#and i know to her these endearments are just something casual enough to say to a complete stranger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alltheeya · 5 days ago

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Fluffy bunny || l.hs

genre: established relationship, fluff

word count: 1.8k

notes: endearment (heeseung calling the reader "angel"), enha members appearance

It was a regular day, and Heeseung found himself wandering around a mall after finishing his schedule early. As he strolled past a store window, something caught his eye—a display of plushies. Among the rows of stuffed animals, a particularly cute one stood out: a fluffy bunny with floppy ears and big round eyes.

Without thinking too much, Heeseung walked into the store and bought it. There was no special occasion, no grand reason—he just thought it was something you would like. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see your smile.

Later that evening, when they met up after their practices, Heeseung casually pulled the plushie out of his bag and handed it to you. “Here,” he said, his tone almost nonchalant, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I saw this and thought of you.”

You blinked at the plushie in his hands, your eyes widening with excitement. “Oh my gosh!” you squealed, taking it gently like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Hee, it’s so cute!”

You immediately hugged the bunny, your fingers squeezing it as you made tiny squeaky noises of delight. “It’s so soft! Look at its little ears!” you exclaimed, squishing its face with an adorable intensity that made Heeseung blink in surprise.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction. “You really like it that much?”

“Like it? I love it!” you said, holding the plushie up like it was a prized possession. you gave him the brightest smile, your eyes practically sparkling. “Thank you, Hee. This is the cutest thing ever.”

Heeseung felt a strange warmth in his chest, your reaction more than enough to make his random purchase worth it. He hadn’t expected you to be this happy over a simple plushie, but seeing you so excited made him silently note to himself: Buy her cute stuff more often.

As you continued gushing over the bunny and imagining what kind of “personality” it would have, Heeseung watched you with a soft smile. You looked so carefree and radiant, your happiness infectious. It was adorable, but Heeseung couldn’t help but feel a little left out.

“So,” he started, raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly, “You like the bunny more than me?”

You gasped dramatically, clutching the plushie tighter to your chest as if shielding it from Heeseung. “Heeseung! How could you say that?” you teased, feigning offense.

Heeseung smirked, leaning closer with a raised brow. “I’m just asking. You seem pretty attached already,” he said, nodding toward the bunny in your arms. “Do I need to be jealous?”

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Hmm… I don’t know,” you said, pretending to think. “This bunny doesn’t tease me as much as you do. It’s soft, it’s cute, and it’s very well-behaved.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes playfully, crossing his arms. “So, it's a competition now? Should I start being fluffier and cuter for you?”

You laughed, reaching out to poke his cheek. “You already are, Hee,” you said with a warm smile, pinching his cheek. “But the bunny is a close second.”

Heeseung let out a mock sigh of defeat, shaking his head. “We’ve spent months together and this bunny got 5 minutes and it’s already stealing you from me.”

You giggled and leaned forward, your free hand tugging gently on his sleeve. “You know you’re my favorite,” you said softly, your gaze meeting his.

“Even more than the bunny?” he asked, his voice teasing but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“Definitely,” you assured him with a playful wink. Then, you held up the plushie. “But don’t worry, you both have a special place in my heart.”

Heeseung chuckled, ruffling your hair lightly. “Good to know, Angel. But just so you remember, I’m the one who got you that bunny.”

“And I love you for it,” you replied with a grin, hugging the plushie and giving Heeseung a quick, cheeky side-eye.

Heeseung shook his head in mock exasperation, muttering under his breath, “I’m competing with a stuffed toy now.” But the fond smile tugging at his lips gave away just how much he adored you and your quirky reactions.

Heeseung chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. “Don’t you think it needs a name?”

You paused, your eyes narrowing in thought as you gazed at the plushie. “Hmm, you’re right. It does need a name…”

Before you could continue, Heeseung smirked, leaning in slightly. “It can be... I dunno... like our child?”

You blinked, caught off guard. You stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, nearly toppling over with the plushie still in your arms. “Our child?” you repeated, your tone incredulous but amused.

Heeseung shrugged nonchalantly, though the teasing glint in his eyes gave him away. “Why not? You’re already treating it like it’s real. Might as well make it official.”

You shook your head, still laughing as you looked down at the bunny. “Okay, Dad. If it’s our kid, then you get to help pick the name.”

“Hmm…” Heeseung tapped his chin dramatically, pretending to think hard. “How about... Fluffball?”

You groaned playfully. “Heeseung, no. That’s so basic!”

“Fine, fine,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You pick, Angel.”

You stared at the bunny for a moment, your lips pursed. “How about… Bunji?”

“Bunji?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! It’s cute, right? ” you said, tilting your head. “Like a little nickname. Bunji!”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that? But fine, Bunji it is.”

You grinned triumphantly, holding the bunny up like a trophy. “Welcome to the family, Bunji!”

Heeseung shook his head, watching you with a fond smile. “I still can’t believe I’m competing with a stuffed animal.”

“Competing? Don’t be silly,” you said, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “You’re the one who made me fall for Bunji in the first place. So technically, it’s all your fault.”

“Great,” Heeseung muttered, rolling his eyes with mock exasperation. But as you leaned your head against his shoulder, still clutching the bunny, he couldn’t help but think he’d gladly buy you a million more Bunji’s just to see you this happy again.

A few weeks pass by with you cuddling Bunji every night, often sending his picture to Heeseung as the two of you text ‘good night’. One day, you looked at Bunji with sad eyes. You and your friends are going on a trip for two weeks which means Bunji will be alone for a while. But then, an idea popped into your head…

You stood in front of Heeseung with Bunji cradled in your arms, your expression serious despite the soft plushie nestled against your chest. You two were in a quiet corner of the company building.

“It’s your turn to watch over Bunji,” you declared, holding out the bunny plushie toward Heeseung.

He blinked, staring at you and the plushie. “Wait, what?”

“I’m going on a trip, Hee. I won’t be home for two weeks,” you explained, your tone as if this were a matter of utmost importance. “Bunji can’t stay all alone, so it’s your responsibility to take care of him now. You’re the dad.”

Heeseung stared at you, then at Bunji, then back at you. “Angel, you do realize this is a plushie, right?”

Your eyes narrowed, and you placed Bunji into his hands, crossing your arms. “Excuse me, Bunji is part of our family. Don’t act like he’s just a plushie.”

Heeseung couldn’t help but laugh at how serious you were about it. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of Bunji while you’re gone. But… are there instructions or something? Does he have a bedtime?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… he doesn’t need a bedtime, but he does need cuddles, especially if you’re watching movies. Oh, and don’t leave him in random places, okay? He doesn’t like being forgotten.”

Heeseung grinned, playing along. “Got it. Cuddles during movies and no abandonment. Anything else?”

You leaned in, your expression softening. “Just… take care of him. It’s silly, I know, but Bunji kind of makes me feel like home. So… if he’s with you, it’s like I’m there, too.”

His teasing demeanor faded, replaced by something gentler. He nodded, holding Bunji a little closer. “Don’t worry, Angel. I’ll take good care of him.”

You beamed, clearly satisfied. “Good. I expect updates, by the way. Photos, videos—proof that Bunji’s okay.”

Heeseung laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’re unbelievable. But fine, you’ll get your updates. Bunji’s in good hands.”

As you left to prepare for your trip, Heeseung glanced down at Bunji in his hands. The bunny’s stitched smile seemed to mock him a little, but he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his own lips.

“Well, Bunji,” he said, placing the plushie on his couch. “Looks like it’s you and me for a while. Let’s make her proud, huh?”

When Heeseung brought Bunji back to the Enhypen dorms, it was safe to say that chaos ensued.

Heeseung strolled into the living room with the bunny plushie tucked under his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. Jungwon was the first to notice, his sharp eyes narrowing as he pointed dramatically.

“Hyung… what is that?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, holding up Bunji for everyone to see. “This is Bunji. Y/n asked me to take care of him while she's on a trip.”

Jay nearly choked on his water. “Wait, you’re babysitting a plushie?!”

“Yes,” Heeseung replied matter-of-factly, placing Bunji gently on the couch like he was tucking in a child. “She said Bunji’s part of the family.”

Jake leaned over, inspecting the plushie like it was some kind of rare artifact. “So… what exactly are you supposed to do with it?”

“Cuddles during movies, no abandonment, regular photo updates,” Heeseung recited like he’d been given a manual.

The room erupted in laughter.

“Hyung, are you seriously going along with this?” Sunoo asked, barely able to contain his giggles.

Heeseung shrugged, smoothing out Bunji’s ears. “Of course I am. It makes Y/n happy.”

The teasing didn’t stop there. Niki grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around Bunji like a swaddle. “Don’t worry, Bunji. Uncle Ni-ki’s got your back if Dad messes up.”

“Uncle Ni-ki?” Jay snorted. “Then what does that make the rest of us?”

“Godparents,” Jake chimed in without missing a beat.

Heeseung rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “Laugh all you want, but Bunji’s staying here, and you all better treat him with respect.”

Later that night, Heeseung sent you a picture of Bunji perched on the couch, surrounded by the members. Ni-ki was holding up a peace sign, Sunghoon looked begrudgingly amused, and Jake had the blanket still wrapped around the plushie. The caption read:

“Bunji’s safe and sound, surrounded by his ‘uncles.’”

You replied almost instantly:

“Aww you’re such a good dad, Hee. 🐰💗”

Despite the initial teasing, the members eventually warmed up to Bunji’s presence, even jokingly assigning him a spot on their couch. And whenever Heeseung caught sight of the little plushie, it reminded him of your beaming smile—and that made all the teasing worth it.

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yieldtotemptation · 3 months ago

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PROFESSIONAL ft. Bae

bae x male reader smut

8k words

For those keeping score at home, Bae Jinsol does appear to have the upper hand.

Not just because of who she is—the looks, the celebrity, the whole perfect package of it all; that's a dime a dozen in your line of work.

It’s how she haunts you.

The messages she leaves on your phone. The way she says your name.

The photos.

So, yeah. Despite the fact that you’re ostensibly just her personal trainer, and therefore, ipso facto, the ‘one in charge’; it’s becoming all too apparent that the balance of power in your relationship with Bae is, well, to put it simply, not exactly professional.

Which makes it no surprise that even though you’re at the gym a half-hour early; a black coffee in hand, ready to chase the one already running through your veins—she’s already there.

Stretched out like a cobra; hips to the ground, back arched, chest high.

Her reflection in the mirror greets you with a knowing smile.

Unsurprised. Unbothered.

Like she's been waiting for this—planned it all out. Down to the exact second that you’d walk in, discovering her in the centre of your private gym, splayed out in a pose chosen specifically to make you feel like you're intruding on something intimate.

Showing off the sharp planes of her abs, the muscles of her legs, the curve of her ass, and that dangerous strip of skin that makes you want to—

"Looks like I beat you again, sir."

You swallow. You somewhat regret giving her a personal key.

“Just getting warmed up.” Bae slithers out of the stretch, sinewy and fluid, turning over and around so she can properly face you; so she can properly present herself to you.

A glance—a gawk, really—has you rethinking your earlier assessment. Most of your clients are a dime a dozen. But Bae, looking at you, looking like that. Gorgeous, fit, unattainable yet somehow within your reach and daring you to do something about it—she’s a whole other currency.

She's been here for a while now, you can tell. Beads of sweat have started to slick her skin; over her brow, down her neck, pooling at the crevices of her collarbones. And the show she makes of wiping across her throat with the back of her hand, leaving a glossy sheen.

You ponder licking it off.

Long enough for her to catch you being unprofessional, again. To her credit, Bae just hums a note of amusement, gracious enough to let the moment pass as if it never even happened.

“You don’t need to do that,” you say, which could really be in reference to anything at this point. “We’ve got one hour. Warm-up included.”

“I know,” Bae answers, revisiting a long-standing argument, "But I like to be ready."

“Ready,” you echo, tasting the sound of the word on your own tongue.

“So that we can make the most of our time together,” She continues, twirling a peroxide-blonde curl around her finger, stirring up entirely inappropriate images of Bae, and her hair, and your hands, and oh God. "I only have you for one measly little hour, after all."

She lets the implication hang in the air, planting her flag (bright red, of course). It gives you an opportunity to take a long sip of your coffee; the burn from it sliding down your throat a welcome distraction.

You clear it with a cough.

"Well," you say, setting your mug aside and putting on the face of someone who isn’t severely compromised by Bae's casual, shameless attempts at whittling down your resolve. "Let’s not waste any of those precious minutes."

There's this grin on her face, as endearing as it is infuriating; and you can already hear the reply she’ll make before it comes, the way she’ll twist your honest words into lurid innuendo. Something with enough plausible deniability to keep it from crossing any lines of proper decorum you’ve tried to set, but pointed enough to blur them.

Something like—"Oh, I plan on making every second count."

You emphasise, “Exercising.”

Bae plays along, “What else would we be doing?”

More of this game, presumably.

The one you've been playing for the entire month you've known her, this routine you've established—you trying to keep things on track, do the job you’re actually being paid by her company to do; and Bae pushing back, pushing you as far as she can.

Trying, hoping, to inevitably bring you to that point where you break, where your veneer of professionalism finally slips away and you give her the type of workout she really wants.

You really should know better.

Should know to ignore the innocent requests to 'help stretch her out' or 'massage this cramp in her thigh'. Should know not to indulge the flirty banter; the 'oh, you're so much stronger than me', or worse yet, the blatant, 'but I bet you're not as flexible.'

You should have never let your hands linger, held her close when she asked you to correct her form, taken your time to navigate the curve of her hip, the small of her back, the slope of her legs.

Definitely should not have given her your personal number. Fuck, you should have blocked hers. Not read any messages, not even dreamed of replying. Not opened the photos, not fucking saved them and revisited them night after night after night.

(Because ultimately, the main party at fault is you.

After that first time, that first session; when you excused all the innuendo as coincidence, pretended the flirtations, the touching was just down to Bae being her normal, bubbly, extroverted self.

And then, when she convinced you to come into the shower because she just couldn’t seem to get the hot water to work, well—

Yeah.

Somewhere between making her moan your name and fucking her into the tile walls; you really, really should have known better.)

But today—today won’t be the day you give in.

The first time was a one-off, a fleeting lapse in judgment. Won't happen again.

You’re the trainer. She’s the client.

You have your clipboard, and your workout plan.

And Bae…

Bae’s biting her lip; blushing at you like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“So, how do you want me, sir?”

(Bent over, on top, pinned underneath, from behind—you could fill the whole session with your long list of answers; but none of those are on the clipboard.)

You fight the urge to laugh, or scream, or maybe just drop to your knees and surrender.

Instead, you reproach, “Bae.”

“Sir.”

Laying it on thick; the innocence, the arrogance, the knowing in those doe eyes. Something she said to you once rattles in your mind: "Everybody needs an outlet, don't you think?"

Bae swings her legs around, tucking them under her so she’s on her knees. She’s looking up at you, those wide eyes and that even wider smile, sizing up every inch of you through her long lashes.

"I know what you're doing," you try, but it's not enough. Knowing is only half the battle.

"You do?" Bae's playing coy, keeping her tone light and breezy. "And here I thought I was just trying to be a good student."

A finger on her thigh, to dance along the hem of her shorts, peel it back just slightly, only to let it snap back into place.

“Clock’s ticking.”

There's a correct response here, you think, one that keeps you both on the straight and narrow. Not that you get a chance to find it, because Bae's leaning forward, placing her hands behind her back, pushing out her chest and arching her spine just so.

Her top stretches over her, a sports bra that’s somehow both modest and obscenely revealing; clinging to her—she’s filling it out, her nipples poking through like two little darts, demanding your attention.

She tilts her head, smirks, and it hits you like a sucker punch.

That’s the pose.

You’ve seen it; it’s been seared into your brain. The centrepiece of a photo that she so casually sent you in the middle of the day, just to ‘get your opinion on her progress’.

(Only then, all she had on was her smile.)

A sigh, because you know—this is it.

The last exit off the highway, the last chance to say no, to keep things strictly above board and not let this get any more complicated than it already is. But you’re nearing a wreck on the side of the road, and you can’t help but want to stop and look.

Fuck it.

Fuck the clipboard, fuck the workout plan, fuck not giving in. You can always try (and fail) again the next session.

Bae reads your mind. "Time for some cardio, then?"

“Get up,” is your answer. (A command, a plea).

She’s quick to rise to her feet, smugness gone, and in its place shameless glee as she witnesses you crack and concede defeat in real time.

This is how you'll rationalise it:

There’s only one way to take back control of this situation. At her core, Bae’s an extremely simple person. She sees something she wants; she gets it. She’s a fire—all she does is burn hot, and the only way to keep her from turning your professional life to ash is to feed the flame.

Just enough to manage it.

You step closer, she takes a step back. You follow, each step, each sway of her hips a metronome set to a rhythm that says ‘yes’. She keeps backing up, leading you on until she’s seated on a bench. Placing her hands on her knees, pushing them apart, spreading her legs in a V; an open invitation to the space between.

You're not sure who's training who anymore.

Putting that thought aside—lines can be redrawn, boundaries reset. If you’re going to get some form of authority back, it’s not going to be with words. So, you do the only thing that makes sense in a moment that's lost all logic.

You lean down, take Bae by the chin, and you kiss her.

Something sounding like your name slips from Bae's lips as your tongues meet; as her hands find the back of your neck, pulling you in so she can lick into your mouth and get a taste of your morning.

Eager, greedy, demanding; full of all the pent-up need that’s been festering since that first encounter—when you had her creaming down your thighs and screaming your name. There's little tenderness to be found in the kisses, the licks, the nibbles that follow, you’re both too desperate for any kind of sweetness right now.

Bae’s hands are everywhere; peeling your shirt over your head, tracing the lines of your stomach, digging her nails into the meat of your shoulder. Your own hands are busy too—squeezing her thighs, cupping her ass, drifting up her skintight shorts in search of the heat that’s been keeping you awake at night.

"Took you long enough," she murmurs against your mouth, the words barely discernible but the triumph tinging them crystal clear.

An acknowledgment groaned against her lips, breaking away from the kiss to trail down her neck, licking away that spot you've had your eyes on the whole time. Tasting the salt of her sweat, the sweetness of her skin, revelling in the tang of the forbidden, the vanilla of the inevitable.

It’s some wonder, truly, of how a girl like her—all youthful glow and sharp edges, sculpted by both genetics and sheer force of will—wound up so utterly obsessed with you.

“Because of what you said when we first met,” Bae whispers in your ear, bites on the lobe, and you’re realising that maybe your thoughts haven’t been as silent as you assumed.

“Oh?” Is all you have to offer, because that memory is far gone, and your mind has far too little bandwidth to focus on anything that isn’t her wetness, seeping through the fabric of her shorts and staining your fingertips.

The dampness—it's a dead giveaway. Yet you still ghost a thumb over her, press down just to confirm, make her inhale, sharp. And sure enough, there it is. Or rather, there it isn't.

The audacity.

There's a giggle from Bae as she feels you discover her secret; that it's just her shorts that are keeping you from being knuckle deep inside of her, and nothing else.

Bae recites your words back to you, only from her lips they’re far more honeyed, sticky and sweet against your cheek. "You said that you'd—ah—that you’d push me."

She’s sighing, melting into you, hips slowly grinding against your fingers, so achingly close to begging. Turning up the heat, you let your other hand glide up her abs, feel the need radiating from her, the muscles tensing and rolling with every slight movement she makes.

You’re reaching for her sports bra when she finds her voice, continuing through gritted teeth, "You said that you wouldn't take it easy on me."

Her breath stutters as your thumb traces the bottom of her top, fingers digging beneath her bra line. With one swift tug, the fabric's pulled away from her body, yanked over head in a blur of motion, leaving her breasts bare and heaving before you.

They’re small, yes, but the curve, the fit, the weight of them in your hands—just right.

“You said that if I—ah fuck—”

You can’t resist, really, your lack of self-control has been well established. So, you kiss her chest, licking a path through the valley between her breasts, drinking in the sweat that pools there, that little reservoir of desire.

“You said that if I tried hard enough, I’d be—God, yes—I’d be rewarded.”

Words, simple instructions you’ve given to countless other clients, but Bae. Twisting them, hearing what she wants to hear, or maybe what you intended all along? (Who’s to say.)

“You weren’t lying, were you, sir?”

You don’t have a response—what is there to say now, anyway? Any words would just be noise, inconsequential compared to the symphony of gasps and groans playing out between you both.

There’s a dusky pink nipple just waiting for your touch, all swollen and sensitive. You don’t disappoint. It’s in your mouth, rolling between your tongue and teeth, pebbling under the attention. It’s so easy to get lost in them, in their taste and feel, in her hands threading into your hair, pulling you closer, as if you need the encouragement.

You’re indulging in her, yes, but right now, there’s little you wouldn’t do to make her keen. Your other hand doesn’t rest; fingers are at work, pressing down, circling her clit through the nylon, making her arch up into you. These touches, swipes over her stiffened nub; she's falling into you.

Needy little sounds spill from her mouth, sweet nothings and half-formed pleas; bad things, dirty thoughts that most would regret ever even thinking, but of course, Bae only has the best of intentions. You’ve got her right where she wants to be; where she needs to be, and fuck she just takes your breath away.

You look up at her, feel her, and the absurdity of it all is dawning on you. To think someone like Bae would ever need training.

She was already perfect the first time you met her.

The long, pale-white expanse of her legs, all toned muscle and elegance. Her ass, the tight curve of it, fuller, rounder than should be possible on a frame so dainty. Her stomach, her thighs, her arms, (God, did you already mention her abs?), every flawless fucking inch of her.

A work of art, meticulously crafted by some divine hand; there’s nothing to be done by mere mortals except worship.

Let it be known the irony is not lost on you, when you let her nipple slip from your mouth and relay your next instruction: “Get on your hands and knees.”

Bae doesn’t need to be told twice.

With grace that’s far too practiced to be interpreted as anything other than a deliberate tease, Bae swings her body around, shifting her weight until she's on all fours.

Standing before her, watching the muscles in her back flex, her ass peeking out from beneath the elastic of her shorts. They’ll be ripped off entirely in due time.

But first, a kiss for your troubles. Over your sweatpants, branding you through the cotton as hers.

“Finally,” she breathes, making you swell, throb under her gaze.

Fingers hook into your waistband, pulling down your pants with ease. Your cock springs free, slapping across her lips, leaving a wet streak on her gloss. It shines.

A giggle, a raise of her bleached brows—like it’s a surprise. Like she hasn’t been made intimately familiar with your length; felt it buried deep inside her, painting her walls, her throat, with your release.

The tip of her tongue peeks out, just enough to swipe across the slit, to scoop up the pre-cum beading out of it. You hiss through your teeth, hips jerk forward, but Bae’s too quick—draws back with a laugh. She’s enjoying this, this little game of hers. The brat and the trainer, the cat and the mouse, the idol and the grown man who’s supposed to have his shit together.

“Tease,” you groan, your hands finding her hair, tugging gently to remind her of her place.

“Sorry, sir. Couldn’t resist.”

A wink is all the warning you get, and she’s diving down.

No more preamble, no hesitation at all—Bae’s been waiting for this all fucking month, and she’s dead set on making up for lost time.

She’s taking you in, all of you, all at once; her mouth stretching wide to accommodate the girth. The feel of her, the wetness, the tears at the corners of those big, round eyes, and the question in them—'think you can handle this?'

Fuck.

She’s sloppy; so immediately, noisily sloppy.

Cheeks hollowing out, taking you deep, making your hips buck and collide with the back of her throat for that agonising split second before she retreats; only to do it again. Faster, harder; making you doubt the ability of your knees to hold out.

A fistful of her hair, if only to keep you upright.

She’s all over the place—popping your cock from her lips, kissing down your shaft, licking around the base, a cheeky graze of teeth along your balls, and then back again, swallowing you down until you can feel her nose nuzzling into your groin.

You’re a mess of sensations, pleasure coiling in your stomach, a knot inside you tightening with every wet sound she makes.

It’s her enthusiasm that does it, really. She’s not trying to be good at this, not trying to impress you with her skills. She’s just plain desperate for it.

Her moans vibrate through you, muffled by the thickness of your cock. She’s saying something, words that you can’t quite make out, that takes a moment to translate: "Needed this," she gasps around your length, "Missed it so much."

An admission: you’ve really fucking missed it too.

“This beautiful, beautiful cock,” Bae slurs, sliding your cock out of her throat to catch her breath, so she can take a break to wonder. “How many has it ruined, hm?” Her tongue flicks out, scooping the globs of saliva and pre-cum hanging from the head. “All those pretty little girls you train.”

There’s envy there, and you’re barely managing to groan out, assuage her, “Just you.”

“I find that so fucking hard to believe, sir.” Bae says, resting your cock on the edges of her cheeks. “Those tight cunts, those eager mouths and asses, and you're telling me—" she swipes her tongue along your shaft, leaving a wet trail in her wake "—that it's just me?"

Her voice, her fucking words; too, too much. It’s all you can do to not just grab her by the neck and fuck her face raw. (A dream for her, probably. To have you grab her throat and made her choke on you).

“Well, if you say so,” she’s unconvinced; not that it does anything to slow her down. Back at it, back at making her eyes water, at needing these panted, desperate gulps of air between mouthfuls of you.

The little things—her lips glued around your shaft, her throat a tight, warm fist, and her eyes. Looking up at you like she's afraid if she doesn't, if she stops moving and averts her gaze, you'll pull away.

As if.

“Bae, you’re so fucking good at this,” you’re blurting out, because she is. She really, really is.

Wet and filthy and so fucking delighted to let you know, “All for you, sir.”

And you believe it—she makes you believe it.

Everything’s for you, even when she’s not supposed to be. The sound of her, choking and gagging, the wet, slobbering noises of her devouring you, echoing off the empty gym walls.

The sight of it all; tearing your attention to a million different places. There’s the Bae in front of you, focused entirely on your cock, on letting you use her mouth like a toy, plunge your length deep down her throat to make her cry, to make her cheeks flush.

Then there’s the Bae in the mirror, the reflection bouncing off the polished chrome surface behind her. Her ass, rising and falling, in time with the bobbing of her head; and that soaked spot right at the centre of her shorts, the bullseye growing and growing with every second that passes.

Fucking amazing, incredible, too good, too much to handle; spilling out of your mouth as those pouty pink lips of hers slide up and down, drool pooling around your base, slipping down your thighs, a wet mess dripping onto your floor.

“And to think you wanted to stop this from happening,” she’s chiding, offended really, voice raspy with the effort of speaking around your cock.

There’s no argument to make, not when you’re too busy taking in the sight of your cock disappearing back into her mouth. She’s impatient now, not letting up, not even for air; just taking you in deep, deep, so deep she’s trying to swallow you whole.

You’re sliding down, down her throat, and she’s got you; this suction around you that holds you there and it’s a sheer miracle that haven't completely dissolved inside her. Your hips are thrusting forward of their own accord, your hand still in her hair, but not pulling anymore. Just holding on.

The world narrows down to just the two of you, the gym spins around you; the lights, the equipment, everything blurs into a sea of white noise, and all that remains is the wet sound of her mouth and the hotness of her throat, the fistfuls of her blonde hair, her eyes, these pretty drops of chocolate brown; and it’s all building and building and tightening and tightening, until—

"Stop."

It’s a pain to say, but necessary; if you still want a fighting chance to make it out of this with at least some of your dignity intact.

A gentle tug of her hair has your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pout; leaving the warmth of her lips for the sudden chill of the gym’s regulated air. Bae looks up at you, panting, lips swollen and shiny, drops of you smeared from your base to her chin.

“Something wrong?”

A pause until the room stops spinning, so you can collect yourself and wonder why you’re even here. “I need—" you start, but the words catch in your throat. What do you need? To not fuck your client? To try to keep your job? Or to hear her scream your name, have her beg and beg and beg, drill her into every surface possible—every bench, rack, wall, fuck even the elliptical if she’s game.

Coherence comes and goes, and Bae remains seated on her heels, supplying her own suggestions. “Need to stretch me out? Make me really sweat?”

"Still with that?"

"Tired of the wordplay?" She laughs, and you can't even be mad—you're the one who gave her the opening.

"What do you think?"

Bae takes her sweet time looking you up and down, greed in her gaze, as she takes in you; straining from the effort of holding back. From your chest, down your stomach, landing on your cock, still painfully standing at attention.

"I think," she says, drawing out that word, sliding it over her tongue like a piece of candy, "That I regret not asking you to send me any photos back."

That brings a smile to your face; and it’s enough to clear the fog from your head. You steel your resolve, give her the one thing she’s been craving, from the moment she saw you walk in:

A firm order: “Stand up. Take those shorts off before I rip them off myself.”

You give her room to lift herself off the bench, legs unfurling one at a time and stretching beneath her. She wiggles her hips in this dance as she kicks off her sneakers and shimmies out of her shorts; the nylon clinging to her skin before it’s peeled away to reveal… nothing.

Just her bare, naked flesh—pink and perfect.

Tearing away from her momentarily, from the living canvas of long legs and naked anticipation, ignoring the fucking twirl she does for you, because yeah, she’s fully, adorably aware of just how insanely, lights-out good she looks.

You turn to the bench, kick up the backrest from a flat to an incline; doing your best to pay no mind to Bae, waiting. Rather impatiently, bouncing restlessly on the balls of her feet. The teacher’s pet, so needy for a morsel of attention.

Back to her, unable to suppress the smirk spreading across your face as you take a seat. “Squats.”

Her face. The amusement, the excitement, the acknowledgment that you’re now completely on board with this derailment of a training session—it's all there, painted across Bae's features in glorious, full-colour high definition.

She takes a step forward, sauntering over, one hand sliding down to trace over her mound, to tease herself; tease you. And when she’s close enough, she swings her legs over your thighs, straddling your waist, taking hold of your shoulders and bracing herself against you.

Dripping already, cunt barely kissing the tip of your cock, the heat of it all; it’s a living, breathing entity in the room—thick, heavy, making the air feel charged.

And then, without another word, she sinks down.

A long, hot breath from Bae's mouth: “Fuuuck me.”

Slow, delicious torture has you groaning, has her biting down on her lip. The way she takes you in, the way you push into her, inch by inch—feeling every little twitch of her walls, every throb of your cock; it’s all just so fucking perfect.

“Good girl,” you find yourself saying when she bottoms out, when your cock completes her, turns her into something beautifully obscene.

“God, you’re just so,” she starts with, but the words get lost somewhere between the shallow gasps and harsh breaths that follows.

She’s staring at you, deep into you, and there’s this satisfied grin playing at the corners of her mouth that makes you want to do everything she hasn’t had the breath to ask for.

"Thank you," she manages instead.

And then she’s moving. Slowly, so goddamn slow, taking her time to feel every ridge, every vein; making sure she’s got you all to herself. Her chest heaves up and down, her tits bounce dangerously close to your lips. You spy past her, enamoured with her reflection, how her back flexes and tenses, how her spine curves with each descent, how her ass cheeks clench each time you fill her whole.

It’s these tight little squats, this wonderful rhythm she’s setting, these squeezes of her pussy around you, the juices of her cunt slapping against your thighs as she bounces.

“Creaming everywhere, so fucking messy.” You’re taking stock of her; of this mess she’s leaving, all over herself, all over you, all over the bench and down to the ground. You can’t even be mad because, “It’s a good look on you, Bae.”

From a distance she’d be the purest depiction of innocence; the sweetest angel, the kind that would be painted on stained glass and prayed to by the masses.

But here, up close, biting down on your shoulder, devouring your cock with her cunt, moaning in your ear things that would make the Old Testament blush; she’s fucking pornographic.

Yet, she says, “Sir, I can’t handle this—”

You pause, holding her by the hips, eliciting this whine from her lips. “Too much?”

“No, not that, it’s—ah. It’s too slow,” Bae whines, emphasising her point by slamming her hips down onto your thighs, the slap of skin on skin bouncing off the mirrored walls. “I need it fast. And hard. Like you said, I need to sweat. It’s there—I’m right fucking there—so, can we—fuck, can we just go?”

Bae, Bae, Bae.

She makes your blood sing and your cock throb.

Makes you give it to her, just like she asked.

Fingers dig into her hips, thumbs pressed into the softness of her flesh, and you lift her slightly, only to pull her right back down. Like she asked: fast, hard, and you’re thankful you shelled out extra for benches that could take punishment.

“God—” Bae cries out, high-pitched, a scream that has her shaking; not because you’re hurting her, there’s no pain to be found here. It’s all just bliss, pure, unbridled bliss.

So, you lean in, suck one of those pretty little peaks into your mouth, swirl your tongue around, and she’s jolting, her cunt clamping down on you, so tight, so fucking tight.

Every part of her, from the top of head to the tips of her toes, is tuned to this frequency of need. Her nipples, especially so; they’re so sensitive, so attuned to your every touch. They tighten to pebbles with the slightest swipe of your tongue, when your teeth dare to graze them—any pressure from your lips and she shivers.

"That’s—fuck—that’s so much better," she’s panting, “Isn’t it, isn’t it so fucking good?”

You rumble something of an affirmative into her chest, too occupied to bother with words, too busy mapping out her chest, her breasts, that lovely dip between, with your tongue and teeth and hands.

And you’re suddenly having trouble remembering, or forgetting altogether—what was it really that was stopping you from doing this sooner? What could possibly make missing out on this, missing out on Bae’s sighs and moans, missing out on the blistering heat of her cunt and the tightness wrapped around you worth it?

Sure, you had her (had each other) in the shower—slippery, steamy, illicit—but it had been so fleeting. Just a glimpse into what had been begging to happen since she first entered your domain, all smiles and sly glances.

Now that she's in your lap, taking your cock like such a good little slut, you can’t stop the images flooding your mind, feeding your imagination with every conceivable scenario.

Tasting every inch of her, exploring every crevice with your tongue, every peak and valley with your fingers. Spending hours just learning her. In due time, in due time; not now, when she’s riding you like she’s trying to break you—or at least, break the bench.

“This, exactly this,” Bae breathes into your neck, her nails raking over your shoulder blades, leaving these angry red crescents that burn and sting. “Fuck, fuck, I want it just like this—"

Getting more erratic, louder, closer.

So, you lean back, content to let her do all the work, watch her climb that peak. You could take all the time in the world, watch her waste away the very expensive fee you’re charging her company for your time. It’s what she wants, and isn’t that how it goes—the customer is always right?

"This is exactly what I want to do, exactly what we're going to do every session from now on," Bae’s instructing, voice a whip crack in the quiet of the gym. She’s getting braver with each moan that escapes, each grind of her hips that sends you deeper. "You’re going to fuck me, hard, rough, just like you fucking promised."

You can't help but laugh, the situation absurd, the words rolling off her tongue like she’s rehearsed them. "Every session, huh?"

"Every. Single. One," she confirms, her eyes fluttering shut as she starts to bounce faster, her pussy swallowing you up in a wet, delicious rhythm. “No more hiding, no more pretending. Just me, you, and this gym, as much as we need, whenever we want. Fuck, doesn't even have to be scheduled, I'll just call you and you better be here ready to fuck my brains out."

"Alright, Bae," you grit out, something inside you tightening at the thought of her calling you, begging for it like she is now, "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

It’s a contract, signed and sealed with the slickness of her cunt, the heat of your skin, the promise in her eyes that she’ll be good, so good for you—or at least, good enough to get more of this.

"But remember," you say, unlatching yourself from her tits, making sure to catch her eyes. "I don't do easy. You want this, you're going to work for it."

Bae bites her lips, “Yes. God yes.”

You correct her. “Yes, who?”

“Yes,” Bae grins, “sir.”

Something shifts; the dynamic swinging for the first time in your direction, and it’s clear now. Clear to you, to her, that from now on as long as you’re taking her—pushing her—to that precipice, you’re the one calling the shots.

So, you guide her, guide her hips with your hands; setting a new pace. One that’s demanding, borderline violent, that has her chanting—“yes, yes, yes”—the syllables falling from her lips like sweet little prayers to some depraved deity.

She’s coming apart, leaving herself so vulnerable and bare, like she'd just die on top of you if you didn't stop fucking her back to life. It’s so, so painfully lovely, you’re seeing the most beautifully crafted sculpture crumble into dust. You’re in awe of her. You’re in—

Fuck you might be falling for her.

That’s a revelation to keep tucked safely away, because you couldn’t think of a less appropriate time for confessions. No, now’s the time for grunts and groans, for the sound of her wetness and the smack of her ass colliding with your thighs.

"Am I good for you?" Bae mewls, "Am I good for you, sir?"

She’s so, so good. So fucking good that your answer is a knee-jerk reaction. “Fucking incredible, Bae. Such a good slut. Getting fucked like this, used. Taking it so fucking nicely.”

Red colours her cheeks as they flush at the praise, a silent plea for more. And so you give it to her, pushing harder, faster, showering her with these gems of depravity that only someone like Bae could bring to the surface.

“You’re just loving this, aren’t you? Getting so close. So desperate to give it to me,” you’re taunting, feeling her walls closing in around you, feeling her body coiling up tight. “It’s okay, let go. You can let go.”

So close to the edge she’s practically dancing on it. She’s fighting it, fighting against the wave, her cunt spasming around you, her breaths hitching and coming in these sweet desperate little pants.

You can taste it; she just needs that extra push, that hard fucking to bring her there. A demand: “Cum. Cum for me now, Bae. Show me how good you can be, show me how much you want this.”

And finally, a gasp, “Say my name. Call me by my name, please.”

A hand at the back of her neck, bringing her ear to her lips, so you can whisper the name you’re fucking her hard enough to forget. “Jinsol.”

It’s fucking immediate.

The words leave your mouth, and she shatters. Fine china thrown against a brick wall.

Waves of it hitting her, a shudder at first, then a fucking tsunami; ripping through her, stealing away any last semblance of bodily autonomy she might’ve had left and leaving her as a puddle of trembles and shivers and pure need.

You keep pumping, calling her every dirty name in your book—whore, slut, your little toy, your good girl, just Jinsol—again and again until all she knows is your voice.

Each name you give her, it’s a spark that sends her higher, makes her cum harder, and she just goes and goes and goes.

"Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuuuck," Bae whimpers, eyes squeezed shut so tightly you can see the veins pulsing at her temples. And you keep going, you keep pushing her, because you can't get enough of this—of her, of the power she's given you, of the way she's so obviously yours in this moment.

You want to mark this occasion, leave a sign that it was real, that you really did fuck her to oblivion. It has you kissing into her neck, sucking at the pale flesh, biting down just hard enough to make her whine.

"You're mine," you burn into her, in that nook between her neck and shoulder. "You're all mine."

Ragged huffs signal the end of it, the come down from the high—but you’re hardly done with her. You can’t be—not when you’re still this hard, not when she’s still so fucking wet around you, not when you’re feeling like this, like you could drown in her without ever needing to come up for air.

"So good, so fucking good.” She collapses, her body folds into yours, and she’s giggling, all breathless and boneless.

Of course she’d be like this, over the fucking moon. She’s got what she wanted, what she needed; made you promise to keep giving it to her whenever she wanted.

She reaches for you, fingers trace the line of your job, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, smudging a bit of her own gloss there. "I knew you’d be perfect," is what she says, right before she kisses you, "Perfect for this."

The tangling of your tongues, the taste of mint and sweat, and the smiles you’re sharing against each other’s lips when you flex your cock inside her.

“I’m not done yet,” you remind her, pulling back from her kiss, pulling your bottom lip out from her teeth. “Far from it.”

“Not going to let me catch my breath?” Bae teases, acting like this isn't entirely her fault. Like she wasn't the one that pushed you this far, that dug underneath all your layers of professionalism and responsibility until she found someone that could match her appetite.

“No.”

You’re up, pushing yourself up to your feet, keeping her impaled on you, fucking her up into the air and forcing her to wrap her legs around your waist.

And then, with a strength fuelled by lust and want and a need to just fucking cum in this slut; you drop her on her feet, spin her around, and plant her hands against the mirror.

No warning, no easing her in; she’s still so wet, cunt slick and slippery. Just slide back in, slam into her from behind, watch her come apart.

It’s all in front of you, all playing out across her pretty reflection: her face twists, her tits jiggle, her abs, God how they tighten and release all at once.

Taking back a handful of her hair, yanking her head back to claim her neck; all these sweet things—"watch yourself get fucked, Bae, look how pretty you are for me.”

And she laughs, she actually laughs, because it’s all she can do when you’re gripping her hair so tight, scraping your teeth across her neck, making her feel you all thick and hard inside of her.

A hard buck of your hips sends her forward, presses her cheek to the mirror, staining the glass with the heat of her breath.

“Look,” you demand, “look how perfect you are taking my cock like this.”

She obeys; staring at herself in the mirror, watching herself get fucked, get filled, get taken. It’s just too much. She’s too much. You’re too much. This whole fucking situation is just too much.

"Fuck it's so—you're fucking me so—"

"Didn’t you say you could take it?"

Bae's response is a whine, a clench of her cunt around you. "I can, I can take it, sir," she gasps. "Whatever you have for me. But you're just too..."

You lean in, eager to hear her confession. "Too what?"

"Too much! Too big, too good, too everything."

A fucking compliment and a challenge all rolled into one. "Is that so?"

"Y-Yes—I’m just so—just need you to—please fucking cum," she groans, barely audible over the wet sounds of your bodies slapping together. "Do whatever you want to it, to me, to my pussy, please, just please, please, please."

You're breaking her, turning her into this teary mess of moans and whimpers, tapping into something innate inside her, something that wants to be bent to your will, to be used by you, to be treated like the slut she craves to be in this moment.

And fuck, it’s addictive.

"You're going to scream my name.” You’re telling her, telling her how the rest of this situation, how the rest of your entire relationship is going to play out. "You're going to cum all over my cock again, and then you're going to tell me how much you love it."

"I will, sir," she nods furiously to you, to herself in the mirror, "I'll do anything you say."

You just can't wipe the grin off your face.

Thrusting into her, fucking her like you've never fucked anyone before. Like you own her, like she's nothing more than your toy to play with—to use and abuse and enjoy.

She’s screaming your name—no, not your name—“sir, sir, sir, fuck me, sir”—and—“more, sir, please, pretty please.”

More for her—a hard smack to her ass that makes her jump, makes her eyes water. But it also has her push back against you, fucking you back, more frantic than ever. A second smack cracking through the gym, and already there’s red blooming on her skin, marring the perfect pale flesh.

"Sir, please," she cries out, her voice high and tight. "More, more, more."

You oblige, your hand coming down again and again, painting her ass with the sting of your palm. Each smack has her pussy clenching around you, her lips begging for more.

"I love this," she admits, shakily. "I love it."

You slap her again, and again, and again—each hit punctuating her moans. "Say it," you demand. "Say it louder."

"I love it, sir," she cries, the filthy fucking admission bouncing off the walls. "I love it, I love it, I love it!"

Her orgasm builds again, her body tightening around you, a vice. The tension in the air is suffocating, you’re fucking in for it now, dooming yourself to this delicious cycle of sin with every thrust.

Bae, your Bae, all pure white and angry red now, the beauty still standing despite your best efforts to bring it to ruin.

She's there, and you're done waiting.

"Now."

It's that fucking easy.

That's what you think as you watch Bae unravel all over again, all over you; slipping into that sweet, sweet oblivion that you’ve coaxed out of her.

"God, sir, fuck!"

Hammering into her, fucking her apart; through the pain, through the ruinous pleasure, pressing her up against the mirror, squishing her tits into the cold glass.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, sir, fucking me so good, making such a mess, you’re—" But that sentence dies before it even can get started, and all that tumbles out of her mouth is, “fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck—”

She’s fucking gone.

Bae crumbles against the mirror, and you fall into her, keeping your body glued to her back. The clenching, the shivering, the twitches and the gasps; the patchwork of bruises and bites and crimson you’ve left all over her.

You follow.

Something dark, a guttural grunt, and you pull out of her, this sloshing noise from her cunt as you do.

Without your cock Bae just falls to the ground, bracing herself against the wall while she gathers herself—twists her body into something beautiful.

Before you can even process what she’s doing, what’s happening at your feet, she’s in position; that pose again. And you realise what it was: the kneeling, the hands behind the back, the tits out, mouth wide open, tongue waiting.

A preview. A promise. An invitation.

“Sir, your cum, if you please—"

A sledgehammer to your fucking soul—that's what it feels like when you finish.

One, two, three pumps of your cock and your vision goes white, like someone's shone a fucking flashlight right into your eyes, and the only thing you have left is the intense, throbbing release all over Bae.

Ropes of it spurt from your cock, painting her face with thick, white streaks. There’s more sirs, more thank yous and pleases and fucks, (you swear you catch a daddy in there as it hits her); but she doesn't flinch—no, she opens her mouth wider, needy for every drop.

The first shot hits her square in the forehead, sliding down the bridge of her nose and into the waiting cavern of her mouth.

Another shot goes wide, spattering across that dark freckle on her cheek. Another hits her chin, another ruins her hair, the last sprays over her tits; all these shots just covering her, turning this fucking idol into your personal cumslut.

“God, yes, sir,” she slurs through the cum, earning every single drop, “I’m just covered in it. So, fucking much. It’s so good.”

A stumble back on your feet, a step away to assess the damage as you slowly stop pumping your cock. Bae on her knees before you, just drenched with your cum. Bae your client, if she still can be called that anymore.

What else could she be? Your lover, your sub, your obsession, your… what? You’re not quite sure what to call it, call her, other than a big fucking mess.

But, as you watch her happily lick your cum off her own skin, you can’t resist giving a final instruction. “Swallow.”

“Yes, sir.”

You are so, so fucked.

Bae, sweet and obedient, takes her finger, scooping up every trace of you from her cheek, her tits, all along the ridges of her abs. All this hot, hot white you’ve expended on her, marked and branded her with.

It all happens in slow motion; she laps it up, paints it over her lips, pushes it into her mouth. Sticking out her tongue, presenting it to you in one big sticky glob, making sure you're seeing nothing but her be such a good girl for you.

And down her throat it goes.

"Good enough, sir?"

You lean down, wipe the last drop off her temple with your thumb. She opens her mouth, helps you push it in, sucks on it greedily as if it’s the last taste of you she’ll ever get.

There’s a thought to give her more, to fill her mouth until she’s addicted to your flavour. But you don’t—not yet.

You must save some things for later.

Bae’s content to stay there, kneeling, cheek resting your thigh, utterly cum-drenched; fingers idly dancing along your softening cock, toying with the last few drops of cum that still cling to your shaft.

You break the silence with a sigh. “Guess I should get used to this, huh?”

Bae sings, “Every single session.”

“Christ.”

That draws a chuckle from her, and you shoot her a warning look as she dares to kiss your cock once more. “Care to show me how the shower works again?”

You roll your eyes.

“I mean, only if we have the time.”

At this point, you’d give her your every waking hour if you could. A glance at the digital clock on the wall has you guesstimating—"It'll be a squeeze."

Bae, never to miss an opportunity, “Isn’t that how you like me?”

“I thought we were going to stop with the wordplay."

"Can't help it, sir." Bae's arms snake around your leg, sidling just that inch closer. "You just bring it out of me."

"Ah, so it's my fault."

"Of course. This whole thing is your fault," she tells you, donning the expression of a saint; all wide-eyes and sweet smiles. "You just had to make me yours."

"Mine?"

"From now on, yes."

“In that case—” You bend down, lifting Bae up, hoisting her up in your arms as easily as any other weight in the gym. She giggles into your neck, her body fitting into yours like you've been doing this for years. The warmth of her, the press of her breasts into your chest, her legs looping around your waist—it’s all so natural. “While we still have some time left.”

“Before your next client?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, like she isn't prying, isn't trying to make a home for herself in the remaining hours of your day.

“Sullyoon.”

“Oh,” Bae says once, processing, and then again, “Ohhh.”

You blink, trying to keep up with wherever her mind is racing to next. “What?”

The smile that widens on her face is going to haunt you, you can tell. “Oh, nothing,” she says, but she’s got a secret she’s just dying to share.

But she won’t, not yet.

Bae’s fingers trace a pattern down the centre of your chest, playing over your sternum, circling your navel, and then—there’s that smugness again—heading south. “I was just thinking I might stick around for your next session.”

It’s a declaration, not a question. The way she says it, so casual, so flippant, it’s like she’s talking about sticking around to watch a movie, not grossly overstepping even more lines before you get a chance to redraw them.

And then you're back at square one.

“Just to make sure you and her keep things strictly professional."

#kpop smut #bae smut #nmixx smut #male reader

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mitsouya · 9 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃

including michael kaiser, rin itoshi, and reo mikage with fem!reader

he sits beside you on the couch, engrossed in the random shows on tv. you, on the other hand, are busy reserving a table for your date at the new restaurant downtown. the sheer delight in your voice makes him glad he succeeded in emptying his tightly packed schedule for you.

[saturday night at 7 is available. would that be okay?]

a bright smile adorns your face upon hearing the employee's query. securing a table feels fortunate; it's not always easy on weekends, after all.

"alright, let me ask my husband first," you say to the phone and raising your eyebrows in silent expectation, demanding for his response.

⌗MICHAEL — the second that word comes off your lips, best believe michael is already grinning like an idiot.

him, your husband? seriously?

he never thinks too deeply about marriage—though he does want to tie the knot with you when the time's right—but he loves how endearing it sounds when you call him that. there's a mischievous glint in his sapphire eyes before he moves closer to your body.

"her husband says yes."

being the menace he is, he announces directly to the speaker, loud and clear, earning soft giggles from you.

"do you hear me? her husband—"

you cut him off and quickly apologize to the poor employee, all while suppressing the laugh that threatened to spill out of your mouth. he will tease you about this for the rest of the evening, and you will spend hours caged between his tattooed arms, listening to him yapping about his dream wedding. not that you complained.

⌗RIN — convinces himself he maintained his facade well, but the subtle dusting of red on his cheeks betrays him. he's unable to focus on the tv screen because did you really refer to him like that without warning?

realizing you're still waiting for his answer, rin fakes a cough to even his tone and mutters, "fine," loud enough for the employee on the other side to hear.

immediately shoots you a questioning glare after you hang up. he tries to act unaffected (which he fails miserably) and asks, "what was that?"

"what was what?" you playfully hum.

"you did that on purpose."

"i don't know what you're talking about, baby."

the slight pout on his lips amuses you more than you want to admit. he hides his burning face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something you can't pinpoint.

when you chuckle at his sudden clinginess, he looks up to you with those big, sparkling round eyes that remind you of his younger self. he's going to wife you up someday.

⌗REO — you know damn well reo's sickeningly in love with you, and somehow you think it's okay to casually address him as ‘my husband’? are you trying to make him explode?

the tv show is long forgotten and he's all over you in an instant, giving you a bone-crushing hug along with a sweet, dopey smile that you adore so much. you can whine and say it's just a prank, but it's too late to take it back. he already envisions the whole wedding thing.

"whatever my wifey wants," he speaks to the phone, all giddy and lovestruck. "rent the entire restaurant if you want, wifey. or buy it. or don't. actually, i'll just build you one."

before his rambling causes the employee even more confusion, you shut him up with a kiss and proceed to finish the reservation.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #michael kaiser x reader #itoshi rin x reader #mikage reo x reader #kaiser x reader #rin x reader #reo x reader

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kurikive · 7 months ago

Text

CASUAL | danielle marsh.

— "is it casual now?"

6thmember!reader, situationship/fwb but nothing sexual, angst, fluff at the end i promise, dani swears, reader is a (closeted) lesbian, reader is horrible at reading people, written in 2nd person, they work it out on the remix

warnings : A LOT of internalized homophobia !! reader refers to herself multiple times as a predator but it's just from fear and insecurity, nothing actually predatory is happening in the story. extremely brief mentions of starvation

wc: 5.4k words

inspired by: Casual — Chappell Roan

you and danielle marsh are friends. more than co-workers, you're friends. although you don't have that much in common except for your age, it was easy to adapt to the harsh environment of the k-pop industry's training system with someone like danielle by your side.

she's always been a ray of sunshine in everyone's lives, you're not the exception. if you were in a bad mood, tired from waking up in the early morning everyday, worked to the point of exhaustion, danielle would be there rubbing your shoulders and saying something sweet like

"you're doing great, y/n! keep up!"

and then you'd smile at her, and she'd smile back, and you'd feel so much better, thanks to danielle.

you didn't have many interests in common. music taste, fashion sense, movie picks, food preferences, personality types, if anything you were almost her complete opposite. and yet, she sat in your bed every night while you scrolled on your phone, talking for hours until it the clock hits midnight and she goes back to her room.

danielle did most of the talking, and you carefully listened to everything she said. the enthusiasm in which she enunciated all her words was endearing to listen to, and it couldn't not bring a smile out of you. the girl never forgot to give you your chance to speak too, trying to get to know you better everyday.

there was one thing she could not know, however. that you're a lesbian.

if it was hard enough being gay in korea, it was ten times harder when you were about to debut in a girl group, in one of the biggest companies in the industry at the moment nonetheless.

there were times where the members would all gather and have girl talks, talking about things like movies, celebrity crushes, past boyfriends and all that stuff, and you felt left out every single time.

sometimes it's more a curse than a blessing that danielle notices everything, because when she asks, "who's your celebrity crush, y/n?", "what do you look for in a boy, y/n?", "have you ever had a boyfriend, y/n?", you never know how you're supposed to respond.

it wasn't safe. it'll never be safe.

you've known the girls for almost a year and there has never been an indication of the way they felt about the LGBTQ+ community. hanni was your safest bet, she seemed the most open minded, but then again you can never be sure.

they were all so painfully straight.

so you try your best to answer vaguely,

"i don't know.", "i'm not sure, i don't really think about that." they complain a little about your mysteriousness, but it doesn't take long for them to let it go and move on.

you don't know how long you have to keep pretending you're not sure. you are sure.

you like girls.

you don't want to keep pretending you don't. but how would they feel?.

they'd feel unsafe, uncomfortable, scared, exposed to a threat, a possibility of being prey to a predator, a little voice in your head tells you.

but you're not. you're not a predator. they know you're not a predator. you'd never do anything to hurt them, or make them uncomfortable.

so you keep pretending. but the shell is starting to crack, and a knot in your throat gets tighter everytime you hear your members ask "is he your type?".

your debut is only a couple months away. you pray to god hanni has noticed by now. she's your roommate after all.

you start playing some specific songs without your headphones in hopes she walks by or enters the room and notices. you hope she's the one that asks. but she doesn't, she never mentions the songs, ever.

so you move on to movies and shows.

when she catches you watching heartbreak high in the living room TV, she only says "oh they're aussies, right?"

when she sees you watching heartstopper on your phone while eating dinner she just says, "kit connor is soooo handsome."

she doesn't mention it when she goes into your room and you're playing but i'm a cheerleader on your laptop. but hanni has caught on.

and the next time she goes into your shared room, she closes the door behind her. you're in your bed, and you're staring at each other, both of your eyes shine with nervousness.

"can i ask you something?" she says from the door, so shakily you start fearing she's not going to take it like you wish she would.

"sure." you didn't mean for your voice to come out as quiet as it did.

it's a nerve-wracking couple of seconds watching hanni take a seat in her own bed and face you. she takes a big breath before asking, "do you- no, sorry. are you... gay?"

yes, yes, yes. i am a lesbian. i like girls. you want to scream, but the realization of reality strangles you and your throat feels so tight, and you can't say anything.

"it's not like there's anything wrong about it, i'm just... asking." she tries. you can tell she's trying. it's sweet that she's trying.

"yes." it's a struggle to get it out, and your heart starts racing, but just being able to feels like such a relief that you might start crying. but then fear washes down on you again when you can't read hanni, at all.

"i'm really sorry, hanni. i promise i'm not weird or predatory or anything, i would never try to make you uncomfortable and i'm sorry if i ever did. i promise i don't like you like that, not that you're not attractive or anything, that's not what i mean at all. i just- i would never like you like that, you're like my sister and i promise that i'm still the same y/n you met, i really hope this doesn't change anything in our-" she cuts off your rambled apology-slash-explanation with a hug.

"it doesn't. i promise." it hits you now, just now, that hanni knows. she knows.

"please don't tell the others." you're choked up, and that's the only thing you could say before the tears in your eyes caught up. i don't know how they'll take it, you want to say, but the only thing that comes out is a broken sob.

"i won't. it's okay, y/n."

you've grown closer to hanni than you'd ever thought you would. you spend your nights in your room talking and laughing and watching funny videos you send each other.

it's been a few months since you've debuted and you couldn't be happier. you had someone to rely on, someone who knows all your secrets and can trust her with them, and vice versa.

your career has skyrocketed and your popularity is through the roof, and although there are always negative consequences that come with that fame, it's been mostly great on your end.

danielle doesn't really hang out in your room to talk anymore. if you're honest, you kind of miss it, but she surely has her reasons, and you don't think too much about it.

you're currently in one of the vocal practice rooms at HYBE, setting up your phone to do a phoning live. you'd just finish your vocal practice and you had asked for permission beforehand.

after a few minutes of talking with your fans, recommending movies and talking about food, you hear a knock on your door. quite strange.

"yeah? who is it?" you yell loud enough to no cause any ruckus. the door slightly opens and a face peeks inside, "it's me!" danielle's signature smile shining brightly at you, "i saw you were live and wanted to come hang out."

you didn't even need to tell her anything before she was coming right inside the room to grab a chair and sit beside you. "well, come hang out then!" you face your screen to see danielle struggling to bring the chair closer to you, and you chuckle a bit. "dani's here, guys!"

danielle has always been very touchy; with everyone, that is. today was not the exception, resting her head on your shoulder, holding your hand and locking your fingers together, nuzzling her face in your neck, it's all things you're already used to.

it's never been more than just friendly showcases of affection, to you, at least. and you've also never been irritated by it, but there's some guilt you try to suppress.

you don't want to push her away, you're not uncomfortable with her actions, what is uncomfortable is her potentially finding out your sexuality and thinking you let her shower you with affection for your own amusement. you fear it. but you don't want to think about that right now.

you think about it again, however, when you go back home and open social media only to see videos and threads with thousands of likes and views compiling every sweet moment of affection that happened just mere hours ago.

there's a pang in your chest when you see the tens of delusional comments talking of how much they'd like to see you and your friend as a couple. it feels like you're being strangled, and you suddenly feel unwell, so you close the app and turn off your phone.

"i should watch a movie."

you fully believe your debut was your prime. everyday gets harder, scandal after scandal, comeback after comeback, day after day. you work really hard, your members know, your fans know. but it never looks like it's going to get easier.

you win awards, win some more, get another important deal, shoot another session, write another song, the cycle repeats although not in the same order. like a fucked up loop. you're so fucking tired.

you wonder how hyein is holding up. you care a lot for her, like your little sister. she seems okay, eating a bowl of yogurt and fruits in the living room with haerin and hanni. are you the only one having a hard time?

you need to relieve your stress, and there's really no other option other than going to the gym to work out. so you go back to your room to lazily change into your practice clothes and grab your backpack, "i'm going to the gym." you try your best to sound at least a little enthusiastic as you walk behind the living room couch.

"when are you coming back?" you hear danielle ask from the kitchen, a twinge of concern in her voice. "it might start raining soon."

"i won't take long. if i see it starts to get cloudy i'll get going." you try to put her worries at ease. your gym doesn't have windows, though.

you shouldn't have gone. you're not even supposed to go anyway. it's raining hard, and it might start storming soon. but your manager can't know you're here. one of the many downsides of being in a group with four minors and two barely-adults, you can't call any of them to pick you up. so fuck it, you're taking the public transportation.

kind of extremely risky considering you are literally in newjeans, but okay. what else is there to do? what you failed to consider is the only bus stop being about five blocks away. and the bus doesn't drop you off even remotely close to the dorms. so you're gonna be running in the rain and, fuck it again, you do just that.

the first five blocks to the bus stop weren't that bad, you didn't get soaked like you imagined, blocking most raindrops with your backpack over your head. you really should've just brought an umbrella, though.

good thing you brought a mask, at least. nobody seemed to recognize you on the bus. you take a seat as close as possible to the exit and take out your phone to hurriedly text the group chat.

i got a bit caught up, im omw

domt worry 2 much

ill b there soon :))

minji responds with a thumbs up, hanni leaves an "idiot" that gets a like reaction by haerin. you see danielle write and then stop writing about 3 times, but she ends up not sending anything at all, so you just turn off your phone and look outside for your stop.

it only takes a couple minutes of waiting to see the silhouette of your dorm building. you get off your seat and wait for the bus to halt at the next stop to get off. it's raining a bit harder, but there's nothing you can do except wing it.

and when you get off, you immediately put your backpack on top of your head and start running as fast as you could towards your dorm. you get some looks, but no one can possibly be able to recognize you, not at the speed you're going.

after a few minutes, your legs start getting tired not only from running, but all the exercise you did hours earlier. another thing you failed to consider in this mediocre, careless plan.

but you're almost there. and you're almost not soaked.

by the time you reach your building the only thing about you that isn't wet is your scalp. you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, it's probably one of your members, but you're almost there, you can't pick up.

you enter the gates of the apartment, and you're probably going to make a mess on the floor on the elevator, but your legs can't take it anymore, and you thank any god that hears your prayers when the elevator doors open and it's empty. you can't take more embarrassment right now.

the doors open once again and you try not to make much noise as you run towards your dorm. someone inside must've heard you fumbling with your keys because as soon as you find the right one the door is already open, a concerned danielle with a just as worried minji behind her. you smile at the sight of them. "hello!"

"get your ass inside!" you hear hanni shout from the couch.

you're drying your hair in your room after taking a shower and explaining the situation to your group members. just as you're about to turn on your phone to see what time it is you hear a knock on your door, "can i come in?" it's danielle.

"yup. come on in!" you answer a lot more energized than a couple hours before. danielle's not wearing her usual bright smile, but rather a more worried expression. "y/n, can we talk?"

you're confused. you've never heard or seen her like this before. she's obviously been worried before, she cares about you just as much as the others, but this time it's different. "yeah, what's up?" you try your best to respond calmly and tap a stop in the bed beside yourself, which danielle gladly takes.

"are you okay?" she asks as she settles down at your side. what?

"what do you mean?" you don't notice it but you start fidgeting with your own fingers. danielle notices.

"it's just," she tries looking somewhere else, but she can't help the need of looking into your eyes all the time, looking for some sort of sign, some crack, "i can tell you're stressed. you're tired and... if you need to talk i just want you to know that i'm here." her eyes are dripping honey and her hand is so warm when she grabs yours.

you show her a sluggish smile, "thanks, dani. i appreciate that." when you look back, her face is already finding it's way to the crook of your neck. "i'm just a little tired of everything. it really feels like i'm doing the same things all over again. i know we've achieved a lot as a group but i feel like i have nothing going on for myself." you sigh, danielle says nothing, urging you to continue.

"all the songs i pitch get turned down, my other drafts feel too personal to release as a group song. every song i write with the group in mind feels, i don't know, empty?"

your eyes unfocus as a wave of emptiness washes over you and the only thing you feel is a water droplet from your bangs fall and travel down your temples. and also the warmth shared by danielle's hand in yours.

"i just feel like nothing's going on in my life." you feel danielle's head leave your shoulder and you turn to look at each other at the same time, "i think i know how you feel." she says with the sweetest eyes ever.

"thanks for listening, dani." you smile at her, but it feels so strange when she doesn't smile back. she just stares, right through you. her eyes are so pretty; you've always known but this is the first time you've looked at them directly for so long (there's really nothing else for you to look at when she's so close to your face).

oh, yeah. in a sudden moment you were inches apart. you don't remember moving so it must've been danielle.

you don't really understand what's going on. maybe this is an eye contact battle and you're not supposed to blink. and you think for a moment you had it easy because suddenly danielle's pretty eyes are nowhere to be found and you're staring at her eyelids and long eyelashes instead.

before your brain even thinks of giving you the chance to mutter "i win!" in a silly manner, you feel your own lips getting shut. covered, enveloped by another set of softness.

oh. this is not what you expected at all.

what are you even supposed to do right now? well, pull away, obviously. but that could could give danielle the impression that you hate everything about this and, really, that's not true at all. it's good. well, not good, but- danielle is not horrible at kissing.

what even is happening, anyway? i mean, you're kissing. but what else? nothing feels like it's moving; it feels like time's stopped. there also hasn't been anything that has lead up to this happening.

so you're just left there, paralyzed, in shock, waiting until danielle pulls away. just waiting until she's done with you. until she's satisfied.

and it's until danielle notices that you're not moving that she realizes what she's done. she pulls away, shaken and distraught.

"y/n, i am so sorry. i don't know what came over me, i am so so so sorry. i really didn't mean to do that. please forgive me, y/n, i am really so sorry." at this point, danielle's voice starts to break. "i don't know why i did that, it's just, i don't know, you just looked good a-and we were just close and-"

"it's okay, dani. i know."

"no, y/n, i really am sorry. i-"

"dani, i swear it's fine." you grab her shoulder to reassure her, but is anything really fine right now? "i..." you don't really know what to say next. "i don't, like, hate you or anything. i understand things like that happen. i'm not mad at you."

"really?" you've never seen her tear up so fast. you definitely didn't expect her to tear up at this. but you know the feeling of guilt so well you can't help but feel sympathy for her. "are you sure? i promise it won't happen again."

"i'm sure, dani. you could never do anything to make me hate you."

you smile at her, she sniffles. it's the last thing you hear before you hear the sound of her wristwatch's seconds ticking. you don't really know what's going through her head. you count about 34 ticks.

"did you hate it?" her voice isn't weak, but it is lower than you normally expect it to be.

you're stunned, but the way she looks at you so earnestly, with a hint of nervousness in her eyes forces you to answer within seconds, "n-no! dani, i didn't... hate it. it was just unexpected. i didn't really process it at first." it's the truth, but it feels so gut-wrenching to say.

another 20 ticks of quiet.

"can i do it again?"

hello? hello? what is going on? hello?

"i-i mean, if you want to." it sounds more like a question than a proper answer. and danielle takes it anyway.

you don't have any romantic feelings for danielle, that's for sure. she's said she doesn't have any feelings for you either. that's established. and yet when hanni is too caught up watching movies in the living room with minji and hyein, danielle is always there, sitting in your bed.

sometime's it's just little pecks while you cuddle and watch something she doesn't care much about. sometime's she's on the verge of kissing the living shit out of you.

it's never more than that. none of you let it be more than that. it's more than okay.

it's comfortable. it's casual.

and yet, every time it happens, you feel guilt eat at your stomach.

because danielle doesn't know. and she can't know.

it's not like this was your idea in the first place, it was danielle's. but the fact that you let her do it anyway could be predatory enough for her to feel unsafe if she ever did find out. even if she's the one who caused this all.

and never once do you think about yourself while it happens. it's not a moment for you, it's a moment for danielle to take. and you're okay with that. as long as she's okay with it.

you're okay with many things just because danielle is okay with them.

if danielle wants to watch a romcom, you watch a romcom. if danielle wants to eat plain yogurt, you eat plain yogurt. if danielle wants to kiss you, you let her kiss you.

it's not that big of a deal if there are no feelings involved. it's just a matter of believing that that's actually true.

you let her do whatever she wants because you're scared to do the taking. because taking feels like stealing, and doing feels like attacking. and you're so scared to hurt danielle that you forget you can also hurt yourself.

but if it's so casual, why doesn't she let go of your hand? why does she call you pretty everyday? why does she look at you with those pretty eyes like you're her whole world?

was the "i love you" she said yesterday something she meant as platonic love? is there such a thing as casual love?

was it just the sound of the raindrops on your window that made you hallucinate the sound of a love confession?

you don't eat anything for the rest of the day.

minji and hyein are visiting their parents. hanni and haerin are out of the country. and you're in the dorm kitchen trying to figure out how blurred the lines are while you mix the milk into your tea.

you feel your heart drop when you hear the sound of footsteps of the line-blurrer herself over the sounds of light rain. it hasn't stopped since the day before.

you don't want to feel anything right now, you don't want to hear anything right now.

she wraps her arms around your waist and says, "good morning." with that big bright smile on her face. at one point it started hurting when she did, but you don't remember when.

she smells like the candles you burnt in your room two days after hanni left. you were trying to get rid of danielle's scent from your room, but you couldn't tell her that, so you just said you were trying something new.

danielle notices you say nothing back, and your eyes are nowhere in particular. "watchu thinkin' about?" her always cheery tone gets you out of your trance, and she notices when you stop stirring the spoon in your cup. you're still silent for a bit, but she lets you take your time.

"i don't think we should do this anymore, danielle."

you tense up when her arms leave your waist, but it feels oddly freeing. you don't turn back to face her.

"what do you mean?"

"are we still casual?"

there's disbelief in danielle's voice when she speaks, "what are you talking about? of course we are!" but she sounds dishonest, in a way.

"really?" that's when you turn around, her eyes are wide and her cheeks are quite flushed but nothing about her seems guilty at all, "because saying "i love you" doesn't seem quite casual to me."

she scoffs, "y/n, i tell all my friends i love them. it's a normal thing!"

"i'd agree with you if we weren't kissing on the low. it's a little too much on top of that."

"i don't know what you think casual means but-"

"what i mean is we should stop before the lines start to blur, that's if they haven't already." you don't want to yell at her. you hope she understands before you have to raise your voice. "we are public figures, famous figures. if this goes wrong we can't go back and that could potentially ruin everything, not only for us but for our group."

"well, it can't go wrong if there's no feelings involved, can it?" danielle is usually playfully sassy, but she's never responded to you like this before.

"we're human, danielle. feelings can't be stopped." you're not too good at reading people, but you can see something has clicked in danielle's brain.

"what i'm getting is that you developed feelings for me while we were casual, is that right?" she seems so sure and confident that it annoys you. it frustrates you. and you want to cry.

"no, that's not what i said. but i am scared of it happening, and i want this to stop before it has the chance to."

"well, you should've thought of that before you said yes." you never really did.

"why are you upset, anyways?"

"b-because!" her voice gets louder, "i just wanted this to be casual, and now your telling me you're scared of catching feelings, it's just weird. that's all."

you sigh, "listen, i don't want this to end on a bad note. i just-"

"well, i don't want this to end at all!"

it takes you a minute to believe what you're hearing.

"a-are you hearing yourself?" it's shocking, it really is, "this is crazy, why are you being so selfish right now?"

"because it feels good! okay?!" danielle has completely let go of the loose strings of morality she was holding on to, "it fucking feels good, a-and you make me feel good. i like it when we kiss, and i like it when we cuddle and, and, i just like it, okay?!" that's the first time you've heard danielle curse in your entire life.

"okay, well, i'm glad you did. but i don't. i don't feel good at all." it's so scary and risky because you're two seconds away from telling her the truth, and this could potentially damage both your careers irreversibly, but you can't think of any lie or excuse that is true enough to keep hiding it.

"i drown in guilt every time we kiss and i feel like i'm choking when you look at me these days."

you've never seen her look so confused, like she really doesn't understand you. because she never had to.

"why?"

"i am a lesbian, danielle." you can't shatter, not now. "and it kills me because you'll never understand how hard it is to hide like this for so long. and yes, we hide this casual thing from our members, but after this is over you don't have to hide anything at all and i still have to hide everything."

she says nothing. her eyes soften, but you can't read them. not like you ever could.

"i didn't catch feelings for you, but i could, and you're not helping out. and you don't have to worry about that. you don't have to worry about your members being disgusted at you for something you can't change. you don't have to pretend. you don't have to be scared that you're making someone uncomfortable by simply existing beside them. i had to pretend i didn't care when you kissed me, i had to pretend to be okay when you kissed me again. i've been pretending to be okay with so much i don't know what being okay is anymore."

danielle still says nothing.

"but that's all gone to shit now, hasn't it?" your voice can't break now, but it does anyway, even when your not done speaking. "i can't be okay with everything. i can't be casual about everything, danielle. not anymore." there's a hot tear running down your cheek, but you try to hold yourself together.

"i never want to hurt you, ever, danielle. but i am seriously hurting myself. i am eating myself from inside out. there's nothing casual about that."

"i think i might be in love with you." is the first thing she says in minutes. and that's when you shatter completely. you turn around to leave your mug of now cold tea on the counter and you rest your elbows on it to hide your face in your hands.

"do you think that helps?" you're sobbing.

"i'm sorry. i know it doesn't. i just had a moment of realization and i think that's why i was so upset. i didn't want you to end this because i was in love with you since the start and didn't realize."

"this is fucking crazy." it really is, that's why you can't hold down the laugh of complete astonishment that leaves your lips. "do you realize how crazy this is? i just came out to you and you're- i don't even want to think about this."

"i'm really sorry, y/n." it's the first time you see guilt in danielle's face in a long time. "i really am. i really didn't know, i- i didn't know anything at all."

"you were upset of me potentially having feelings for you when it was you the whole time, huh?" this is no time or place to make jokes, you're literally crying as you speak. but this is hilarious. danielle seems to think so too given she also laughs.

"i don't know what i was thinking." she says, hiding her face in her palm in embarrassment.

"i wish i knew too." you say, "i never do."

"so what now? i mean, you clearly don't like me back." you don't understand how danielle does it. she never looks away, she faces the truth, something you're unable to do easily.

"that's a good question, i actually never thought about that." i mean, you thought the possibility of danielle ever liking a woman, let alone you, was at a mere 0.1%, can you blame yourself for not thinking of a solution to this?

"i mean, you did say you could."

"selfish asshole." you mutter to yourself, but danielle hears it anyways. "hey!"

"i'm crying right in front of you out of fear and frustration, have some respect, dude."

"i would say it wouldn't hurt to try but it clearly does so i don't know what you want to do." wow, danielle really could never do anything to make you hate her. nothing at all. "i don't mind being the selfless one this time."

"cheesy." she's always been like that, you can't say you hate it. "i'll reheat my tea and think about it."

danielle waits for you. maybe it wouldn't be so bad to risk falling in love with her too. you've risked it once.

the microwave beeps and you take your mug out. it's hot again. you turn to face danielle and she's still there, hasn't moved an inch. "i'm willing to give it a try. but nothing casual."

she shines you the widest grin you've ever seen from her. "nothing was ever casual, i fear."

"i still can't believe you cursed." you say as you walk past her to go to your room (that probably smells like danielle's perfume again).

"i did?!" she trails behind you. you nod. "i almost jumped."

"hey, am i the first one to know?"

"what, that i'm a lesbian?" she nods, now beside you. you shake your head after a sip of your tea.

"hanni knew."

"i'm not even the first? fuck..." is she doing this on purpose... she has to be, right?

"dude? hello?"

"don't dude me, i'm your future girlfriend." she hits your arm as you walk into your room. you don't know what you're gonna say to hanni when she comes back.

"confident much? shut up and pick a movie to watch." you'll figure it out later.

end.

🗒️ this wasn't as long as i thought it was gonna be THANK GOD

#newjeans x reader #danielle x reader #danielle marsh x reader #danielle angst #newjeans angst

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p0orbaby · 6 months ago

Text

It Might Be More of an Obsession

summary: feeding your child in public stirs feelings inside of alexia she didn’t realise she had

warnings: SMUT 18+, breastfeeding kink, breast milk, stap on use, fingering, breast play, top!alexia, sub!dom, not proofread

a/n: this is… something. it’s an acquired taste so i don’t blame you for skipping past this if the themes aren’t your thing

word count: 1.9k

“Ella está a punto de llorar”

You turn your head, pausing your conversation with Frido to find Mapi holding your daughter at arm’s length over the table.

“Jesús María, ella no es una bomba,” Alexia exclaims, reaching out to save her kid from being dropped into a vat of paella.

“Pass her here, Ale. She’s just hungry”

You can’t blame her. Outings with the team are an event even for you these days, let alone a four-month-old who is the center of attention at every gathering. She’s an easy child, patient, and calm. But even the most mellow of souls needs a food break.

Alexia stands, cradling your daughter as she wriggles animatedly in her arms. “Shall I warm up a bottle?”

You shake your head. “I’ll feed her. It’s not too busy here and the girls won’t mind.”

Alexia gives you a nod, admiration shining in her eyes as she hands your daughter over to you. Finding a comfortable position, you settle into your chair and begin to feed her.

The conversation around the table continues, but you catch a few of the girls sneaking curious glances in your direction. It’s clear they’re all trying to act casual, but some are more subtle than others. Like a group of teenagers sneaking glances at their teacher’s cleavage, except, you know, less creepy and more endearing.

“Oye, Alexia,” Patri teases, nudging her captain with a playful grin, “put your tongue back in your mouth, vale”

Alexia rolls her eyes, but you can see a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Shut up. I’m just making sure they’re both okay.” This, of course, is said with the dignity of a queen who has just been told she’s got spinach in her teeth.

Ona joins in, unable to resist a little ribbing. “Right, because that’s why you’re looking at your wife’s chest like you’ve never seen boobs before. Maybe you should take notes for when it’s your turn, eh?”

Alexia chuckles, trying to brush off the teasing. “When it’s my turn, I’ll be a natural. No need for notes”

“Don’t give her any ideas,” you interject, smiling as you switch your daughter to the other breast. “I’ve already got one Putellas rinsing me dry, I don’t need another”

The house is quiet, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere of the team gathering. The baby is finally asleep in her crib, and the two of you tiptoe out of the nursery. You close the door softly, turning to find Alexia already watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

She doesn’t say anything, just takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom. Her touch is gentle but insistent, a silent promise of what’s to come. The door clicks shut behind you, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alexia,” you murmur, but she’s already moving, her hands on your waist, pulling you close.

“Shh,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear.

Her lips find yours, the kiss deep and hungry. You can feel the restraint she’s been holding onto slipping away. Her hands roam your body, urgent, demanding. She breaks the kiss, her eyes dark with desire.

“Take off your clothes,” she commands, her voice low and rough in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

You comply, heart pounding in your chest. Alexia watches, her gaze never leaving your body. When you’re finally naked before her, she steps closer, her hands finding your breasts, cupping them with a reverence that makes your knees weak.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. “I can’t get enough of you”

Her mouth follows her hands, lips and tongue teasing. You gasp, your body arching into her touch. She’s relentless, her need for you suffocating, almost overwhelming.

“Lie down,” she orders, and you do, your body moving without even thinking. Not that you have the ability to do that now anyway, your brain is shrouded in fog.

She climbs over you, her eyes locked on yours as she lowers her head to your breasts again. She nips at the flesh, then takes your nipple between her teeth, and you moan, your hands clutching at the sheets. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingers finding you wet and ready.

“Please, Alexia,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

She looks up at you, her eyes blazing. “You like that, don’t you? Watching me watch you. Knowing how much I want you”

“Yes,” you breathe, the word a plea.

Her fingers thrust into you, hard and fast, her mouth still working your breast. The feeling of her hand and her mouth together is almost too much, your body straining towards release. She’s rough, dominant, taking you with a fierceness that leaves you breathless.

Her mouth moves to your other breast, her tongue flicking over your nipple before giving it the same treatment as the last. The sting sends jolts of pleasure through you, making you cry out. She pulls back for a moment, her eyes meeting yours with a possessive heat that has you melting.

“You’re mine,” she growls, her fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “Say it”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, your body tensing, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

“Good girl,” she purrs, her thumb rubbing your clit in tight, precise circles.Your breath catches in your throat. Alexia’s fingers are persistent, driving you closer and closer to the edge. She knows exactly what you need before you even do, and she’s giving it to you with an intensity that leaves you trembling.

Without warning, she withdraws her hand, leaving you panting and on the verge of begging. She stands up, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches into the bedside drawer. The familiar rustling reaches your ears, and you watch from under hooded lids as she fastens the strap around her hips. The sight of her, so confident and in control, sends a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core.

“Turn over,” she commands, her voice firm.

You obey, albeit on shaky limbs. The anticipation is almost unbearable as you feel her position herself behind you. Her hands glide over your hips, guiding you to where she wants you. The tip of the strap presses against your entrance, and you can feel her hesitation, the slight pause as she ensures you’re ready.

“Ale, please,” you plead, your voice gravelly, strained.

She doesn’t need to be told twice. With a slow, steady thrust, she fills you completely, her hips meeting your ass. You moan, the feeling of being taken so fully, so deeply, nearly overwhelming.

“¿Es esto lo que querías?” she asks, her voice a low growl. “To be fucked like this?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the sheets.

She begins to move, her thrusts slow and deliberate at first, allowing you to adjust to the fullness. But it doesn’t take long for her pace to quicken, the need in her movements undeniable. She’s unabated, her thrusts hard and deep, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure all the way down to your toes and back again.

You can hear her breathing, harsh and ragged, as she fucks you with a single-minded intensity. Her hands grip your hips, holding you in place as she drives into you over and over. The sound of your bodies coming together fills the room, mingling with your moans and her low grunts.

“Tell me how it feels,” she demands, her voice tight with restraint.

“Amazing,” you manage to gasp. “So good, Alexia. Please, don’t stop”

Her response is a sharp push that makes you cry out. She leans over you, her lips brushing against your ear. “I won’t stop until you come for me”

Her hand snakes around your body, finding your clit again and rubbing it in sync with her movements. It’s almost too much to bear, pushing you closer and closer to oblivion.

“Come for me,” she whispers, her voice a dark command. “Quiero sentir como te corres”

With a final, desperate drive, she sends you tumbling. Your orgasm crashes through you, a tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you shaking and winded. She holds you tight, her movements slowing but never stopping, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure you could possibly give her.

Finally, she pulls out, her hands gentle as she helps you turn onto your back. She leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the fierceness of earlier replaced by a tender intimacy.

But she’s not done. Not yet.

She repositions herself, between you open legs. The look in her eyes is predatory, and you know she’s far from finished with you. She adjusts the strap, aligning it at your entrance once more, and presses in with renewed vigor. Your overstimulated body quakes under the assault of pleasure and pain, and your moans turn to cries of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

“You like that?” she growls, her rhythm punishing. “You want more?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you beg, your voice raw with need.

Her hands grip your breasts, squeezing hard as she continues to fuck you with abandon. Your vision blurs, your body teetering on the brink of another orgasm.

“Come again,” she commands, her voice dripping with dominance. “I want to feel you shatter around me”

Her thumb finds your clit once more, rubbing it with ruthless precision. Everything is alight as you fall over the edge again, your body convulsing as another powerful orgasm rips through you. You scream her name, your voice hoarse, as you come harder than you ever have before.

As you lay there, breathless and trembling, Alexia’s eyes darken with a new kind of hunger. She leans down, her mouth hovering over your breast. “I want to taste you,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire.

Before you can respond, her lips close around your nipple, her tongue flicking over it with practiced skill. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the intensity of your recent orgasms. She sucks harder, her mouth working with an insistent hunger. You can feel the milk let down, a warm trickle that she eagerly laps up, her moans of satisfaction vibrating against your skin.

“Oh God, Alexia,” you breathe, the mix of pleasure and the intimate act sending shivers down your spine.

She switches to your other breast, her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, her hand still playing between your legs. The sight of her, so completely lost in her need for you, is almost too much to bear. She drinks from you like she can’t get enough, her mouth greedy and relentless.

“Do you like this?” she whispers between licks and sucks. “Knowing how much I need you, how much I want every part of you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, your body arching into her touch. “God, yes.”

Her fingers thrust into you again, matching the rhythm of her mouth on your breast. The pleasure is overwhelming, a heady mix of physical and emotional intensity that leaves you trembling and gasping.

“One more time,” she commands, her voice a dark, velvety whisper. “I know you can give one more”

Her mouth on your breast and her fingers inside you, the feel of her breath on your skin. She’s perfected everything, and you're seeing stars for the third time. You come with a shuddering cry, your body convulsing around her fingers, the pleasure blinding in its intensity. Tears roll down your cheeks

Alexia continues to suck gently, drawing out the last waves of your orgasm until you’re a quivering, breathless mess. Finally, she pulls away, her eyes filled with a satisfied, predatory gleam.

“Perfect,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing tenderly over your flushed skin. “Absolutely perfect”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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callsigns-haze · 4 months ago

Text

Moody Booty

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin sulks after losing a bowling game to his girlfriend, Y/N, but she quickly cheers him up by challenging him to pool, knowing he'll win and lighten up.

Word count: 1.1k

Warning: Mild competitiveness, brief sulking, and playful teasing.

Jake Seresin was a man who loved a challenge. Whether in the cockpit, in a bar, or in a game, he hated to lose. His call sign, Hangman, wasn’t just a name—it was a promise that he’d never leave anyone hanging. But tonight, under the fluorescent lights of the bowling alley, he was losing. And that, for Jake, was the worst possible outcome.

The bowling alley was buzzing with the hum of casual competition. Lanes filled with the clatter of rolling balls and crashing pins, and the sharp bursts of laughter from groups around them. Y/N, standing beside Jake, was holding a bright, neon-coloured ball in her hands. She smirked at him as she lined up for her shot.

“You ready for this, Seresin?” she teased, knowing full well that she was beating him by at least 30 points.

Jake leaned back against the scoring table, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with that sharp, cocky grin he wore like a second skin. But there was something beneath it—something tense. The way his jaw clenched when she knocked over another strike wasn’t subtle. Y/N knew him too well.

“I’m always ready, darlin’,” he drawled, even though the score didn’t lie. He was down—way down.

Y/N turned and flashed him a grin, eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and triumph. She knew she was good at bowling, but Jake? Jake always thought he could master anything. And tonight, he was realizing that wasn’t always the case.

By the time the tenth frame rolled around, it was clear. Y/N had won. She threw her hands up in mock celebration, twirling around to face Jake, who hadn’t said much after her last couple of strikes.

“That’s game!” she announced, but Jake’s expression didn’t change. He was still grinning, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes anymore.

Y/N bit back a smile.

She knew that look.

Jake hated losing—hated it more than anything. And when he did lose, he tended to sulk. Not openly, never making a scene, but he’d go quiet, his confidence dented just enough to affect his mood. Tonight was no different.

He didn’t say a word as they walked out of the alley, his hand firmly in hers, but she could feel the tension radiating from him like a storm brewing. He didn’t pout, didn’t snap—but he didn’t talk either. The air between them was thick with the unspoken truth that Y/N had, against all odds, beaten the unbeatable Jake Seresin.

“Jake?” Y/N asked as they slid into his truck.

“Hmm?” he grunted, eyes fixed straight ahead as he turned the key in the ignition.

“You’re not mad, are you?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“I’m fine,” he said, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.

Y/N rolled her eyes. She’d been through this enough times to know how Jake worked. When it came to anything competitive, especially when she was involved, he always took it hard if he didn’t come out on top. It was something that could have been frustrating if it weren’t for how endearing it was. For someone who was usually so self-assured, Jake’s moments of vulnerability, even when they were over something as silly as a bowling game, were rare and almost charming.

“I beat you, Jake,” she teased, knowing it would only needle him further. “I kicked your butt. Admit it.”

“Congrats,” he muttered, still not looking at her.

She grinned, biting her lip to keep from laughing. It was too easy. She reached over and placed her hand on his thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“You know what?” she said, her tone light and playful. “How about we head to the bar? We’ll play a couple of rounds of pool.”

At that, Jake finally looked at her, his eyebrows raising in curiosity. He knew what she was doing—pool was his game. She was offering him a way to restore his pride, to get back to what he was good at.

Y/N smiled sweetly, knowing she had him hooked. “Come on, I’ll let you win.”

Jake’s grin finally returned in full force, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark. “You’ll let me win?” he repeated, the arrogance creeping back into his voice.

“Well,” she drawled, “I figure you could use a little victory after that brutal defeat.”

Jake snorted and shook his head, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Y/N gave him a wink. “Only because I am.”

He chuckled, the sound finally breaking the silence that had settled over him after his loss. He reached over, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Alright, darlin’. You’re on.”

They drove toward the local dive bar, where the pool tables were always free and the beer cheap. When they walked inside, the low murmur of conversation greeted them, along with the familiar clinking of billiard balls. Jake immediately moved to one of the tables, grabbing a cue and twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease.

Y/N knew he was back in his element. Pool was Jake’s game, and he was damn good at it. She let him break, watching as he effortlessly sank two balls on the first shot. He straightened up, flashing her a look that was pure Hangman—smug, confident, completely in control.

“You’re gonna regret bringing me here,” he said, lining up his next shot.

Y/N laughed, leaning against the edge of the table, her arms crossed over her chest. “I just want to see you happy, babe. And if it takes letting you destroy me in pool, then so be it.”

He shot her a smirk, sinking another ball. “I’m not letting you do anything. I’m gonna win this fair and square.”

And just like that, the mood between them shifted. The competitiveness was still there, but it was lighter now, wrapped in the comfort of familiarity. Jake was winning, yes, but Y/N didn’t care. Seeing him relaxed, the tension from earlier completely gone, made the game worth it.

As Jake lined up for the final shot, he glanced at her, his eyes softening. “You know I hate losing, right?”

Y/N smiled. “I know.”

He sank the eight-ball with a satisfying crack and then stood, giving her a triumphant look. “But I don’t mind as much when I’m with you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, moving toward him. “You’re such a sap, Jake.”

“Only for you, darlin’,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

And with that, the loss at the bowling alley was forgotten, replaced by the easy comfort of a victory Jake was more than happy to enjoy—with her by his side.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #jake hangman fic #hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #hangman imagine

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m4rv3l-girl · 2 months ago

Text

Saying Something Stupid

Bucky x Y/N

Sometimes things just slip out…

Requests Open!

Warnings: None. Just fluff!

The soft hum of a tune filtered through the compound’s kitchen, mingling with the gentle sizzle of something sweet in a pan.

The hour was early, most of the team still tucked away in their rooms, leaving the vast halls and polished countertops empty save for one person: Y/N. The floor was bathed in warm sunlight, casting long, golden shadows as she worked. And Bucky, who had only come down for a cold beer, paused just outside the kitchen at the sound of her voice.

She was singing softly to herself, her back to him as she swayed in time with the song. He recognized it immediately—a tune from the ‘40s that always brought a bittersweet twinge to his heart. Her voice was soft, but rich with emotion, and she sang with a quiet confidence that left him breathless.

“Don't let this parting upset you I'll not forget you, sweetheart…”

Bucky swallowed hard. It had been years since he’d heard someone sing that song, and something about hearing it here, in the compound kitchen, with Y/N at the stove, made his chest feel heavy and warm.

He didn’t dare move, just leaned his shoulder against the doorway, watching as she flipped something in the pan, still singing.

The lyrics carried him back to old dance halls and sun-dappled parks, to nights spent singing and dancing with friends who had been gone for longer than he cared to remember. But here, now, he felt something new—a warmth that filled in the cracks in his heart, a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years. Y/N was here, and her voice was bringing back all the good things about his past without the shadows. She brought only light.

It wasn’t until she turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel, that she saw him there. Bucky grinned sheepishly as her eyes widened in surprise.

“Bucky! How long have you been standing there?” she asked, a flush coloring her cheeks. The music fell silent as she turned off the burner, setting her utensil aside to focus on him. Her voice still held that warmth, that energy, but now there was something new: a spark of embarrassment that Bucky found incredibly endearing.

He shrugged, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Long enough to enjoy the show, Doll.”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head, but Bucky could see the delight in her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I mean it,” he said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “That was... really somethin’.” He paused, searching for the right words. “You’ve got a beautiful voice, Kitten. I haven’t heard someone sing like that in a long time.”

Her smile softened, and she ducked her head. “It’s just a song,” she murmured, but there was a glint in her eye that told him she knew it was more.

Bucky looked at her, wondering if she knew what her singing did to him, how it lifted the shadows he often found himself lost in. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Not to me,” he said, voice dropping low, almost reverent. He could see her gaze flicker, a shiver running through her as she looked at him, something unspoken passing between them.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat, “if you’d told me you were here, I could’ve given you a proper performance.”

He chuckled, the low rumble filling the space between them. “Wouldn’t want to distract you while you’re cookin’. Smells amazing, by the way.”

Her eyes lit up. “I had a craving for pancakes,” she said, a little too quickly, like she wanted to cover the silence that had grown between them. “Blueberry, to be specific. Want some?”

“Wouldn’t say no,” he replied, leaning back against the counter, his arms folding casually across his chest as he watched her return to the stove. She worked quickly, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over her—her face set in concentration, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the little smile she wore when she thought he wasn’t looking.

It was moments like these that Bucky cherished. They didn’t come often, but when they did, he held onto them, savoring every detail. She filled the spaces in his life that had once felt empty, brightening the corners of his mind that had been shrouded in darkness for so long. And in this light, he found a feeling he hadn’t dared to name until now.

As she plated the pancakes and turned to him, holding out a plate with a grin, the words slipped out before he could catch them.

“Thank you, darling. I love you.”

The words hung in the air, and Bucky’s heart stopped as he realized what he’d just said. He hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even thought it, really—it had just slipped out, as natural as breathing, like it was something he’d been saying for years.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly in surprise, the plate of pancakes momentarily forgotten in her hands. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—hope, maybe, mixed with a wonder that made his stomach flip.

He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I, that…was stupid..uh, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” she interrupted, a soft smile growing on her lips. “I can tell when you mean it, Bucky.”

The warmth in her voice, the tenderness in her eyes, made him feel as if his heart might burst. He swallowed, searching her face for any sign of uncertainty, but all he found was love—love for him, unspoken but unmistakable.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did mean it.”

She stepped closer, setting the plate on the counter beside them, her gaze never leaving his. Her hand reached out, brushing his cheek with a touch so gentle it felt like a promise. “I love you too, Bucky. Always have.”

Those words, so simple, so honest, hit him harder than any battle he’d ever fought. All the walls he’d built, all the fears he’d carried, melted away in an instant. For the first time, he felt truly seen, truly known. And in that moment, he knew he was home.

He reached up, taking her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re my whole world, Doll. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling as she laced her fingers through his. “By singing in kitchens at seven in the morning, apparently.”

He chuckled, pulling her close, her warmth grounding him in a way that felt like magic. “Guess I’ll have to start waking up early more often,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into her hair.

“Please don’t,” she teased, her voice muffled against his chest. “You’re terrible in the mornings.”

He laughed, the sound deep and free, and held her tighter, knowing he’d never let her go.

——————————————————————————————————

Enjoy the fluffiness? 🤭

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #marvel

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ginnsbaker · 8 months ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (13/?)

Part Summary: “I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it. Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.900+ | Warnings: Some angst | Author's note: I think there will be just 2-3 more chapters before we close this book. Just fyi!

When you finally stir awake, the room is washed in a soft morning light. Beside you, Leigh is already up, sitting on the edge of the bed in yesterday’s clothes. Her hair is pulled back casually, a few strands hanging loose, looking a bit disheveled but still unintentionally perfect—or perhaps that's just your infatuation speaking in the early morning haze. But you can't help yourself.

“Morning,” you mumble, voice gravelly from sleep, as you try to tame your own bedhead. You're still barely clothed under the thin covers in contrast to Leigh’s state of fully dressed. The realization makes you blush, remembering last night’s affairs. Subconsciously, you pull the covers tighter around your body, a wave of shyness washing over you.

“Hey,” Leigh whispers in return, giving you a small smile.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, feeling a pleasant ache in your inner thighs and back. “What time is it?” you ask, glancing around, trying to determine the time based solely on the sunlight filtering through the windows.

“It's still early,” she says, checking her phone. “But I've been up for a bit.”

You notice the creases in her clothes, evidence of a night spent on your floor. She seems a bit distant this morning, thoughtful, like she's already planning her day.

“You could have woken me,” you say, letting a small, teasing smile play across your lips.

Leigh shakes her head. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you,” she says, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. There's a warmth there, but also something you can't quite read.

“But I did make coffee,” she offers, tilting her head toward the kitchen. Her eyes land on the pile of your clothes scattered on the floor, remnants of just a few hours earlier. She clears her throat and her cheeks color a little as she says, “I'll let you get dressed first then.” Without another word, she heads back to the kitchen.

You grab some clothes and quickly dress, and then a thought hits you. Was Leigh watching you sleep? The idea makes you a bit giddy, flipping a fluttery feeling through your stomach. It's strange to think about, but also kind of endearing. Her sticking around this morning feels like a small victory. Being with Leigh felt good, but you weren’t sure what to expect at sunrise.

In the kitchen, you watch Leigh move with an easy familiarity, exploring the cabinets and figuring out where things are stashed. She quickly locates the mugs right above the coffee brewer, grabs two, and sets them down on the counter.

“How do you take yours?” she asks, her hand hovering over the sugar and cream.

You shrug. “Two creams, two sugars?”

Leigh is meticulous, measuring each spoonful of sugar, ensuring there's just the right amount of room for cream. Every small adjustment she makes for your preference makes your heart skip. You’re touched by the simple fact that she cares enough to know and remember exactly how you like it.

You realize, not for the first time, but perhaps the most profoundly, that you’re falling in love with her. You have been for some time now, but this morning it feels like the descent down a rollercoaster—fast, exhilarating, and a little bit terrifying. There's no slowing down or stopping it; you just have to close your eyes and hold on for dear life.

As you both sip your coffee, you find yourself easing into the comfort of small talk, curious about Leigh's return to working at The Beautiful Beast. She mentioned needing to help her mom out, especially after a few recent resignations—a situation you understand all too well from your own experiences with running a business and the never-ending struggles of hiring staff and managing them.

While part of you listens, another part is preoccupied with thoughts of last night. You want to delve into what happened, to ask if she enjoyed herself, and to apologize for not being more assertive. You want to confirm what it means for both of you, but the thought makes your hand tremble slightly around your coffee mug.

Before you can gather your courage, Leigh’s phone vibrates loudly on the table. She checks it and her expression tightens. “I need to go,” she says suddenly, standing up.

You automatically stand up too, but without a clear next move, you find yourself frozen, waiting for something to happen. Both of you are just standing there—Leigh figuring out how to leave, and you, how to say goodbye.

Then, as if deciding for both of you, Leigh steps forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll see you later,” she says.

“Bye,” you reply, a bit dazed as you watch her grab her things and leave.

You touch your lips, feeling the ghost of Leigh’s quick kiss, an electric zip that lingers like the aftertaste of strong coffee. You’ve seen Leigh in nothing but shadows and moonlight, felt the undeniable press of her bare skin against yours, but the shock of her kiss never dulls. It’s a bit like being struck by lightning—no matter how many times it happens, you never get used to the jolt.

Sara sits confidently across from you, dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, attire appropriate for a formal interview. Earlier, she mentioned she's finishing her thesis and is interested in a part-time job that can accommodate her academic commitments, which seems ideal. However, the situation is far from perfect. Ideally, hiring someone you once found attractive isn't the best practice, but she's the only applicant who has responded to your job postings so far.

Feeling her eyes fixed on you, you fiddle with the sleeves of your coat while reviewing her résumé. Between you is a history as transient as a wisp of smoke but clear nonetheless. You’d almost ventured into something with her after a lonely night spent swiping through an app you swore off a dozen times before. And with the recent memory of Leigh leaving your apartment still vivid in your mind, you question whether considering Sara for the job is the right decision.

“So?” Sara ventures after you've been quiet for a while. You feel your cheeks warm with a blush, realizing you've been stalling. Forcing yourself, you tear your eyes away from her rather impressive qualifications.

Letting out a sigh, you set down your glasses, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this just doesn't feel serious,” you confess. “I keep expecting Suzie to pop out with her phone, recording this whole thing as a prank.”

Sara's laughter spills out, rich and melodious. It’s infectious, and after a while you find yourself chuckling too.

“I promise, I'm serious,” she assures you, still smiling. She leans forward, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Look, our history was brief. We didn’t really date, we just met that one time—”

“Twice,” you interrupt, unable to resist correcting her.

Her smile broadens. “—outside of the app. We can be friends, forget all that other stuff, okay?”

You consider her words, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Finding none, you ask, “And that won’t be weird for you?”

“Not at all,” she replies confidently, her head shaking slightly. “And… if you're alright with just part-time for now?”

“Yeah, I can manage reception on my own some days,” you say. But there's another nagging thought that won't let you go.

Sara quickly catches on to your dithering. “What is it?”

“It's just... aren't you worried this job is a bit beneath you? You're chasing an MBA. Wouldn’t you rather find something more aligned with your degree?” you ask.

She leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I’ve considered that,” she says slowly, “but right now, the flexibility this job offers is what I need most. And honestly, I believe in what your clinic is doing—it's a good place to be, even if it’s just a stop along the way.”

You smile at that, genuinely touched by her kind words about your establishment and the work you do.

“Alright, then, I just have one more question to, uh, make this official,” you say, shuffling the papers in front of you. “You've got impressive organizational skills and a solid background in customer service. How do you think these will help you in a medical office setting?”

Sara doesn’t hesitate, her answer ready almost before you've finished speaking.

“Are we sure it's okay to leave Sara by herself while we grab lunch?” you ask, a slight frown forming as you think about what might need handling while you're gone.

Suzie gives you a reassuring smile as she slings her purse over her shoulder. “She’ll be fine. It’s usually quiet around this time, and I’ve given her a rundown of the essentials. Plus, she knows she can text me if anything comes up.”

You can't shake off a sliver of worry, knowing how overwhelming the first day can be. “Alright,” you say, still unconvinced but trusting Suzie’s judgment. “Let’s make it quick then.”

The two of you make your way to a charming little café tucked around the corner. It's a snug nook, celebrated for its hearty sandwiches and home-cooked soups. As you walk, the idea of bringing Leigh here bubbles up in your thoughts—she'd appreciate their renowned kale soup, you reckon.

As you line up to order, Suzie nudges your shoulder lightly. “So, not weird at all hiring an old flame?” she teases.

You roll your eyes. “It's strictly professional. And technically, we never really dated. We just… hung out.”

“Yeah, you hung her out to dry.”

“I’m still your boss for the next two weeks,” you remind her jokingly.

Suzie smirks and raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, boss. I'll behave.”

“But seriously, you can't tease me about Sara anymore because, you know…I'm with Leigh now,” you say, looking down at your feet, hiding your grin.

Suzie turns to you, her eyes widening. “Oh. When did this happen?” she asks, her tone noticeably flat. You were expecting her to be more excited about the news.

Your spirits dip a little at Suzie's lackluster reaction. You straighten up and decide to share the brief version of your reunion with Leigh. As you recount the events to Suzie, you keenly watch her reactions, hoping for a clue into her thoughts. You mention forgiving Leigh and how, after forgiveness was exchanged, Leigh kissed you. Throughout your story, Suzie's expression remains unreadably neutral.

When you finish, she finally speaks, “Honestly, I'm happy for you. Just make sure you're both on the same page.”

“She did stay until morning,” you tell Suzie, feeling a need to convince her—and maybe yourself—that this is significant. After all, someone making you coffee in the morning has to mean something, right?

“Okay, that’s definitely a good sign,” she says with cautious optimism. “But have you guys talked about what this all means? Like, are you actually together now or what?”

The reality of her question gradually settles on you after a few moments. “We haven't really defined anything,” you admit.

Suzie heaves a sigh just as it's her turn to order. She picks a dark chocolate frappuccino and a salmon bagel, loaded with extra cream cheese, then drifts off to a corner to wait while you place your order. As you step up to the counter, you realize you’ve lost your appetite. You settle for an Americano and a mixed bowl of fruit to go. When your food and drinks are ready, you both head to a corner booth by the window.

Suzie, picking up on your nervousness, advises, “Just take things slow, okay?”

You murmur a noncommittal, “Mhm,” your thoughts adding, Too late for that. The two of you eat in silence until the chime of a text notification breaks through—from Leigh.

You can feel Suzie’s curious gaze at you while you read Leigh’s text:

[12:33 PM] Leigh: Thanks for last night

You hover over the keypad, unsure how to respond.

You’re welcome?

The pleasure was all mine?

You shake your head, cringing at your own thoughts. Suzie catches your expression and squints at you. “Everything alright?” she asks.

“It’s Leigh,” you mumble, glancing briefly from your phone to meet Suzie’s questioning look.

“What did she say?”

Instead of explaining, you tilt your phone towards Suzie, letting her read the message herself. A few seconds later, a knowing smirk forms on her face.

“She’s playing it safe,” Suzie concludes.

Your phone pings again, making you jump. Almost fumbling it, you quickly check the new message and read it aloud:

[12:34 PM] Leigh: Hey, quick question. What dog shampoo would you recommend? Logan's perfumed smell doesn't really last long.

“She's playing it way too safe,” Suzie remarks, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

Ignoring Suzie, you quickly type back, suggesting a favorite of yours, and include a link to an online store.

[12:35 PM] You: Try this one <link>. It's hypoallergenic and it should keep Logan smelling fresh longer than the others I've tried.

After sending the message, you look up to find Suzie still wearing a small smile.

“What a bunch of modern idiots,” she murmurs, loud enough for you to hear, before taking a hearty sip from her drink.

You and Leigh continue texting about Logan and his needs. She mentions she'll drop by tomorrow to pick up his supplies. You keep to yourself that you're already planning to gather everything and surprise her by dropping it off at her place—an excuse to see her again.

You leave the clinic early, gripping a bouquet of flowers in one hand and Logan’s bag of supplies in the other. Since that lunch with Suzie, you've been introspective and quiet, wrestling with the idea that she might be right about defining your relationship with Leigh. You realize you're already in too deep, weary of assumptions and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stand with her.

Expecting to find Leigh at her mom's fitness studio in the late afternoon, you make your way there.

But she isn't there.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Jules greets you from behind the reception desk. She's busy wiping down the counter and sorting through stacks of folders—membership forms that appear to have accumulated over the past few years.

“Is Leigh around?” you ask, scanning the mostly deserted area. Your eyes sweep past the maintenance staff quietly going about their cleaning, but there’s no sign of Leigh.

You miss the brief flicker of discomfort that crosses Jules's face at the mention of her sister. “Leigh's probably at home,” Jules says evenly, going back to her task. “She takes every Tuesday off.”

While you’re still distracted (and a little disappointed), Jules notices the bouquet you’re holding.

“Are those for her?” she asks.

You give the bouquet of red Chrysanthemums a slight wave, then a bit sheepishly, you nod and confirm, “Yeah.”

“That's sweet, Y/N,” Jules comments, her lips curving slightly.

She seems to expect you to leave since Leigh isn't around, but instead, you take a seat on one of the stools at the reception.

“How are you, by the way?” you ask, flashing a warm smile at her. You lean your arms on the counter and start drumming your fingers, genuinely interested in her response.

“You sure you wanna hang around? Leigh hates waiting for anyone,” she says. Though her words are light, there’s a shadow behind them that yanks your attention.

“Is everything okay? I mean, with you and Leigh?” you ask cautiously. Jules doesn’t speak for a moment too long, and you nearly backtrack, thinking maybe a lighter topic might salvage the awkward silence.

But just as you’re about to pivot, she blurts out, “I moved out recently.”

You gawk at her, surprised by the sudden confession. Jules notices your open-mouthed shock and it almost coaxes a laugh from her. She's somewhat entertained by your astonishment but also touched that you cared enough to ask. Inside, she’s glad she secretly cheered for you over Danny.

“I know, right? Bet you didn't see that coming,” she says with a wry smile.

“Moving out is definitely a big step,” you reply, “but uh, you kind of didn’t really answer my question there.”

Jules chuckles and rounds the counter to sit beside you. “No,” she says flatly, her expression sobering as she sits beside you. “And honestly, I'd rather not hash out my issues with Leigh unless it's with my therapist. Talking about it just feels like letting her win somehow.”

She lets out a deep breath, her gaze drifting away momentarily. “And no, I didn't plan on moving out. I just got tired of being treated like crap by my own family.”

Jules starts picking at the edge of the counter before she looks up. She had mentioned not wanting to discuss it, but somehow, she finds it easy to open up to you.

“I mean, obviously, we're not related by blood,” she continues, “and yeah, it's the 21st century—being adopted shouldn't be a big deal, right? But even though it's common, it doesn't make me feel any more part of the family, any less like an outsider. I feel like an eternal letdown, like I'm always just shy of what they hoped I'd be.”

“What exactly are they hoping for?” you ask softly.

Jules shrugs, her eyes darting away as she wraps her arms around herself protectively. “I don't really know. It's more of an outline than a shape.”

You think about her words for a moment before adding your two cents. “Could it be that maybe some of this pressure is self-imposed? Maybe you're the one filling in the blanks with what you think they expect of you? It's okay just to be yourself, you know. You don't have to be everything to everyone, and that’s perfectly fine,” you say.

Jules nods slowly, her gaze fixed on some distant point. Then, quietly, almost a whisper, she adds, “It's tough, especially with my…you know…past drinking problem. Even though I've been clean for months, it feels like I'm always on trial, always having to prove I’m better now. And when I slip up, even just a little…” her voice falters, “I just... I imagine what they must think of me, if they—”

“If they love you any less for it?” you interject gently.

Her eyes snap back to yours, slightly wet and reddened. Instinctively, you reach out for her hand. Jules grasps it in return, and you give her hand a comforting squeeze.

“I don't really know Leigh in terms of family stuff,” you say, shifting uncomfortably on your stool as you choose your words carefully. “And maybe you've got it right, Jules. But then again, maybe not. See, when we really care about someone, we tend to put them on a pedestal, root for them so hard that sometimes, without even realizing it, we might push them a bit too much.”

You let the thought sit for a while, then continue, your own quandaries weaving into your speech. “Maybe it's best if you talk to Leigh about this... I mean, personally, I need to talk to Leigh about something too. I want to stop assuming things and thinking my perspective is the whole reality. We all do it, don’t we? Set traps for ourselves with our own expectations and assumptions.”

Jules sniffles, manages a faint smile, and discreetly wipes away a tear with her pinkie. Then, unexpectedly, she leans forward and hugs you, her head resting snugly against your cheek. You return the embrace, gently rubbing her back in random circles.

When she steps back, there's a new light of recognition in her eyes.

“You remind me of Matt.”

You're not sure if that's a flattering comparison or not. You did connect with Matt, after all, not because you were opposites that attracted, but because you saw parts of yourself reflected in him—similar interests, similar ways of thinking.

You can’t help but ask, “How so?”

“Matt always played mediator between Leigh and me. Oddly enough, we both really listened to him, took his opinions to heart. He had this wisdom, you know?” She stops for a second, her expression clouding over. “Which really threw me when I found out about some of the... stupid choices he made.” She gestures towards you apologetically, adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” you assure her quickly with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, Matt was that person in the family who really saw everyone, who tried to knit us all together. I miss him,” Jules says wistfully. She looks past your shoulder, into the distance, as if she's seeing his ghost. You don’t look behind you. You can see his ghost in her eyes clearly.

Jules continues, “And whatever went down with Leigh, I don’t think it was all his fault. Leigh... she can be challenging to love sometimes. Oh god, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, understanding what she means more than she might think. “It's okay, Jules. It's hard, loving people isn't always straightforward or easy. They say love brings out the best in us, but often, it brings out the worst.”

“It’s like I can hear Matt talking, but in a female voice,” Jules jokes, returning to her post. “Anyway, are you and my sister finally going out?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out soon,” you say, gesturing to the bouquet you're holding. You feel a bit forward buying flowers for a girl, especially since you don’t even know what Leigh's favorite flowers are—or if she likes them at all.

Jules gives you a mischievous grin and says, “Well, good luck with that. For what it's worth, I don't think Leigh dumped Danny for nothing. She seems to really like you.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” you say, feeling a bit more buoyed as you rise from your seat.

With a final nod to Jules, you head out, the bouquet of flowers in hand feeling less silly and more like a talisman as you drive straight to Leigh's house.

You pull into the driveway of the Shaw residence, your hands gripping the steering wheel a tad too tightly. The bouquet of flowers sits next to you, a daunting shade of red against the gray upholstery, and Logan’s supplies are carefully arranged in the backseat. You mentally rehearse your opening line to Leigh, hoping the surprise might soften the ground for the conversation that needs to follow.

You ring the doorbell and wait, shifting from foot to foot, your hand gripping the stem of the flowers a little too tightly while your other arm cradles the box containing Logan’s things. But when the door swings open, it's not Leigh who greets you.

“D-Danny,” you stammer, the subtle smile on your lips completely falling away.

What is he doing here?

Danny looks equally unenthused to see you. “Hey,” he replies, his eyes briefly dropping to the flowers before meeting yours again. “Looking for Leigh?”

Before you can respond, Leigh appears behind him. Her face emerges as she peers at you over his shoulder, his towering height partially obstructing your view of her. She looks utterly surprised to see you at her doorstep, giving you the impression that she wasn't expecting you and maybe you shouldn't be here at all.

“I… I thought of bringing Logan’s supplies now since I’m free, but… yeah, I should probably go—”

“Danny was just leaving,” Leigh announces abruptly.

You find yourself frozen, rooted to the spot as you turn to face her. Danny looks poised to object, but Leigh fixes him with a look. It's enough. His defiance melts into resignation, his shoulders dropping slightly as he exhales a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I'll call you later, Leigh.” He stalks off without waiting for a reply.

You’re still looking at the ground, the front door cracked open, a draft passing in between you and Leigh as you stand on her doorstep.

What was Danny doing here? You can't seem to shake it off.

Leigh reaches out and gently touches your elbow, nudging you inside. “Come in,” she murmurs, leading you past the threshold.

Inside, Leigh takes the box of supplies from your hands. She starts sorting through it, tossing a casual “Thanks” over her shoulder as she examines the contents. Her focus is entirely on Logan’s needs until she looks up and spots the bouquet you’re still hanging onto.

Your cheeks flush as her gaze shifts to the flowers. You had fantasized about a dazzling smile breaking across her features at the sight. Instead, Leigh’s expression tightens with skepticism, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regards the bouquet.

“Flowers?” Leigh inquires uncertainly.

It's not the response you'd imagined, and you suddenly find yourself scrambling for an explanation, the bouquet feeling unexpectedly cumbersome in your grasp.

“I, uh, passed by a flower shop,” you start, fiddling with a petal as you concoct a small white lie. “I bought some for myself and figured, since I was coming over with Logan's supplies, maybe you'd like some too.”

You've both seen each other naked just hours ago, yet somehow that doesn't seem to matter now. This doesn't feel any easier than before you slept together.

“They are pretty,” she says, accepting the flowers. She looks around for a moment. “I'll find a vase for these.”

Relieved she's accepted them, you seize the opportunity to change the topic. You're on the verge of asking why Danny was just here, but to your own surprise, a completely different question slips out.

“Where's Logan today?”

“He's with mom,” Leigh says, returning to the living room holding a plain-looking vase. “She’s really bonded with him. Actually, she's out showing him off to some old friends today.”

That coaxes out a small smile from you, imagining Logan charming everyone he meets.

Now the roles reverse and Leigh takes her turn with the questions. “How about you? Weren't we supposed to meet for Logan’s stuff tomorrow?” A beat passes, and she adds, “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her tone isn’t harsh, but it's clear that Leigh isn't fond of surprises. You mentally file that away for future reference.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, the words tumbling out more bluntly than planned. “You left so quickly this morning after... after last night.”

Then, almost without thinking, you find yourself nodding toward the door Danny had exited through, the question spilling out before you can reel it back. “Why was Danny here?” It sounds more accusatory than you intend, and you hurry to cushion it, not wanting to come off as possessive. “I mean, I thought you two were—”

“Broken up?” Leigh fills in the blank sharply. She sets the vase down slowly, then turns to face you, her expression becoming more earnest by the second.

“Yes, we are,” she confirms, crossing her arms lightly over her chest. “Danny came by to pick up some of his things he had left here. It's not... we’re not back together. But if you’re asking why he’s still in my life, then I have news for you, Y/N: we’re friends. And he’s still Matt’s brother.”

You bite your lip, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “I'm just wondering, that's all,” you manage to say, trying not to sound too confrontational or possessive. You’re suddenly aware of how precarious your position is—you’re not really entitled to feel jealous or make demands. After all, Leigh hasn't given you any sort of claim over her; you're not officially anything. You came here hoping maybe that would change, but now you worry you might be messing it all up.

“Of course you can be friends with whoever you want,” you add hastily.

“Exactly,” she says, but then she pauses, scrutinizing you with a curious tilt of her head. “But what about you?” she presses, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, like a predator stalking its prey.

You give her a quizzical look.

“The flowers, showing up without a heads-up... What are you hoping to get out of this?”

As Leigh’s gaze bores into you, probing and skeptical, something inside you snaps. The hurt ricochets through you, searing and unexpected. She was so delicate with you, making you feel all sorts of things while doing wonderful, unspeakable things to your body, and now she’s making you question your own reality.

“I've been falling in love with you, Leigh,” you say, your voice rising without your permission, the words bouncing off the walls with a force that startles even you. “Are you just enormously daft or do you not care at all?”

Silence crashes down like a heavy curtain following your admission.

But Leigh doesn’t flinch from your outburst, nor does she display any signs of distress. She remains eerily still, almost statue-like. Yet, when you look into her eyes, you see it—the unsteadiness there, the only part of her that seems vulnerable to your scrutiny.

Then, she speaks. Just one word, but it's enough to completely deflate you, a response more chilling than if she had simply said she didn't care.

“No.”

“What—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“You don’t love me.”

The certainty with which she says it feels like a door slamming shut, final and resolute, leaving no room for doubts or arguments. Your mouth hangs open, muted by her unequivocal assertion that you don't love her.

You’re gearing up to tell her how wrong she is, to insist that what you feel is real, but she cuts you off with a question that feels like a bucket of ice water.

“When you learned that ‘Nick’ was just Danny all along, that Matt’s brother helped him betray me, what was your first thought?” Leigh's voice is clinical, almost detached.

You feel like you’re missing something, grasping at the air for an answer that will satisfy her. Her gaze traps you, demanding truth, and you realize you can’t escape until you give it to her. What does she want to hear? What is she trying to understand from this?

“My first thought?” you repeat, trying to remember how it made you feel. “I felt sorry for you, Leigh. I couldn’t believe someone so close to you would do that. I felt angry for you, and yeah, I felt really sorry that you had to go through it.”

Leigh's eyes flicker, a subtle shift like a wince. “You pitied me,” she says, her voice cold. “And you also wanted to fuck me. That can be a real killer combo you could mistake for love.”

You stumble back a step, your legs suddenly weak as her words sink in. It's as if she's taken your heart and laid it bare under a harsh light, reducing your feelings to something small and pitiful, far from the love you thought you felt.

Finding the nearest surface to lean on, you press your back against the front door. The temptation to leave, to walk away from this painful confrontation, is strong. But the beautiful, infuriating creature in front of you couldn't be more wrong about you, about love, about how you feel for her. And you’re hell-bent on changing her mind, even if it’s the last thing you do.

“Then why be with me last night?” you challenge, your voice strained. “If you really think that, why even bother?”

Leigh's smile takes on a mocking twist, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Just satisfying your curiosity,” she says. “I wanted to lift the veil for you, help you realize it's nothing more than just guilt and sympathy.”

You shake your head. “I don't believe that. Last night wasn't just curiosity or some misguided sense of duty. It was real, Leigh. And I think you know that too.”

Her eyes remain hard, but just beneath, there's a shimmer—perhaps doubt, or something like it.

“You think you know what love is?” she whispers, her voice so faint it's almost lost. “You think it's just about feeling sorry for someone and wanting them?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I think it's about seeing someone for who they are, flaws and all, and wanting to be there for them anyway. I think it's about standing by someone even when it's hard, even when they push you away. And Leigh, I see you. I see all of you, and I still want to be here.

“I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it.

Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

“Leigh—”

“Why do you think Matt was found at the bottom of a forty-foot drop?” she nearly screams, her voice fraying at the edges of hysteria. She starts pacing, her movements restless and agitated. “Why do you think he came to you? Why do you think he kept running from me?”

At the mention of her dead husband, everything suddenly makes sense. The walls she’s built, her reluctant heart—it’s not about being mysterious or difficult. It’s about fear, a deep, visceral terror of being the storm that wrecks another life. Leigh isn't just pushing you away out of whimsy or cruelty; she's doing it because she believes it's the only way to prevent history from repeating itself.

“I’m not Matt.”

She stops pacing, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with anger, fear, and something that looks a lot like pain. “No, you’re not Matt. But you don’t get it. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle me. I drove him away, and I’ll drive you away too.”

“You didn’t drive Matt away. He was running from his own demons, not you. And I’m not afraid of you. I’m here because I want to be. Because I—”

Her face crumples, the mask she’s been wearing cracking. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I know it’s not easy,” you say, closing the distance between you. You feel her radiating every feeling she’s struggling to contain, the ones she’s attempting to shield from you. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for all of it.”

Her eyes well up, tears slipping down her cheeks. But she doesn’t move away. “Why?” she asks, her voice so small and child-like. “Why would you want to stay?”

“Because I love you,” you say simply, “and I’m not afraid of the cost.”

Leigh gives you a look that could freeze fire—like you’ve just spoken the worst of blasphemies.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, cupping her neck gently.

“Like what?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Like it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard.”

She attempts to smooth over her expression, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there’s a fleeting moment where she resembles a chastised child. You can't help but smile gently, touched by her unguarded reaction.

“Leigh,” you whisper, taking her hands in yours. “One date. Go out with me. Let me prove it to you. Let me show you why it can be a good thing.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She nods, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough. It’s a start.

“Okay,” she whispers in surrender. “One date.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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baigepueckers · 1 month ago

Text

Nika Mühl X Reader

Number Ten

You sit hunched over your laptop in the cozy corner of the small on campus coffee shop, the warm scent of roasting beans and cinnamon swirling around you. You’ve been nursing your coffee for over an hour, absentmindedly sipping between typing out a super frustrating homework assignment. Wearing your friend’s oversized UConn shirt with “Muhl” and the number 10 on the back, you barely give it a second thought as you rub your tired eyes. To you it’s just another comfortable piece of clothing, the worn fabric a perfect match for your lazy study day.

The bell above the door chimes softly as Nika Mühl steps into the cafe, her tall athletic frame a commanding presence despite the casual hoodie she wears. She’s just finished up practice and is on a quick coffee run for her and Paige but as she scans the room for an open spot, her gaze falls on something unexpected.

There, tucked away in the corner is a beautiful girl. Wearing her shirt?

Nika blinks her heart skipping a beat as she takes in the sight. The number 10. Her name. You have no idea the attention you have just attracted, completely engrossed in whatever is on your laptop. Your brow is furrowed slightly in concentration and your hair falling softly around your face. The sight makes Nika’s breath catch, and she finds herself blushing at you wearing her shirt.

After ordering her and Paige’s coffees, Nika takes a deep breath wiping her palms on her sweats nervously before making her way over to your table.

“Hey” Nika says, her voice soft but just enough to catch your attention.

You glance up, your fingers freezing mid typing as you look into the eyes of the person standing before you. Tall. Athletic. Gorgeous. Your heart gives a small flutter, though you’re not entirely sure why. Maybe it’s the way her eyes sparkle when they meet yours or the warmth in her smile that makes your stomach do a little flip.

“Hi…” you reply your voice trailing off uncertainly. You glance around, unsure if the girl is talking to you or someone behind you.

Catching on Nika chuckles softly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry to bother you but I couldn’t help but notice…nice shirt.”

You blink, then look down at the oversized UConn shirt you have on. “Oh this? Yeah, it’s my friend’s” you say casually tugging at the hem. “I don’t really know much about the team or the number or anything. She just gave it to me because I needed something comfy.”

Nika’s eyebrows shoot up, and she has to suppress the laugh bubbling up. She finds it both endearing and amusing. Most people would have recognized her by now, especially if they were wearing her number.

“Wait, so you don’t know anything about number ten?” Nika asks her voice teasing but gentle.

You shake your head with a small smile. “Nope, sorry. I’m kinda clueless when it comes to basketball.” You give a small apologetic shrug. “I’m just trying to survive accounting.”

Nika can’t help but laugh a warm sound that makes your heart flutter again. “Well, you’re talking to number ten.” Nika says, a playful glint in her eye. “Nika Mühl…that’s me.”

Your eyes widen your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you gasp softly. “Oh my God, you’re number ten? I’m so sorry, jeez i’m so stupid! I had no idea!”

Nika grins, clearly amused by the situation. “Don’t worry, it happens”she says with a lighthearted shrug. “But it’s kind of cute, honestly.”

Your face flushes a deep shade of red, and you bite your lip, laughing at yourself. “Well, now I feel like an idiot.”

“No no, don’t” Nika says quickly, her tone softening. She leans in a little closer, her voice lowering as if she’s sharing a secret. “Actually I like that you didn’t know. It’s… refreshing.”

You blink…your heart doing that strange little thing again. The way Nika’s brown eyes soften as they hold your gaze makes your pulse quicken. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. Nika is… charming. And really, really beautiful.

“Thanks, I guess…” you mumble shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Still feel kind of embarrassed, though.”

“Well…” Nika says, her grin turning a little more playful. “I have a way for you to make it up to me.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Oh?”

Nika leans against the table her voice dropping into a playful tone. “How about you come to our next game? I can get you a ticket..court side. Maybe then you’ll learn something about the team.” she teases, her eyes sparkling with that same warmth.

You blink caught off guard by the offer. “Wait, seriously? You’d do that?”

“Of course” Nika says, her smile widening. “I’d love to see you there. And who knows” she adds, her gaze softening again. “maybe you’ll become a fan of number ten after all.”

You can’t help but smile back, your heart racing a little faster now. “I’d like that…I’ll definitely come.”

Nika grins the excitement in her eyes clear as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll send you all the details.”

You blush again but hand your phone over without hesitation. As Nika quickly types in her number, she hands the phone back with a smile that makes your knees feel weak.

“There..” Nika says, her voice warm and full of promise. “I’ll see you at the game, Y/N.”

With that, Nika flashes one last smile before grabbing the coffees from the counter. As she walks out of the cafe, you can’t stop the huge grin from spreading across your face. Your heart is racing, and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

What just happened?

You glance down at your phone…the contact labeled simply “Nika 💙” staring back at you.

She was definitely flirting with me, right? you think, an excitement bubbling in your chest.

As you return to your homework, all thoughts of assignments and deadlines are quickly replaced with thoughts of a certain basketball player with the number ten stitched onto her back.

You walk into Gampel Pavilion, nerves buzzing in your chest. For days you haven’t been able to focus on anything…all you can think about is this game. More specifically you can’t stop thinking about Nika. You’ve been trying to convince yourself that it’s just a casual invite that this is just a basketball game, but deep down you know you hope it’s something more.

Your mind keeps replaying the conversation at the coffee shop…the way Nika smiled at you, the subtle connection between you two that felt undeniable. Now as you weave through the crowd, you can feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach an unfamiliar but thrilling sensation.

You finally find your seat in the front row, fingers gripping the edge nervously as you glance around the court. It doesn’t take long before you spot Nika warming up with the other players. Even in the middle of all the action, Nika stands out…the way she moves, the effortless way she handles the ball, her confidence radiating like she was born to be in the spotlight.

You try to play it cool, leaning back in your seat like any other fan enjoying the game, but your eyes keep drifting back to her. Then suddenly Nika looks up. Your eyes meet, and it feels like everything around you fades away.

She smiles at you…that same smile that made your heart flutter in the coffee shop. Before you realize it, you’re smiling back and your cheeks are heating up in spite of your attempts to stay composed.

Nika gives you a small wave, her expression soft as if to say, I’m glad you came. You quickly glance away trying to hide the warmth rushing to your face. Your heart is pounding, making it hard to focus on anything else.

As the game begins you force yourself to look around, to absorb the atmosphere but your gaze keeps finding its way back to Nika. Every time she makes a play you can’t help but watch in awe. She’s intense, competitive, and so skilled…everything you already knew but seeing her in action? It’s even more impressive in person.

What makes it harder to stay composed is that after every amazing pass, every shot Nika glances your way, her eyes twinkling with amusement like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. It feels like there’s a silent conversation going on between you…a little game only the two of you are playing.

This is ridiculous, you think trying to calm yourself down. She’s just a basketball player, and I’m just a girl she invited to a game. But no matter how hard you try to rationalize it, that fluttery feeling in your chest tells you otherwise.

By the end of the game UConn wins easily, and the arena erupts into cheers. You stand up clapping along with the crowd, but your mind is still on Nika. As the players begin to leave the court you brace yourself, knowing she’ll come over. You don’t want to seem too eager, but as Nika walks over, her jersey clinging to her with her face glistening with sweat and adrenaline…you can feel your cool exterior slipping.

“Hey” Nika says flashing you a bright smile, her voice casual but her eyes full of something you can’t quite place. “So..what did you think? Still clueless about basketball?” Her tone is teasing but the warmth in her gaze sends a wave of heat through you.

You laugh, but it’s shaky. Trying to play it cool you shrug. “I think I’ve learned more than I expected” you say, grinning a little. “Basketball’s kinda exciting.”

Nika chuckles lingering closer, her presence close enough to make your heart race. “Kinda exciting, huh? Is that your way of saying I’ve won you over?”

You open your mouth to respond but nothing comes out at first. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you, that playful challenge in her words mixed with something deeper in her eyes and you feel completely thrown off.

“I uh…” you stammer but before you can say more, you see a shift in Nika’s expression. The teasing fades, replaced by something more sincere.

She leans in a little closer her, voice soft. “You don’t have to pretend.” she says gently, her eyes locking with yours. “I see it. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.”

Your heart skips a beat and you feel exposed, like she’s seeing right through the defenses you’ve tried so hard to keep up.

“I wasn’t….” you start but Nika smiles, that sweet knowing smile that makes your breath catch.

“Y/N” she whispers, her voice almost tender. “It’s okay…I’ve been looking at you the same way.”

Your heart races as her words sink in. She’s into me?

“You… you have?” you ask your voice barely above a whisper, like you’re afraid speaking louder might break this moment.

Nika nods, her gaze steady. “From the moment I saw you at the coffee shop. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And tonight?” She chuckles softly. “You coming to watch my game… I was definitely trying to impress you the whole time.”

You blink your stomach doing flips. “You were?”

Nika nods again her smile turning a little shy. “Yeah. I felt silly..but I’m really into you, Y/N.”

The words hang between you and all you can feel is the warmth spreading through your chest, the butterflies swarming.

“So” Nika continues, stepping closer until you’re almost face-to-face, her hand brushing against yours. “a bunch of us are heading to Tim’s later…the bar down the street. You should come.” Her voice softens her eyes locking with yours. “We could hang out. Just us, if you want.”

Your heart races at the invitation. You know this isn’t just a casual ask. There’s something deeper in the way she’s looking at you, something that makes you feel weightless.

“Yeah” you say softly, your lips curving into a shy smile. “I’d like that.”

Nika’s face lights up, her grin widening. “Good, dijete..I’ll text you the details.” Her hand brushes yours as she pulls back and the simple touch sends a spark through your skin.

“Oh, and” she adds, her tone playful. “next time you’re rocking a real jersey with my name on it, so everyone knows who you’re here for.”

Heat rises in your cheeks at her words, and you laugh softly trying to keep your composure. “Oh, is that right?”

She smirks, her confidence unwavering. “That’s right, I’d love to see a pretty girl in my jersey…I think it’d look good on you.”

Your breath catches, the air between you charged but there’s no denying the way your heart flutters. “I guess we’ll just have to see if that’s true.” you reply your voice teasing but full of warmth.

Nika steps back slightly, her smile softening into something more tender. “We will, won’t we?” she says, her gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer. Then she gives your hand a quick, almost shy squeeze. “See you in a few, Y/N.”

She walks away, giving you another teasing glance. You feel a giddy flutter in your chest. Already counting down the minutes until you get to see her at Tim’s.

#ncaa wbb #nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #paige bueckers x reader #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark #wbb x reader #caitlin x reader #ncaa women’s basketball #paige buckets #seattle storm #wnba x reader #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #kate martin x reader #wnba basketball #paige bueckers

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iovebarca · 3 months ago

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hi, glad you're back, I love your writing! can you do one where cubarsi is too shy to talk to the reader because she is very confident and beautiful and he thinks he has no chance

Sticky notes - Pau Cubarsi

Authors note: Thank you!! <333 I loved writing this !!!!

WC: 1000+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

Pau could never quite figure out how to talk to you.

You were the kind of girl who turned heads without even trying. Confident, beautiful, and always smiling like you had everything figured out. And every time Pau saw you, whether it was around the training grounds or at team events, he felt like you were completely out of his league. He’d find himself fumbling with his words, losing his train of thought when you walked by, his cheeks heating up like a kid with a crush.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he did, more than anything. But every time he tried, his nerves got the best of him. He’d stumble over a “hey” or give you an awkward wave, kicking himself afterward for not being able to say more.

You, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed. You’d wave back, smile that gorgeous smile of yours, and keep walking like it was the easiest thing in the world. Meanwhile, Pau would stand there, heart pounding, hoping no one noticed how red his face had gotten.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to get along with you so easily. Marc, Pedri, and the rest of the team had no trouble making you laugh, but whenever Pau was around, he’d freeze up, too shy to even look at you for more than a second.

“Dude, why don’t you just talk to her?” Marc teased one day after training. They were in the locker room, getting ready to head out, and Pau had been stealing glances at you from across the field. You’d been chatting with some of the staff, looking effortlessly beautiful in your casual clothes.

“I can’t,” Pau muttered, pulling his bag up onto his shoulder. “She’s... different.”

Marc raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Different how? She’s not gonna bite, you know.”

Pau sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She’s just... too confident. Too beautiful. I wouldn’t know what to say. She probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

Marc gave him a sympathetic smile, slapping him on the back. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Just ask her out. You’re making this a way bigger deal than it has to be.”

Pau shook his head, unconvinced. “I don’t stand a chance. She could have anyone she wants.”

He didn’t know it at the time, but you had been standing just out of sight, overhearing the entire conversation. Your heart fluttered at Pau’s words, a smile tugging at your lips. You had always thought Pau was sweet—quiet, sure, but there was something endearing about the way he got all shy around you. He was different from the other guys you knew, and you liked that about him.

You couldn’t believe he thought he didn’t have a chance with you. If only he knew how many times you’d tried to catch his eye, how you’d go out of your way to say hi, hoping he’d finally start a conversation.

That night, you came up with a plan.

The next day, after practice, you waited until Pau left his bag unattended in the locker room. You weren’t usually one for sneaky moves, but Pau clearly needed a little push, and you weren’t going to wait around forever.

You took a deep breath, scribbling a quick note on a sticky pad you found in your bag. The note was short, simple, but direct enough to get your message across. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was too bold, but then you remembered the look on Pau’s face when he talked to Marc—he needed to know.

With a small, satisfied smile, you slipped the sticky note into his bag, making sure it would be easy to find.

Later that day, Pau was rummaging through his bag when something bright caught his eye. A sticky note, neatly folded and tucked inside. Frowning in confusion, he pulled it out and unfolded it, his heart stopping as he read the words:

Heard you talking to Marc yesterday... I’d love to go out with you sometime. Just say when. – Y/N

Pau stared at the note, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure everyone around him could hear it. His eyes scanned the words over and over again, as if they might change. Was this real? Did you really write this?

He felt his face heat up, his mind racing. You wanted to go out with him? How was this even possible?

Suddenly, all of his worries seemed ridiculous. You’d overheard him, and instead of being weirded out or brushing him off, you’d made the first move. You wanted to go out with him.

Pau looked around the locker room, his eyes searching for you. And then he saw you, leaning casually against the wall, talking to someone else, completely at ease. You caught his eye, and a knowing smile spread across your lips.

His heart leaped into his throat, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run over to you, to say something, but his feet felt like they were glued to the ground.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction, and gestured toward your phone in your pocket—your subtle way of saying, message me.

Pau swallowed, suddenly feeling a surge of courage he hadn’t felt before. He nodded, a small, shy smile breaking across his face as he pulled out his phone and typed a quick message:

How about Friday?

Seconds later, his phone buzzed with your reply:

Perfect. Looking forward to it :)

Pau couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and disbelief. For the first time in months, he wasn’t nervous around you. You liked him. You wanted to go out with him.

Maybe he wasn’t so out of your league after all.

#pau cubarsi fluff #pau cubarsi x reader #pau cubarsi oneshot #pau cubarsi imagine #pau cubarsi #fc barcelona

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leahrintarou · 3 months ago

Text

✩₊˚.⋆ THREE MINUTES ! - rindou haitani / 10.08 / kinktober

CW: public "sex", fingering, teasing, they're best friends, female anatomy, she/her used, one-sided pleasure, that's all lol

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: welcome to the fifth post of my kinktober series! i hope you enjoy. leave a like or reblog to show support. (updates this week might be off or posted on a diff day since i'll be traveling somewhere with family. if not posted on the designated day, it will be posted eventually when i get back home.)

it took a lot of pleading, a lot of pouting, and quite a bit of persuasion for y/n to finally get rindou to agree to see a horror movie with her. he’d been reluctant, as always, keeping his usual stoic expression as she begged, a faint sigh escaping him after she tugged at his sleeve one too many times.

“alright, fine,” he finally said, rolling his eyes with a small, barely-there smile. “but you’re paying for the popcorn.”

y/n’s face lit up instantly, and she practically bounced in excitement. “deal! you won’t regret it, i promise!”

now, sitting side by side in the dim theater, rindou was starting to question his decision. as soon as the movie began, he leaned back in his seat, trying to relax as the ominous music set the tone. y/n was fully immersed, her eyes wide as she clutched his arm during each jump scare, gasping and gripping his hand tighter with every loud noise and flickering shadow on the screen.

rindou, on the other hand, sat unbothered, his expression unfazed by the attempts to frighten him. he shot her a sidelong glance, noting the way she reacted to the tension, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. she was so easily scared, and he found it endearing, though he’d never say so.

about halfway through, he noticed something different. y/n’s grip had loosened, and her eyes, while still on the screen, had a faraway look in them. she seemed to be shifting in her seat, her legs rubbing together subtly, her face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the horror unfolding onscreen.

rindou quirked an eyebrow, leaning over to whisper, “something more interesting than the movie going on?”

y/n’s head snapped toward him, caught off guard, and she felt a deep wave of embarrassment. “what? no, i was just... i’m watching, i swear.”

he gave her a knowing look, one that made her squirm under his gaze. “right. because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’re a little too distracted to be paying attention to what’s going on,” he murmured, his voice low, a faint smirk ghosting across his face. “did you really just waste our money on tickets just to get yourself all worked up over nothing?”

she huffed, crossing her arms in defense. “it’s not my fault! the movie got kind of... you know, intense, and you’re here, and...” her voice trailed off, and she glanced away, clearly embarrassed.

rindou chuckled softly, his usual calm demeanor breaking just enough for her to catch it. “oh, i see. so, you dragged me out here, begged me to watch this horror movie, and now you’re not even paying attention. that’s what i’m hearing.”

y/n pouted, tugging on his arm. “rindou, come on. i can’t help it...”

he leaned closer, his face only inches from hers, his voice a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. “can’t help it, huh?” he murmured, his tone teasing. “guess i’ll have to find a way to keep you entertained, since the movie isn’t cutting it.”

her eyes widened as he settled back in his seat, his hand casually resting on her thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over her skin. she shot him a look, torn between shock and excitement, but he just kept that same indifferent expression, his gaze focused forward as if nothing unusual was happening.

“rindou,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the movie’s background noise. “people are around...”

he raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look at her, his thumb continuing its slow, deliberate movement. “you’re the one who couldn’t keep it together,” he said with a smirk. “don’t blame me for distracting you when you’re the one getting ideas.”

y/n’s heart raced, the weight of their friendship hanging heavy in the silence between them. she knew they were toeing a line, crossing into something unspoken and uncertain, yet she didn’t pull away. instead, she found herself leaning into his touch, the thrill of it mixing with a quiet fear that they couldn’t just come back from this.

she looked up at him, a small, hesitant smile tugging at her lips. “you know we probably shouldn’t...”

“probably,” he murmured, his voice steady, but his hand never moved. he glanced down at her, his usual calm exterior cracking just enough for her to see something else behind it—a question, a hesitation that matched her own. “but we’re already here, aren’t we?”

they held each other’s gaze, neither of them willing to break the moment, knowing they were treading dangerous ground. but in the dim glow of the theater, with his hand on her thigh and her fingers inching toward his, it felt like a risk they were both willing to take, consequences be damned.

"if you don’t want this, tell me now."

y/n remained quiet and rindou glanced at her, seeing that her gaze was already on him. she reached for his hand, her impatience making her guide him up her thigh a bit more. rindou's eyes widened immediately when we wasn't met with any sort of fabric at all, but the immediate warmth of her sex.

"what the hell, n/n?" he questioned, not moving his hand, but the flustered expression on his face said enough. a shiver coursed through her body as he pressed his digits against her. "please don't question it." she sighed trying to keep her voice low.

"was this your plan this whole time?" he asked and she let out an embarassed groan and rindou felt some pity at that. they'd been bestfriend's since forever and despite his attitude, rindou would drop anything in a second if y/n ever asked. she always came first in every situation, and she knew that. "so you didn't wanna watch this movie afterall?"

she looked at him, nodding her head. "i did, but..." she trailed off. "but you're too focused on this, huh?" just then, his fingers used her slick to slip his middle digit into her sex. she bit down on her inner cheek and her legs tightened around his hand. "what got you all worked up?"

y/n remained silent, avoiding the question. this piqued rindou's interest, making him slide his digits in deeper. y/n let out a shaky breath, trying to not bring attention to themselves, but the more rindou pleasured her, the more she squirmed in her seat. "are you dodging the question, y/n? if you are, I'll stop."

"no, no. don't stop." she pled, looking at rindou with glazed eyes. "then tell me. i have a feeling i know what it is." he shifted himself in his seat. trying to ignore his current situation as well. he thanked the dark lightning in the theater that caused her to not see his growing erection. "i was just wondering how you would feel inside me." she managed to get out.

"it's not very nice to have those kinds of thoughts about your bestfriend, y/n."

"can't help-" she was cut off when his in and out motions quickened. y/n lifted her lips to lean back a bit to slouch in the seat. this newfound position allowed rindou to reach deeper, caressing that sensetive spot that would drive her insane. "you're not being as discreet as you probably should, n/n." a smile appeard on his lips.

"so hurry up." she managed to glare at him and rindou rolled his eyes, focusing back on the movie in front of them. his fingers held no mercy on y/n despite the occasional whimpers that she would try to hide in her palm, the fidgeting of her legs closing around him, and the way her hand gripped his wrist with all the strength in her body. "quicker you come, the quicker you can be quiet." he muttered, tone sounding unbothered.

"i couldn’t care less if anyone figured out what we were doing, but that's all you're worried about, huh, y/n?" he taunted. "too focused on them to come?"

he reached over to y/n, using his freehand to turn her head to him. "you have three minutes. if you can't come before then, I'm stopping."

"what the fuck, rindou?" she shot him a harsh glare and a smile barely made it way to his lips but it was filled with anything but purity. he was the biggest tease ever and y/n knew this but hated that fact that she put it past him especially in situations like these. "come on, n/n. your time is wasting."

he sped his fingers up and y/n held his wrist steady before she grinded down onto his digits. he caressed that pleasure-filled spot once again and she shut her eyes, trying to turn off the rest of her senses.

she heard rindou speaking, but it all sounded muffled to her. if she listened to him, it'll feel all too real and that would throw her in for a loop all over again. his digits felt just right and she thought that if she focused on them enough, she could reach her high in no time.

that was proven to be true when she noticed that he sped up his motions even more, helping her as she continued to ride them, not caring about the other eyes around her. "rindou." she muttered through a whisper. she heard him hum, but she couldn't trust herself to speak at the moment.

instead, she tightly held onto his wrist as she balanced on that familiar edge of pure bliss. "come, n/n." that was all ot took for her to tip over. she tightened her already shut eyes, hoping that she wasn't being too loud. her sounds of pleasure came out as a moan, but it was muffled by a hand that wasn't her own. she felt the cool touch of metal agaisnt her lip and she realized it was from a ring that rindou always wore on his right hand.

"two minutes?" he smiled, watching as she carefully opened her eyes, her chest heaving with a fast pace. "i'm never doing this with you again." she muttered, looking around for a gaze that met her own.

"of course not. that would be crossing the line, right?"

y/n didn’t miss the pure sarcasm in his tone and she hated how she only clenched around his fingers once more so no matter what she would say next, he knew what she felt deep down.

♤ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @eclecticfirewitxh @nemoo888 @ririkavitanitraxova02 @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @yourefavsakura @karebear5118 @jays-adventure3 @flowerpjimin @thiisisntlovely @kawaiiisis @viviennevianna @slvttics @elmtree12 @ivydoesit23 @jellibean2018 @peehall @pestlaege @junabuggy @hyesworld @hime-honne @kuroaka @kimmi-iii @elssero @lxst-in-mxrdxrlxnd @littlemissfix-itfic @mythraendir @mapletress @todobrosky @amajikisbabygirl @sanriovin @daydreamteardrop @tsukishimasslut @tenwt @meowmeowmau @icyhottodo178 @lightaflaem @insaneclown0408 @raggedypansexual @riririntaro @gojosclassifiedslut @staygoldsquatchling02 @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @luvvmae @anastasiatheloveofyourlife @satoruyes

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 year ago

Text

@charliemwrites infected me with Charmed!Slasher!Ghost. The dialogue is directly from part 4 of their series.

No content warnings for this installment. Please let me know if you need me to add or tag any.

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Not everyone appreciates optimism. Seeing the best in people, you’ve been told on multiple occasions, is naive at best and dangerous at worst. Someone could take advantage of you. People have taken advantage of you. You’re going to get yourself hurt!

The thing is, you’re not naive. You’re old enough to have experienced the casual cruelty of the world. But being cruel yourself doesn’t help anything. Kindness costs very little, and you’re happy to pay a little toward your karma every day. And when people think you’re an easy, bubbly target, they tend to let their guard down.

No one expects you to be observant.

Your new neighbor doesn’t expect you to be observant.

When you almost run into him the day he moves in, it doesn't take long for you to recognize him as the guy who brought you home from the bar. For one, he’s huge and doesn’t bother to hide it. Secondly, his eyes are this flat, empty, piercing blue until you apologize. And then he smiles, and and his eyes go from lifeless tundra to sort-of-welcomingly-frigid, and you know, you know, that this guy is dangerous.

And then he informs you that he’s moving just next door. You probe a bit, and he tells you he’s not worried about your noise, even as he asks about neighbors. You give him a little vulnerability, see how still he goes when you mention that you’re a bit introverted.

“Anyway!” You chirp, slipping back into the bubbly persona before the last test. “Do you need any help moving things in?”

And your new neighbor’s pupils dilate, ever so slightly, even as all the life in them drains away.

“Thank you, luv," he says in that deep voice, "but I’m almost finished. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

You feel your whole body flush as your nervous system screams predator-danger-RUN. You look down and away, try not to fidget.

“Well, lemme know if you need anything! I always forget something important when I move,” you say, and hope he doesn’t take your nervousness as an invitation to attack. “I’m the one on the left.”

He says “call me Riley,” so you do. Don’t bother to give him a fake name back, because if he wants to, he can look at the packages on your doormat and get your full name anyway.

You spend the rest of the afternoon chewing on your bottom lip, thinking. People at the grocery store probably think you’re daydreaming, or really worried about getting the right box mix for dessert. A kindly older woman picks out her favorite brownie mix and tells you its her husband’s favorite, just add a few caramel candies. You thank her, genuinely, and add the box to your basket.

Back at home, waiting for the brownies to finish baking, you let the anxiety simmer. Riley is a predator, yes, and you’re potential prey. But he already lives next door. And the neighbor before him was also dangerous, the way all men are dangerous. Admittedly, that feels like comparing a goldfish to a volcano, but it’s true. So you’ll bring him a welcome-to-the-building gift and endear yourself to him.

Being kind doesn’t cost anything. And if he likes you, he probably won’t kill you.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #reader is in over their head #so am i #manic pixie dream ghost

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knavesflames · 4 months ago

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hi el :) imagine arle getting frustrated w reader and grabs her by the throat, harder than she intended to, but then reader enjoys it

mhm I think that could be fun

something something hands something something fingering

Yeah gotta be about the hands I just know you love hands so much

Hello >:) I do love her hands you’re so correct about that. I spent today writing this and at some point I just brain rotted completely and zoned out for a bit but!! Here you go. If she doesn’t do this to me, I will burn the world down <3 /j feel free to have an emoji if you’d like✨

Word count: 2119

Content: reader likes fingers, bratty reader, fem!reader, fingering, asphyxiation (consensual obviously), fingers in mouth, hand over mouth.. you know.

A/N: I tried without using the red colour for Arlecchino. I used it only so I could differentiate between reader and her, but I’m unsure if you guys enjoy it or not. Let me know<3

Nsft utc!

Her hands were the first thing that drew you to her, if you’re honest with yourself. You remember hearing the way her nails drummed against the surface of the counter as she waited for her coffee (double espresso. That’s it. Nothing else). The sound annoyed you, and you remember the way your eyes scanned for the perpetrator so you could politely ask them to stop. You never said anything.

Your eyes had locked onto her hands and you were admiring scrutinising each centimetre of skin. Blackened, though they were, they were slender, and her fingers were long. Even without the nails that looked like they’d scratch out an eye with ease, they were elegant, fitting for a woman of her stature.

Now of course, Arlecchino was no fool. She was plenty aware of what you were staring at, no matter how much you were trying to hide it. She found it endearing, really. How quickly you focused on them, how your breathing got just a little deeper. She liked it, and she liked you. Not just because of this, of course, she’d had her eye on you for a while, but the fact you’d made it clear that you liked her too.. A woman like her gets what she wants, especially when what she wants, wants her.

A relationship quickly formed. It seemed you both fit together quite nicely, despite her cold, closed off nature. It was quite a sweet relationship, apart from the fact that you could be a total brat when she needs it the least. How many punishments would she have to give before you learned? Or, perhaps, you quite liked them. Especially when she used her hands and her fingers.

From the way you watched her fist the base of her favourite strap, to the way you mewled when her fingers curled inside of you, you were both very very much aware of the fact that it was her hands that were the thing that got you off more than anything else. You were both very very much aware that she used that to her advantage.

One day, she was lucky enough to work from home. A rare occurrence, but one she treasures. She does not have to don the suit she wears in public, she can give her feet a much needed rest from the stilettos she refuses to leave the house without. Instead, her outfit is.. almost casual. It’s a nice change, you think. She looks like husband material. You’d never say that. Instead, you decide today is the perfect time to annoy her until you get what you want! Of course you do, you’re just a little slut for her and her hands :(

Your arm snakes over her chest as you stand behind her, your words drawn out and pleading. “Peruere,” you whine, “take a break.”

“I cannot. You know this.” Comes the firm reply. You know this, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It makes you more determined, though. Arlecchino should have known. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of her loose shirt, and your lips kiss the shell of her ear. Arlecchino sighs, her eyes raising from the paper that sits on her desk. Her hand gently slaps your own away, and her voice comes out just a little sharper.

“No. Not right now. Do not be a brat.” It’s a warning, a warning you don’t listen to. “Peruere, I’m wearing the set you like.” Her jaw feathers at that. She’s unsure if it’s the image you’ve set in her mind or the way you say her name, her real name. It’s her weakness, but currently, you’re frustrating her. Beyond belief. And the second you moan into her ear, a fake, airy moan, she loses any control she had.

She spins her chair around, stands up, and pushes you against the nearest wall. Her hands wrap around your throat, and she does not squeeze, but she could. She has. You pretend you don’t like it, but she knows, from experience, the way that your underwear is practically unwearable after thirty seconds. You get so wet for her and she loves it. Her fingers twitch and her thumb strokes your windpipe, just to see the reaction it elicits from you.

“Do you enjoy breathing?” She murmurs, her voice low and soft, a contrast to the way she just slammed you against the wall. When you only smile widely in response, her grip tightens, just enough for you to lose your breath. “Not so much, then.” Arlecchino has a tendency to muse to herself when she renders you incapable of speaking. She does it purely to mock you, to remind you of the fact that she is the one in control, no matter how bratty you can get. When you attempt to reply, and the only thing you can manage is a strangled whisper of her name, full of want, she tightens until your breath stops. She waits, timing the seconds in her head until she knows your vision blurs just a little before her grip relents.

She watches as you gasp for breath and moan at the rush of oxygen, your eyes glassy. (She wouldn’t do it if you didn’t like it, but she vividly remembers the time you asked for it. You tap thrice if it’s too much). “Not so talkative now, are you?”

When you catch your breath enough to speak, she realises your few seconds of breathlessness was not enough. “Perhaps I don’t want to talk.” Your smirk is infuriating, infuriating enough that she scoffs.

“Wanted my full attention, did you?” (Sorry I couldn’t help myself putting her voiceline in there). You shrug, pretending like you really don’t care at all, but when her hand travels down from your throat, nails grazing your perked up nipple that begs to be freed from the restraints of your bra, she knows that your words are complete bullshit.

“You’re a liar. I dislike liars. I can only assume you’re dripping for me, like you usually are.” Arlecchino hisses. She’s annoyed, you can tell that much, because she knows the work she was supposed to do today is forgotten. It always is when you act like this. Her hand leaves your nipple, trailing down your stomach until her nails dip into the waistband of your underwear. You’re lucky enough that she’s filed three of them, just for the days she decides that she doesn’t want you to clench around her strap, but instead, she wants to feel the way her fingers pull orgasm after orgasm out of you until you can’t form any words.

When her digits graze your folds and she feels how wet you are without even properly sliding her fingers into your slit, she huffs, her words full of arrogance. “You’re fucking soaked. Over some choking? You’re a good little slut aren’t you?”

You’re already melting at her words alone. The tone of her voice, the way she says such dirty words so softly. It almost makes you think she’ll give you mercy. She will not, not now. She notes the way your breathing, now that you’ve caught your breath, has sped in anticipation. Her digits graze over your sensitive skin, touching everywhere but the one place you need it the most. Her intention is to make you beg, you’ve realised, but you’re adamant that you won’t.

When she realises her current tactic won’t work, she lets her finger give a single tap to your aching, puffy clit. It’s enough for a jolt of pleasure to shoot through your body, your lips parting in a small gasp. She taps again, and once more before she rests her finger there, and doesn’t move it. She watches with amusement as you clumsily grind your hips in an attempt to get friction and sensation, her finger only moving away any time you get even the slightest chance.

“I didn’t say you could do that, did I? Are you really so mindlessly needy that you disobey me?” Her voice only serves to make you more desperate, and your arm shoots out. Your hand grips her wrist in an attempt to keep her finger where you’d like it, and for now, she abides. Arlecchino allows you to chase the pleasure for only a few moments before she shifts her hand, two of her beautiful blackened digits line up against your entrance.

“Are you going to be a good girl, hm?” A dangerous whisper right against your cheek. At this point, you might just be out of your mind with desperation, so you agree. Your head moves frantically in a nod, a quiet whimper of ‘yes, I promise, please.’ With that, she pushes them in without much difficulty (thanks to the fact you’re convinced you’ve never been this wet). The Knave is so agonisingly slow with it in the best way possible, sliding her fingers in inch by inch until you take her to the knuckle. Usually, she coos, and tells you just how well you’re taking it. Not today.

Instead, she begins her assault, curling her fingers and immediately reaching THAT spot. The woman is quick, and the second you open your mouth to groan, you feel the same two fingers on her other hand push into your mouth and press down on your tongue. You whine in response, but her reply is a cold chuckle, her voice so mockingly sweet. “We have neighbours. Do you want them to hear how badly you’ve been misbehaving?”

You do. You so badly do. You so badly want people to see just how much she can make you fall apart. Alas, you shake your head, and just to irritate her (turn her on) even more, you let your tongue swirl around her fingers the way you’ve done with her strap so many times. You suck on them hungrily, your moans and mewls of pleasure muffled. “Oh, you are a good little whore for me, aren’t you? So obsessed with my fingers you’ve chosen to suck on them while I finger fuck you into silence.”

With each curl of her fingers and rub of her thumb on your stiff clit that just begs for attention, you’re getting to the edge VERY quickly. She knows it, she can tell when you clench around them and your walls pulsate. When your legs tremble and you can barely keep yourself against the wall. When each squelch of her fingers pumping in and out of you has your eyes fucking rolling into your head, and you can no longer focus on anything and you can barely remember your name.

Usually, on nights where she decides to be loving, she’ll slow herself down during your orgasm, to prolong it, to let the pleasure hit you for longer. Today though, she speeds up and moves her fingers harder, so hard, in fact, that tears are once again welling in your eyes, that you’ve begun essentially deepthroating her fingers and gagging on them (she loves it! She adores when the very thing that has you cumming also has you struggling like a little slut, her slut <3).

You tap thrice on her wrist when it gets too much, and she takes her fingers from your mouth quickly, opting to instead clamp her hand firmly around your mouth to shut you up instead. When you cry out as your orgasm hits you, she can only raise a single eyebrow. You did not ask for permission, and she has told you that brats ask for permission. “Peruere,” you moan shakily from behind her palm as you slowly come down from it, but the look in her eyes makes yours widen.

Her fingers slide out of you with a soft squishing sound, and the dark finger pads glisten with the evidence of what she’s done to you. Arlecchino coaxes your jaw open, and she places her fingers into your mouth again, though, softly this time.

“Clean them.” She demands, and you do, groaning at the taste of it and the way she stares right at you. When she’s satisfied, she retracts them, leaving you whimpering at the loss of them. You are spent, and your legs feel like they’re about to give way. Your panties are so wet that you know you’re going to have to put them straight into the washing machine, and the thought of it makes you shiver. You lift yourself off of the wall, your legs trembling, only for her to push you right back.

“No. I did not say we were done. You interrupted my work hours, so I will not be finished with you until my work hours are over. We have about five hours.” Aww, such a shame, isn’t it?

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