#and then it spirals out of control from there.

[em1i2a3]

Self Control

Pairing: Pervish?Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: After a laundry mixup Bob finds himself in a sticky situation.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, References to Past Drug Use (and worrying about relapse because Bob is acting off, it’s very brief), Friends to Lovers? Reader and Bob sometimes do laundry together (integral to the story lol), That Emotional Longing Hits

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up please), Fingering, Handjob, Oral Sex (female and male receiving), Bob Fantasizes about the reader, Bob is an accidental underwear stealer (and ends up using said underwear for the aforementioned fantasies…But not in the way you think.), Masturbation, Face Sitting, Grinding. Yearning Bob?, Edging kind of.

Author’s Note: This started out as a cute domestic fluff laundry day thing…And then it spiraled into chaos and I rewrote it to this and…Uh…Well…Yeah. This was definitely fun to write! Hope y’all enjoy :)

Word Count: 9,169

Bob didn’t mean to end up with your underwear in his laundry pile.

But somehow, in the chaos of t-shirts, sweaters, hoodies, the occasional undergarments and socks, it must’ve gotten tangled up in the fray–caught on a sleeve or clinging to a hoodie fresh from the dryer, still warm and clinging with static.

You and Bob had been doing laundry together since you moved into the compound. It wasn’t some grand arrangement, just something that started one afternoon when you both showed up with half-full hampers and a shrug of mutual understanding. It made sense–neither of you produced a ton of laundry, and instead of fighting for the machine on rotation days, you just started tossing your stuff in together. Whites, colors, delicates–sorted after the fact with casual efficiency.

It worked. Mostly. There was the one time a bright red sock bled all over your white workout gear, leaving you with a pastel pink sports bra and Bob with a sheepish apology and an offer to replace it. But that was months ago, and nothing that catastrophic had happened since.

So when Bob was folding one of his navy sweaters on the edge of his bed and your underwear–a soft, pale blue lace piece–slipped from the sleeve and floated gently to the floor like a feather, he wasn’t shocked, or surprised…Not really at least.

But he did freeze in his spot.

He stared at the fabric for a long moment, the sweater long forgotten in his lap. The cotton and lace rested on the hardwood floor and it looked much heavier for what it was. Because he recognized them instantly.

He’d seen them once before–peeking out from above the waistband of your gray sweatpants one early morning in the kitchen, when your shirt had ridden up as you reached for the coffee filters on the top shelf. The lace had caught his eye, delicate and out of place against the plainness of your sleepwear. It was a tiny sliver of you he hadn’t meant to see but couldn’t unsee once he had.

And now they were here in his room, calling out to him from the floor. His mouth went dry as he bent to pick them up, fingertips brushing the lace–soft, fine, and whisper-light as it tickled his skin. The sweater in his lap slipped off his knees and landed with a muted thud, but he barely noticed.

The delicate blue lace fluttered against his palm, cool and almost weightless, but it may as well have been an open flame. Bob swallowed hard. His eyes traced the pattern–those tiny embroidered flowers, the scalloped edging, the faint shimmer of elastic thread winding through the weave. The intricate detail of it was so intimate and so utterly you that it made his chest tighten. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as his grip on the lace faltered for a second–just long enough for the material to flutter in his palm again, taunting him. His eyes burned from not blinking, his lungs held hostage by the slow creeping heat that began to coil low in his belly.

He shouldn’t have been picturing you in them…But he was.

The underwear, soft and sheer, hugging your hips in a way that made his jaw clench, accentuating the curve of your ass, leaving the barest sliver of mystery–just enough to drive him absolutely insane. He could see it too clearly now. You standing in front of him in nothing but that lace and a look that bordered on smug. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, chewing the flesh softly like you always did when you were nervous or thinking too hard…Or when you were teasing…

And god, the idea of your fingers hooking into the waistband, sliding beneath the fabric with slow, knowing touches, tracing the delicate edge along your own skin…Maybe lifting the hem slightly, like you were offering yourself to him, or you were just showing off…Maybe–

He hissed out a breath through his teeth and dropped the underwear onto the bed like it burned him.

”Oh god,” He whispered, the words dragging out of him like gravel. He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes, trying to force the image out of his head, but it was too late. The damage was done. His cock stirred in his sweatpants, a slow, aching hardening that he could neither ignore nor justify–not when it was born from something so unintentional and innocent…Or at least it had been innocent.

But now it felt like a betrayal. He was picturing you in such compromising positions that his self-control was hanging by a thread. The lace was haunting him now–taunting him with softness and sin, curled on the edge of his bed like it knew what it was doing. His breathing was shallow. He could feel the heat pressing low in his abdomen, tight and demanding, throbbing beneath the waistband of his sweats. He glanced down at himself, and looked at the underwear again, feeling his hand drifting towards the hardness–craving relief.

And then–

Knock Knock Knock

“Bob?” Your voice filtered through the door, casual, close, and completely unaware. He shot up from the bed like he had been electrocuted, heart slamming into his ribs.

”Shit–“ He hissed under his breath, nearly stumbling over the discarded sweater as he scrambled to grab the lace from the mattress.

You were right there. Right on the other side of the door. And he was standing in his room, half-hard, now holding your underwear, basically caught red handed even though he hadn’t done anything.

Without thinking, he yanked open the drawer of his nightstand and shoved the lace inside, slamming it shut with a soft thud. His fingers lingered on the handle, like it might rattle open and spill the truth onto the floor. He could’ve handed them back, he should’ve handed them back, but instead, he panicked.

“Ye-Yeah?” He called out, voice cracking embarrassingly high before he cleared his throat and forced it to come out deeper, steadier, “Yeah?”

“We’re ordering takeout!” You replied, “Come give your order!” His mind whirled. Food. Orders. Takeout.

He adjusted himself through his sweatpants quickly, trying to shift his erection into a less obvious position. It wasn’t helping that your voice was still floating through the air like warmed honey, layered with unintentional sweetness and familiarity. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath through his nose, and forced the image of you in that lace down–way, way down.

“Okay!” He said, forcing cheer into his voice, “Be out in a minute! Just…Ju–Just changing!” He added.

”Alright,” You responded lightly. “Don’t keep us waiting.” You teased in a sing-song voice, which almost made him moan out loud. Bob rubbed his hands down his face, scrubbing over his jaw until it ached.

“Get a hold of yourself, Bob. Get a fucking gr–grip.” His voice was a low rasp, breath catching in the middle like he couldn’t even convince himself. He looked down–eyes dragging to the tent in his sweatpants, the hard line still pressing persistently against the cotton like it was begging him to give in. He adjusted himself again with a hiss of breath, making sure it wasn’t too obvious before dragging a hand through his already messed up hair and stepping out into the hallway.

Dinner was a blur.

He sat beside you at the little kitchen table, half-listening to the others talk over one another, too aware of every tiny movement you made. Your arm brushed his as you leaned forward to grab your drink, a few water droplets falling onto your shirt. You laughed a bit at one of Alexei’s off handed jokes and tapped your bare foot against the floor just inches from his own. You were in one of your old college t-shirts–the one that had a stretched out neckline that revealed the smooth plane of your collarbone.

Bob could barely eat with such close proximity, and he couldn’t look at you too long because he would end up picturing the lace again–how soft it felt in his hand, how delicate it was. How easy it was to picture them on you, or falling off you. He poked around his plate in a daze, trying his best to keep up with the conversations going on around him but his brain was on autopilot, filled with the nastiest thoughts he had conjured up in a long time.

You had noticed how he didn’t eat, it was easy to spot, even though he tried to hide it by wrapping up his plate and putting it into the fridge muttering an excuse of him eating the rest later. While you were cleaning the dishes you turned to him and asked, “Are you alright?” He looked like a deer in headlights, his blue eyes wide and shimmering, his jaw clenching at the question.

”Ye–Yeah, of course I am…Do I not seem alright?” You shrugged.

”You didn’t eat. Usually you have the appetite of a rabid animal.” His face heated up at that comment as he grabbed a damp plate from the dish rack, drying it off with his cloth, “And when you’re…Not feeling good you typically don’t eat.” You added in a hushed tone. He gulped, turning away from you.

”I’m alright. Trust me…You’d know if I wasn’t.” You hummed, and gave him a small okay, even though you were still concerned about his current state. The thought of him possibly relapsing crossed your mind, but you immediately pushed the idea out of your mind, because he wasn’t sneaky enough to get away with something like that, or at least you hoped he wasn’t. You trusted him enough that he would come to you if he ever had the thought of turning back to pills, and you felt ashamed for even thinking he was, but you were still concerned at the small sign that something was off.

By the time Bob got back to his room, he felt like his entire body was on fire. He tore off his clothes and took the coldest shower known to man, yet he still felt like his blood was boiling beneath his skin. He had thrown himself down on his bed, spreading himself out on top of the covers in only a pair of shorts. Beads of sweat clung to his chest, the muscle in his thighs tensing up and clenching. He took a few deep breaths, trying his best to keep his mind blank and wiped.

The moonlight cut across the room in fractured silver, spilling in from the half-cracked blinds, casting long spotlight-like shadows across the floor. His thoughts trailed off to the drawer, and he could’ve sworn he was going to explode. He tried turning over. Tried to ignore it. But the temptation was right there. Inches away.

“Just do it you little perv. She won’t know anything about it.” The Void hissed. Bob reached up and wiped some of the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

”But I’ll know…” He whispered into the abyss of the room.

“So? You’ve already crossed the line by fantasizing about her. Might as well finish the job.” He spat back. Bob nibbled on his bottom lip, his eyes glancing over at the nightstand again, before letting out a broken curse, and reaching for the drawer.

It slid open with the faintest scrape, and he paused, his eyes locking onto the pale blue lace curled up like a secret in the corner. They practically glowed in the moonlight, and the soft fabric looked ethereal now–delicate and silken. The tiny embroidered flowers caught the light like they had been stitched from starlight. His fingers hovered for a moment…Then curled around them gently, bringing the underwear out slowly, like they might disintegrate in his palm.

Bob leaned back against the pillows, staring at the lace in his hand–how dainty it looked, how personal. His thumb traced the scalloped edge, watching the way the elastic caught the light. They were so you it made his stomach twist. So soft. So intimate. So unthinkably forbidden. He took in a shaky breath, before sliding his other hand beneath his waistband pushing it down slightly, fingers curling around the thick, aching heat of his erection.

He hissed through his teeth. The relief was immediate–sweet and sharp, his whole body jerking slightly from the first touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow as he began to stroke himself, slow at first, letting the sensation build while he gripped your lace underwear against his chest, cooling his heated skin. Bob’s breath shuddered as he wrapped his fingers tighter around the base of his cock, the ache rolling through him in thick, pulsing waves.

He let his eyes flutter shut, and he pictured you in the darkness behind his eyes straddling his waist in nothing but that same pale blue lace, the hem riding high as you rolled your hips down against him. Bob groaned aloud, soft and guttural, imagining the warmth of you grinding down over him, the thin barrier doing nothing to hide how wet you were. In his mind, your hands braced on his thighs, fingers digging in, nails biting into flesh for leverage as you rocked yourself over him with unhurried need–showing yourself off to him.

He could see it so clearly–your head tipped back, chest heaving, lips parted just enough for a whisper of his name to fall out, all soft and wrecked. His hips bucked into his fist, a harsh hiss dragging between his teeth.

He balled the lace tighter in his hand, dragging it up toward his face with shaking fingers, needing the feel of it against his skin–against the stubble on his jaw. The soft fabric kissed his cheek as he pressed it there, inhaling deeply.

Laundry sheets.

Fabric softener.

And beneath all of that–faint, ghost-like warmth. The phantom memory of your skin. It made him feel insane.

“Fuck,” He groaned, voice raw, as he stroked himself faster now, hips rising off the bed.

He pictured you perched over his face, thighs trembling on either side of his head, lace still clinging to your hips as you slowly lowered yourself down onto his mouth. His tongue dragging over the soaked fabric, the taste of you bleeding through, his hands gripping your ass, holding you there while you rode the pressure of his mouth.The lace brushing against his cheekbones, his nose, tickling his skin while he sucked and licked and moaned into you. His mind spiraled as the pleasure built, fast and brutal now.

Your voice echoed in his head. Desperate. Breathless.

“Don’t stop, Bob…Please don’t stop.”

He whimpered as his orgasm surged up from deep in his core, everything tightening, his muscles locking as he arched off the mattress. Just before he came, he stuffed the lace into his mouth, biting down hard as the pleasure ripped through him in thick, pulsing waves.

Cum spilled over his knuckles, hot and messy, streaking across his stomach as he worked himself through it, the lace muffling the strangled moans that would’ve echoed too loud in the stillness of the compound. His whole body shook with the release and for a moment everything blurred together–the moonlight, the heat, the breath that rattled in his chest.

Then it was pure silence, just his soft wheezing echoing through the room, the faint creak of the bed springs, and the wet slick of his hand pulling away. He reached up with his clean hand, easing the lace out of his mouth slowly, the fabric damp where his teeth had clamped down. He stared at it, and felt the guilt and shame blooming somewhere deep in his stomach. Shame trailing after the pleasure like a tide going out, leaving him raw and aching.

His eyes drifted closed for a second as he laid the underwear down gently beside him, before reaching over for a tissue and wiping his hand off, tucking himself back into his shorts, letting out a long sigh.

“Well that was just pathetic.” The Void whispered

———————

It had been a few days since your quiet check-in while doing the dishes together. Days since Bob had nodded and told you he was fine and that he would tell you if he wasn’t. But you could tell something was off.

He’d become…Jumpy. And not in the normal, anxious–Bob kind of way you were used to. This was different. Tense and wound tight. He avoided eye contact with you when usually he would hold it. Laughed too loud when he used to chuckle under his breath, almost like he forced it out of himself. Doors that were usually left open between you were suddenly shut and locked. And when you knocked? You would hear rapid shuffling and panicked movement, as if he was hiding something quickly.

At first, you let it slide, but then the noises in the night started.

You’d wake sometime at around 2:30 in the morning, like clockwork. And from your room, you could hear him moving, pacing. Sometimes you would hear his mattress creaking, like he was shifting restlessly on the covers, never fully settling.

He definitely wasn’t getting enough sleep, and he certainly wasn’t eating properly…And the last time that happened…

Your chest clenched as the thought curled like smoke through your lungs: what if he had relapsed?

The idea made you ill. You didn’t want to believe it. Bob had fought so hard, and he had come so far. But you knew something was going on, and if he wasn’t going to tell you what it was, you were going to have to find it out for yourself–even if it meant crossing a line.

You just didn’t expect the opportunity to come so soon.

”Hey, Bob!” Walker called down the hall late that afternoon, “Need some of that extra super Sentry strength to help haul the groceries up from the parking garage. There’s a lot of boxes.” Bob appeared from his room moments later, navy sweatpants hanging low on his hips showing off his waist, as he tugged a shirt on.

”Coming.” He mumbled. You waited, perfectly still, until the echo of his footsteps disappeared completely. Then you slipped into his room.

His space was always immaculate.

The soft click of the door behind you was swallowed by the stillness of his bedroom, the air faintly tinged with cedarwood and clean linen. His bed was made—neatly. Sheets tucked in tight, comforter folded down with military precision. A dark navy throw blanket lay folded at the end, square and untouched.

Everything had a place. The floor was spotless. A pair of slippers sat aligned beneath the bedframe, parallel, like they’d never been used.

His desk was the only spot with any real sign of life. And even then, it was the kind of lived-in that screamed care and intention. The surface was arranged with crisp order: a few pens, a worn leather notebook, and—stacked neatly along the edge—dozens of CDs.

You blinked, surprised.

Old-school jewel cases. Labeled in his handwriting. Some were scratched. Others polished like keepsakes. Fleetwood Mac. Miles Davis. Nirvana. You ran your fingers across the stack, a soft smile tugging at your lips. He’d mentioned once that music helped quiet his mind. He must’ve started collecting since moving into the compound.

You reached for the desk drawer.

Stationery. Lined journals. A few half-filled notebooks, their margins scrawled with little doodles, mission notes, lists of music to look up. Everything was clean. Normal.

The second drawer opened with a soft pull.

Photos.

Printed, physical ones. A few of the team together after missions, muddy and bruised but smiling. One of Yelena flipping the bird at the camera. Another of Ava mid-eye-roll. There were newspaper clippings too–crumpled articles about Thunderbolt missions, some good press, some bad. Your name was featured in a few headlines. He’d circled them in blue ink.

Your heart twisted.

You shouldn’t have found this. It was sweet. Too sweet. A little drawer of memories, lovingly tucked away. And it only made your guilt worse. You were snooping. You were in his space, crossing every boundary you said you never would.

But still…Your feet moved you toward the nightstand beside his bed. If there were pills…This is where they’d be. Within reach. Easy to grab in the middle of the night when he needed a fix.

You sucked in a breath, and pushed down the guilt that began to bubble in your stomach.

You were doing this for Bob, you reminded yourself, curling your fingers around the metal knob and pulling.

Inside, you found–

A book.

You blinked. Relief hit you first, brief and shallow. No pills. No bottles.

Just his current read—Sonic Life, the memoir by Thurston Moore. A thick paperback with the spine already bent in half, a few dog-eared corners marking passages he must’ve liked. You recognized it. He mentioned it during breakfast a few weeks ago—talked about sound, distortion, noise theory, memory and music. You’d made a joke about it being “a very Bob book.”

You almost smiled, but then you saw what was underneath.

Beneath the memoir, crumpled beneath it like it had been hidden like a dirty little secret, was a pair of your underwear. Pale blue lace, nearly torn at the waistband-delicate elastic threads pulled and fraying in places like it had been…Torn at. Twisted. Used. Scrunched up in a way that didn’t suggest accident or coincidence.

Time seemed to stop for a second, like the air had been sucked out of the room. You weren’t breathing…Then it all started to make sense. The sudden shift in his energy. The way his hands trembled slightly when they passed you the salt at dinner. The way his room had been locked every night since the talk at the sink. The restless pacing. The flushed cheeks. The way he couldn’t look at you without swallowing hard.

He was fantasizing about you.

And he didn’t do it once, nor did he do it in passing or with some distant, impersonal curiosity.

He was doing it repeatedly.

And he was guilty about it too. The tension in his shoulders, the stammer in his voice, the quiet withdrawal like he was trying to keep something from rotting through his skin–it all gave it away. Like he was carrying a sin he didn’t know how to confess.

You felt your lips twitch up into a smile at the thought. It wasn’t cruel or mocking or judgemental. You were curious…Maybe even a little impressed.

Because this? This was Bob.

Mr. Polite. Mr. Gentle. Mr. “Let me carry that for you.” You reached for the lace and brought it up to your line of sight, turning the fabric over between your fingers.

The waistband was stretched out, frayed at the edges. One of the delicate scalloped hems had been tugged so hard it had nearly ripped from the mesh. And the center? Wrinkled, creased, marked faintly like it had been…Clenched. Bitten into maybe.

Your stomach fluttered. You weren’t sure what to feel. Shock still hummed in your limbs, but something warmer was pooling low in your belly, buzzing behind your ribs. He’d wanted you. Desperately. Enough to hold onto something so intimate and private and ruin it in secret, and Bob of all people had done it.

And there was a wild, secret power in that realization.

You were so distracted by the thoughts and questions racing through your mind–so caught in the strange, heavy thrill of holding your ruined underwear in Bob’s room, piecing it all together–that you didn’t hear the elevator ding.

Didn’t hear the soft stomp of boots in the hallway.

Didn’t register the quiet thud of a grocery bag against the wall or the familiar murmur of Bob’s voice trailing behind Walker’s until it was too late.

By the time the front door opened and his steps carried him into the corridor, you were still standing beside his bed.

The drawer was open. The underwear was in your hands, and when the door to his room creaked open, everything fell silent.

Bob froze in the doorway like he’d been shot. His eyes locked on you instantly, and then they dropped to your hands. To the lace clutched between your fingers.

To the thing he thought he’d hidden so well.

Panic hit his face like a tidal wave–his mouth falling open, blood draining from his cheeks, posture going stiff like he’d been yanked into another dimension altogether.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

For a moment, the tension in the room felt like a blade suspended in mid-air–sharp, motionless, waiting for gravity to choose who it would fall on.

Then, quietly, Bob stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. The click of the latch was barely audible, but it echoed through your chest like a gunshot.

He stood there–shoulders hunched slightly, like bracing for a hit–before he opened his mouth.

“I–I know what it looks like…” He began, his voice rough and thin with fear. “I wasn’t gonna–I didn’t–”

His eyes flicked to the underwear in your hand again.

And he stopped.

Dead silent.

Because he knew.

There was no way out of this. No casual backpedal. No awkward chuckle and muttered apology. Not when you were holding the evidence–creased and stretched, soft blue lace fraying at the edges, ruined by hands that had clearly used it.

You watched him carefully, your voice quiet but firm.

“What were you going to do with it, Bob?”

He opened his mouth like he had something rehearsed–some pitiful excuse that might paint this in a softer light–but he faltered. His throat bobbed. His jaw clenched.

“…I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking. “I’m not lying…I just…I didn’t plan it. It showed up in the laundry pile and I sh–should’ve given it back, I know that, but I just…I couldn’t.” You held the ruined lace up a little higher into his field of vision, watching the way his eyes flicked to it like it had some kind of hold over him. Your voice dropped–low, teasing, laced with something darker and richer than before.

“Tell me what you did to make them look like this, Bob.”

His lips parted. No sound came out. His throat moved in a thick swallow, his eyes wide–glass-blue and shimmering like he was about to cry or combust. Maybe both. The shame in his expression was so raw, so exposed, that for a moment you almost pitied him. But then his gaze dropped back to the lace in your hand, and something flickered in it–guilt, yes. But want too. Deep. Unfiltered. Starving.

His voice came out thin and shaking, breath hitching around every word.

”I–I held them in my hand as I was touching myself…” He whispered, ashamed, “I pictured you in th–them. What you would do…To me. I…I shoved them into my mouth to muffle my moans and…And well…I ki–kind of wrecked them.” Your cheeks were flushed now, not from embarrassment—but from heat.

The admission had sucker-punched something low in your belly. You’d expected a denial, maybe a stammered lie, something soft and pitiful like, “I just didn’t want to lose it.” But not this. Not the image of Bob–sweet, gentle Bob–shaking and alone in his bed, desperate and mouthing into the lace you’d worn, his cock in one hand, your underwear in the other, wrecking himself to the thought of you.

It was filthy. Reverent. Completely unhinged. And it made something primal stir in you.

You smirked, breath catching as you watched him.

Bob looked like he was going to pass out.

He wouldn’t meet your gaze. His face was flushed to the roots of his hair, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled. You took a slow step toward him, and then another, watching the way his shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact. He turned his face away, breathing shallow, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Look at me, Bob,” You said softly.

He didn’t.

“Look at me,” You repeated, a little firmer this time.

His eyes squeezed shut. You watched the twitch of his jaw. He finally cracked them open–but only to look down at the floor, not at you.

“Wh–Why were you snooping?” He asked suddenly, his voice small and hollow. “You…You wouldn’t have found them if you hadn’t…” You raised your free hand, cutting him off before he could spiral further.

“I thought you relapsed,” You said gently but honestly. “You weren’t eating. You were being all weird around me. And I kept hearing you pacing around at night like you weren’t sleeping. You were acting off.” You motioned to the lace in your other hand with a soft lift of your brow. “But now it all makes sense.” You could practically hear his heart drop. Because you’d been right–he couldn’t argue with that. He had been avoiding you. He had been awake. He had been off.

Because he’d been spiraling. Not from a relapse…But from desire.

From wanting you so badly it frayed the edges of his sanity.

He didn’t say anything, and in the silence, you took another step toward him. You were close enough now to see the fine tremble in his hands. The way his chest stuttered with every breath like he was holding in a scream.

“Is that why you locked the door every night?” You murmured. “So I wouldn’t walk in on you with these in your mouth?” He nodded. Quickly. Too quickly. Like the movement wasn’t even a choice–just a reaction, shame and need colliding all at once, short-circuiting the nervous system of the man who had spent nights wrecking himself in silence while your name broke in his throat. You reached up, slow and deliberate, and cupped his jaw in your palm.

His skin burned under your touch–hot and tight from the tension roiling beneath the surface. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. But he did tense, jaw locking under your fingers like he was bracing for impact.

”Please look at me, Bob.” Your voice had dropped again. Not harsh–never harsh–but steady. Intimate. Loaded with the kind of authority he had no idea how to resist.

His eyes lifted slowly. Hesitantly.

And when they met yours–wide, glassy, stormed with guilt and arousal and fear–you kept your hand right there. Holding him in place. Tethering him.

“Use your words,” You whispered. “Tell me what you imagined.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Just his breath. Shaky. Shallow. His lashes fluttered and his brow knit like he was in pain.

“Y/N…” He croaked, voice splintering at the edges. “I d–don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You tilted your head slightly, thumb brushing his jawline.

“I think it’s exactly what you need,” You murmured. “You’ve been spiraling for days trying to bury this. Let it out.”

You leaned in–close enough now that your breath mingled with his. That heat you felt earlier, the primal kind, pulsed low in your belly. He smelled like sweat and cedar and guilt. He looked like he was about to crumble.

And that made you want him more.

“I want to hear it,” You whispered, coaxing him. “Tell me.”

Bob swallowed–loudly. Audibly. Like the truth was a physical thing in his throat, sharp and jagged and stuck.

His hand twitched at his side. He closed his eyes. Then opened them again, slower this time. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I imagined you in them,” He breathed. “With nothing else on…” His throat bobbed again, as he continued “You rode me with them on…And you grinded against my face…You used me to get off…And you were so…So we–wet.”

Your breath hit his lips, and Bob’s eyes fluttered shut–just for a second–as though it physically hurt to be this close to you. His tongue darted out, instinctively, catching the trace of moisture you left behind like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

And then you whispered it, sultry and soft enough to short-circuit whatever fragile defenses he had left:

“Yeah? Is that all?”

His eyes snapped open. He looked wrecked–lips parted, pupils blown wide, sweat clinging to his hairline even though the room wasn’t warm.

He nodded.

“I could only see yo–you like that…” He admitted, the words fragile and tight in his throat. “I—I didn’t want to think about anyone else. Just…you.”

You bit your bottom lip, dragging the soft skin between your teeth slowly, your voice a breathy murmur laced with something between disbelief and desire.

“You should’ve told me…”

Bob’s jaw clenched at that. His whole posture shifted, arms rigid at his sides, as if part of him wanted to run and the other part wanted to kneel.

“It…It’s too embarrassing to tell you this stuff,” He said thickly, voice cracking at the edges. “You’re my…my friend.”

You exhaled softly, thumb stroking once beneath the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Please,” You said gently, the word hanging between you like an invitation. “I think we’re far past that stage.” Bob’s breathing grew more uneven, his throat working around the tension that refused to loosen. You leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear now, and whispered low enough to make his spine straighten:

“Because I want to fulfill those dirty little fantasies you had about me…”

You pulled back just enough to see his face.

His eyes–those beautiful, storm-struck eyes–searched yours with so much stunned vulnerability it made your chest ache. He looked like he didn’t know if he was about to wake up or fall to pieces right there at your feet.

“You…Wh–what?” He whispered, like the sentence was a foreign language. You didn’t answer at first. Instead, you reached down slowly–deliberately–to the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers curling beneath the soft cotton.

His breath audibly stuttered.

“I want to fulfill your fantasies,” You repeated, softer this time, like a secret meant only for him. You pushed the sweatpants down your legs, steady and sure, the fabric pooling at your ankles before you stepped out of them.

And Bob’s gaze dropped instantly to your underwear.

The black lace hugged your hips like a whispered promise–dark, sheer, wicked in contrast to the soft blue he had held in his hands for the past couple of nights. They were different in tone, in color, in feel, but the sight of them hit him just as hard. Maybe harder.

He stared like he was dying of thirst and you’d just offered him water.

His hands twitched at his sides, trembling slightly, like he didn’t know where they belonged–if he even had permission to move.

You watched him carefully. Saw the way he was holding himself back, teetering between restraint and desperation.

So you leaned in again, and whispered:

“You can touch me, Bob.”

That was all it took.

His hands lifted–slow, almost afraid–as if you might vanish if he moved too fast. His fingertips hovered over your hips for a moment, not quite making contact, his eyes flicking up to yours in silent question.

You nodded once. Gave him that tiny breath of permission.

And then he touched you.

Not roughly. Not greedily. But like he didn’t believe you were real. His hands found your waist first, warm and shaking, his thumbs brushing the lace where it dipped over the bone. He exhaled like it hurt.

”…Jesus, you’re so–“ He cut himself off, shaking his head like he couldn’t even begin to put his thoughts into words. Bob’s wrists. He twitched like you’d shocked him, but didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink as you guided his trembling hand down–slowly, steadily–until his palm brushed over the front of your underwear, and then you pressed yourself into his touch.

He felt it then. The heat. The slick. The unmistakable wetness that had already soaked into the lace.

Bob let out a ragged breath, his lips parting in a soft, strangled sound like he couldn’t believe what his hand was touching.

“Oh my god…” He whispered, barely audible. His eyes dropped to where his fingers were now cupping you, reverently, the lace warm and damp beneath his touch. His thumb flexed unconsciously, pressing slightly into the fabric, dragging just enough to feel the shape of you beneath the mesh.

You sighed, soft and slow, eyes fluttering at the contact.

Then you leaned in and kissed him.

It was nothing like you imagined it would be.

It was gentle. Breathless. Desperate, but careful.

He gasped softly against your lips–like you’d startled him, or like he couldn’t believe this was really happening. But he kissed you back almost instantly, mouth warm and pliant, his free hand finding your waist, tugging you just a fraction closer like he needed to feel all of you at once.

And then–his hand moved.

Still cupping you through the lace, his fingers began to stroke. Shaky. Uncertain. But so, so eager. He rubbed softly, the pressure tentative but building with each sweep, each slow pass of his fingertips over the soaked fabric.

Your lips parted with a soft sigh, and he took it as an invitation–his mouth pressing forward a bit harder, the kiss deepening, his tongue brushing yours just once before you pulled back.

You stared at him.

His pupils were enormous. His lips were kiss-swollen. His chest was rising in shallow, stuttering breaths.

And your voice–when it came–was a low, deliberate command that went straight to the erection that was forming in his sweatpants:

”Go lie on the bed.” He blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. Like his brain hadn’t caught up with the situation. But when you raised your brows, slowly, and nodded toward the mattress.

He moved without hesitation–like he was under your command, like the mattress had become holy ground.

Bob stretched out onto his back, the navy throw blanket rumpling beneath him, crown of soft light brown hair fanning across the pillow like a halo. He stared over at you–wide-eyed, wrecked, and trembling. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, sweat still clinging to the hollow of his throat from earlier. His cock throbbed beneath the worn cotton of his sweatpants, a heavy, unrelenting presence between his thighs.

You sighed softly, your fingers tugging the hem of your shirt, drawing it up and over your head with slow finality. The air was cool on your skin, and Bob’s breath hitched audibly when he saw your bra–black lace, delicate and bold, a perfect match for the underwear still damp against your core. You made no move to take it off. He didn’t deserve all of you yet. Not until he begged for it.

Instead, you moved toward him, crawling onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress beside his hip. The other swung over, straddling him fully. You hovered over his lap, your thighs bracketing him with intention. He looked like he might forget how to breathe.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let the weight of the moment thicken between you–your body above his, your skin flushed, the black lace clinging to every curve, and the heat radiating off of both of you in waves.

Then, softly:

“Is this okay?”

Bob nodded so fast it nearly looked painful. “Y–Yes,” He rasped, hands coming up instinctively to rest on your hips, tentative but reverent, like he thought you might still vanish if he wasn’t careful. “Please, yes…” His fingers sank into the lace, palms cupping the sides of your ass, massaging the fabric as if it were a prayer. You rolled your hips once–slow, deliberate–and the sound that came from him was something between a gasp and a broken moan, the lace rubbing against your clit gently.

You ground against him again, your lace dragging over the thick, aching line of his cock through his sweatpants, and Bob bucked beneath you–the pressure causing you to shiver. His hands tightened, clutching you like he needed the anchor. His head tipped back against the pillow, lips parting, a string of breathless curses spilling out.

“Fuck…Oh god, Y/N.” You grinned, rolling your hips again, slower this time. Teasing. Your slick soaked into the lace, darkening the front of his sweatpants, and you could feel the twitch of him beneath you, thick and throbbing, desperate for friction. He writhed, moaned, his thighs tensing under yours. His eyes fluttered half shut, lashes fanned across flushed cheeks, his jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.

“Shit…Please. Please don’t st–stop, please–“ He gasped. You kept going, dragging yourself over him again and again, steady, sensual, watching every reaction ripple across his body like waves. His hips jerked, chasing every movement, and he groaned, high and rough in his throat, so fucking pretty beneath you—needy and overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with the pleasure.

But then…You stopped.

You stilled your hips completely and leaned forward, placing your palms on his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart. Bob let out a strangled, desperate gasp beneath you–like you’d just ripped the oxygen from his lungs. His hands twitched on your hips, trying not to beg. Trying so hard to hold onto the last frayed thread of self-control.

“Please…” he breathed, voice shattered, raw with hunger. “Please, I–I can’t…Y/N, I need….Fuck–”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“What do you need, Bob?”

He whimpered. His hands gripped tighter, pulling your hips down flush against his cock like he needed you to feel how hard he was. His voice cracked in his throat as he pleaded:

“Get on my face…I ne–need you on my face… Please, Y/N. Please.” He sounded like he was losing his mind. Like he’d die if he didn’t taste you. His voice was breathless, trembling, and soaked in desperation.

You smiled–slow and dangerous–as you leaned forward just enough to whisper against his lips, “Let me help you take your sweatpants off first.”

Bob nodded immediately, like he would’ve agreed to anything you asked him. Anything. He lifted his hips with a quiet, breathless sound as you slid your hands beneath the waistband, dragging the fabric down slowly, watching the way his cock strained against the cotton briefs beneath as you took those down as well. He was already leaking–already flushed deep and hard, twitching with every shift of your weight above him.

You let the sweatpants and boxers fall to the floor, and just as you were about to climb back over him, Bob reached behind his neck and tugged his shirt off.

You stilled.

His body was long and lean, but solid–battle-worn. Muscled in a way that was quiet, capable. Not flashy, not carved from marble, but real. Lived-in. There were faint scars trailing along his ribs, one curling beneath his left pectoral, another nicked across his hip. Your fingers reached instinctively, gently tracing the one beneath his chest.

Bob flinched slightly–more at the intimacy than the contact–and his eyes darted to yours. You shook your head softly, thumb brushing the curve of the mark.

“You’re so handsome, Bob,” You whispered. He swallowed hard. His lips parted like he wanted to say something–but nothing came out. Just a choked breath. You leaned in, dragging your lips over his jaw, then down to his throat, kissing softly just above his racing pulse. When you pulled back again, you met his eyes, hovering above him.

“I want to do something to you at the same time,” You said quietly. “Is that okay?”

His breath hitched. “…Okay.” You gave him one more look–checking for hesitation, for doubt–but all you found was desperation. That wide-eyed ache he carried in his chest, begging for a release that went deeper than touch.

You shifted on the bed, slowly turning yourself around so your knees were planted on either side of his head, your core hovering over his mouth, lace clinging to your heat. From beneath you, Bob groaned–low and wrecked–his hands already reaching to brace your thighs. His fingers gripped gently, spreading you open for him with shaking reverence as you settled your weight on his chest.

He stared.

Your black lace panties were soaked–soaked through, pressed against your folds, glistening in the low light. He let out the softest, filthiest whimper you’d ever heard, like the sight alone was enough to break him.

And then his tongue pressed up against the center of the lace.

You gasped, your hips jerking forward at the sudden warmth of it–soft and thick, dragging a long, deliberate stripe up your slit, the soaked fabric allowing your taste to bleed right through.

“F–Fuck, Bob,” You whispered, head dropping low over his hips, your hand already reaching for his cock. He twitched in your palm, hot and heavy, and when you leaned down to swirl your tongue over the leaking head, Bob moaned against your core like a man possessed. He licked you through the lace again, and again, breathing hot and heavy into the damp fabric as you began to stroke him in slow, firm motions. He was already trembling.

“God…You taste so fucking good through this,” He murmured, voice slurred, drunk on it. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband, finally pushing the lace aside to bare you to him–wet and flushed and aching.

And then his mouth was on you.

No teasing. No hesitating.

He dove in like a man starved.

His tongue flattened against your entrance, then dragged upward in a filthy, unrelenting stripe that ended in a desperate suck over your clit. You moaned around his cock, and Bob bucked into your mouth with a choked gasp.

“Oh…Fuck–Y/N.”

You hummed low, lips wrapping around his head again, taking him deeper. He moaned into you in response, the vibrations spilling pleasure into your core like honey. His mouth was everywhere–kissing, sucking, tongue swirling over your clit like he was mapping you. His fingers joined the mix a moment later–two thick digits sliding up your slick folds, circling your entrance, then easing inside you with a low groan against your cunt.

“Jesus,” He breathed, fingers curling just right, “You’re–fuck, you’re so–soaking. I can feel you all over my face…” You whimpered as his tongue returned to your clit, flicking and sucking in slow, focused patterns while his fingers pumped in and out of you, curling deep, finding that sweet spot over and over again.

“Is this–shit–is this what you imagined?” You gasped, voice shaking as your hips began to roll into his face, grinding down on his mouth.

Bob nodded, groaning into your core, licking faster now. “Better,” He panted between strokes, “So much better. You’re…Fuck…You’re perfect. You taste like he–heaven. Let me make you come, please–I need to feel you come on my tongue.”

You clenched around his fingers at that, crying out into the base of his cock, your hips rocking harder, faster, grinding yourself against his lips, his tongue, his jaw. The slick sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you were drowned out only by his whimpers and moans–desperate, messy, hungry.

Your thighs were shaking.

He was making you unravel.

And he knew it.

“Let go,” Bob rasped. “Pl–Please, Y/N. I want it. I need it. Come for me.”

You moaned, louder this time, your entire body trembling as the pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, your movements turning frantic, grinding down over his mouth, his nose, chasing that release with everything you had.

Bob’s fingers never stopped. His mouth never left you.

And when you came–hips jerking, moaning his name with a stuttering cry–he moaned with you, sucking your clit through the high, licking you messily as you shook above him.

You collapsed forward with a breathless gasp, your head resting on his thigh, your hand still gripping the base of his cock, now throbbing and wet with precum.

Bob was panting beneath you, lips swollen, chin slick with your arousal.

And all he said–soft and reverent, as he kissed the inside of your trembling thigh:

“God…That…That was so mu–much better than I imagined.” You were both still catching your breath, skin flushed, muscles trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm. Bob’s face was soaked with your slick, lips parted and glistening, his hair mussed from your thighs. You leaned forward, your breath still stuttering, and kissed the inside of his thigh–softly, reverently. A tender press of lips that made his entire body shudder beneath you.

“Fuck, Bob…” You whispered against his skin, your voice ragged, “I need to feel you inside me right now.” Bob let out a strangled sound that was somewhere between a moan and a plea. You looked over your shoulder and met his gaze–completely ruined, pupils blown wide, lashes damp, cheeks flushed and lips still swollen from where he’d just worshipped you.

“You tasted so good,” You murmured, brushing your fingers along the base of his cock, “I can’t even imagine how good you feel.”

His hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips like he needed to ground himself in your body.

“Please,” He rasped, the word leaving his lips like a prayer. “Please, I need you.”

You shifted slowly, your legs shaky as you turned around to face him again. He sat up the second you moved–like his body couldn’t take the separation for even a second longer. You climbed into his lap, and Bob adjusted, scooting forward on the bed until he was seated at the edge, feet planted, thighs spread wide with you tucked in his arms.

His hands cradled you, one firm on your back, the other curling under your ass as if he was afraid you might disappear. You kissed him–soft and deep, lips plush, mouths open and slick, and he moaned into it like he was falling apart all over again. When you reached between your bodies and brushed the head of his cock against your soaked underwear, Bob gasped into your mouth.

You pulled your lace underwear to the side, the fabric clinging wetly to your thigh as you guided him to your entrance. His hands flexed on your hips as he tried to stay still, the tension in his thighs so tight you could feel it in every inch of his body.

You held his jaw in one hand, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“Watch me,” You whispered, voice thick and low. “I want you to see how you ruin me.”

And then–achingly slowly–you sank down onto him.

His eyes flew wide, lips parted in silent awe. A broken, keening moan tore from his throat the moment he felt you start to take him, tight and wet and fluttering around him as you eased him in inch by inch.

“F–fuck,” He gasped, his forehead falling against yours, voice shaking. “You’re–God, you’re so fucking warm.”

You whimpered softly, nails digging into his shoulders as your walls stretched around him, the pressure delicious, dizzying.

“You fill me so perfectly,” You whispered. “It’s like you were made for this. For me.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. His hands roamed–one splaying across your lower back, the other trembling as he cupped your breast through your bra. His thumb grazed your nipple, and you shivered as you sank all the way down, bottoming out with a soft cry.

You sat still for a moment, just feeling him inside you. His cock throbbed, buried to the hilt, twitching with every pulse of your walls. Bob’s head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” He groaned. “I’m not gonna last–I can’t…fuck, you feel like heaven.”

You began to roll your hips–slow, sensual, unhurried. Bob’s eyes snapped open, and for the briefest moment, they flashed.

Gold.

Not a full takeover. Not Sentry bursting forward. Just a flicker. A gleam of light behind the blue. Like the god inside him was watching. Feeling.

Your breath caught.

Bob seemed to feel it too–he blinked, dazed, and looked up at you like he’d just tasted something divine.

“I saw that,” You whispered. His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. Just stared at you, wrecked and reverent.

“…Is he watching?” You asked, breathless, grinding against him.

Bob swallowed. His lips brushed your collarbone as he whispered, “He’s always wa–watching. But this–” his hand smoothed down your spine, “–This is mine.”

You moaned, tilting your head back as your hips moved faster, slick thighs slapping against his.

“Say it again,” You demanded.

“This is mine,” Bob growled, breath hot against your throat. “You’re mine. You feel so good around me, I can’t–fuck–I’ve wanted this for so long.” You clung to his shoulders as you rode him, sweat slicking your skin, your rhythm getting more desperate.

“Cum inside me,” You gasped, forehead pressed to his. “I want to feel you fill me. Please, Bob…” Bob let out a sob of a moan, his grip tightening.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum,” He gasped, “Gonna fill you up–wanna see it dripping out of you when I pull out–Jesus, I’m gonna–” You kissed him hard, swallowing the cry that tore from his throat as he came. He jerked beneath you, his cock pulsing deep inside, thick and hot as he spilled into you. Your own climax tore through you a second later, your body arching against him as you moaned into his mouth.

You stayed like that–clinging to each other, gasping, trembling–as the aftershocks rolled through your bodies. Eventually, you collapsed forward, both of you falling back into the bed. His arms wrapped around you, and your legs tangled with his. Sweat cooled against your skin. His cum was still leaking from you, thick and warm between your thighs, but you didn’t care. You only buried your face in his neck and let yourself breathe him in.

He kissed your temple. Whispered your name.

And the gold in his eyes was gone.

But the heat it left behind burned just as bright.

”You…You can keep those underwear…I…I want you to have them.” You whispered. He lets out a small laugh.

”I’ll have them as a keepsake…Because I–I don’t think I’ll need to fantasize anymore…Especially now that we’ve both had the real thing.” You smirk.

“I…Completely agree with that…I already want more.” He hummed.

“Give me a few minutes and I’m sure I’ll be able to satisfy that craving.”

[rainy-day-gracie]

taking care

pre-outbreak!joel miller x babysitter!reader

summary: Joel takes care of you, whether you know it or not.

cw: consensual somno, dual pov, age-gap (reader in college/grad school, pre-outbreak joel), power imbalance due to employment (babysitter), pre-established relationship (fwb/dom-sub), discussion of d/s dynamics, discussion of mental health, oral f!recieving, fingering, unprotected piv sex, pre-outbreak joel my love, joel miller DOWN BADDDDD, use of pet names (baby, honey, pretty girl, etc.), PRAIIIIIIIISEEEEEE

word count: 1.4k

a/n: don't look at me, i know it's another somno but what's a girl to do about it huh? i just want an old man eating me out in my sleep is that such a crime

masterlist

-

You weren’t sure how it started, this arrangement with Joel. 

Sure, you technically worked for him, as Sarah’s babysitter during the week. But this relationship – if you could even call it that – was a separate deal entirely. 

Joel knew how to read you, unlike any other man before him. He knew your nervous tics, your pressure points, your signs of stress. He knew when you were desperate for distraction, needy for direction. 

At first, the relationship was purely sex; scratching an itch you both had, a mutual desire for release. Waiting for him to come home, long after Sarah went to bed, and jumping his bones the moment he crossed the threshold of his doorway. 

Joel certainly never had any complaints, and neither did you. 

Until grad school started up again, and your head swam with more than just regular twenties-troubles. 

Buzzing anxiety plagued you constantly, brooding weight seemingly slung across your shoulders, making you heavy with self-doubt, insecurity, stress. You spiraled at any small deviation from the standard you set for yourself, the impossible bar you bent yourself into pretzels to reach.

With school, and babysitting, and work, and friends, and family, and money… you found yourself desperate for reprieve from the leash you had on yourself, aching to give up the control you clung to so tightly. 

Joel knew. He knew you wanted, needed, something requiring more trust than simple friends with benefits. 

You need me to quiet that head of yours? Tell you what to do for a while?

In the dark of night, you’d nodded eagerly, entirely willing to become nothing more than his.

Okay, pretty girl. Get on your knees for me. Right now, you ain’t gotta be nothing but a mouth. 

–

Joel was horribly, horrendously, unforgivably late.

It was all Tommy’s fault, really. His little brother refused to stop flirting with the owner, was slow on the dimensions of the property, and insisted on a nightcap after a 12-hour workday.

All Joel wanted to do? Be with his daughter, or with you. Either one was a better deal than anything he did all day. 

The clock had just struck eleven when he finally managed to crack through the front door, his house quiet, dark. One lamp had been left on, casting his home in a dim, warm glow. 

He knew Sarah had long gone to sleep. But you… 

His heart melted at the sight of you, snoozing on his living room sofa. Golden Girls played on the TV, muted, adding to the angelic light that cast shadows across your face. 

Dropping his bag at the door, he moved towards you, keeping his boots quiet on the hardwood floor so as to not wake you. 

Joel couldn’t look away from you, so soft and beautiful and sweet in the dim light. 

Your brow furrowed in your sleep, telling him exactly how plagued you’d been all day. Despite your stress, he knew you’d taken care of Sarah as a first priority, valuing his daughter’s smile over your own personal needs. And he couldn’t thank you enough for it. 

But he could damn well try. 

Joel wrapped his hands around your bare thighs, kneeling between your legs, and propping them up on his broad shoulders. His cock hardened at your pliantness, even in your sleep, letting him do as he pleased with you. 

His perfect girl. 

Joel hummed softly as he breathed in your scent, pressing his nose against the fabric of your shorts. Slipping his fingertips under your waistband, he pulled the shorts off easily enough, bringing your panties with him. 

He held those close, feeling like he would want to play with them again. 

Joel breathed in your bare cunt like it was the crispest air he’d ever inhaled. His balls tightened as he saw the hair you let grow in, how it showed the evidence of your arousal even in your sleep. 

Noticing the stretch marks that pulled across your inner thighs, he pressed light kisses to the sensitive skin. At once, your cunt gushed with a rise of desire, your body reacting to his worship unconsciously. 

Joel always made a point to praise the things that you critique about yourself, from stretch marks to your breasts to your stomach to your intelligence itself. He found purpose in making you see yourself in the way he sees you, making you recognize your own worth because of the things you dislike so violently, and not in spite of them. 

He kissed your inner thigh more deeply, sucking marks into the skin that he knew you would smile at in the morning. Even with his marking of you, still you slept, though the tension between your brows had eased. 

Joel, holding your legs spread over his shoulders, licked a line up your cunt from the skin above your asshole all the way up to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy. A moan escaped him as he ate at you, something dark and dominating arising the moment your sweet taste met his tongue. 

Blood rushed to his cock, pressing a harsh dent into his work jeans. 

Your cunt responded to him with neediness, despite the fact that you hadn’t yet stirred. He grinned into his pretty girl, your pussy like fine wine as he lapped at your wet hole. 

“Joel…”

Your breathy, sleepy whine sent fire racing down his belly, and into his groin. Here you were, calling his name in your sleep, as he ate your cunt like a starving man. 

He shushed you quietly, coaxing you back into rest. “Relax for me, baby, that’s it.”

Your lips parted slightly, soft moans escaping as he put his mouth on you again. He rubbed his thumb over your sensitive clit in circles, fucking you on his tongue with wicked delight curling within him. 

He would die here, between your legs. Forget Texas, forget his brother, forget contracting, forget it all, save for Sarah. You were all he needed, all he wanted. 

Your sweet skin, and soft moans. Your bright eyes studying him as he fixed his whiskey. Your giggles of joy, and pleasure. Your trust in him to take care of you.

He would live and die taking care of you, if he had it his way. 

“Joel, what…” you sighed, eyes fluttering open and shut between reality and dreams. 

“Shhhh, baby. Just let me kiss you for a bit,” he said into your skin, his tongue delving between your folds in a punishing swipe. 

Your legs dug into his broad back, and through your closed lids, he knew your eyes were rolling back into your skull. In your haze of sleep, your hips lifted against his mouth, chasing your orgasm. 

Joel pressed his thumb more heavily to your clit, and grinned into your cunt as your muscles began to clench. 

“Good girl,” he breathed, sinking his teeth into your soft thigh as you came on his tongue. Breathy moans fell from your lips as you grinded against his calloused thumb, the faint call of his name nearly enough to get Joel to cream his jeans. 

Despite the heavy rise and fall of your chest, and the slickness coating Joel’s mustache, you remained asleep, relaxing into his sofa cushions with a quiet sigh. 

Joel hummed with delight, and slipped two fingers knuckle deep into your wet cunt. 

–

You weren’t sure where the dream ended and where the reality started. 

All bets were off once the clock struck ten, and exhaustion overtook you. 

At first, dreams of C- grades, overdrawn checking accounts, and burnt cookies plagued your mind. Not nightmares, but aggravating mishaps that made your shoulders tight with worry, the buzzing of anxiousness deafening in your head, trapping you in restless sleep. 

Somewhere, somehow, the dreams shifted to something much more delightful. 

A vague sensation of lips on your core, rough hands holding you steady, sent you into a blissful state. Dark eyes, calloused fingertips, and a gruff Southern drawl chased away the worrying dreams tormenting your sleep. 

Distantly, you registered the soft murmur of your name in your ear, against your stomach, against your wet pussy. A warm mouth eating at you lazily, a single thumb rolling your clit beneath worked callouses. 

The darkness of sleep was comforting, replacing restlessness with satisfied contentment. You didn’t particularly notice the fingers stretching out your slick core, or the blunt cockhead pushing deep into your belly.

Only tidal waves of orgasms, easy crests of pleasure, and the rough rumble of your name as someone with dark eyes took what he wanted and gave you what you needed. 

[konggodzuko]

Random episode pitches:

Baby Saja has a Bad Boy arc and it proves to be a fan favorite. Huntr/x has to undermine this to avoid the Saja Boys' popularity from spiraling out of control.

Jinu sees how popular Miromabby is, and orders Romance and Abby to play it up. They claim to hate doing this, but they soon become competitive in trying to get her attention.

A rogue demon seeking to show up the Saja boys traps Rumi and Jinu in an infinite backstage maze. Mira and Zoey have to team up with the other Saja Boys to free their friends.

Mira gets into a prank war against Abby and Romance.

An entire episode based around a double signing event.

An entire episode based around a variety show appearance

A popular foreign musician is looking to collab with a KPOP group, Huntr/x and Saja Boys compete. (maybe a reveal the musician is involved in their culture's version of the fight against demons?)

Saja Boys try to cancel one of the Huntr/x girls for something.

Saja Boys get sick and lose control of their demon forms. Gwi-Ma hates weakness so they can't go to the Demon Realm, so they crash at the Huntr/x base.

I just can't stop thinking how Kpop Demon Hunters would've been amazing as a 2 season mini series with 13 episodes each..

Like just imagine Gwi-ma and the Saja Boys plotting some type of shit every episode, and the girls always save the day...

Meanwhile, every episode is full of banter between Huntrix and Saja Boys every time they clash during awards, variety shows, interviews, etc...like just imagine Zoey and Mystery Saja being asked to host MAMA together, or Mira being called up on stage along with Romance Saja & Abby to announce a winner of an award..and Rumi and Jinu doing one of those dance collabs special performance..ALL THE WHILE THEY'RE LITERAL ENEMIES &, SECRETLY FIND IT INFURIATING BUT BOTH SIDE ALSO CAN'T HELP BUT ENJOY E/O COMPANY.

Also Jinu always flirting with Rumi amidst their fights in every episode 😏 + Zoey and Mystery Saja having cutest interactions every time, and everyone else has to remind them they're supposed to hate eo 🥹

The other Saja Boys becoming more tame and humane with the more time they spend in the human realm, and they begin questioning their actions, and it slowly begins gnawing them from the inside..

Like walk with me!! The potential is crazy good! 😩🤌

[thatonegrimm]

Hi, do you take solo reqs for the boys? If so can I get a scenario of how would Jinu protect the reader from Gwi-ma? I got inspired by this one fanart where he just goes ABSOLUTELY FERAL in protecting Rumi from Gwi-ma and I want smth like that cause its hot lol, full fangs demon form and claws and all (Lets pretend that he didnt sacrifice himself and fought with the reader/rumi in the climax)

Yes, I absolutely take solo requests—and I love this one. 👀💥 Full feral Jinu? Fangs, claws, and no self-sacrificing in sight? Say less.

What is this “death” you speak of? Never heard of it. 😌 Let’s pretend he stayed and fought beside you and Rumi—because honestly? That’s hotter anyway.

When He Stops Holding Back

Summary: Jinu was always quiet. Always careful. Until the night you nearly died—when he stopped holding back. What he becomes to protect you is terrifying, beautiful, and something he never meant for you to see.

TW: light angst

-----------------------------------

You’d always known Jinu was powerful.

Not just from the way the others deferred to him, or how his gaze could silence a room when he chose to let it harden. But from something quieter. Something deeper. The stillness he carried, like a lake right before it cracked under ice.

But you had never seen him like this.

Not until tonight.

-----------------------------

The battlefield is chaos.

Magic burns in the air, crackling wild and angry. The ground is a ruin of scorched stone and shattered barriers. Screams echo—some human, some not. And at the center of it all: Gwi-Ma.

He’s not just fire anymore.

He’s becoming—pulling solid mass out of flame, his body forging itself into jagged muscle and molten bone with every soul he devours. His core pulses orange-gold, rage and hunger made real.

You and Rumi move together, blades drawn, breath ragged. You’ve fought demons before—but this isn’t a battle. It’s a countdown.

And you’re running out of time.

------------------------------------

You don’t see the blow coming.

One moment you’re moving—dodging, slashing, circling behind Rumi—and the next, the heat shifts. It changes direction.

You feel it before you hear it: a deep crackle, the air thickening into pressure so intense it sucks the breath from your lungs. And then you hear it—like a furnace detonating. A sound that comes with the gut-deep certainty that this one’s meant for you.

You turn—too slow.

Flames, not just heat, come screaming toward you, coiled into tendrils of living fire, spiraling like whips. You flinch back instinctively. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing to block it.

You see your death coming—sharp, searing, inevitable.

You hear Rumi scream your name.

And then

He’s there.

Jinu slams into you from the side like a meteor. His arm wraps around your waist, the momentum sending both of you flying out of the tendrils’ path. The world flips sideways, then crashes into stone. You hit the ground hard—your shoulder first, then your back, the impact ripping the air from your lungs.

You tumble once, twice, before slamming into a half-toppled pillar. Pain blooms white-hot across your ribs. Your weapon skids away, forgotten in the rubble. The stone beneath you radiates with leftover heat—Gwi-Ma’s fire still lingering in the cracks.

Your body screams. You can’t breathe. Smoke stings your eyes.

But you’re alive.

And when you blink—gasping, shaking, trying to remember how to exist—you see him.

Jinu.

He’s already standing between you and the flames, posture tense, head low, back rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths. The fire-light paints his figure in gold and violet. His control is gone.

And something inside him has snapped wide open.

Magic bleeds off him in thick pulses. His hands are claws now. His skin glows faint lilac, and just beneath the surface, markings twitch like they're coming alive. You can feel the air warping around him, not from Gwi-Ma—but from him.

And when he lifts his head, just slightly, you see the flash of his eyes—Molten gold. Slit. Feral.

You’ve never seen him like this.

You’ve never seen anyone like this.

----------------------------------

He’s not hiding anymore.

Gone is the careful, controlled expression. Gone is the boy who laughed too softly and made finger hearts when he didn’t know what to say—the one who was all awkward charm and warm silences, who rarely asked for attention even when he deserved it.

Standing between you and Gwi-Ma now is something untamed.

Jinu’s demon form is fully unleashed.

His skin glows a low, shimmering lilac—lit from within, like starlight trapped under flesh. Deep violet markings fracture across him like lightning frozen in time, etched into his body like ancient scripture. The lines pulse with a rhythm that doesn’t feel human—alive, erratic, too vast to name.

They crawl up his throat, wrap around his neck like a collar of flame, fan across his shoulders and arms in jagged, brutal shapes. His chest rises and falls in heaving bursts, but he doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks more solid than you’ve ever seen him.

More real.

His hands are clawed—curved and gleaming, capable of tearing through steel. His fangs catch the firelight when he snarls, long and bone-white and meant to sink into something. Even the air around him changes, heavier, thrumming with power that buzzes in your bones.

And his eyes—Gods, his eyes—

They’re molten gold, split vertically down the center, shining with a fury so wild, so all-consuming, it doesn’t look like it belongs in this world. Those aren’t the eyes of someone protecting you.

Those are the eyes of someone who saw the thing that tried to take you—and decided to destroy it.

For a second, you can’t breathe.

Because it’s not just rage written across his face—it’s something deeper. Possession. Loyalty. A kind of terrifying, unshakable devotion. He’s not just standing in front of you.

He’s drawing a line in the battlefield.

And everything on the wrong side of it is about to burn.

-------------------------------

You barely register the way Gwi-Ma falters at the sight of him.

But you feel it.

A shift in the air—sharp, almost electric. The fire demon’s body hiccups mid-formation, flames crackling unevenly along his shoulders, one molten arm stuttering as it tries to reform. His golden core pulses too fast, like it’s bracing for impact.

For the first time since the battle began, Gwi-Ma hesitates.

Not because of some clever strategy.

Because of Jinu.

Because whatever he sees standing across from him—lilac skin glowing with ancient markings, golden eyes burning with wrath so focused it borders on divine—it’s enough to make even a creature born of fire and death reconsider.

Jinu doesn’t give him the chance.

He lunges.

No war cry. No warning. Just movement—impossibly fast, like he was launched from the earth itself. One second he's standing; the next, he's a blur of claws and glowing lines, carving through flame like it’s mist.

He crashes into Gwi-Ma with enough force to rupture the stone beneath their feet, claws slamming into molten skin. There’s a flash—fire and magic colliding—a crackling roar as demon meets demon in raw, brutal chaos.

Gwi-Ma howls, staggered.

But Jinu doesn’t stop.

He drives him back with relentless precision—strike after strike, claw after claw, tearing through Gwi-Ma’s forming limbs before they can stabilize. It’s not clean. It’s not elegant.

It’s furious.

It’s the kind of fighting born not from discipline—but from refusal. Refusal to let this thing touch you again. Refusal to let it exist.

And gods, it's working.

For the first time, the fire recoils.

------------------------------

The fight is brutal.

Not fast. Not cinematic. Not the kind of battle you can watch and cheer for.

It’s the kind of violence that silences even the wind.

Jinu doesn’t shout commands or call for backup. He doesn’t bark warnings to the others, doesn’t signal to regroup. He doesn’t speak at all.

He just moves—with unrelenting purpose.

He tears through Gwi-Ma’s fire-hardened body like it’s made of wet paper—still flickering, still fusing itself from the souls it devoured, trying desperately to become solid enough to fight back.

But Jinu doesn’t give it time.

Each strike is fast, deliberate, devastating. His claws don’t just cut—they rend, breaking through half-formed limbs before they can anchor. One swipe splits open Gwi-Ma’s chest in a burst of sparks. Another severs a flaming tendril before it can strike a second time. Every motion is exact. Like he’s not reacting—he’s calculating. Like he's memorized every weak point and is now dismantling the demon piece by piece.

And all the while, the heat doesn’t touch him.

The flames lick at his skin and recoil. They part around him like he’s something older than fire—something it remembers, and fears. The battlefield bends to him, just slightly, like even the broken ground recognizes what’s been unleashed.

You’ve seen the others fight before. You’ve even seen Jinu spar—measured, graceful, held together by discipline.

But this… This is something else.

This isn’t practice. This isn’t strategy. This is personal.

He’s not holding back. Not his strength. Not his speed. Not his rage.

And not the part of himself he’s always kept tucked behind awkward silences, downcast eyes, quiet jokes that barely landed. The part of him that flinched when others flinched at demons. The part he never wanted you to see.

He’s unmade every mask.

And he’s doing it for you.

Not because he wants to be seen. But because you almost died.

And now he’s making sure nothing touches you again.

-----------------------------

You watch, helpless and awed, as the fury unfolds before you—violent, beautiful, and burning itself alive. You try to stand, legs trembling, but your knees nearly give. The air still tastes like smoke and magic—thick and electric—and you can’t stop shaking.

Rumi appears beside you, slipping an arm around your waist before you can fall again. She’s bruised, bleeding from a cut along her jaw, but her grip is steady. Her eyes, though—they’re locked on Jinu.

And for the first time all night, they’re afraid.

“He’s burning himself out,” she says, voice low but urgent. “Look at him.”

You do.

He’s a silhouette of fury—claws flashing, markings flaring bright enough to cast long shadows across the scorched ground. The heat warps the air around him. Every strike comes with a low thunderclap, like his power is cracking against the edges of his own body. Like he doesn’t care if it breaks him.

“He’s not pacing himself,” Rumi mutters. “Not pulling back. Not leaving room to recover.”

She swallows hard.

“He’s not going to stop until Gwi-Ma’s ash.”

You watch as Jinu lands another hit, driving Gwi-Ma backward with a force that rattles through the stone. But his breath stutters. His shoulders hitch.

And suddenly it hits you.

He’s not fighting to survive this.

He’s fighting like you dying would’ve been the end of him.

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The final blow isn’t flashy.

It’s personal.

There’s no spell. No triumphant cry. Just the sound of something ancient being done holding back.

Jinu grabs Gwi-Ma by what remains of his solidifying torso, claws digging past searing flame and cracked bone. The demon writhes, howling as molten limbs twist and reform, trying to survive, trying to claw one more breath out of the ashes.

But Jinu doesn't let go.

He lifts him—his entire body illuminated from within, markings pulsing like a heartbeat—and slams Gwi-Ma into the ground so hard that the cracked stone beneath them splits with a deafening crack. The battlefield shakes. The sky responds with thunder.

And before the demon can pull itself back together—before it can even fully scream—

Jinu drives his claws straight into Gwi-Ma’s core.

Not just into the chest. Into the heart of the thing. The golden flicker at the center of its being—the fire that was never just fire, but every soul it had stolen, every scream it had hoarded.

His claws sink into that light.

And rip.

The fire sputters.

Shudders.

And then—shrinks.

It doesn’t explode. It folds in on itself, like a flame starving for oxygen, collapsing with a desperate, high-pitched whine.

The moment it dies, a pulse of force rolls outward in a perfect ring soft and silent, like the world letting out a breath it had been holding since this all began.

And then—

Gwi-Ma crumbles.

His limbs turn to ash. His twisted face dissolves. The molten veins running through the earth dim, then vanish.

The fire dies.

The air stills.

And the battlefield, for the first time in hours, falls quiet.

It’s over.

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The fire dies.

The air stills.

And the battlefield, for the first time in hours, falls quiet.

You don’t move. No one does.

For a moment, all you can hear is the hush of ash settling.

Somewhere in the distance, someone sobs. A weapon clatters to the ground. The sky—blackened by fire—begins to clear, just slightly.

But your eyes stay fixed on the center of it all.

Jinu is on his knees in the center of the wreckage, shoulders hunched, claws still buried in scorched earth. His chest rises and falls in shallow, ragged breaths. The markings on his body are glitching—bright, then dim, like a light trying to go out but refusing to die.

You move to him slowly.

“Jinu,” you whisper, kneeling in front of him.

He doesn’t lift his head.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice rough and low. “Don’t—don’t look at me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m still worth trusting.”

His golden eyes flicker up to meet yours, and your chest aches.

You don’t see a monster. You don’t even see the demon.

You see the boy who makes you soup when you’re sick. Who covers your eyes during gory movies even though he’s the one who’s squeamish. Who texts you updates on your favorite shows just so you won’t fall behind.

“I saw what you did,” you say softly. “And all I feel is lucky.”

He flinches at that. “You weren’t supposed to see me like this. I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his jaw. “You saved me. That’s all I saw.”

He trembles.

And then—you lean in.

You kiss him.

It’s not frantic. Not rushed or desperate.

It’s grounding. Honest. Your lips meet his slowly, carefully, with the same patience he’s always given you. His claws twitch, then still. His breath catches. And the glow in his eyes softens.

When you pull back, he looks wrecked.

“Why?” he whispers.

You brush your thumb along the line of his jaw, where his markings pulse just faintly beneath the skin.

“Because you didn’t scare me,” you say again. “You’ve never scared me, Jinu.”

You pause, then add:

“But if anyone else had gotten between us tonight—I think you would’ve scared them.”

A slow, broken laugh escapes him.

And then, finally, he exhales.

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The fire’s gone. The night is still.

But in the center of the battlefield—surrounded by ash and ruin and moonlight—Jinu lets himself be held.

His claws don’t pull away. His body doesn’t tense. He leans into your arms like he’s never done before, like he doesn’t care who sees the glow beneath his skin, or the jagged markings, or the boy beneath all of it who’s still learning how to be loved.

And for the first time, he lets himself be seen—All of him.

And you don’t look away.

You never would.

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M-List

[kisses4themissus]

Mr, Mrs & A Baby | I.H X Reader

a/n: SHE'S BACKK!! pairing: Hwang In-ho X Fem!Reader wc: 3.3k

Hwang In-ho Masterlist | Send me a love letter ♡

Panicked you stared at in-ho, holding your bump. 

“You need to get out of here.” In-ho sighed and glanced at the camera in the corner of the room and signaled to you. The manager behind the screen commanded the soldiers and workers to have you safely evacuated from the game. You watched through the small slot in the room door as the soldiers made their way over to cover you.

“What are you telling the others?” You questioned, in-ho sighed as he helped you up from the ground. “They're going to call your number, I will try to be with you, the soon as I can.” Your husband promised as the door softly opened, the soldiers all stood together and walked to the exit they would leave through.

- - - - - - - -

Everything has been a flash, you had been thankful of the surgeon you had hired as a worker. He had delivered your child. You were now left in yours and in-ho’s penthouse, with a newer addition, a son.

You giggled as your fingertip touched your son’s soft palm. You had a hard time adjusting to a newborn without the help of your husband. You hadn’t known how much time went by since you were pulled away from the games.

The big screen that would normally show the games was turned off, the sound of in-ho’s music playing as you swayed with your son, lulling the baby to sleep. You watched as he peaceful slept, occasionally  snuggling his face further into you. As you admired your son as he laid quietly in his crib the sound of static sounded in your living room. You quietly shuffled away from the crib and picked up the device.

“What is it?” You asked sternly; It was known among staff you’d be stepping away from control of the games once your child was born.

“Players have escaped, they’re heading up the stairs; they took a manager with them.” The officer informed you, making your heart drop.

“Which players?” You asked, moving to the screen and switched through the channels to see majority had been disconnected. The officer listed the players off to you as he got ready to command the soldiers. “The frontman is with them.”

You stopped as a camera caught your husband and the others in the stairwell, too close for comfort, the camera was soon disconnecting making you let out a shaky breath before glancing to your bedroom where your baby’s crib was. 

“If a single bullet is in my husband, I will personally shoot whoever in the head.” You warned before throwing the device on the sofa and stormed into your closet to find your own gun and mask.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho looked around the hallway to the control room elevator, he motioned for the men behind him to follow.

He smiled softly as soft sound of your boots filled the dark hallway. The men froze as you stood on the top of the stairs, leading towards the control room.

“Fools to my game..” You pouted, raising your handgun and shot one of the players, in-ho quickly turning to face the other and shot him several times. You sighed and grabbed the walkie talkie. 

“Confirm your death.” You commanded, shoving the device into his chest, turning around to walk back to your room, your mind running wild as you were away from your child and players were trying to rebel.

You light bounced your son as you paced around in your room, taking shuttering breaths as you could hear gunshots from below.

Your son began to coo, his lip pouting and his tiny features scrunch up.

“Shh, it’s alright, mama’s here, no one’s gonna get you!” You reassured, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at the baby or yourself. Pacing had sent your thought spiraling.

You had not way of knowing how your husband or where any of the fight got moved too except the distant sounds of gunshots coming below your floor. With a shaky hand you held your son with one arm and fumbled for the remote to play music.

Your son continued to cry, sniffling as he felt your distress. Huffing you began to sway with the baby, focusing on the lyrics of fly me to the moon, in the back of your mind you had began to plan an emergency escape.

The walkie you had on the side table light up. “It is over now, i’ll be up in a bit.” In-ho’s voice came through, you sighed in relief and laid a gentle kiss on your son’s tiny hand; the baby had began to settle down as you continued to sway with him in your arms.

“I’d never let anyone harm you my love..” You whispered into his soft hand, his little fingers curled around yours. 

- - - - - - - -

In-ho had noticed a shift in your personality, you had seemed on guard, alert and distant towards him whenever he held or was around your son.

You had now hated to watch the cameras that showed the dorms, instead opting walking to your shared room to lay down or holding your son while taking in his tiny features.

It wasn’t til the VIPs arrived you finally had enough.

Standing in the control room, your mask forgone, in your resting clothes you watched as players began to plan for hide and seek. Your eyes hadn’t left jun-hee, your nervous had gone up since you noticed her bump had dropped, meaning her due date wasn’t far behind.

“Gameplanner, the VIPs have arrived, do i send them in?” One of the managers asked, you shook your head and continued to watch. “No, they’ll have to wait till the end of the game to finish, even then do a sweep of only soldiers before you let them in..” You commanded, you had been frustrated when in-ho had changed your game to allow the VIPs to hunt down the last of the players.

“Yes ma’am..” They nodded before leaving to relay your words.

“You seem tense gameplanner, do you need to step out?” The police manager asked, noticing the bags under your eyes, and your appearance in general.

“No, I look tense since i just had a child and now i’m suppose to be looking over these stupid games while my husband entertains those obnoxious millionaires, no i’m not able to step out.” You scoffed, your eyes watching as jun-hee entered the arena. 

The police manager sighed and bowed his head. “My apologies.” 

You had watched with a straight face as one of the camera’s showed jun-hee sitting against a wall, a bundle of her jacket on her chest, her daughter. Geum-ja cried as she held hyun-ju’s body to hers.

You held back your reaction, turning to the workers to see them watching over the VIPs in the lounge, all of them dressed in the red jumpsuits like the workers.

Cameras had been planted since the previous year where an intruder had gotten in.

“At dinner, Give player 222 more, she’s going to need the energy in order for the next game for it to be considered a fair playing ground.” You told the nearest manger who nodded their head before giving directions to the workers over the walkie talkie.

With one last glance at the VIPs you walked out of the control room and back to the comfort of your floor.

Entering you dismissed the workers who watched over the sleeping baby, you smiled softly as you son light snored, his fist by his head as he slept soundly…peacefully even.

Glancing over to your vanity, your white mask sat in the middle.

You sighed and walked over, staring at it. You had spent majority of your life working under il nam, for the whole game concept, why was it now you were beginning to have a sense of regret..?

Picking up the mask, you sighed and walked to your closet, tossing it blindly in there.

- - - - - - - -

In-ho entered the floor to be greeted to music playing, walking to the main room, he smiled as you cradled your song, humming as your finger traced over the baby’s nose.

“You are all I long for, worship and adore..” You sang, smiling as your son gave a gummy smile the best he could up at you.

“He loves his mother very much!” In-ho commented, stepping closer to you both.

“I’m all he knows..” You replied, your gaze focusing on the baby who wiggled before yawning again. “You’re my comfort too..” In-ho smiled and rubbed your back, not mentioning as you tensed up.

“That’s my job.” You muttered, quickly standing up.

“I’ll go put him down.” You told in-ho, as you went to leave he stopped you.

“I’ll take him, you need a break, the workers said you dismissed them early to come back to watch over him, is it true?” In-ho asked, taking the baby from your arms.

“Yeah, it’s normal for mothers wanting to be around their child especially after birth.” You explained, your gaze watching as in-ho nodded before taking the baby to their nursery.

You sat on the plush chair, staring at the floor.

“What’s on that mind of yours?” In-ho asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“..Do you ever regret working under il nam?” You asked, finally looking at in-ho.

He stopped from taking a drink, his eyes finding yours, noticing the unstable look in them. “No, if i died in that night, i would never have this, a wife, a child..any of it really, i would’ve joined the other pieces of trash that die in this place.” In-ho explained.

You nodded and looked at in-ho. “Do you have second thoughts?” In-ho asked, making you sit up straight at the question. “No, like you said without it, none of this would’ve happened.” You nodded, unsure if it was in-ho or yourself.

There was a beat of silence before you nodded to yourself, “I’m going to bed, goodnight in-ho.” You spoke softly, walking into bedroom, not looking back.

- - - - - - - -

You sat on the couch you and in-ho had for yourselves in the VIP lounge.

Flipping through your sketchbook, you stared at a blank page, no ideas coming to you. You had ignored the chatter from the VIPs and mindlessly watched the scene before you.

Your stomach fell as jun-hee yelled for gi-hun to stay put, the timer running out. Your heart sunk as she stepped off the platform and fell to her death. Scooting to the edge of the couch, you watched in disbelief, behind your mask your tears fell.

You never had cried over players this much, any other year you would’ve brushed them off and ignored them, seeing your own friends hurt worse, going into the games you didn’t expect to find comfort in their company, seeing jun-hee death, your mind took it as if she was your own sister.

Your hope for them had slowly to dissipate; Hyun-ju being stabbed as she went to guide jun-hee and geum-ja to safety, minutes later, geum-ja had made the brave decision about her son, being too upset with herself, she went and killed herself that night. Your throat tightened as the announcement rang through.

“Player 222, eliminated.”

Nightly talks with the girl flooded your mind.

“Mrs Oh?” Jun-hee whispered as you both laid under the bunk beds, not too far separated.

Your eyes kept sight on in-ho who watched over your group. “Hmm?” You responded, looking over and gave her a soft smile. “If we get out, do you think we could keep contact?” She asked, fidgeting with her jacket.

You turned to catch her gaze, nodding “Of course, our babies could have playdates!” You planned, she chuckled and nodded. You both went silent, jun-hee glanced over and scooted closer to you. “He cares about you alot..” She mumbled, making you look at her confused. “Who?” 

“Young il, he always looks at you, dae-ho dropped something last night and young il jumped up ready to protect you both.” She explained, motioning your bump.

You smiled and rubbed your bump, “He always wished to be a father, practically sent me on bedrest once we found out..” You both laughed, jun-hee cupped her bump and smiled sadly down.

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you have anyone outside jun-hee?” You asked, she kept her head low and shook it.

“The baby is all i have…the father isn’t close..” She sighed, finally looking at you.

You swallowed and reached a hand out towards her. “Now, you have me and my baby!” You reassured her. 

She smiled and held your hand, you both slowly drifted to sleep, holding hands; strengthening you both were your own new found family…

A ball of anger formed in your stomach as the VIPs talked about jun-hee’s child as if they had control, throwing the idea to eliminate the baby since the mother had passed, one piped up saying the baby should be a separate participant.

As you stood up to responde, in-ho held your arm and spoke up.

“I suggest, the baby plays as 222, after all the players will vote to leave, it’ll add a twist to voting and the games.” He suggested, you turned to him, disgusted at his words.

The VIPs began to agree, making your stomach twist.

As they all began chatting you stood up and yanked your arm away from in-ho. “I have to take of something.” You said loudly, walking past the VIPs, each of them looked at each other, feeling a twist of anger in the air.

“Someone’s upset..” One of the men laughed as you exited.

- - - - - - - -

You had left to your floor and began packing your things away in your luggage you had taken when you first arrived to the island that year.

Rushing around you packed your son’s diapers, clothing and essentials into a bag, setting it by the elevator.

Pulling your walkie talkie out, you changed the channel. “I need workers to come take things down.” You commanded, a moment went by before a manger responded. Walking to your son’s crib, you gently picked him up, grabbing a warm blanket to wrap him in, knowing the boat ride back to the mainland was going to be cold due to the fall air.

“Shh, you’re okay, you and mama are going away for a bit..” You muttered as your son began to fuss as you wrapped him in the warm fuzzy blanket. 

You lined up the hall with your luggage, being left to wait for the workers. 

Looking down you noticed your son had fallen asleep once more, you turned to the side table and picked up the remote and turned the screen on. You watched as all the men dressed in suits sitting at their tables, scarfing down food. You felt a bit of relief as you noticed the worker feeding jun-hee’s daughter a bottle.

A ding from the elevator made you turn, your heart dropping as in-ho walked into the room. His footsteps slowing as he noticed your luggage all packed away.

“What is this?” He asked, taking off his mask, dropping it on the bar.

“I need to leave, in-ho…I-I can’t do it anymore..” You stuttered, looking at your husband. Who stared back at you, his brown eyes trying to search for any sign of you pulling a sick joke. “If you can’t do this anymore take a break, no need to leave the island.” He said, moving closer to you and the baby.

“If i don’t leave now, then twenty years later i’ll still be in the same place in-ho.” You sighed, tears building.

“What about him?” He asked, his expression switching from soft to a serious look. “Is this because of that girl?” He asked, you scoffed softly.

“Yes, jun-hee made me realize what’s gonna be my future…twelve years from now, will I still stuck here on this island watching mothers, fathers, sons, daughter, grandparents even, die for entertainment?” You ranted, cupping the back of your son’s head.

“What about his future, we got lucky that we’re both winners and won the money but what if he falls into debt and had no choice but the join? How would you feel to see our son playing among those people?” You asked, stepping closer to in-ho, who kept his head down.

“There’s a difference, those people are trash of the earth, you’ve seen the kinds people that accept the offer.” In-ho scoffed, you let out a laugh of shock.

“I’ve worked for these hellish games for seven years, there is no confirmation that our son won’t end up here like we did..” You sighed, shaking your head at in-ho.

���He wouldn’t, combined we have more than enough for him to lasts lifetimes..” In-ho attempted to stop you, following your gaze to the baby. “Wasn’t that what your father thought about you?” Your words seemed to stun in-ho.

With one last look you walked to the elevators, as you pressed the button there was a shuffle behind you.

Click.

You sighed and straightened out at the sound. “You couldn’t live with yourself if you did that.”

Behind you stood in-ho, holding the handgun you both kept in the living room as a precaution of an intruder. 

“Fix this mess in-ho, we’ll be waiting…” He sighed as you kept walking to the elevator and kept your back to him. As the doors closed, in-ho placed the gun down and scoffed as tears rolled down.

You were gone…

- - - - - - - -

Jun-ho huffed as he crawled through a vent, finally entering in a blacked out room.

There was a heavy layer of smoke, he coughed and covered his nose and mouth the best he could before forgoing it as he held his gun up in preparation.

Quickly he cleared each room, stopping as he figured out who it had belonged too.

A white 3D printed mask laid on a messy bed; standing out among the black bedsheets.

As jun-ho walked to an attachment room, opening the door he winced at the sudden bright colors.

His heart stopped as his mind proceeded the room he stood in.

A nursery, a cream colored crib in the center of the room, baby blankets on the side, toys decorated around, jun-ho walked closer and picked up the stuffed animal in the crib and held his breath at the sight.

Jun-ho had been young when in-ho had lived with him and their parents, jun-ho had remembered the stuffed animals hidden in his brothers closet, when he’d attempt to ask about it, in-ho would rush the young boy out and scold him for snooping.

In the crib sat a small white bear, originally a set, he furrowed his brows, where had the brown bear gone?

Jun-ho picked it up and shoved the tiny bear into his pocket before walking to the next room, his mind going as he thought why his brother would need a nursery.

- - - - - - - -

Six months had passed since you had left the island, leaving in-ho and your previous career behind.

You had arrived to the mainland and gone to your shared home with in-ho, you had waited night and day for anything from him; jumping at every noise in the night, hoping it was him returning.

Your son had grown quite a bit, now able to sit up on his own, babbling in his own language, tasting smooth liquids other than milk. After three months of waiting, you had enough and began to move your life on without in-ho, moving out of your shared home, closer to the city.

You had enough money saved to keep yourself and your son good for a while, you still couldn’t believe what you were doing.

Standing at an apartment door, shakily holding your fist up to knock, the baby on your hip cooed. With a deep breath, you knocked on the door and stood back, waiting for a response.

Moments had passed, no answer. With a nod you turned and went to walk away but stopped as the door opened behind you. “Hello, can i help you?” 

You stopped in your step and turned. “Are you hwang jun-ho?” You asked, trying to hold your son up without shaking. “That’s me, do i know you?” He asked, stepping out of his apartment, his eyes dropping ot the little brown bear in your son’s hands.

“I am hwang in-ho’s wife…and this is your nephew.”

[demie90s]

Your Not Fine, Baby

Sabrina Ionescu x Fem!Reader

NAVI | MASTERLIST

Summary: You’re a newly graduated rookie, buried in a major that won’t give you a break and a life that feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

Word Count~ 1k

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Mental Health Themes | Established Relationship

Warnings: Manic episode depiction (overstimulation, irritability, panic), emotional overwhelm, mild physical reaction (slap), tension, gentle dominance, but also softness and comfort.

You don’t remember the last time your chest didn’t feel like this. Tight. Raw. Like your ribs are trying to collapse inward.

You’re typing furiously, fingers moving faster than your brain, bouncing between five tabs one on neuroscience, one on economic theory, one on your capstone edits, another on student loans, and one for some stupid quiz you’ve retaken four times because you can’t. fucking. pass it.

The light from your laptop screen flickers as it auto-adjusts again, and it makes you flinch.

Your music is playing low in one ear, but you can still hear the clinking of dishes from the kitchen. The dryer humming. Your phone buzzing on the bed behind you. Your neck aches.

Your heart won’t stop sprinting. You haven’t stood up in hours. You don’t even know what time it is.

“Babe,” Sabrina says softly behind you. You flinch again.

“I made you food.”

You don’t turn around. You don’t answer. Your jaw’s locked.

“I know you’ve been sitting there all day.”

“I’m busy,” you snap, more aggressive than you mean. You keep typing. Some of its gibberish now. There’s a pause.

“Okay,” she says carefully. “Well, you still have to eat.”

The sound of her putting the plate down on your nightstand makes you want to scream. You don’t know why. Everything is too much.

“I don’t want it,” you mutter, eyes still glued to the screen.

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

“Can you just….” Your voice breaks. “Can you please just leave me alone for five fucking seconds?” She doesn’t move. Of course she doesn’t.

“You’ve been spiraling since you got that email this morning.”

You freeze. Something about hearing it out loud stings. You don’t want her to name it. You don’t want her to see you unraveling like this.

“I’m not spiraling,” you whisper. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“Stop saying that.”

Now she walks over. Slowly. Like she’s trying not to spook you. But you are spooked. Your body is buzzing, like you’re wired and empty at the same time.

She touches your shoulder gently, and the contact burns. You slap her hand away hard. The smack echoes louder than it should. Louder than anything in the room. It stuns you. It stuns her too.

She grabs your wrist not violently, not even harsh. Just firm. Present. Holding it in midair like she can’t believe what just happened.

Your breath catches.

“I don’t care how angry you feel,” she says, voice low and sharp, but controlled. “Don’t you ever hit me again. Do you hear me?”

Her words aren’t cruel. They’re serious. They slice through the fog, slicing clean. And you crumble.

Your eyes shoot to her hand not her face, her hand. You can’t look at her face. Not after that. Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“I didn’t mean to…” Your voice is shaking. “I swear I didn’t…I’m sorry…I don’t even..”

She lets go of your wrist. Steps back half a foot. You’re already crying.

“Sabrina—”

“Hey. Breathe,” she says, voice softening instantly. “I know. I know.”

“No, you don’t,” you say, panicked now. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t even see you..I just..why would I..”

You’re shaking your head, hands trembling. “I don’t hit people, I don’t…”

“I know,” she says firmly. “Baby, look at me.” You don’t.

She takes a breath, takes another small step forward. Her hand rests lightly on the desk this time, not on you.

“I’m not mad at you,” she says. “But I need you to come back to me.”

Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure where you are. You feel disconnected from your limbs. From your words. From your own heartbeat.

She crouches next to you now, one hand sliding under your desk to rest on your thigh. She waits until you finally glance her way.

“That wasn’t you,” she says gently. “That was your body reacting to too much. Your brain is screaming for rest, and you’re trying to outwork it.”

You burst into tears. Full, ugly sobs.

“I’m so fucking tired,” you confess. “I can’t…I feel crazy. Like I’m crawling out of my own skin. And nothing makes sense, and I’m doing everything wrong—”

“You’re not crazy,” she says, thumb tracing the top of your thigh slowly. “You’re overwhelmed. Your system is fried. You haven’t slept. You haven’t eaten. You’ve been putting your entire identity in school, and it’s eating you alive.”

You press your hands to your face.

“I can’t stop,” you sob. “I keep trying to finish everything, and it just keeps coming…”

She stands up, calm and certain, and gently but firmly closes your laptop. You tense, like you might lunge for it.

“No,” she says, with a kind of command that shuts down your protest. “You’re done for the day.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. I’m not asking.”

You blink up at her. She’s steady. Unmoving. She reaches for you again, slower this time, and when you don’t flinch, she gathers your hands in hers and pulls you up from the chair like she’s lifting something precious.

“Come lay down,” she murmurs.

Your legs don’t want to cooperate. You’re stumbling through your own panic, but she guides you to the bed, pressing you down gently, adjusting your body like you’re glass. She grabs the blanket and wraps it over you, her palm never leaving your chest.

“You’re safe. You’re not alone. You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I hit you,” you whisper again, broken.

“I’ve seen you at your best,” she replies softly. “That wasn’t your worst. That was pain. I’m not scared of that.”

She lies next to you, one arm around your waist, grounding you with her warmth.

And when you curl into her, ashamed and still crying she kisses your temple and says the most disarming thing of all:

“Let me carry it for you tonight, okay? You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You believe her. For the first time all day, you believe her.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai @mrsarnold @prettyyyinblack

[sage-nebula]

Well. It's like living somewhere at high risk for natural disasters.

You know that any day could be the day. That massive fault line you live on could cause a major earthquake. The air currents could mix badly during a storm and your city could become a tornado's playground. The forests in the hills could spark because of the super hot, dry weather you always have.

These natural disasters are out of your control, at least in the short term. So you can spend all day every day spiraling about them, but it won't do any good. You still have a life to live. So you learn to put the fear in the back of your mind, knowing you may one day have to deal with it.

It's like that. In the short term, we can't control what anyone else does. A few years ago, at the gas station that was walking distance from where I lived, a man shot another man because the victim had asked the shooter to put his beer bottle in the trash can instead of on the ground. It's horrible. And it teaches us not to mouth off to strangers, because you never know how they'll react. But outside of that, we still have jobs and social lives and responsibilities that require us to do things that spiraling would make it hard to do. So we set the fear to the back, and get on with our lives, minding our own business in public and hoping that this outing to the movie theater will be uneventful.

Every election, I vote for candidates who are in favor of strict gun control. (I would want a ban, but in this country we have to take gains in small doses.) I do what little I can, as an individual citizen, to try to change things in the future. But right now, in the present, I do have to live my life. So I just take precautions in public (know where exits are, don't argue with strangers), and hope that today won't have any earthquakes, tornadoes, or flying bullets. It's the best any of us can do.

Americans - how do you function in daily life knowing there could be a gun on the same street / in the same bus / in the same Walmart as you? At any given moment? Like how do you not go insane with fear? I am genuinely asking.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Is It A Sin? (part one)

hello i'm baaaaaaack babies. this idea came to me randomly one night and, as most of my ideas do, it just spiraled out of control from there. this is part 1 of 2 but i have something planned for this universe so this is just the start for this universe :)

a brief summary: when you go back to the college where you did your undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering to speak to a group of upperclassman, your longterm boyfriend Lando decides to tag along. you two are as solid as they come and comfortable in your own skin together. and then, you see your college ex-boyfriend who is convinced you are the one that got away. what happens next threatens everything that you and lando have built over the years and you just have to hold onto hope that you two will work things out.

no content warnings in this part. part two will contain smut. quick note though. lando is aged up a handful of years in this. there's no real 'timeline' so to speak so this probably takes place a few years in the future or could take place now. just...go with it, okay? :) as always, thank you to my writing therapist and beta reader @lestapiastrisgirl <3

word count: 5.5k words

yourinsta posted

45,298 likes lando, collegebffcora, collegebff2sofia, and others liked your post. yourusername back to my roots with my love collegebffcora OMG you're in town for the game?! so are sof and i! text meeeeeeee >>>yourusername for the game and to talk to frank's upperclassman :) you can meet lan finally! texting you now >>>collegebffcora YES PLEASE BBY! <3 lando who's that handsome fella in that first photo? >>>yourusername that's my boyfriend, aren't i lucky? :) >>>lando he's the lucky one to have you in his bed at night ;) >>>maxfewtrell WILL YOU TWO QUIT IT. ffs. this is was texting was made for. >>>yourusername you're just jealous he won't flirt with you on main >>>lando absolutely mad with jealousy >>>maxfewtrell i hate you both yourusername <3

You always thought it was strange the way the brain tied certain smells together with certain significant seasons and moments of life. The moment Lando opened the Mercedes’ door that afternoon and you stepped foot onto your alma mater’s campus for the first time in what was probably years, you were transported straight back to college. 

It was the middle of October and the students that were rushing past you and your boyfriend were deep in the throes of fall semester. The air was crisp and cool, exactly how you always remembered your mid-west roots. The scent of burning leaves floated past, lazy and heavy on an equally slow moving breeze. It wasn’t cold yet, not really. Just cool enough to make you crave a bowl of your grandmother’s chili and a nap with a college football game as the soundtrack. 

The wind picked up as Lando stood beside you in the parking lot of the engineering building and you watched out of the corner of your eye as he pulled his McLaren cap down lower to shield his face. 

“Why is it so bloody cold out?” He mutters, making a grab for your hand as you adjusted the strap on your bag. 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you allow your fingers to be captured by Lando’s larger ones. The calloused fingers that are so skilled at pulling sighs and shudders out of your body rub comfortingly against your palm. 

“You think this is cold?” You tease, tugging on his hand so you a make the quick walk towards your destination. “You don’t know cold until you have to walk across campus to an 8am physics class in the middle of December.” 

You cringe at the memory. That had been your first, and last, 8am class of your entire college career. 

“Absolutely not. No, thank you. I’m glad we don’t live where the air hurts my face.” 

You roll your eyes but bump your shoulder playfully against your boyfriend’s. You and Lando had been together for a handful of years now so the banter and teasing came as easily as the lazy mornings spent in bed. He was your person and you were his. 

In the early days, before you had gotten together, you had started out as friends. You always figured that’s why you and Lando were so solid; the foundation you’d built over a few years of knowing each other through McLaren was strong. It hadn’t always been like that, but now? You and Lando would often have entire conversations with just a look and a smirk. 

Nerves flutter in the pit of your stomach as you get closer to the main engineering building. It was an old, imposing gothic styled structure that was looming and intimidating, even for someone who was more than familiar with the building and what it held behind the stone walls. 

“What if someone asks me a question I don’t know the answer to?” You ask in a small voice just before you reach the steps. 

Lando freezes with one foot on the bottom stair, head swiveling around to give you a look.

“Ok first of all, I’m not entirely sure there’s a question my genius girlfriend can’t answer, so knock that off.” Lando starts while pulling you to a quiet corner between the steps and the stone walls of the building before dropping a kiss onto the tip of your nose.

“And secondly, this isn’t an exam, baby. There’s no wrong answers. They just want you to talk about how you went from nerdy little engineering student to Lando Norris’ hot girlfriend.” 

The tension that had been building in your chest since the moment Lando had pulled onto campus pops like a soap bubble floating on a spring breeze. You laugh, loud and open, something that you’d only started allowing yourself the pleasure of doing since you've been Lando. 

“That is absolutely not what they asked me to talk about and you know it.” You say though your laughter, grinning widely when Lando wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. 

“What are you talking about?” He scrunches up his nose like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing and shakes his head. “Yes it is. I read the email your old professor sent Zak six months ago! Subject Line: Appearance Request for Lando Norris’ Brilliant Girlfriend.” 

“You’re a menace” You roll your eyes, feeling the anxiety that’d been sitting heavy in your chest loosen even more as Lando tips his hips forward to create just the barest of friction between your two bodies.

He grins at you wickedly when the tips of your ears go pink.   

“But I’m your menace.” He murmurs, voice muffled as he mouths at your jaw like some sort of feral animal. You squeal softly, squirming away from him as he laughs against your flushed skin.

“And seriously.” He continues, pulling back so he can look you in the eye, serious this time. “There are no wrong answers because all they want to hear about is how amazing you are. How you went from little baby intern with the McLaren college program to full-fledged fancy-schmacny performance engineer for the best F1 driver on the planet.” 

Lando’s grin splits his face, his eyes sparking with a mixture of pride and affection.  

“Not that you’re biased or anything” You deadpan, laugh edging back into your voice again. 

Lando gasps so theatrically that a few people turn their heads your way as they walk towards the engineering building. “I’m an impartial judge of performance, thank you very much. How dare you call my integrity into question?” 

Leaning into Lando’s body heat once again, you press your lips to his. “I love you” You whisper against his lips, smiling against the kiss when his hand finds your hip and pulls you close again.  

“Did it work?” He asks. 

Your tilt your head, brow knitting together as you try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Did what work?” 

“My distraction tactics. Are you still nervous?”

You blink up at your boyfriend, caught totally off guard at his confession. It shouldn’t surprise you, that was the kind of man Lando was. He was a consummate ‘fix it’ person and knew exactly how to handle your anxiety when it struck.

He never made you feel less than, never made you feel silly for the questions you frequently asked him. You’d often been teased by family and past boyfriends for getting so worked up over the smallest little things when you were actually quite a smart person.

But not Lando. Never Lando. 

Even before you started dating, he had quickly become the person that you’d gone to when your anxiety hit and you needed someone to get you out of your head. 

“No…” You say slowly, the tight string of tension that had been slowly wrapping itself around your neck since you woke up this morning was suddenly and decidedly looser. “No, I’m not.”  

Lando takes a step back, offering his hand to you as he looks at you expectantly. “Then let’s go get ‘em tiger.” 

Most of the class is seated when you and Lando walk into the lecture hall. There are a few murmurs that make their way around the room when people realize who it is holding your hand. Lando just pulls his hat a little lower, a soft smile on his face as he lets you take the lead. 

At the head of the classroom stands your old advisor and mentor, Frank Crowley. He’s an older man, now solidly in what he lovingly calls his ‘retirement years’ even though he teaches a full course load and advises several student-run organizations. Before coming to teach, Frank had worked in IndyCar as well as NASCAR for decades. It was how he knew Zak and was partially responsible for helping you land your internship all those summers ago. 

You make a beeline directly for him, throwing your arms around Frank in a giant bear hug. You viewed him as more of a grandfather figure than a professor and still traded emails back and forth with him on a regular basis.

Sometimes it was just a quick update on your life but other times, you’d come to him with a problem you’d been stumped on at work. He was always encouraging you to push the rules a little further, take more risks than you were naturally inclined to take, and encouraged you to be the first one to celebrate your own victories. 

“It is so good to see you, my dear.” Frank says, hugging you tightly. “It’s been too long.” 

“Have you decided if you’re going to come to COTA next weekend? There’s 2 VIP paddock passes with yours and Joyce’s name on them for any race you want to come to.” 

Frank chuckled, holding you at arms length to give you a once over. “Joyce doesn’t do well in the heat but we’re thinking about the race in Vegas.” 

Your eyes light up. Frank had never been to a race while you’d been working in F1 and you were dying to have him see what his mentorship had done for you. “You let me know and I’ll make it happen.” 

Frank nods before his eyes flicker to Lando who’s standing behind you. “And this must be the man who’s got our girl all gooey eyed in her Instagram posts.” 

The blush that skitters across your cheeks is deep red and has Lando laughing loudly.

“She’s got me pretty gooey eyed too, sir.” He steps forward, extending his hand to Frank. “Lando Norris, it’s such an honor to meet you sir. She’s always talked so highly of you, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the famous Mister Frank.” 

Frank nods sagely before turning his attention back to you, “Nice, strong handshake. Called me ’Sir’. Showered me with compliments.” Frank gives you a strong nod of his head, “He gets my stamp of approval.” 

You shake your head and laugh, a shimmer of pleasure running down your spine when Lando’s hand slips around your waist, settling proudly on your hip. 

“Okay!” Frank calls out after glancing at the clock. “Looks like it’s time to get started. If everyone could get settled, we have a special guest here today, and I’m not talking about the Formula 1 driver over there.” 

The class chuckles softly as Lando gives your hip one last squeeze before making his way back to the side of the lecture hall. He was more than happy to watch you dazzle the class and take a backseat, giving the spotlight over to you. He knew you deserved it more than you’d ever allow him to claim. 

Frank gives a you quick introduction, telling the class your name along with a brief history of your accomplishments that you’d achieved while going to school before turning it over to you, asking you to tell the class what you’ve been up to since landing the college intern program spot several years ago. 

“Thanks Frank.” You nod before taking a step towards the middle of the classroom. “Hi everyone. Like Frank said, I am currently a senior performance engineer for the number 4 McLaren Formula 1 car.”

You pause, dragging in a deep, steadying breath. There are what looks to be close to 50 or 60 people in the class, mostly men, and suddenly your self-conscious anxiety starts to squeeze tightly in your chest. Your eyes go straight to the side of the room, finding a familiar pair of watercolor blue eyes that anchor you to the spot.

Lando smiles at you so brightly, the tension in your chest immediately dissipates. It’s his real smile he's giving you now, not the one he uses for PR duties with the team. This is the authentic smile that he saves for you, the one that’s built from the strength of your connection to him and how well you two know each other now, inside and out. 

Feeling steadier on your feet, your eyes return to the middle of the room. “I spent the summer between my junior and senior year working in the McLaren Technology Center.” 

Nostalgia pulls at something in your stomach, familiar butterflies taking flight when you think about that summer. It had been the first time you’d met Lando. Your friendship with him had been completely innocent at first. You had still been dating your college boyfriend in fact, so you hadn’t even been looking at Lando like that.

You'd been on your way to the simulator room in the MTC when you'd gotten turned around. The only one in the hallway in both directions had been Lando Norris himself. You'd been mortified to ask him of all people for directions but he'd been on the way to the sim himself.

The rest, as they say, is history.

After that afternoon, the two of you had forged a friendship that had continued after you’d returned back to your college campus and picked up right where it left off when you took a job with McLaren the following spring. 

“For the first year after graduation, I did sort of a rotation period within the engineering department and spent time with the different teams, eventually landing a permanent role within the team that runs the simulator.” 

You take a breath, finding Lando’s eyes still steady on you. You can almost see him going down memory lane with you, can see the way he’s recalling your time at McLaren when you two had been just friends. Close friends. Best friends, probably. But nothing more. 

Until you were more. 

More than just friends and it got messy. 

And you’d nearly crashed and burned before you’d really gotten started. 

Blinking rapidly, shaking the difficult memories of that stretch of time without Lando in your life from the cobwebs of your brain. 

“After about a year, I started volunteering to travel with the team for race support.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “That is the real grunt work of F1. Long hours, lots of time spent on planes, late nights and bad food.” A nostalgic smile takes over your face once again and you find Lando in the crowd. 

Those late nights weren’t necessarily spent with the team, but no one but you and Lando needed to know the truth. 

“But that’s where the real experience comes. Being in the garage when the cars are out on track? That was why I joined McLaren in the first place. I had found where I thought I belonged. I volunteered for more and more races, spent hours running over data with the team, being a sponge and absorbing everything any of the senior engineers would give me.” 

You continue on from there, detailing how you’d gotten a promotion at the beginning of the year to full-time performance engineer working under Lando’s engineer, Will.

There had been a few raised eyebrows when that particular announcement had been made. Everyone knew you were dating Lando and had been for a while when you’d gotten the promotion but the people that mattered: Will, Andrea, Zak? They all knew your work spoke for itself and you’d earned that spot on Lando’s performance team. 

Before you know it, the hour and a half is up and you’re chatting with a few of the women that were in the class. One of them invited you to come to their Women in STEM meeting that was happening the following night, which you happily agreed to. You’d be in town for another few days so you were happy to spend some time with the few women STEM students that the university had. 

Most of the people wander out after a while and finally Lando finds his way back to you, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, murmuring about how good you were up there during the class. Frank is caught up with a student discussing an upcoming exam so you patiently wait off to the side of the lecture hall to say your goodbyes for the evening. 

And then, someone completely unexpected is saying your name. 

You spin, blinking rapidly at the sound of the voice you haven’t heard in what felt like a lifetime. 

“Andrew.” You stammer. “I…I didn’t know you were going to be here today.” 

Andrew was here. Your college boyfriend. The man that made you choose between him and your career. The man that you hadn’t seen since the day you’d crossed the stage at graduation all those years ago. He still looks the same. Same broad frame, same dark brown eyes that seemed to watch you like a hawk wherever you went, same charming smile that he knew how to use like a weapon to get what he wanted. 

Lando’s fingers tighten around your waist automatically, like a reflex he can’t fight. He knew exactly who was standing in front of you now; knew that this was the man that you’d been with when he’d first met you that first summer.

You didn’t talk about him all that much and Lando didn’t like to ask questions about your past relationships. It was like a bruise that only hurt if you pressed too hard. 

Suddenly that old bruise had bloomed new and purple and seeing Andrew stood in front of you with such a charming smile on his face felt like several fingers pressing deep into the injured skin. 

“I ran into Frank in the faculty lounges this morning and he mentioned you were going to be on campus. He knew we used to..." He pauses, eyes flicking briefly over to Lando and smirks "be close, thought I’d like to see you again. You look absolutely incredible, by the way. I sat in the back corner the entire time and couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

“Oh…” You glance awkwardly at Lando before giving him a half smile, “Well, thank you. I appreciate the compliment. You said faculty lounge? Are you a professor now?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation away from how pretty your ex-boyfriend thought you were. 

Beside you, Lando shifts, not liking the way this conversation doesn’t yet include him. 

“God, I always forget that you don’t keep up with the rest of us now that you’re off in Europe full-time.” Andrew says cooly. 

You roll your eyes, missing the accusation in his tone. Lando doesn’t though, he doesn’t miss a thing about the way Andrew is watching you, eyeing you up and down like a meal to be savored. 

“I got a part-time position about five years ago, went full-time last semester. Mainly 100 level classes, but I like it well enough.” He continues, not even sparing Lando a look. 

“How exciting! I know you always wanted to teach at some point, so that’s amazing that you’re doing that.” Silence stretches for a beat, awkwardly settling between your small group before you shake your head, “I’m so sorry, I’m being so rude. Andrew, this is my boyfriend, Lando. Lan, this is Andrew Hargrave.” 

“Her college boyfriend.” Andrew extends his hand and Lando glances down at it briefly before hesitantly shaking it.

“We could probably compare notes, huh?” Andrew says, his tone just this side of joking so that you don’t still don’t pick up on the way he’s trying to make you flinch. 

Lando narrows his eyes. Who the fuck was this guy, anyway? Comparing notes on his girlfriend? This was the guy that made you choose between him and your career. You’d never really spoken poorly about him but some of the stories you’d told Lando over the years about Andrew had caused him to see red flag after red flag, even if you didn’t share that opinion. 

“My mum always taught me it wasn’t polite to kiss and tell.” Lando shoots back with a smirk that you know is borderline fake. 

“Well if you ever need some advice on how to handle this little firecracker here, I’m happy to help.” 

You huff a laugh, not taking the dick measuring contest Andrew seemingly wants to get into with your boyfriend seriously. Beside you though, you feel Lando stiffen further. You knew Lando had a jealous streak a mile wide that went right along with the way he felt like he was never enough. 

“I don’t need to ‘handle’ her at all, she’s her own person. We’re a team, I look after her and she looks after me.” 

Andrew’s eyes go wide at the venom in Lando’s voice and you draw in a breath before reaching down to find tangle your fingers with his, giving them a squeeze, a silent ‘don’t cause a scene’ message passing quickly between you. 

Andrew turns back to focus on you, his Cheshire Cat grin growing wider. “It sounds like you’re living the life over in England though. Our little small town girl all grown up and making her mark on Formula 1 just like you always dreamed of.” 

You didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm in his voice, which blows your boyfriend away. How were you so calm about this? He raged internally. Lando heard every lilt of condescension, every gentle attempt to flirt with you. It made him dizzy with anger.

“I’m incredibly happy with my life, yeah.” You agree. 

Lando turns back to Andrew, sticky sweet smile on his face, “It’s kinda crazy that you tried to get her to give up the opportunity to work with McLaren and stay here in this little town instead. I, for one, am glad she chose herself.” 

“Lando…” You scold him with his name. You knew what he was doing. Knew he was jealous, even though there wasn’t a single reason to be. “Enough.” 

Andrew’s eyes ping back and forth, seemingly enjoying goading Lando into a reaction. Only Lando notices, it seems.

“It’s okay.” He says easily, turning his gaze back onto you. “He’s right, asking you to choose between me and your dream job was a stupid move and I paid the price.” 

Lando narrows his eyes. The sudden acceptance of responsibility didn’t sit well with him. There was an angle to what this guy was saying and he didn’t like it one bit. 

Before you have a chance to respond, Frank finally joins your little group, greeting Andrew with a quick handshake. Much to Lando’s displeasure, he invites Andrew to your planned dinner that you had all planned on going to after the class was finished up. Fortunately for Lando, Andrew has to refuse due to an evening class but says if you’re free, you should give him a call, that he’d like to catch up and reminisce before you leave town later in the weekend. 

Over Lando’s dead fucking body. 

You nod noncommittally before saying a brief goodbye, quickly dodging the hug that Andrew tries to pull you into before Frank leads you and Lando out the door, leaving your ex-boyfriend to watch you leave with the man that he lost you to. 

Your hotel room felt suffocating. Like there had been a storm brewing since the door had snicked closed behind you and Lando that evening. Dinner had been mostly professors from your college along with a few closer classmates that were in town for the football game that weekend. Lando sat back the entire evening, watching you in your element, laughing and joking around with the people who had helped build you. 

It should have felt good, watching you come alive like that. And Lando did feel that comfortable ache that comes along with knowing who your person in the world is.

But there was something deeper beneath that pleasure.

Something sharper.

Seething and possessive. 

Lando had always thought of your past relationships in the abstract. He knew you’d been involved with other people but that was always in the past, somewhere hazy and not part of your fond memories. 

Seeing Andrew tonight had cracked something wide open in Lando’s chest. Here was a physical reminder of the other choices you’d had. Lando wasn't dumb. He knows you had other choices. Other choices that would have led to a different life. 

And God, sometimes it kept Lando up at night; wondering if you thought you’d made the wrong choice. If you were disappointed at where your choices had led you. 

Those choices that had led you to him. 

So when you got back to the hotel room that night, skin chilled from the cold October night, Lando had worked his way into a mood that he couldn’t seem to shrug off. It was like he’d felt the center of gravity shift this afternoon and he didn’t know where he stood. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower and relax.” You suggest gently as Lando flings himself onto the giant bed in your shared hotel room. 

You could practically feel the waves of anxiety and something deeper, something darker, rolling off Lando. The energy in the room shifts as Lando ignores you, turning his head towards the balcony outside. 

“Or you can take a nap.” You say lightly, wanting to tread carefully. 

Something was up. Clearly. But Lando didn’t seem open to doing any talking at the moment so you just kept to the opposite side of the room, catching up on some work emails. You were technically on vacation and didn’t need to check emails but next week was COTA and you didn’t want to miss anything important that might go down at the factory. 

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re trying to provoke me or if you’re just that blind to what happened earlier today.” Lando spits into the tense silence. 

You blink, processing his outburst before slowly turning your head to look at your boyfriend. “Excuse me?” 

Lando sits up, brows pulled low over his eyes. His eyes are downcast towards the carpet but you know him well enough to read the anxiety sitting heavy on his shoulders, tense and taut up towards his ears. You had known he was probably not happy about being blindsided by Andrew earlier in the day but this reaction seemed to be a bit much, even for Lando. 

Finally he looks up, anger written all over his face. 

“You’re going to sit there and tell me that Andrew didn’t spend our entire conversation today either hitting on you or trying to remind me that he had you first? You didn’t pick up that? Or do you just not give a fuck that your ex is clearly still hung up on you after all these years?” 

You don’t respond right away. You can’t. You’re actually stunned into silence.

It takes a few moments but you eventually recover the ability to form words.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care that Andrew was apparently still hung up on you, though you didn’t think that was the case. It was that it genuinely didn’t matter to you what was going on in Andrew’s head to you.  

You stand and start pacing the bit of floor between the bed and desk. “That’s just how Andrew is. He’s full of himself and obnoxious. He was the same way when we…” You pause. 

Your eyes slice over to where Lando sits slouched against the headboard. He doesn’t look up but you can see his body tense. 

“He was the same way in college and he clearly hasn’t changed.” You change what you were about to say to spare Lando’s anxieties. 

“He said he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and wanted to compare notes with me, baby! How is that okay in any situation?” Lando tosses his hands up in the air. 

“Lando, that was a joke!” You cry, exasperated by the way this conversation is devolving. “He says a lot of stuff he doesn’t mean. He’s an idiot, yeah but I don’t think he meant anything by it.” 

You stand at the food of the bed, hands tucked into the team hoodie you’d been wearing that night. Before Lando has a chance to reply, your phone chimes with an incoming text message from where it sits on the desk. Letting Lando take a breath to cool down, you pick up the phone and read the message. 

“Ah, look. I bet that’s him now, isn’t it? Asking to get lunch tomorrow so he can stare at you some more, huh?” Lando mutters bitterly. 

Fire ignites in your chest, angry and molten. It was one thing for Lando to be uncomfortable with the way Andrew had spoken to you earlier that afternoon but insinuating you were texting your ex-boyfriend and planning to see him again? 

“Too far, Lando.” You whisper, the anger in your chest stoking down to something more smoldering, more painful. “Do you really think that I’d entertain any of that?” 

Lando shrugs, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with him flirting with you earlier, so maybe you think it’s okay to reconnect with him over lunch too.” 

Your head spins at the flawed logic. “What in the actual fuck are you talking about? I would never do that and you fucking know it.” 

It wasn’t often that you two got into fights like this. In fact, you could probably count the number of times you’d yelled at Lando like this on one hand.

“I thought I knew that but things seem different with Andrew.” Lando knows he’s crossed a line as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

You go completely still. “Did you just accuse me of being capable of cheating on you?” 

Lando shoves his hands through his curls, groaning. This was all falling apart at the seams and he didn’t know how to get control of it anymore. “Fuck.” He breathes, “No that’s…”

“That’s not what you meant?” You interrupt, tone mocking. “Then what the fuck did you mean when you said you ‘thought you knew but things seem different’? Because that sounds a lot like you think I’m capable of cheating on you, Lando Norris.” 

Your heart ached so fiercely you have to lean against the door. Lando was your person. He had been since the day you’d met him. What had started out as a friendship had grown into the kind of relationship every one of your friends was jealous of.

Lando doted on you non-stop. Bought you things before you even asked for them. Flew you out on extravagant vacations. But even more than that, he was emotionally there for you whenever you needed him.

Insecure about something you said in a meeting? Lando would always find a way you feel better. Upset over a project at work? Lando would always be able to hype you up out of that awful self-doubt cycle you were so prone to falling into. 

And you tried to do the same for him too. Always. But this? This was too much. 

“I think I’m going to go take a walk before one of us says something we can’t take back.” You say quietly, reaching for your purse that sat discarded on the desk beside you. 

Lando stands. You’d never argued like this before. Never left mid-fight. Ever. The muscles in his shoulders bunched together, anxiety knitting the fibers together in tight knots. “Baby, no…wait…” 

You hold a hand up to stop him from reaching for you. 

You’d never done that either. Never resisted physical touch from him. 

Lando’s heart shatters. 

“I need some space.” You whisper, not trusting your voice to come out any stronger that that. 

You turn to leave the hotel room, Lando standing with his hands shoved in his pockets staring at you miserably. When your hand reaches for the doorknob, you turn back to Lando with a bitter smile on your face. 

“By the way, that text?” You pause, flipping your phone around in your hands, shaking your head. “That was Frank. Do you want to hear what he wrote?” 

Lando doesn’t say anything but doesn’t protest either, just looks at you all pale skin and wide eyes. 

“My sweet genius girl.” You begin, voice wobbling at the edges, you’re so full of warring emotions. “I am so proud of the woman you’ve become and the man you’ve found to love. He was the picture of besotted all night tonight and I am so glad you are the lucky one to be on the receiving end of that. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Lando. That’s the look of someone who’s found their soulmate. I know because that’s the way I look at my Joyce, even after 57 years together. Hold on to that tightly, my dear. Never let it go.”

Silence.

The words hit Lando with devastating force. 

His heart squeezes so painfully he gasps against the anguish. 

“Baby…” 

You shake your head. “No, I need a minute Lan. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

With that, you turn back to the door, opening it wide before disappearing down the hallway, leaving Lando alone in the room.    

[lieslab]

You have so much to do and I have nothing ahead of me

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: You find safety at your local library and fall in love along the way.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 4.4k

Trigger warning: Dysfunctional family and implied abuse.

A/N: This was requested, but I might have crashed out listening to Mitski while writing this. Requestee, I'm genuinely so sorry your family isn't the best. I hope you can find your own footing and forge your own path soon. In the meantime, I hope this helps a little <3

_ _ _

The world caved in again. Hidden in your room, chaos erupted on the opposite side of the wooden door. You laid down on your bed, staring at the whirling fan panels, wondering when it’d finally end. They spun around, sending a spiraling breeze against your skin, but on the inside, you burned. 

Your heart melted into molten lava and it oozed. Deforming and sinking, letting everything you held dear fall apart within you. On the other side of the door, they bickered again. Another family member spiraled out of control. Cursing and hissing, spewing venom and fireballs everywhere. 

The locked door kept you safe physically, but it didn’t stop the fiery flames from filling up your heart. Your brain spun on a spit and everything burnt to a crisp. Dreams turned to ashes and blew away with the spin of your fan. Why was it always so hard? 

The thickness of the door wasn’t enough to hide their words. Hatred and anger. The thud of something, they lashed out again. You knew it was better to stay in your room. Your mouth craved water, your stomach rumbled, but you stayed put. Leaving what little safety harbor you had, at a time like this, they’d detonate. 

Smoke would fill your eyes and it’d hit your lungs. Coughing and suffocating, they’d take you down with them. Smothered in hurt and choking on sulfur fumes. It always stung, the noose of words that swung over your neck and suffocated you. 

When it comes to toxic family members, you can't pull yourself away. There is nowhere else to go. You’ve been stitched to them, tethered with the task of fixing the hurt and easing the pain. There’s nobody else to do it. 

Tears pricked in your eyes. You dreamed of stardust and the warmth of the sun. Something comforting and holy. You wanted more than four walls, a life bigger than the voices of toxic family members, but how do you chase that when four walls is all you’ve ever known? 

The same loop of yelling and insufferable amounts of pain. The wallpaper faded and peeled. Maybe it was old, or maybe, just maybe, it grew moist from the evaporation of your tears. One window to watch the birds, they fluttered high to the sky, and disappeared out of view. 

They had their own families to tend to. Finding a mate, nurturing kids, exploring new turf on their own. Nobody to hold them back, nobody to give them hell, and nobody to shrink their dreams. 

You envied them. The cardinals with varying shades of red. Blue Jays of the deepest blues, the depths of the ocean come to life, and streaking across the skies with warbles and chirps. The familiar orange underbelly of Robins with their beady dark eyes. 

You wanted to be free, but how do you find the strength to spread your wings and flap away? High in the sky, looping over the ocean, sailing along the tree tops of high forests full of their own community of ecosystems. 

How do you find the strength to fly away when your own family clipped your wings and ripped them from your back years ago? 

~ ~ ~ 

The library brought peace. A quiet place you could go to get away from it all. Thousands of books littered the shelves. Bold titles, one-worded titles, italic fonts, and the names of author’s you’d never recognize. The world finally felt at your fingertips here. Maybe if you couldn’t actually go somewhere physically, you could go on an adventure mentally. 

The first time you saw Kim Seungmin, you didn’t really notice him. He sat at one of the corner tables with a comic spread out before him. His head slumped against his hand, you paid no mind to it. His eyes lazily scanned the words and then he flipped the page. 

You found a book off the shelf that looked interesting enough. Working through the rows of shelves and squirming through tables, you sat down at a table in the distance. He looked up, hearing the chair pull out, but he didn’t take much notice of you, either. 

You sat down, pulled yourself beneath the table, and got busy reading. Just as he scanned bright and colorful pictures, you read the words on your page; soaking them up in the scent of the library’s perfume of old books and the essence of time itself. Motes of dust particles and the lingering nostalgia of childhood afternoons. Everything felt better here and you could finally breathe. 

The weight of having a problematic family lifted from your shoulders. You existed here and there was nobody to belittle you and bring you down. Nobody to make you feel small and fold in on yourself. Nobody to blame their problems on you, just quiet thumps of books shutting, the faint beep of the scanner as librarians scanned books, and hushed conversations. 

You felt real here. In control of your life. Nobody could tell you know and the wraith didn’t rain down. Time stopped and you clutched onto it, wrapping this part of life around you like a weighted blanket. Peace pressed against your heart. Why couldn’t life always feel this simple?

You lost yourself between the pages, entirely unaware the guy behind you took a slight interest in you. 

~ ~ ~ 

He showed up again the next day. A different comic and a manga to keep him company. Yesterday, he had to leave, but you were still here. He caught sight of your scanning eyes and he nearly stumbled. He’d never seen you around before. You lured him in without realizing it. 

To his disappointment, you didn’t appear. He flipped through pages, squirming in his seat. Eagerness nipped at his heart and he couldn’t sit still. He waited and waited, but you didn’t show up. 

He finished the comic and the manga over the span of three hours, but you still weren’t around. So much time had passed, he forgot the exact spots where he pulled the books off the shelf from. With a sigh, he stood up and headed downstairs. 

Warm lighting and the stir of laughing children. The children’s section sat downstairs. Filled with bright and colorful books, everything from stories with simplicity for toddlers, to chapter books for preteens, they sat scattered along walls. 

As he headed to the service desk, one of them rushed in his direction. A gasp left his mouth before he could stop it. The kid dodged and ran right past him. Some sort of Lego dragon sat in his hand. A distressed mother looked frazzled as she tried to keep her eyes on all three children. 

A little girl with black curls bounced up and down near her side. A stack of books in her arms, a gummy smile, and shoes that lit up. “Mommy, can we go home? Mommy!” She reached up, gently tugging on the end of her mother’s long turquoise skirt. 

Meanwhile, her mother tried to tug a third and smaller child away from a picture hanging on the wall. Tiny fingers reached up, trying to peel off the colored photo of the cartoon dog. “Bluey!” 

“No, sweetie, you can’t take that. Some other kid colored that and the librarians put it up so everyone could see it. We have a Bluey coloring book at home. You don’t need–” 

“Mommy!” The girl cried again. 

“Rawr!” The same boy that nearly ran into Seungmin the first time looped around and came back, narrowly missing him again. The Lego dragon flew above his head. 

When his mother glanced over, her eyes widened. “Kai, watch where you’re going!” 

“Mommy, I wanna go home.” 

“I know, give me a moment and we’ll go.” 

Crash! 

The boy tripped, slid forward, and the Lego dragon clattered to the ground. Multiple pieces flew in a plethora of different directions. Seungmin’s eyes widened. The boy, Kai, dropped to his knees and started to scoop them up. 

“Bluey!” 

“Mommy!” 

“Don’t touch the Bluey!” She pulled an arm around her youngest son, scooped him up, and turned to her daughter. “Sweetie, where’s the Bluey book?” It took a few moments, but she pulled it from the stack and handed it to her. “Thank you. Kai, what did I tell you about running around with that thing in here?” 

“Sorry, Mom.” 

She sucked in a deep breath and handed the book to the youngest on her hip. “They don’t tell you that being a mom has to turn you into being a superhero.” She grabbed her daughter’s hand and tugged them towards the mess of legos. 

“I’m sorry about him. Kai can be energetic and a ball of energy. The doctor says it’s normal, but I think he has a candy stash somewhere.” 

A faint smile appeared on Seungmin’s face. “That’s okay. Is the dragon going to be okay, or…” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine. Boys and their Lego sets. He got this for his birthday a few days ago and it’s already fallen apart a few times, but he likes it.” 

“I know how to put it back together,” he insisted, “I’m a pro at Lego sets.” 

“Kai, put your Lego set back together and I’m going with your sister to help her check out some books. Don’t run off and please, for the love of god, stay out of the way of people. You probably gave this poor man a heart attack.” 

“Mommy?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, we’re going, we’re going. To the front desk, come on.” 

Another clatter. The kid in her arms dropped the Bluey book. They both looked down and she sighed. “Uh-oh,” her son whispered. 

“Don’t worry, it was just an accident.” 

Seungmin sank onto his knees, gently placing his books down. He grabbed a few Lego chunks and handed them over to the kid. “Do you have a lot of Lego sets?” 

“I have a few. I like building them, it’s fun. I named this dragon Spyro, like after the video game.” 

“That’s a good name for a dragon.” 

“Yep.” 

The kid brushed shaggy black hair away from his face. His fingers worked quickly, placing Legos back together onto the dragon. “Do you like Legos?” 

“I do, but I haven’t built a set in a while.”

“You should get the dragon set and have your own Spyro.” 

The two talked for a few minutes. Just as the last piece was placed back onto the dragon, his mother returned with his siblings. “Did you get it?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Come on, let’s go.” She waved him towards her and smiled at Seungmin. “Thank you so much for your help. I’m so sorry he nearly plowed into you. I’m trying to get him to stop doing that, but seven year olds live in their own world.” 

“That’s okay. Have a good day.” 

“Thanks for helping me rebuild Spyro,” the boy added. He waved and hurried towards the door. His mother rushed after him, with her other son in her arms, and her daughter holding a stack of books beside her. 

Seungmin stood up, dusted himself off, and grabbed his books. He headed towards the circular counter to return his books into the return slot. As he approached, a faint beep sounded. A librarian was slowly checking books back in. 

“Oh, this is from that one person.” 

“What person?” Another librarian asked in the distance. They had their backs turned, stacking a plethora of books on a rolling cart. 

“The one that’s always here reading. They’re here multiple times a week and probably put down three to four books a week. It’s pretty impressive, honestly.” 

Seungmin approached the wooden counter and slipped his books on top of it. The moment he did, the librarian stopped and headed over with a smile. “Checking out?” 

Golden framed circular glasses sat on the edge of his nose. He pushed them up and grabbed the books. Seungmin shook his head. “Um, no. I was going to put them in the return slot, but–” He gestured to the stack of books the librarian was scanning. “I assume you're checking books back into the return system.” 

“You assumed correctly. Do you need help with anything else?” The librarian smiled and slid the books toward the large pile. 

“Nope, that’s all I had.” 

“If you need anything, you know where to find us. Have a great day.” He walked back over to the pile to scan Seungmin’s books back in. 

Before Seungmin walked away, he looked at the book the guy previously checked in, it was the same one you were reading yesterday. 

~ ~ ~ 

It took two days before you appeared again. Permanent bags beneath your eyes stained purple. Teary eyes, a breath you couldn’t quite catch, and the need for stability and comfort. The shelves were a sanctuary and you kneeled before them like a man without a god. Silently pleading, a hollow heart, and a desperate need for comfort. 

You craved a family like everyone else did. You wanted comfort, you seeked safety, but their words stung. You didn’t know what you did to become the family punching-bag, but it’s what you turned into. Every time you tried to speak up to defend yourself, they lashed out again. You sank into yourself, bit into your bottom lip until you tasted the tang of iron. Skin burst from the pressure of your teeth. The taste of your own blood sanctified you. 

You walked around with a hollow heart. Every glance in the mirror turned into the confrontation of a stranger. What have you become? You pushed people too much. An instigator, the problem child, and destruction in the form of a human. They said you stirred the pot, you had no choice, but to believe them. Family doesn’t lie to one another. 

“Excuse me?” 

The soft voice caught you entirely off guard. You sank between the shelves of a non-fiction section, hoping to find something real, something to make you feel whole again. When Seungmin’s eyes met your watery ones, his head tipped before he could stop it. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile. “Sorry, I have really bad allergies this time of year. The pollen got to me and I walked here from my house, so…” 

He stared at you for a few seconds too long. Your heart twitched, wondering what he could possibly want from someone as pathetic as you. He reached a hand out to you. You stared at the tissue in his hand without a word. You must have looked confused because he gestured back to the hall. 

“I saw you come in with watery eyes. I’m sorry, I know this must be a little strange. I saw you here a few days ago and I noticed you were reading a certain book. I wanted to see if you had a few moments to talk about it, maybe?” 

He grabbed the back of his neck, wondering why he had to be such an idiot. He didn’t care about your book, he just wanted to talk to you. To truly unearth who you were beneath the exterior. You said allergies, but the sniffles and shaking shoulders he peeked at, through the opposite side of the shelf, made him think differently. What were you hiding? How bad could it be? 

You reached up, letting your fingers curl around the new tissue. “Yeah, sure. Thank you for this. I didn’t even realize they had them in the area. I’ll have to take an allergy pill when I get home. What did you want to know?” 

“I’ve heard my friend rave about that book, but in my opinion, I’ve never trusted his taste in literature. Is it worth the read?” 

Your heart skipped a few beats before you responded. Maybe someone heard prayers, or maybe you find certain people when you need them. Regardless, you introduced yourself. 

He said his name was Seungmin. 

~ ~ ~

The library became a place of rebirth. Quiet laughter and shared chatter at one of the back tables. Casual conversation turned into so much more. The first time his hand bumped into yours, he apologized profusely, but you waved him off. The warmth of his skin sent sparks through your body. 

Your brain buzzed and you hummed with electricity. Brought to life, awoken from the land of the dead, you felt something for the first time in a long time. When was the last time you felt this alive? You wondered if being alive was worth it, but it was worth it now. More often than not, you found yourself smiling a little too wide. An angel dusting of pink continued pulsing to your cheeks. You couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. 

The quick wit, the sarcasm, or the general charm; you didn’t know which one caused you to fall harder. You didn’t just fall, you plummeted. The angry voices from family members faded away and dissolved into nothingness. Mindless chatter drifted and a melody filled your head. 

Sweetened love songs came onto your playlists on rotation. Even when hell reigned outside your wooden door, you let yourself float when the love songs came on. The way Seungmin’s lips might feel against yours, the smoothness of golden cheeks, and the teasing touch of his fingers. 

Was this how it felt to be baptized? To be cleansed of worldly filth and purified in something shiny and new? Something real that gave life an entire new meaning. An eternal life stretched out before you, all you had to do was take Seungmin’s hand. 

It’s exactly what you ended up doing. Leaving the fiery pits of hell behind and slipping into Seungmin’s dorm. More and more, you left home and found yourself slipping into the domestic pockets of life he created for you. He welcomed you into his life with open arms. All it took was a single conversation about a good book. 

The first kiss was shared beneath warm porch lights. Thick summer air swaddled you. Crickets sang and the fireflies flickered. A thousand lanterns came to life. Their bodies pulsed in a code that only they could understand. 

You looked up from Seungmin’s enclosed porch with a softness in your eyes. The taste of a honeydew melon soaked your lips. Mild and sweet, it tasted better than the harsh metal of your own blood. 

“What do you think it felt like to kiss Edward Cullen?” You asked as a joke. You glanced over, your thigh pressed against his own. Side-by-side on a gliding swing, you stayed close to one another. 

He paused, glancing up from his own book. Twilight sat open on your lap. You couldn’t get over the thought of it. He leaned over without hesitation and pressed his lips against yours. Briefly devoted and without hesitation, it only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away. 

“Probably something like that, but a lot colder.” 

He went back to his book, as if nothing happened. The choir of crickets and the audience of fireflies. A soft breeze pulled your hair back, bringing with it the earthy scent of fresh cut grass. Your book fell to the floor and he looked down. 

Before he could speak, you grabbed the front of his shirt, jerked him back, and kissed him like you were taking your final breath.

~ ~ ~ 

He pressed his fingers against his lips. They still tingled at the memory of that first kiss. The weekly date nights went on for months. Library dates, stolen kisses beneath the stars, and laughter that kept his heart swollen with happiness. He couldn’t imagine what life would be like without you. 

The squeaking of an old rotating fan jerked him from his thoughts. The stupid thing needed to be replaced, but yet, it still worked. It blew cool air and it continued to shift left to right and back again. Maybe he could fix it with some WD-40. 

The vibrating of his cell phone caused him to sit up. Your contact name appeared and he swiped instantly. “Hello?”

“S-Seungmin?” You croaked. A hand went to the front of your shirt and you twisted the fabric. 

“Woah, are you okay? Are you crying? What’s wrong?” 

“I ran away from home.” 

“What?” 

“I can’t do it anymore, Seungmin, I can’t. I-I’m sorry to bother you, but I have nobody else to turn to. I don’t know where to go. The library is closed and–” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on, you’re at the library?” He jerked a hand through his hair and stood up. “At this hour? It’s after midnight.” 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“I’m on my way, don’t go anywhere.” He rushed to the front door, sprinting to put on his shoes. Screw the socks and properly lacing the shoes. He shoved his foot in one, wiggled it, and jerked up the back of it. “I’m coming, baby, give me a few minutes.” 

“I couldn’t take it anymore. They’re so mean to me. I-I just want to be good enough. I want to be enough for them. They say I’m a problem. They’re always angry. What did I do? What did I do to deserve this?” 

Salty tears streamed beneath your cheeks. A few feet away, a light pole jutted high into the sky. A circle of moths fluttered, trying to fly closer into the light. Your hand pressed against your forehead and you tipped your head up to look at it. Trying to breathe, you struggled for air. 

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong. You know this and I know that you know this, deep down. They don't know you like I do. I know you. How many months have we been dating?” 

“Eight.” 

“Exactly. I fell in love with you because–” 

You laughed weakly, stifling a sob. “You fell in love with a monster.” 

“I fell in love with someone brave. Someone strong that’s not afraid of admitting their wrongdoings. Someone honest and with a heart of gold. You think I don’t have high standards for who I date?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, digging your nails into the soft skin of your forehead. You didn’t respond with anything, other than the shaky sound of your breathing. You couldn’t respond because you’d burst into sobs. You’d grown up with poisoned darts shot into your heart. Seungmin plucked them out and removed the poison, as if loving you was the easiest thing in the world. 

It was so new and different from what you were used to. You wanted to believe him, but you struggled. The people that were supposed to love you the most left you shattered. Your porcelain heart laid on the floor at your feet, broken into a thousand tiny pieces.

“Hey, do you remember that Twilight quote?” 

You sniffled, trying to focus on the conversation again. “Huh? Which one?” You wiped your nose against the sleeve of your shirt. 

“The one about the lion falling in love with the lamb.” 

“I thought you didn’t like Twilight.” 

“I might have picked it up after you left a copy of it at my place last week.” 

“Consider me impressed,” you weakly mumbled. 

The phone clicked off and you froze. Unsure if that was meant to happen, or if your phone lost service, you spiraled once more. Another round of tears and the threat of a lump forming in your throat. Shaky fingers pressed the wrong keys to type in your passcode. A whispered cursed, the reflection of moonlight in your tears, and the world at your feet. 

Brakes squeaked and a small bell dinged. You looked up to find Seungmin beneath the lamp post across the way. One foot on a bicycle pedal and the other propping him up against the pavement. You stared at him and blinked rapidly. 

“So if I kissed you right now, would it make me the evil masochist lion?” 

“S-Seungmin…” 

He shrugged, holding his hands up above his head. “Hey, I’m just asking.” 

Your legs worked before you could understand what you were doing. You sprinted over to him, clutching your phone in one hand. He barely had time to brace himself before you wrapped him in a tight hug. Your shoulders shook and you squeezed him tighter. 

“You showed up.” 

“Yeah, I thought it was heavily implied.” 

When you pulled back, he wiped tears from beneath your eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there, come on.” He gestured to the metal basket on the front. “Hop in and let’s get going.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“Home.” 

You shot him a nervous look and he raised an eyebrow. “What? Don’t tell me you want me to take you back to your place. I was thinking we could head to my place. Maybe I’ll finally give in and watch the first Twilight movie with you.” 

“Really?” 

“You keep raving about that damn baseball scene.” 

“Because it’s hot.” 

He dramatically rolled his eyes and gestured to the basket. “Hop in and let’s go.” 

It took you a few seconds, unsure if it’d support your weight. Once you were inside, your legs hung over the edge. Your shoes dangled and cicadas chirped. Your fingers stuck into the sides, keeping yourself steady. Seungmin shifted the bike, as if he’d done this a thousand times. 

“So I’ve been thinking about asking you to move in for a while now. This wasn’t how I imagined doing it, but I’m glad you’re here and you’re okay. Maybe it’s a good thing because my friends have wanted to meet you for ages.” 

“Your band?” 

“You’ll either love them, or hate them.” 

“What if they hate me?” 

“I don’t think you understand that I’ve told them about you and they like you far more than they like me.” 

“That’s impossible.” 

“Don’t make me call them up at this hour and prove it.” 

A faint smile appeared on your face. He pedaled beneath streetlights, carrying you further and further to a place you could finally call home. One where you wouldn’t be confined to four walls. Where the living room could be lived in. A place where distant footsteps wouldn’t cause you to hold your breath and wait for someone to lose it in the distance. 

It wouldn’t be just a house, you’d finally have an entire home with someone that loved you for you; the way love is supposed to be.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike @bokkiesluv @phinnyphinnegan @zayn-210 @beal-o

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[xobunni0]

RAW ₊˚⊹ᰔ min su x f!reader

smut, first time creampie, non game au

‘close your eyes and let your feels go.”

min su’s hips twitched every time your pussy clenched down on him, the raw feeling of his cock inside you making his thighs tremble beneath yours. his hands gripped your waist, tight and trembling, as you moved slowly

“Ahh fuck” he gasped against your skin, voice trembling, like he couldn’t believe how good it felt, how much better bare skin on skin was. “can feel… everything” he murmured again, this time shakier. his mouth brushed your neck, lips parted, then latched, sucking gently just below your jaw, tongue flicking as he moaned “Mmmnnn…”

“Supposed to” you whispered back, smile curling against the side of his face as your hand ran soothing strokes down his back, tracing the dimples near the base “this is what it’s meant to feel like.”

he shuddered, his hips bucking up without rhythm as you moved down slowly, your pussy swallowing him again with a squelching squish sound that made both of you groan. his eyes closed shut, lashes dark, lips parted with breathless whimpers

“Fuck baby… you feel so good. so good like this…” he groaned out, “raw like this- wanna keep doing it like this now, yeah?”

you hummed, your smile deepening “Yeah?”

“Mhm… pussy’s so warm… so soft… so wet for me” he rasped, hips starting to lose control beneath you, thrusting little short jolts into your body even as you tried to keep the pace slow. he was too far gone, the feeling too overwhelming. his face warm, neck flushed as he pulled you closer and kissed you desperately

“Already feel like I gotta cum” he laughed breathily, embarrassment in his voice, but it was chased quickly by a deep moan, one that came straight out of his chest when you clenched tighter around him “shit.”

“You gonna cum inside me?” you murmured against his lips, and he groaned loud, hands right on your waist like he was going to lose it right there

you rode him a little harder now, hips slapping softly against his thighs, each stroke having him gasping, clinging, eyes glassy and rolling back every time your pussy clenched around him

“Can’t hold it” he moaned, voice breaking “Shit feels too good. I’m fuck, I’m gonna-”

“fill me up ” you whispered, warm against his ear

min su’s body went rigid the second your words left your lips, his hips stilled mid thrust, cock twitching inside your pussy, his breath catching sharply as his wide, panicked eyes met yours

“w-wait, but what if you get- ” he stammered, voice breaking off in a trembling breath, that worry flickering across his flushed. you could feel the hesitation in him, his muscles tense, chest rising and falling shallowly as if the sheer thought had punched the air out of him

“I won’t” you murmured before he could spiral. your voice was soft, you leaned forward, lips grazing his, tender and coaxing, your fingers stroking through his damp hair “it’s okay. I want this. I want you.”

his eyes half shut, he whimpered into your kiss “I want to baby…” he grunted “Fuck- I want to so bad.”

you rolled your hips just enough to make him twitch again inside you, your pussy gripping his cock with slow squeezes. he groaned, his head falling back against the headband, jaw clenched so tight, those soft sad eyes filled with guilt now even as his hips jerked up involuntarily, grinding into your pussy

“I just… I don’t want you getting pregnant” he choked out, words caught between moans and ragged breaths. “I couldn’t.. shit, what if-”

you kissed the corner of his mouth, one hand slipping down to his chest to press your palm flat over his heartbeat “look at me” you whispered, and he did, eyes searching your face like he was begging for permission “I want you to cum inside me.”

he visibly shuddered, his cock twitching hard within you. his brows furrowed, a broken moan caught in his throat, hips bucking upward as if his body was already choosing for him

“F-fuck…” he breathed, his voice cracking from how badly he wanted it, how close he already was.

“Please” you whispered, rocking your hips just enough so he could feel how soft and ready you were for him “cum inside me.”

his fingers curled into your hips, nails digging in just enough to hurt as he gasped “Shit okay.. okay, okay”

that did it. his whole body jerked beneath you, muscles going tense as he moaned out, loud and desperate. “F-fuck!” his cock twitched inside you, then pulsed hard as thick, warm cum poured into your pussy, his body trembling all over with every spasm. he buried his face in your neck, panting raggedly, whimpering as he came and came, cock still twitching even as you milked him slow and deep

you didn’t stop moving. even after he gasped your name in a broken voice, even as his fingers dug into your hips like he couldn’t take another second of it, you kept rolling your hips gently, loving the way he squirmed under you, overstimulated and dripping

“S-still so hard…” he panted

you could feel his cock twitch again inside you

he was still trembling beneath you, breath coming in short, uneven gasps as his chest rose and fell against yours. his hands clung to your thighs. sweat glistened on his skin, pearling along his collarbones, dripping slowly down the center of his chest. his face was flushed deep, his lips parted as he looked down between your bodies, down to where his cock was still buried in your pussy, twitching faintly inside the warm, dripping mess he’d just spilled into you

“shit…” he hissed between his teeth, as his eyes drank in the sight. his cum was already leaking from your pussy in a thick, white trickle, sliding slowly down around the base of his cock, glistening as it smeared over your folds. his hips jerked involuntarily, like just seeing it made his body twitch all over again

“Look at that” he whispered, awe and disbelief in his voice. his head turned slightly like he couldn’t bear to keep staring or else he might lose his mind, but his eyes kept coming back, locked onto the place where your bodies were joined“First time cumming in you… fuck… so much…”

you could feel it too. his cum warm and heavy inside you, seeping out with every little movement, every twitch of your hips. you clenched down around him just to tease, and he groaned through clenched teeth, eyes closing as his cock gave a weak throb in response

“You’re gonna get pregnant” he said, half joking, half serious. he looked at your messy, used pussy and his jaw tightened again, like he was trying to process the overwhelming reality that he was still inside you, his cum dripping out of you, bare and raw

“Got what I wanted though” you murmured, leaning down to kiss him, slow and sweet, your lips pressed against his, he kissed you back soflty, his mouth moving lazily against yours, still catching his breath, still dazed from his orgasm

“Gonna cum in you every time now” he said as the kiss broke, his voice low, still panting, still. there was no hesitation in him anymore

his bangs clung to his damp forehead, sticking in messy strands as he looked up at you with those big, sweet, sad eyes. his pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips red and kiss bruised. you could see how even after cumming that hard, even with his cock softening inside you, he still wanted to stay right there. stay inside.

“Can feel it all… everything” he murmured again, a little breathless laugh bubbling up as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down fully against him, chest to chest “You’re so warm…”

he pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek, nuzzling into you like he didn’t want to ever be apart again

“I’m serious” he added softly, a little shy “Every time. no more condoms. I don’t care. I want it like this.” his voice was almost pleading now “I want you. All of you.”

and you could feel his cock twitching again slow, needy already starting to harden back up inside your cum slick pussy.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[rosie-posie1313]

Dr Jack Abbot Fic Recs pt 3

07/05/2025

⭒ Look Out For Her by @leo-in-the-pitt

4 years later and your almost done with residency. But it feels like your relationship with Jack may be coming to an end too. That is until you’re hurt and he has to come to your rescue, that he reveals his true feelings for you.

⭒ Until The End by @/leo-in-the-pitt

With your 2 year anniversary coming up with Dr. Jack Abbot, you’re trying to figure out his secret plans and see if you can get over the final hurdle in your relationship before it’s too late.

⭒ Wrong Name (Part 2) by @randompiecesofwriting

⭒ party for you  by @highdramas

you party a little too hard and jack takes care of you in his perfect way.

⭒ a guard dog with a death wish by @/highdramas

at a grief support group that you never wanted to attend in the first place, jack abbot finds you, and pulls you up by your– admittedly– quite sad and pathetic boot straps.

⭒ Sweetpea by @candlelitea

Working with your now bf Jack Abbot is a dream, until your former teammate Spencer ends up in your ER.

⭒ Just In Case by @kilojulietsierra

He had given Robby so much shit about Collins. “Really brother? One of your residents?” Then you had put in a request to move to the night shift and Robby had fucking signed off on it.

⭒ Young At Age, Old In Heart  by @ohtobeleah

Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.

⭒ Your Man by @thepencilnerd

⭒ When the Sun Hits by @/thepencilnerd

⭒ Bias. by @haztory

⭒ where you are. By @/haztory

The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you.

⭒ I’m Fine by @popcornpoppypop

Callie is sick and stubborn. Jack is doing his best to get her to let him take care of her.

⭒ Broken Smile by @/popcornpoppypop

You are one of PTMC’s best ER residents, but it’s your day off. You head to Pittfest. Robby and Abbot have to pick up the pieces. Reader x platonic!Abbot and Robby

⭒ Like You by @/popcornpoppypop

You’re a single mom to an angry teen boy. Jack isn’t phased, he can handle the anger. He is there for your son, no matter what. Years later, Pittfest makes them more alike than anyone would wish.

⭒ I’m Glad You Stayed by @/popcornpoppypop

A companion piece to the Like Me Series. Matt is graduating and you and Jack are a mess. Matt has a surprise up his sleeve

⭒ They’ll Do It Because They Have To by @/popcornpoppypop

The continuation of Like You. You and Jack reckon with Matt as he starts recovery

⭒ can't pretend by @lauraneedstochill

He is puzzled with you first, then vexed, and he can’t understand his feelings. In an attempt to get to know you better (or maybe to get you out of his head), Abbot accidentally crosses the line.

⭒ PEACHY by @thecherrypittttttt

the 4 times they didn’t get caught and the 1 time they did

⭒ white mustang by @vanilleandclove

you take comfort in knowing your boyfriend knows how to de-escalate even the most traumatic and stressful situations with ease. stilettos and the emergency department during a mass casualty event are a complete no-go.

⭒ Playoffs by @/vanilleandclove

pittsburgh has a vibrant pub scene, being of true east coast fashion. when it’s playoff season for the steelers, that can only lead to bar brawls and broken tooths, most times. sometimes it’s bloody knuckles and misogynists. + as jack’s 49th birthday is around the corner, you book him a solo-vacation

⭒ carried away; by @/vanilleandclove

fourth of july always has always dampened a stain on your relationship, for the betterment of it, it helps you both understand each other a little bit differently

⭒ let the light in by @/vanilleandclove

the trials of postpartum can strain any relationship especially when your husband is rarely home from work. sometimes you wonder if you’re living the life you envisioned for yourself a decade ago

⭒ Hints by @somanyideassolittletime

4 Times Shen Hinted to Jack about you, only for you to beat him to it .

⭒ To be loved is to be changed. By @/somanyideassolittletime

3 ways you changed Jack, and one time Jack changed you.

⭒ Crumbs by @/somanyideassolittletime

⭒ Jack Abbot, who forgets that you know him better than he knows himself.  By @/somanyideassolittletime

⭒ The love he deserves by @/somanyideassolittletime

Jack finds himself unworthy, thank goodness he has you in his life.

⭒ Married life by @eden031

When Jack‘s wife is it hit by a patient a worried Jack only comes close behind.

⭒ girl!dad jack abbot headcanons by @jackabbotkisser

⭒ Off-Duty by @thesewordsareallihavetogive

Jack comes into the Pitt on his day off with no intention of working. One of his little guests has an affinity for raising his father’s blood pressure and adding to his gray hair.

⭒ Feeding the Pitt Crew by @/thesewordsareallihavetogive

⭒ Flesh Wound  by @/thesewordsareallihavetogive

Dr. Abbot’s wife’s cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself–and her bloody hand–to the Pitt without telling him

⭒ the favorite by @midnghtprentiss

all the times you were everyone's favorite person and one time you were jack’s person.

⭒ mission called convincing daddy to get us what we want  by @/midnghtprentiss

⭒ Do I Divide and Pull Apart? By @silens-oro

Night shift is down an attending and Dr. Robby has volunteered you to fill the space in the interim. Dr. Abbot may or may not have made the request for you specifically.

⭒ Jack’s Morning by @wayiiseetheworld

Jack has a conversation after leaving the hospital.

⭒ Espresso by @/wayiiseetheworld

Robby's normal shift ends with Abbot's wife in the ER.

⭒ Soft by @stellamarielu

jack gets injured on his shift and you’re there to help him get stitched up, making it impossible for him to ignore the soft side you bring out in him— especially when it makes his heart rate jump alarmingly high.

⭒ on the line by @millers-girl

Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

⭒ a little sliver by @/millers-girl

the fear of being diagnosed with the very disease that took your mother's life keeps you away from the hospital – until a cut on your hand brings you in, and a certain ER cowboy keeps you coming back

⭒ Sticky Fingers, Quiet Mornings by @abbotjack

Jack Abbot was built for crisis—night shifts, trauma codes, war. But fatherhood breaks him in all the best ways. Told in twelve toddler phases.

⭒ Him figuring out you're pregnant before you even notice by abbotjack

⭒ scar tissue by @lovableapocalypse

an unexpected patient arrives in the er and turmoil arises

⭒ Jack Abbot Drabble  by @robbysreaders

⭒ ex!reader and babydaddy!jack  by @/robbysreaders

⭒ Firefighter!reader by @starkenobi

it was supposed to be just a simple rescue, but some casualties force the fire crew to make a stop at the Pitt.

⭒ Undeserving by @ofstarsandvibranium

In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

⭒ Crazy, Stupid  by @therobbycuepitt

You get injured on the job and have to pay a visit to your husband at his beloved workplace.

⭒ Boy-dad!Jack by @mercvry-glow

⭒ fan behavior by @writingsforfandoms-multi

the reader and her husband are on opposite sides during a football game

⭒ gym crush by @bitters-n-sweets

⭒ Bruises Pt 1 by @glamorizethechaos

When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.

⭒ Bruises Pt 2  by @/glamorizethechaos

⭒ neighbour reader by @nineteenninety-six

⭒ Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby by @punkgeekcryptid

[rhiannonsknife]

I think I am 🦌 anon…… I love h2O just add water SO much im sobbing I’ll love anything u write for it…. Also bc im such a gigantic Rikki/emma shipper its making me think about Jackie/Melissa and now I feel galaxy brain 🌌🌌 like Melissa would have way more fun giving Jackie shit occasionally and they could have fun banter… meanwhile Shauna is standing by quietly losing her mind diskjdkwjfjejeh anyways Melissa calling Jackie “princess” do you mind if I exit

— H2O JUST ADD WATER (yellowjackets au)

the three of them weren’t even supposed to end up on the island. they were meant to be out on lottie’s boat (well, mr. matthews’, technically) for an afternoon cruise, a little celebration after winning regionals & qualifying for nationals. a few jv girls had tagged along (hence, melissa) and the day itself couldn’t have been better. until the engine of mel’s boat stalled on the way back, leaving them stranded just off mako island. she pointed out they could dock and check the motor from shore. so they did and, while waiting, wandered off. that’s how jackie found the moon pool…

or: healing my inner child…let me have my mermaid moment with this guys!!

SHAUNA SHIPMAN ⋆˙⟡ cleo

shauna keeps it to herself the longest. it’s not that she’s any better at hiding it, if anything, she’s the worst liar…(definitely writes about it in her journal, too!!) but the rational part of her just refuses to believe it’s real.

her first signs aren’t as dramatic (meaning no tail incident), it’s mostly water, acting strange: the morning after, at the sink, shauna reaches for the faucet, and the stream bends, curving away from her hand. she flinches, and it snaps back.

it takes three full tail incidents (one in her bathtub, one at the harbor, and one in the locker room where jackie has to block the door) for shauna to finally admit: “okay. yeah. so i think i’m a mermaid too.”

hydrokinesis — the ability to control the shape & volume of water. shauna is secretly practicing her powers in the tub and the pond in the park, to avoid incidents like the one time she accidentally made the water in her mom’s flower vase swirl into a spiral when she got distracted watching jackie eat a popsicle…

JACKIE TAYLOR ⋆˙⟡ emma

jackie is, for once, the unlucky one. her first transformation happens right before jeff is supposed to come over. she’s in her bathrobe, mid-prep for one of her ‘everything-showers’ she’s decided make her irresistible (comphet jackie taylor, you are real to me in every universe…) when she dips a toe into the water to test the temperature. 

the contact is all it takes. water hits her skin & she changes. jackie’s legs fuse together, and her body slumps into the tub. she screams once, then slaps a hand over her mouth in shock. gripping the tub’s edge, she’s sobbing, terrified, and somehow furious that it had to happen today of all days (omg jackie who transforms the day she was planning to “finally” lose her virginity…?? fate stepped in!!)

when jeff calls to say he’s out front, jackie, still stunned, chokes out: “uhm- i can’t hang out! i’m...sick. like…puking sick! go home.” then she hangs up and stares down at her new tail.

cryokinesis — the ability to freeze water & create ice (the concept of this being jackie’s power….). in the beginning, jackie can’t stop accidentally freezing things. she ruins several sinks and refuses to drink anything cold, afraid it might freeze in her throat. she’s definitely the most frustrated with her lack of control.

MELISSA HAT ⋆˙⟡ rikki

melissa is the first to admit it not only to herself (which, frankly, is hard to deny when her legs turn into a full-blown tail the second she touches water), but out loud: “okay, don’t freak, but i think i’m a goddamn mermaid.”

she says this to gen, obviously. gen: her best friend, and more importantly, the only person she trusts enough to show what happens when she pours water down her arm. to be fair, gen does freak out a little. “oh my god, do it again!” she shrieks “can you, like, breathe underwater now?!”

melissa tries to play it cool, as if she hasn’t been spiraling for 48 hours straight & didn’t scream the first time it happened, slipping into her pool and nearly passing out from shock. as if she’s not lowkey in love with both shauna & jackie, losing her mind about it more and more every time they mention weird water stuff…

hydro thermokinesis — the ability to heat & boil water. it starts with bathwater, then escalates to a full bottle she forgets she’s holding during an argument with shauna, which explodes in her grip. melissa is surprisingly cautious, though, taking time to practice and gain control.

[hystericalend]

this is extremely underdeveloped and just a random thought but imagine sieun was the one put in the coma by beomseok instead and suho is the one who has the ep8 crashout.. suho so at his limit-- BEYOND his limit, he forgets everything abt "not crossing the line" and actually fucking kills beomseok

by accident. i don't think i could see him genuinely murdering someone in cold blood but i do think suho is physically very capable of killing someone accidentally. that's what the line is for. that's what the mma training is for. it's surprisingly easy to kill someone, when you're blinded by grief. easy as beomseok's head hitting the corner of the desk and not getting up when he hits the floor.

accident or not, beomseok is dead and everything very quickly spirals out of control. maybe a beating could be covered up, but murder? murder has him put in juvenile prison.

and how fucking SAD would that be?? sieun's future on hold, suho's forever tainted by the blood on his hands. and there being this huge, gaping divide between them. suho rots in prison hating himself for not seeing the signs earlier, wondering if he could've changed things if he'd known, wishing he could've been there to protect sieun, fucking hating himself for crossing the line and killing the boy that he should've helped before it ever got to this point.

he asks his grandmother to visit sieun and keep him updated, desperate for any news about his condition. every week it's the same. still in the coma. no idea when he'll wake up.

and suho tries to be good. he needs to be on his best behaviour, show remorse, be compliant and respectful and show that he can be rehabilitated so that he can get out and be by sieun's side where he should've been before it ever got this far. but the longer he's in prison the harder it is. he gets beaten, spat on, shit-talked, abused by both the inmates and the prison guards who should be keeping order, not stoking violence for entertainment. but suho's killed someone. he deserves this company.

be good. get out. be with sieun.

"so i was talking with one of the guards," -- one of suho's cellmates. the broken ribs are from him. the bruise colouring suho's cheek is from his friend snickering at suho from across the room. "and they happened to let slip what you were in here for. murder. didn't think you had it in you!"

suho hadn't told anyone. no matter how much they beat him. the "showing remorse" part of his plan to get out as quickly as possible is easy. the guilt hurts more than anything anyone in here could do to him. he tries to keep a straight face. he can't let them get to him. not now.

"but they also told me something else," the guys laughs. "that before you killed that guy you put someone else into a coma. what was he? practice?"

be good. get out. be with sieun.

"you know i've only got a couple months left," he goes on. "you want me to give the vegetable a visit when i'm out?"

he leans in close and grips suho's jaw, forcing his eyes up to meet him.

"maybe i could finish him off for you."

suho tried so hard to be good. he really, really tried.

but people just keeping crossing the fucking line.

nobody messes with suho after he beats 2 of his cellmates so badly they're both hospitalised for several fractures and faces so fucked up they'll never look the same. it doesn't make things better. every week he gets the same news. sieun is still asleep and suho is still in prison.

alone.

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 2

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 4k

previous part <- current part -> next part (coming soon!)

The announcement dropped that Thursday morning. A simple post, just your stage name, his, and the phrase "Coming Soon”. Two company logos, one sleek teaser photo of you and Chan, edited together. No dramatic tagline. No date. No explanation. Just enough to send the internet into a spiral.

Within minutes, your name was trending again, but this time, not with accusations. This time, with excitement.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: (Y/N) x Bang Chan collaboration CONFIRMED. Joint music project + more behind-the-scenes content coming soon. The first photo was released by both agencies. Fans: ready yourselves. This is not a drill.

💬 @seoulsweetheart: I don’t care what anyone says, she’s still insanely talented and her voice with Chan’s production? We’re winning.

💬 @chanluvbot: Let’s be real, if Chan’s involved, it’s going to be gold. Literally. I’m crying already.

💬 @notyouflinching:

She flinched ONE TIME and y’all forgot she literally wrote the bridge that carried an entire generation of ballads. Sit down.

💬 @softsoulmates: The way their teaser photo looks like a wedding invitation... 👀

You scrolled through the reactions from your desk in your apartment, phone in hand, heart caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. The public hadn’t forgiven you entirely, but the tone had shifted. People wanted to believe in you again. They wanted this to work.

You were halfway through refreshing the trending tag when your laptop screen brightened. You were waiting for a meeting between Chan and you to start. You were supposed to discuss the contract together for the first time.

The Zoom chime rang out softly, followed by the flicker of your own camera tile. And then, Bang Chan logged in.

He was in a studio, of course. Wires, stacked speakers, and a massive mixing desk behind him. He looked like he belonged there. Black hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

You’ve seen Chan before, through a screen in interviews. But you’ve never actually talked to him before. You should’ve said something first. Instead, you just watched him.

Bang Chan didn’t speak immediately either. He gave the screen a single nod, then reached off-camera and came back with a copy of the contract in hand. His fingers tapped against the edge of the folder, controlled, rhythmic. Not anxious, exactly, but focused. Like someone preparing for a test he didn’t study for but expected to pass anyway.

You cleared your throat. “Should we go through the contract together?”

He looked up. “Might as well. Better to get the awkward parts out of the way before the cameras start rolling.”

There was no need for introductions. You two knew who you were well enough. You nodded and flipped open your own copy. A silence stretched between you as paper rustled.

Chan broke it first. “Section Two, Paragraph Three. Public Behavior Guidelines.”

You skimmed quickly, then read aloud: “The parties agree to maintain the appearance of familiarity and developing intimacy in public and online spaces. This includes, but is not limited to, soft eye contact, subtle physical proximity, and verbal cues suggestive of mutual fondness.” You looked up. “Subtle?”

He raised a brow. “Subtle in K-pop media terms or real-life terms? Because those are not the same.”

You tried not to smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He tilted his head toward the screen. “Just… don’t stand behind me in line if we’re at a convenience store or something. Netizens will do a ten-slide PowerPoint about how your elbows are aligned and what it means.”

You laughed. “Noted.”

He grinned, then flipped a page. “Alright. Section Three: Content Production. There’s a line here that says we’re expected to do at least one joint livestream biweekly.”

Your stomach dipped. “Live?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I don’t love it either, but… I guess that’s the point. We’re supposed to look like we’re warming up to each other in real time.”

Your gaze dropped to the sentence underneath it: Mutual participation in social content is required. Hesitation, awkwardness, or refusal to engage will be flagged as non-compliance.

Chan must’ve seen your eyes linger. “No pressure or anything.”

You gave him a look. “We’re literally being paid to flirt in public.”

He shrugged, half amused. “You ever done that before?”

“Flirted or faked it?”

He didn’t answer. 

You turned the page. “Here,” you said. “Section Four.”

“Section 4: Relationship Boundaries,” you read aloud, voice flattening with each word. “The undersigned parties agree not to engage in a personal or romantic relationship beyond the scope of public performance. Any emotional or physical entanglement beyond agreed promotional conduct will be considered a breach of contract and grounds for termination of the contract, financial penalty, and reputational liability.”

Chan looked down at his own and nodded.

You finally looked up at the screen. “I feel like that should be easy. Given we’ve never met before this.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low, thoughtful. “Easy.”

You tapped the bottom of the page. “This part here…” You read: All communication outside of scheduled work must remain professional. Casual or personal interactions not approved by management may be considered misconduct under clause 4B.

Chan sighed. “Translation: no texting unless it’s about a tracklist.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “There’s a subsection at the back. Check Appendix C. It has a list of ‘pre-approved messaging topics.’”

You flipped to it. Your jaw dropped slightly. “This is ridiculous.”

“’Please confirm arrival time for photoshoot’... ‘Did you see the updated mix?’... ‘Your hoodie’s inside out, ’ okay, I added that one. But still.” He gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing like telling two adults how to behave like coworkers and strangers at the same time.”

You frowned down at the text. “We’re being micromanaged like toddlers on a playdate.”

Chan’s eyes were on you again. “That’s because the companies know what’s at stake. One of us slips, and the other gets dragged down with them.”

“Right…speaking of that. Section Five: Backstory and Important Stories.”

Chan groaned softly, already flipping ahead in his copy. “The fake history.”

You scanned the section, eyes narrowing at the bullet points. “We’re supposed to memorize how we ‘met,’ what we ‘admire’ about each other, and what song ‘brought us closer.’ This sounds like an idol variety show bingo card.”

He gave a dry laugh. “It gets better. There’s a section about shared memories we’re supposed to reference casually in interviews. Look,” He held his contract up to the camera. “It literally says, ‘preferred shared memory: ordering the same side dish during a late-night recording session and laughing about it for ten minutes.’”

You stared at him. “We’re being paid to pretend we bonded over kimchi fries?”

He smirked. “Iconic origin story.”

You dropped your forehead to your palm. “Okay,” you said, flipping to the final page. “Section Six: Crisis Protocol.”

Chan groaned again. “The part where they tell us what to do if this all explodes.”

You read it aloud. “In the event of scandal, leaked footage, or unforeseen complications, both parties agree to adhere strictly to the provided narrative. Any deviation without approval from company management may result in public correction or contract dissolution.”

“Translation,” he muttered, “lie better.”

Your eyes widened. “This all ends in one month?”

Chan gave a small nod, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the edge of his desk. “That’s what the timeline says. One months of planned content, soft press cycles, and… whatever this is supposed to be.” He gestured vaguely between your two screens.

You exhaled, more from exhaustion than relief. “It feels longer. I mean…we haven’t even started and it already feels like I’ve signed away something.”

Chan didn’t argue. He just tilted his head a little and said, “They’re betting two months is enough time to rehab a reputation.”

“And yours is what they’re using to do it.” Your words came out more blunt than you meant them to.

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, well. My label probably thinks it’s a good trade. Get my name attached to a high-profile soloist. Increase visibility for the next comeback. Make me look a little more…” He searched for the word. “Romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think you already are?”

Chan laughed softly, caught off guard. “Not when I spend more time with compressors than with people.”

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Let’s be honest. Neither of us would’ve said yes to this if we had a real choice.”

“No,” you admitted. “We’re both here because someone else thought it was good PR.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So maybe it’s better if we don’t fake being close too fast. If it’s supposed to be a slow burn, let’s make it slow. Clean. Predictable.”

“Like a ballad,” you said quietly.

Chan blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “They always build slowly. Verse. Chorus.”

He watched you for a second longer than felt comfortable, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay,” he said finally. “Slow burn it is.”

You nodded and closed your folder. “I guess we’re partners now.”

Chan smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we are.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was raining the morning you arrived at the studio, just enough to blur the windows and give the world that washed-out tint. Iseul sat beside you in the backseat, scrolling through her phone like it owed her money, already wearing the kind of structured blazer and polished expression that meant she was in boss mode.

“Don’t forget to keep it light today,” she reminded, not looking up. “Smile when you walk in. Let the cameras catch the natural chemistry.”

“I’ve met him once,” you said.

She finally glanced at you. “Exactly. First impressions are expensive. Make this one count.”

The car rolled to a slow stop outside the company’s private entrance. You could already hear the faint hum of photographers down the street, like flies outside a sealed window. You pushed your hoodie up, adjusted your cuffs, and followed Iseul out.

The building inside smelled like clean speakers and fresh coffee, studio air. Familiar. Comforting.

A staff member guided you down the hall, Iseul trailing a half-step behind, until they paused outside one of the larger mixing rooms. The door cracked open just as you reached for it.

Chan stood inside, glancing over his shoulder like he’d heard your presence before seeing it. His hoodie was a different one, navy today, slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up the same way they had been on Zoom. He gave you a nod and stepped aside.

The moment your shoes crossed the threshold, it happened.

The thread burned.

A gold spark shimmered into existence on your pinky. You felt it in your pulse before you saw it, like the air had thickened, like something inside you clicked.

Your eyes flicked to Chan instinctively, and his were already locked on you.

His hand twitched slightly, just enough for you to see the same glow threading from his finger, taut and radiant. The same one you'd ignored for years. 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react.

Because beside you, Iseul was smiling with professional pride, and just inside the room stood a man with a clipboard, Chan’s PR manager, probably, ready to coach you both. “Welcome,” he said brightly. “Glad we could finally get you two in the same room.”

You didn’t remove your eyesight from the string, which was revealed to have been connected to Chan this whole time.

“-We’ve got about an hour slotted today,” the manager continued, oblivious. “You can record some verses of your new song, and maybe a short Q&A clip if you’re comfortable. We’ll go over tone and narrative after.”

You barely heard him. Because the thread didn’t just glow, it pulled. A soft but magnetic tug at your pinky, as if your body had already made its decision before your brain caught up. You didn’t need to look at Chan to know he felt it too. The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? It was all the confirmation you needed.

Right there, in a room full of people you weren’t allowed to tell.

Iseul stepped forward first, offering a tight nod to the manager and a polite wave to Chan. “Good to see you again, Chan. (Y/N)’s been looking forward to working together.”

“I have,” you echoed, though your voice was quieter than intended. You finally dropped your gaze, balling your hand into a loose fist until the thread dimmed enough to hide. Your chest still hummed with its echo.

Chan’s PR manager handed you a clipboard with the shoot outline and motioned toward the padded chairs in the corner. “We’ll run the camera for some candid-style B-roll while you go through the melody together. No pressure, just smile, nod, maybe steal a glance or two. You know the drill.”

“Casual chemistry,” Chan said dryly, flipping a switch on the console.

“Exactly,” the manager said without a trace of irony.

Iseul gave your arm a gentle nudge as you moved toward the mic setup. “Just be natural,” she said. “Natural sells.”

Right. Natural. Even though nothing about this was natural anymore.

You passed him on your way to the mic, and for a terrifying second, your arms brushed. A zap of warmth licked up your side. You didn’t flinch, but you felt it. So did he. His jaw flexed, like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

You both took your places, you at the vocal mic, Chan at the desk. The room suddenly felt ten degrees too warm.

“Let’s run the first verse?” he offered, gaze flickering briefly to your hand. “Keep it simple.”

You nodded.

He played the chord progression through the monitors, soft and slow. You closed your eyes, breathing in, letting the track guide you.

But the warmth stayed. And with each note, it pulled tighter.

Behind you, you could hear the soft click of Iseul’s phone, capturing snippets of footage for social media. Carefully curated. Perfectly staged. Not a soul in the room knew the performance wasn’t the only thing being orchestrated.

“Great start!” the PR manager said. “Let’s do a take with a little more eye contact this time, maybe a smile, just toward the end?”

You turned away just in time to catch Iseul giving you a thumbs up. You couldn’t smile back. Not right now.

Permanent tag list: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght

Soulmate Series tag list: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite

[juliettejwnewinesa]

Hello!! I wanted to ask you something real quick… SORRY FOR THE LONG TEXT BTW

We all know Seongje has that full-on psychopath energy when he wants to.

that smile, the way he moves, the control freak vibe HEHEHEHE. I would LOVE to see a oneshot where he’s with the reader but still acts like the same guy we saw in the series.

Most fics turn him into this soft, romantic version, but that’s just not how I see him😩. He’s the type who needs to know everything. Every step his partner takes, every person she talks to, every little interaction, he has to be aware of it all, really in control. (Preferably with an F!reader.)

So here’s my idea😛:

Seongje and the reader recently had a fight because of how jealous, possessive, and obsessive he can be.

But, and this is important, I don’t want the reader to be some sweet, innocent girl who just takes it. No. She’s got her own fire. She’s a bit unhinged too in her own way. She teases him, she likes seeing that insane side of him, but she also knows when to push and when to pull back. She’s more logical. She knows when she’s right, when she’s wrong, and when to act.

He, on the other hand? Acts first, thinks later. That’s what makes her the smarter one.

BUT I want Seongje to be that smart dumbass... like, clever in his own twisted way but still completely reckless when it comes to her.

They both have each other’s locations on (like that app Si-eun used in Season 1), but one night the reader completely ghosts him🔥🔥 ignores all his messages and calls, sneaks out late at night, and even leaves her phone at home so he can’t track her.

Somehow though… he finds her.

And when he does? He’s completely UNHINGED.

I want DRAMAAAA. I want TENSION. I want them screaming at each other, pushing each other’s buttons, absolutely going insane

and then finally, him snapping and reconciling with her like only he would.

Pleaseeee make it long AND DRAMATIC AND FULL OF TENSION AND AT THE SAME TIME PASSION AND OBSESSION COMING FROM BOTH SIDES😭😭🥺💃🏻😦 sorry but a seongje fan will always be out of her mind😋

pleeeease pls pls pls IM CRAZY

Title: Where the Hell Were You?

Pairing: Na Seongje x F!Reader Genre: Dark romance, psychological tension, obsession, angsty lovers, NSFW themes implied Word count: ~500 words TW: Toxic dynamic, possessiveness, shouting, cursing, physical confrontation (non-violent), manipulation, obsessive behavior, unhealthy attachment, implied smut Note: You asked for psychopath Seongje, and he’s here. With his whole chest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It started with the phone calls. Then the messages. Then the silence.

You stared at the little device sitting so innocently on your nightstand, screen down, Seongje’s name long since stopped lighting it up. You could imagine him now—sitting in that godforsaken car, probably gripping the steering wheel so tight the leather would start to tear. You hadn’t brought your phone. No location, no texts, no breadcrumbs.

For the first time in months, you vanished from his radar.

And God, the feeling of it was electric.

You weren’t running away. You weren’t hiding. You just needed one night—one fucking night—to breathe. To go out, exist, not have your every movement stalked by that wolfish stare of his.

It wasn’t even about the guy at the party. You hadn’t done anything. You’d danced. Laughed. Threw your head back in a way you knew would make Seongje spiral.

He always spiraled.

“You like making me lose my mind?” he’d asked you once, voice raw with something that tasted like pain and need. “Do you like seeing me like this?”

And the answer had always been yes.

—

He found you anyway.

You didn’t even hear the car pull up—just felt it, like a pressure drop in the air. Like a storm cell rolling in.

You had just walked out of the small club. Quiet back street. The kind of place he’d never let you go to alone.

And then: “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

His voice was low. Dangerous. The kind of tone that made your skin break into goosebumps before you even turned around.

You turned anyway.

There he was—standing half in shadow, jaw locked so tight it could snap, black hair messy like he’d dragged his hands through it a thousand times. His chest rose and fell like he’d run here. Maybe he had.

Your lips curled. “Took you long enough.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“Home.”

“You left your fucking phone?” He was already storming up to you, his voice rising with every step. “You turned off your location? Ignored all my fucking messages—and you think this is funny?”

You shrugged. “Little bit.”

“Y/N,” he ground out, stepping so close your backs hit the wall behind you. “You think you’re clever, right? You think this is a fucking game?”

“No. But you do.” You smiled, slow and sharp. “You wanna be the one who controls the board. I just flipped it over.”

His eyes flashed. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “You think because you know who I text, where I go, what I wear—suddenly I’m yours? You think that means you get to scream at me every time some guy breathes in my direction? You’re not my fucking warden, Seongje.”

He leaned in, voice like broken glass. “You are mine.”

“And what if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll make you be.”

You blinked at him, not even flinching. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

He was silent. Dead silent. And then—bang—his hand slammed against the wall next to your head, just missing your face.

You didn’t even move. “There it is.”

He stared at you. Breathing hard. Eyes burning. That slow, deranged smile stretching across his lips.

“You like this,” he muttered.

You tilted your chin up. “Don’t you?”

Silence crackled between you. Not calm. Tension. A live wire hanging just between your bodies.

“I should’ve dragged you home the second I found your location was off,” he hissed.

“You didn’t.”

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

He looked like he might explode.

So you stepped forward. Into his space. Your lips almost brushing his.

“You’re smart, Seongje,” you said softly. “But when it comes to me, you stop thinking. You always do.”

“I don’t need to think,” he snapped. “I just need to keep you where I can see you.”

“Then maybe you should’ve chained me up.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

That made your brow rise.

And then—it broke.

The moment cracked like thunder between you. One second you were glaring at him, and the next you were on him. Arms around his neck. His hands gripping your waist like he’d die if he let go. His lips crashing into yours like punishment. Like apology. Like pure rage.

“You drive me insane,” he growled between kisses.

“I know,” you gasped. “That’s the fun part.”

His mouth trailed down to your neck. You let him bite. You let him mark. You let him show you—like he always did—that he could never love you normally.

This wasn’t gentle. This wasn’t healing. This was ownership.

“You can’t just disappear on me,” he rasped. “Not again.”

“Then learn how to handle it.”

“I don’t want to learn. I want you.”

He yanked you closer. You felt every line of him—every frantic breath, every angry heartbeat.

“I hate the way you make me feel,” he said against your skin. “I hate that I lose my head for you. That I fucking spiral. That I can’t even think straight.”

You smiled into his shoulder. “Then maybe I’ll do it again.”

His laugh was breathless. Dangerous.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered.

“You’re lucky I don’t run.”

“I’d find you.”

“I know.”

You both stood there, clinging, shaking, still burning with fury—but you needed it. Needed this cycle of chaos, of destruction, of passion. Because love for you two was never gentle. It was always a war. And in war, the one you fight hardest is the one you can’t live without.

So when he pulled back, gripping your chin, eyes crazed and glassy with something too heavy to name—

And said, “Get in the car.”

You did.

But only because you wanted to.

—

🖤 END 🖤

[chaeuvy]

WAAAA okok first time requesting, could we get some Ness x reader headcanons and it's basically Ness having a crush on reader, how would he find out, how would he pine, would he confess etc etc, feel free to take as much time as you need!!!!

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⎯ 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

summary: As Bastard München’s manager, you’ve always kept your distance — but Alexis Ness finds himself drawn to your quiet precision. What starts as respect turns into something he can’t quite explain. These headcanons follow the slow, quiet unraveling of his feelings, from realization to confession.

warnings: Gender-neutral reader, Fluff, slow-burn romance, Mild jealousy, Quiet pining.

wc: 1.2k words.

anon: he was sooo hard to write wahh, I hope I still did well !

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How he Starts Getting a Crush on You ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ At first, you’re a functional part of the team — the manager. Neat, efficient, no-nonsense. You handle schedules, med kits, and logistics with military precision. Ness notices — of course he does.

You’re the only other person besides him who seems to understand how important control is.

꩜ He appreciates order. He appreciates competency. And you? You’re both. He watches how you anticipate what the players need before they even ask, how you adjust to Kaiser’s ridiculous whims without blinking. You remind him of a well-oiled machine — just like he strives to be on the field.

꩜ The moment it clicks is when he sees you handle Kaiser like you’re not afraid of him. Not impressed, not submissive — just professional. Cool. Unbothered.

Ness blinks, watching the interaction from the sideline, and thinks,

“How the hell did they pull that off?”

Followed by,

“…Wait. Why do I care?”

꩜ After that, he’s suddenly… aware of you. The way your brows knit when you’re focused. The way you always roll your sleeves up the same way. The little smile you gave him after he nailed a particularly complex pass drill — polite, fleeting, and somehow more memorable than anything Kaiser’s ever said.

꩜ He starts finishing drills faster. Volunteering to carry equipment. Checking in with you about things he already knows the answer to. Why? He doesn’t really understand yet. He just wants to stay close.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Realizes He Has a Crush ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ The team teases him once — light, passing. “Damn, Ness, you’ve been hovering around the manager more than you do Kaiser.”

He responds flatly, “I just value competence.”

But the words taste hollow. He doesn’t even believe himself.

꩜ He tells himself it’s strategic. You make his job easier. You’re efficient, and efficiency is attractive — no, not attractive, appealing — wait, no—

Yeah, he’s spiraling. Quietly.

꩜ It becomes harder to ignore when you say his name — just casually, like you always do — and his heartbeat actually skips. He’s too controlled to flinch outwardly, but inside? There’s chaos, and he hates it.

Why do I feel like this? I don’t have time for this.

꩜ Then one night, after practice, you’re still in the storage room tallying inventory, and he ends up staying behind. Not because he has to. Not because Kaiser’s around. Just because you’re there.

You thank him softly when he helps — and he doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, uncharacteristically still, like his brain has shut down.

That smile… it’s not for Kaiser. It’s for me.

꩜ It’s not logic. It’s not efficiency. It’s you. And that’s when he knows:

He’s gone.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Pines for You ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ Ness isn’t dramatic about it — he internalizes everything. That doesn’t mean he’s subtle, though. He’s always finding his way into your orbit, even if he acts like it’s unintentional.

꩜ He starts adjusting his schedule to yours. If he knows you like setting up early? He’ll be there fifteen minutes before you. If you like order? The locker room has never been neater.

He’d never admit it, but he starts aligning himself with your rhythm, like you’re the playmaker and he’s anticipating your next move.

꩜ He watches over you from the sidelines, eyes tracking your every motion when you’re not looking. You’d think he’s reading a game — calculating. Focused. But it’s just you.

꩜ He gets jealous — especially when Kaiser gets too close. But Ness would never start a scene. Instead, his jaw tightens, and he quietly inserts himself into the conversation under the guise of needing something… “manager-related.”

꩜ Sometimes, you catch him staring. Not in a dazed or flustered way — in that sharp, Ness way. Like he’s studying you. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but it’s intense, almost too much.

꩜ He replays every interaction on a loop — your compliments, your offhand comments, your laugh. But he never lets it show. Not yet.

˗ˏˋ ꩜ How Ness Confesses ˚｡ ꒱

꩜ He doesn’t blurt it out. He’s not that kind of person. If he’s going to confess, it’s because he’s run the mental calculations, weighed the risk, and decided it’s worth it.

꩜ He asks you to meet him after practice — nothing dramatic, just a quiet moment near the edge of the field, where the lights hum overhead and the rest of the world feels far away.

꩜ He stands with his back straight, posture composed — but his hands are clasped too tightly behind his back. His voice is even, careful. “I’ve been thinking. About you.”

꩜ At first, it almost sounds like feedback — like he’s about to offer some analysis. But then:

“I think I like you. More than I meant to. And not just because you’re good at your job.”

꩜ His eyes flick to yours — a rare moment of vulnerability. There’s a faint crease between his brows, like he’s bracing for disappointment, but he doesn’t pull away.

꩜ He doesn’t ask for an answer immediately. He just stands there, steady and open. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… thought you should know.”

꩜ If you accept his feelings? and of course you do. His smile is soft. Gentle. Unlike any expression you’ve seen from him before — because for once, it’s not calculated. It’s just real.

← BLLK ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading.. I don’t like those :(

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !