#and i have no idea how I’m supposed to approach that conversation so i’m just gonna let it go

[kithtaehyung]

minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.” 

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave— 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?” 

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt��or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

-

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[uzurakis]

hii again!! I’m here to request a Drabble/headcannon (doesn’t matter to me :3) where the reader gets approached by two strangers n one of them goes ‘hi my friend thinks you’re cute’ and motions to their friend next to them even though the jjk men (yuta and Megumi but feel free to add anyone else!) is literally RIGHT next to them (this happened during lunch a week ago n all my friends laughed at me 😭😭😭)

WHEN A STRANGER CALLS YOU CUTE IN PUBLIC!

featuring: gojo satoru. fushiguro megumi. yuuta okkotsu. itadori yuuji.

n. hi baby! i supposed you’re the same nonnie that requested the stalker one? thank you for trusting me with your requests cause yours are always enjoyable to write and your ideas are *french kiss*. i hope ya like this one and please if you have any ideas you wanna share, hmu! ill always write yours bby. mwaah xoxo

hey, excuse me! my friend thinks you’re cute . .

ITADORI YUUJI. you exchanged a surprised glance with itadori, who cracked a smile sheepishly. "oh yeah? thanks," he replied, clearly missing the implication. the stranger nudged their friend, urging them to speak up. "uh, yeah," offering a nervous smile. "you're really cute."

your boyfriend only chuckled, oblivious to their intentions. "right? my girlfriend is the cutest!” he said proudly, pinching your cheeks infront of them. “yuu, we’re in public..”

the strangers shared a bewildered look, realizing that their attempt to strike up a conversation with you had been unintentionally thwarted. "uh, yeah, you’re really lucky," the stranger managed to mumble before they awkwardly excuse themselves and slipped back into the crowd.

you and itadori watched them go, bemused expressions on your faces. "did you catch what they were trying to do?" you asked, stifling a laugh. itadori shook his head, still clueless. "nah, but it doesn't matter. i already know who the cutest one here is," he said, planting a kiss on your cheek, causing you to giggle at his oblivion.

GOJO SATORU. before you could respond, gojo stepped forward, subtly clearing his throat. you shot him a puzzled look, wondering what he was up to. “yeah? well, she's taken," declaring at once, voice laced with amusement as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

the strangers kept eyeing you curiously, seemingly undisturbed by the statement he made. "oh really? too awful," one of them remarked, maintaining a smile.

gojo raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with you. it was clear they weren't getting the hint. with a sigh, he cleared his throat again, this time louder, as he firmly took your hand and started to lead you away. “sorry, folks, but we're kinda busy," your boyfriend said with a charming smile, gently steering you in the opposite direction.

as you both walked away, gojo grinned down at you. "just making sure they know who you belong to, darling,” he said, pulling you closer as you continued your walk through the path.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you immediately glanced nervously at megumi beside you. however, your boyfriend remained silent, his expression unreadable as he gazed at the strangers.

unsure of how to reply, you gave the stranger a hesitant smile. megumi didn't express his jealousy, but it was obvious that he was still very much in the dark about it. the stress was literally radiating off of him. "um, thank you," you managed to murmur, feeling awkward under megumi's scrutiny.

the strangers seemed unfazed by megumi's silence, continuing to chat amicably with you. they asked questions, trying to engage you both in conversation, but megumi remained aloof, his attention solely focused on you. you glanced at him, catching the tightness in his jaw and the furrow in his brow. he was clearly uncomfortable, but he didn't make a move to pull you away from the strangers. rather, he only stood there, sulkily contemplating.

sensing his unease, you subtly shifted closer to him, hoping to offer some reassurance. megumi glanced down at you, his gaze softening ever so slightly before returning to the strangers, "hey, you done talking?" he shot at the strangers with thinly veiled irritation.

he then sighed, a hint frustration crossing his features. without another word, he gently took your hand and pulled you away from the conversation, his grip firm but not forceful. as you walked, you stole a glance at megumi, finding his expression softened slightly, his jealousy dissipating now that you were out of the strangers' reach. “i didn’t feel it like has to be said, but,” a tint of red swelled on his face, his eyes denying your gaze. “yeah, you’re always pretty. and if you need someone to say it, just,”

“just ask me, okay?”

YUTA OKKOTSU. you responded with a timid smile, sensing yuuta's comforting presence beside you. he let out a soft chuckle, his laughter soothed the situation as you thanked the compliment. "i appreciate it.”

yuuta's casual reaction didn’t appear to dismiss the strangers, as they continue to strike up a discussion as though you’ve been friends for years. while yuuta stays a silent yet watchful presence, they kept the questions going.

after a while, yuuta's smile widened, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he glanced at his watch. "it was fun talking to you guys," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "but me and my girlfriend need to be somewhere else."

you blinked in surprise at his sudden intervention, but the strangers took it in stride and finally offering their farewells. after they walked away, you turned to yuuta, curiosity piqued by his unexpected assertiveness.

"you’re not going to say anything about it?” you commented, impressed by his ability to not get jealous or anything else in between. yuuta brushed your hair, his gaze warm with affection. "cause they weren’t wrong though. you are the cutest.”

@uzurakis — reqs are open! <3

[obfuscateyummy]

Late.

Holy shit. Thank you all for the LOVE on my last Robby x reader fic. You sure know how it make a struggling girl feel the love. PLEASE feel free to ask me questions or message me if theres something you think I should write. I'm not opening "requests" but taking idea. and I always am looking for someone to chat my ideas out with.

1,226 words. Slight angst. Mentions pregnancy. Everything medical I know from shows staring Noah Wyle as a doctor.

part 1

The next time you looked at the clock, it was 8:00. You sat down to type some patient notes. You sighed as you sat.

“Rough morning, kid?” Dana asked. 

You shook your head. “I’m just exhausted today. Think I need more coffee, and something to eat. Just gotta update these notes.” 

“I got a granola bar if you want one,” Dana offered. 

“Thanks I owe ya,” you said as you took the granola bar. You opened it up and took a bite.

You looked at the date at the bottom of your computer 5/4/25. “Uh, Dana? Is it really the fourth?”

“Yeah. Exactly one month after Pittfest. Can you believe it?” she said. 

You cursed under your breath. A month? You could’ve sworn it was only two weeks after Pittfest. You were wrong. And it gave your exhaustion a whole new meaning. You began to feel knots in your stomach. Knots you originally took as hungr pains, which also now have a new meaning. You were spiraling up in your head that you didn’t hear the conversation happening around you.

“Hey Robby,” Dana said as he walked by. “We got 2 coming in. One minor head lacerations, one major. ETA 5 minutes.”

“Okay, Dr. Mohan take the head laceration, take Whitaker with you. Have him do the sutures. Dr. R, you’re with me and the major. Santos, you’re with us.” Robby said. Everyone followed to where they needed to be. He gave you a minute and you still didn’t move, lost in your own thoughts. 

“Hey, y/n? Did you hear that?” he asked.

“What? Sorry,” you said.

“Car accident, 2 coming our way. ETA 4 minutes, you’re with me,” he said as he looked at you. You didn’t speak as you stood up to walk. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” you said. There was a tone of annoyance in your voice.

“If you say so,” he said as he walked away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sounded angry. You snapped at him. You were moody, of course you were moody. Add it to the list of symptoms.

“It’s….nothing.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey Robby, Kid - they’re pulling up!” Dana shouted.

Michael stared at you. Desperatly wishing you would tell him what was wrong. The two of you had been married almost 5 years - knew you weren’t okay.

“Let’s go,” you said motioning for your husband to turn around. 

The two of you approached the ambulance bay doors as the EMTs rolled in your patient. They ran over his name, vitals, injury details. You breathed trying to calm the nausea rolling in your stomach. Your head began spinning. Next thing you knew, you were in trauma 2 and you heard your husband’s voice.

“He’s gonna need a chest tube.”

“Got it,” you said as Dana handed you the kit.

“I’m in,” you said as you got the chest tube in, but there was blood. There was blood. Not a lot of blood. But it wasn’t the sight of blood. It was the smell. That awful smell of metal. That was what pushed you over the edge.

“Santos, take over,” you ordered. The intern did as she was told. 

You ran out of the room ripping off your gloves and trauma gown, disposing of them in the nearest bin. You headed straight to the restroom. You barely made it to the toilet before unloading your stomach’s contents into it. Tears streamed down your face as you finished. You sat with your back against the stall wall. “Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself. You wiped your tears, flushed the toilet and headed out to splash some water on your face and get back out there. As you were splashing your face, Samira walked in.

“Hey, Dr. R you-” Samira said as you blew past her. You had to find your husband. “Got a minute.”

You booked it for central. Dana approached you on your way. 

“Hey kid, you okay?” she asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you said, avoiding the question.

“Maybe because you’re off your game today. Hell, I don’t remember the last time you ran out of a trauma like that,” she said.

You did. It was the spring of 2021. 5 months before Lucy was born. You had begged your husband to let you back in the trauma room, claiming you could handle it. That day, he pulled you from traumas until after you returned from maternity leave. “Have you seen Robby?” you asked, still avoiding her question.

“Headed towards central last I checked” she said. 

“Thanks,” you said walking away.

“Hey kid, you never answered my question!” Dana shouted after you.

You still didn’t answer her. You passed Myrna in the hallway.

“Hey Floozie, there you are!” Myrna said as you approached. 

“Not today, Myrna,” you said walking past her and up to your husband, who was typing notes at his desk.

“Dr. Robby? Can we-” you started to say as he interrupted.

“You said you were fine,” he said, not looking up from his computer. 

“Can we talk?” you finished the question you were asking earlier. 

He took off his glasses and looked at you. “Oh, now you want to talk?” he said, never raising his voice. 

“Please?” you asked motioning towards the lounge.

He stood up and followed you into the lounge. As soon as the door shut behind you, he started to speak.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

“I know.”

“What’s going on?” Robby put his hand on your arm. “Y/n, you got sick during a trauma. You haven’t done that since-”

“I was pregnant with Lucy.” You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath.

“ Y/n-”

You interrupted him, “Michael, I’m late.” You blurted it out.  

He blinked and looked at you, “What?”

“I’m late. Like late late.” you said as you looked up at him. 

“How late?” he asked.

“Two, maybe three weeks,” you said as you rubbed your arm and bit your bottom lip. “I-I kinda lost track.”

Michael stared at you. You knew he was trying to pinpoint how far along you were, when you were due, when it happened. “Did you-”

You shook your head, “I haven’t taken a test, but do I really need to?”

“You do. And you need an ultrasound. I need to tell Gloria.” He said rubbing the back of his neck. 

You shook your head. “Wait.” Robby looked at your confused. When you were pregnant with Lucy, the day you found out, you couldnt wait to tell everyone. “Please. Just - Michael can we just-”

“Dr. R?” Samira said as she opened the door to the lounge. “Can I get you to check out my patient in South 7? All the tests are coming back normal, but I think something is off.”

“Yeah, be right there Samira,” you said smiling at your friend. She turned to leave.

“I have tomorrow off. Hopefully I can get in for an ultrasound. I can stop on the way home and get a test.” You stopped talking because Robby’s lips crashed with yours. 

He pulled away quickly, “We gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I love you, Dr. Robinavitch,” he said.

“I love you too, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said as you exited the lounge and headed to Samira’s patient.

[meleeyz]

ekko enemies to lovers? literally metal flowers was SO! GOOD! where reader is a pilte and she goes down with cait and vi in s1?

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗣𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗘꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I'm sorry in advance if something reads strangely or is poorly written.

୨୧ Hello darling! Maybe this isn't exactly your idea (?), but I thought it would be fun to have a tension-filled conversation when the reader is supposed to be... you know, kidnapped. Tell me what you think! I'm also glad you liked the metal flowers one-shot 💞💞

୨୧ THANK YOU VERY VERY VERY MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT, THIS IS THE FIRST REQUEST I HAVE AND THAT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY, YOUR NICE COMMENTS ARE ALSO GREAT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH AGAIN 💓

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

It all happened too fast: Vi shouting warnings, the blue-haired lunatic and her sick laughter had been the least of your problems.

And now you were here, restrained in a damp, dimly lit room, the sack over your head smelling of grease and mildew. Caitlyn’s muffled voice called for you, distant and strained.

You tugged at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair, teeth gritted. The door creaked open, and hurried footsteps approached. The sack was pulled off. A Vastaya man loomed over you, his bat-like ears curling inwards as he studied you for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he left, closing the door behind him with a resonating clang.

Blinking against the sudden light, you glanced around, your gaze landing on someone seated across the room. He wore an owl mask, his posture lazy yet somehow threatening.

Your stomach churned. You’d seen him earlier—watching from the shadows as Silco’s men attacked. He hadn’t intervened then, just observed with unnerving intensity.

“Got something to say, or are you just going to keep staring?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

The masked figure tilted his head, amusement evident in the way he leaned back.

“Staring at people like that? Kind of counts as harassment, you know,” you continued, forcing a smirk despite the pounding of your heart. “But hey, let me go, and we can settle this properly. I promise I’ll be… kind.”

The voice that responded came distorted through a modulator, low and mechanical. “You should learn to take care of that mouth. If it weren’t for the other two, you’d already be dead.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and despite yourself, you let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I see how it is. Big bad owl man is bothered by my mouth? Then why didn’t you just kill me outright?”

His laugh echoed back at you, though his tone remained clipped. He stood, his figure tall and imposing as he stepped closer.

“Believe me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It was tempting.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze—or what you assumed were his eyes—through the owl mask. “Oh, I’m trembling,” you deadpanned. “What a scary owl.”

His movements stilled for a moment, the tilt of his head indicating surprise. You pressed on, determined to keep the upper hand in this strange game.

“Let me guess,” you said, smirking again. “Sitting around in a mask all day makes you feel tough, huh? What’s next—dramatic monologues about justice?”

He chuckled, stepping even closer until he was towering over you. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, craning your neck to meet him. “You think this is guts? I just call it basic survival.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, tension crackling like static. Then, slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edge of his mask.

Your breath hitched, the weight of the moment sinking in as he pulled it away.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and filled with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His features were striking, all sharp angles and raw intensity but softened.

You blinked, momentarily speechless, which was enough to make him laugh again. This time, it was unmodulated—rich and almost boyish, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his grin wide. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you struggled for a response. The sheer absurdity of it hit you like a freight train. For all your mother’s warnings about suitors back in Piltover, none of them could hold a candle to him.

And, of course, he knew it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly, stepping back.

You clenched your fists, suddenly grateful for the handcuffs keeping you from doing something you’d probably regret.

“Don’t look so smug,” you said finally, recovering enough to glare at him. “You still kidnapped me, remember?”

“Kidnapped?” he repeated, feigning offense. “Rescued is more like it. You’re lucky I was watching.”

“Lucky?” you shot back. “You’ve got a twisted sense of gratitude.”

“Stick around. You might just learn something.”

You scowled, your cheeks warming despite yourself. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you sat there under the sharp gaze of the boy—no, young man—in the room. But his attention was no longer casual. His gaze was razor-edged, appraising.

“Enough games,” he said finally, his voice steady, though it carried an undertone of curiosity. “What do you know about the hextech gemstone?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you were caught off guard. Hextech? You wracked your brain, recalling snippets of overheard conversations.

“It’s… like an energy booster,” you said hesitantly, your brows furrowed. “Anyone can use it to build pretty much anything. Something about it being ‘limitless potential’ or whatever.”

Ekko tilted his head, clearly not expecting you to be so forthcoming.

“You just told me, just like that?”

“Why not?” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t kill me, which is already better than everyone else we’ve run into today. If you’re not trying to gut me on sight, you can’t be that bad.”

His laugh came low, warm, and rough, as if you’d surprised him again.

“You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Bit of both,” you admitted, flashing a quick smile “So, what’s next? We keep playing twenty questions?”

He chuckled dryly, though his next words were serious.

“Alright, let’s talk about your friends. What’s their deal? And what’s your relationship with the Enforcer?”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your chest. But the harder you tried, the more it broke free, until you were shaking with quiet.

“Enforcer?” you finally choked out, wiping the corner of your eye with your shoulder. “Caitlyn’s more like… I don’t know, a girl playing dress-up as an Enforcer. Her mother would die if she let Cait face real danger.” You tilted your head toward him, smirking. “Like this.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish.

“Oh, and don’t leave the lovebirds alone too long,” you added, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “It seems like Cait’s taken a liking to the pink-haired one.”

That earned another huff of laughter from him. His gaze lingered on you, sharp yet tinged with reluctant amusement, as though trying to figure out whether you were always this reckless or just putting on a show.

“Alright, alright. My turn. That’s how this works, right?”

“That’s not how this works at all.”

“Sure it is,” you shot back, leaning forward as much as the restraints allowed. “If you were a conventional kidnapper, I wouldn’t have said a word. You’d have had to torture me for information—and, frankly, I don’t think you’d do it. Too soft.”

Ekko’s brow twitched, though he said nothing.

“Anyway, this isn’t a conventional kidnapping, right?” you added, your grin widening.

For a moment, he studied you, clearly debating whether to humor you. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gestured vaguely.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

You leaned back, feigning nonchalance.

“What’s your name?”

He hesitated.

“Ekko.”

“Ekko,” you repeated, testing the name on your tongue. It suited him. “Alright, Ekko. Next question.”

He crossed his arms, his brows lifting in mock exasperation.

“I said one question.”

“You really need to loosen up,” you teased. “I want to learn how to ride that hoverboard of yours. That thing looks incredible.”

His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” you said. “My wrists are starting to hurt. Being handcuffed is not exactly comfortable, you know.”

Ekko sighed, dragging a hand down his face, though you could see the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty Piltie can’t handle a pair of handcuffs? I’ll free you when the time comes.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

“When the time comes,” he said again. “I’ll free you.”

“Ekko!” you called after him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You can’t just—hey!”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. The door creaked open as he stepped out.

Outside, Scar leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a bemused look on his face. He watched as Ekko adjusted the straps of his owl mask, preparing to slide it back into place.

“Something on your mind?” Ekko asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Scar raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the door where you were still yelling.

“Didn’t realize we were starting a dating service for Pilties now.”

Ekko shot him a glare, the owl mask concealing the faint flush creeping up his neck. “What?”

Scar smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Ekko adjusted the mask, his thoughts lingering on the strange girl tied up in the other room. A rich Piltie liking him? The thought was… well, distracting.

But he pushed it aside. There was work to be done.

“Where’s Vi?” he asked, his voice low.

Scar gestured down the hall. “Waiting.”

Ekko nodded, his mind shifting gears as he prepared for what would undoubtedly be another tense conversation.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[fluentmoviequoter]

Mom and Dad are Fighting Again

Requested Here!

The Bradfords Series Masterlist

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: You and Tim become Lucy's station parents, and you show your care for her in different ways.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, grumpy!Tim to softie!Tim, "mom and dad are fighting again" is a Castle reference

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

“Bradford!” Wade calls.

“Which one?” you and Tim ask together.

Wade sighs, and Angela adds, “He’s tired just thinking about the conversation. That means he needs Tim.”

“Tim,” Wade clarifies. “Let the other Bradford help Chen prep the shop. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ooh,” Angela and Lucy taunt.

You roll your eyes, but it is a bit like being called into the principal’s office. Luckily, Tim and Wade get along well. You tap Lucy’s shoulder and wave for her to follow you. After you sign for your gear, Lucy gets hers and Tim’s. Once you’re in the garage and your bag is in your shop, Lucy turns to you with a pout.

“If a Bradford had to be my TO, why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

“Tim is the best there is, Luce. I know he can be grumpy and push a little too hard, but I promise learning from him is worth it,” you reply.

“At least I have you to stand up for me.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to be my friend.”

“We’re cops, not friends,” Tim interjects as he walks out of the doorway behind you. “Let’s go, boot.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucy murmurs under her breath. “Says the guy who’s married to another cop.”

“What was that?” Tim asks.

“Tim,” you warn gently.

You shake your head, and he takes a deep breath before getting in the driver’s seat. As you climb into your shop beside him, Lucy rolls her window down and gestures for you to do the same.

“Dad says he loves you,” she says with a wide smile.

“Chen!” Tim yells.

“I love him too. Be safe, both of you,” you call before pulling out.

“We need to talk about boundaries, Chen,” Tim grumbles.

“Better than not talking,” she argues.

Tim leans against the side of the shop and stares straight ahead. It’s an interesting situation, but no matter how long he looks, he can’t decide what the best approach is. Lucy has spouted numerous ideas, and he’s vetoed each one.

“We could call for a lift truck,” she suggests as she paces on the sidewalk.

“Can’t get close enough,” Tim replies.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Tim looks at Lucy, who now has her hands on her hips and a determined look.

“We have to call smarter reinforcements. Call Bradford,” she demands.

“I’m not calling my wife because we can’t- how could she even help?”

“She’s brilliant. You of all people have to know that.”

“Sounds like you should be running her fan club,” Tim complains.

“Having a hero isn’t wrong. If you don’t call her, I will.”

“And I’ll write you up.”

Lucy sighs and turns to look at the scene again. Tim runs through a few more ideas in his mind, but they all end in a worse situation than the current one. He sighs as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he greets when you answer.

Lucy turns around quickly and claps quietly. Tim glares at her, but her excitement doesn’t diminish as he continues talking to you.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Just tell her we need help!” Lucy implores.

“Yeah, that’s Chen. And we do need help.”

Lucy pumps a fist over her head in victory. When Tim ends the call, though, she steps back and quiets.

A few minutes later, you park beside Tim’s shop and exit your car with a smile.

“Someone called for the cavalry?” you joke. “So, what’s so strange Tim Bradford had to call for backup?”

Tim doesn’t answer but grabs your waist and leads you to stand between him and Lucy. He points up through a gap in the trees and you follow his finger. Your responding “huh” does little to make Tim think you’ll have an easier time solving the problem.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” you ask.

Tim turns to glare at Lucy again, and she ducks behind you. You look at Tim from the corner of your eye and he accepts your silent reprimand and gives Lucy some space.

“Did you try to get up there?” you ask.

“No. There’s no good approach,” Tim answers.

“I thought we could climb onto the roof beside it for recon and find a way to reach it,” Lucy says. “Or maybe get a ladder truck in the yard.”

“Roof recon isn’t a terrible idea,” you agree. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I don’t agree that it would get us any more information than we can get from the ground,” Tim explains.

“We can’t get to it from here, though,” Lucy argues. “This park is protected, and we can’t bring CSU out here to traipse all over it. That house is our best bet.”

“Chen, you are not in charge,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn softly. “Just hear her out.”

“She’s my rookie. I don’t have to do anything she says.”

“I’m not saying to do exactly what she says, but you’re training her, not dictating her. Give her a chance to work this.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breathes out of his nose. The situation is stressful, you know, because every element of being a cop is. But Tim arguing with Lucy will only delay the inevitable.

“Please?” you add. “If her plan to scout from the roof doesn’t work, then I will call the park service and tell them to deal with it.”

“We don’t even know who owns that house.”

“One way to find out,” Lucy says.

You let Lucy take the lead and stand beside Tim on the porch as she talks to the owner of the home. He doesn’t seem inclined to let three police officers climb onto his roof to deal with something that he can’t see.

“I’m done talkin’ to ya,” he says before slamming the door in Lucy’s face. It opens a moment later and he adds, “One more thing.”

You can tell he’s prepared to do something stupid and pull Lucy back quickly. His fist misses her face by an inch, and you move her toward Tim before turning toward the homeowner. His second hit is luckier and lands against the side of your nose, but he’s not trained like you are. When you hit him in the same spot, he goes down hard and fast. You raise your hand to your face and immediately feel blood coming from your nose. There’s likely no real damage, just a busted blood vessel or two.

Lucy begins apologizing as Tim calls for backup and another unit to deal with the issue in the park. He returns his radio to his belt and lays his hands on your shoulders to look at you.

“We’re going back to the shop. Stay with him until backup gets here, Chen,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy,” you offer.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Tim interjects. “Let’s go.”

Tim keeps a hand on you during every step of the short walk back to the shop. He presses a wad of gauze under your nose and uses his other hand to tip your head slightly forward. When the top of your head hits his chest, you feel him sigh.

“What would you have done? If Chen wasn’t here?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Tim. A huge, gaudy murder confession nailed to a tree in a park is a new one. Park department wouldn’t have been much help, so it may have been one to pass off. Or trespass.”

Tim looks away from you when Lucy returns. You cover his hand to pull the gauze from your face, and when you see there’s no fresh blood, you pull an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and clean the dried blood from your chin and Tim’s hand. Lucy waits silently, and now she looks like the one waiting to be called to see the principal.

“What were you thinking?” Tim demands when you release his hand. “You never just stand in front of someone’s door. If we hadn’t been there, or if he had opened the door with a knife, what would have happened, Chen?”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right it won’t! I don’t know why you refuse to listen to me or remember basic, common procedures, but it will get you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen. I will take your badge if this is the kind of police work you’ll do once you’re out on your own!”

“Tim!” you interrupt. “She messed up. We all have. Maybe let her prove that she learned something before you threaten her career.”

“No! I don’t want her on the streets alone. I don’t want to imagine what I’d hear if she was partnered with you someday.”

“Drop it,” you demand as you stand.

Your chest presses against Tim’s, and his eyes bore into yours. Lucy watches on with her hands pulled tightly behind her back and guilt in her eyes.

“Or what?” Tim asks.

“You’re making it about me. But you’re done yelling at Chen. Lucy, get in my shop, we’re all going back to the station.”

“For what?” Tim scoffs.

“To learn some human decency, apparently. And if you’re still acting like this when we get back, I’m taking Chen for the rest of the week.”

Tim watches you toss the keys to Lucy before she walks away. His brow furrows and you realize he thought you were leaving him to drive back with Lucy.

“You trust her to drive your shop?” he asks.

“What is this about?” you counter. “Because she was just in a bad place, which is the best that could have happened.”

“She doesn’t apply what she knows. Lucy is smart and she’s got instincts, but she gets excited and jumps too soon.”

“Then walk her through everything. Standing back and being a drill sergeant is only going to make her rush more.”

“When did you become an expert on being a TO?”

Tim smiles softly at you, and you pat his chest.

“Guess you’re teaching me, too.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “The guy you booked for assault on an officer is claiming that Chen harassed him. I need your body cams as soon as you return.”

Tim pulls the seatbelt too hard and locks it. You answer Wade that you’ll all be back with your cams shortly. After replacing the radio on the dash, you lay a hand on Tim’s arm and encourage him to take a deep breath.

“That’s not Lucy’s fault,” you remind Tim.

“It was her plan,” Tim responds.

“I agreed with it. Does that make me a terrible cop?”

“Of course it doesn’t, but this isn’t about you!”

“Then what’s it about?” you ask, your voice raising to meet his.

“I feel like I’m failing her and that’s why we keep ending up here!”

Tim huffs as he finishes, and you watch him carefully. His shoulders drop, and you want to hug him but know better than to try while he’s driving.

“You’re not failing her. But there is always room for improvement. Being a teacher doesn’t mean you can’t learn, too.”

“How do you trust her like this?”

“You said it yourself. She’s smart and has good instincts, but she needs a bit of room to learn and hone those skills without feeling pressured to be perfect.”

Tim nods, and you whisper an apology for yelling at him. He shakes his head, and you agree that he doesn’t need to apologize either.

When you exit Wade’s office after surrendering your body cam and making your statement, you hear Angela ask Lucy where you and Tim are. Or, as you’re referred to at the station, The Bradfords.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Lucy jokes.

“About you?” Angela asks, playing along but aware that Lucy isn’t completely wrong in her phrasing.

“What else?” Lucy counters.

“Chen, a word?” Tim asks as he moves around you.

You watch as he apologizes, and smile to yourself. Angela winks at you as she passes, and you join Tim and Lucy.

“Wade said I could stay with you two for the rest of shift. What are we up to?”

“We still have to deal with the murder confession in the trees,” Tim groans. “Hey, Nolan, have you dealt with a murder confession yet?”

Nolan shakes his head, and Tim looks around for Bishop. When he sees that she’s not close, Tim steps into Wade’s office and asks him to transfer the call to Nolan.

“Thanks, Officer Bradford!” Nolan replies happily.

“No problem,” Tim says.

Lucy hides her smile as she walks beside you. Every moment spent with her requires a level of parenting, and though you’re relatively close in age, you and Tim feel responsible for Lucy. As more than a cop. You show it in your own ways, but she knows how much she means to you and Tim and feels the same.

During one of your very few days off, you want to surprise Tim with dinner. The recipe that you want has seemingly disappeared, though, and you’ll have to call Lucy to get it again. 

When her phone rings, and she answers, “Hey, Mom,” Tim shakes his head.

“No personal calls in my shop,” Tim says.

“You answer for her.”

Tim’s brows furrow until he realizes Lucy isn’t talking to her biological mom, but her station mom. He nods to let her know she can continue talking to you.

“Dad says hi,” she says, just to bother Tim.

“Dad says he needs a day off, too,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Tim says against your lips. “Date night, not LAPD night.”

“It’s Luce,” you argue as you reach for your phone.

Tim catches your wrist and brings it to his lips to distract you. Your phone rings again, though, and Tim’s chimes with an incoming text. He releases your arm hesitantly and pulls you so he can lay his head against your shoulder.

“Hi, Luce,” you answer.

“Put me on speaker!” she requests happily.

“Alright. Tim and I are both here.”

“I passed my rookie exam! I know you’re both off today, but Sergeant Grey knew we couldn’t wait to hear the results. Thank you, both of you, so much!”

“Congratulations!” you and Tim say together.

“We’ll celebrate when we get back,” you add.

“I knew you could do it,” Tim says. “Good job, Lucy.”

“Okay, okay, I need to call my mom and tell her that she was wrong. Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

The line beeps as she ends the call, and you and Tim lock eyes.

“She called us first, didn’t she?” you ask.

“We really are turning into her parents,” Tim says with an exaggerated shudder.

“You look pretty good for a dad,” you tease. “And you care about Lucy no matter how much you pretend not to.”

Tim looks at you for a moment before asking, “You know Lucy’s real parents set the bar low, right?”

“Let me have this. She’s my daughter and she’s no longer a boot.”

Tim groans, but before you can tease him again, he pulls you down to continue kissing you. Until your phone begins buzzing nonstop with excited texts from Lucy, at least.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : FALLING FOR THE SPOTLIGHT (PT.1) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff!!!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: RPF

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You interview for a personal assistant position with Hugh Jackman over Zoom. Despite initial nerves, Hugh’s charm and playful teasing create a connection, making the conversation feel both professional and surprisingly personal. By the end, you sense a special chemistry and eagerly await his decision.

Next Part

YOU SAT AT THE SMALL DINING TABLE IN YOUR APARTMENT, tapping your fingers against the edge of your laptop as the screen glowed faintly. Across the room, Zoë, your best friend and roommate, was lounging on the couch, casually flipping through her phone. She glanced up at you, smirking as she noticed your nervous energy.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice teasing but affectionate.

You shot her a nervous smile. "Barely. I mean, it's Hugh Jackman... Hugh freaking Jackman. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Zoë laughed, sitting up and tossing her phone aside. "Oh, you’re going to do great. You’ve got this. You just graduated with a degree in media, you know your stuff. And besides, he’s going to love you."

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, staring at the blank screen, your mind still whirling. "You didn’t have a massive celebrity crush on him for, like, half your life."

Zoë grinned knowingly. "True, but that’s exactly why you'll nail it. You’ve been preparing for this moment without even realizing it."

You gave her a mock glare, but deep down, you appreciated her confidence in you. It was a dream scenario—working as Hugh Jackman’s personal assistant. When you saw the job posting online, you didn’t even hesitate to apply, though you never imagined you’d get an interview, let alone one scheduled so quickly. And now, here you were, waiting for a Zoom call with the man himself. The idea of seeing Hugh in real-time, talking to him, hearing his voice directed at you, was enough to send your heart racing.

The laptop chimed suddenly, breaking your thoughts. The screen lit up with an incoming Zoom call.

Zoë jumped up, wide-eyed. "That’s him, isn’t it?"

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. "It’s happening. Oh God, it’s happening."

She scurried over to stand behind you, giving your shoulders a quick squeeze. "Good luck! You’ve got this."

You took a deep breath, clicked to accept the call, and the screen shifted to show none other than Hugh Jackman. His face appeared, smiling warmly into the camera as he adjusted the angle. He looked even more handsome than you’d imagined—salt-and-pepper hair, sharp features, and that trademark grin that could melt a million hearts. The casual blue T-shirt he wore only added to his approachable charm.

“G'day!” His voice was warm, rich, and effortlessly charming. “Can you hear me okay?”

You smiled nervously and nodded. “Yes! I can hear you perfectly. Hi, Mr. Jackman. I mean, Hugh. Sorry. Hi.”

Hugh laughed softly, and the sound of it eased some of your nerves. “No worries at all. And please, just call me Hugh. ‘Mr. Jackman’ makes me feel old.”

You giggled despite yourself, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. “Okay, Hugh it is.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So, how are you today? I know interviews can be a bit nerve-wracking.”

"Just a little," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I’m excited, too. It's a really amazing opportunity, and I’m just happy to be here."

"That’s the spirit," Hugh replied, leaning forward slightly. "Listen, I’m not one for formal interviews. I’d rather just have a chat, get to know you, and see how we vibe. I hope that’s alright?"

“That sounds perfect,” you said, your heart pounding a little less now. The casual nature of the conversation was starting to help you feel more at ease.

“So,” Hugh began, tilting his head, “you just finished university, right? Tell me a bit about that. What did you study?”

“Yeah, I graduated not too long ago,” you replied, feeling more confident. “I studied media, so I’ve done a bit of everything—social media management, content creation, production... I’ve always loved the idea of working behind the scenes. I guess I’m just looking for a job where I can put all that to use.”

Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "Media, huh? That’s perfect. I need someone who knows their way around that stuff. I’m hopeless with social media." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "If it weren’t for my team, I’d probably still be figuring out how to send tweets."

You laughed, feeling the connection start to form. “Well, you’ve got a pretty solid Instagram game going on. But I can definitely help with anything tech-related.”

"Ah, well, that’s good to hear," Hugh said, leaning back in his chair. "And what about your interests outside of media? Any hobbies or passions I should know about?"

“Well,” you began, hesitating for a second. “I love movies—obviously. And I’m really into fitness, too, though I’m not quite at your level.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Fitness, eh? Are you trying to take my job? Next thing I know, you’ll be Wolverine."

You blushed, laughing nervously. "I don’t think I could pull off the claws."

"Ah, you never know!" Hugh said, winking. "But seriously, fitness is a great passion to have. Keeps you grounded. Maybe we could train together sometime—I’m always looking for a new gym buddy."

Your heart skipped a beat at the casual offer, the idea of working out with Hugh Jackman suddenly flooding your mind. Was he joking, or…?

"That sounds fun," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "But you might have to go easy on me."

"No promises," Hugh teased, his smile never faltering. Then he leaned in slightly, his tone a little more serious. “But really, you seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I like that. You’re young, but from what I’ve seen on your resume, you’re definitely not lacking in experience. How do you feel about working in such a high-pressure environment?”

You thought about it for a moment. "Honestly, I think I’d thrive in it. I’m used to juggling a lot at once, and I’ve always worked well under pressure. I guess I’m just ready for a challenge."

Hugh nodded approvingly. "Good answer. I like someone who’s not afraid of a little chaos." He paused, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “And you seem awfully young to be my assistant. You sure you’re not still in high school?”

You blushed furiously and laughed, shaking your head. “Definitely not. I promise, I’m a fully certified adult.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust you on that,” Hugh replied, his tone playful. "You might just surprise me."

For a brief second, there was a comfortable silence. You could feel the warmth radiating from Hugh, and you found yourself smiling more freely now, your initial nerves melting away. The conversation felt easy, almost natural, like you’d known him for longer than just a few minutes.

Hugh broke the silence with a chuckle. "You know, I have to say, I think you’re going to fit in really well here."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think so?"

"I do," Hugh said, his expression softening. "I’ve interviewed a lot of people, but you... there’s something about you. You’ve got a good energy. I like that."

You felt your cheeks heat up again, but this time, it was less about nerves and more about the undeniable connection you felt growing between the two of you. Hugh Jackman, your long-time celebrity crush, was complimenting you—on more than just your qualifications.

"I... wow, thank you," you said, a little flustered but genuinely touched. "That means a lot coming from you."

Hugh smiled, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “Well, I’ll make sure to let you know in a few days, but between you and me, I think you’ve got a pretty good shot at this.”

You grinned, trying to hold back the excitement bubbling up inside you. "I’ll be waiting by my phone."

“I’m sure you will,” Hugh replied, his voice laced with warmth. He glanced at the clock on his screen and sighed. "I’ve got another meeting to run to, but it was really great chatting with you. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?"

“Sounds good,” you said, your heart still racing. “Thanks again, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

Hugh gave you one last smile, his eyes twinkling. “No worries at all. Have a great day, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

The screen faded to black as the call ended, and you sat there for a moment, staring at your laptop. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks still flushed with the warmth of the conversation. You couldn’t help but smile, replaying every word in your head.

Zoë appeared behind you, her eyes wide with excitement. "So...?"

You turned to her, grinning. "I think it went really well."

Zoë's eyes lit up with excitement, and she grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Oh my God! Spill! What did he say? How was he? Was he as charming as he seems?"

You laughed, pushing her hands away gently. "He was even better. Like, ridiculously charming. He made a joke about me being too young to be his assistant and then—" You paused, recalling the moment he’d complimented your energy, your stomach fluttering. "—and he said he thinks I’d fit in well."

Zoë gasped dramatically, bouncing in place. "That’s basically a ‘you got the job’ in celebrity-speak! Oh my God, this is huge!" She practically danced across the room, grabbing her phone and immediately typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still in a daze.

“Texting the girls! I have to tell them you just interviewed with Hugh Jackman, and it sounds like you nailed it.”

You chuckled, though a part of you was still processing the entire experience. Had that really just happened? Talking to Hugh had felt so natural—like you’d known him longer than the fifteen minutes the interview lasted. He was warm and playful, but also professional when it counted, and you couldn’t help but replay the way he’d teased you about your age. Was that flirting, or was it just his way of putting people at ease?

Zoë interrupted your thoughts, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, but tell me—how did you not, like, melt into a puddle of goo? I mean, he was on your screen, in real-time, flirting with you.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I don’t know! I was nervous at first, but he’s so easy to talk to. It didn’t feel like an interview at all—it felt more like… I don’t know, like we were just chatting.”

Zoë waggled her eyebrows at you. “Uh-huh, chatting with Hugh Jackman, no big deal.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, smirking. “And what’s this about working out together? Are you going to become his gym buddy now?”

You blushed, laughing as you recalled his casual invitation to train together. “I’m pretty sure he was joking. But who knows? If I get the job, maybe I’ll just casually bump into him at the gym.”

Zoë raised an eyebrow. “Girl, if you get this job, you’re about to be around him 24/7. You better prepare for that heart of yours. Crush or not, you’re gonna be spending some serious time with him.”

The thought sent a flutter of excitement through you. It was true—if you got the job, you’d be Hugh’s personal assistant, meaning you’d be with him constantly, organizing his schedule, helping with events, traveling with him... And you’d be doing all of that with a man you’d secretly crushed on for years. The idea of it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly, biting your lip. “It’s kind of crazy to think about. But I also can’t let myself get too ahead of things. It’s still just an interview for now.”

Zoë rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Please, that man was smitten. You’re going to get it, I can feel it.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Your heart leaped as you saw an unknown number pop up on the screen.

You stared at it for a second before Zoë nudged you. “Don’t just stare at it! Answer it! What if it’s him?”

You fumbled with the phone, quickly hitting the button to accept the call. “Hello?”

A familiar deep voice on the other end made your heart race again. “Hey, it’s Hugh.”

You almost dropped the phone. Hugh is calling me? Already? You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

Hugh laughed lightly, the sound sending another flutter through your stomach. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve been thinking about our chat, and I wanted to catch you before the weekend. I’d love for you to come in on Monday for an in-person meeting. I want to show you the ropes and see how you feel about everything in person.”

You blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. “You mean… like a second interview?”

“Sort of,” Hugh said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “But mostly, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with the role before we make it official.”

You tried to suppress the squeal threatening to escape your throat. “That sounds amazing! I’d love to.”

“Great,” Hugh said, his tone warm. “I’ll have my assistant email you the details—where to meet, what time, all that jazz. We’ll keep it casual, don’t worry.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were surprised Hugh couldn’t hear it through the phone. “Thank you so much, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he replied smoothly. “Looking forward to seeing you again.”

The call ended, and you stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Zoë practically pounced on you. “What? What did he say?!”

You turned to her, eyes wide with excitement. “He wants me to come in on Monday. For a follow-up meeting, but it sounded more like... like he’s already offering me the job.”

Zoë screamed, grabbing you and spinning you in a circle. “I knew it! I told you! You’re going to be Hugh Jackman’s assistant!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as she danced around the room, but deep down, you felt a wave of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. This was it—the start of something big. You were one step closer to working for Hugh Jackman, to being a part of his world.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this job could lead to something even more than you’d ever imagined.

🏷️: @oatmilkriver @khxna @hughverine @junnniiieee07 @stark-ironman @Marcswife21 @boomveronika @kellyxo1 @shiawaseorii @shybluebirdninja @mutilatedcupid @corvusmorte @iluvfanficsstuff @stickyunknownsubstance @miha080 @acescutejeans-1247 @ladydimitrescutlou @iwannadie07 @whimsiwitchy @bitchydragonparadisee

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

I am so hyped for this small series!!! Hugh needs more content on here. I absolutely love reading all of your thoughts on the chapters, so feel free to leave a comment!! And at last, Enjoy!!

I’m also thinking of writing some oneshots taking place in the same AU after i finish the series. You can read them as standalones or see it as extra content for this project!!

[leaderwonim]

i’m just a teenage dirtbag baby ( like you. )

based on this edit !!

pairing. troublemaker!nishimura riki x goody-two-shoes!fem!reader

summary. nishimura riki was infamous for being handsome and also quite the character. he’d purposely throw papers everywhere, bump into people without a care, and ditch class like it was nothing. you were the complete opposite, but deep down, nishimura riki knew you were just like him

warnings. cursing, smoking, riki destroys someone’s private property 😭, riki is your typical teenage dirtbag, he also calls her sweets

“Hey.”

Nishimura Riki slides onto the seat right next to yours, blinking twice as much as he should be. You knew it was one of his teasing habits, meant to make you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What do you want Nishimura?”

He puts his hand over his chest, pretending he’s wounded by your words. “Nishimura? We’re on last name basis sweets?”

“Shut up,” you say, pushing his face away with your index finger. “I have exams to study for.”

“Let me see.” He ignores your protests, flipping your textbook to his side as he eyes the papers. “Ew, mathematics? You’re a bigger nerd than I thought sweets.”

“Don’t call me sweets.” You say, sticking out your tongue in annoyance. “And get out of here.”

He lifts both hands in surrender, “alright, alright, I’ll leave sweets. Gotta meet Jungwon anyways.”

You thank whoever above was listening to your pleas of making Riki leave. Turning around to face the desk he was in, you realize he hadn’t pushed in his chair.

“Nishimura!” You groan out loud, pushing it in with your foot. This earns you a shush from the librarian, which only fuels your hatred towards the Japanese boy.

.♡.

“Y/N! Is that you?” There was Nishimura Riki’s annoying voice again, the one voice that you dread to hear everytime you entered school.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy other people?” You ask, face clearly unimpressed.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.”

You glare at Jungwon’s unneeded input in the conversation, which makes him snicker and look away.

“You guys are ditching again?”

Riki and Jungwon shrug, making you roll your eyes. Of course the two were ditching, why did you even ask?

“We were gonna stop by the cigarette shop and get a pack or two.”

Jungwon elbows Riki, as if he wasn’t supposed to say that out loud.

“What? We can trust Y/N, isn’t that right sweets?”

“You still call her sweets?” Jungwon groans. “Gross dude. Let’s go.”

Jungwon starts walking, Riki closely following behind him. Just before they exit the school corridors, the boy throws you a wink, one that you roll your eyes at.

“You’ll love me one day sweets!” He shouts.

“In your dreams Nishimura!”

.♡.

It seemed like nothing was going your way. The next week had approached and even though it was barely Monday, your teachers decided it was a good idea to assign a bunch of exams on the same day.

With quivering hands, you tried not to get the tears that were currently coming out of your eyes onto your physics paper, which was marked with a 68.

How on earth did you get a 68? You were so sure you knew the formulas that were needed for the exam, but what was on the test looked completely different from what you expected.

You could barely find it in yourself to walk home, legs practically dragging across the concrete floor as you wipe your tears away with your windbreaker.

“Sweets?”

Although your normal self would snarl at the nickname and the voice it belonged to—you found yourself too tired and miserable to care at this point.

“Riki?”

You wipe your eyes again, vision clearing in enough to make out Riki leaning against one of the large trees a few meters away from the school.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweets?” He takes the cigarette that was currently dangling on his mouth out, squishing the head of it on the dirt floor beside him.

“Are you smoking again? That’s bad for you and you know it.”

“Geez sweets,” he laughs, finally standing up. “You looked like you just bawled your eyes out yet you still have enough energy to lecture me?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah, there she is again.”

Riki makes his way closer to you, head peering down to reach your level.

“Don’t cry.” He says softly, and it’s the first time you heard him in that tone. “Makes your eyes all red and scary.”

“Yah!”

He laughs when you hit him on the shoulder, sound that used to make you frown but you were weirdly enjoying it now.

“I’m kidding sweets!” He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. “You’re pretty, even when you have tear stains all over you.”

The two of you continue walking, you not too sure where Riki was even taking you.

“Where are we going?” You sniffle, looking around the area.

“This new arcade, cmon, I’ll drive us.”

The two of you are in front of his beaten down Toyota, although it looks pretty clean from the inside. You thought Riki’s car would be an absolute mess, but it seemed like he was a clean freak when you opened the door to the smell of vanilla and cinnamon.

“You actually clean your car?”

“I’m offended you thought I didn’t sweets!” He says, frowning. “Thankfully, I don’t hold grudges.”

He puts the key in, hands tapping against his leather seat. “Wanna tell me why you’re so sad?”

He places a hand on the head of your seat, body twisting back with one hand on the wheel to pull out of his parking spot. He looked incredibly handsome doing such a basic task that it almost made your ability to speak go away.

“I got a 68 on my physics test.” You say, shoulders defeated.

“No way.” He continues driving, eyes glancing back and forth from the road to you. “Mr. Yuji’s class right? Fucking hate him.”

“Yeah well, I do too.”

Riki takes a road that you’re unfamiliar with, and he suddenly stops the car in front of a house.

“What are you doing Riki?” You say, watching as he opens his trunk and leaves the car.

“Doing something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He pulls out a bat, and your eyes widen when he smashes it against a mailbox, crushing it in completely.

“Holy shit!” You shriek, eyes widening as Riki throws back the bat into the trunk, closing it with a loud bang.

He runs back to the car, slamming the door behind him.

“And that’s for Y/N motherfucker!” He yells before driving off, his boyish laughter could be heard from a distance.

“You’re crazy.” You breathe out, body still in shock from what you witnessed. “Who’s mailbox was that?”

“Mr. Yuji’s.” He smirks, eyes still on the road. “Let’s just say—this isn’t the first time I’ve been to his residence.”

“Wow.” You rest your head against Riki’s cold windows, still taking in what just happened. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome sweets.” He smiles, teeth practically shinning like the movies. “Now how about that arcade I promised you earlier?”

.♡.

After hanging out with Riki at the arcade on Monday, you realized the boy wasn’t as bad as you thought.

He had won you a gigantic brown teddy bear, a cliché that you never thought would have happened to you after failing your physics exam.

He made you name it James The Third, and made you promise that it was your child and you had to take care of it while he was away.

“I heard you hung out with Nishimura this weekend!” You swore nothing could go past Byeol, who was currently geeking at the sudden news of you and Riki being so close.

“Shh, keep your voice down!”

Byeol wiggles her eyebrows, giggling at your stressed state. “You two are so cute! Opposites attract!”

You start to walk away from her, using the excuse that class has started. Sure Riki was handsome and weirdly—nice—you weren’t sure what your feelings about him were yet.

“Hi.”

You basically flinch out of your seat when you see him right next to you. He had a can of soy milk and a slice of chocolate cake with him.

“I brought you soy milk, hopefully you like it.”

You give him a small smile, not trusting your words enough to actually speak. Thankfully for you, the teacher entered right after, starting her lesson on trigonometry.

“Nishimura Riki, do you really have to eat in my class?” The teacher stops writing, placing her chalk on the board as she stares directly into Riki’s eyes.

He looks up from the bangs poking at his eyes, giving the teacher a stupid smile.

“Yes Mrs. Park, I’m very hungry.”

“Very well.” She wants to scowl at Riki, you could tell by her furrowed eyebrows. But she doesn’t, instead, picking up her chalk again to continue the lesson.

3 minutes don’t even past when Riki’s chewing gets incredibly loud and obnoxious, making you place a hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from bursting out laughing.

“Is the chocolate cake that good, Riki?” The teacher asks, trying not to completely snap at the boy.

“It’s sooo good.” Riki says, smiling fully with his teeth.

The class blurts out in laughter and hysteria, making Mrs. Park practically crush the chalk that was in her hand.

“That’s it! Go outside Nishimura Riki!”

He rolls his eyes, standing up from his seat. “Fine, but I was just eating cake.”

He looks over to you, who was currently giggling underneath your breath. He gives you a small smile, flicking your forehead softly before leaving the room, leaving you a blushing mess.

.♡.

“Pssst.”

You turn around, already knowing who was on the other side.

Of course Nishimura Riki was there.

“I’ve got two tickets to see Arctic Monkeys, come with me Friday night?”

You shake your head softly. “Oh I don’t know Riki, I have to study.”

“Don’t say that sweets,” he groans, head slumping into your shoulder. “Have some fun!”

“Shhh!” You look around, thankful the librarian wasn’t here to scold you guys. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Just be quiet.”

“Yay!” He cheers, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen of the boy. “I’ll pick you up, okay? Friday night, 8pm exactly.”

“Okay Riki,” you say. “I’ll see you.”

Friday comes by in a flash, and you weren’t sure what to wear to the concert.

Despite it being your last year of being a teenager, you still haven’t attended one. So you were in a real struggle to pick what would be perfect.

You decided to go with a plain black top and cream colored cargos that hugged your waist, one without straps so your shoulders could be out. You were sure it’d get hot in the concert with all the people that would be attending.

“You look cute.” Riki says as he rows down the window. “Get in.”

The stadium is only 20 minutes away from your house, and you’re starting to get nervous when you realize how many people were attending.

“Hey,” Riki says, taking ahold of your hand when he notices it shaking. “It’ll be the most fun night of your life. I promise.”

And he was right. Although you were sure you weren’t going to enjoy it all that much, you found yourself singing and swaying along to the music.

The stadium was dim, making the music hit even ten times harder.

When I wanna be yours started playing, your vision was focused on the band whereas Riki’s eyes were focused on you.

“Hey!” You giggle, catching him staring at you. “Focus on the music dummy! You’re the one who bought the tickets.”

“Yeah yeah,” he says, smiling ear to ear. “The concert’s great and all but you’re even better.”

You don’t get to question his words before he crashes his lips onto yours with the lyrics wanna be yours blasting in the background.

[cherriibombfics]

"ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱɪᴏɴ"

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 613

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ : ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴘᴏꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ᴏʟᴅ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ

ꜱᴛᴀʀᴅᴜꜱᴛ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ x ʙᴀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Long before the fallen heroes disappeared from the land of Earthbread, there were legends of a being unlike any witch in existence. An entity that could grant powers beyond comprehension to even the smallest cookie, and could crumble even the most powerful, and despite no evidence ever supporting this, this tale had very few skeptics. And he wouldn’t dare to be one of them.

But alas, as he continued his journey through the western sky, attempting to find the wizards that had a hand in creating him, he couldn’t stop thinking about that same being. Perhaps that’s what led him to the infamous Cookie Kingdom, founded by that young gingerbread cookie and his friends. For a cookie so fresh to create something so beautiful was incredible to him.

"So, any cookie is welcome here?" He asked, looking down at the young cookies beside him.

“Of course!” Gingerbrave smiled, “There are all kinds of cookies living here now, you’ll find your people here eventually, you just gotta look around a bit.”

It took a lot longer than “a bit.”

Most of the other cookies were uneased by his presence, the only exceptions being the ones who already knew, but the young cookie insisted that he’d find someone eventually. He sat on the swings- berry churro swings Gingerbrave had called them- questioning whether coming here was a good idea at all.

“Hey, you doing okay there?” He looked over to see a cookie standing in front of him, somehow not even slightly intimidated by his existence. “You looked like you could use a friend.”

"Yes, I'm having a bit of trouble in that department. The others here are, unnerved by me."

“Did Gingerbrave invite you here?” The cookie sat on the swing next to him, “The kid means well, but he probably should’ve eased them into this first. I mean it was a wild day when the ancients first started coming around here. I wish I could have helped a bit with that Stardust.” He gripped the swing chain a bit harder.

“How do you know my name?!”

“Oh right…” They smiled, although he could tell there was something beneath it. “I’m sorry, somebody must’ve told me your name. I’m [Name] if that helps.”

"I suppose it does," He sighed, "I apologize for my outburst. That was unbecoming of me."

“Nah it’s alright, I get it. First impressions are always hard, you should’ve seen me when I met Hollyberry for the first time, lost my marbles!” The cookie was very talkative, but he supposed his voyage across the cosmos made him appreciate a good conversation once in a while. Their ramble was cut short by two children approaching them, one a young girl donning pumpkin-themed attire and the other a young boy in a blue jumpsuit and helmet.

“Oh, hey kiddos, you guys need something?”

“We just wanted to ask you to join us, Pom-Pom and I were planning on throwing a party.”

“Yeah!” Gumball Cookie pointed at his gumball cannon, “I’m thinking of helping with the decorations, but I dunno which color gumballs to use.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll come over in a minute. I’m just welcoming our new friend here.”

"That's okay, they seem like they need you right now." The cookie smiled at him, gesturing him to follow them as they helped the children.

They ended up deciding on a spring theme, pink and green to signal the beginning of the season. They were so patient with them both, talking to them as though they were their parent. They were such a nurturing soul with a shining aura, almost as though they were-

“Thank you, Baker!”

He stopped.

"I'm sorry WHAT?!"

[seichira]

is it just me?

itoshi rin is tormented by the lingering ghosts of your tragic breakup. he is cold and he lives with the burden of missing you. he wonders if you are hurting too, or is it just him?

pairing : itoshi rin x reader

content : hurt and comfort. exes to lovers. messy breakup. accusations of cheating (no actual cheating). insecurities. mentions of alcohol. cursing.

it’s one in the morning and rin is surrounded by his friends and acquaintances but still, he feels cold. even with the alcohol in his system that he drank to purposely warm him, it’s cold.

it has been this way for nearly a year now. eleven months and a couple weeks, if anyone is counting. a few days more and it would be the anniversary of your breakup.

the nearer it gets to twelve months without you, the colder it gets. right now, even with the perfectly working heater in one of his teammate’s penthouse, rin shivers.

it’s cold.

he never thought it could be this cold.

rin knows why he feels like this. he knows exactly why he wakes up and goes to bed alone. the reason why his life is dull and empty is not a secret to him—he just won’t acknowledge it.

he refuses to admit to himself that the reason why he has been suffering for the past eleven months of his life is because you’re not here.

how could he admit it? how could he ever address that your absence it what causes his pitiful state, when he brought it upon himself.

it was his fault that you’re not here. he wanted this. well, he had thought that he wanted this.

there is no way he could welcome the thought that he misses you when he was the one who drove you away, right? there is no use.

it’s too late now. all he could do is go out with his teammates on nights like this and pretend as if he wasn’t freezing from the inside out.

“damn, this is so boring,” seishiro sits down beside him on the sofa and rin tenses at the presence of the white-haired boy.

he does not know what to do because among everyone else in this crowded room, you are most connected to nagi seishiro. your best friend. and he has long been your best friend before you and rin even got together.

how is rin supposed to act around the person who is still in your life while he himself isn’t? this man seated next to him knows where you are right now and what you have been doing, while rin has absolutely no idea how you are.

“didn’t think i’d see you here, itoshi,” nagi speaks again. rin hums in acknowledgment, “thought it wouldn’t be so bad to come.”

there is this unspoken understanding between them, that both of them are thinking about you. after all, aside from soccer, all they have in common is their connection to you.

nagi debates whether he should tell you that he saw rin tonight or keep it to himself so as to not instigate negative feelings from you.

rin wonders if he should start asking about you. he decides against it and pretended to busy himself with his cellphone to avoid further conversation with your best friend.

he convinces himself that he does not care. he acts like he doesn’t want to know how you are. he tries to make himself believe that as long as he can fake it, it will somehow be true.

jokes on him, really.

meguru approaches nagi next to him and rin is planning to ignore him like he usually does, but the words that comes out of meguru’s mouth made that utterly impossible.

“nagi! i saw y/n by the bookstore earlier this afternoon, didn’t you ask her to come? i invited her but she said you didn’t mention anythin’ about a party!”

the mere mention of your name makes rin’s heart stop. it has been a very long time since he heard someone mention your name casually around him. now that your name has been dropped, everything comes crashing down on him, and he cannot breathe.

“oh, damn, i’m sorry—“ bachira seems to notice his mistake upon not seeing rin next to nagi. they know not to carelessly throw your name around because at first, it affected his performance. now, it is apparent that you affect him in and out of the game.

“excuse me.”

rin is cold. it’s like ice is running through his veins as he stands up and rushes to leave the suffocating penthouse.

rin runs out to the street and for the first time since he lost you, he names the sinking feeling in his stomach that won’t go away.

for the first time since you walked out the door of your shared apartment, rin finally admits it.

he misses you.

he is longing for you like how the moon misses the sun but never meets it enough. it burns and it is freezing all at the same time because when you were here, he felt nothing but the assurance of your love.

he runs, and runs, and runs. it’s dark and it’s cold, but he runs. he runs in hopes that he could change the past. he runs with the burning desire to correct his faults and take back all the hurt he inflicted on you.

maybe then, you’d be here.

maybe then, it wouldn’t be so cold.

“are you seriously accusing me of that, rin? are you hearing yourself right now?” the hurt was evident in your tone as you watched the love of your life with all of his guards up.

his glares were accusing as if what he saw was an unforgivable betrayal. he had seen you talking to his brother, sae, and rin was quick to act out of pure rage and jealousy.

“you were flirting with my fucking brother!” he spat out, and he knew it was irrational.

he knew he was wrong about and that you would never be able to do that to him, but his years of pent up frustration and hatred towards his brother made it impossible to remember his trust in you.

“and i already told you i wasn’t, rin. i was talking to him. i bumped into him at the coffee shop while i was getting your usual morning drink when he saw me and i sat down for a little chat! that was all, baby. believe me.”

you deserved an award with how well you held up, with how patient you were with him despite his hurtful accusations towards you.

no one else understood him like you did, and you knew to be more patient with him in times like these. you were aware of how his brother affected him and how he just needed someone to stick with him through it.

“well, fuck that! you shouldn’t have been with him in the first place! sae wants everything that i have and now, he’s tryna get you too!”

it almost made you flinch, with his tone rising and his voice getting louder. he is furious, and you try to disregard the sting of his words now that his fury is directed at you.

“i’m sorry, alright? it wasn’t my intention to hurt you, rin. he’s your brother and i thought it would be nice to ask him how he is and—“

rin cut you off like he couldn’t comprehend a word that you were saying. “that’s bullshit and you know it! just fuckin’ tell me the truth! that like everyone and everything else, you’re gonna leave me for him!”

it frustrated you that he blocked all your explanations out. you were growing weary with the accusations thrown at you, but you continued. you continued to reason with him because you knew him. you knew he needed someone to stay. and above all, you tried further because you were in love with him.

you loved rin three years before you finally got together. your two years together made that five. that was five years of your life being deeply in love with someone whom you thought was going to be your husband and the father of your kids.

that amount of time may not be much when viewed through the generations of people who loved each other, but for the both of you, those five years were enough to build a life and create an ideal future with the other.

so, yeah. it never occurred to you to give up in that argument. there was no chance in hell that you would leave him high and dry.

“it’s not like that, rin. i am never going to leave you for anyone, much less for your brother! i need you to listen to me! we talked! that’s it!”

“you’re lying to me. i know it.”

you shake your head in exhaustion. “i talk, and i talk, and i talk—and you don’t hear a thing.” a lone tear falls from your eye without realizing.

his sharp stare does not falter. all he could see was red. the scene of you and sae together replayed over and over again in his mind.

you, the person he loved most, with the person who took everything away from him. it killed him to imagine a future where it is not you and him, but you and sae.

“i’m in love with you. only you. i cannot see myself with anyone else and i thought you knew that, rin. i get that your brother strikes a vein in you but don’t i at least deserve to be heard? we’re better than this.”

“yeah? and i thought you’d be better than acquainting with sae like that. you knew how i felt about him, and you did this? fuck that.”

rin walked out on you that night without another word. it felt like he also walked out on your relationship because he started training more. this meant leaving before you even woke up and going home when you were fast asleep.

during those weeks when rin avoided you like the plague despite living under one roof, you felt completely alone and isolated. you were lonely. he spoke to you in words, and he treated you as if your encounter with sae was enough for him to give it all up.

until one day, he comes home to a living room full of bags and boxes. you were there, waiting for him with a tired smile on your face.

for the first time, rin realized that the black circles under your eyes have grown where they weren’t before. he noticed that you are all cried out and now, you’ve got no tears to shed as you leave him.

“w-what’s all this?”

“i’m leaving. i’m sorry for not getting out of your hair faster. it was really hard to look for another apartment that was within my budget but don’t worry, i figured it out.”

“leaving? leaving me? leaving… this house?” which one is it? or fuck, is it both?

“mhm. i f-figured it’s not healthy for us to live under the same roof after everything. i wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own space just because i’m here, so…”

did you really think he wanted you to leave? he wanted to explain. he wanted to tell you that he only acted that way because he was hurt and he was guilty! you don’t have to leave!

but he’s frozen from where he stood. the sight of all your stuff packed up and ready to go was a little bit too much for him.

you stood from where you were seated among the bags and boxes, and you stop in front of him. again, you smile gracefully, in contrast to the breaking heart that almost killed you.

“and rin? i’m sorry again for what happened with sae. i should’ve known better than to do that to you, and i understand that you don’t want to do anything with me because of that.”

he shook his head but you missed it because you walked past him with some of your bags in your hand. “y/n, no. i—“

you hear it and for a moment, you delude yourself into thinking that he will ask you to stay. but he doesn’t continue.

he stops because how could he ask you to stay after how he treated you? it was his fault for not listening and in the end, it was you who apologized? in what fucking universe do i deserve this angel, huh?

he doesn’t stop you from leaving because in that very moment, the thought of you finally escaping from him and his hurtful treatment towards you didn’t seem so bad.

“so, i guess… i’ll see you around. nagi will be around to grab my remaining stuff, so try not to kill each other, yeah?” you try to play it off cool, mask the fact that inside, everything is falling apart.

rin nods but he stayed with his back facing you. until the end, he did not have the guts to face you. to face what he had done to you and your relationship.

suddenly, everything grew cold. everything lost their color. the empty corners of where your warmth used to be mocked him.

for nearly a year since then, he has lived and suffered with the mistakes he did. he didn’t know what to tell people when they started asking about you. he didn’t know how to ride the train without holding your hand. he didn’t know how to be soaked in the shower without letting his tears flow freely.

he wondered endlessly as he daydreamed of speaking to you again: are you hurting too, or is it just me?

his endless running brings him to your street where you moved when you left him. his feet takes him farther than he expected because this street is on the opposite part of town from your shared apartment, a telltale sign that you tried to get as far away as possible.

evidently, it is not far enough because on your way home from the convenience store, you run into your ex-boyfriend. rin is first to notice your presence, and instead of freezing up like he did when you left, he walks up to you.

“rin?” you are confused and nervous. after all, the last time you had seen him was almost a year ago. you never tried to see him again.

“it hurts.”

the two words he just confessed are two words that he has never said together in a sentence ever in his life. itoshi rin never admits it when something is hurting him. he never tells anyone when he is in pain.

for him to say that now, it is a cry for you to soothe him in a way that only you could, and you know this because you know him better than the back of your hand.

standing a meter away from you underneath a street lamp, itoshi rin confesses his truth.

“it hurts, y/n. it hurts without you. it feels like i can’t breathe. it is so cold without you. it hurts so badly. i thought i could live with it eventually—but i can��t. it only gets worse.”

rin sees your shoulders shake in your attempt to conceal your sobs but you are failing miserably, and so does he. you don’t say anything and rin figures that’s fair.

you already tried to talk. you already told him everything you needed to hear on the night of the fight that ruined your relationship. it’s his turn to tell you everything you deserve to hear.

but he isn’t as good as you when it comes to words. he thinks about how he accused you of cheating on him. he thinks about how he shut you out and left you feeling lonely. he thinks about every day that he could have chased after you but didn’t. he thinks about all of that and he thinks about how he’s sorry.

and he manages to get that last part out, hoping that you would get it. hoping that the deep-rooted connection between the two of you is enough to let you know what he means.

“i’m sorry.”

you drop your groceries to the ground and you close the meter of distance between the two of you. you welcome him in his arms but he wraps his arms around you tighter than you welcomed him, because he is afraid that if he doesn’t, he will lose you again.

“that is all i needed to hear from you, rin. i never wanted much from you. just you and your love. i just needed to know that you still felt that for me, and when i didn’t… i had no other choice to walk away.”

rin nods against your neck and you feel his tears staining your shoulder. “i’m sorry. forgive me, please. i love you. i love you. and i trust you. more than anyone, baby. i promise.”

“you know i could never hurt you like you thought i did—“ you recalled, but rin cuts you off because he can’t bear another second of you defending yourself when you shouldn’t be.

“i know. i know.”

his embrace around you tightens, and he does not care if anyone could look out from their windows and see the soccer star practically begging for you in the middle of the night. not when he is in your arms again after months of only dreaming about it and wishing for it.

“it hurt too much without you too, rin. i had to remind myself that i can’t run to you for warmth. i took everything in me not to throw away my dignity to beg you to bring me back.”

that answers his question.

in his absence, you were hurting too. your separation killed you just like how it killed him.

“no. no—don’t have to beg for it, baby. i should be on my knees to thank you for even taking me back like this because—shit—i swear that i wouldn’t have lasted another day.”

you run your hands through his hair before briefly pulling away to cup his cheek in your hands, and he fondly leans on your touch.

“for the entire year, i thought it was just me who longed for you, rin.”

you couldn’t be any more wrong.

“i begged the stars and the skies for this very moment. it wasn’t just you.”

[twistedpink]

Rook Hunt x Shapeshifter!Reader

The hardest thing you’ve ever done in your long, long life is climb the corporate ladder. The idol one, to be precise. Humans just can’t be pleased! It’s proven! With all your visual tweaks, and genre changes, and half-assed performances (that was later - your first couple debuts were flawless), you’re done. Officially, depressingly, quitting. The only thing to do with all the names and character ideas in the back of your head is retire, and focus on the “natural” path. Eating the people you wanted to have love you. In a way, it’s not all that different..

You’ll almost miss the limelight- Certainly not the stalkers and spandex, but definitely the attention. The best place in the modern world to avoid your past identities, believe it or not, is the city! Morphing into someone approachable’s easy game- You smooth out your celebrity cheekbones, let the fat of your chest and thighs redistribute into an average body, and when you’re just about done changing the shape of your teeth, it’s time to meet up with your date!

Humans are easy, a breed of mundane that you’d never find among your own kind- So unguarded in this era of seeing thousands of faces, how are you supposed to pick out things to steal if you don’t have firsthand experience? A mole here, or a scar there, human features definitely outweigh their.. Unfortunate intelligence.

Your date is perfect, as they always are with you. A tall, sunkissed blonde with a strong nose and stronger accent. He’s nothing short of beautiful- So much so you’d offered dropping by your place for some drinks. You wouldn’t mind taking a peek at something a bit more,, personal. He’s gullible enough to agree without further debate. They all are.

You’ve observed him the entire conversation- How his hands are calloused from work in the field, or the way his eyes react dollishly with your every word, not a thought behind those livestock eyes. He looks clean but doesn’t smell it.. He either doesn’t shower enough, or he’s peaked your senses,, You’ve been known for standing to attention with pretty boys.. Your eyes dilate when he speaks. He runs at 62 bpm, his eyes have little specks of gold, and GOD he’s trying to hold your hand! HOLD! HIS! HAND! YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DONT HOLD HIS HAND!

You’re sitting in the same booth, hot coffee sits in front of the both of you- You’re far too distracted to take a drink. You want him, Worse than you’ve ever wanted anything. The bay window’s light bathes him, like an angel.. You’re determined to make him a star. Once you’ve taken his body, of course. He’ll be your pretty muse! Give you motivation for the stage again! Your Rook. It’s torture to not lean into him, you want a bite,, :(

His vacant hand on the table reaches for his mug, and you see it happen like a stone coming at a glass house. It’d be too suspicious to react. You have to let it burn you. With a tink against the table, boiling coffee spills over the edge and onto your empty hand- Mercifully avoiding your date. While he goes to fetch a tissue, (stretching deliciously across the table) the offending wound flashes bright blues and greens in an attempt to colour match.. You really, truly hope you don’t have to explain away anything he might’ve seen. You don’t have the energy for that right now - much less to wipe yourself clean, so you let him do it. You’ve always fancied having a human or two wait on you.

“Ah! Ma puce! A touch off topic, but have you ever followed the lives of celebrities? I’m quite the fanatic, myself.”

Not one to fumble a hunt, you acquiesce. He’s a skilled multi tasker- The best a human can be, at least,,

“I do! I’m a super-fan of a newly retired poster girl for this hyperpop group,, totally gonna’ miss her stuff. Why do you ask?”

“Funny, you really do remind me of her.. In your own way. A fun coincidence, no?”

You consider, briefly, brushing him off- Ditching the project and skipping town,, There’s no point staying if your disguise isn’t perfect. Then again, why are you running in the first place from prey? This is your first human with the intuition to recognize you, even if it’s passing, you need to see how this plays out. You can’t help wondering if you might enjoy being hunted for once, if he’s really so good. The only way of knowing is to jump headfirst!

“So, how’s your schedule next Friday?”

@bju3c0re

[puckinghischier]

I Don’t Dance

nico hischier x fem!reader

summary - nico hates dancing

notes - i saw a post about an interview earlier about nico where he said one thing he would never do is dancing and thus, an idea was born. i combined it with a request i have sitting in my inbox but it’s really more of a request cameo than based on the request itself. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading !

request - “i heard that!” “you were supposed to” with nico

[2.4k]

“I really don’t think he’s going to, Jack. You know how he is, he hates stuff like this,” you put the flyer down, knowing it would be a wasted attempt.

“I think you’d be surprised with what he would agree to if you were the one asking,” Jack tells you, ripping off one of the small pieces of perforated paper at the bottom of the same flyer.

The two of you were at a bar with the rest of the team right now, Jack taking on the role of bathroom buddy while Nico went to stand in the unusually long line at the bar. It’s here, in line for the small, single use bathroom, that you saw the poster for the amateur dance competition.

You squealed when you saw it, telling Jack how much you’ve always wanted to do one of those, even though you’ve never danced a day in your life. One of your absolute favorite shows is Dancing with the Stars, always forcing Nico to watch it with you anytime the two of you have a night in.

He always balks at why people agree to do the show, not understanding the desire to torture yourself during the dance lesson and do un-repairable damage to your feet in ballroom shoes.

“Not this though, he’s told me plenty about his dislike for dancing,” you reply, shoving the slip of paper into your small purse.

“C’mon, all you gotta do is bat your eyelashes at him and he’ll cave like an avalanche,” he waves off your comment, knowing how whipped Nico is when it comes to you.

Your response was a roll of your eyes, not pushing the subject any further.

Finally reaching the in-demand bathroom, you slip in and out quickly, Jack stood in front of the door ready to lead you back to the small section the team has taken over.

As you approach the table you were previously sitting at, you see Nico sitting there with drinks waiting on Jack and yourself.

“So, Cap, you gonna take your girl dancing?” Jack calls out as you reach the tall stools, launching yourself up onto one.

Nico stops the conversation he was in the middle of after being alerted to your arrival, confused at Jack’s words.

“What are you on about now, J?” Nico asks, rolling his eyes at Jack while reaching over and placing a hand on your leg.

Jack takes a sip of his beer before looking at Nico with a smirk. “Your girl here saw a flyer while in line for the bathroom and couldn’t contain her excitement at the thought of entering with you. But she’s under the impression you won’t do it. That’s not true, is it, Cap?”

Nico looks over to you for confirmation, the sheepish smile on your face all the proof he needs.

“Listen, she knows how I feel about dancing. Not a chance in hell that I’m subjecting myself to that torture,” he tells Jack, bringing his own beer to his lips.

“He’s just worried he’ll be no good and get beat,” you lean towards Jack, the loud volume of the bar causing you to worry about your voice being drowned out.

“I heard that!” Nico whines from beside of you, a pout on his face.

“You were supposed to,” you lean over and give a light pat to his cheek, pinching it slightly before bringing your hand down to rest on top of his on your leg.

Nico narrows his eyes as he looks into your own smug ones. “I would not get beat,” he declares, looking between Jack and yourself. “I just don’t think it’s a productive use of my time when I should be training, considering the off-season is coming up.”

“Dude, have you not seen how absolutely jacked some of the guys on Dancing with the Stars are? They’re so in shape it makes some of us look like dweebs,” Jesper adds to the conversation, having been listening from his seat on the opposite side of Nico from where you’re sitting.

“Jesp, not helping, man,” Nico whips his head over to his teammate. “How do you even know about that god-awful show, anyways?”

“It’s one of Nicole’s favorite shows. We watch it together all the time. Sometimes it makes me question my own athleticism. Those lifts they do? They go hard,” Jesper responds, clearly having a different opinion on the show than Nico.

“Of course you’d enjoy all the theatrics of that insane show. Why don’t you enter the contest with her then?” Nico scoffs out.

“Nah, think I’ll tell Nicole about it, see if she wants to go,” Jesper winks at you.

“See! Jesper is willing to do it for Nicole! C’mon, Neeks. Let’s go show up and beat the crap out of them. Wouldn’t you like bragging rights to hold over his head?” you exclaim, bringing both of your hands up to hang off of his arm closest to you.

“My god, see what you’ve started?” Nico waves a hand towards Jesper.

“It’s not his fault he sacrifices his own pride to make his girl happy. You could take a few lessons, Cap,” Jack chimes in again.

“Oh don’t even give me any lip, Jack, I do stuff for Y/N all the time, you don’t know even the half of what I’ve done because I know it makes her happy,” Nico defends himself.

“Apparently one of those things isn’t entering a silly little dance competition because he’s too embarrassed and scared of being beat,” Jesper teams up with Jack, causing the amused smile on your face to grow.

“For the love of god if I agree to do this will you guys shut the fuck up and leave me alone?” Nico says in frustration, throwing both of his arms up into the air.

“Yes,” Jesper and Jack say in unison.

“Then fine, I’ll do it. Sign us up,” he looks over at you, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You squeal in excitement, giving Nico a quick kiss on the cheek before running off to call the number on the flyer.

A week later, you and Nico are in a dance studio with a dozen other couples learning how to waltz.

“Nico, you’re supposed to be the one leading. You have to make me follow your movements, not follow mine,” you scold him, looking down at his feet chasing yours.

“But you know what you’re doing and I don’t. Can’t you just lead until I get the hang of it?” he argues, trying to remember the steps you were shown earlier in the night.

“If you get used to me leading now, during the contest you won’t lead and we’ll lose points,” you explain, trying to switch the lead over to him mid step.

The falter in movement causes Nico to lose count, his foot moving too far to the left and pressing down on your toes.

You yelp out in both surprise and pain, causing Nico to stop his movements immediately.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asks, dropping his hands from waltz position and crouching down to take a look at your already swelling toes.

“I’m fine. Think they’re just stubbed up. I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going, we have to practice,” you grit out, shaking your foot out and attempting to get back into position.

The second you put pressure on your squished foot, your leg gives out, your toes starting to throb.

“No, we’re done for the day. We need to get ice on those toes immediately. What if I broke one?” he rushes out, knowing his large, heavy feet could have done a number on your small, dainty ones.

“But, we have to practice,” you pout, trying to walk again, but getting the same result.

“We can practice later. Right now we need to get you off of that foot,” he says with a tone that oozes finality.

You give in, letting him lead you over to where you stored your stuff, leaning against the wall while Nico collects your belongings before following his lead out of the door.

Once the two of you get back to your apartment, he leads you over towards the couch, carefully taking off your dance shoes and propping your swollen foot on a pillow on the coffee table.

“I’m going to get some ice, stay put, okay?” is all he says before disappearing to your kitchen.

You grab your phone from your bag sitting next to you, snapping a picture of your foot and sending it to Nicole with the caption “Ballroom dancing? More like bum-foot dancing.”

When Nico comes back with the ice pack he uses for his back after particularly rough games, he wraps it around your foot, securing it in place with the velcro strap fastened around your ankle.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I was trying so hard to do the right steps so something like this wouldn’t happen, but I still managed to mess it up,” he apologizes, rubbing his hand up and down your leg while crouched in front of the couch. “Just another reason to add to the list of why I hate dancing.”

“It’s okay, I was distracting you. I’m sure after a day or two of rest I’ll be good as new and we can start practicing again. We only have a few more days until the competition,” you bring a hand over to run through his hair, scratching his scalp the way you know he likes.

“Are you serious? Your pinky toe is purple right now, and you’re worried about practicing again? Darling you need to go to the doctor tomorrow, not be thinking about how to master a right box turn,” he tells you, trying to talk some sense into you.

“But…the contest…” you speak softly, knowing he’s right, but not enjoying how you finally got him to agree to something like this and now being faced with the reality that it still won’t happen.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll enter another one with you once your foot is better, but there’s no way you can dance on these toes in a just few days,” he grabs your hands, heart breaking at your disappointment, knowing its his fault.

“I know…you’re right. Just sad about it. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow,” you give in. “But I’m holding you to that rain check. We’re showcasing our waltz eventually,” you wag your finger at him, giving him a small smile.

“Of course. Your wish is my command,” he tells you, moving to occupy the empty space next to you on the couch.

“So, movie night?” you suggest, reaching for the tv remote on the small table next to the arm of the couch you were leaning against.

“I’ll go make some popcorn,” Nico turns his head to face you, placing a small kiss on your nose before standing and making his way back to the kitchen.

Turning on the tv and browsing the movie selection, you find one that catches your eye and turn it on.

Your phone buzzes with a reply from Nicole. “Oh, I’m so sorry hunny!! Guess Nico really will do anything to get out of dancing! LOL!”

Sending her a quick picture of the movie you settled on, labeling it “revenge” with the devil emoji, you quickly put your phone away when you hear the sound of Nico’s socked feet walking towards you.

Nico enters the room with two bowls of popcorn, having added m&ms to yours, knowing you like the sweet and salty combination.

“Ready?” you ask him as he plops down beside you.

“Ready,” he confirms, handing you your bowl.

You press play on the movie, munching on your popcorn.

Nico settles in and focuses on the movie before you, slightly confused, because it seems like it’s started in the middle of the movie.

“Did you already start watching without me? I’m pretty sure this isn’t the beginning,” Nico starts to say, but is quickly cut off by the sound of music coming from the tv.

Realization dawns on his face, eyes snapping over to you. You refuse to look at Nico, head straight forward looking at the tv, but you can’t contain the laugh that starts to spill from your mouth.

“Are you serious? You really put this on?” Nico questions as the first few lyrics of “I Don’t Dance” from High School Musical 2 spills out of the tv speakers.

You start belly laughing, unable to keep a straight face as Chad and Ryan partake in a singing battle about sports and dancing.

“Yeah, ha-ha, very funny, Y/N. I’m just a dumb jock that refuses to dance, and you’re a theater geek that feels it’s her life mission to show me to the dark side,” he deadpans, enjoying the sound of your giggles.

“Oh, c’mon. Tell me this isn’t the perfect song to describe the past week. Me trying to make you into a dancer, you telling me you’re never going to enjoy it,” you say in-between laughs.

“Yeah, hilarious,” he fights his own grin, finding the comparison slightly more amusing as the scene plays out.

Nico’s phone dings at that moment, a text from Jesper coming through, a picture of Nico’s face photoshopped onto Chad Danforth’s body flashing on his phone screen.

Your laughter rings out again, this time louder than the first.

“What the-“ Nico looks over to you, confused.

“I may have shared what movie we were watching with Nicole. Guess Jesper saw the texts,” you wheeze out.

Nico rolls his eyes at you, knowing he won’t live this one down anytime soon.

“Just put Dancing with the Stars on and stop encouraging my teammates to harass me,” he types out a response to Jesper, handing you the remote as you wipe the laughter tears from your eyes.

The next day, when the doctor sends you home with a boot on for not one, but three broken toes, Nico makes it his mission to reverse the unintentional damage he did to you.

From carrying you around the apartment, to buying all of your favorite ice cream flavors and sweet snacks, to bringing every meal to you on the couch or in bed on a tray with a different apology note each time, to bringing you flowers every time he leaves to go get dinner, to now committing to sitting and watching every season of Dancing with the Stars with you starting from season one.

And when his teammates start calling him “Captain Chad” he just laughs and plays along, telling them all Jesper is the Ryan to his Chad when the Swedish forward sends the group chat a picture of the trophy him and Nicole won at the very competition that started all of this.

“Could’ve been us,” is all you say, looking over and seeing the picture of the large trophy.

“Better get to studying for next time, then, huh?” Nico responds, reaching over and pressing play on the tv remote, hearing the sound of Tom Bergeron’s voice for the millionth time this week.

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode three : bittersweet wine . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

You stare at your phone, the article of Vil’s break in loaded on screen, you focus on the title almost obsessively, your hands tightening around your phone in a death grip. Maybe scheduling a meeting so soon after something that traumatic was a bad idea, but you weren’t one to check the news often, you stopped around two years back when your ex-therapist noted how it affects your mental health negatively, so you hadn’t known the news until now, when you were scrolling aimlessly through your magicam account.  

A sigh escapes you as you lean back into your chair, Amanda had reserved a table at one of these exclusive private bars, just for privacy reasons, it would've been a nice break from your usual typical dinner outings or take-out days, if it weren't for the anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach, alongside a fresh cold platter of guilt for making Vil come out during this sort of situation, despite it not being your fault in the first place. .  or maybe it’s a good thing he’s getting out of his home . .  that is under the assumption that he did spend the night at his apartment after that. 

The bar was rather empty, everything felt like a blur, but you suppose it's normal, no one really visits the bar at 9 in the morning, sounds counter-productive, who starts the day off with alcohol anyways . .  alcoholics . . right.  

Time: 9:18 am Location: Angel’s share

Vil approaches your table, "Apologies for being late, I had to take a cab this time around", he says, as he takes a seat in front of you, setting his bag aside. 

The knots in your stomach finally come undone and you find your shoulders relaxing as you hear Vil’s voice, you didn't even know you were this worried he would stand you up, it was gravely unlikely either way, this wasn't a date but more so of a work meeting. You let out a deep breath, finally looking up at Vil’s face . .  and . . 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”, you ask, staring at him. 

“Fashion statement.”, Vil says as calmly as possible, his head moved up to meet your gaze, but you couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not. 

You stare at him and silence falls over the table “. . . “, a few moments pass before you finally ask, “You’re hungover, aren’t you . .?” 

“. . .”, Vil gulps, turning to the side, before he mumbles out a response, , “ . . . Yes, I’m.” 

You pause for a brief moment, before letting out a laugh, everyone who you know to have previously worked with Vil has always commented on his professional and cut-to-the-point behaviour, never once did you think he'd come hungover or unkept to a first meeting.  

Vil opens his mouth, about to say something only to get interrupted by the waitress, "Excuse me, are you both ready to order?", she smiled and she looked a little familiar. Vil squinted his eyes, trying to make out her face fully, he would take off the sunglasses but the bright lights would probably make him want to kill himself, and unfortunately he couldn’t tell exactly where he'd seen her before. 

“hav—”, Vil was cut off mid-sentence, this time by Y/n, “Ah—Yes, we're ready to order.”, Vil stares at Y/n, clearly taken aback by the rude interruption and Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, probably due to his tinted sunglasses. 

“I’ll have an appletini”, Y/n says and then meets Vil’s gaze . .  he chooses to remain silent, which was a bad idea since Y/n just ended up ordering for him anyways, “You can’t stay hungover if you’re still drunk”, the logic was clearly unmatched. 

Time: 9:43 am Location: Angel’s share 

Vil pours you another drink and the two of you clearly should stop drinking—he leans down over the counter, and for a split second he takes in your features—like really takes it all in—and . . you look . . tolerable, he gulps. 

Things were quiet as you tried figuring out what new conversation starter to use, the last half an hour or so the two of you had just been talking about random things, you learnt a lot, like how Vil keeps his first award under his pillow before an awards show for good luck—which seemed so unlike the man in front of you, to the point where it was even a little adorable. 

"You know—", Vil starts speaking, capturing your attention, he swings the class slightly as he makes eye contact with you, "I don't like you very much". and silence falls over the two of you . . but weirdly enough you didn't find it uncomfortable, and for a second you thought all that therapy on confrontation had finally paid off—but it didn't, a weird feeling sat in the pit of your stomach, and you asked softly, "Why?"   

Vil paused, gulping down the rest of his drink, and he could see the waiter from the corner of his eye sighing internally—he paid him no mind—"I just don't believe you can act" . . you froze.

Yes Rook is married, because it just feels in character for Rook to be married by his mid-20's to me, like he gives that golden gilded fences perfect family daydream lifestyle vibe to me.

Cater being a good friend . . I guess?

Vil momentarily being attracted to Y/n's looks because why not.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

♡. Want spoilers ?! . . Join my server . . !! (or to be namedropped <3)

— taglist ♡ ; @well-look-at-this , @honkai-freak , @kingnem10 , @merviolet-asks, @katzline , @pebble-bb , @meigalaxy , @lordbugs , @crowbird , @yuus3n , @azriel-sama , @reivelmin , @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 , @eliza-be-t-h , @feverish-dove , @yejiswifex , @l0v3r666 , @cece-cherries , @frootloopscos , @abell2029cluster , @ephemii , @alienlatteinspace , @frangiipanii , @vamprel , @kittycat246 , @jar-03 , @leifsclubroom , @everettelz ,

♡ . Ask to be tagged... (If you don't see yourself up here, I cant tag you)

© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[nuetralizedevangelist]

❝i hope i was your favorite crime.❞ || coriolanus snow x f!reader

| request- hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

| A/N- i wanted so bad to make sooooo angsty but i fought the demons. def ooc everybody besides festus. fuck you festus. hope you like it as much as i do 🫶🏻

| WARNINGS- alcohol consumption, creepy men, bad fathers (relatable), nice coriolanus snow, festus creed (he deserves a warning), eating, making out, traumatized sejanus (im sorry sejanus i love you)

the eldest plinth daughter. not an heir, but something you’d want to marry into. if you could get her, you’d never need to do anything again in your life. coriolanus knew that, he reveled in that. he’d never met her, all the times he went over to the plinth’s apartment she was either out or the door to her bedroom was tightly locked- not accepting visitors.

he wondered what she did with her time, was she in university? sejanus seems to never talk about his sister unless someone asks. but yet here she was. a floor length silver dress caught coriolanus’ eye, turning his head to follow the figure. she stood tall and confidently next to her brother. his eyes cascaded over the entire family, all in the same tantalizing silver. they were brightly shining in the ballroom of the benefit. it’d be hard to ignore them. he hated that.

he studied her, they way he could almost see a resemblance to sejanus but feeling as if he’s grasping at straws. her left hand holding a champagne glass she hasn’t drank from, and her right hand resting on sejanus’ shoulder. she’s nodding along to whatever nonsense pup harrington is spitting at her, no doubt making a pass.

she excuses herself and points at her glass, which is now empty after having to listen to the poor boy. when she reaches the full glasses lined up on the table coriolanus makes his move. “hello, ms.plinth.” her head turns to him and her eyes narrow. “coriolanus snow. my brothers supposed best friend- where’s tigris? i like her.” she quickly downs the glass and reaches for another. coriolanus can feel the disdain for him leaking out of her pores.

“she’s, um, she’s back at home. with grandma’am. she is quite nice to be around, isn’t she? how are you enjoying your night?” he attempts to flip the conversation back to her- oh wait, she’s not even looking at him anymore. her eyes find sejanus’ as he’s talking to livia cardew, and she begins walking in his direction. “nice talking to you, coriolanus.” but he felt like it definitely wasn’t nice. was he wanting to marry her for her money? yes. but was she also beautiful and apparently quite funny, as ma plinth has said? also yes.

she spent the rest of night collecting champagne glasses and not leaving sejanus’ side. even he was beginning to get bothered by the bachelors approaching his sister. she leaned against the back wall, yes, another glass in hand. she’d gotten roped into a conversation with festus, clearly tortuous. coriolanus was standing with sejanus about a foot away, so sejanus could keep and eye on festus.

“it’s just so frustrating, coryo! all these guys coming up and trying to make a pass at my sister while i’m right there, if i didn’t know any better i would’ve taken pup harrington outside. you should’ve heard some of the stuff he was saying to her. it’s horrible.” sejanus rants while staring at festus. “well, she’s gonna have to get married eventually, sejanus.” coriolanus says with a slight smile to his bestfriend.

“i know that, just none of these guys. we’ve been everyday with them at the academy. you know how bad they are, the shit they say about women in general. i don’t want those guys with her.” it’s obvious he’s quite over protective of her, even though she’s three years older than him. coriolanus nods along with him and pats his back.

“i’ll go save her.” coriolanus comforts his friend and makes his way to festus. “sejanus said he needed your opinion on some ideas for the food, seemed urgent.” she nods and offers a knowing smile to coriolanus. festus leans his head on the wall “man! i really felt like i was getting somewhere with her” coriolanus rests a hand on his shoulder. “trust me, you definitely weren’t.”

the party has picked up and died down, everyone sitting to eat but coriolanus couldn’t seem to figure out where she was. she wasn’t sitting with her family and unless she had friends he didn’t know, he couldn’t see her anywhere. he’d made his way outside to take a breather from all the talking and hugging old people who knew his parents.

that’s when his eyes laid upon the girl in the silver dress, and he took a seat next to her on the steps. she’s staring out into the gardens and her eyes are glazed over. no champagne glass in her hand this time. she doesn’t turn to look at him.

“i’m really drunk right now and i hate almost everyone in there. all they care about is money and those stupid hunger games.” she confided in him and rested her chin on her arms that are wrapped around her knees. “yeah, you didn’t look like you were having a great time. i tried counting how many glasses you had but i lost count after ten.” she lightly laughed and shook her head.

“i think it was thirteen but i’m not sure, i drank four while festus was chirping in my ear about how many children he wanted.” she feigned chills at the mention of his name and they laughed. she turned to look at him with a barley noticeable smile “you’re not like them, are you? you’re more like sejanus. quiet and doesn’t bother women they want to marry.” the comparison of sejanus would normally upset him, but coming from her it felt the highest compliment a man could receive.

she rubbed her hands over her arms to conserve warmth and coriolanus quickly removed his blazer to wrap around her and she muttered a small thanks. resuming her staring at the gardens. “would you like to grab you some water? or something to eat? it’s not gonna be very good for you tomorrow morning if you don’t eat something.” he whispers towards and she nods her head.

as coriolanus is walking back in, the plinths are walking out. “hey coryo. we’re heading home for the night as ma doesn’t feel too well, have you seen-“ coriolanus points outside “she’s on the steps, make sure she eats something when you get home. way too much champagne for a human.” seianus claps his hand against coriolanus’ chest and continues outside.

the sun is battering down on the capitol but the plinths home is cooler than a beautiful spring day, probably for the hungover girl inside. coriolanus knocks on the door and smiles as his eyes meet ma’s. “oh! coriolanus, it’s so good to see you. we didn’t talk much last night. come in! i just finished up some pies!” she ushers him inside as sejanus joins them in his mothers corner of the kitchen.

after the grueling and quite long conversation with ma coriolanus excused himself. sejanus seemingly interested in this new sugar ma had found. as coriolanus rounded the corner to her room, he stopped. suddenly feeling quite nervous and as if he might throw up. her bedroom door opened and her eyes meet his, he looks down and she’s holding his blazer out. “i heard you talking to ma, here this.” her calloused tone returns, maybe she only likes him she’s drunk. he better find a lot more champagne.

the plinth family plus coriolanus are sitting in the sun room, drinking iced tea and munching on whatever treats ma had baked. “so, coriolanus, do you have any plans on getting married after university?” strabo’s deep and rough voice cut over his wife’s story.

coriolanus set his tea down “i’d hope so, certainly.” his eyes skip between strabo and his daughter. she’s sitting with her knees pulled up to chest and she’s looking out the window. “well you know how much we’d love to have you in the family, we could arrange your marriage with-“ she sets her cup down harshly and stands up.

“you always do this! could you just leave me alone? maybe i don’t want to get married, ma said it was fine if i didn’t marry.” she’s waving her hands around and waits for him to answer. when she’s met with silence she storms out and slams the sunroom door. “strabo, you can’t make her marry someone she doesn’t love.” someone she doesn’t love.

coriolanus stands up and thanks them for the tea. “tigris wanted to head to the market and i’d never let her go alone, i’ll see you guys tomorrow night.”

he walks by her door and tries the handle, quietly. he fully expected it to be locked but the door swings open and she’s laying face down on the bed. “sejanus, go away.” she grumbled through her mattress. “it’s not sejanus.” she sighs and sits up, staring at him.

“do you not knock before entering a room?” she tilted her head and studied him. “i expected it to be locked, sorry. i’ll knock next time.” his eyes seem to gravitate towards the floor and he can’t will himself to bring them back up.

“i’m sorry about my father. i’m sure it made you very uncomfortable, he’s just always trying to marry me off.” her hands fidget awkwardly in her lap. “i wasn’t too uncomfortable, any guy would be lucky to marry you. i always heard that you were quite mean, i’ve yet to see that.”

she scoffed and turned her head to the window. “they only say that because i don’t hesitate to speak my mind. i taught sejanus that. i am definitely what they call me, but only to them.” why does she feel so comfortable spilling her guts to him?

“i saw you and sejanus’ sister a few minutes ago, coriolanus. are you willing to deal with her grating voice and attitude for the plinths money?” arachne sneers towards him and the group laughs. “it helps that she’s pretty, it’s already hard enough trying to talk to her.” coriolanus regrets it the second it escapes his mouth.

she liked him. she really did like coriolanus snow, but who doesn’t? she weaved her way through the crowd trying to escape him. he was hot on her trail until he catches up to her in one of the various bedrooms inside the ravinstalls estate.

“do you think i’m stupid, coriolanus? be honest.” he scrambles to find the words but his brain couldn’t function in the one moment he desperately needed it. “i said you were different, i talked to you about things i liked, i would tell ma all about you. but you aren’t different, you’re just like the others.” he ran his hand through his hair. “i was different, i am different. i don’t know why i said that, it just came out. i didn’t mean it, i promise.”

he attempted to take her hand but she ripped out of his grasp and stomped out of the room. shit.

the next day her door was locked. and the next. and the next. he wasn’t even sure she was there anymore. sejanus hasn’t mentioned anything but he wished he would. he wished he would tell him if she was okay or if he majorly screwed up.

as coriolanus and sejanus sit in the sunroom attempting to study, there’s a knock on the door. coriolanus cranes his neck to see festus ravinstill standing there with a bouquet of flowers. god, this kid is tragic. but then he sees you, take the flowers with a smile and a kiss on his cheek. strabo’s never looked happier.

coriolanus suffered in silence watching festus become a daily guest and drowning out sejanus’ complaints about him being there. for once in his life, he agreed with sejanus. when he enters the kitchen to refill his glass of lemonade he sees her watering the plants in the kitchen.

“don’t marry him. he won’t be good to you.” she drops her head and turns to him. “and you would?” she spits back sending him into a whirlwind. “yes.” he whispers out and she takes a few steps closer to him. “festus is nice and fathers happy with this. i don’t have another choice, coriolanus. i have to do this” how does she always sound so sure of herself? maybe coriolanus could take a class from her.

their eyes finally meet, after weeks of not seeing her eyes, she’s finally looking at him. “you could marry me, instead. i wouldn’t treat you like a prize, like festus would.” she steps impossibly closer and he feels like he can’t breathe when she’s around. oxygen becomes molasses and his knees become jelly.

she looks over coriolanus’ shoulder and stands up on her toes to kiss him. he takes a moment to catch on but he his hands find purchase on her waist and he leans down. all nerves thrown out the window and all he can think of is her, how she tastes, how she smells, he can’t even remember who festus is.

her hands wind his curly hair around her fingers as she swipes her tongue against his own and he pushes her against the refrigerator, causing a few magnets to fall onto the floor. his hands are trailing up and down the waist of the yellow dress she had decided to wear that day.

festus had left the plinths the second he saw her look at him over coriolanus’ shoulder. knowing he lost and there’s nothing he could’ve done.

she pulls back, panting. “i’ll marry you, just don’t call me annoying again.” her lipstick is smeared across both of their mouths and he gives her a dopey smile. “i wouldn’t dream of it” he brushes stray hair out of her face.

“in the kitchen?! we make food there!” sejanus is standing in the doorway, seemingly traumatized. “sorry, sej.” he shakes his head walking away but throwing a secretive thumbs up at coriolanus.

[scribblecon]

A Minor Fascination

The way I’m 100% convinced Fort Max would view a human the same way one might view a small animal. But he’d feel weird about it because humans are obviously sentient. Can’t treat one like a pet but they’re also so cute. This is kind of silly lol

SFW, Fluff, GN reader

—

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You’ve been feeling his optics on you, ever since you set foot in Swerve’s. Why, you wonder, is Fortress Maximus glaring at you from the other side of the room for the fourth time in as many days? You haven’t even had a chance to talk to him properly in the couple of weeks since he joined the crew, so what could you possibly have done to deserve the ire of arguably the largest and one of the most powerful autobots on the Lost Light?

Fortress Maximus feels like a fool. Ever since he took notice of the little human running around the ship, he’s wanted to introduce himself. Befriend the human, even. Unfortunately, he has no idea how. It’s difficult enough to converse with his fellow autobots when it seems half of them can’t stop gossiping about his recent traumas behind his back, how is he supposed to approach a squishy alien who barely reaches the top off his pedes without scaring, or worse, hurting them?

He’d never admit it out loud, but there’s something about your tiny form that Max finds highly endearing. He’s used to being surrounded by hard metal, but you look so soft and gentle. He wants to find out how it would feel to stroke your hair or gently run a servo down your back. To have you perch on his shoulder as he goes about his day.

As he gazes in your direction, he wonders if it’s normal for a mech to feel this way about organics. Max knows about the disgust reaction a good portion of Cybertronians have towards non-mechanical species, but there don’t seem to be many who openly talk about liking organics. Most others seem to be tolerant or indifferent towards them at best. If he’s weird for his… minor fascination, however, at least he’s probably not the only one on the ship. He’s seen other bots like Skids or Tailgate gently prod at your soft spots to elicit laughs out of you, or pick you up when you need to go somewhere faster than your own two legs can carry you. Hell, you’re practically draping yourself over Drift’s arm right now, and he doesn’t appear to mind at all. Fort Max downs his drink, his gaze never straying from you.

“If you want to talk to the human so badly, Max, just go over there and say hello.” Ratchet’s voice cuts through Fort Max’s thoughts, causing him to squeeze his glass so hard he accidentally shatters it in surprise. He curses to himself as he looks for something to wipe the remains of his engex off his servos.

“I don’t want to scare them. They’re so small…”

“No offence, but the way you’ve been staring for the last hour is already scaring half the people in this room.” The medic sighs. “Saying a couple words won’t hurt anyone.”

Fort Max sighs and gets up from his seat beside the bar. Ratchet has a point. May as well get it over with and introduce himself to you. He makes his way over to your table, doing his best to avoid looking intimidating.

You’re in the middle of telling Rodimus and Drift a horror story about the old retail job you used to work in high school when you realise Fortress Maximus has had enough of staring and is now walking towards you. Oh god. You try your best to look as relaxed as possible.

“Max!” Rodimus exclaims as the larger bot arrives at the table. “What’s up, big man?”

“I. Uh…”

The three of you look up at Fort Max expectantly.

“I just wanted to say hello.” He clears his intake. Several mechs are looking over to see what’s going on. “To the human.” Max reaches an oversized servo across the table towards you.

Ohhhh. He doesn’t hate you. He’s just awkward.

“It’s, um… it’s nice to meet you. Fortress Maximus, right?” You give him a shy smile as you get up to clasp his fingertip in both of your hands. You assume he’s reaching out for a handshake. Or at least the closest equivalent, considering the size difference. Maybe he’s actually really nice.

“Yeah, okay.” Max pulls away like you just electrocuted him and promptly leaves the bar with a strange look on his face.

You share a bewildered look with the bots around you.

“Did I do something wrong?”

—

Fortress Maximus sits in his habsuite, head in his hands, replaying his first interaction with the ship’s human.

Yeah, okay.

Yeah, okay??

Max stews in self-mortification. Who says that to someone when meeting for the first time? Primus, he didn’t even think to get your name. That was a disaster. Everyone was staring at him when he left the bar too, he could tell.

He contemplates the possibility that maybe he really does need to see Rung after all. Not because of what happened at Garrus-9, he’d rather not talk about that. But because he doesn’t know how to string a sentence together in front of an alien a fraction of his size. Because he couldn’t resist reaching out to feel your hair. Because when you intercepted his servo and turned his attempted petting into a handshake his circuits almost fried from the feel of your tiny hands and the way you looked up at him. Fortress Maximus promptly discards this train of thought. Talking about this with Rung means having to outright admit he thinks you’re cute to another bot. To a psychiatrist, no less. The last thing he needs is to be officially diagnosed as some kind of deviant over something that’s not even sexual. No. Max’s desires, he’s certain, are completely innocent. He just wants to pet you a little bit. Carry you around, keep you safe, feel how soft you are.

Maybe after that display in Swerve’s he should keep those thoughts to himself for now. Let you approach him first next time. Assuming you haven’t been completely scared off.

[hxney-lemcn]

Don't Be a Stranger — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: parties were the last thing you wanted to attended, especially when your friend ditches you instantly. She makes it up to you by finding you a cute date.

tw: none that I can think of

a/n: haha, so I said I was unmotivated, and then thought of this. I actually meant uninspired. Unfortunately, I am uninspired once more 😔

wc: 1.4k

Master List

It was so loud that the entire room felt like it was vibrating around you. The only lights were dark blue and red leds that made it hard to see much of anything. People were dancing…no, more just grinding and jumping against each other. You felt completely out of place, leaning against a wall and clutching your soda like your life depends on it. You were scrunched in, avoiding the drunken young adults that stumbled past. 

Why were you at a party that you didn’t even wanna be at? Well, your friend dragged you, begging you to come with so she wasn’t alone. One second she was by your side grabbing your sleeve, the next she was hanging off the arm of some pretty girl giggling and batting her eyelashes. You didn’t mind that she was flirting with someone, all power to her, but that meant you were left alone in a setting you had no idea how to traverse. Glancing at your phone for the hundredth time that night, you felt your soul leave your body. No text from your friend, and you had no idea how long this party was gonna last.  Sure, you could just leave, but then you’d feel like an asshole if your friend texted you asking for help or to bring her home. So, like the loyal friend you were, you continued to awkwardly stand there, trying to be invisible and sip your drink. 

“This is my friend,” You heard your friend say your name. Looking up you saw her, the woman she was flirting with, and a guy approaching you. “They may be a little awkward but they’re the nicest person ever, I swear. Not to mention single.” You watched on, embarrassed at your friend, Ingrid’s introduction of you as she winked at the guy who chuckled awkwardly.

“Uh, hello,” You said, but you realized you hadn’t spoken loud enough, so you repeated yourself in a louder tone.

“Hey,” The pretty lady waved, a warm smile on her face. “I’m Alaina.” 

“Daisuke,” The guy nodded. You nodded back, an awkward smile lining your lips. You were never good at talking to others, not to mention at a party of all places. So, to try and ignore the lull in the conversation you took another sip of your drink, watching as Ingrid and Alaina started talking to each other animatedly, leaving you and Daisuke to stand awkwardly.

“This doesn’t seem to be your vibe,” Daisuke was the first to break the silence between you (not that it was very quiet with the music making your teeth rattle).

Blinking up at him, you tilted your head, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Raising his hands defensively, he stammered, “I-it's not a bad thing! I just mean you seem like you’d rather be anywhere but here right now.”

“You’re not wrong,” You agreed, nodding your head. “I’m only here ‘cus of Ingrid.” Daisuke nodded, the red and blue lighting shining nicely across his features. Wait, what the hell were you thinking? No, it's fine, its normal to find someone attractive. 

“Wanna go outside?” He asked, thumb pointing to the front door. 

“Lead the way.”

As the two of you inched your way towards the door, you didn’t miss the sly grin Ingrid sent your way. You swiftly faced Daisuke’s back instead, trying not to get lost in the sweaty bodies that constantly bumped into you. It got so bad, you ended up grabbing the back of his shirt. As the two of you exited the house the cool air soothed you, letting out a sigh of relief, you let go of Daisuke’s shirt, muscles slowly relaxing. You hadn’t realized how tense you were. 

“You really don’t like parties, huh?” Daisuke chuckled, voice softer now that the music had dulled. 

“Not really,” You chuckled back, scratching the back of your neck. Thankfully, the front yard didn’t have many people, and the porch held a porch swing, which the two of you sat on. 

“So, you like these things?” You asked, trying your hardest to keep the conversation going. You normally don't put this much effort when talking to a stranger, but Daisuke seemed nice, and the fact that he was pretty helped. Ingrid really knew your type. 

Daisuke shrugged, “Yeah, it's fun meeting new people and letting loose.”

Then the cursed silence fell over you two, but this time it wasn’t as awkward. You stared up at the sky, watching the stars twinkle and the moon shine…well as best as you could with the light pollution, but it was still there. You both swayed gently on the swing, the party music thumping softly behind you. This was a lot better than what you were doing before. 

Just as you were about to fully space out, Daisuke stole your attention once more, “So, what do you usually like to do?”

Looking back at the brunette, you ignored the way your insides twisted at the fact he was already looking at you, answering, “Going to a cafe or the library. Maybe a walk in the park if I’m feeling particularly motivated.”  “Yeah, I can see that,” He nodded, a boyish grin on his lips. “Lemme guess, you go to college?”

Gaping like a fish out of water, you didn’t like how easily he was reading you, “What gives you that impression?”

“You’re too smart to be partying,” He shrugged, leaning back. 

“That’s a stereotype,” You pouted. “Ingrid is a perfect example. We go to college together and she’s a total partier.” 

“Okay, fair point,” Daisuke conceded. “If you hate parties so much why did you let her drag you here?”

“Didn’t want her going alone,” You shrugged. “I don’t trust people at these things.”

“You shouldn't,” Daisuke agreed with a sigh. “As much as I love a good party, even I know not everyone has the best of intentions.”

“Is Alaina your friend?” You questioned wanting to get a bit more info on the mysterious girl that had caught your friend's attention.

“Kinda,” He shook his hand in a so-so motion. “I see her at a lot of these parties. Seems like a good chick.” You nodded, messing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Soooo,” He drew the word out, trying to act nonchalant but you could tell he seemed nervous. “What would you say to going out sometime. We could go to a cafe…or the library if that's more your speed. Or we could head to a park for a walk, I’m not picky.” 

Was…was he offering what you thought he was? You felt your stomach tie up in knots, face warming and brain frying. You were not prepared for this. A cute guy was interested in you? Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself, after all, it wasn’t every day a stranger wanted to hang out with you.

“That…that sounds nice,” You muttered, your confidence completely shattered. Your fidgeting grew worse as you started messing with the collar of your shirt. 

“Cool, cool,” Daisuke nodded. Outside, he looked nonchalant (with a mix of nerves), on the inside he was having a full blown meltdown. You, your awkwardness endearing and your kindness charming. You, whose banter with him flowed naturally, opened up to him almost immediately. You didn’t seem too awkward as long as you had a bit of a push, and luckily for him he was extroverted enough to get you out of your shell. “C-could I get your number, or socials or something so we can plan it out?” He stuttered, cheeks warming, eyes glancing away.

“Oh, yeah,” You nodded, taking out your phone. Opening a new contact, you handed him your phone, letting him punch his number in before sending a quick text stating your name. “Did it go through?” You asked, looking over to him as he took out his phone. 

“Yeah,” He nodded, biting his lip as his grin widened. Sure, he’s met lots of attractive people, having a few drunk makeouts under his belt, but this felt different. A lot different. You both were sober…well he was a bit tipsy, but just enough to give him a little boost, but that meant that this was more real than what he’s used to. Not to mention he found you cute, and your friend, Ingrid, seemed to be right, you were really nice (so far). He hadn’t had many crushes, never having had a serious relationship, but imagining going on a date with you to a cute cafe or a walk in the park, wasn’t that just the most romantic thing ever? At least Daisuke thought so. 

“So…it's a date?” He asked, watching you with eager eyes. Shrinking into yourself, you felt yourself fluster, avoiding his eyes like the plague. “Yeah,” You nodded shyly. “It's a date.”

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 13 - 'Locked In’ | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.4k

The night was quiet except for the faint hum of streetlights filtering through your windows, but that peace was shattered by the incessant buzz of your phone vibrating on the bedside table. You were fast asleep, but Layla, curled up next to you on the other side of your bed, was anything but. She groaned, sitting up and glaring at your phone like it had personally offended her. Finally, she snatched it up, squinting at the screen. Trent. The notifications wouldn’t stop.

‘You awake, baby?’ ‘I just landed. Miss you so much xx.’ ‘Can I come over, pretty girl.’ ‘I’m outside if you’re up.’

Layla sighed, her annoyance mixing with protectiveness. She unlocked your phone, her thumb hovering over the keyboard before finally typing back. 

‘She’s asleep. Go home.’ 

But Trent wasn’t one to take no for an answer. Ten minutes later, she heard the sound of the side door creak open, and her heart jumped. Grabbing the closest thing resembling a weapon—a high heel —she tiptoed downstairs.

“Trent,” she hissed, relief and irritation washing over her simultaneously when she saw him standing in the hallway. “What the hell?” It wasn’t uncommon for any of Jack’s friends to just let themselves in but you knew that, Layla didn’t.

“I needed to see her,” Trent said quietly, his tone apologetic but firm. Layla’s frustration boiled over. 

“Honestly…” Layla sighed, frustrated she was awake, frustrated that your relationship wasn’t ironed out yet. The scenes of you upset again and again flashed in her mind even if you had just gushed about how good London had been with Trent last night to her. “T… you need to man up, seriously!” she snapped with a groan, her voice louder than intended. She rubbed her eyes tiredly.  “You’re sneaking into her house like you’re 16, and her parents are upstairs. What are you even doing?!” He flinched at her words, but his brows furrowed in frustration. 

“Layla, what do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice tinged with defensiveness. “Things are good right now. Really good. We’re sorting it. What am I supposed to do here?”

“What do I want you to do?” Layla threw her arms up. “I want you to treat her how she’s meant to be treated!”

“I do!” Trent shot back, his voice rising slightly. But then it softened, guilt creeping in as he added, “When it’s just us…” The reality that he was a grown man sneaking around in his best mate’s house for his sister harrowing. 

“Exactly,” Layla cut him off. Both of them slightly caught off guard by how serious of a conversation they were having as the night approached morning. “When it’s just you two. But Trent, she’s not some girl you can keep in the shadows. She’s not your secret. She’s not that girl to you, and you know it.” Trent’s defenses crumbled. He looked at Layla, the weight of her words sinking in. Layla sighed, her voice trembling as she continued. “She’s been waiting for you. I’ve seen you pine after her for years. Years, Trent. And you’ve played it too cool. It’s like you don’t care.  But now you’ve got her—she’s yours, fully and completely—and you’re still making her feel like she’s not enough. Do you know how much she trusts you? She’s playing by your rules because she wants this so badly. She wants you so badly. So please, Trent…” Her voice cracked, and she took a shaky breath, tears brimming in her eyes. “Please want her back. Want her the way she deserves to be wanted.” Trent’s chest tightened as he stepped closer to Layla cautiously, the sight of her lip trembling catching him off guard. He nodded, swallowing hard. 

“I do, Lay. I swear, I do. I just—” He sighed frustrated by circumstance. 

“Then show her,” Layla interrupted, her voice soft but firm. “Show her before she convinces herself you don’t.” She told Trent heartbroken by your stupid mistake. Your decision to text Josh was solely your fault and Layla agreed but that didn’t mean she felt like Trent couldn’t have made things a little better than they had been. Still, even with her reasoning clear in her mind, she didn’t think it was her place to tell him about the message so Trent nodded again, more resolutely this time, his jaw tightening as determination flickered in his eyes. He was done hiding, done pretending this wasn’t the most important thing in his life. 

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I will. You know… I  want her so much, Lays. I can’t even begin to put it into words,” Trent admitted, his voice raw and trembling with emotion. “I’m working on it. I promise. I’m not fucking about.” His confession hung in the air, and for a moment, Layla was stunned. The vulnerability in his voice, the sheer honesty—she couldn’t help but soften. Trent reached for her, pulling her into a hug. She resisted for a split second before melting into the embrace, her sniffle betraying her emotions.

“Okay…” she murmured, stepping back and wiping her eyes quickly, a shy giggle escaping her lips. “Alright, well… you’re here. And I know she’d want you to stay.” Trent’s face softened further, relief washing over him at her words. “Come on, then,” she said gently, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the staircase. “I’ll stay in the guest room.” Trent nodded, a quiet ‘Thank you’ escaping his lips. But before he could take another step, Layla turned back and narrowed her eyes at him with mock severity. “But I’ve got my eye on you, yeah?” She snapped. Trent chuckled under his breath, the tension easing slightly. So he turned and climbed the stairs, his heart pounding with every step. Layla trailed behind, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths as she silently prayed he’d get it right this time.

 “Thanks, Lay. Really.” he said, his tone soft and genuine. With that, he slowly pushed open your bedroom door, careful not to make too much noise. The room was dimly lit by the glow of your bedside lamp, and there you were, tangled in your sheets, your features peaceful in sleep. Trent’s heart clenched as he took you in, the familiar ache of longing mixed with the overwhelming warmth of being close to you again. He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. Layla, standing in the hall, gave him one last look of approval before heading toward the spare room, leaving him to figure out what came next. Trent hesitated for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, his mind racing. But then he crossed the room, pulling off his jumper and trousers before slipping under the covers next to you. You stirred slightly at the shift, your brows furrowing as you felt his lips on your shoulder. You opened your eyes just enough to see him. 

“T?” you whispered, your voice groggy and laced with confusion but deluded bliss of him possibly being here. 

“Yeah, it’s me, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “I missed you. I couldn’t wait to get my baby back.” You blinked a few times, the fog of sleep lifting as you registered his words. 

“You’re here?” A small, sleepy smile crept onto your face. 

“I’m here,” he confirmed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Go back to sleep f’me. I’m not going anywhere.” And with that, he kissed your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin as you let yourself drift back into dreams of him, in his arms. For the first time in weeks, he felt at peace.

The warmth of the morning sunlight filtered through your bedroom curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room. The light spilled onto Trent, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the gentle curve of his lashes, and the slight pout of his lips as he slept. He looked utterly peaceful, almost angelic, and for a moment, you just stared, letting yourself soak in the sight of him after missing him so deeply. Your chest swelled with affection, the ache of longing you'd carried melting away as you pressed a soft kiss to his bare chest. The hum of your lips against his skin made him shift slightly in his sleep, his arm tightening instinctively around you. Smiling to yourself, you moved closer, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, the scent of his skin filling your senses. You couldn't resist the temptation to pepper light, feathery kisses along his neck, lingering in the sensitive spot just below his ear. You nibbled gently, and his breathing hitched, his body stirring beneath you as his eyelashes fluttered. You smirked against his skin. Trent could feel the curl of your plump lips against him. He was drowsily confused but comforted by it. Trent stirred slightly at your touch, his muscles tensing beneath your lips. But it all became clear when your kisses started to get a bit heavier as you moved down his neck to his collarbone. Your hands grazed over his body and down his abs until you began to play with the waistband of his boxers. You slid your hand under it and Trent groaned.

"Good morning, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. His eyes flicked open, and for a moment, he simply gazed at you, his expression filled with adoration. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mmm, better than well," you replied, your voice husky with desire. "I had the best dream about you." Trent's lips curved into a playful smirk, and he pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. 

"Oh yeah? What kind of dream?" He purred.  You giggled, feeling a bit shy but excited to share the cheeky dream you had last night with him. 

"The kind where you couldn't keep your hands off me," you whispered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. "Where you kissed me all over." Trent's breath hitched as you spoke, and you could feel his desire rising. His hands began to roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist, making you shiver with anticipation. 

"I can make that dream come true, you know," he said, his voice low and seductive.

"Oh, really?" you teased, looking up at him through your lashes. "And what about my dream where I was moaning your name?" You cooed. Trent's eyes darkened with desire, and he pressed his body against yours, his erection straining against your thigh. 

"I can make that happen too, baby. I love hearing you say my name." His words sent a thrill through your body, and you couldn't resist any longer. "Please, T," you begged, your voice breathless as you began to grind your core on top of his hardening cock. His lips pressed into yours for a suffocating kiss. Your body laid flush against his as you made out, laying completely overtop of him. You sat back up on his lap, straddling his waist and your tits bounced in a mesmerizing way that had Trent immediately following you up, pulling your tank top over your head swiftly.  You were gasping out a moan when his free hand came up to play with your nipples. 

“Oh my god, s-shit, that feels so good, baby.” You whined as his lips came around one of your nipples swiftly, his tongue flicking back and forth over it, surrounding it. Attending to one and then the other, swapping his mouth for his hand and his hand for his mouth. "I need you. I need to feel you inside me." You begged. Trent's eyes smoldered with passion as he positioned himself between your folds. 

"You're so needy for me, baby," he growled, his voice thick with need. "You want me to come right inside? So wet f’me already." He rattled off words but you had a hard time listening after he lined his cock up with your entrance, lifting your ass up and guided you to sink down taking all of him immediately. You were so wet it was seamless but the minimal foreplay made for pleasurable pain from the stretch of him. “You’re such good girl f’me. You okay, baby?”  You nodded and started to ride him after adjusting a little. It felt so good you could feel the knot in your stomach form almost immediately. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure, as he thrusted in a slow, deliberate rhythm upward. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he moved into you again and again. "Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his breath hot against your neck.

“So fucking good." You moaned in response, your nails digging into his shoulders as you urged him on.  Before he hooked his arm under your thigh, flipping you over, to be underneath him.

"Harder, T," you pleaded. "Please, fuck me harder." You begged. He obliged, his movements becoming more urgent, his hips slamming into yours as he pounded into your core. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans filled the room. Trent's dominant nature took over, and he pinned your wrists above your head, holding you down as he claimed your body.

"You like it rough, don't you, baby?" he panted, his eyes locked with yours. "You love it when I take control."

"Yeah, fuck," you cried out, your body trembling on the edge of release. Trent's thrusts became even more intense, his body a blur of motion as he drove into you with abandon. His free hand reached down, finding your clit, and began to rub it in circles, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You practically yelled as Trent hit your g-spot hard and fast, again and again and again. You could hear just how wet you were as your walls clamped around him tighter. The knot in your stomach was coming undone quicker than you expected this morning. You tried to put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans knowing Layla was in the house but he wasn’t having that. He held your hands above you with restraint as he continued to fuck you. 

“Wanna hear how good I’m making you feel, baby.” He whispered against your neck before biting your sensitive skin only pulling another, louder, moan from you. 

“T…” you whined. “Please, I’m so close, I’m so… f-fuck!… I’m so close.” You told him squeezing your eyes shut as you started to feel your orgasm approaching. He was so deep inside that you could feel every ridge and vein. 

“Shit, just wait a little bit for me, beautiful. You can do it. Yeah? Just a little more for me. Take it like a good girl.” Trent struggled to get the words out as your pussy started to clench tighter around him. One of his large hands drew back down your body in between you two and began rubbing circles on your throbbing clit again. Your mind turned to mush. His thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier and harsher. 

“You’re such a good girl, f’me. Cum f’me now, baby. Cum all over my cock, yeah? I’m gonna fill you up, baby. Make a fucking mess on my cock while I fill you up.” Trent babbled as you came, your body aching, your eyes squeezing shut tighter again. You were gasping as Trent fucked you into your high.

“T…baby” you moaned, feeling his release painting your insides. Your body tightened, every muscle coiling with tension, and then you exploded, crying out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself deep within you.

“That’s my good girl…” he said as he pumped you full of his cum extending the pleasure of your high. He laid on top of you completely spent as you both breathed heavily. Every part of Trent was so unfairly pretty you just laid there admiring every inch unable to move not just from his physical weight atop you but the weight he seemed to have on your heart.  For a moment, you both laid there, panting and sweaty, your hearts racing in unison. Trent released your wrists and cuddled into your neck, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling his heart pounding against yours.

"That was so good baby," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. You smiled, contentment washing over you.  He lifted his head, his brown eyes sparkling with affection. The morning had been nothing short of perfection. You and Trent lay tangled in the soft sheets, basking in the afterglow, your bodies warm and completely at ease. The sunlight spilled over you both, illuminating the intimate serenity of the moment. Trent had his arms draped lazily over you, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, planting lazy kisses along your shoulder. You couldn't help but smile, running your fingers over his messy morning curls you relished the quiet intimacy. But peace never lasted long in your world. The sound of your bedroom door creaking open made you tense. Before you could react, Layla strode in, her presence unbothered and entirely too casual considering the situation.

"Okay, time's up," she declared, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and a smug smile. "I gave you your morning glory. Lovely to hear, by the way. Really enjoyed listening along." Her sarcastic tone was laced with amusement, her smirk widening when you groaned in embarrassment.

"Layla!" you hissed, sitting up quickly and grabbing the blanket to cover yourself. Trent, however, didn't move much-if anything, he tightened his hold on you, pulling you back against his chest as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"What? I'm just being a good friend," she said, shrugging innocently. "Jack said he'd be back soon, so, you know..." She trailed off, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

"How do you even know that?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

"Oh, I checked your iMessages," she replied breezily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Lovely," you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You couldn't help but laugh, though, despite yourself. Layla always had a way of invading your space and somehow making you laugh while doing it.

"Up to you guys," she said with a grin, throwing Trent's T-shirt at him. "Just thought you'd want to know. No pressure." As she turned to leave, Trent finally shifted, his arms still wrapped around you as he sat up straighter. Instead of making any effort to move, though, he pressed his lips to your neck with a low hum. 

"Mmm, just want more of you," he murmured against your skin, his voice still husky from the morning. Layla paused in the doorway, turning back to glance at the two of you. She rolled her eyes dramatically, her expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. 

"You've ruined him, you know that, right?" she said, addressing you directly with a slight giggle. "Trent Alexander-Arnold, reduced to a lovesick puppy. Honestly, it's amazing, and I love you for it." You laughed, shaking your head as Trent grumbled something incoherent into your neck, clearly uninterested in Layla's commentary.

"Alright, I'm out," she announced, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Just don't say I didn't warn you when Jack comes storming in." And as she left, you looked over at Trent, who finally pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His smile was lazy, but the way he looked at you was full of warmth.

"She's not wrong, you know," he murmured, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"About Jack storming in?" you teased, arching an eyebrow. He chuckled, shaking his head.

 "No. About me being completely ruined by you." He kissed you then, soft and lingering, as if to prove his point. And as you melted into him, you decided that if this was being ruined, you wouldn't have it any other way.

The morning felt bittersweet as Trent darted out of your house, leaving behind the warm intimacy you’d shared. You sighed, lying back in bed, wishing things were easier. Wishing you could just wake up together, make breakfast, and spend the day entwined without the looming threat of Jack finding out. The secrecy weighed heavy, and as much as you understood why, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. You were still lost in thought when your phone buzzed, breaking you out of your melancholy. Trent’s name lit up the screen, and you answered almost immediately.

“Hi,” you murmured sweetly but not trying not to sound too eager.

“Get ready f’me,” he said, his voice warm and certain. “I’ll be there in half an hour to pick you up, yeah?” Your heart lifted at his words, a wave of relief flooding through your chest. It felt like the distance between you two, however short-lived, was unbearable now. You couldn’t be without him anymore—not even for a morning. Thirty minutes later, you were stepping out the door, butterflies flitting in your stomach as Trent pulled into the driveway. When you climbed into the passenger seat, your eyes widened in surprise—on the center console beside you was a bouquet of flowers, fresh and colorful, wrapped in brown paper.

“For you,” he said with a grin, his dimple showing as he glanced your way. You smiled, your fingers brushing over the soft petals. 

“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” You giggled. 

“You’re beautiful,” he countered smoothly, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your cheek before putting the car in gear. As he pulled out of the driveway, you glanced back toward your house, relieved to have snuck out just before Jack got back. The thrill of sneaking around should have been nerve-wracking, but all you could focus on was the way Trent’s hand drifted over to rest on your thigh, his thumb stroking lazy circles as he drove. And as the car sped down the quiet streets, you felt a flicker of hope—hope that, for a little while at least, you could have exactly what you wanted. Just you and him, no secrets, no interruptions, just the two of you stealing moments that felt like forever.

The soft rustle of the morning breeze and the gentle lapping of water against the docks set the scene for a moment you hadn’t dared to imagine. You felt the brisk wind off the water nip at your skin, but it was Trent’s warmth beside you that anchored you. His hand firmly in yours, fingers interwoven, you leaned against his shoulder, letting your worries melt away for just a little while. The bouquet of flowers lay on the bench beside you, a vibrant contrast to the stillness of the scene. They were beautiful, fragrant, and entirely unexpected—much like him returning this morning and whisking you away. You hadn’t said much since he’d picked you up, but there was no need. The silence wasn’t awkward. It was comforting, filled with the weight of unsaid emotions and the mutual understanding that neither of you wanted to be apart anymore. Trent shifted slightly, turning his body toward you. His large, warm hand cupped your cheek, and his thumb brushed against your skin. You looked up at him, and his brown eyes softened in a way that made your heart skip.

“Gimme a kiss,” he murmured, his voice low and sweet, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You hesitated, your eyes darting around the empty docks, fear flickering in the back of your mind. 

“What if someone sees?” you whispered, voice laced with worry. His thumb stilled, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He leaned closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he spoke. 

“Then they see me with my girl,” he said softly, his voice steady and sure, grounding you in a way only he could. And just like that, your doubts vanished. Trent closed the small distance between you, and the world seemed to stop. His lips met yours, and it was everything. It wasn’t rushed or hesitant. It was steady and confident, yet gentle. His lips moved with a purpose, and you felt the depth of his feelings in every second. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an unspoken promise, a declaration of how much he cared. The warmth of his hand on your cheek, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the salt in the air, the sunlight catching his skin—it all came together in a moment that felt too perfect to be real. When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on you, his hands still cradling your face like you were something fragile, something precious. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “You’re so beautiful, baby” he whispered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t believe it. Your cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help the shy smile that spread across your lips. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to hide, to worry, to second-guess what this was. In that moment, it was just you and Trent—no secrets, no complications, just you and the boy who made you feel like the center of the universe. The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest, warming you in a way you hadn’t expected. Trent’s voice was soft but firm, filled with an urgency you rarely heard from him. His hand lingered on your thigh, grounding you as you tried to process everything he was saying.

“I know it’s been shitty,” he started again, his tone apologetic but resolute, his gaze fixed on yours. “And I know this doesn’t fix the hiding or make it all better, but…” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small blue box that instantly caught your attention. Your breath hitched as he held it out to you. “Before you say I didn’t have to, or that it’s too much, blah blah,” he teased lightly, “I did have to. I needed to, because I want you to know that I’m locked in with you. Alright?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying the emotions he was working so hard to steady. Tears threatened to spill as you tried to steady yourself.  Guilt about texting Josh refusing to leave your mind, but leaving this moment wasn’t an option either.

“I know… we’re just figuring it out,” you mumbled, your voice thick with emotion.

“Yeah, I know, baby. And I’m sorry we are,” he said, leaning closer and brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. “But please, you gotta trust me here. I know what I want. I want you. None of the games. None of the hiding. We’ll get there, yeah? Just stay with me.” His forehead pressed gently against yours as his words sunk in, and the lump in your throat grew heavier. 

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears began to fall.

“I promise,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of conviction. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had stilled. “I’ve got us, yeah?” You nodded, unable to speak, tears slipping down your cheeks as he reached up to brush them away with a soft hum.

“Want to open that for me, please?” he cooed, his voice gentle but encouraging. Your hands shook as you took the box from him, its weight both literal and symbolic. The unmistakable Tiffany blue sent your heart racing, and as you opened the lid, the sunlight caught on the diamonds of a delicate lock bracelet inside. It was breathtaking, sparkling like a thousand tiny stars.

“T…” you began, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to tell him it was too much, that he didn’t have to do this. But Trent was already shaking his head, cutting you off before you could even start. 

“Nah, stop, baby. I told you. I don’t want to hear it.” His tone was gentle but unwavering. “I just need you to know—I’m locked in. I’m in. Completely.” His eyes searched yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart feel like it might burst. You wanted to say so much, to tell him everything you felt, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you nodded, a tearful smile breaking through as you slipped the bangle onto your wrist. The cool metal was a perfect fit, a constant reminder of everything he was saying, of everything he promised.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Baby… you know, I…” You sighed and took a deep breath. You wanted to tell him so bad. You looked at him and your heart hurt. You loved him. You really did but the words wouldn’t come out. “I really want this.” you said. You finally got out some words though they weren’t the ones you wanted, the ones he deserved.

“I really want this,” he echoed without hesitation, his voice soft but sure, as if he’d been waiting to say it for so long. Slowly, you reached for him, your hands trembling as you cupped his face. And as Trent leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss filled with all the love and promises you could ever need, you knew this moment would stay with you forever.

Trent shifted in his seat at the kitchen island in your kitchen, drumming his fingers nervously on the surface. The air between you both was tense but charged with unspoken words, the kind that made the small space of the kitchen feel overwhelmingly intimate despite the island separating you. He wanted you closer, but for now, he settled for stealing glances at you, his smirk betraying the cool demeanor he was trying so hard to maintain. Jack, however, was completely oblivious to the undercurrent.

“That’s massive, bro,” he said, grinning about the Premier League Awards invite Trent had just thrown out. “You sure you want me to come? Big moment for you, lad.” He looked at Trent excitedly. 

“I mean… yeah, I’m asking mate. I’d love you to come with,” Trent replied casually, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “It’s on the 17th…” He cooed and Jack’s brow furrowed. “Oh shit… is that when you’re flying out? What was it again? You’d be in Amsterdam?” The mention of Jack’s work trip to Amsterdam lit a fire in his eyes. His excitement briefly overshadowed his disappointment. 

“Damn, you’re right. I can’t get out of that either.” He tapped the countertop, considering. Trent feigned a disappointed sigh, though inside, he was quietly relieved. Actually, this was all a very carefully thought out plan.

 “Yeah, shame, man. Would’ve been a laugh.” Then, almost as an afterthought—though it was anything but—he looked at you. “Y/N, you wanna come along instead? Could be fun.” He delivered it with a casual smirk, his tone light, but his eyes betrayed him. They were focused, watching you carefully, measuring your reaction. Your heart skipped a beat. The idea of a night out with Trent, no hiding, no excuses, even if it was in a sea of strangers, had your pulse racing. But you knew better than to seem too eager. Shrugging, you leaned casually against the counter. 

“Eh…” You let your words trail off, pretending to consider. Jack scoffed, his expression incredulous. “What is it?” You asked, acting as if you hadn’t been clinging to every word that was said. 

“End of Season Prem Awards, Y/N.  What’s with the hesitation? Trenty’s asking you to an event, don’t be ungrateful about it.” He cooed, pinching between your neck and your shoulders as he moved past you. 

“I don’t know,” you teased, dragging it out just enough to keep Trent on edge. Jack rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. 

“Nah, you’re going. You’re not saying no to this. Go, seriously.” Jack doubled down. Trent had played his best friend and as cynical as it was, he wanted you over anything. You glanced at Trent, whose smirk had widened just enough to tell you he knew you were playing along. 

“Okay, yeah, I’ll go,” you said, a small smile breaking through as you tried to contain the excitement bubbling under your skin. As soon as the words left your mouth, something shifted in the room. Jack looked between the two of you, a flicker of confusion passing across his face. The realization that you and Trent would be attending a formal event together—alone—began to settle uncomfortably in his mind.

“Wait…” Jack started, narrowing his eyes at you. “That’s kind of… weird, innit?” His gaze shifting and then landing on Trent, his brow furrowed.  

“What’s weird?” you asked, your voice light and nonchalant.

“I don’t know. You two going together. Like, I get it—it’s fine. But…” Jack trailed off, his brows staying knitted. Trent leaned forward, his elbows on the counter, expertly diffusing the tension. 

“Mate, she’s a better date than you anyway. Less hassle, more fun. Trust me.” He laughed.  Jack let out a chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Whatever, man. Just don’t let her ruin your night.” He snipped with a teasing smirk to you. 

Trent shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Tyler’s words weighing heavily on him. The invitation to the awards open on the laptop in front of them, but he hadn’t been able to focus on it for the past ten minutes. He leaned back, running a hand over his face. Tyler had asked who Trent was bringing and since then… it had gone tense.  

“Just Jack’s sister,” he muttered bitterly, more to himself than Tyler, though the words hung awkwardly in the air. They tasted wrong. You were so much more than that, and the way he said it made him cringe. Tyler leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.

“Your best mate’s sister… who you’re fucking,” he repeated with pointed emphasis, his tone making it clear there was no skirting around the truth. Trent groaned and shook his head, letting his hands fall to his lap. 

“Nah, bro, you’re making it sound horrible. Like I’m sneaking around or something.” Tyler shot him a skeptical look. 

“But you are sneaking around, aren’t you?” he pressed. “Mate, if Jack finds out from someone else—and you know he will—it’s going to be so much worse. You’re dragging this out, and it’s only going to hurt him more.” Trent stared at the table, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Tyler wasn’t wrong. This whole situation had been gnawing at him for weeks, actualyl months. He thought about how easy it was to get caught up in the moments with you, how right it felt when he was with you, and how much harder it was to deal with the reality of keeping it all hidden.

“I know, bro,” he admitted quietly. His voice carried the weight of his guilt. “I know I need to tell him. I’m just—” 

“Scared?” Tyler offered bluntly. Trent shot him a sharp look, but there was no point denying it. 

“Yeah,” he admitted after a long pause. “I don’t want to lose Jack over this. But I can't lose her either.” Tyler’s expression softened, though his tone stayed firm. 

“You’ve got to stop living in limbo, mate. If she means as much to you as I think she does, it’s time to step up. Jack’s gonna be pissed, yeah, but he’ll get over it. You’re not just some random lad messing about with his sister.” Trent nodded, his fingers tapping against the edge of the table. 

“I’m in, Ty. I’m in so deep. I’m so serious about her. I even told her, I’m locked in.” He cooed sincerely. 

“Then act like it,” Tyler said simply. He glanced back at the screen, highlighting your name on the spreadsheet. “You want me to put ‘+1’ or her name? It’s your call.” Trent exhaled deeply, the weight of the decision sinking in. Finally, he leaned forward, typing your name into the guest list himself.

“She’s not just a +1,” he muttered, more to himself than Tyler. Tyler smiled knowingly. 

“Good. Then go make sure you’ve got a plan for Jack, mate. Because you’re running out of time.” He expectedly looked at Trent as if he needed to move this second. 

It was one of the last games of the season. Manchester United against Liverpool. Or Trent versus Josh essentially. You sat at your house watching with Layla. You could’ve gone, Jack and Noah had, but you gave some lame excuse. You said it was a stomach bug or something, which was a lie, except right now, your stomach did hurt. It hurt at the idea of Trent and Josh interacting, even if it was only on the pitch. Time ticked on and then suddenly the game on TV escalated rapidly, tension boiling over as the camera zoomed in on a confrontation. Trent and Josh were chest-to-chest, a referee stepping in but doing little to separate them. You could see the heated words exchanged between them. You could barely read their lips but that didn’t stop you from trying. Layla’s calm façade faltered as she sat up straighter, pulling her hand from yours to clutch a cushion tightly. 

“Oh, God, this is bad,” she muttered.

“Layla, what if they—” your voice cracked, the words catching in your throat as your pulse quickened.

“It’s fine. It’s fine. They won’t actually fight, its part of the game,” she reassured you, though her tone betrayed her nerves. But then Josh yanked Trent’s shirt, and Trent shoved him back harder than before, both of them glaring daggers at each other. Your stomach dropped. 

“Layla, I can’t—” you began, tears pricking your eyes as you watched the referee blow his whistle.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Layla reached for your hand again, her own trembling now. “They’re just hyped up, you know how football is. Adrenaline and all that, yeah? Nothing’s gonna happen. Right?” She glanced nervously back at the screen. The crowd erupted. The commentators were buzzing about how uncharacteristic the scuffle was for Trent, emphasizing how composed he usually was on the field. “Not today, apparently,” Layla muttered under her breath, her attempt at humor falling flat. When Trent finally walked away, shaking his head, you exhaled sharply, realizing you’d been holding your breath. But your relief was short-lived.  Your heart raced as the match resumed. But your mind was no longer on the game—it was on Trent. You reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you debated whether to text him or wait.

“What are you doing?” Layla asked, her voice low but laced with concern.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered. “I just need to know he’s okay. What Josh said.” Layla sighed, pulling you into a side hug.

“He’ll be fine, babe. As much as it might be about you, it might not be. It’s part of the game. Let him come to you. You need to breathe, okay? Let’s just get through this match, and then we’ll figure out what to do.” You nodded hesitantly, leaning into her as the match continued. But your focus remained glued to Trent every time the camera panned to him, his expression hard, his jaw clenched. You knew this wasn’t just about football. And you had no idea how much worse things could get.

Down on the field, the tension was palpable. Josh smirked, leaning in just enough for Trent to hear, his voice dripping with venom. 

“What’s it like taking my sloppy seconds, bro?” Josh snipped shoving Trent trying to get him to break. And break he did. Trent’s jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He stared straight through Josh, his voice low and cutting. 

“She dipped because you could find the goal before you found a clit and you haven’t score since 2010.”  Trent snapped. Josh’s grin faltered for a moment, but then he shrugged it off, laughing bitterly. 

“Whatever, mate. You know she hit me up the other week, right? Guess your shit date night didn’t go so well, huh.” He smugly smiled. Trent saw red, shoving Josh hard, sending him stumbling backward. Trent couldn’t believe Josh knew about the date, Trent couldn’t believe you texted him. He was livid.

“Fuck off, bro,” he spat, his voice louder now, drawing the attention of the referee, who immediately ran over to break it up. The ref got between them, issuing warnings, but the fire in Trent’s eyes didn’t extinguish. He was fuming, but he let it go—for now.

The game stayed nil, nil into the half but the tensions were high, if not higher with every passing second making you more nervous. Your chin rested on your knees, your eyes flicking between the screen and the clock, before you gave in and buried your forehead against your legs, too anxious to watch the second half unfold. The commentators’ voices boomed through the speakers, heightening your sense of dread. Layla sat next to you silenced by the tension. The clock was running down, dipping into the 80th minute, and you couldn’t help but feel the nerves crawling through your skin. And then the game shifted. Trent surged down the right wing, perfectly timing his run to meet a cross. With one fluid motion, he sent the ball rocketing into the back of the net. Then suddenly, you heard it—Alexander-Arnold, goal in the 81st minute!  Your head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. You blinked, and there he was, Trent, sprinting towards the sideline, arms outstretched, his face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart soar. The entire stadium erupted around him, but all you could focus on was the way that smile dropped.  He slowed his run as he pointed to the camera gesturing for it to come with a finger. He bent down, grabbed it with both hands, and pressed a deliberate, lingering kiss onto the lens. Trent wasn’t just celebrating the goal he was claiming you. Back at home, the living room erupted.

“OH MY GOD!” Layla screamed, jumping up from the couch.

“Oh my fucking God! What was that! Did he just… Oh my fucking God” you shrieked, clutching her arm as you both lost it. The commentators on TV were stunned. 

“What a moment from Trent Alexander-Arnold! A goal to remember, and a statement, it seems!”

“Fuck off!” She squealed. “Did he just—” Layla turned to you, wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open. 

“He did,” you said breathlessly, heart pounding as you stared at the screen. On the field, Trent jogged back to his team, his smirk undeniable, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. You couldn’t stop smiling, your chest full to bursting. It wasn’t just a goal. It was a message—and it was for you.

After the game, Jack and Noah caught up with Trent. The post-match energy was still buzzing, but both of them were visibly curious about the heated exchange on the field and the subsequent goal.

“Mate… what a goal….” Jack told him with a brotherly grab of his shoulder shaking Trent. 

“Thanks bro.” Trent said, shaking his head as he came down from the high of it all. 

“Wild celly I won’t lie… new girl’s got you thinking about her even during the 90… damn.” Noah laughed, dapping him up. Trent hummed as he stretched with an exhale trying not to think about the comment. “Yo, but also…what was all that about?” Noah asked, his brow furrowed. Trent leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his face. 

“What d’you mean?” he muttered, already knowing exactly what they meant.

“The beef with Josh,” Noah clarified. “I mean, the kid’s a fucking prick, we all know that but why were you going at him like that?” He asked earnestly.  Trent clenched his jaw, shaking his head sharply. 

“Fuck him, bro,” he snapped. “Lad’s got no respect.” Jack, more amused than concerned, chimed in. 

“Did he say something about Y/N?” he asked casually, not thinking much of it. At the mention of your name, Trent’s stomach tightened. He avoided Jack’s eyes, his voice clipped. 

“He just… I don’t know, man. He was talking shit. That’s all.” Noah exchanged a glance with Jack, sensing there was more to it, but they didn’t press further. 

“Well, whatever,” Noah shrugged. “You got the last word with that goal anyway. Loved the kiss, by the way—real humble,” he added with a smirk. Trent forced a chuckle, but his mind was spinning. The memory of Josh’s smug grin and his claim echoed in his head: You know she hit me up the other week? Was he lying? Or worse—was he telling the truth? Had you texted Josh? The thought made Trent’s chest burn with jealousy. He was fuming now, not just at Josh but at the idea of you reaching out to someone who clearly didn’t deserve your attention. He barely heard Jack or Noah’s conversation as they walked off. His fists clenched at his sides. He knew he had to talk to you, but how could he ask without revealing his own insecurities—or worse, giving away what he’d overheard?

The evening had settled into a calm rhythm before everything unraveled. You and Layla had been curled up on the couch, half-watching TV and half-chatting about nothing in particular post game. The dim lighting in the room was soft and comforting, the faint hum of the house settling around you. It had been quiet since your eruption after the goal and even more so that Jack and Noah were out, leaving you with the freedom to breathe, to just exist without the weight of secrets pressing on you. But that peace didn’t last long. The headlights pulling into the driveway were the first signal. You heard the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and you instinctively glanced out the window, expecting Jack and Noah. Sure enough, you saw their figures stepping out of the car, their laughter faintly audible even from inside. You relaxed slightly—until the second set of headlights came into view, illuminating the driveway behind them. Your stomach dropped.Layla noticed the change in your posture instantly. Her eyebrows furrowed as she turned to follow your gaze. When she saw the familiar car pulling in, her expression shifted from curiosity to quiet understanding. She placed a hand on your arm.

“It’s fine,” she said softly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray her own unease. “Jack and Noah are here. It’s not like anything can happen.” You wanted to believe her, but the guilt and fear bubbling inside you were too loud to ignore. Trent’s car came to a stop, and you saw his silhouette as he stepped out, his movements as measured and deliberate as always. The sight of him—a figure so familiar yet so out of place in this setting—sent a wave of emotions crashing over you. The front door opened, and Noah’s voice boomed into the room, full of excitement and energy. 

“You watch the match?!” he called out, his grin wide as he kicked off his shoes. Layla laughed, turning to greet him with her usual warmth. 

“We did. Good win,” she said lightly, glancing at you to see if you would add anything. But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak, your focus entirely on the sound of footsteps approaching behind Noah. Jack entered next, his face slightly flushed from the chill outside, and he immediately zeroed in on you. 

“Feeling any better?” he asked, his tone softer than usual. He wraped an arm around you in a loose hug. You hummed a vague response, trying to keep your expression neutral, though your heart was hammering in your chest. Jack let go of you with a playful shove. “We’re doing a fire out back. Trenty’s behind us if you’re interested in joining,” he said casually, grabbing a few things from the kitchen before heading toward the patio. The mention of Trent’s name made your breath hitch, and Layla squeezed your hand again, offering a reassuring smile. 

“Come on,” she said, trying to pull you toward the back door. But before you could move, the air in the room shifted, turning cold and charged all at once. Trent stepped inside. He scanned the room quickly, his expression carefully composed, but his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long. Layla greeted him first, her voice light but distant. She didn’t approach him, though, and her hesitance only made the tension thicker. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him directly, instead busying yourself with an offer to help Jack outside. But Trent’s presence was impossible to ignore, no matter how hard you tried. The tension in the room was almost palpable as Trent stepped inside. His tall frame filled the doorway, and though his expression was neutral, you could feel the weight of his gaze land on you. Your heart thudded in your chest as you grabbed a stack of plates, pretending to be entirely preoccupied with Jack’s vague instructions about bringing something for the firepit. Layla gave Trent a polite smile, her hand still loosely wrapped around yours, but she didn’t make a move toward him. She knew better. The room felt like it was holding its breath, and you could sense her hesitance—like one wrong move would make everything unravel.

“What a fucking game though,” Noah said, breaking the silence, his voice loud and boisterous. He clapped Trent on the back with a grin. “Got United rattled, mate.” Trent smirked faintly, nodding. 

“Yeah, good to get the three points,” he replied, his tone calm, though his eyes kept darting back to you. Jack turned to look at him with an amused expression. 

“About time you lot did them in,” he teased, grabbing himself a beer and heading toward the back door. “Come on. Let’s get a fire going.” Layla nudged you gently, her fingers squeezing yours in silent encouragement. 

“You’re good,” she whispered, low enough that only you could hear. But the words felt hollow as Trent lingered by the door, letting everyone else pass him by. He didn’t move. He stayed there, waiting, his presence impossible to ignore. His eyes bore into yours, silently begging for even a sliver of your attention. You glanced at him briefly, feeling the pull, but you couldn’t—not here, not now. The risk was too high. So you stepped out onto the patio, the cool night air hit you like a wave of relief, but it did little to calm the storm raging in your chest. Layla followed close behind, her concerned gaze flitting between you and the door, where Trent still stood just inside. It wasn’t going to be an easy night. You could feel it in your bones.

The lights from the backyard flickered against the walls of the dimly lit living room, casting warm shadows that did nothing to ease the ice-cold tension between you and Trent. You could still hear muffled laughter outside, the crackling fire, the clinking of bottles as Jack and Noah carried on with, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside, Layla beside them very aware that after you had tucked inside, Trent followed. But here, in the suffocating space of the house, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Trent stood before you, shoulders squared, chest heaving as though he had just run the length of the pitch. He had cornered you, not letting your game of avoidance carry on. His face was taut, his usually soft eyes hardened with fury. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him like this—if you ever had.

“Did you text him?” he asked, his voice low but razor-sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife. You blinked, his words barely registering as you scrambled to think of what to say, how to diffuse the situation. His intensity made your heart race, panic rising in your chest. 

“I…” Your voice came out in a whisper, trembling under his piercing gaze.

“Did you text him?” he demanded again, louder this time, his voice echoing in the room as he stepped closer. His towering frame loomed over you, and for the first time, you felt truly small in his presence.

“Yes,” you admitted, the word falling from your lips like a stone, heavy and cold. You watched as Trent’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he shut his eyes tight trying to compose himself as rage washed over him. 

“Why?” he snapped, his tone laced with disbelief, his voice shaking. “Why the fuck would you do that, Y/N?” He asked you for the third time but this each time hurting more then the last. 

“I—” You tried to find the words, but they caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to explain something you could barely justify to yourself. “I thought you… I thought you were like him,” you finally blurted out, the words spilling out in a rush before you could stop them. Trent froze, his expression shifting from anger to something more devastating. He stepped back as if your words had physically struck him, his head shaking slowly. You weren’t sure why you resorted to texting Josh in the heat of seeing Trent’s instagram. Maybe it was past trauma. You imagined if he was around girls in a club like Jack had said, maybe he’d act how Josh used to, how you felt you would always be treated. 

“You thought I was like him?” he repeated, his voice quieter now but filled with incredulity, his brow furrowing in pain. “Are you mad? I would never be fucking like that prick. I honestly can’t believe you think I’d ever be similar to that fucking lad.” His voice cracked slightly, his breath hitching as he raked a hand over his hair. He was so beyond offended. “I’d never treat you like he did. I never have, I never would. That’s so fucked up Y/N.” You opened your mouth to respond, to explain but no words came out. The weight of his hurt, the betrayal in his voice, rendered you speechless. “You want him?” Trent asked suddenly, his voice rising again, anger flaring back to life. “Go fucking be with him then!” he shouted, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch.

“T,” you sobbed, the tears spilling over now, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “It was just a text. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” Trent shook his head, stepping back as if to put more space between you. He was pacing now, his hand running over his face as he tried to process what you’d just said. Outside the fire burned, and as Layla, Jack, and Noah watched the wood go up in flames, you watched your relationship do just the same.   

“It’s not just a text to me!” he yelled, his voice cracking slightly.  “Do you know what it’s like to protect you from that piece of shit? Just for you to then go and pull this shit? To risk it all and give you everything I can—everything except for one fucking thing I asked for your patience with – one thing I’m fucking working on — and you go and text him?” You could hear the pain in his voice now, underneath the anger, and it broke you even further. “Why is it only my job to get this to work? How come you’re able to just sit back… you complain when we’re out, you complain when we’re in…” Trent grunted out of frustration. He just couldn’t fucking handle it anymore. 

 “T, I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice shaking as you stepped toward him, desperate to close the distance between you. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I didn’t think—”

“That’s the problem,” Trent interrupted harshly, his tone cutting you off. “You didn’t think. You’re so ready to fucking throw this all to the wind. You didn’t think about me, about us. About everything I’ve done to try to make this work, everything you’ve done. I told you at the dock… I told you.” You took a deep breath as his voice trembled. He was fighting back tears. “ I told you I was locked in. Did that not mean anything to you? Do you just not care?” His words hit you like a slap, and your knees felt weak under the weight of his anger. 

“I do.” You sobbed. “If meant everything.” Your tears bordering on hysterics. “I know I fucked up,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in between gasping breaths and tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together.

“No,” Trent said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “This isn’t how you handle problems. You gotta fucking grow up. I’m here, I said I’m here and I’m doing what I can but it’s starting to feel like that will never be enough for you so what the fuck do you want, Y/N… ” The finality of his words left you breathless, your chest heaving as you tried to fight back the sobs threatening to break free. Trent stared at you for a moment longer, his jaw tense, his eyes flickering with emotions you couldn’t name. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the house back outside.

“You.” You whimpered hating yourself more than you ever had.  The moment the door closed behind him, the dam broke. You sank to the floor, your knees giving out as sobs wracked your body. The cold metal of the bracelet he gave you burned against your skin. Every ounce of tension, fear, and guilt you’d been holding in came flooding out, leaving you a trembling mess on the cold, hard floor. The laughter and chatter from outside felt like a cruel mockery of your pain, the warmth of the bonfire and the camaraderie of friends so far removed from the storm raging inside you. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, your tears soaking into the sleeves of your sweater as you tried to catch your breath. All you knew was that Trent’s words kept echoing in your mind, louder and louder until they drowned out everything else: You gotta grow up. You gotta grow up.

When you finally pulled yourself together you just stayed inside, not wanting to ruin the fun. You sat motionless on the sofa, trying to will yourself into invisibility until eventually the others filtered into the house. The warmth of the fire lingered on their skin, their chatter carrying a carefree energy that contrasted sharply with the heaviness in your chest. Jack and Layla headed to the kitchen, their voices muffled as they rummaged for snacks. Noah sprawled out on the lounger with a dramatic sigh, tossing out demands for Jack to bring him a beer. You didn’t dare glance at Trent, though you could feel his presence like a magnetic pull. It wasn’t until you heard his voice—quiet, almost hesitant—that your heart shattered anew.

“Can I sit here?” He asked. The question hung in the air, carrying with it an undercurrent of tension that made it hard to breathe. You finally looked up at him, your bloodshot eyes meeting his. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable, though the tight line of his jaw hinted at the turmoil beneath. His gaze softened slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face, the way you seemed so small, so broken. You bit your lip to keep from crying again and nodded, unable to trust your voice. Trent slid into the spot beside you, his knee brushing yours in the cramped space. He didn’t sit at a polite distance; instead, he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. As if he couldn’t bear the silence between you, Trent leaned across you, his body covering yours, his arm brushing against yours as he reached for the blanket draped on the armrest. Your breath caught at the closeness, your body frozen in place. He straightened, settling back into his seat as he unfolded the blanket. Without a word, he tucked it around you, his hands lingering for a moment to ensure you were wrapped snugly. No matter what… he’d always take care of you. He promised you that. Even if it didn’t work, he promised. It was such a small, gentle gesture, but it unraveled you completely. You blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you struggled to keep your composure. How could he still be so tender with you after everything? 

Jack and Layla returned, their presence pulling you back to reality. Layla shot you a knowing look, her brow furrowed in concern as she took in the palpable tension. Jack, oblivious, grabbed the remote and began flipping through channels, Noah chiming in from the lounger with loud, exaggerated groans at every suggestion. Trent joined in the casual back-and-forth, his voice calm and even as though nothing had happened. You stayed silent, barely able to focus on their conversation. Instead, you stayed close to him, your body inching closer bit by bit until your arm brushed his. When he didn’t pull away, you dared to press your side against his, seeking comfort in his proximity. Your head found its way to his shoulder, resting there tentatively. Trent didn’t move or say a word, but you felt the way his body relaxed ever so slightly beneath your touch, his breath steady and warm. Jack finally settled on something to watch, the TV filling the room with light and sound, but you didn’t care what was on. All that mattered was that Trent hadn’t pushed you away—that he was still here, letting you lean on him despite everything.The fight wasn’t over—you both knew that—but for now, in this fragile moment, it felt like you could start to piece things back together. The room had fallen into a still, quiet rhythm. The flickering light from the TV cast soft shadows on the walls, Layla’s light snores punctuating the low hum of the NBA commentary. Jack and Noah were locked into the game, their occasional murmurs about plays blending seamlessly into the background. The fire outside had gone out, leaving behind only the faint smell of smoke drifting through the back door that was still creaked open because everyone claimed it wasn’t them and now were too lazy to go close it. You couldn’t help but feel it mirrored the state of your relationship—burnt down to embers, uncertain if it could be reignited.

“Gonna share?” Trent’s whisper was low and soft, cutting through your thoughts. You looked up at him, his expression unreadable save for the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t meeting your eyes fully, instead keeping his gaze casual and tilted toward the TV, but you knew he was waiting for you. You didn’t say a word, simply moving the blanket to cover the both of you. It felt like a tentative truce, the weight of it heavy with unsaid words and fragile hope.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. Your body leaned into his, seeking comfort but still hesitant. His arm shifted, draping over your shoulders with calculated ease, as if to keep appearances for the others in the room. Yet, beneath the guise of nonchalance, his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns on your shoulder. “I made a mistake because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You know it’s only you. You know it’s always been you. You said it yourself…” Your words felt fragile as they hung between you, but you pressed on, desperate to make him understand. You tilted your head, brushing a featherlight kiss to his shoulder. The subtle gesture wasn’t missed—it made him exhale deeply, his posture softening as though a weight had lifted. His hand slid under the blanket, searching for yours. When his fingers finally found yours, he didn’t hesitate. His grip was firm, steady, and grounding, his thumb tracing slow circles against your knuckles. You didn’t care if they heard at this point, but you kept your words quiet just for him. “I’m sorry I haven’t shown you that,” you continued in a hushed tone, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. “That I haven’t acted like I’ve only ever been yours… because I am, I have been.” A tear slipped down your cheek, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. You felt his hand tighten around yours at the words, a silent acknowledgment that he’d heard you. He kept his gaze on the TV, his expression stoic as his other hand flexed on your shoulder. The world outside seemed to fade, the quiet hum of the game and the steady rhythm of your breathing cocooning you both in a fragile bubble. Trent didn’t speak, but his actions said enough. He wasn’t ready to forgive fully, and you didn’t expect him to. But the way he held you, the way his hand lingered in yours, and the subtle relaxation of his body against you told you one thing: he wasn’t giving up. For now, that would have to be enough as you let your eyes flutter closed, your exhaustion from the day catching up to you.

The room was cloaked in the dim glow of the TV, the late-night commentary muffled beneath the gentle hum of the world outside. Jack stretched, standing up from his spot, his movements quiet but deliberate. Layla had already disappeared to your room, and Noah was sprawled across the couch, fast asleep, his soft snores filling the silence. Jack’s gaze drifted to the two of you, curled up on the loveseat. You and Trent, fast asleep, nestled so comfortably close it looked almost innocent. Your head rested on Trent’s shoulder, his arm draped lazily over you, the blanket drawn up to your chins like you’d been caught mid-conversation and drifted off. Something about the scene tugged at Jack’s instincts, his brows furrowing slightly. He narrowed his eyes, lingering just long enough to feel a flicker of suspicion. But nothing seemed overtly wrong—just two people who’d clearly fallen asleep watching the game. Still, something didn’t sit right. Jack shook his head, chalking it up to exhaustion. He turned away, heading toward his room without another word. What he didn’t see, hidden beneath the blanket, hidden right under his nose, was the way Trent’s hand was wrapped securely around yours, fingers intertwined. Even in sleep, his grip was steadfast, as if silently vowing to hold on no matter what. Jack left it alone for now. But the questions in his mind were far from gone.

And finally the night of the awards came and it couldn’t have come at a more awkward time. Things were tense to say the least between you and Trent after the fight and the Man United game. And in an even more awkward twist Jack no longer had a conflict so he was home.  The living room was loud, buzzing with laughter and friendly chaos. Jack, Noah, and the rest of the group had taken over, sprawled across the sofas and armchairs, trading jabs and jokes. The scent of leftover pizza mingled with the faint cologne of too many boys packed into one space. The TV was on, but no one was really watching it; their attention was squarely on you as you descended the stairs in a Retrofête nude sheer maxi dress. [index ref] It was covered in all over sequins, with an opened back, and a feathered hem. You wanted Trent to like it but you felt shy in front of all of his friends and your brother with your figure on full display  You’d spent longer than you wanted to admit getting ready, smoothing every detail, unsure if you even had the right to look forward to the night. Things with Trent were still unresolved, the fight hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But you wanted tonight to be different. You needed it to be.

“Go on!  Someone’s looking lush for their date with Trentski!” Noah hollered from the couch, clapping loudly as the rest of the boys joined in, whistling and cheering like kids at a school assembly. 

“It’s not a date mate… I was supposed to go,” Jack muttered, shoving Noah on the sofa. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face.

 “Alright, calm down,” you muttered, smoothing your dress and pretending their attention didn’t make you self-conscious. You felt like you were going to a year eight dance under the eyes of the boys. “Jack, T’s gonna be here soon, okay?” you reminded him, ignoring the comment. Your voice was steady, but your stomach churned with anticipation.

“Yeah, he texted. Don’t embarrass yourself tonight, yeah?” he teased with a smirk, dodging your halfhearted swat as you passed by him. The sound of tires crunching in the driveway made your heart skip. You straightened instinctively, glancing towards the door as your palms grew damp. The boys, oblivious to your inner turmoil, kept laughing and joking, but the sound faded as you focused on the moment about to unfold. And then the door opened. Trent stepped in, looking sharp in his tailored suit, his presence commanding without him even trying. The room seemed to still for just a second, the energy shifting. You caught his gaze, and despite everything, the corner of his mouth tugged up in that familiar, cocky smile.

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Next part - Chapter 14 - Noah? xx