed this view."

He still kept some photos of you on your knees in front of him, lips stretched around his cock. Most were carefully cropped, faceless and anonymous—they could be anyone's lips, anyone's throat. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the reality of you here, now, looking up at him with those eyes that seemed to strip away every layer of his. He slipped his thumb between your parted lips, a soft groan escaping when you immediately began to suck, your tongue swirling around the digit the way you knew drove him mad.

"Open that pretty little mouth for me," Minho purred.

Without thinking, you opened your mouth and offered a silent sacrifice. As Minho pulled his thumb away, the velvet-steel heat of his cock replaced the metallic tang of the freshly removed gag, leaving your taste buds free of its lingering effect. A single drop of precum pearled at the tip, and your tongue darted out to catch it, earning a sharp intake of breath from above.

Minho was longer than memory served, thick enough that your jaw already ached. The familiar weight of him filled your mouth inch by devastating inch, while his hand cradled your cheek with deceptive tenderness. Your eyes watered as he paused halfway, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming sensation of having him here again, real and solid and trembling ever so slightly.

A groan tore free from his throat as his head fell back.

"Fuck..."

Jisung laughed from where he sat, drinking his whiskey. "Yeah, well, wait until you feel her tight cunt again."

The crude words sent a bolt of electricity straight to your core, making you clench helplessly around nothing but want.

When Minho drew back, his cock dragged against your tongue in a slow withdrawal that had your toes curling against the carpet. He thrust forward with the same measure, but you could see the tension coiling in his thighs, the way his abdominal muscles jumped beneath smooth skin. His gaze raked down your body like physical touch, lingering on the slick folds. The sight alone made his cock twitch against your tongue.

He couldn't remember any of the times when he was the one who dominated—it was always you who reduced him to incoherent pleas against the silk sheets. It was always you who destroyed and rebuilt him as you wished, piece by piece, moan by moan, until nothing remained but a broken alpha begging for more. It was always you who made his wolf—the same one that growled at anyone who dared challenge him in the hotel corridors—wag its tail and lower its ears, submissive as a newborn pup. But now, with the ropes biting into your wrists and Jisung commanding your every breath, he couldn't deny that this was more exciting than any fantasy his feverish brain could have conjured during the long nights without you.

As his hips started to move more purposefully and each thrust struck deeper than the last, his fingers became more taut in your hair. The wet sounds of your throat working around him filled the room, punctuated by his increasingly ragged breathing. Your nose brushed against the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel with each forward motion, inhaling the musky scent of arousal and expensive cologne that was uniquely Minho.

"Look at how well she takes it," Jisung observed. The ice in his glass clinked as he took another sip. "Such a good little cocksucker. Always knew exactly how to make you fall apart, didn't she?"

Minho's response was lost in a choked moan as you hollowed your cheeks, tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside of his cock.

Words slipped out between clenched teeth as he cursed in Korean due to the slight constriction that caused him to hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, I can't—" His voice cracked as you swallowed deliberately around him again. "She's still so-nghh... So fucking good."

Just before heat filled your mouth, you felt him pulse against your tongue. With a broken sound that could have been your name, he came with fingers that squirmed in your hair, gripping you almost painfully. Oversensitive and quivering, you forced him through it, draining every last drop from his dick until he had to back off.

"Jesus Christ," he staggered back a little and panted. Between your lips and his softening cock, a thin strand of cum-infused saliva stretched before shattering. "I forgot how fucking good you are at that."

Jisung's low chuckle made Minho’s vertebrae tingle in anticipation. "Oh, we're just getting started, aren't we, kitten?" Approaching from behind Minho, his footsteps reverberated on the hardwood floor. "Now scoot."

Minho obliged with the grace of a chastised cat, crawling a few paces away on hands and knees, his designer slacks dragging slightly against the floor. Only then, through the post-orgasmic haze that clouded his vision like morning mist, did he notice Han had undressed. Perhaps he'd blacked out for a moment and lost track of time.

"You doing okay, baby?”

As Jisung pushed deeper than Minho had ventured, you nodded enthusiastically around his cock, your eyes watering. Hissing through gritted teeth, your throat tightened around him. Minho watched in awe as the music sent chills down his spine.

"Fuck yes, look at her take it." Jisung's voice was rough with pleasure as he gripped your hair tighter, the slight pain making your cunt clench. "Such a good little slut for us, aren't you?"

Minho couldn't tear his eyes away from where Jisung's cock disappeared between your swollen lips. A drop of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his own spent cock twitched with curiosity. Your hips moved restlessly, searching for friction that wasn't there, and the diamond plug caught the light.

Unable to resist any longer, Minho crawled between your spread legs. Your scent hit him like a physical force—familiar yet somehow more intoxicating than he remembered. His tongue darted out to catch that glistening drop of wetness, tracing it back to its source.

Both men shuddered at the moan you uttered around Jisung's dick. Jisung looked back over his shoulder, pupils blown wide with lust as he watched Minho worship your dripping cunt. That wasn't the damn plan, but you were making such beautiful sounds that it made him reconsider.

"Well, well," Jisung purred, rolling his hips forward until you gagged slightly. "Looks like someone's eager to taste what's mine." His free hand reached back to tangle in Minho's hair, forcing his face closer to your heat. "Go ahead then, kitten. Show me how badly you've missed this pussy."

Minho needed no further encouragement. His tongue delved deep, gathering your wetness like a man dying of thirst. Above him, Jisung's thrusts grew more erratic as your moans vibrated around his length.

"That's it," Jisung groaned, his grip tightening painfully in both your hair and Minho's. "Make her cum on your tongue while I fuck that pretty throat raw."

You clenched again as you gagged. The sight made both men groan in unison.

While two fingers twisted inside you, locating that secret place that caused lightning to dance behind your eyelids, his expert mouth plunged deeper. Legs shaking as they clamped around his head, your spine arched off the floor like a bow being drawn. The tendons in your neck strained against skin as you fought for breath around Jisung's length.

Minho's free hand traced idle patterns on your hip, thumb pressing into the hollow there as if to anchor you to earth. He remembered how you used to fight this—how your alpha pride would make you bite your lip bloody rather than surrender. But tonight was different. Tonight, you were lost in a haze of sensation, caught between Jisung stretching your throat and Minho's wicked tongue.

"I missed those little sounds you make," Minho whispered against your inner thigh while his fingers never stopped their relentless assault inside you. "Remember how you used to fight it? All that alpha pride... But look at you now, dripping all over my chin like the prettiest little slut."

Your only response was a desperate whimper around Jisung the vibrations making him curse and grip your hair tighter. Minho's palm spread across your lower belly, feeling the muscles there coiling tight as a spring. He could read the signs in your body like a familiar book - the flutter of your walls around his fingers, the way your toes curled against the carpet, the endless slick that coated his chin and neck.

It should be impossible, actually. You were an alpha, technically more prepared to lubricate less than omegas and less sensitive, but that was never an obstacle for Lee Minho. He had a talent and he was going to rub it in the blue one's face.

"There we go," he purred, voice rough with want as his fingers found that perfect rhythm. His tongue flicked rapidly against your clit. "Show Jisung what he's been missing. Show him how pretty you look when you fall apart for us. Bet he's never seen an alpha gush like this before."

Unstoppable and overwhelming, the pressure increased like a tsunami. As Minho's tongue pounded viciously against you and his fingers struck that spot with devastating accuracy, your thighs trembled uncontrollably. Above you, Jisung's grip tightened in your hair as he felt your throat contracting around him, your gag reflex working overtime.

"Holy shit," Jisung groaned, watching transfixed as Minho buried his face deeper between your thighs, his nose grinding against your button while his tongue worked magic. "Is she actually going to—?"

“Yeah. Just watch, blue.”

Your muffled scream cut him off as the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the saliva on your chin as you came hard around Minho's fingers. He moaned against your pussy, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as you gushed over his hand and face. You thrashing beneath him, totally undone and beautiful in your surrender, made his own cock harden once more. He didn't stop, though, working you through each aftershock until you were sobbing around Jisung's length, your whole body trembling.

"Such a good girl," Minho praised, his tongue darting out to catch another drop of your arousal from his bottom lip. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he swallowed, savoring your taste like a man starved. "Always so fucking perfect for us. Still tastes like honey and sin."

"You okay, baby?" Han's voice was velvet-soft as he ran a loving hand down the center of your chest, fingers trailing fire under your tied arms and over the plane of your stomach. "You never let me see you like this before."

"Never saw her absolutely drenched like this before, did you?" Minho wiped his chin with the back of his hand, though his face remained gloriously debauched. A drop of your arousal caught the light as it rolled down the column of his throat, disappearing beneath his collar. "Takes someone who knows exactly what buttons to push."

“Funny how you think you know her better after abandoning her for two fucking years, kitten."

Minho's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, catching the light like a cat's in the darkness.

"I may have left." A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. "But at least I knew how to make her fall apart properly when I was here. Every." His tongue clicked against his teeth. "Single." Another click. "Time." His head tilted to one side, challenging. "Can you say the same, blue boy?"

Han’s scent turned sharp enough to burn, filling the room like smoke. "Continue running your mouth like that," his fingers traced patterns on your hip, but his eyes were fixed on Minho's throat. "And I'll show you exactly how I can reduce your precious wolf to a whimpering mutt while I spank that pretty ass of yours until it matches your fucking pride."

Your throat burned deliciously as you swallowed, tasting the remnants of both men on your tongue. Both of them turned back to you as you shifted, the ropes biting into your wrists. "For fuck's sake," you managed to rasp. "Shut up, both of you. Less alpha posturing, more fucking. I didn't get on my knees and let you both use my throat just to watch you measure dicks like teenagers."

"Uhm... Sorry, baby." Jisung's chuckle reverberated through his chest. His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip. "Since it's this dumb alpha's special day," he shot Minho a look that made the older alpha blush, "I'll let him decide if he wants his knot in your tight little ass or that pretty cunt. Okay?"

With eyes darting between your dripping core and the jeweled plug that winked teasingly between your cheeks, Minho's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"I want..." his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one knee to the other. "Both." His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch Jisung but not daring. "Please, I need both."

One sharp look from Jisung—just a slight narrowing—and a disapproving click of his tongue was all it took. It was like watching a proud statue fall apart—the change happened instantly. Minho's shoulders curved inward, the proud line of his spine melting into something more pliant. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

Almost apparent, the aroma of cinnamon, lavender, and caramel wrapped itself around Minho like silk strands.

"Cunt," he finally whispered. "Please... I choose her pussy. Want to feel her squeeze around my knot like she used to."

A slow smile spread across Jisung's face. "Good kitten," he purred. His fingers tangled in Minho's dark hair, tugging just hard enough to sting. "Pussy it is. What do you say now?”

“T-Thank you.”

“There you go.”

Jisung's hands were surprisingly gentle as he worked at the knots, each brush of his fingers against your sensitized skin making you shiver. With a whisper, the rope slipped away and gathered on the ground like discarded snake skin.

"Up you go, pretty thing," Jisung whispered as he assisted you in standing up, his palm extending over the small of your back.

Your legs trembled like a newborn fawn's, muscles still quivering from the aftershocks. The room swayed and tilted like a ship in a storm, reality blurring at the edges until Jisung's bruising grip on your hip became your only anchor to consciousness.

Leather greeted your heated skin with a shock of cold that drew a hiss from between your teeth. Jisung's knee pressed insistently between your thighs, spreading you wide enough that the muscles burned. Behind you, Minho's breath hitched in his throat—a sound caught between a whimper and a growl that made your inner walls clench with need. The jeweled plug shifted inside you as Jisung toyed with it.

"Such a greedy little thing," Jisung worked the plug in torturous circles. "Look at how she's clenching around it, Minho-yah. Both holes just begging to be stuffed full, aren't they?" The metal caught the dim light as he finally eased it free, your body fluttering helplessly around the sudden emptiness.

Cool liquid dripped between your cheeks in a meandering trail that made you arch and whine. Jisung's fingers followed, spreading it with the patience of a man who knew exactly how to drive you mad. His knuckles brushed against your entrance with each pass, a teasing promise that had your thighs trembling.

"Here." The single word carried enough command to make both you and Minho shiver.

You heard rather than saw Minho scramble to take the offered bottle, his desperate pants filling the room like a prayer.

"Such a good boy for me," Jisung praised, and you could feel the way Minho's entire being seemed to light up at the words, his scent sweetening with pleasure. "Now get that pretty cock ready. Our girl's been so patient, hasn't she? Look how she's dripping for us both."

With a roughness that sent thrills down your spine—because this was still Han Jisung, still your beautiful, commanding alpha—he manhandled you onto the couch. Your back hit his chest with enough force to drive the air from your lungs, his heartbeat a rapid drum against your shoulder blades. Slick and burning hot, he nudged at your entrance with an insistence that bordered on desperation.

"Gonna split you open so pretty," he growled against the shell of your ear, teeth catching the lobe hard enough to sting as he lined up. "Show our little kitty exactly how an alpha takes care of what's his."

A broken sound escaped your throat as he breached you, the stretch bordering on too much. Sweat gathered at your temples, rolling down to pool in the hollow of your throat where your pulse fluttered.

"Holy fuck," Minho whimpered, his fingers twitching against his thigh as he watched you take Jisung to the root.

As Jisung tipped the last of the whiskey to your lips, the amber liquid burned a trail down your throat, and the crystal tumbler clinked against your teeth. "Gorgeous, isn't she?" His hips rolled experimentally, the new angle making your vision blur at the edges. "But we're not done yet, are we, kitten? Show me just how badly you want to wreck her."

Minho's hands shook as they settled on your thighs, fingertips leaving crescent-shaped marks as he spread you impossibly wider. Already slippery and swollen from his previous attention, the head of his dick pressed against your folds, a string of precum binding him to your heated flesh.

"Please," your voice cracked around the word as your fingers dipped between your legs, spreading yourself. "Need you both. Need to be filled completely." You crooked your fingers, showing him exactly where you wanted him, clenching around nothing. "Show me you haven't forgotten how to make me scream, Min."

What was left of his control was destroyed by the use of his nickname.

As if he had run for miles, Minho's chest heaved as his breath came in tattered pants that muddled the air between you. In an attempt to resist the urge to simply pop a knot in midair, the muscles in his forearms tensed up.

"Such a needy little thing.”

Behind you, Jisung's hands slid up your ribcage, leaving trails of fire in their wake before cupping your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they peaked. "Stop teasing her. Unless you want me to take over completely and show you how it's done."

The threat in his voice made Minho's hips snap forward, the head of his cock finally breaching you. The stretch was exquisite—too much and not enough all at once, burning and perfect. Your walls fluttered around both men as they filled you completely, the dual sensation making your toes curl against the leather.

"Fuck," Minho choked out, his forehead dropping to rest against your sternum. "So tight. So perfect. Can feel you both. Can feel how well you take us."

Your fingers found their way into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as you felt him tremble. The touch made him shudder violently, his hips stuttering forward another inch as a broken moan escaped his throat. "Move, kitty," you commanded softly, tugging at his hair just the way you remembered he liked.

Minho's eyes devoured every inch of you with an almost feverish intensity, pupils blown wide as his hips snapped forward with urgency.

"Please," he rasped, voice cracking like autumn leaves underfoot. "Need to—shit, need to mark you. Make you mine again." His canines lengthened visibly, pressing against his bottom lip until tiny droplets of blood welled up. His inner wolf screamed for possession as it thrashed against its chains—you ought to be writhing beneath him in his bedroom, your scent blending with the remnants that, two years later, still clung obstinately to his sheets, taking his knot until the memory of any other touch vanished.

"Such pretty begging," Jisung purred, his breath hot against your ear. His free hand snaked around to grip Minho's throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make the older alpha's breath hitch. "But you forgot something important, didn't you?"

No kissing, no claiming.

The movement caught Minho's attention, drawing his gaze up to where Jisung watched them both with predatory focus. Something molten pooled in Minho's stomach as the younger alpha's lips twisted into that devastating half-smile.

Slowly, Jisung brought the crystal tumbler to his own lips, throat working as he swallowed. A single drop of amber liquid escaped, meandering down the sharp line of his jaw. Minho's tongue darted out unconsciously to wet his lips.

The realization hit him like lightning—Han Jisung, with his ocean-deep hair, lip piercing and cruel kindness, would slot perfectly into the empty spaces in his bedroom too.

What the fuck? No, this shouldn't be happening! The metallic taste of blood invaded his mouth as he bit his lip hard enough to hurt, ignoring how your eyes opened to stare at him when you smelled it.

Fuck! He already has a jack in his hands; he doesn't need another one! The thought burned like acid in his throat. Minho needs to think about other omegas and whores—the girl from Midnight Club with purple hair and tongue piercings, the bartender from Red Light with tribal tattoos running down his tanned neck, the cat-eyed dancer from Velvet Underground. He needs to fuck women and men until the scent of cinnamon and caramel is replaced by sweat and cheap sex, until every memory of you is buried under a pile of nameless bodies, until he erases you from the system, erases Jisung and that damn smile.

He needed to fuck.

"Open that pretty mouth for me, kitten," Jisung commanded, pressing the cool rim of the glass to Minho's lips. His other hand remained firm around the older alpha's throat.

Whiskey flooded Minho's mouth, burning sweetly as it mixed with your lingering taste on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the dual sensation of your walls clenching around him and Jisung's possessive grip on his throat. The familiar pressure began building at the base of his cock, his knot threatening to swell—breed mate claim mine mine mine.

"Eyes on me," Jisung growled, his fingers tightening until crimson starbursts exploded behind Minho's eyelids. "Show me what a good boy you can be. Match my rhythm—yeah, just like that." His thumb ghosted over Minho's bottom lip, collecting the bitter cocktail of whiskey and copper.

The muscles in Minho's throat worked convulsively beneath Jisung's grip, his pulse a frantic drumbeat against calloused fingers. Sweat-stained skin caused his shoulder blades to shift beneath his curved spine as he struggled to keep up with Jisung's vicious pace.

"I'm sorry, sorry, baby." Minho choked out, his rhythm growing erratic as his knot began to swell, balls hitting your rim with all his might. "Please, Alpha, I can't—need to—"

"Not yet." Jisung's voice was sin incarnate, dark honey and broken glass. His fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles that had your vision blurring at the edges. "Our girl cums first. Show her what those pretty fingers can do and then you are allowed."

When you felt the stretch of both cocks filling you completely, Jisung's teeth at your throat, and Minho's deft fingers joining Jisung's at your clit, the world shrank to pure sensation. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through your system. You could feel yourself clenching rhythmically around them both, drawing them deeper as your body demanded to be bred.

"Holy fuck," Minho choked out, his hips stuttering as your walls milked his cock. "Can't—alpha, please—"

Jisung's growl vibrated through your back, possessive and commanding. "Cum for us, kitten. Breed her nice and deep."

As Minho emptied himself inside of you with a broken cry, the command in Jisung's voice caused his entire body to tremble, his knot to fully swell. You could feel him pulsing, filling you alongside Jisung's still-hard length. Your oversensitive walls fluttered around them both, and the sensation was almost too much, almost painful.

"Such a good boy," Jisung praised, his voice rough as gravel as his hips snapped up harder. His fingers twisted in Minho's hair, yanking his head back to expose the column of his throat. "Look at how well you take my commands, how perfectly you fill our alpha."

Minho whimpered, high and desperate, as Jisung's teeth scraped over his scent gland. His hips jerked helplessly, locked inside you by his knot as aftershocks of pleasure wracked his frame.

"Please," you gasped, writhing between them as Jisung's pace grew brutal. "Too much! I can't! Stop!"

Jisung's laugh was dark honey against your skin. "Yes, you can. One more for us, pretty thing. Show our kitty how good we make you feel."

His fingers found your clit again while Minho latched onto your breast. The dual sensation of his tongue laving over your nipple and Jisung's cock dragging against your g-spot had you almost screaming.

Minho's teeth grazed your nipple as he moaned around the sensitive flesh, his own oversensitivity evident in the way his thighs trembled. You could feel his knot pulsing inside you with each thrust of Jisung's hips, stretching you impossibly wider.

"That's it," Jisung growled, his rhythm growing erratic as his own knot began to swell. "Take it all, every fucking drop."

As pleasure verged on pain, your second orgasm struck like lightning, causing tears to fall down your cheeks. Jisung followed with a snarl, his knot locking inside you alongside Minho's as he marked you from the inside out.

For a moment, Minho allowed himself to collapse against your chest, his forehead pressed against your sternum as his breath came in ragged gasps. The steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath his ear was a siren song, beckoning him towards dangerous waters where dreams of permanence lurked like sharks beneath still waters.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word barely audible as his fingers traced meaningless patterns across your ribs. His tongue darted out to taste the salt of your skin, cataloging the way Jisung's and his scent had mixed with your natural sweetness to create something entirely new.

Behind you, Jisung's fingers carded through Minho's sweat-dampened hair, the gentle touch at odds with the possessive grip he maintained on your hip. "Stay still for me, both of you," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your shoulder. "Let me take care of you while we're tied."

Minho's eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he fought back the surge of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He wanted to memorize this moment—the weight of you both, the way Jisung's fingers felt against his scalp, the lingering taste of whiskey and blood on his tongue. Wanted to bottle it up and keep it safe, hidden away with all the other pieces of himself he couldn't bear to examine too closely.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't. The rules were clear—no staying, no claiming, no letting himself believe this could be anything more than what it was. Even as his body betrayed him, cock still pulsing inside you as his knot kept you locked together, his mind was already calculating the fastest way to get you out of his house. Already planning his escape.

"Your heart's racing," you observed softly, fingers trailing down his spine in a touch so gentle it made him want to scream. Or sob. Or both.

Minho said nothing, but his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise.

It was like a game of Kemps, Minho thought hazily, watching the way moonlight painted silver stripes across your skin through his half-closed Venetian blinds. Just like those drunken Sunday afternoons in Chan's apartment. But now he had two jacks in his hand. Two cards that could ruin everything he'd built, destroy the fortress around his heart.

He could already imagine it—lazy Sunday mornings with the scent of condensed milk pudding filling his apartment, the sweet aroma mingling with fresh coffee and Jisung's scent. Jisung's steady hands marking his skin with permanent promises in black ink while vinyl records crackled in the background. You in the bathtub singing "Here Comes The Sun" off-key, bubbles clinging to your shoulders while Jisung lounged behind you reading his worn copy of Murakami, occasionally glancing up from the pages to watch him shave. Movie nights with takeout containers scattered across his coffee table, your head in his lap and Jisung's fingers absently playing with both your hair. The three of you tangled together in his Egyptian cotton sheets, no need for rushed goodbyes or careful distance, just the steady rhythm of shared breaths and intertwined heartbeats.

The domesticity of these visions felt like a noose around his neck, tightening with each passing second. Like his mother's pearls scattered across the bathroom floor, like the bitter taste of failure that had lived on his tongue since that day. The thought terrified him more than any business deal or angry investor ever could.

"When will I see you again?"

For the first time, he was the one that asked this question. His fingers trembled as he considered keeping his jacks instead of discarding them, letting them destroy his perfect game.

After all, sometimes the best strategy was letting your walls crumble, brick by carefully constructed brick, until nothing remained but the raw, beating heart beneath.

Kemps!

[rhyrhy]

Fields of you 🍎

Chapter six: Hands off, Hands on

Farmhand/cowgirl Abby! X female reader

All chapters here

This morning the air was unmistakably thick with the smell of damp earth, the last traces of last night’s rain still clinging to the fields of the land. Your yellow rubber boots carried you as your mind was elsewhere. The sound of dry skin rang out as you rubbed your hands together, trying to push away the stiffness in your fingers as you made your way toward the barn. Today was supposed to be like any other, with chores, routine, and keeping yourself busy.

And yet, all you could think about was the lingering weight of yesterday. The phone call. The way neither of you had hung up right away. The distaste in Papaw’s voice. And, of course, her.

You shook your head, setting your shoulders. Enough of that. Enough of this damn near yearning. If you can even call it that. I mean what was going on? It was starting to irritate you if anything.

A silky voice cut through your thoughts. Low, familiar.

“You always look this serious, or is that just for me?”

You jumped at the sudden voice and turned to meet it. Abby, wiping her forehead with the hem of her shirt. Giving you a clear view of her midriff, Jesus. You quickly picked your eyes up before she glanced back up to meet your gaze. Just for her? Okay, she’s just teasing now.

“Pfft, just you,” you chuckled. 

A thoughtful hum came from her, almost like she was approving of your answer. Things had been a little…awkward since the storm. You had been cutting conversations shorter, needing to get a grip on this schoolgirl crush. You are grown, damn it! Plus you aren’t even sure what all this could mean, too afraid to ask. Much too early to tell. 

Since the storm, any worn wood had taken a hit during. Wobble here, loose there, a mess. 

“Make yourself useful; they could use the extra hands,” Papaw said, newspaper in hand.

So you did. Adding yourself to the bodies scattered around the farm. A part of you enjoyed days like this; it could be a bit lonely when you weren’t in town or the loud city.

Home is nice but too quiet at times. You’d been working at arm's length from her all day, and now you two had to work together. Great.

She was knelt beside you, the heat of her body mingled with yours. Working with the animals most days, you weren’t sure how to reinforce a fence with new nails without it looking like an arts and crafts project. Abby’s guidance was more than helpful; the slight praise when you did something right definitely made the nonexistent room you were in feel hotter. 

“Here, grip it like this—yeah, just like that. You don’t want to hold it too tight, or you’ll throw yourself off balance.”

Abby, when from hovering to standing close behind, occasionally reaching over to adjust your grip, her calloused hands settling over yours. Her voice is always in that low, steady tone.

“Loosen up a little—relax; I got you.”

Oh, she was killing you. Her chest almost grazing your back, head damn near on your shoulder. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run, scream, kick her away, or do all of them.

You kept your cool and let her show you what she needed to. Work still needed to be done regardless of how flustered you were feeling. The occasional brush of her tan kissed skin against your own made you feel a little dizzy.

A deep sigh fell out as you finally finished with the damn fence. After hammering into more than you can count, the two of you were standing by the barn, the scent of wet land still fresh in the air. Abby had a length of thick rope in her hands, casually twisting it between her fingers as she explained.

“Tying a good knot isn’t about forcing it—it’s about letting the rope do what it’s meant to. Feel it, don’t fight it,” she said, stepping closer.  “Come here, let me show you.”

She took your hands in hers, rough fingertips brushing against your palms as she guided them. You swallowed, focusing hard on the rope instead of the warmth of her touch.

“See? You keep hesitating right here,” Abby murmured, her voice low. She adjusted your grip, fingers pressing gently over yours. “Just let it loop through, like this.”

You nodded and listened the best you could. You weren’t sure if it was the knot-tying or the fact that Abby was this close—her breath warm against your skin, the faint smell of her shampoo lingering. This was that softer side of her you grew fond of. Gentle but firm when needed.

Then, footsteps crunched against the gravel path behind you. You felt a bit of relief for the distraction until you saw who the figure was. Sigh.

“Well, would you look at this,” 

Owen’s voice cut through the moment, light and teasing. “Abby Anderson is giving hands-on lessons now? Thought you didn’t have the patience for that.”

Abby didn’t pull away immediately, but she did loosen her hold on your hands, stepping back just slightly. She glanced at Owen with an easy smirk. “Some people are worth the effort.”

Those familiar laughs that made it clear he and Abby had history, even if it wasn’t anything serious. 

“Didn’t know you had a soft spot, Anderson,” Owen grinned, nudging her playfully.

Your stomach fell a little more than you should have. You didn’t have a right to feel jealous or anything of the sort, not really. But watching the way he leaned into her space, how comfortable he was with her, it sent a slow burn of irritation through your chest. 

Abby must’ve noticed, because when Owen finally left, she turned back to you, arms crossed, lips quirked in amusement. She studied you for a long moment before speaking. Her hand fixing the strap on your overalls before pulling back.

“Y’know, if looks could kill, Owen’d be a goner.”

Your face burned. “I wasn’t—”

“Mhm,” she hummed, not looking convinced. A slow smile tugged at her lips as she reached for the rope again, holding it out to you. “C’mon, Show me that knot one more time.”

You huffed a playful sigh and went back to focusing. You weren’t sure why his presence bugged you so much, or maybe you did? Regardless, she was free woman it was best you didn’t medal in business that wasn’t yours.

this is a little shorter! Next one won’t be, pinky promise

Taglist: @abbylvr69 @snake-in-a-flower-crown @cutyoursoul