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rootedinrevisions · 4 months ago

Text

Too Late

SUMMARY: Tyler is forced to choose between the career he loves and the woman he loves. After leaving for a chase after a fight with his girlfriend, Tyler's world spirals into chaos. He struggles to balance is job with the life he wants. Both you and Tyler are forced to confront what you're willing to sacrifice for love and whether there's still time to fix what's been damaged.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I apologize that it's taken me so long to get it written. Work kept getting in the way and then I was struggling with writer's block. And then I started writing again but it was mostly Glen himself and I was struggling to finish this. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm working to get requests done as I have time and the inspiration is flowing! Hope you enjoy! xx

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 COMING TO THIS! because for some reason it's impossible for me to write angst and leave it at that.

WARNINGS: None, just a lot of heart-shattering angst. This one made me cry while writing it, so be prepared!

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The hum of the television filled the living room, a soft background noise to the steady rhythm of Tyler’s breathing. His arm draped lazily over your shoulders, his hand resting against your collarbone, warm and reassuring. You leaned into him, your legs tucked under you, savoring the rare stillness of the moment.

Tyler had been home for twelve hours, and for ten of them, he’d been passed out in your bed, utterly spent after a grueling two-week storm chase. You’d stayed up waiting for him to walk through the door last night, running on caffeine and the sheer anticipation of seeing him again. When he finally stumbled in, soaked to the bone and bone-tired, you didn’t mind his muttered apologies for being late or the faint smell of rain that clung to him. You were just happy he was home.

Now, as he held you on the couch, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin, you allowed yourself to breathe. It was these quiet moments that made all the waiting, all the worry, worth it.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Tyler murmured, his voice husky from sleep. He shifted slightly, his head tilting toward you, those familiar brown eyes heavy-lidded but focused entirely on you.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” you admitted softly, your fingers toying with the hem of his T-shirt. “Two weeks felt like forever.”

“I know,” he said, his voice tinged with guilt. “I didn’t think it would take that long. Storms were... unpredictable this time.”

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of his wavy brown hair off his forehead. “It’s okay. I get it. You’re home now—that’s what matters.”

He let out a long breath, leaning his head back against the couch. “Home,” he echoed, almost as if the word was foreign to him. But the way his arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, made it clear that he understood exactly what it meant.

“Hungry?” you asked after a beat, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Starving,” he admitted, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, you’re in luck. I made lasagna last night. Figured you’d need something hearty after living off gas station snacks and fast food.”

Tyler chuckled, his voice rumbling against you. “Have I mentioned lately how lucky I am to have you?”

You tilted your head to look at him, your smile mirroring his. “Not today. But you can start now.”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’ll do better,” he promised, and in that moment, with his warmth surrounding you and the steady beat of his heart under your ear, you believed him.

The oven beeped softly as you set the timer, the warm smell of lasagna already starting to fill the kitchen. It wouldn’t be as good as it was fresh last night, but Tyler wouldn’t care. He’d scarf it down and tell you it was the best meal he’d had in weeks, and you’d believe him because that’s just who he was—always grateful, always sincere.

You were rinsing a glass in the sink when you heard the faint buzz of Tyler’s phone vibrating against the coffee table in the living room. His deep voice carried over the quiet hum of the house as he answered. You couldn’t make out the words, but you had a pretty good guess who it was. Boone or Dani, maybe both. You leaned against the counter, straining to catch fragments of the conversation. Tyler’s voice was calm but firm, his words clipped in the way they always were when he was focused on a problem.

The sound of his footsteps moving toward the stairs made your stomach twist. You turned just in time to see him disappear up to the second floor, the weight of dread settling over you like a heavy blanket. You didn’t need to ask what was happening; you already knew.

Still, you found yourself following him, your bare feet padding softly on the stairs. By the time you reached the doorway to your bedroom, Tyler was pulling clothes from the dresser, a duffel bag already lying open on the bed. He didn’t notice you at first, too preoccupied with finding what he needed. You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as you watched him.

“How bad is it?” you asked finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Tyler glanced over his shoulder, startled by your presence, but he didn’t stop packing.

“Really bad,” he admitted, shoving a few shirts into the bag. “There’s a cell headed straight for Oklahoma City. Boone says it’s one of the nastiest cells he’s seen in a while.”

“How long will you be gone this time?” you asked, already bracing yourself for the answer.

He sighed, pausing as he reached for a pair of jeans. “I don’t know. Hopefully just a few nights.”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat made it hard to swallow. “Do you really need to go? You just got back, Ty. Can’t you sit this one out? Just once?”

Tyler turned to face you, his expression conflicted. “I wish I could, but this one’s bad. Towns are gonna need us. Javi and Kate are already on their way, and Dani’s meeting us there.”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Kate. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Tyler—you did, completely. He was a good man, loyal to a fault. But lately, it felt like every story he told, every update he gave, involved her. Kate this, Kate that. The team. Always the team.

The crack in your voice surprised even you when you finally spoke. “Just go. Go hang out with Kate. You’ve gotten pretty good at that.”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and electric. Tyler froze, the shirt in his hand forgotten as he turned to look at you. His face fell, hurt flickering in his eyes before he sighed and set the shirt down on the bed.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly, his tone even but weighted. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as you looked away. “I just... I don’t want you to go, Tyler.”

“I don’t want to go either,” he said, stepping toward you. His voice was softer now, but there was still a hint of frustration. “But this is what I do. What we do. You knew that when you moved in.”

“And what about what I need?” you countered, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’ve been gone for two weeks, Ty. Two weeks. I barely got you back, and now you’re leaving again.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. Instead of answering, he reached for you, his hand brushing against your arm. But you pulled back, shaking your head as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Don’t,” you murmured. “Just… pack your bag.”

You turned sharply on your heel, heading back downstairs before the tears welling in your eyes could spill over. Tyler’s sigh was heavy, cutting through the thick silence of the house. You heard his footsteps following you, faster now, as he called after you.

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “C’mon, wait.”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to have this conversation, not when your emotions were this raw, but he caught up to you at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reaching gently for your arm.

“Sweetheart, please,” he tried again, stepping in front of you to block your retreat. His green eyes searched yours, filled with concern and something you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want to leave like this.”

You scoffed, pulling your arm free and folding it across your chest. “Funny, that. You seem to have no problem leaving any other time.”

He winced at the jab, but his expression softened as he tried to explain. “It’s not what you think. I know you’re upset about Kate, but—”

“This isn’t about her, Ty,” you interrupted, shaking your head as you turned away from him.

The frustration in his face shifted to confusion. “Then what is it? Why are you so upset?”

Your hands clenched at your sides as you looked at him, trying to find the words that would make him understand. “I’m upset because you’re leaving. Again. Because every time you walk out that door, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I see you again. And I’m supposed to just… deal with it. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

“Darlin’…” he started, but you cut him off again.

“My birthday party is on Saturday, Ty,” you said, your voice cracking as you met his gaze. “In two days. You knew that, right?”

His face told you everything you needed to know before he said a word. He’d either forgotten or hadn’t thought about it when he’d agreed to meet up with the team. The guilt in his eyes was enough to send a fresh wave of hurt through you.

“I’ll try to be back for it,” he said finally, but you could hear the hollowness in the promise. You both knew it wasn’t likely.

You felt your heart ache, the words barely leaving your lips. “Do you even realize what that does to me? The hoping, the waiting—knowing you probably won’t be there?”

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away. “I want to stay,” he said earnestly, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “I do. But I can’t. I’m needed out there. These storms, they—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Don’t say it.”

“Darlin’, just let it go,” he pleaded, his voice desperate now. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I swear. And when I get back, we’ll have a date night. Whatever you want. You plan it, I’ll make it happen. Just... let me go, okay?”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, rolling down your cheeks as you finally broke. “I can’t just let you go,” you said, your voice trembling. “Not this time, Ty. Please. Don’t make me try to make you stay.”

He reached for you again, but this time, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him take your hands in his, his warmth grounding you even as your heart shattered.

“I just…” Your voice cracked as you looked up at him, the tears blurring your vision. “I just want to be enough. Just once, I want to be enough for you to stay.”

The words hung in the air, raw and aching, as Tyler’s grip on your hands tightened. He opened his mouth to respond, but for the first time, he seemed at a loss. His eyes searched yours, the storm inside him almost as intense as the one he was chasing.

Before Tyler could say anything else, his phone buzzed, the sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet tension between you. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. His jaw tightened as he sighed, the weight of the message clearly written in his expression.

“Boone’ll be here in about fifteen minutes,” he said softly, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “I need to finish packing.”

You didn’t respond, only nodding as you reached up to swipe at the tears still slipping down your cheeks. His words, as well-intentioned as they might have been, were a knife to the heart. He wasn’t saying, I’ll stay, or even, Let’s finish talking. He was saying, I’ve already made my choice.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Tyler said, his voice heavy with something that might have been regret. “We can keep talking then.”

But you both knew the truth. He might want to come back to this conversation, but the fact that he was finishing packing first told you everything you needed to know. Nothing you could say would make him stay.

When he returned downstairs, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, you heard Boone’s old beat up van pulling into the driveway. The headlights briefly lit up the kitchen window before Tyler opened the door and called out to his friend, “I’ll be right there.”

Then he turned back to you. You were still at the counter, picking absently at your lasagna, the fork dragging across your plate. The second plate—the one you’d made for him—sat untouched, cooling and forgotten.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer. “Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice full of unspoken apologies. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You didn’t look up, but you felt him lean in to press a kiss to your lips. You turned away at the last second, and his kiss landed awkwardly on your cheek. He sighed and shifted, settling instead for a kiss on the crown of your head.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice almost breaking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing the words past it. “I love you, too.”

And you did. God, you did. You loved him to a fault, even when it felt like your love wasn’t enough to make him stay.

“Be safe,” you whispered.

“I will,” he promised, his words like a balm to a wound that wouldn’t heal.

You watched him walk out the door, your eyes stinging with fresh tears as Tyler’s truck rumbled to life. You watched through the kitchen window as Tyler threw his bag into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat, his figure silhouetted in the dim glow of the driveway lights. Boone threw his own bag into the backseat and then climbed into the passenger seat.

And then they were gone. Tailights headed up the driveway and then disappearing as Tyler turned onto the highway.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty driveway, wondering—When will he be done with this? With chasing every storm, every call for adventure? You blinked, and the tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

You made your way back to the living room, the familiar comfort of the worn couch doing little to ease the ache in your chest. Your mind wandered as you sank into the cushions, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric.

You thought back to a conversation you and Tyler had a few weeks ago, one of those late-night talks where the future seemed so bright and full of possibility. He’d talked about marriage, about having kids. About building a life together.

But now, as you sat there in the quiet, the weight of his absence pressing down on you, a painful thought crept in. How could he ever be a husband or a father when he barely had time to be a boyfriend?

The realization broke something in you. You wanted that life with Tyler more than anything. You wanted to be his wife, to see him become a father. You wanted to build a family with him, to share those moments of joy and chaos and love.

But you didn’t want him to be a part-time dad. You didn’t want a husband who was always somewhere else, chasing storms and leaving you behind.

And for the first time, you wondered if the life you wanted was even possible with the man you loved.

* * * *

TYLER’S P.O.V.

The rhythmic hum of Tyler’s truck tires against the highway should have been soothing, but to Tyler, it felt like nails on a chalkboard. He stared out the window, his elbow propped on the door, fingers pressed against his temple. The world outside was dark, illuminated only by the truck’s headlights and the occasional glow of a passing sign.

Boone cast a sideways glance at him for what had to be the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes. Tyler knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke up, but he wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet.

“You gonna tell me what’s eatin’ at you, or do I have to drag it outta you?” Boone finally asked, breaking the silence.

Tyler didn’t respond at first, just shifted in his seat and rubbed the back of his neck.

“C’mon, man,” Boone continued. “We’ve been friends too long for me not to know when somethin’s wrong. You’ve barely said a word since we left, haven’t turned on the music, and you’re starin’ out the window like the answer to life’s problems is out there somewhere.”

Tyler sighed, long and heavy, before leaning back in his seat. “It’s nothin’, Boone. Just tired.”

Boone snorted, unimpressed. “Bull. You’ve pulled all-nighters before and still wouldn’t shut up the whole ride. Don’t make me guess, Ty. Just spit it out.”

Tyler let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re like a damn bloodhound, you know that?”

“Yup. Now spill.”

Tyler hesitated, but finally gave in. “We had a fight,” he admitted quietly.

Boone glanced at him again, his brows furrowing. “You and her?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah. Right before I left.”

“What about?” Boone asked, his tone softening.

Tyler hesitated again, struggling to find the right words. “I dunno, man. Not really Kate, but…I guess kinda about Kate?” He let out another sigh. “She’s not mad about her, though. She’s mad about me leavin’. Again.”

Boone didn’t say anything at first, just let Tyler talk.

“She told me she needed me to stay,” Tyler continued, his voice quieter now. “For her. For once, she needed me to stay, and I still…I didn’t.” He swallowed hard, the weight of his own words settling heavily on his chest.

Boone nodded slowly. “And you think you messed up bad this time?”

Tyler’s laugh was humorless, almost bitter. “Yeah, Boone. I think I really screwed up. She turned away when I tried to kiss her goodbye, man. That’s never happened before. And the look on her face…” His voice cracked, and he paused, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

Boone glanced at him again, concern etched across his face. “She loves you, Ty. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Tyler said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But what if…what if it’s not enough anymore? What if I’m not enough anymore?” He shook his head, his voice breaking again. “I can’t lose her, Boone. I can’t.”

Boone tightened his grip on the wheel, his jaw set. “Then don’t. You’re stubborn as hell when it comes to everything else, so don’t give up on this either. You’ll figure it out, Ty.”

Tyler nodded, running a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

The two fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t quite as heavy. Boone reached over and turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. Tyler leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the roof of the truck and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this.

* * * *

TWO DAYS LATER, YOUR BIRTHDAY

The sun streamed through your bedroom window as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at your phone. A single missed call and a few unread texts from Tyler stared back at you. You hadn’t opened the messages, too stubborn—or maybe too hurt—to even look at them. It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You cared too much, and that was the problem.

You opened the Life360 app for what had to be the hundredth time in the last two days, watching Tyler’s little icon blink on the map. Still in Oklahoma. Still chasing storms. Still too far away to make it home.

Even if he left right now, you calculated bitterly, it’d be three, maybe four in the morning before he walked through the door. But he wasn’t leaving. You knew that. The tracker told you everything you needed to know—Tyler Owens wasn’t coming home for your birthday.

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed, your chest tightening with the familiar ache of disappointment. It wasn’t anger. No, anger would have been easier. Anger would have been a quick burn, a flash of heat that you could let out and be done with. This was worse. This was the cold, dull ache of hurt.

You stood and moved to the mirror, staring at your reflection as you got ready for the party. You’d spent weeks planning this, excited to celebrate with the people you loved most. Now, the thought of facing them felt almost unbearable. Everyone would ask about Tyler, and you’d have to put on a brave face, smile through the questions, and pretend like you weren’t holding your breath every time your phone buzzed, hoping it’d be him telling you he was on his way.

But you knew better. He wasn’t coming.

As you brushed a stray tear from your cheek, your mind wandered back to the conversation you’d had with Tyler a few weeks ago. He’d talked about your future together, about getting married and having kids, painting a picture of a life you’d always dreamed of. But now, the cracks in that picture seemed impossible to ignore. How could you build a life with someone who was always halfway out the door?

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply as you fought to push those thoughts aside. Not today. You wouldn’t let them ruin today. This was your birthday, and you deserved to enjoy it, even if he wasn’t there.

Straightening your shoulders, you turned back to the mirror and gave yourself a firm nod. You’d put on your best dress, your brightest smile, and celebrate with the people who were here. But as you stepped away from the mirror and picked up your phone again, that stubborn, nagging ache in your chest reminded you that no matter how hard you tried, a part of you would always be waiting for him.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. String lights hung from the trees, casting a warm glow over the backyard, and the scent of barbecue wafted through the cool evening breeze. Everyone had shown up—friends, family, even a few coworkers. It should’ve felt perfect.

But as you smiled and greeted everyone, it felt like you were moving through a haze. The excitement and joy on everyone else’s faces only seemed to amplify the emptiness you felt inside. You plastered on a smile, accepting hugs and well-wishes, thanking people for coming, but the effort was exhausting.

A couple of hours in, you found yourself standing near the drink table, sipping from a plastic cup of wine and watching the crowd. Your mom made her way over, a warm smile on her face, but the moment she reached you, her brow furrowed slightly.

“Honey, where’s Tyler?” she asked, her voice gentle but laced with curiosity.

You froze for a moment, gripping the cup a little tighter. “Oh, he’s, um, he’s on a chase,” you said, forcing the words out. “It came up last minute.”

Her expression softened with understanding, but you could see the concern flicker in her eyes. “I’m sure he wishes he could be here,” she said, reaching out to touch your arm.

You nodded quickly, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah, of course. He’s been texting me. He feels awful about it.” The lie slipped out so easily, you almost believed it yourself.

Your mom gave you a small squeeze before drifting back into the crowd, but the interaction left you rattled. You tried to shake it off, turning to join a group of friends by the fire pit, laughing at their stories and pretending like everything was fine.

But as the hours dragged on, the weight of Tyler’s absence pressed heavier on your chest. Every time someone asked about him or mentioned how great the party was, it felt like a reminder of what was missing. You glanced at your watch—10:03. The party was supposed to go until one, but you couldn’t stay another minute.

You slipped away quietly, grabbing your purse and coat from the entryway. A few people called out goodbyes as you left, and you forced a smile, waving over your shoulder as you made your way to the car.

The drive home was a blur. By the time you walked through the front door, the tears you’d been holding back all evening finally broke free. You kicked off your heels and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs wracked your body.

You’d wanted so badly to enjoy tonight, to celebrate with the people who loved you. But the one person you needed most wasn’t there, and no amount of pretending could fill that void.

You thought about all the times you’d told yourself it was okay, that Tyler’s work was important, that you understood why he couldn’t always be there. But tonight, it didn’t feel okay. Tonight, you just felt… alone.

And as you curled up on the couch, clutching a throw pillow to your chest, a single thought echoed in your mind: How much longer can I keep doing this?

* * * *

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains as Tyler stepped through the front door. Exhaustion pulled at him, but it wasn’t what he noticed. What stopped him cold was the sight of you curled up on the couch, a pillow clutched to your chest, tear tracks staining your cheeks. His heart sank.

He set his bag down quietly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He knew he’d hurt you—he always knew—but seeing it like this, seeing you broken because of him, twisted the knife in his chest.

Carefully, he walked over and crouched beside the couch. For a moment, he just looked at you, the rise and fall of your chest as you slept. The way your fingers clung to the pillow as if it could offer some comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick.

Tyler leaned down and slid his arms under you, lifting you gently. You stirred slightly, murmuring in your sleep, but you didn’t wake. He carried you upstairs, careful not to bump into anything, and laid you down on the bed. He pulled the blankets up to your shoulders, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before leaving quietly.

A few hours later, you made your way downstairs, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your body felt heavy, your chest tight. The events of last night still hung over you like a storm cloud.

As you reached the living room, you noticed him sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. A bouquet of wildflowers sat on the coffee table in front of him, their bright colors almost mocking in the dull atmosphere.

He heard your steps and looked up, his face lighting up with a hopeful smile. “Morning,” he said softly, standing and walking toward you.

You stopped at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, as he closed the distance. He reached out, pulling you into his arms.

“You look pretty,” he said, his voice warm and tender.

You huffed, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I cried myself to sleep last night, so I’m sure I look like a supermodel,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

His smile faltered, and his brow furrowed. “You cried yourself to sleep?” he repeated, his voice dropping with guilt. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You pulled away, shaking your head, and walked past him into the living room. His gaze followed you, the weight of your silence pressing down on him.

“I missed you,” he said softly, his voice tentative.

You didn’t respond. You sat down on the armrest of the chair, staring at the flowers but refusing to acknowledge him.

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, silent treatment. Got it.” He stepped closer, his tone pleading now. “What’s it gonna take to make this up to you?”

You looked up at him then, your eyes sharp and filled with hurt. “It’s too late for that.”

His face fell, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if the words hadn’t fully sunk in. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice cracking.

You took a deep breath, the words tasting bitter as you forced them out. “I mean I’m done, Tyler. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep having you miss things—important things—for the job.”

He staggered back a step, as if the words had physically struck him. “No, no, don’t say that,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t say that.”

His knees hit the floor in front of you, his hands reaching for yours. “I can’t lose you. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll talk to the team—I already did. I told them I’d cut back on the days I’m on the road. I swear to you, it’ll be different.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “It’s too late, Tyler. You should’ve done that months ago. I begged you to.”

His hands gripped yours tighter, desperation pouring out of him. “I know. I know I screwed up. I know I’ve hurt you. But I love you. I need you. Please… just give me one more chance.”

You looked away, your heart-shattering at the sight of him, broken and pleading. You wanted so badly to believe him, to believe that things could change. But deep down, you knew the cycle would continue.

The finality in your voice broke him. He leaned his forehead against your knees, his shoulders shaking as he choked back a sob. You reached down, your fingers threading through his hair one last time, and then you stood, walking away before you could change your mind.

* * * *

A WEEK LATER

The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Tyler shuffled aimlessly from room to room. He hadn’t left in days, couldn’t bring himself to. The walls seemed to press in around him, suffocating and empty. The coffee table still held the dead bouquet of wildflowers he’d bought for you, their once-vivid colors now dulled to brown. Next to them sat the small red box, untouched, its contents a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

He sank onto the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. His eyes burned, swollen from too many sleepless nights and too many tears. He hadn’t eaten much. He hadn’t showered. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Every corner of the house was haunted by you—your laughter, your smile, the faint scent of your perfume still lingering in the air.

A sharp knock at the door startled him. He ignored it, hoping whoever it was would go away. But the knocking came again, louder this time, and then he heard Boone’s voice calling out.

“Tyler! Open the damn door!”

Tyler groaned, dragging himself off the couch. He unlocked the door and swung it open, only to find Boone, Lilly, Dexter, and Dani standing on his porch. They took one look at him, and their faces fell.

“Jesus, man,” Boone said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The others followed, their expressions a mix of concern and shock.

“You look like hell,” Lilly said softly, her hand brushing his arm.

Tyler let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, it feels about right.”

They gathered in the living room, their eyes flicking to the dead flowers and the mess of empty coffee cups and takeout containers scattered on the table. Boone cleared his throat, leaning forward.

“All right, spill. What the hell happened?”

Tyler sank back onto the couch, his head in his hands. He took a shaky breath before finally speaking. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell silent. Boone exchanged a confused look with Dexter, while Dani’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Gone?” Lilly asked. “What do you mean, gone? We knew you two fought, but… Tyler, we thought you’d work it out.”

Tyler shook his head, his voice breaking. “She’s done. She walked out, and I don’t blame her. I couldn’t—” He stopped, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t give her what she needed. I wasn’t there for her. She deserved better, and I couldn’t be that for her.”

Boone leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Tyler, man, you’ve gotta talk to her. Fix this.”

“It’s too late,” Tyler said, his voice hollow. “She’s made up her mind.”

The group exchanged glances, unsure of what to say. Boone’s gaze drifted to the coffee table, where the small red box caught his attention. He reached for it, his fingers brushing the worn velvet.

Tyler’s head snapped up. “Boone, don’t—”

But it was too late. Boone flipped the lid open, his eyes widening as he took in the ring inside. The room went still.

“Tyler,” Boone said, his voice low. “What is this?”

Tyler’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, unable to meet his friend’s gaze. “It’s… it was supposed to be hers,” he said quietly. “I was going to ask her that night we got back. I was going to tell her I was ready to change, ready to be better for her. Ask her to give me one more chance. But it didn’t matter. I waited too long.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, pressing down on everyone in the room. Lilly’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Dani reached over to place a comforting hand on Tyler’s arm.

“Tyler,” Dexter said gently, “it’s not too late. If you love her, you fight for her. You show her you’re serious. You don’t give up now.”

Tyler shook his head. “She’s better off without me,” he muttered.

“No,” Boone said firmly, closing the ring box and setting it back on the table. “She’s not. She loves you, Tyler.”

Tyler didn’t respond. He just stared at the floor, the weight of their words battling with the doubt and regret that consumed him.

The room fell silent again, each of them searching for the right thing to say. Finally, Lilly spoke up, her voice soft but determined.

“Tyler, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ll help you figure it out.”

Tyler’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time in days, a flicker of hope pierced through the darkness. “I don’t know if she’ll even listen,” he said quietly.

“You don’t know unless you try,” Boone said.

Tyler stands up abruptly, grabbing his keys, his mind set on finding you. But Boone, ever the realist, steps in his path. He holds up a hand, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Ty, you’re not going anywhere like that," Boone says, looking him up and down. "You’ve been living like a hermit for a week. You smell like you’ve slept in a barn, and I’m pretty sure your hair has its own ecosystem. Go take a shower, put on some clean clothes, and then we’ll talk about how you’re gonna win her back. You can’t even look at her like this."

Tyler stares at Boone, then looks down at his own disheveled appearance, realizing his friend might have a point. With a sigh, he drops the keys onto the counter. “Fine.

Boone watches him with a knowing look as Tyler trudges upstairs, and the team remains silent for a moment.

Boone sighs and heads toward the door, turning back once to glance at Tyler’s room. He knows his friend isn’t ready to give up, and neither is he. Tyler had made his mistake, but it wasn’t too late to change. They just had to get him there first...and then hope by some miracle that you'd listen to what Tyler had to say.

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Angst

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janitorhutcherson · 1 year ago

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Marked Only for Me (Olderbf!Mike Schmidt NSFW)

hii!! okay, i have never written smut before, so i am begging you all to plz be patient with me! this is very long, so my apologies.this is a part of my olderbf!mike series, so hope u guys likeee. also, for this let's make the assumption mike went to college and all of that before his security jobs. he just had burn out and was there, hence why he's working for a major company with what would be little experience. anyways, lmk what u think!

summary: mike comes home and needs to blow off some steam

warnings: nudity, sex, name calling, hair pulling, choking, marking, possessiveness, an implied free use situation, fluff at the end!!

word count: 2,925

nsfw after the cut!!

You were sitting at the kitchen table doing homework in the home you shared with your boyfriend, Mike. You're 20, a couple of years into college, drudging through math problems that make your head feel like it's sitting inside a frying pan. You had to admit this wasn't your ideal way to relax after a 10-hour shift at the bookstore you helped run. Things had been hectic with Black Friday, your store doing a special sale where everything was 50% off, and bookworms were coming out of random corners to fill their already overflowing shelves for cheap. Of course, being younger, you were the one who had to do the grunt work, carrying piles of books to and from inventory, dealing with the more demanding customers as your older coworkers would tell you that they "just couldn't handle kids these days" and that it'd certainly be better for the younger one to do it. Luckily, though, Abby was at a friend's house, meaning you didn't have distractions. You were as focused as could be with a cup of coffee beside you, the sunlight that was once beaming through the cracks of the blinds now completely gone. You were focused, your brain functioning as much as it would with the problems. Things were quiet.

...That is until Mike stormed in. He was frustrated, angry, an invisible red-hot aura beaming off him. His hair was messier than it typically was. The softness in his eyes was instead replaced with a cold look. His eyebrows were furrowed together on his forehead, his jaw sharp and defined as he gritted his teeth. Although this wasn't common, it wasn't necessarily rare either. Mike worked for a publishing company as a marketing manager. He'd gotten the job after a few months of hard work to make up for the slack on his resume after working at the mall and the pizzeria. He moved up the ladder quickly, his company admiring his friendly attitude and his somewhat shy but personable behavior. He loved his job much more than his past ones. He felt happier, got more time off, was less stressed, and was definitely safer. Even with that being said, sometimes shit just pissed him off.

Today's big issue was a meeting with his marketing team, which also involved the big guy over his head. He felt like he was criticized, demeaned, dragged through the mud, and all in front of the team he was supposed to be respected by, listened to. On a typical day, this might not have pissed him off so much. He might've mentally plotted the demise of his boss, but he wouldn't have caused the outburst he did at work, and today had been particularly awful. He'd been late, burned his breakfast, knicked himself while shaving, and even gotten into what he considered to be a little fight with you the night before. Even though you'd both settled the argument, made up, and kissed before bed, he had been thinking about it all day. He'd then spilled coffee on his brand new tie, leaving a stain, and then... that happened. Mike snapped. He yelled at his boss, showing his ass in front of everyone, causing a meeting in his boss's office to end with an inevitable write-up.

Now, he was home, trudging in all his bad energy, disrupting your study time. You couldn't even be frustrated with him, his demeanor proving he'd obviously had a bad day. You went to stand up to greet him with a hug, a kiss or two, but before you could, Mike stormed over to you, grabbing your arm harshly. You gasped, slightly thrown off by his sudden actions. He pulled you closer to him, his eyes locked on yours and his breath heavy against your neck.

"What the fuck, Mike?" you said, your eyebrows furrowed as you stared into his cold brown-green orbs.

"Listen to me," he grunted, his voice low and gravely. "I have had a very, very bad day, and I need you to be a good girl for me, okay? I don't want no shit, no back talk, you'll listen to what I say.. do you understand?"

His hand still gripped your arm, his fingernails digging into your skin. You could feel yourself starting to drip, your panties feeling damp against your skin as your body buzzed with excitement. All you could do was nod your head, your eyes locked on his as they clouded over with lust. Mike snapped his fingers in your face, looking at you from underneath his eyebrows.

"Use your words," he demanded.

"Yes sir, I understand," you stuttered out, your cheeks flushing red. Mike's face was now pleased, his entire demeanor softening a little. His hand stayed wrapped around your arm as he tugged you into the living room, pushing you roughly onto the couch. You huffed from the impact, your eyes widening as Mike dropped to his knees before you. He slid your sweatpants off, prying your knees open to reveal your see-through pink panties soaked beyond belief. His eyes were hungry, his mouth open, almost drooling as he looked directly into your eyes.

"All for me, babydoll?" he teased, his hand sliding in between your legs as he drew small circles around your clothed clit. You nodded your head as a whimper escaped your lips, the aching in between your legs only growing worse.

"What did I tell you?" he said, his words sharp as he smacked the inside of your thigh.

"Yes sir," you corrected, your words wavering after the impact from his hand. Mike nodded, satisfied with your answer, as he slowly slid your panties down your thighs, wasting no time. You gasped once again as the cold air hit your wet cunt. Mike exhaled sharply, taking a moment to admire you in front of him. His eyes trailed up to your pathetic look, your already-glazed-over eyes, down to your barely clothed chest, only a sports bra covering your breasts he loved so much, then down to in between your legs, where you were so wet, and all just for him. His lips trailed up to your tummy, sucking on the skin in different areas, from above your abdomen all the way up to right below where your sports bra stayed, purple marks forming.

He then dove in without hesitation, his large hands gripping your sides as he leaned in, moving one hand to take his index and middle finger to spread your pussy lips. His mouth instantly attached to your clit. You yelped as you bucked your hips forward, his lips meeting the sensitive area. Mike pinched your thigh, a sign to quiet down until he said to do otherwise, two of his fingers reaching out to be shoved into your mouth.

“Suck,” he demanded, his fingers going as far back down your throat as they could. You did what you were told, sucking on his fingers and drawing your own circles with your tongue. His tongue drew tiny and slow circles against the set of nerves, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair from desperation. God, he loved eating you out. The way you yelped, quivered, shook underneath him, your hands tangled in his hair to keep yourself from going over the edge. He fucking loved it, you were the perfect cure to his anger, calming, something he could take it out on in a productive way that made everyone feel good. Your whines were suppressed as you bit your lip, your teeth digging into the softer skin. Mike pulled away for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once again as he admired your face, your now swollen lips.

“You know what, baby? Be as loud as you want for me now, princess,” he mumbled, going back to attacking your wet cunt. Slurping sounds filled the living room mixed with your moans and whimpers as his tongue slid up and down your slit, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck as hard as possible when his tongue wasn’t fucking inside of you. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. His cock was rock hard inside of his work pants, his own face flustered as he rocked back and forth against himself. His tongue continued to lap at your clit as he slid two of his large fingers in and out of you, your walls clenching around them. You could feel yourself drawing close and Mike could tell. Your thighs attempted to clench around his head, but before they could his calloused hands pried them open, holding them apart. Just as your eyes began to clamp shut, your thighs shaking as the knot in your stomach started to untie, Mike pulled away. You gasped as he slipped his fingers out, furrowing your eyebrows as you stared at him with an angry glare. He chuckled as he stood up, raising his eyebrows up and down as he leaned down, his hand lifting your chin up.

“Poor baby, was all ready to finish for me, hm? You were gonna be ‘Mikey’s little slut,’ weren’t you? That’s what you tell me you are, right? My little slut?” he teased, no remorse behind his eyes. You huffed, punching his arm before crossing your arm, too out of it to say anything from the knot that remained in your stomach but too angry to take initiative.

“Awh, don’t be mad, princess,” he snickered, shaking his head as he leaned further down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You really think I’m done with you?”

With that being said, Mike pushing you back on the couch. His right hand held you down as his lift struggled to unbutton his pants. He pulled his pants down, letting them fall around his ankles as he yanked his boxers off, his cock springing out. He stepped out of them, letting you go for a moment to unbutton his shirt before tossing it off as well. Mike then looked over to you, leaning forward, ripping your thin sports bra off of your chest, your breasts now exposed to him. He licked his lips, excitement overflowing his body. He crawled on top of you, attempting to make the two of you fit on the couch. His mouth attacked your nipples, biting and gnawing at your skin. His mouth moved up to your neck, sucking and prodding and biting until purple marks were left all around, ones you were all too aware would be impossible to hide later on. He moved down to your chest once again, marks all across your collarbone, your tits. Mike’s hands gripped onto your neck as he sat up, looking into your glossed over eyes. He pressed his lips to your ear, a soft kiss against your earlobe.

“’M about to fuck you so hard you see stars,” he said, his voice causing prickles to cover your skin. Then, without hesitation Mike slammed into you, his pace staggered. Your moans were as loud as could be, the sound of skin hitting against each other and the echoes of both of your voices filling the living room. His thrusts were sloppy as he felt himself starting to get close to the edge, his hands pushing your hips down and into the couch. Your entire body sunk into the cushions as he used everything in him, his cock abusing your poor cunt. You swore you saw stars until you felt his hand gently smack against your cheek, your eyes averting back to his gaze.

“You’re gonna look at me when I fuck you, princess,” he growled, his hand sliding up to your hair as he tugged. You grew close, clenching around his length, your thighs starting to shake. Your core was threatening to come undone.

“Fuck, Mikey, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum,” you whimpered out, closing your eyes as your head leaned back against the side of the couch.

“Cum for me, baby,” Mike stated. You did as he demanded, finishing around his cock as your liquids gushed against him. His thrusts grew sloppier before he pulled out, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that baby? You did so good for me, listening to what I said, letting me use your pretty cunt,” he stated, his thumb caressing your cheek. He then resituated, pulling you off the couch, pushing you onto the ground. You were now in the same position he was in earlier, completely fucked out. Your lips were dull from exhaustion, your cheeks red and your hair knotted in certain areas. Mike’s cock was directly in front of you, his hand guiding for you to suck on him. Your lips wrapped around his tip, the tip of your tongue licking his slit. You worked your mouth down his length, licking the sides. Mike’s moans became frantic, desperate as your mouth worked its magic. His hand tangled in your hair as he pushed your head up and down, thrusting up into your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, feels so good,” he grunted. With no warning, Mike pulled out, spilling his load all over your face. He twitched, his moans loud and low, your tongue stuck out to catch his cum. His body laid against the couch, feeling heavy as his head leaned against the back of his couch. A tired grin was on his lips as you also smiled up at him, licking yourself clean. Mike looked down at you, a chuckle releasing his lips. It was obvious all of the tension and anger was gone, as his once cold eyes were once again the soft loving brown they used to be. He looked at you with adoration, always amused by how gorgeous you were even after rigorous activity and getting your face painted.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, picking you up bridal style as he leaned down to kiss you, not caring about his own load that was now on his face. He sat you down on the bathroom counter, grabbing a washcloth out of the cabinet, running it under warm water. He started to wipe away all of the liquids covering your face, pressing kisses to your skin here and there, looking your body up and down as he admired all of the marks he left.

“You always know how to make me feel good and how to take care of me after,” you croaked out, your voice laced with exhaustion as you smiled. Mike smiled back at you, his hand tenderly touching your cheek before pushing your hair behind your ear.

“I love you, of course I want to make sure ‘m taking care of you,” he said softly. His lips once again pressed against yours. “Thank you for letting me… you know.. blow off some steam,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Of course, honey. I was worried, though. Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, leaning forward as you slid off of the counter, grabbing a new washcloth and beginning to wipe his face with it as well. Mike sighed, shaking his head as he looked at her with sad eyes.

“I just- I got into it pretty badly with my boss at work and got criticized, I felt like a wounded animal, like I had to fight. I’m so used to having to fight that I don’t know how to shut up and listen,” he mumbled. “It was so bad, Y/N, and I got written up after that awful day I had this morning… I just.. I don’t know. I do know I feel better now, and would feel even better if we cuddled for a bit and then went out for food?” he suggested, spilling his thoughts to you. You giggled, nodding your head as you reached up to press a kiss to him. You dragged him into your shared bedroom, the two of you cuddling up together under the blankets. You turned to your side, your eyes locked with his.

“I love you, Mike, so much. And I’m so, so unbelievably proud of you. Thank you, for always making me feel good too, for taking care of me, for being such a good brother to Abby, just… thank you,” you said softly. Mike looked back at you lovingly, his appreciation for you apparent.

“I love you, princess, you don’t even know how much,” he mumbled. His eyes were heavy. He leaned over and set an alarm for an hour from now, the two of you planning on a night of dinner out and grocery shopping. He curled his arm around you lazily, your body limp and exhausted against his as you yawned.

“Oh, and baby?” he asked. You hummed, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Wear a crop top when we go out, I want everyone to see you all marked up.” You giggled as you laid your head down, drifting off to sleep.

When you two went out, you did just that, wearing a cropped scoop neck shirt with a low-rise flowy skirt. He showed off any marks you’d left, too, your possessive boyfriend holding you close anytime someone’s eyes linger too long. Mike was strange, possessive, and sometimes a little of what most would say was unsettling, but to you, he was the love of your life, the man who made you feel good, the one who fucked you until you couldn’t think. You loved him, and you always would, blessing you with a lifelong supply of angry sex and aftercare cuddles.

#josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson fluff #josh hutcherson imagine #mike schmidt smut #olderbf!mike

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starsewl · 17 days ago

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Be Your Comfort Person

pairing: idol!Hoshi x fem!reader warnings: idol au, fluff, established relationship, boyfriend hoshi, reader is lowkey tsundere summary: just you trying to give comfort to hoshi who's having a bad day word count: 1.2k

"Ya! Kwon Soonyoung! Did you forget your umbrella again?" you called out as Hoshi walked through the door, his hair dripping from the rain. You tossed a towel at him from across the room, hitting him squarely in the chest.

He caught it with a tired smile. "I was in a hurry."

"You're always in a hurry," you replied with a roll of your eyes, but you were already moving to the kitchen. "I made ramyeon. The spicy kind you like."

Hoshi's face lit up slightly as he dried his hair. "You didn't have to."

"Well, I was hungry too," you shrugged, trying to sound casual despite having specifically gone out to buy his favorite brand after he texted that practice had run late. "Don't make a big deal out of it."

You placed the steaming bowl on the coffee table and flopped down on the couch, patting the space beside you. "Sit. Eat. You look like you're about to collapse."

Hoshi sank down next to you with a grateful sigh. "Practice was rough today. Nothing felt right." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as his way of processing frustration.

"Mmm," you hummed noncommittally, flicking through TV channels. But your eyes slid to him, noting the slump in his shoulders, the way his movements lacked their usual tiger-like energy. Without making a fuss, you shifted closer until your shoulders touched.

"Want to talk about it?" you asked casually, eyes still on the TV.

"Not really," he said, slurping his noodles.

"Good, because this show is getting interesting," you replied, but your hand found its way to the back of his neck, gently massaging the tense muscles there.

Hoshi leaned into your touch almost unconsciously. "You're not even watching it," he pointed out, a small smile forming on his lips.

"Shut up and eat your ramyeon before it gets cold," you retorted, but there was no bite to your words.

Your fingers continued working out the knots in his neck, and you could feel him gradually relaxing. When he finished eating, you took the bowl without a word and placed it on the coffee table. Then you tugged at his arm.

"Come on, tiger boy. Bed time for exhausted idols."

"It's only 10 PM," he protested weakly.

"And you've been up since 5 AM," you countered, already pulling him toward the bedroom. "I know your schedule, remember?"

In the bedroom, you pushed him gently onto the bed. "Lie down before you fall down."

Hoshi complied, watching with sleepy eyes as you bustled around, closing the curtains against the rain and turning on the small bedside lamp. "You're bossy tonight," he commented.

"I'm bossy every night. You're just too tired to fight back," you replied with a smirk, climbing onto the bed beside him. Without asking, you pulled his head to rest on your chest and began running your fingers through his still-damp hair.

"Mmm you're so comfortable my favourite pillow," he murmured, snuggling closer. "And you smell nice."

"Well, one of us has to," you shot back, but you couldn't stop the fond smile that formed on your lips when he wasn't looking.

You continued stroking his hair, feeling the tension slowly leave his body as your fingers traced patterns along his scalp.

"I always have to be Hoshi the performer," he whispered after a while. "The one with all the energy. The one who makes everyone smile."

"Not with me," you answered. "With me, you can just be Kwon Soonyoung."

He turned slightly, looking up at you with those starry eyes that had earned him his stage name. "Thank you," he said simply.

The rain tapped against the windows as you both settled into comfortable silence. Hoshi's breathing began to even out, the tension from the day melting away under your touch.

"Did Seungkwan mess up the formation again?" you asked after a while, keeping your tone light.

Hoshi chuckled softly against your chest. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," you said, though you'd seen the frustrated messages in the group chat earlier. "He'll get it eventually."

"I know…" Hoshi sighed. "I just feel responsible when things don't go right."

"That's because you care too much," you said, flicking his forehead gently. "It's annoying how seriously you take everything." The words were teasing, but your touch remained tender, your hand now rubbing slow circles on his back.

"Someone has to," he mumbled, his eyes closing under your ministrations.

You reached for your phone with your free hand, scrolling through social media while continuing to hold him. A new video caught your attention-a fancam of one of members performing their latest choreography. You tapped on it, watching with interest. You felt Hoshi stir against you. His eyes blinked open, focusing on your screen.

"Really? Mingyu's fancam?" he asked, a hint of a pout in his voice.

"What? He did well in this part," you said innocently, though you couldn't help but smile at his reaction.

"I choreographed that part," Hoshi grumbled, reaching to take your phone. "And you're watching him do it while I'm right here."

You pulled your phone just out of his reach. "Jealous, tiger?"

"No," he denied too quickly, then buried his face against your chest. "Maybe a little. I'm tired and want your attention."

"You're such a baby," you laughed, but you put your phone on the nightstand and wrapped both arms around him. "Better?"

"Much better," he sighed, melting into your embrace. "You're playing hard to get with the affection tonight."

"Am not," you protested, even as you pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm just not as cheesy as you."

"Liar," he murmured, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep. "You bought my favorite ramyeon and you've been playing with my hair for half an hour."

"Coincidence," you insisted though your cheeks warmed slightly at being caught. "Your hair was messy. I was fixing it."

Hoshi smiled against your chest, too tired to argue further. "Sure, whatever you say." His arm tightened around your waist as he nestled closer. "But just so you know, I like that you pretend not to care. Makes it special when you do."

"Go to sleep, Soonyoung," you whispered, your tough facade softening as you felt his breathing slow. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?" he asked, his voice small and vulnerable in a way only you ever got to hear.

"Yeah," you said simply, your actions speaking louder than words as you continued to stroke his hair. "I promise."

"Pat pat," he mumbled sleepily after a while, a childlike request that made your heart swell.

You smiled, dutifully patting his head with gentle affection. As sleep claimed him, you allowed yourself a moment of unguarded tenderness, watching the rise and fall of his chest. "Sweet dreams my love," you whispered, knowing he couldn't hear you.

The rain continued its gentle rhythm outside as you felt yourself drifting off too, surrounded by the comforting weight and warmth of him. For all your teasing and pretend indifference, there was nowhere else you'd rather be than holding him close, being the safe harbor where your tiger could rest.

In the quiet of the night, with no one to witness, you held him just a little tighter, silently admitting what you found so hard to say when he was awake-that in his arms, you had found home too.

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt x reader #hoshi #hoshi x reader #hoshi fluff #hoshi imagines #hoshi scenarios #kwon soonyoung #kwon soonyoung x reader #kwon soonyoung imagines #kwon soonyoung scenarios #kwon soonyoung fluff

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repulsiveliquidation · 7 months ago

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Rain || Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut (18+), somnophilia (consensual sex while asleep), anal sex, rimming, strap-on sex, choking, spanking, fingering, rough sex)

a/n : hii! just a little something i whipped up while at work today :)

There was rain pouring down outside, the sun hiding behind dark clouds. The pitter-patter of raindrops slowly begged Alexia to go back to sleep but she fought hard, the warmth beside her was way more tempting than a few more hours of sleep.

She scooted over, arm slipping under the sheets to pull at the smaller form that was softly snoring beside her. She felt the heat of your skin, chest rising and falling steadily in your sleep.

Soft kisses along your nape and shoulder lulled you out of your snooze, a grumpy groan already dragging through your voicebox.

“Ale, it’s Sunday, go back to sleep…”

“Sí, sí, sleep.”

The captain wasn’t going to let you off that easily. She’d gotten back late from Sevilla last night and crashed almost immediately, staying awake just long enough to shovel food into her mouth. Now, with the whole day to waste with you, she didn’t want to miss a second of “personal time.”

You’re snoring again, this time much louder and much clearer. Alexia sat up looking annoyed, staring at your back that faced her. Her eyes, having the mind of their own, wandered along the shape of you. There was a little skin showing along your back where your shirt was riding up, toned back teasing her intentionally.

“Fuck mi amor, how am I supposed to resist you?”

Alexia, in her stroke of genius, pulls the covers off gently and climbs out of bed. She tiptoes to the closet, rummaging quietly for her strap. She finds it and quietly runs back to get it on.

Alexia stands beside you, clothes stripped off and strap hanging low from her hips. Very carefully, Alexia pulls the blanket off you, the pattering of rain now much softer as it stops. You’ve got the prettiest lace underwear on, a deep maroon that was secretly her favorite.

You were fully on your stomach now, your snores an abbreviated version of what they were earlier, muffled by your pillows.

Alexia lifted your matching lace top, the ruffled edges seemingly turned her on even more. There was a pause when you shifted under her and she quickly stood on her knees, taking her weight off you. You simply pushed a leg up towards your chest and sighed, nuzzling your face into the pillow. Alexia gently sat back down, softly kissing your exposed back as she fought to keep her hips from involuntarily grinding into you.

“Mmh, you’ve always been so fucking beautiful princesa, even when you were sleeping.”

She slowly pulled your panties to the side, exposing your already soaking cunt. Her mouth waters, jaw aching as she scoots down to taste you.

Her tongue is warm and flat against your pussy, lapping gently at your sticky folds. Her eyes make sure you’re still asleep, fingers very very gently pulling your thick thighs apart. You give Alexia no indication of knowing what she was doing, so she gets a little brave. She spreads your ass and watches your asshole pucker at her, practically asking her to have a taste.

When she does, she watches as your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. You always were a little anal whore, the feeling of her tongue on your ass never failed to drive your arousal up.

Alexia spat on your ass, thumb gently rubbing it in. It caught on the edge a few times and Alexia had to stop herself from clenching her own thighs together. Your pussy was dripping, the gentle throb of your heartbeat was delightfully obvious to Alexia.

“Ale…?”

“Bon dia, princesa,” Alexia whispered sexily, helping as you gently turned onto your back.

“Más, por favor,” you whined, legs draping wide open over her shoulders. Alexia grinned maniacally, nodding gently at your sexy request.

A dainty finger slips into Alexia’s mouth, the noisy slurping that reaches your ears only makes the throb between your legs all the more intense.

She pushes it into your ass gently, gorgeous eyes meeting yours as she gently fingers you open. You feel the stretch just a little more than usual, a pleasant ache plastering a satisfied grin on your face. Alexia pulls away to suck on her fingers a little more, pushing two digits into you when they’re wet enough. Your hips grind down into her slowly, fingers gathering a little spit from your mouth to use to play with your clit. Alexia audibly groans, watching as you double your pleasure.

She gets that manic smile on her face again, pulling her fingers out of your ass before kneeling between your legs. You’re still playing with your clit when her fingers jam themselves into your mouth. You’re taken aback and gag loudly, Alexia’s eyes rolling into her head when you keen.

Alexia fingers your mouth while you touch yourself, your fingers aching to slip into your pussy and mimic her fingers in your mouth. You can taste yourself on her fingers and that only spurs you on, your first orgasm building up hard and fast.

She pulls her fingers away from your lips when you begin to gurgle your warning, soaking wet fingers expertly finding your pussy before slamming in to send you into your first orgasm.

“Ale!” you moan, muscles spasming in pleasure.

“Sí, buena chica,” Alexia praises, fingertips jabbing your sweet spot with no mercy.

Alexia doesn’t bother to give you a little heads up, pulling away for less than a minute to prep her strap. She lubes it up and smears the rest on your asshole, pulling your thighs over hers before she’s pushing into you.

“Taking me so well, beautiful,” she coos, thumbing softly at your swelling clit.

“Ale,” you beg, “Ale, por favor.”

“Sí, te lo daré, cariño, I’ll give it to you.”

Give it to you she does. Her hips pound up into you, shoulders barely touching the bed. Your long manicured fingers can’t find material to hold onto. Blood rushes to your head and you can feel the world of pleasure consume you.

Alexia bends you in half, thighs pressed tight against your chest. Her skin slaps yours, hips thrusting into your ass rough and hard. Her teeth are gritted together, eyes dark and lustrous.

“Is this what you wanted, cariño?”

“Fuck, yes!”

Alexia turns you on your side, pounding right into you deeper this way. She takes a breast in her mouth, suckling hard as she fondles the other. You can barely moan, everytime you relish in a sensation she gives you a new one to drool about.

“Hold yourself open, my pretty little slut,” Alexia leans by your ear to whisper, watching as you do as she says. She lubes her left fingers up just a touch, warming the gel up before slipping them into your pussy.

Now stuffed in two places, Alexia’s hips thrust in while her fingers pull out, repeating this sequence like a well-oiled machine. It was utterly dizzying; you were seeing stars.

The captain, seemingly impressed by her own handiwork, now moved her freehand wherever else she could. She dragged her nails along your tummy, kneading your breasts one after the other. She gave them a few love taps that rattled them deliciously, making her eyes roll into her head just a little before they reached their final destination.

Your neck loved Alexia’s hands. They wrapped around your throat so perfectly. Her thumb and index finger always pressed the right spot to deprive you of just enough air to give your vision a few black spots.

“Fuck!” you choke, the tug behind your naval intensified as Alexia fucked you harder and faster.

“Coming, my love?”

“Can’t Ale, please–”

“Come, slut,” Alexia spat, hips pounding you into the mattress so hard the frame was shaking.

You come and she lets go of your neck, the breath of fresh air that fills your lungs somehow intensifies your orgasm. You’re shaking and moaning her name, body trembling and twitching from the shocks.

Alexia draws the hottest bath she can, gently climbing in with you in her arms. The steaming water soothes your aching limbs, bringing relief.

She holds you close and leaves the softest kisses along your shoulder and neck. You giggle and settle into her arms, feeling safe and sound.

“I missed you,” you mutter after a while, looking up at her as she smiles.

“I missed you too, princesa,” she whispers, tilting your head a little more to kiss you. It’s soft and tender, filling both your hearts with love.

“I love you,” she whispers when she pulls away, strong arms wrapping tighter around you as the sound of more rain fills the room.

#woso #alexia putellas #woso community #woso x reader #fc barca femeni #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso one shot

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matt-murdockk · 26 days ago

Text

Grief

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

words: 2.5k

summary: When an unexpected tragedy tears their world apart, Matt vanishes, leaving (Y/n) shattered. In the aftermath, grief becomes routine, and healing feels like a betrayal. When an unexpected encounter forces them to face the inevitable, well, see for yourself.

warnings: graphic description of violence, angst, spoilers for Daredevil: Born Again

a/n: Just saw episode 1 and I am RATTLED. I had to get it out of my system, so, here you go. I am doing a third-person pov this time, not my usual reader's pov because I wanted this to be serious angst. painnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. that's it.

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

There was a ringing in her ears. Not the sharp, short kind that comes and goes, but a low, unrelenting whine- like the world had been muted except for that one, unbearable frequency.

Everything else was blurred. Faces, lights, voices. The neon buzz of Josie’s sign blinked somewhere in the periphery, garish against the night. Her hands- red, slick, trembling- pressed hard against Foggy’s chest, where blood poured through her fingers like it had somewhere else to be.

He was gasping.

Karen was cradling his head in her lap, whispering his name like it was the only prayer she remembered. “Stay with us, Foggy. Please, please- just stay with us.”

But his eyes. God, his eyes.

They weren’t looking at anything anymore.

(Y/n) didn’t even realize she was screaming until her voice cracked. Her palms slipped, trying to hold him together when it was already too late. There was too much blood. Her jeans were soaked. She looked at her hands, trembling, soaked with the blood of her best friend. The pavement beneath them looked like a crime scene, and rightfully so.

Then it came.

The scream- from the rooftop. A sound ripped straight from the chest of something feral. Something broken.

It echoed off brick, and stone, and neon, a guttural, hollow sound that cut through the ringing.

Matt.

She looked up, just in time to catch a shadow vanishing into the dark. And then silence again.

Foggy didn’t move.

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

Three Weeks Later

The city hadn’t changed, but everything felt different.

Life went on- it always did. Taxis still honked. Radios still played. The deli on 8th still burned the bagels, and the world still spun like nothing else mattered. But for (Y/n), everything had dulled. Like all the voices around here were suddenly muffled, and all the colours had suddenly lost their warmth.

She stood outside Matt’s door again.

Third floor. End of the hall. Apartment with the busted lock and the number peeling off. Same place as always. Same routine. She didn’t knock anymore. She just leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and started to speak.

“Hey... I, uh. I know you’re in there. It's me. Again.”

Her voice was hoarse. Like she hadn’t used it in days. She hadn’t used it much, really. Not unless Karen called, or when she’d gotten cornered by Kirsten at the firm’s memorial. But even then, her words felt borrowed. Thin. Like they belonged to someone else.

“I went to Josie’s today,” she continued. “Thought maybe you would’ve... I don’t know. Shown up.”

The hallway was quiet.

“I sat in our booth,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching up into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “The one Foggy always said had the best lighting. Which is a joke, by the way, because Josie’s lighting sucks. Always has.”

She sighed. The wall was cold against her back.

“I keep thinking about that night. About what I could’ve done differently. If I had just gotten to him sooner or... if I’d pressed harder or screamed louder or-”

Her breath caught. She shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, quieter now. “None of it is going to change anything.”

For a moment, she thought she heard something shift inside- the faint creak of floorboards, the soft shuffle of movement. Her breath caught.

But nothing followed. No footsteps. No voice. Just the quiet hum of the hallway light above her. She guessed it must have been in her head. She let the silence between them marinate for a moment before she broke.

“I need you, Matt,” she said finally, barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t do this alone. I’m trying, but I-” her breath hitched, words tumbling out between sobs, “Please… just… let me in. Please, Matt.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to open the door. Just... let me know you’re still in there. Please.”

Nothing.

No footsteps. No shadow under the door. Not even the creak of floorboards shifting inside.

Just silence.

She sat for a while, her arms wrapped around her knees, the hem of her coat brushing the cracked floor tiles. Time passed. Light changed. Somewhere outside, someone was yelling into a phone. A dog barked. A siren wailed in the distance.

Eventually, she stood.

Her knees cracked as she straightened. She wiped her tears and took one last look at the apartment. She paused, hand resting on the door for just a second longer than she should have.

Then she left.

The hallway swallowed the sound of her steps, and Matt Murdock’s door remained closed.

He stood on the other side of the door, motionless.

He hadn’t moved the entire time she was out there. Not when she said his name. Not when her voice cracked. Not when her knees hit the floor with that soft, painful sound that made his stomach turn.

He’d wanted to. God, he wanted to.

Every instinct screamed at him to unlock the door, to fall to his knees and wrap his arms around her and say something- anything- to make it better. To let her in. To not be alone.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood there. Frozen. Listening to every ragged breath, every broken sob, every word she pushed out like it hurt to say.

He could hear the tremble in her hands when she touched the door. The way her heartbeat stuttered when she said please. The way it finally steadied when she stood up and walked away, like even her heart had given up on him.

He pressed his hand flat against the door, long after she’d gone. It was warm. Faintly. From where she’d leaned against it.

And then it wasn’t.

He exhaled sharply, like it hurt. His fingers curled into a fist against the wood, knuckles white. But he still didn’t move. Didn’t open it.

Didn’t deserve to.

The guilt was louder than her voice. Louder than anything. Louder than the way Foggy had gasped for air while Matt was too far away. Louder than the way his scream had ripped through the night, raw and helpless. Louder than the ringing in his own head that hadn’t stopped since that night.

He had failed him.

Failed both of them.

And now (Y/n) was out there- grieving, breaking- and he was too much of a coward to face it. To face her.

Because what could he possibly say? I’m sorry? I know you’re in pain? Let me hold you?

He didn’t deserve to be the one she leaned on. He didn’t deserve her voice through the door. Or her presence. Or her grief.

He’d wanted to protect them. Both of them. And now one was dead, and the other came by every other day, pouring her heart out to someone who didn’t answer.

Matt turned away from the door, chest tight, fists clenched.

He hadn’t cried. Not once. Not at the funeral. Not after the scream. Not even when he stopped hearing Foggy’s voice in his head.

But now, in the quiet, with only the sound of his own heartbeat and the memory of her sobs still ringing in his ears-

He cracked.

He didn’t fall to his knees. He didn’t punch the wall. He didn’t curse the heavens or spiral into rage.

He just stood there, tears running down his face, completely silent.

And the door stayed closed.

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

Six Months Later

Six months passed. Enough time for the world to spin forward without asking if anyone was ready.

The pain stopped being sharp. That was the worst part.

It dulled- settled deep in her chest, like it belonged there now. People called it healing. (Y/n) called it survival. Grief had just learned how to wear a quieter mask.

Karen moved to San Francisco. Said she needed a break from the city. Said it hurt too much to walk past places Foggy used to haunt like he still might show up. And maybe she was right. Maybe distance helped.

(Y/n) didn’t leave.

She stayed. Got back to work. Kept her head down. Took the long way around Hell’s Kitchen whenever she could. Walked fast when she couldn’t. She’d stopped waiting outside Matt’s door months ago.

She’d told herself it was closure.

But the truth was, she wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen him since.

Not once.

Until now. The banner above the doors read Murdock & McDuffie- Attorneys at Law. The lettering was simple. Clean. Brand new. Still smelled like fresh paint and hope.

(Y/n) hadn’t planned to come. She’d only found out because someone from the old firm texted her about the opening- “Matt’s back,” it said. Just those two words.

She didn’t mean to stay long.

She only came to see for herself. Just once. Just from afar.

To know he was okay.

That was it.

She stood at the back of the crowd, tucked behind a column, far enough that he wouldn’t notice her unless he was looking. And he wouldn’t be. He never had.

(Y/n) had told herself it wasn’t about needing anything from him. Not closure. Not a conversation. Just... proof. That he was still here. Still breathing. Still trying.

That something survived that night.

So when she saw him- standing near the podium in a black suit, smiling politely, nodding to the people around him- it should’ve felt like relief.

But it didn’t.

It felt like weight. Like something heavy had been quietly pressing on her chest for months, and seeing him again made it real.

He looked good. Not whole, but... steady. Composed. The Matt she remembered in the courtroom. The Matt who could hold a room with a few words and a slight turn of his head.

She didn’t want to hate him. She didn’t.

But she couldn’t go up there either. Couldn’t walk into that room like nothing had changed. She’d spent too long stitching herself back together in the quiet to rip everything open again now.

So she turned. No drama. No second glances. Just a quiet exit, like she was never there to begin with.

One step. Then another. Down the stairs. Away from the lights and the noise and the name painted on glass that wasn’t supposed to ache the way it did.

But Matt had already noticed.

Not with his eyes. With the shift in air. The faint, familiar stutter in her heartbeat. The sudden sharp inhale when she saw him. The way it faltered again when she turned to leave.

He followed without thinking.

And in the stairwell, when she finally stopped- when the weight of it all finally caught up and she sank against the wall, silent tears streaking down her face- he found her.

He said her name softly.

“(Y/n)...?”

“Matt, hey,” she said, wiping her tears quickly with the back of her hand. Her voice was too casual. Too controlled. “I was just leaving.”

Matt stood a few steps up from her, hands at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Yeah. I... I noticed.”

She nodded once. That was it. No hug. No accusation. No warmth.

“I didn’t know I'd run into you,” she added, voice thinner now, trying to pull it together. “Didn’t plan on it. Just... wanted to see how things were going.”

“They’re going,” Matt said, and the silence that followed was awkward. Foreign. Like two strangers forcing conversation at a wake.

She sniffed, trying to brush past him. “Well. Looks like you’re doing fine.”

He moved slightly to block her. “(Y/n) -”

“I said I was leaving.”

“Can you just stop for a second?”

“Why?” she snapped. “So we can pretend to be civil and make awkward small talk in a stairwell? I think we’ve done enough pretending, Matt.”

He flinched. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Oh, right. You’re rebuilding. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” she laughed, bitter and sharp. “New firm. New name on the glass. A clean slate.”

His voice raised before he could stop it. “What do you want me to say?”

She turned to him then, eyes shining but angry now. “I don’t want you to say anything! I didn’t come here for this.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I don’t know, okay? I thought maybe seeing you would help, but it didn’t! It just made it worse.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “You think this is easy for me? I hear you crying before you even hit the stairwell and you think I’m fine?”

“You didn’t hear me for months!” she threw back. “Not a word. Not a text. You shut me out and left me in the wreckage like none of it mattered!”

“(Y/n), I was grieving-”

“So was I, Matt!” she screamed, cutting him off. “So was I. You’re not the only one who lost him!”

That stopped him.

The silence hit hard. Echoed against the stairwell walls like a slap. They stood there, breathing hard, tears threatening both of them now. Not angry ones- not anymore. Just shattered. Tired.

“I kept showing up,” she whispered. “I needed you, and you were right there and I still couldn’t reach you.”

“I didn’t know how to let you in,” Matt said, quieter now, but raw. “If I let you in, I would’ve broken. I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t save him. I failed, and I thought if I let you see me like that ”

“You think I wanted to be saved?” she asked, voice shaking. “I knew you were hurting, Matt. So was Karen. So was I. I wanted to hurt with you. That’s what people who love each other do, Matt. They stay, even when it’s ugly.”

The word love hung in the air between them, fragile and broken and too late.

Matt took a step toward her, his breath catching. “What happened to us?”

Her face twisted, like the question physically hurt. “We stopped talking. You stopped letting me see you. And I- I didn’t know how to be in the world without you and without him.”

“I didn’t want to be in the world at all,” Matt said.

And that was it. The final crack.

(Y/n) choked on a sob, and suddenly she was moving- not away, not anymore, but toward him- and Matt caught her like she was the only thing he’d ever been certain of. She buried her face into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to again.

They didn’t speak.

They just held each other, trembling, broken, sobbing into the fabric of each other’s coats as the last six months poured out all at once.

No more pretending. No more silence. No more closed doors.

Just two people who had spent too long holding it in.

And now, finally, letting it out.

Together.

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baocean · 8 days ago

Text

piss off your parents

chapter twenty seven - it was fake

you’d been acting weird ever since sarah all but exploded on you about why jj went awol. you’d barely been over to the house, barely looked at him, barely texted.

he'd freaked you out. he’d hurt you. you werent sure how to react to it.

today was supposed to be good, a group dinner that would smooth everything over, that would make things feel normal again.

he didn’t even let the back door shut behind you before the words were out.

“so that’s it?” jj said, his voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “hooray, unc. now i’m just… done?”

you froze, fingers still on the doorknob. “what are you talking about?”

he stared at you, eyes sharp, like he was trying to piece you together and nothing was fitting anymore. “your parents gave in. we played our parts perfectly, and now you don’t even look at me.”

you turned slowly, face unreadable. “jj…”

“no, don’t do that,” he snapped. “don’t give me that look like i’m overreacting. like i’m fucking crazy.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been pulling away since the second it worked. you don’t text back, you barely talk to me. you’re acting like i’m something you’re trying to shake off.”

“jj, just...can we not do this right now?” your voice cracked like glass, thin and tight and exhausted.

he laughed, bitter and sharp. “too late. you told me to sell it. said it had to feel real. and i did, yn. i fucking did. i gave you everything i had.”

you flinched. just barely. “that’s not fair,” you said, voice rising, finally matching the heat in his.

“isn’t it?” he shot back. “because it sure as hell feels like i was just part of the plan. and now, i’m nothing but the reminder.”

you crossed your arms, jaw tight. “i never promised you anything.”

jj’s breathing stuttered. you stared at each other, chests rising and falling too fast, like you couldn’t get enough air. anger and fear and want all bleeding into each other, all tangled up beneath your skin.

neither of you spoke. and you so badly wanted him to just say what he was really feeling. but he didnt, he just stared at you.

so you said the worst thing you could think of.

“it was fake, jj.”

his face shifted, like a crack forming right down the middle. like something caved in behind his eyes. but it was only there for a second, before his expression hardened, darkened.

“then what the fuck am i doing here, yn?” his voice was sharp, cutting.

you didn’t answer for a second. you couldn’t. your throat felt like it was closing.

you shrugged, blinking back the tears that would have given you away in a heartbeat.

jj wanted to walk out right now. but he couldnt, wouldnt, he wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet. he was still angry. still hurt. and his best idea was to hurt you right back.

“right. because none of it meant anything to you, huh?” he said, stepping closer. “not the nights you stayed. not the way you looked at me like you meant it. not the kiss.”

“don’t you dare put this all on me,” you shot back, taking a step forward yourself, fire in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s been caught up in this, jj. i’m not some heartless person who used you. this isn’t my fault.”

jj’s expression faltered for a moment, but then he snapped, “yeah? feels like it is.”

you ground your teeth, chest tight with anger. “you want to talk about fault? you haven’t even congratulated me on unc, the thing i’ve worked so hard for! you disappeared for twenty hours, and then you came back acting like i’m the one who shut myself off!”

“congrats, bunny." his voice cracked. "you wanted your freedom? to revolt against your parents? your little rebellion before your perfect life at college? well, you’re free. you’re so fucking free.”

“jj—”

“a deal’s a deal, you got your end. we can finally be done now,” he said, his voice cold and rough, like he didn’t recognize it. “go ahead and leave. forget about all this like it never happened. just like you always planned.”

you stared at him, throat burning, chest tight. you wanted to scream. to cry. to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was right.

instead you said, “fuck you, jj.”

it came out low. furious. shaky. and it made jj's face fall, his body go limp.

you didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t stop you from leaving.

her phone

his phone

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - i’m sorry please forgive me

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject t / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

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bytemee · 2 months ago

Text

chapter six. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — yu jimin.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — longing/kinda have a tad bit of angst but not really, smut (gulp), g!p reader, and let me know if there's more.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 5.9k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— wow man i said 6k and it ended up being 5.9k am i a liar...manager name reveal wooooooo

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next.

it was 2 am while jimin laid in bed, her face illuminated by the soft glow of her phone. her schedule started early tomorrow, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

not when you were on the other end of the line.

your voice had grown quieter over the last hour, words slurring slightly as sleep began to pull you under. jimin had teased you about it at first, laughing softly when you denied how tired you were, but now the only sound was the soft rhythm of your breathing.

you had fallen asleep mid-sentence, and she couldn't bring herself to hang up.

instead, she stayed there, her thumb gently tapping the screen, staring at your contact photo—a smile she knew well, the one she loved seeing in person. it made her heart flutter even now, even at this late hour, even with the miles between you.

she didn't want the call to end.

but she knew it had to.

"goodnight," jimin whispered, her voice barely a whisper, "i'll see you soon."

she reached for the stuffed animal you gave her, the one she kept close, its scent still lingering faintly despite the weeks that had passed.

it was she and mr. flopsy against the world.

she wanted to be closer to you; she wanted to hold your hand; she wanted to be the one that you went to when the nights were cold, the one who you could call whenever you were having a bad day. she wanted to be the one that made you laugh, the one that made your eyes light up. she wanted to be the reason behind your smile.

and she wanted you to want that, too.

she bit her lip, replying to all of the messages you had sent her yesterday that she never got around to answering. one by one, she typed out her responses, smiling at your silly jokes and teasing you back. but after a while, the conversation lulled, and she was left staring at her screen, trying to find the right words to say.

"good morning <3!"

"i hope today is better for you."

"fighting!"

she sent the message, her thumb hovering over the screen, wondering if she should add something else. but nothing seemed good enough. she sent the message, her thumb hovering over the screen, wondering if she should add something else. but nothing seemed good enough.

not the heart at the end, not the silly selfie she'd attached, not the encouragements. nothing could properly convey the emotions swirling inside her, the thoughts she couldn't seem to keep contained.

she couldn't stop thinking about you. couldn't stop wanting more.

was she being selfish? was she asking for too much?

she wasn't sure. all she knew was that it felt like a part of her was missing when you weren't there. like a piece of her had been stolen and taken halfway across the world, and the only thing that could fill the void was seeing you again.

she just hoped that wasn't too much to ask.

"hey, you gotta get up…like now."

the sleeping figure didn't move.

with a sigh, they gently shook the figure's shoulder, trying to get them to wake up. but the person just let out a sleepy groan, shifting slightly in their bed. "come on, we have a busy day ahead," they urged, hoping the person would finally stir.

after a few more attempts, the figure finally opened their eyes, squinting against the morning light. "get the fuck out, jamie." you grumble at your manager, pulling the covers over your head.

"no, i'm serious, y/n. you missed your session that was booked for this morning." you let out a groan, burying your head deeper into the pillow. you didn't care about the session. all you cared about was how good your bed felt and how you desperately wanted to stay there all day.

"i don't care." you mutter.

jamie sighs, shaking his head. "y/n, you have stuff to do. we have a photo shoot in a couple of hours, and if we don't leave soon, we'll be late. please just get up."

"can't you reschedule the photoshoot?" you try, even though you already know the answer.

"no, i can't," jamie says firmly, crossing his arms.

"but i don't feel good," you whine, and you can almost feel the eye roll.

he's silent for a moment before speaking again.

"whoa, three messages from jimin." you lift your head slightly, the mention of the idol catching your attention. you quickly reach for your phone, unlocking it to see the notifications from jimin.

"whipped bastard," jamie mumbles under his breath.

"shut up." you fire back, not denying his statement as you read through the messages. you were whipped, and you didn't even try to hide it.

"just get ready, please. i'm gonna order you some coffee." he finally relents, and you smile, giving a lazy thumbs-up before he walks out of your bedroom, leaving you alone.

jimin's eyes widen. she tries, she really does, to fight the smile on her face, but she can't. it's useless. the grin grows bigger, her dimples deepening. the universe finally seemed to be on her side as her manager revealed the news.

"we're heading to la next week to film the 'whiplash' music video," she said casually, but jimin didn't hear much after "la."

all three of her member's heads turned towards her, the smiles and smirks on their faces impossible to ignore. her members glance at each other, trying not to laugh at her expression. but ningning fails, a squeak leaving her mouth, and she immediately covers her face with her hands, trying to hide her giggles.

jimin narrows her eyes at ningning, already feeling the heat creeping up her neck. she's buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing you again, but her members' reactions make her want to shrink into her chair.

"what? nothing to say?" winter teases, her tone playful, as she leans into jimin's personal space. jimin uses her personal defensive mechanism and swats her friend away, trying to act unbothered, but she is so far from unbothered.

"nothing to say about what?" she shoots back, trying her best to sound indifferent. her voice wavers just enough to give her away.

giselle hums knowingly, raising an eyebrow. "uh-huh. sure, unbothered queen. we believe you."

jimin groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before straightening up, her usual composure returning. "focus," she mutters, pulling out the group leader card.

the teasing dies down eventually, and as soon as the members are distracted, jimin pulls out her phone. she doesn't even hesitate.

guess who's coming to la next week?

across the globe, you're just finishing up a long photoshoot. the last camera clicks finally signal the end, and you stretch your arms, shaking off the fatigue.

"that's a wrap!" the photographer announces happily. the crew erupts into chatter as they start packing up their equipment, and you stretch your arms above your head, feeling relieved. you're ready to go home and sleep for a hundred years.

"great job, y/n," the stylist says warmly, stepping forward to smooth down the soft button-up shirt you're wearing.

you glance down at the shirt, fingers brushing over the fabric. it was so soft, like butter. you couldn't remember the last time you wore something this comfortable. you hesitate for a moment before looking up at her with a sheepish grin. "hey, uh… is it okay if i keep this?"

the stylist pauses, then bursts into laughter, her knowing look making you blush. "go ahead. it looks like you're already in love with it."

"oh my god, i love you," you gush, clutching your hands together. "thank you!"

she waves you off, chuckling as she steps away to finish organizing her kit. you quickly slip the shirt off, folding it neatly to keep it clean while you change back into your own clothes.

as you step away from the set, jamie, your manager, catches up to you, a coffee in his hand. he gives you a once-over, taking in your appearance. "how was the shoot?"

"it was fine."

"you hungry?"

"always."

"great, let's grab a bite."

you raise a brow at him. "isn't there another thing i'm supposed to do after this?"

"not today." he answers, taking a sip from his coffee. "or for the rest of the week."

your eyes widen. "really?"

he nods, a knowing look on his face. you narrow your eyes. "wait, is this a pity thing?"

"what?" jamie shakes his head, scoffing. "no. it's just a little break. you've been working hard, so you deserve it."

you blink at jamie, skepticism etched into your expression. "you're giving me a break? just like that? no strings attached?"

jamie rolls his eyes. "yes, y/n, believe it or not, i'm capable of basic human decency. now, let's go grab food before you pass out."

still, you study him for a moment longer, looking for any signs of a trap. finally, you shrug, accepting his answer. "fine. but if you spring a last-minute meeting on me tomorrow, i'm holding this over your head forever."

"duly noted," jamie says dryly as he ushers you toward the exit.

as the two of you step into the crisp evening air, you fish your phone out of your pocket, curious if jimin has replied. sure enough, her name lights up your notifications, and you feel your heart do an embarrassing little flip.

you bite your lip, rereading the message as a small, giddy smile tugs at your mouth. you quickly type back.

you hesitate for a second, then add a smiley face before sending it off. as you slide your phone back into your pocket, jamie catches your expression and snorts.

"you're absolutely unbearable when you talk to her," he teases.

you roll your eyes. "and you're unbearable all the time, so what's your point?"

he laughs, shrugging.

"keep talking, and i'm cancelling dinner," you add, just to be a brat.

four entire days passed.

the anticipation was eating you alive.

you tried to stay busy, but remember. you were given a full seven days off, so that meant nothing to do. the days dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. you couldn't wait to see her again.

every time you thought about it, your stomach twisted in that nervous, fluttery way you hated admitting you liked.

when jimin finally told you her flight details, it took every ounce of self-control not to drop everything and drive to the airport to meet her. instead, you played it cool—or at least tried to.

the day she landed, you kept your phone close, checking the time obsessively and jumping at every notification, thinking it might be her. you knew she'd have a packed schedule as soon as she arrived, and she'd probably be exhausted because of the long flight, but you couldn't help hoping she'd reach out sooner rather than later.

she texted you briefly after landing, letting you know she'd made it safely and promising to see you soon. you replied with something casual, though your heart was racing the entire time.

the next day, friday, dragged on endlessly. jimin was out with her group, spending time with them, as it would be the only full day they got to themselves before filming the music video the following day. by the time nighttime rolled around, you were pacing your living room like a caged animal.

and then your phone buzzed.

are you free tonight? i can come by now.

your heart skipped a beat as you read the message. you quickly sent her your address, typing it so fast that you had to backtrack and fix a typo.

i'm free. come over whenever you're ready.

i'm so excited.

me too.

i can't wait to kiss you again.

i miss your lips.

…

you're making it very difficult to not just run over there.

not being very fair right now >:(

sorry, not sorry.

just get over here.

when your doorbell finally rang out, you sprang from the couch, moving so fast that your socks betrayed you on the hardwood floor. you nearly toppled over but managed to catch yourself on the wall, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with your near fall.

with a quick breath to steady yourself, you turned the doorknob, and there she was.

jimin stood on your doorstep, dressed casually in a hoodie, sweats, and a cap, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail. she seemed worlds away from the polished idol everyone else saw, yet this version of her left you utterly speechless.

for a moment, you could only stare, drinking her in. she smiled, a dimple popping out, and that was all it took for you to regain control. you opened the door wider, stepping aside to let her in, and she hurried past you, the whiff of her perfume lingering in her wake.

"long day?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer, closing the door behind her as she set her bag near the entryway and pulled off her cap. your cap, actually, but you did say she could have it.

you watched her like a hawk as she nodded and ran a hand through her hair. "yeah, but i had fun."

you swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. jimin, however, seemed perfectly at ease, slipping off her sneakers and padding further into your home.

"it's nice here," she commented, looking around.

"it's cleaner than usual," you admitted with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of your neck.

she laughed, her smile deepening. "you didn't have to clean for me, you know."

"i didn't," you said quickly, but her raised brow had you cracking a grin. "okay, maybe i did. a little."

"do you want something to drink? or eat? i've finally been free to get groceries—"

"y/n," she interrupted, her hand catching yours mid-ramble.

you froze, looking down at where her fingers brushed against your own before meeting her gaze again.

"i'm here for you," she said softly. "not food. not anything else. just… you." your breath caught at her words. did she know the effect she had on you? to make your heart pound so hard it almost hurt, your stomach twists in knots, and your mouth dry out like you had been dehydrated for weeks?

if the knowing smirk on her face was any indication, yes. she did.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly thick. "well, okay then."

the two of you moved slowly, cautiously, like two animals circling each other for the first time. her eyes flickered down to your lips, and a shiver ran through you. she bit her lip, hesitating for just a second before reaching out, her hand cupping the side of your face. her thumb grazed your bottom lip, her touch feather-light.

you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes.

the tenderness of her touch made your chest tighten.

your eyelids fluttered open.

she was watching you, her gaze soft and affectionate.

it was as if the weight of the past few weeks had suddenly disappeared.

as if it didn't matter. nothing else mattered except the way she looked at you. her hands moved to cup your cheeks, and then she leaned in. her lips met yours in a gentle and loving kiss, and you sighed, melting into her touch.

you can't believe it's been almost three months since her touch.

three months.

"hi," she whispered, her voice thick.

you let out a small chuckle, the sound more breathless than you intended. "hey."

her lips curved into a smile.

that's nothing compared to how long you'll have her, but it feels like a lifetime. your head spins, your pulse racing as you try to comprehend the fact that she's here, right now. with you.

she pulls back for a moment, her eyes searching yours, her gaze never wavering. you stare back, transfixed by her beauty.

her thumbs gently caress your cheeks, and then she kisses you again, deeper this time, more urgent. your hands move to her waist, tugging you closer, pulling her into you with a desperation that mirrored her own. she responded eagerly, her fingers balling your shirt in her hands as she deepened the kiss even further.

heat flooded your body, and your skin tingled.

god, it had been too long.

"i missed this," she whispered against your lips, her voice breathless.

"me too," you murmured back, tilting your head and capturing her mouth in another searing kiss. she moaned softly into your mouth, and the sound sent a rush of pleasure through you, the heat pooling low in your belly. when the two of you finally broke apart, both panting and flushed, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were bright.

"i don't ever want to go that long without seeing you again," she admitted.

"me neither."

you gave her waist a little squeeze before reaching for her hand, leading her toward your bedroom. "come on," you said, grinning. "you've never seen my place, right? let me show you around."

jimin grinned. "lead the way."

the tour started in the living room, which was sparsely decorated. you hadn't bothered with much beyond the bare essentials. you didn't spend much time at home anyway, and you didn't care to decorate.

"this is the couch where i crash when i'm too lazy to move to my bed," you said, patting the back of it. there were a few pillows tossed around and a blanket draped over one side, clearly well-used. "also known as the nap kingdom."

jimin nodded seriously, pretending to take notes. "nap kingdom. got it."

you walked to the little bookshelf by the window. "and here's where i pretend to be cultured." a mix of books, old magazines, and random knickknack's filled the shelves. one corner had a plant that was either thriving or barely holding on—it was hard to tell.

you gestured to the far wall. "i keep the tv over there. mostly for background noise and when i feel like binging something. and then over here," you pointed at the kitchen area, "is the land of the fridge."

jimin chuckled.

"it's my second favorite place in the house," you explained. "the first being…" you paused for dramatic effect, pointing at the ceiling above. "my room!"

she laughed again.

you led her down a hallway that stretched far longer than most would expect, the space lined with artwork—some pieces you'd picked up while touring in europe, others gifted by fellow artists. jimin's gaze lingered on a few, a small smile on her lips.

your bedroom was at the end of the hall. the doors were tall, dark wood with brass handles. you pushed them open with a small flourish. "ta-da."

the room was massive, just like the rest of the house. the king-sized bed took up a good portion of the space, the covers rumpled and pillows scattered. a plush rug covered the hardwood floors, and more windows lined the far wall. the view from here was even better than the living room's, and you could see the sun setting over the city below.

there was a seating area near the window with two armchairs and a small coffee table. you had an open walk-in closet to one side, with floor-to-ceiling shelves and rows of shoes. and in the corner, next to your nightstand, sat an acoustic guitar you hadn't put away yet.

"i didn't get to make my bed, but… welcome." you turned back to her with a sheepish smile.

jimin chuckled, her eyes soft as she took in the space. "i think the messy bed's part of the charm."

you grinned and flopped onto the bed without a second thought, sinking into the plush mattress.

"best part of the tour," you joked, spreading your arms out dramatically like you were making a snow angel.

jimin laughed and followed your lead, collapsing next to you with a bounce. she landed close enough that your shoulders brushed, her hair splaying out across the pillows. she sighed happily.

you turned your head to look at her. her eyes were closed, a content expression on her face. it felt like everything had fallen into place, like this was where she belonged. like the past three months had been a dream, and now you were finally waking up.

her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze meeting yours. she smiled softly. "hi."

you couldn't help smiling back. "hey."

she let out a long, deep breath before turning her head towards you fully. your bodies faced each other, heads resting on pillows. she reached out, her fingers trailing along your jawline. the touch made your heart skip a beat, your skin tingling.

jimin tilted her head just slightly, closing the distance. her lips met yours gently, hesitantly, and you melted into her touch. she pulled away after a moment, only to kiss you again, deeper this time.

you sighed against her mouth, savoring the warmth of her lips, the taste of her tongue. she tasted like mint and coffee, sweet and earthy all at once.

you kissed her back eagerly, your hands cupping her face as she pulled you even closer. her fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you in tight, and you could feel her body pressed against yours, like she didn't want any space between you. she made a noise of approval when your arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until you were tangled together.

she gasped as you shifted your weight, rolling so that she lay beneath you, her back flat against the mattress. your lips never left hers. you trailed kisses down her jawline, along her neck, and she arched her back with a breathy moan, her nails digging into your shoulder blades.

her scent filled your senses—floral and sweet, mixed with something spicy—and it made your head spin. your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve, every line, every inch of skin you could reach. she squirmed beneath you, panting as she tugged at your clothes, urging you to remove them. you complied, discarding the fabric on the floor.

when you pulled away from her, she whimpered at the loss, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark. you sat back on your heels, kneeling between her legs, admiring the sight of her laid out beneath you. her hair was tousled and mussed, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. she looked beautiful.

"y/n," she muttered, suddenly embarrassed by your lingering gaze. she tried to cover her face with her hands, but you grabbed her wrists, pressing kisses to the inside of each one.

"what is it, love?" you asked, the nickname slipping off your tongue without thinking.

she stared up at you, her eyes searching yours for a moment before she pulled you back down into another heated kiss, her hands tangling in your hair, her tongue sliding against yours.

"please," she murmured against your mouth, her breath hot.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," you said, your hand rising higher, resting just underneath the band of her bra.

"you don't know how much i've thought about you," she whispered.

you pulled away slightly, just enough to look at her. "yeah?"

she nodded, a playful glint in her eyes.

"tell me," you whispered, pushing her hoodie upward to expose more of her skin, pressing a solid kiss in the middle of her torso. "how often did you think of me?"

she swallowed, her chest rising and falling as her breaths came in short bursts. "too often.

you hummed, your hands falling to either side of her hoodie, tugging it upwards. she helped you, raising her arms so you could slip it off her. "and what did you think about?" you continued; your lips found her skin again, pressing a line of kisses up her abdomen.

her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the pillow as a shiver ran through her. "everything," she breathed, her fingers curling in the sheets.

"everything?"

"i thought about the way you looked at me when we first met, how your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way you always smelled, the way you laughed." her voice dropped to a whisper. "i thought about the way you kissed me."

"i thought about you too," you murmur, your hands roamed her body, caressing every curve. you tugged her bra off, exposing her breasts. "all the time," you added, taking in the sight of her breasts pouring out of her bra.

your thumbs rubbed her nipples, her eyes closed. she let out a sigh, her back arching, pushing her breasts into your touch. "please," she whimpered, and the sound made your entire body tense, the pressure between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

but that didn't matter. you wanted to please her, to make her feel good, to let her know how much she meant to you. how you also think about her every single passing second of every day; that you were basically like a dog who waits eagerly for its owner's attention and affection.

her hands gripped your biceps as her hips bucked against yours once more. you dipped your head, taking one nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around her areola before moving to the other, sucking lightly and then harder.

"fuck," she gasped, her nails digging into your skin as her body writhed beneath you. you continued your ministrations, alternating between sucking and teasing her nipples with your teeth, eliciting delicious sounds from her lips. when you released her breasts, she groaned at the loss of contact.

"y/n," she pleaded, her voice pleading.

"shh," you murmured, kissing her stomach again. "let me take care of you." you sat back on your heels, tugging at her sweats until she lifted her hips, allowing you to slide them off along with her underwear.

"is this okay?" you asked, kissing her hip, your eyes locked on hers. she nodded, and you smiled, your arms wrapping around her thighs, your fingers gripping into the flesh of them. you lifted her legs over your shoulders, bringing her closer to you, and her hips bucked, her hands gripping the sheets.

"yes." she breathed.

the next thing she knew, your tongue was sliding up her wet slit, teasing her clit. she cried out, her hands immediately finding your head, gripping a handful of your hair, tugging it hard enough to make you groan. you didn't care, though, because she was wet and slick and sweet, and god, it felt amazing to finally taste her after all this time.

you lapped at her folds, tasting her juices, savoring every drop. she moaned, her hips bucking against your face.

the taste of her on your tongue was intoxicating; the pressure of her hands in your hair was intoxicating; to have her here, in your home, with her body responding to yours was more than you ever could've hoped for.

"fu-fuck." she moaned, her thighs squeezing around your head as your tongue worked her, a long whine following suit. "oh god, fuck."

her eyes closed, her head rolling back, the tendons in her neck standing out, her skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. "that's it," you encouraged, the sound of your voice making her shiver.

"y/n." she moaned, her grip tightening even further.

"more," she pleaded.

you gave her what she asked for, pushing two fingers into her, the sound of her cry filling the room, but that was nothing compared to the warmth of her around your fingers, the way her muscles squeezed and pulled, wanting you deeper inside her.

you could've lost yourself in that feeling, the heat, the tightness, the raw desire emanating from her. you wanted nothing more than to feel her come undone beneath you, the knowledge that it was your name on her lips, your hands on her body, the image of her coming apart for you burned into your brain.

"y/n."

her voice was raspy, low, and full of want, and it shot through you like lightning. your movements became faster and deeper, her breathing heavier as she struggled to speak.

"please. don't stop."

"i won't." you vowed.

"make me come, please."

you had never seen anything more beautiful. the way she arched her back, the way her eyes clamped shut in ecstasy, it was a sight to behold. "yes, yes, yes." she cried out.

her body was writhing underneath yours, her muscles tightening, her mouth forming words, but none of them coherent. it was like her entire world was collapsing, and she was grasping onto the only thing that mattered to her anymore, you.

"i'm gonna…"

and then, finally, she reached her peak, her hands leaving your hair to clutch the sheets as she rode out her orgasm, your name spilling from her lips over and over again. you didn't want her to stop. you didn't want this moment to end.

"oh god, oh god, y/n."

it was so fucking hot.

her chest heaved as she came down, her body trembling, her eyes still closed. she stayed there for a moment, basking in the afterglow. to be completely fair, these weren't her intentions on coming over. jimin would've been fine waiting. it was all up to you. but this? this was so, so much better.

"are you alright?" you ask, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"perfect." she sighs, opening her eyes.

"good."

her gaze is soft, full of tenderness and adoration, and she's looking at you like you're the only person who matters in the entire universe. you're sure the look on your face mirrors hers, because how could it not? how could you not be utterly and hopelessly in love with her?

you're soon tangled up again, your bodies pressed together, limbs intertwined as you try to get as close to each other as possible. there's nothing else you'd rather be doing. both bodies bare with your eyes locked, hearts beating as one.

your hand rests on the side of jimin's waist, your mouth agape as you kneel between her legs, the feeling of your cock pressing against her folds making you shiver. "is this okay?"

"yes," she whispered, her voice shaking. "i want this."

the two of you are connected by an invisible thread; every time you pull away, it tugs at you, drawing you back into her orbit, and you can't help yourself. the air between you crackles, electric. your eyes never leave hers as you slowly push into her, watching for any sign of discomfort.

her breath catches when you fill her completely, and you pause, giving her time to adjust. she takes a deep breath before nodding. "keep going," she says softly.

"i'll go slow."

you press another kiss to her forehead, and she sighs, closing her eyes. you start moving inside her, gently at first, trying to find a rhythm. her hands immediately reach out to find yours, lacing your fingers together and holding onto you tightly.

"fuck," she moans, squeezing your hand.

"feels good?"

"so good," she breathes, trying her hardest to keep you in her sights because you were a sight to behold. a selfish thought of being the only person to see you this way popped up in her head and she wanted nothing more than to hold that title forever. your hair messy, your lips parted and swollen from kissing, and sweat beading down your body. you were beautiful, and you were all hers.

"how are you so perfect?" she whispers, a hand leaving yours and reaching up and cupping your cheek.

"i'm far from perfect," you laugh softly.

"you are to me." oh.

her words send a shiver down your spine.

her words send a shiver down your spine. you're not sure how to respond to that, but luckily you don't have to, because she pulls you down for another kiss. it's slower this time, less urgent. her tongue slides over yours as her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into her, and you groan into her mouth. she swallows the sound eagerly, biting your bottom lip and tugging on it lightly before letting go.

your head ducks into the crook of her neck, her scent overwhelming you. "jimin." you murmur against her skin. she responds by running a hand through your hair, her nails scratching your scalp, taking the opportunity to pepper kisses on the side of your face and neck.

the rhythm of your thrusts grows faster and deeper, the tension building, coiling in the pit of your stomach, and you're struggling to maintain control, not wanting to end everything too soon. her body is flush against yours, her hips rising to meet yours as you rock into her, her breath hot against your ear.

"you're doing so good, baby," she murmurs, her voice low and husky. "so good for me."

those words alone nearly undo you, and you moan, burying your face deeper into her neck, her praise washing over you like warm water. she knows what it does to you, and she uses it against you, whispering encouragements, telling you how beautiful you are, how much she loves feeling you inside her.

your hand slides down her body, reaching between the two of you to find her clit. she gasps as your fingers brush over the sensitive nub, her grip tightening in yours, her legs squeezing tighter, her toes curling.

you continue to work her clit as your thrusts grow erratic, and you can feel her tightening around you, her muscles beginning to contract. her body writhes beneath yours, her back arching, her moans getting louder and louder until she lets out a broken cry, her walls clamping down on your cock, and you can't hold back any longer, a white-hot burst of pleasure shooting through you as your climax crashes into her.

her name falls from your lips as she comes undone beneath you, the two of you reaching a high that's impossible to describe, the pleasure overwhelming and intense, sending waves of euphoria throughout your body, leaving you breathless and panting. you ride out your orgasm together, holding onto each other tightly, never wanting to let go.

after a while, the two of you eventually separate, the need to catch your breath becoming too much. she lies beside you, her head resting on your chest, her hair splayed out across the pillow. your heart pounds beneath her ear, and you're sure she can feel it, too, but neither of you mentions it.

instead, you wrap your arm around her, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"y/n," she finally mumbles, her eyes still closed, her body relaxing into yours.

"yeah?"

"i don't want this to end."

you pause, your fingers freezing mid-trail on her back. you don't want this to end, either. not now, not ever. the thought of it twists something deep in your chest. you want her in your life, in whatever way you can have her, even if that means settling for stolen moments here and there.

"i don't either," you admit softly.

jimin lifts her head slightly, her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, she looks like she might cry. instead, she lets out a shaky breath, leaning in and pressing her forehead against yours, her nose brushing against yours.

suddenly, her head lifts again. "then let's not," she says quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "i know it's not that simple, but we can… i don't know. we can make it work, right?"

the desperation in her tone, the way her eyes search yours, the way her breath hitches, it all hits you in a wave. how much this means to her, how much you mean to her. she doesn't want this to end any more than you do, and that's enough.

you brush a strand of hair away from her face, offering her a small smile. "i want to. more than anything. but it's going to take effort—real effort."

"i know," she says, nodding a little too quickly.

"but we're good at effort, right? like, we both put our all into everything we do. why can't we do that here, too?" she pauses, searching your eyes as if looking for reassurance. "i just—i don't want us to lose this because of, like… logistics or schedules or whatever. that's so stupid. we're better than that."

you chuckle, and she glares at you, a fist jokingly threatening to punch your arm. you raise your hands defensively, trying not to laugh, which only makes her pout more. it's hard to take her seriously when she looks so cute.

"we can. i'll do anything it takes."

her face softens, and a smile spreads across her lips. "me too."

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next.

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sunshineangel0 · 2 months ago

Text

loving you, flaws and all (maknae line)

pairing- stray kids ot8 x reader summary- Your skin has never been perfect, and sometimes, the insecurities weigh you down. But each member of Stray Kids loves you in their own way, showing you that beauty isn’t just about clear skin—it’s about who you are. Through soft moments of reassurance, warmth, and genuine love, they remind you that your acne and scars don’t define you. genre- romance, slice of life, comfort, fluff word count- 1,7k (300-500 words each) warnings- mentions of acne, insecurities, self doubt, protective and affectionate stray kids members, pure wholesome content 🥰 a/n- i was feeling insecure today because of a little flare up so i wrote this. i hope it helps whoever it may need, too. remember, you are perfect no matter how much you brain tells you on insecure days that youre not. hyung line

jisung

You sighed, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The acne on your cheeks was particularly red today, standing out more than usual, and no amount of skincare seemed to be working. A frustrated groan left your lips as you dragged yourself over to your bed, flopping down face-first into your pillow.

From his spot beside you, Han barely stirred. He’d been lying there scrolling on his phone, but the moment he heard your dramatic sigh, he lowered it, peeking at you with sleepy curiosity.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he mumbled, reaching out to poke your side lazily. You groaned into your pillow before turning your head to look at him. “My skin is awful today.”

Han frowned, rolling over so that he was half on top of you, resting his chin on your stomach. “Says who?” “Says my mirror,” you muttered.

Han gasped, clutching his chest like you had just insulted him personally. “Your mirror is a liar.” You gave him a skeptical look. “Oh yeah? And what do you see?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, his face way too close for comfort. “I see my ridiculously pretty girlfriend who has the softest cheeks, the prettiest eyes, and the cutest little pout ever.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jisung—”

“Shh.” He booped your nose, his grin only widening. “I’m proving a point.”

Before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your nose. Then your cheek.

“Jisung—”

“Nope, not done.” He kissed the other cheek, then your temple, before moving lower, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, trailing down to your chin. You squirmed beneath him, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous,” you giggled.

Han pulled back just enough to grin down at you, eyes twinkling. You sighed, feigning exasperation, but the way your heart swelled at his words gave you away. “Unfortunately, I do love you.”

Han gasped dramatically again, rolling onto his back with a hand over his heart.

“Finally, you admit it. I, Han Jisung, am irresistible.” You snorted, reaching over to smack his arm lightly. “Okay, don’t push it.”

Han laughed, grabbing your hand before you could pull away and pressing one last kiss to your knuckles. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “For real, though… you’re beautiful, baby. Even on days you don’t feel like it.”

Your cheeks warmed—not from embarrassment, but from the overwhelming love you felt for the boy beside you.

Jisung grinned again. “And if you don’t believe me, I’ll just have to keep proving it.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him.

felix

It was late at night, and the room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside. The fairy lights strung across the walls cast a warm glow, painting the space in shades of gold and amber. You lay in bed beside Felix, your back turned to him, staring at the shadows stretching across the ceiling.

Felix had been watching you for a while now, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your arm. His touch was gentle, grounding. “You’re quiet,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep but still laced with concern.

You sighed. “Just thinking.”

Felix shifted closer, his chest pressing against your back. His warmth surrounded you, making it harder to keep your thoughts at bay. “About what?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, but the words pressed against your throat, too heavy to swallow down. “My scars,” you admitted. “They make me feel… less.”

Felix stilled behind you. He didn’t speak right away, and for a moment, you wondered if you had said too much. But then, slowly, carefully, he reached out and turned you onto your back so you were facing him. His dark eyes searched yours, soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“Less?” he repeated, his brows furrowing. “Angel, how could you ever think that?”

You looked away, fingers curling into the sheets. “Because they’re a reminder of all the things I can’t change. No matter what I do, they won’t go away.” Your voice wavered at the end, a confession you weren’t sure you had meant to say out loud.

Felix’s expression softened even more—if that was even possible. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trailed down to your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice so soft, so careful, like he was handling something fragile.

You nodded.

“When I look at the stars,” he murmured, “I don’t see flaws. I see something timeless, something beautiful.” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “Your scars, your skin… they remind me of constellations. They tell a story. And that story is you.”

Your breath hitched. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you tried to blink them away, but one slipped down your cheek. Felix caught it with his thumb, his lips parting slightly as if the sight physically pained him.

“Lix…” you whispered.

Without hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, letting his lips rest there for a moment longer than necessary. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin. “Every part of you.”

That was all it took for the dam to break. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as more tears spilled over. He held you tightly, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back.

“I love you too,” you whispered, the words muffled against his hoodie.

Felix only pulled you closer, like he was trying to shield you from your own thoughts, like he was making a silent promise to remind you of your worth every single day.

seungmin

Seungmin was lounging on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through something that had his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He looked completely relaxed, like he had no worries in the world. Meanwhile, you were sitting across from him in front of the mirror, fingers hovering over your skin, absentmindedly picking at a blemish.

“Stop that,” he said flatly, without even looking up.

You sighed, but didn’t drop your hand. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he deadpanned. “You always do that when you’re stressed.”

Your fingers froze mid-motion. You turned to look at him, pouting slightly. “It’s just annoying. I feel like my skin never gets better.”

Seungmin finally looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. “So what?”

You blinked. “What do you mean, ‘so what’?”

He shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “You act like it changes who you are. It doesn’t.”

You frowned. “I know that, but—”

“No ‘buts,’” he interrupted, setting his phone down and standing up. He crossed the room in a few steps, coming to stand in front of you. Without warning, he cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

Seungmin’s expression was unreadable, his dark eyes steady and unwavering. “You’re still the same person I fell in love with,” he said simply. “The same person who makes dumb jokes, who sings off-key even when I beg them not to, who always steals my hoodies and then pretends they don’t know where they went.”

You giggled despite yourself. “That’s because your hoodies are comfortable.”

“Exactly.” He smirked slightly. “Just like you, no matter what your skin looks like.”

You let out a small breath, the warmth in his voice sinking into your bones. Seungmin wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, and that made his words hit even harder. He wasn’t just saying this to make you feel better—he meant it.

Your lips quirked up slightly. “You’re annoyingly sweet sometimes, you know that?”

Seungmin rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “Only for you.”

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, quick and soft. “Now,” he said, pulling back, “stop picking at your face, or I’ll start flicking your forehead every time I catch you doing it.”

You groaned, tilting your head back. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Seungmin smirked, ruffling your hair like the absolute menace he was. “And yet, here you are, still in love with me.”

You swatted his hand away but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah, yeah. You win.”

“Obviously,” he said, already grabbing his phone again like he hadn’t just completely dismantled your insecurities in under two minutes.

jeongin

Jeongin had always called you pretty.

At first, you assumed it was just because he was naturally affectionate, the way he casually complimented his friends and always had something sweet to say. But over time, you started to realize—he really meant it.

He said it when you were dressed up for a date, eyes shining under the glow of city lights. He said it when you were wearing pajamas with messy hair, rubbing sleep from your eyes. He said it when you were grumpy, when you were laughing, when you were completely distracted by something else. And he said it on days like today.

You were curled up on the couch, scrolling through pictures on your phone, lost in the endless spiral of perfect skin, flawless complexions, people who looked effortlessly beautiful.

Jeongin, who had been sitting beside you with his head on your shoulder, peeked at your screen and immediately frowned. “What are you looking at?”

You sighed. “Just… people who have flawless skin.”

He pulled back slightly, turning to face you with an exaggerated pout. “But you’re already the prettiest person ever. Why compare?”

You scoffed, shutting your phone off. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

Jeongin gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Excuse me, I would never lie about something this serious.”

You giggled despite yourself. “Oh, it’s serious now?”

“Of course,” he said, crossing his arms with a huff. “My partner being the most beautiful person in the world is a fact.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you by curling into a small smile. “You’re too sweet.”

Jeongin grinned, and before you could react, he tackled you, wrapping his arms around you and squishing you in a tight hug. He nuzzled into your shoulder, his voice muffled against your sweater. “You’re my favorite person,” he murmured. “Nothing about your skin changes that.”

Your breath hitched, your heart swelling in your chest.

He didn’t say it to make you feel better, not as some empty reassurance—he just said it because he meant it.

You let out a small laugh, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him tight. “I love you.”

Jeongin pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips curling into that soft, boyish grin that made your stomach flip. “I love you more.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he kissed your cheek quickly and then gasped in mock horror. “I win.”

You groaned. “Jeongin—”

“No take-backs.” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously before cuddling back into you, sighing dramatically. “Now, as my prize, I require more kisses”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his soft hair. “You’re such a menace.”

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

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tori111777 · 5 months ago

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FRIGHT AND FURY 2

Part 1, Part 3

Summary: conversations about and with your husband, Caracalla right before the second day of the games.

Warnings: spoilers of gladiator 2

Parings: Caracalla x wife!reader

You had awaken alone in your bed to the early morning light. You stretched beneath the covers, feeling the cool sheets where Caracalla had not lain with you last night, his absence pressing into you with the same weight as the silence that filled the room.

It was a morning like so many others, you got up and got ready. It wasn’t unusual for your husband to sleep in other places when he got upset the night prior or when his mind became too strong.

As your servant was doing your hair, putting into beautiful braids and adding golden leaves you stared at the empty spot of the bed. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did right not, it has never bothered you before.

As the last braid was pinned in place, the golden leaves catching the early light, you caught your reflection in the mirror. The woman was beautiful, of course she was, she was you. Of noble brith and high ranking in Ancient Rome. You are the Roman dream. Yet you also saw you as a girl.

The door swung open and you saw that it was Emperor Geta. It was either him or Caracalla as no such person could open a noble women’s door without asking. He was a familiar face, but also one that carried the weight of his own ambitions.

"Emperor Geta," you greeted him. "I hope I am not intruding," Geta said as he stepped into the room, the sharp click of his sandals on the marble floor accentuating the silence.

"You are not intruding, my lord," you replied with a small bow of your head, a gracious smile curling your lips.

“I’ve come to see if you are ready for the games today. My brother should have been here by now to lead you away.” He seemed a bit concerned about it by pursing his lips a bit. “I am sure he will be here in time soon enough.” You gave a smile of reinsurance to him.

His unease seemed genuine, though his eyes lingered on you a little longer than was strictly necessary. It wasn’t unusual for brothers like him and Caracalla to be at odds, but you did not expect the Emperor himself to arrive at your chambers in his place.

Geta's lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. "Do you miss him, my lady?" His tone was light, almost playful, but the way his eyes fixed on you felt more intent than playful. You could feel the shift in the air—the way he suddenly filled the space between you both. It made you uneasy, the two emperors have always been… something.

"I’ve grown accustomed to his late night walks," you replied, your voice cool and collected.

"Of course," Geta said, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer. "But you should know that my brother is... difficult to read, even for me." You tilted your head slightly, not quite trusting the shift in tone. "I know him well enough." You didn’t say too well, though that was the truth.

"And yet," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "even you must admit that you don't always understand him. Not entirely." He paused, letting the silence stretch between you. "And that can be... unsettling, can't it?" He was trying to see how much you could reveal about his brother. How much he could use against him.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the dressing table, though your expression remained unyielding. "I understand him well enough to know that his moods can change like the seasons," you replied, meeting his gaze evenly. "But there are things even the gods themselves cannot control."

He stepped back a couple of paces, his hands folded together in front of him. "True," he murmured. "Even the gods are at mercy of fate."

“I’m sure he’ll arrive soon,” you said again, though your voice was tinged with something less certain this time. “I will leave you to your preparations. Caracalla will surely be along shortly.” He made a show of bowing his head, a mock gesture of deference, before turning to leave.

You watched the servant outside your door close it behind him and suddenly a wave of fresh air had come into the room, even if the window was closed. The room now silent as only you stood there and could only hear your breathing.

Your mind swirled. You knew Caracalla had always been restless, but last night was different. There had been something raw in him and maybe even something raw in you for trying to help him. But what did you truly know of him, of his mind?

The second day of the games would be held later today in preparation of getting it ready as they needed to fill up the colosseum with water. Though if Caracalla didn’t lead you out to the area today it would not only be an embarrassment for you but to him as well.

And now Geta’s appearance only added another layer to the puzzle. The way his eyes lingered, the way his tone shifted with that subtle, almost imperceptible playfulness—What was his motive behind it all?

It wouldn’t be until minutes later of being left alone in your mind that the door would soon open again. You sat in a comfortable chair, facing out into the streets of Rome like how you always did.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The presence, though always commanding, was unmistakable—Caracalla.

When he entered, the light from the window caught the edge of his dark tunic, he was wearing black today, seeing from the reflection of the window. A symbol of death, but of course he didn’t know it meant death.

"I see you're ready for the games," he said, his words almost detached, as though he were speaking to a stranger. "Yes," you replied without turning. "Are you well?"

You saw his reflection twitch, his jaw tightening ever so slightly before he took a step closer, closer than you anticipated. "I’m fine," he said, but there was something in his tone that didn’t match the word.

You looked back to him and saw that he was right behind you. He did indeed look fine, his makeup being done, all of his gold glistening, and his clothes all neatly and tightly worn around his body.

You felt the need to give him a smile of somewhat. Last night conversation was left off but you dare not to bring it to the table. “Are you ready to leave for the games, my lady?” Your husband said, laying out his hand for you to take.

“As always.” You replied.

#fred hechinger #gladiator 2 #gladiator ll #gladiator movie #emperor carcalla x reader #emperor caracalla #caracalla x reader #carcalla #ancient rome #rome #italy

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littlexdeaths · 10 months ago

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maybe taking steve’s closing shift wasn’t such a bad idea after all…

older brother’s best friend eddie x fem reader

warnings: smut 18+ ONLY! robin is a ride or die bff baby, dom!eddie, little bit of brat!reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy slapping, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, cum eating

it’s a recipe for disaster masterlist.

a/n: thank you all so much for the love on this series so far!! seeing all your comments has made me so excited to keep going. and shoutout to both @take-everything-you-can and @inourtownofhawkins for letting bounce some silly name ideas off you. 💕

eddie’s promise of later didn’t come.

and you can blame the entirety of that on your brother.

while eddie had managed to sneak in your room later that night, he very quickly had to bolt before he got more than his lips on you. the male had barely managed to crawl out your bedroom window when sid barged in looking for him.

thankfully he bought eddie’s excuse of being out for a late night cigarette, but how many more excuses until he stopped believing them?

you both knew you had to be a lot more careful if you were going to keep this up. which also meant less time with your boyfriend if your brother was around.

so to say you were frustrated was the understatement of the century.

and when you had to sit across the kitchen table from them both that next morning, acting natural was harder than you cared to admit. your brother picked up on your foul mood almost immediately, which mirrored eddie’s.

“you two woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” he laughed, stuffing his face with some eggo’s.

but sid doesn’t realize the subtle truth behind his own words, which further fuels your irritation. instead of saying what you really want, you just roll your eyes before quickly finishing your own breakfast.

“well if you hadn’t barged into my room at the ass crack of dawn, maybe i would’ve slept better.”

you don’t let him get the last word before you stomp off to your bedroom.

it was saturday, which was the first of three evening shifts you’d have to cover for steve. part of you was extremely annoyed for agreeing to it in the first place, but there was no taking it back now.

saturday’s were the one day that you could spent with eddie without the presence of your overbearing brother, so that was partially why you woke up in such a terrible mood. but your attitude only persisted throughout your shift, despite robin’s best attempts to cheer you up.

“not even the charismatic powers of johnny depp in leather and denim can cheer you up, color me shocked.” she deadpans, glancing up at the tv screen and then you.

throughout your shift she’d put on all the johnny depp movies family video had to offer. but as much as you loved cry-baby walker— even he had his limitations.

“sorry robs, just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

but you both know it’s more than just that.

while robin doesn’t push you to talk about it, she definitely had some idea of what’s going on. perks of being best friends with both you and steve. so when you took your last break of the night, she took it upon herself to look up eddie’s number in the system and give him a call.

so you’re a little confused when you come back to a nearly empty store, the sorry we’re closed sign up in the window and your boyfriend leaning casually against the counter.

“uh… hi.”

it almost sounds like a question.

“don’t look so happy to see me, sweetheart.” he chuckles, pushing off the counter and closing the few feet separating you.

“no— of course i am! i just… what are you doing here?”

“well, a little birdie told me you had a bit of an attitude today. thought maybe i could be of some assistance.” he teases, before taking your face in between his palms.

and you practically melt under his touch.

as angry as you want to be at robin for prying into your personal business, you really can’t be. not when she essentially just hand delivered your boyfriend to you.

“now miss, there’s a certain… film i’ve been dying to rent. think you could help a poor guy out?”

that is how you ended up behind the emerald curtain of the adult section of the store, your back pressed against his chest as he railed into you from behind.

“is this what you needed to fix that little attitude, sweetness? just needed me to come take care of you, huh?”

you nod, whimpering pathetically as you grip harder onto the shelf in front of you. accidentally knocking numerous copies of dirty films to the floor with each hard thrust of his hips.

one of his large hands grips onto your hip, rings digging into the flesh there as the other rubs harsh circles over your swollen clit. your shorts and panties are scattered amongst the porn flicks, with his pants and boxers just barely shoved down below his knees.

you can feel him everywhere, fully stretching you out on the base of his cock. it’s all consuming and overwhelming, but everything you needed at the same time.

but your lack of response has him gradually slowing the pace of his hips, and the fingers that are rubbing your clit disappear.

“need you to answer me, sweetheart.” his lips graze over your ear, which pulls another whine from your throat.

that response has his hand coming back down, slapping against your throbbing clit with a wet smack.

“come on now— use your words, pretty girl.”

you gasp at the feeling, which earns you another slap.

“— yes yes yes! i need you, eds.”

you all but sob and his answering chuckle has you squirming his grasp, “see? now was that so hard?”

you find yourself moaning in relief when he starts thrusting into you again, barely able to stutter out a soft response to his question. but it’s better than nothing, because his calloused fingers are back to rubbing your clit.

“there’s my good girl, knew she was in there somewhere.”

you practically preen at his praise, and the wet schlick of his cock sliding into you is suddenly much louder in the small space.

“god, you’re fucking dripping, baby.” he grunts.

your grip on the shelf tightens, the wood creaking beneath your fingertips.

“— c-cause of you.”

he hums, snapping his hips even faster into yours. but the way your walls continually flutter around his cock, signals your quick finish.

“shit, shit, shit… hold it for me, okay? need to look at you, sweet girl.”

you want to cry when he slips out of you completely, but you have no time to complain before he spins you around to face him. his large hands cup under the back of your thighs, your own gripping onto his shoulders as he lifts you. using the shelf behind you for leverage, he slides back into you with ease.

his pupils are blown wide, practically swallowing the brown of his irises as he takes you in. and you’re not fairing much better, the glassy look in your eyes reflects in his own. he quickly builds up to the same pace as before, but his thrusts are almost deeper now. each stroke hitting a spot inside you that has you loudly keening in his embrace.

“that’s it— good fucking girl, let it all out, baby.”

your fingers slide up from his taut shoulders to tangle themselves in his wild hair, tugging until his lips are on yours. he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering as he nears his end.

“shit, come with me. come with me,” he all but growls.

you let one of your hands fall between your bodies, circling over your sensitive bud with a newfound urgency. but the feeling of his cock twitching inside you is what finally sends you over the edge, crying desperately into his mouth when he spills inside you.

eddie’s pleasured groans almost completely encompass your own, the male continuing to work you along his shaft until his thighs start to shake from the excursion. while his hips still, he keeps himself buried to the hilt inside you and playfully nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

you both stay like that for a while, basking in your post sex haze. he only untangles himself from you when your breath has returned to a normal pace and you can feel his warmth beginning to drip down your thighs.

eddie gently sets you back on your feet, a look of utter fondness crossing over his features as he gazes down at you.

“you should’ve brought your bandana or something,” you laugh softly, gesturing down toward your legs. “i’m all sticky now.”

he just grins, his curls bouncing when he shakes his head, “no need for that, sweetness.”

and then eddie drops to his knees, pushing your hips back against the shelf as he tongue darts out. the plastic cases creak in protest beneath his weight as he licks and sucks the mess he made from your overheated skin.

by the time he’s done your thighs are trembling from overstimulation, and your chest heaves as he helps you back into your clothes. the male presses a few more tender kisses to the tops of your thighs before he returns to his feet, now clutching one of the discarded tapes in his hand.

you can’t help but raise a brow when he looks down at the tape, then back up at you with a boyish grin.

“so, can i still rent this copy of throbbin’ hood?”

series taglist: @nailbatanddungeon @angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts @mugloversonly @eddiemunsonfuxks @munsonhoneybaby @alagalaska @creative1writings @missmarch-99 @stolen-in-moonlight

let me know if you want to join the taglist!

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #brothers best friend!eddie munson #brothersbf!eddie munson #[ the munson files ]#[ series: it’s a recipe for disaster ]

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fanfics-i-find-here · 3 months ago

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Do I Know You? Part 9

Synopsis: You get kidnapped. It’s Red Hood’s Fault. He doesn’t save you.

Note: alrighty, the votes for a darker chapter won at about 60%, which I am lowkey grateful for because I had half this chapter already written and I did not want to rewrite it. This does have themes of kidnapping, sexual assault, violence, gore, and death. Everything, aside from the kidnapping, are in the cut areas with ---- as a separator. Also for the sake of the plot, we are going to see a divide between Red Hood and Reader and it’ll all start from this chapter forward.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Sexual Assault, Violence, Gore, Death

Masterlist

A month passes by quickly, mild late fall turns into an ice cold winter. While you had been irked when Red Hood called you a tourist, he had been right. Jason planned multiple trips all across the city to see things you hadn’t in the three years you had been there. Astounding gothic architecture, beautiful museums, and picturesque sunrises on the bay. Every week he would take you to do at least one thing but there still hadn’t been a conversation about whether or not these were dates. You didn’t want to ask for fear of embarrassing yourself.

You had to mentally replace your jar with something bigger when you noticed Red Hood was missing his signature leather jacket the next time you saw him—Jason’s brown jacket resting against the back of your couch. You hated how your mind drew similarities and coincidences between them, but you just couldn’t, you wouldn't believe they were the same person. Jason treated you kind of like a princess. He was always prepared with whatever you needed with kind words and a handsome grin. Red Hood was the opposite, haphazardly showing up and quickly disappearing, a wicked smirk on his lips as he teased you about one thing or another. They just could not be the same person. Red Hood had his jacket back after you had returned Jason his. You ignored it.

In the attempts to distract your over-imagination, you would take up some spare shifts at Jackie’s. As winter drew in the sun started going down sooner, meaning you ended up walking in the dark quite a bit. Today was the first time you stayed til closing. Walking home at 10 o'clock at night in Gotham City probably wasn’t your best plan.

It’s a short walk! You had argued with yourself. You should call Jason, another part of you offered. It’s fine, nothing bad will happen, the ignorant part of you said. And you listened to her like an idiot. You were about a block from your apartment when you heard footsteps following you. A number of regrets run through your head at the sight of another person across the street walking at the same pace. You pick up speed and then abruptly stop as someone else steps out of an alley in front of you. You pull your purse off your shoulder. You were bound to get mugged eventually.

“Listen, man, you can just have it. I don’t need it.” You say offering up the bag.

A coarse laugh escapes the man in front of you, “we’re not here for the bag, sweetheart”

You feel a disgusted shiver shake down your spine. Sweetheart was Jason’s pet name for you and to hear it come out of someone else’s mouth and with such a crude tone made you want to throw up. The implication of his words filter through your mind and the bile does begin to grow in your throat. Panic rises in your mind as you try to remember what you're supposed to do. Scream something, but what was it? Any self-defense videos you have seen escape your mind. What do you do? What do you do? Instinct takes over and you turn around to run, unsuccessfully. You run right into someone, and they grab you by the collar of your jacket. You wack haphazardly at their arms, dropping your bag. They don’t even shift so you kick. You hear a grunt of pain, but your victory is short-lived when they suddenly shove you back against a building. Your back aches at the impact but you're going to go down fighting. You push off that wall with balled fists but you’re harshly pushed back against the wall. The back of your head flairs up in pain and your world goes black.

Jason was a little disappointed when he got to your apartment that evening. In the months that he’s been coming around you always had your window unlocked during your designated time slot. Not this time. You’ve locked him out and he didn’t know why. He peeked in the window as best he could. Strange. You kept fairy lights in your living room, and he noticed that they were always on when he came around. It gave a nice comforting glow to the space. They were not on right now. It could be that you were sleeping but something felt… wrong.

Please don’t hate me for this, he thinks as he starts to slowly break open the lock on the window. Your silent alarm would go off and your phone would start to ding so it should wake you. Maybe this is just a good test of that janky alarm system he got from Roy. The window popped open easier than he would have liked but he had better skills than most casual burglars. He opens the window and steps into the living room, listening. Not a sound.

She’s just sleeping, he tells himself, she’s fine. He creeps to your open bedroom door and finds your bed perfectly made, no sign of you. A rock of worry hits Jason square in the chest. He’s quick to search the rest of your apartment like he would find you hiding in a closet. Where is she?

Jason doesn’t hesitate to start a search. You rarely go anywhere unless you're with him so you must be working, or you were. It was nearly midnight, there was no way Jackie’s was open. He’s out your window and following along your usual route, scanning for any sign of you. He thinks you would have known better than to walk in the dark, that you would at least call Jason, so you were on the phone with someone. He would have come and picked you up or something. You could not have been that stupid. He nearly misses it in his rush to get to Jackie’s hoping beyond hope that you were still there but pushed up against a building he sees something. It could be nothing. The streets here aren’t exactly trash-free but he stops to check it out anyways. He stoops to pick it up and his heart drops to his stomach. It was a bag. It was your bag. Where were you?

That was the exact question you were asking yourself when you woke up. It smelled musty and gross. Your head was pounding, and a continuous ache throbbed from your back. It took you a moment to remember what happened. You go through a quick body checkup. Head? Hurting. Back? Also hurting. Wrists? Burning from the tight rope. A flash of gratitude runs through your body when you find nothing else hurts. They hadn’t done anything to you other than kidnapping. You finally make the painful effort of opening your eyes. You wince and squint despite the dim setting you're in. You’re in some kind of warehouse. You think you might hear the ocean but that could just be whooshing in your ears. It takes you a moment before your eyes adjust and you notice a man watching you. He’s short and fat, in a fancier suit than you think is necessary for the setting. A monocle sits over one of his eyes.

“Finally awake? I’m sorry for the unpleasantries,” He says voice a nasally thing, “I usually try to treat my guests with more class than this.” He steps more into the light in a strange waddle.

“But I had to make sure my men got you before your boyfriend showed up.” Your brain glitches at his words. Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend.

“Now we can talk in peace.” He continues with a grin, and you wish he would stop, teeth slightly sharp and rotting, “Now I need you to tell me where his hideouts are.”

You’re quiet, trying to take in all the information you can through the pain in your head.

“What?” is all you can muster.

“Don’t make us do this the hard way, girl. I just want information on your boyfriend, then I’ll let you go.” He grins at you again and you don’t think he's going to let you go.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” He cackles in a strange clattering way that you think you would laugh at in different circumstances.

“You sure about that. Think harder. You two have been spending an awful lot of time together.” He offers. Only one thought filters through your head. Jason.

You realize in a span of ten seconds that you don’t know some important things about Jason, like what he does for a job. Have you been hanging out with a criminal? Wait, he’s still not your boyfriend.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Actually, I don’t even know that we're dating.” You admit and then you continue, mouth getting ahead of your mind, “I mean we’ve definitely been on something you would call a date, but you could also call it a hangout between friends. We just never talked about it, and I think it might be too late to talk about it. What if he doesn’t see me like that? Like he wants us to just be friends but then it'll be awkward because now he knows that I don’t think of him as just a friend. That would be terrible. I don’t want to lose him. He's so nice to me.”

Throughout your rant the man's face drops from his proud grin to an irritated look.

“Quiet, girl!” he snaps, and you shut your mouth, “Where is he hiding out?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know where he lives but he doesn’t know where I live either so it's okay.”

“But he does know where you live.” A look of confusion crosses your face, “He’s been coming into your window.” The man offers and your face grows even more confused. Maybe it’s the headache but you're not sure you're talking about the same person.

“Who are we talking about?” you finally ask.

“Red Hood! We’re talking about Red Hood, girl. Now tell me where his safe houses are.” He says exasperated, waddling closer.

“I don’t know, honestly.” You lean back in the chair you’re tied to. “He’s definitely not my boyfriend. I don’t even know who he really is, he just eats my food.”

You notice how cold it is, your jacket missing, as the man stares at you with a disgusted grimace.

“Please I don’t know anything just let me go.” It’s a last plea because you're pretty sure you're going to die tonight but at least you can say you tried. Apparently, he takes your word for it.

“You're dumber than you look, girl. Walking around at night alone, feeding a vigilante. Shame for a pretty face like yours to go to waste.” He waddles over to a door and knocks on it. The man from earlier appears in the doorway.

“She’s knows nothing, you twat. Do what you want with her but make sure she’s with the fishes before the night’s over.” At his words, your panic from earlier in the night returns. You start to squirm trying to tug yourself free and ignore the painful aches of your body. The stubby man leaves, and you're stuck with the man of your nightmares.

-----Sexual assault, gore, and death coming up-----

A wolfish smirk appears on his lips as he pulls out a knife. You want to scream and cry and throw up. But most of all you want to live. You think about Jason and how he was supposed to take you to the oldest ice cream parlor in Gotham. You have to live. Survive. You repeat the mantra in your head as the man moves behind to cut the rope. Survive. Survive. You have to survive. The moment the rope loosens you’re out of the chair scrambling to the still-open door. You hear the man make a shocked sound. You run down a hallway and pause just for a moment as the hallway splits. It was just a moment, but it was too long. The man crashes into you pushing you up against the wall. A yelp escapes you, the ever-present pain in your body erupting. He turns you around and you gag at the predatory smile he wears.

“They always run.” He says and you feel him start to grope you with his hand not holding the knife. A sob of despair breeches your throat and then your mantra returns to your mind. Survive. Survive. You have to survive. You were not going to die like this, and you were not going to let him touch you like this either. You press your head into the wall as far as you can ignore the pain of it and jerk your head forward. A new pain blooms across the bridge of your nose but the man groans and trips backward on his own feet. Spots dance in your eyes but you hear the clatter of the knife from his hold. Survive. Survive. You spot the knife on the ground and dive for it. Your fingers wrap around it just as the man wraps his hand around your ankle and yanks. Your knuckles scratch on concrete but you maintain your hold on the knife.

“You little bitch” his grip moves up your calf and you follow your instincts. You turn and stab blindly with the knife. A scream erupts from him, but you don’t let your mind think beyond survive, survive. You stab madly. It takes you a moment before you realize he’s not moving anymore. Your eyes are blurry. You hadn’t noticed you started crying. Your throat feels sore, like you had been screaming. Your eyes clear for just a moment to see what’s left of the man's chest. You turn quickly fighting another gag. Survive, survive. You had to get out of here. Your hand tightens on the knife, and you ignore the warm, slick sensation now in between your fingers. You move quickly jogging down the hallway as you look for a way out. You don’t hear anyone else in the building. You make it to a large open area and see a door.

Please be a way out. You walk as you feel your adrenaline drop. The pain in your body returns tenfold. You keep reminding yourself that you are not safe yet. That you have to get out. You remind yourself why. Your ice cream with Jason, Darla was going to bring her granddaughter for you to meet, along with a lineup of things that you wanted to do. You had to live. You feel a hand on your shoulder and your adrenalin spikes again. Your grip tightens on the knife, and you turn and swing it. Your wrist is caught in a solid grip before it can impact anything. Not like this. You scream as you try to pull away from whoever was holding you. Your body drops hoping the dead weight will make them let go. You feel yourself sob with exhaustion as you continue to fight. Then you hear your name repeated a few times until it becomes clearer to ringing ears. Slightly robotic in nature, your blurry eyes finally make out a shiny red shape.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you. Your safe” he repeats over and over again. Red Hood. A sob of relief escapes you and your body sags against him, all the fight gone in a matter of seconds. You find no comfort in pressing your face to his chest, cold hard armor the only thing greeting you.

Jason had been a flurry of commotion once he had found your purse. He called Barbara, not even checking for a private line (the whole family had unintentionally listened in), and begged her to find you. She already knew your usual route (of course) and she threaded through the camera in the area. You had left Jackie’s around 10 o’clock and she was able to follow you for about a block from your apartment before you vanished. She couldn’t find anything suspicious in the area. She asked Jason if your phone had been in the bag. Luckily it wasn’t. While Jason had impatiently paced waiting for Oracle to do her work, Steph hopped into the conversation.

“She’ll be okay, Red Hood. We’ll find her.”

Jason had only offered a scoff at the comment to hide the fear he felt.

“Keep us posted. We’re ready to help if you need it.” Jason was shocked to hear Bruce’s voice over the coms. Despite the tense relationship with his father, Jason feels a sense of calm knowing his family was as ready to save you as he was.

Barbara had pinged your phone only a few miles north of where he was, over by the docks on the river. An old, abandoned warehouse district. She said that you or at least your phone wasn’t moving, and he was quick to head in that direction. She reminded him that the entire family was on call in case he needed help before he silenced his coms. He followed none of his years of trained procedures for something like this. Didn’t check the outside for anybody lurking and didn’t get a scan of the building to know how many people there would be. He just needed to find you. If you were hurt or worse. He didn’t know what he would do with himself. He heard the sound of a vehicle leaving and quickly found a broken window. He slipped in and found himself in what could only be the “offices” of whatever the warehouse used to be. He pulls out his guns ready for a fight and slowly follows one of the hallways. Instead of a fight, Jason is shocked to find a dead man. The chest ripped open; from a knife Jason decides. Whoever did this didn’t have much thought in it. Blood splattered across the wall. Jason only hoped that whoever did this hadn’t gotten to you.

He continues on the path he was on and quickly finds he’s following the blood trail from the body. Random drops of blood on the floor, likely dripping from the knife, held down not up. Whoever had it wasn’t planning on using it on the current path. He keeps going and then pauses before coming to a doorway. There was someone, breathing heavily and moving away from the doorway. He leans around it and sees someone slowly moving across the open floor of the warehouse. He can see the knife hanging in their hand. He takes his time creeping closer to them when he recognizes their shirt. You’d worn it when Jason had taken you to the art museum in downtown Gotham. You practically glowed in the dimming rays of sunset when you left the museum. It was you. You were alive and you were okay. Following his instincts he settles a hand on your shoulder. There was no hesitation as you suddenly swung the knife at him. He finds your eyes wild and watery as he easily catches your wrist. You scream and cry and try to pull away from him. His heart breaks and he’s quick to try and calm you. He wishes he could take off the helmet but he’s pretty sure that if he let go of your arm you would stab him.

“You're okay, everything is all right. You're safe now.” He speaks his words as calmly as he can with the helmet, words he wishes he had heard in moments of panic like this. Your sobbing slows to a blubber as you collapse against him. He hears the knife you were holding drop to the ground and he lets go of your wrist and holds you until your breathing slows to a less panicked pace. His hands leave you for just a moment as he pulls off his helmet. He drops it to the ground and his hands settle on your back and head. You wince but don’t make a sound aside from quiet sniffling. His hand gently moves from the back of your head to your cheek as he gently coaxes you from his chest. His heart breaks when he sees your face. There’s blood running out of your nose and you're still crying.

“Did they hurt you? Is anything broken?” He asks concerned. You don’t respond, just stare at him. He tugs you away from him, but your hands cling to the sleeves of his jacket. He scans over your body and finds a lot of blood. You don’t seem limp or woozy only in shock. But that was a lot of blood. His eyes drop to the blood-covered knife then to your bloody hands gripping his sleeves like your life depends on it. He thinks about the mutilated man in the hallway and connects the dots. The deep, dark part of Jason that he had been trying to bury for years crept up as a sense of pride surfaced in his chest. You killed that guy. He probably tried to do something to you, and you killed, you fought. He was proud of you for it.

That pride disappears as he looks at your face. There’s blood splattered across your face and an empty look in your eyes that makes him worry. You’re in shock. He understands what that can do to a person and he hates that it’s happened to you. His arm slides over your shoulder and he slowly coaxes you to stand and keep walking to the door. He speaks softly, “We should get you out of here, okay? Nothing bad is going to happen anymore. You're okay.”

---End of warnings area---

You’re still shaking as he pulls you outside. You barely become conscious of how cold you are. The sticky wetness on your skin only makes it that much colder. You feel warm fabric cover your shoulders and then Red Hood is holding your face. You feel something move across your skin, scratchy and rough. He talks as he rubs gently, first your face, then your hands. His words are muffled, and you feel like you're underwater and you just want to sleep. Your eyes leave him for a moment when you see flashes of red and blue. Your mind comes back into focus as you hear him say, “-have to leave, okay?”

“What?” You ask and you see a flash of relief move over his features.

“I have to leave. The police are almost here. Commissioner Gordon will make sure you get home safe, okay?” He says slowly though he shifts away from you slightly. Panic curls in your throat again.

“Please, don’t leave.” You choke out as your hands tighten on him. “Don’t leave me alone.” You plead. Your eyes water and you feel so sick of crying. He comes closer again and your nails dig harshly into his arms.

“I have to go. The police aren’t friendly with me, and I don’t want you to get hurt more than you already are. I’ll be watching, okay? I just won't be right here.” He tries to placate you but you're not listening.

“don’t leave me, please. Please don’t leave me here” you repeat. You can see the hesitation on his face but still pries your hands off of him.

“You going to be okay. I’ll be watching.” He repeats as he steps out of your hold. You weep and pull the jacket he’d placed on you tighter around yourself. You blink and he’s gone.

Moments later a few police cars pull up followed by an ambulance. A woman gently guides you over to the ambulance where an EMT does a thorough check of you. You barely respond, heart heavy with he left me. You have a shock blanket wrapped around you. You sit on the back bumper of the ambulance as you watch police officers move in and out of the building. Evidently, the docks just outside the warehouse had been a known drop site of bodies connected to the Penguin, the man that had questioned you, but they never had any evidence. An older man with a bushy mustache sat next to you for a minute before he finally spoke to you.

“I’m Commissioner Gordon. I’d like to get your statement.” You turn your head to glance at him. You think you're supposed to know the name but you can't remember why at the moment.

“You were taken as part of a human trafficking job and caused some problems, so Penguin had you brought here to be dumped.” He continues and your brows furrow. “Penguin came to oversee the matter, and you saw him, correct?” you nod hesitantly at the only question he’s asked you. “Penguin left and Ted Jackson, known rapist and murderer, started to drag you out to the docks. Red Hood intervened and killed Jackson.” You open your mouth to correct him, but he puts up his hand. “Jackson had no weapons on his body but was severely mutilated,” the knot of bile surges in your throat again, “The state of his body would leave the perpetrated in jail, despite the state of Jackson’s criminal record. Red Hood is already wanted on multiple accounts of murder. You’re a victim, Miss, not a criminal.” You realize that the commissioner is telling you what your official statement is. “You were present at the killing, that’s why you're covered in blood.” You glance down at your shaky hands, only light streaks of blood left. “Red Hood killed Jackson and brought you out here and left before the police arrived. Do you agree that this statement is true and correct as best you can?”

You stare at him and the commissioner tips his head at you meaningfully.

“Yes,” you finally say. The commissioner nods contently.

“The paramedics say you have a mild concussion and bruising to your nose. Overall, you’ll be alright. Do you have someone we can call to take you home?”

“Jason,” you say before you can think about it.

“You have a last name?” he asks as he stands.

“I…” you stammer.

“It’s okay. I'll have someone find a number. I'm going to go talk through some things with the officers. If you need anything else, I’ll be over there.” You follow the line of pointing to a cluster of cops and nod. As he leaves, he pulls out his phone. You think you hear him say Babs, but your mind brushes the strange name to the side.

Additional Note: after a few read throughs myself I realized how heavy on descriptions this chapter was with not a lot of dialogue. Sorry about that. Since this was the first time I’ve written something dark, I would love any critiques or comments on things I did good or bad at, please. No Pressure though. Thank you for reading and the next chapter is a lot of intimate comfort, so I can’t wait to finish that one up.

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @tetsuroubaby, @mrskreideprinzessin, @moonluna1215

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #do i know you?#kandywrites #fanfics-i-find-here

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hederasgarden · 4 months ago

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Memorias

Summary: Late at night you and Lucius share memories of the lives you once lived. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 1.1K Rating: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of spousal death, some humor and grief. A/N: This story is part of Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife series. It takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to my dearest B and @ryebecca for looking this over. Inspired by this ask. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

It's late, and the cool autumn evening seeps into the small cell you share with Lucius, bringing with it a chill that settles in your bones. From your place on the narrow cot, you watch him cup the flickering candle flame and extinguish it with his breath, plunging the room into a hazy, blue-tinged darkness. The bed dips and creaks as he sits, removing his sandals. You turn onto your other side, facing the wall to make room for him to slide in behind you. It’s a tight fit in a bed meant for one person.

His bulk shifts the bed as he settles and his arm drapes across your side and stomach. You sigh, grateful for his warmth. The first time you’d shared a bed like this had been awkward and tense, your sleep restless and uneasy. The only person you’d ever been so close to in this way was your husband, and it had felt wrong to have Lucius so near. But the past few months had altered so much, and though you'd never admit it aloud, you find comfort in his closeness, in his touch. It’s a silent reminder that you’re not alone anymore.

You both adjust yourselves a few more times before finding a position that offers some comfort, even as the straw of the bed jabs into your skin and the thin, threadbare blanket provides little warmth. As you begin to drift off, Lucius's breath stirs the back of your head, soft and uneven. Then, a groan escapes him, a low sound of pain from the brutal toll the arena has taken on his body. You reach back instinctively, your fingers grazing his hip in a silent question.

"I am well," he reassures you, his voice rough but steady.

You fall silent again, blinking sleepily at the wall, but after a moment, his voice breaks the stillness. "You have been quiet today," he observes.

You don’t answer him at first, weighing whether to share your thoughts. You know that if you brush him off, he won’t push. He’ll leave you alone, but tonight, you find, you don’t want that.

"The memories are...close today," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius shifts behind you, moving to wrap his thick fingers around your forearm where it rests against the bed. The gentle pressure of his touch brings tears to your eyes, and you quickly blink them away,

"Tell me about them," he says, his tone gentle. “If you wish.”

“I do not know where to start,” you admit.

"Something happy, perhaps?"

You exhale slowly, his suggestion tugging an unexpected memory to the surface.

"I was not always a fisherman’s wife," you begin, your gaze fixed on the uneven stone wall. "I was a merchant's daughter, destined for a different life. But then...I met him."

The thought of your husband is both painful and beautiful. He seems so young in your memories, even though you only lost him a short time ago.

“I was never supposed to marry someone like him,” you continue. “But I loved him. Gods…” You let out a soft, watery laugh, a mix of sorrow and affection. “And his family took me in like I was theirs all along.”

Lucius’s fingers trace the soft skin of your wrist in a comforting, quiet gesture that urges you to continue.

"I knew nothing about mending nets, or preparing and cooking fish, but they taught me everything. One night..." You pause, a lump forming in your throat as the memory comes back in sharp detail, the simple joy of it nearly too much to bear. "I wanted to make dinner for everyone. To show my thanks. I spent hours preparing the fish, the sides, everything. But..." You hesitate, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. "I was not exactly the best at deboning the fish, you see..."

"You left a few bones in?" Lucius’s voice is soft, a teasing edge to it.

“More than a few,” you admit with a laugh. "Not that anyone said anything at the time. They just quietly spat them out. I did not find out until later when he told me. I was mortified."

Lucius chuckles, a masculine, rich sound. “Perhaps I should humble myself with a story of my own,” he suggests, his tone light. “If only to make you feel better.”

“Oh, yes. That would certainly help,” you reply, turning over to face him.

You’re close enough that your nose brushes against his, and you both breathe the same air. Your hands curl instinctively against your chest while his rests firmly on your hip. Your legs have tangled together and yet neither of you pulls away. There’s no discomfort in this closeness, it’s nothing compared to the intimacy you’re compelled to share during the day to sell your lie.

“It was when I was courting Arishat,” Lucius begins, his voice dipping into a more serious tone, though there’s still a glint of humor in it. “I was young, hardly yet a man. But I wanted to prove to her, and her family, that I was worthy. The problem was, I knew nothing of farming.” He pauses. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh?” You question, waiting for him to continue.

“I rose early, before anyone else so I could complete all the chores by myself. I fed the chickens, collected the eggs, and saw to it that the pigs were well cared for. I even thought to milk the goat. But there was one problem. I did not know the difference between a male goat and a female one.”

To your surprise, a laugh bubbles up from your chest, one you quickly stifle with a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders shake and a rush of something light and airy courses through you, a feeling that’s both foreign and welcome after all this time.

“Arishat got a good laugh out of it too,” Lucius says, sounding aggrieved though you know he’s likely just as amused. It’s too dark to see his expression clearly, but you catch the flash of his teeth and know he’s smiling at the memory.

The two of you lapse into silence after his story, and without thinking, you shift closer. Lucius responds instinctively, pulling you in, his palm settling gently between your shoulder blades as he rolls on to his back. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Sharing the memories of your husband feels oddly comforting; each time you do, he seems a bit less distant, his presence warmer, more alive. It’s as painful as it is reassuring. You blink away the emotion that stirs in your chest and exhale, the heaviness easing just a little. No matter the horrors the daylight hours might bring, you know that you and Lucius will always have these moments to hold onto.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x you #lucius verus #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #paul mescal #Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife #Post tenebras lux

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bettelaboure · 2 months ago

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⊹Echoes of the Heart⊹ | Kwon Ji-yong

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

⊹ Pairing: Kwon Ji-yong x Reader ⊹ Summary: Kwon Ji-yong and a gifted K-Pop idol/reader, weaving through the complexities of fame, creative collaboration, and intense personal growth. As they compose their lives together, they confront jealousy, celebrate triumphs, and forge a love that resonates like a timeless melody ⊹ Warnings: emotional dynamics and mature themes, including jealousy and passionate confrontations, romantic passion. ⊹ Authors note: at first it started as a request and then developed into a full short story... I hope you'll like it 🤍 It have been living in my drafts for so long, that I'm scared to publish it

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The fluorescent lights of the YG Entertainment building flickered gently above as you, fresh from your morning vocal training, walked down the hallway with a mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in your chest. Today was not just another day; it was the day you were going to meet Kwon Ji-yong—better known as G-Dragon—the musical genius behind countless hits. He was the one tapped to write and produce your second album, a critical move for your career as a solo K-Pop artist.

As you pushed open the door to the studio, the sight of him hunched over a sound mixer, headphones partially on, caught you off guard. He looked up, his eyes momentarily assessing, then brightening with a warm smile.

"Ah, you must be Y/N," he said, his voice as captivating as his music. "I’ve heard your tracks. You’ve got a real spark."

You thanked him, feeling the compliment flush your cheeks. The session that followed was intense, filled with moments of both agreement and gentle debates over melodies and lyrics, but what struck you most was how Ji-yong was utterly devoted to the music, to finding the sound that would best showcase your unique talents.

Weeks turned into months, and your relationship with Ji-yong deepened. Not just in a musical sense but in a maze of late-night conversations and shared dinners after exhausting studio sessions. It was during one such night, while scribbling down lyrics at 2 AM, that you saw a different side of him.

"You don’t hold back," Ji-yong noted, watching as you crossed out line after line in frustration.

"Should I?" you replied, half-distracted.

He chuckled, pushing a stray hair from his face. "No. It’s refreshing. You’re not just an idol; you’re a real artist, fighting for every word."

That comment stuck with you, warming a part of your heart that feared your idol image overshadowed your musicianship.

The closeness bred a budding friendship, one where smiles were shared freely and touches lingered a little longer than necessary. Yet, it was all professional, or so you told yourself, until the night of the Seoul Music Awards.

Dressed in a gown that sparkled under the stage lights, you felt Ji-yong's eyes on you the entire evening, particularly after you won Best Solo Artist, an award he had won years before. His pride in you was evident, his smile genuine, and when he hugged you, his hand lingered on the small of your back just a moment too long.

In the limo ride back to the studio, where you both had planned to celebrate with a few others, the air shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

"Today changed everything, didn’t it?" Ji-yong finally said, his voice low.

You looked at him, your heart hammering in your chest. "Yes," you admitted, "it feels like it did."

As the weeks passed, your interactions grew more charged, the glances more significant. You were both constantly surrounded by people—managers, other artists, press—but it felt like you were in a bubble, seeing only each other.

Then came the day when he asked you to stay back after a recording session. The studio was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment. Ji-yong came and sat beside you at the piano, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you a sheet of music.

"Sing this with me," he said, his voice softer than usual. As you sang together, the harmony between you wasn't just in the music. It was in the way he looked at you, the way your heart raced, the realization that something profound was happening between you.

As your album neared completion, the hours you spent together increased, and so did the intensity of your interactions. Every shared glance seemed charged, every conversation seemed to straddle the line between personal and professional, yet neither of you dared to cross it completely.

One evening, after a particularly grueling recording session, Ji-yong suggested grabbing dinner at a small, secluded restaurant known only to locals. As you sat across from him, the dim lighting casting shadows that danced on his face, you realized how much you’d come to rely on his presence, his approval, his smile.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you weren’t an idol?” Ji-yong asked, his eyes searching yours.

You pondered his question, the weight of the life you’d chosen pressing down. “Sometimes, but then I wouldn’t have met you,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The conversation paused, the air thick with the implication of your words. Ji-yong reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “I’m glad you did,” he said softly.

The success of your album catapulted you to new heights in your career. Offers poured in, and among them was a role in a web series. It was a small part, but a significant one—the main character’s mistress. Ji-yong, too, received an opportunity to co-produce the show's music.

Working together in this new medium was exciting and challenging. However, your role demanded scenes that neither of you had anticipated being difficult—until the day of the shoot for a particularly intimate scene.

On the day of the shoot, the set was abuzz with the usual chaos—crew members scurrying about, directors discussing shots, and actors going through their lines. The set was dressed to mimic an opulent but modern bedroom, the lighting dim and intimate, creating the perfect ambiance for the scene you were about to shoot.

You were dressed in a simple yet elegant satin nightgown, which the character required, adding an element of vulnerability to your persona. As you reviewed your script, your fingers trembled slightly—not from nervousness of performing, but from the awareness of Ji-yong's gaze fixed on you, his expression a mask of professionalism tinged with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.

The director called for silence, and you took your position on the bed. The actor playing your lover joined you, his demeanor respectful yet distant, aware of the delicate nature of the scene.

"Action!" the director called.

You began, your voice soft but clear, "Isn't this what you wanted?" Your character teased, tracing a finger down the actor's chest, feigning a coyness that felt foreign to you. "To see me like this, vulnerable only for you?"

Ji-yong watched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Each line you delivered, each touch you simulated, felt to him like a small betrayal, even though his mind screamed it was all pretend.

Your next line came out as a whisper, meant only for your scene partner but loud enough for the mics and Ji-yong's keen ears, "I could be yours if you just asked me to," you murmured, leaning in for the scripted kiss.

The cameras captured every nuance of the interaction—the hesitancy in your eyes that wasn't part of the script, the slight catch in your breath as you delivered your lines. It was professional, yet something in your performance was too real, too palpable.

As the scene continued, you were supposed to simulate a moment of passion, your character's moans scripted but necessary for the authenticity of the portrayal. Each sound you made, each shift in your body language, seemed to slice through Ji-yong like a blade. He stood there, a silent observer, forced to watch the staged intimacies, his heart pounding an erratic rhythm against his ribs, a mix of anger, jealousy, and an unexpected fear of losing something he hadn't yet claimed.

"Cut!" the director finally shouted, satisfied with the take. As the crew reset for another angle, you glanced at Ji-yong, catching the tail end of a scowl before he masked it with a neutral expression, turning to discuss something with a co-producer.

Ji-yong's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—pride in your acting skills, pain at the simulated intimacy, and a burning desire to reclaim and remind you of the reality of your relationship, away from the prying eyes of the cameras.

As you stepped off the set for a brief break, Ji-yong’s eyes followed you, every muscle in his body tense, every thought focused on the evening that lay ahead, where words unspoken would finally find their voice.

The door to your apartment closed with a soft click, but the silence that followed was deafening. Ji-yong's steps echoed slightly on the hardwood floor as he followed you into the living room, his presence heavy with an energy that made the air around you feel charged.

You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back as you paused, turning slowly to face him. His expression was unreadable at first, a hard set to his jaw that you hadn't seen before, his eyes dark with an emotion you couldn't quite name.

"Why did you have to look at him like that?" Ji-yong's voice broke the silence, not loud but sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room.

You blinked, taken aback by the accusation. "Look at him like what, Ji-yong? It's acting. You know this."

"Do I?" His voice rose slightly, a mix of anger and something else—was it insecurity? "Because it didn’t look like acting to me. It looked real, too real."

Taking a step closer, you could see the slight tremble in his hands, belying the calm he was trying to project. "Everything I do on set is crafted, Ji-yong. Just like every song you write isn’t a confession," you replied, your voice steady but your heart racing.

He closed the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands gripping your arms as he leaned in. His breath was hot against your face, his words punctuated by his need for you to understand, to reassure him. "Seeing you like that with someone else—it tore me apart. You have no idea how much I wanted to be the one you looked at, touched, whispered to..."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice, at the vulnerability he rarely showed. Softening, you reached up to touch his face, your thumb brushing his cheek. "Ji-yong, I am looking at you. You are the one I want to touch, to whisper to. Can't you see that?"

There was a long pause, a moment suspended in time as he searched your eyes, looking for the truth he needed to see. Finally, his grip loosened, but he didn’t step back. Instead, his hands moved up, cradling your face gently. "I need you," he whispered, the fierceness in his voice replaced by a plea. "I need to know you’re really mine."

The words weren't just a statement; they were a confession, an admission of his fears and desires. You understood then how deeply the scene had affected him, how it had stirred fears of losing you to another world, another life where he couldn't reach you.

"I am yours, Ji-yong. Only yours," you assured him, pulling him down to seal your promise with a kiss. The kiss deepened, fueled by the pent-up emotions and the relief of expressed feelings. His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer, as if trying to meld you into him, to erase any space where doubts could linger.

As you both finally broke apart, breathless and reassured, Ji-yong rested his forehead against yours, a soft sigh escaping him. "Let’s never let anything come between us like this again," he murmured.

You nodded, the weight lifting from your shoulders as you whispered back, "Never."

The aftermath of your confrontation with Ji-yong brought a newfound intimacy and understanding between you two. It was as if a dam had broken, and all the emotions you had been holding back were now flowing freely. But with new levels of closeness came new challenges, especially as your role in the web series expanded due to the popularity of your character.

On set, your days grew longer, and Ji-yong's schedule became increasingly packed with his co-producing duties and his own music projects. The time you once took for granted became a luxury. Late-night phone calls replaced dinners, and texts filled the void left by your missing presence beside each other.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting shoot, you returned home to find Ji-yong asleep on the couch, a pile of music sheets slipping from his lap. The sight of him, waiting for you, despite his own grueling day, melted your heart. Gently, you covered him with a blanket and sat beside him, watching him sleep, the lines of stress easing from his face in slumber.

As your series neared its season finale, the public and media scrutiny intensified. Rumors about off-screen romances with your co-stars began to circulate, fueled by on-screen chemistry and behind-the-scenes photos leaked to the press.

Ji-yong tried to shield you from the worst of the tabloids’ speculation, but the stress began to show in ways neither of you had anticipated. One night, during a rare moment together, a careless comment about one of your co-stars led to a heated argument, rekindling old insecurities.

"I saw the way he looked at you during the interview," Ji-yong said, his voice tight. "Don’t tell me there’s nothing going on."

"Ji-yong, you know it’s all for the show," you replied, frustration rising. "Why can’t you trust me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. Ji-yong sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I do trust you. It’s just hard, seeing you with him all the time, knowing what everyone is saying."

You reached out, taking his hands in yours. "I only want you. You have to believe that." It took time, gentle words, and shared vulnerabilities to move past the shadows of doubt, reaffirming your commitment to each other once more.

The filming of the final episode of the series was a spectacle, with fans and paparazzi trying to catch a glimpse of the season’s climax. Your character’s storyline had reached a critical point, and the emotional scenes you delivered earned praise from everyone, including a silent nod from Ji-yong, who watched from a distance, pride overcoming his earlier reservations.

After the final "cut!" was shouted, the cast and crew gathered to celebrate, but you only had eyes for Ji-yong. Pulling him away from the crowd, you led him to a quiet corner of the set. "Let’s go somewhere just for us," you whispered, needing to escape the world and its watchful eyes.

He agreed, and soon you were driving down quiet streets, the city lights blurring past as you both relished the peace of being just two people, no cameras, no fans, no pretense.

As the door shut with a muted thud, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the shared sanctuary of your apartment. Ji-yong’s presence enveloped you, his proximity a palpable force in the dimly lit entryway. The quiet intensity in his eyes flickered with a blend of desire and an earnest need for reassurance, mirroring the tumultuous weeks that had led to this moment.

"I need to feel you," Ji-yong whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His words were more than a statement—they were a plea for connection, a call to weave your souls together in the most intimate dance. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the fervent urgency of his kiss. His lips met yours in a deep, exploratory kiss that dissolved any remaining tension between you, melding doubt into desire.

Responding to his passion, you pulled him closer, hands fumbling at the hem of his shirt. The fabric parted under your eager fingers, and soon, the cool air of the room kissed your skin, heightening the sensation of every touch. Ji-yong’s hands, now free from barriers, traced the lines of your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

The way he lifted you then was both a testament to his strength and his care; you were weightless in his arms, a cherished being held aloft. As he carried you to the bedroom, each step he took was measured, reverent, as if he were transporting something sacred. The familiar softness of the bed welcomed you, the sheets whispering against your skin as you settled into their embrace.

Under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Ji-yong’s eyes searched yours, a silent question lingering in his gaze. His fingers traced the outline of your jaw, down the column of your neck, pausing at the flutter of your pulse—each touch a word in a silent vocabulary you had both come to understand. “I love you,” he declared in a hushed tone, his lips tracing the path his fingers had set, each kiss imbuing his words with warmth and truth.

"Show me," you replied, your voice a soft murmur laden with trust and anticipation. His response was a smile, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, full of affection and promise.

His movements were a masterful balance of reverence and ardor, his hands mapping a landscape he revered, from the gentle slopes of your shoulders down to the curves that drew him deeper. Each caress was a verse in the poetry of your togetherness, each sigh a chorus in the symphony of your union. The night deepened as your dance continued, a gentle exploration of shared edges and soft murmurs.

As the intensity of your connection spiraled, you found yourselves moving in a synchronized rhythm, lost in the ebb and flow of shared breaths and heartbeats. Time became a distant concept, measured only by the rise and fall of chests and the soft declarations whispered in the sanctity of your embrace.

When dawn’s first light crept through the curtains, casting a pale glow over entwined forms, the room was serene, filled with a profound peace. Lying in the aftermath, Ji-yong’s fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, each touch a word in the ongoing dialogue of your love.

"We have tomorrow," you noted, the lightness of daybreak in your voice, a tender promise hanging between you.

"And every day after," Ji-yong responded, his voice a soft echo, affirming the infinity of your togetherness, the unending melody of your love story.

In the weeks that followed the series finale, the buzz around your performance—and the rumored off-screen romance—didn't die down. Instead, it transitioned into accolades and more offers for both you and Ji-yong. Your relationship, now strengthened by trials and open declarations of love, found a new rhythm in the limelight.

During a joint interview for a popular entertainment magazine, you both spoke candidly about working together and the dynamics of maintaining a relationship under constant scrutiny. Ji-yong, usually reserved about personal matters, surprised you by openly discussing his feelings.

"It's not always easy, but what matters is what we know about each other, not what everyone else thinks," Ji-yong stated, his hand finding yours under the table. His words, and the squeeze of his hand, were a balm to the weariness of fame.

As your professional lives flourished, so did your personal connection. Ji-yong proposed a project that would combine your musical talents, a mini-album featuring duets and solo tracks that explored the themes of love, challenge, and reconciliation—a reflection of your journey together.

The process of creating the album was therapeutic. In the studio, you both poured your experiences into lyrics and melodies, crafting songs that resonated with genuine emotion. One track, "Unwritten," became a fan favorite, encapsulating the idea that much of your story was yet to be told, open and undefined.

The album release was met with critical acclaim and commercial success, cementing your status not just as individual artists but as a powerful duo in the music industry. The public's fascination with your relationship turned from speculative gossip to respect for your work and the depth of your partnership.

With the world watching, you both decided to leverage your influence for greater good. Initiatives in music education for underprivileged children became a joint passion project, and you often spoke about the transformative power of music, echoing your own transformations.

A documentary detailing the making of your album and your collaborative efforts in philanthropy highlighted how intertwined your lives and careers had become, serving as an inspiration for both fans and fellow artists.

Years later, as you both looked back on a career that had blossomed from turbulent beginnings to a harmonious union, the legacy you had built was evident not just in the awards and accolades, but in the lives touched by your music and your story.

Sitting together in the quiet comfort of your home studio, surrounded by framed platinum records and snapshots of your journey, Ji-yong turned to you with a smile that still made your heart skip a beat. "Did you ever imagine this?" he asked, his voice soft.

You shook your head, leaning into him. "Never. But I always hoped," you replied, your hand resting over his. "We wrote our own story, Ji-yong. And I wouldn’t change a single note."

He kissed you then, a kiss that spoke of years and memories, of challenges overcome and a future still to unfold. It was a kiss that promised more songs to write, more love to explore, and endless duets in the quiet spaces of your intertwined lives.

Life, much like the music you both created, continued in waves of highs and lows, but the foundation you built together remained unshakeable. The success of your joint album had not only solidified your place in the music world but also strengthened your relationship. The public's interest in your personal life never waned, but you both learned to navigate the spotlight with grace, using your influence to advocate for causes close to your hearts.

Your initiatives in music education expanded, creating opportunities for underprivileged youth to explore their talents, inspired by your own stories of perseverance and passion. These projects brought you closer, not just to each other, but to the community that had supported you from the start.

One evening, during a charity concert, you stood backstage, watching Ji-yong interact with young musicians. His enthusiasm, his genuine encouragement, and his unwavering commitment to helping others were qualities that made you fall in love with him all over again. After the show, as you walked hand in hand under the starlit sky, you felt a profound sense of fulfillment—not just from your success, but from the real difference you were making together.

As years passed, the lines between your personal and professional lives blurred into a beautiful tapestry of shared experiences. You both ventured into new artistic directions—Ji-yong with his experimental music projects and you with acting roles that challenged and fulfilled you creatively.

On a quiet evening at home, surrounded by the comfort of familiar spaces and the soft hum of a record playing in the background, Ji-yong turned to you with a thoughtful expression. "Do you think we'll ever just settle down? Just live quietly, away from all this?" he asked, gesturing vaguely towards the symbols of your public lives.

You pondered his question, the idea of a quiet life appealing yet somehow distant. "Maybe one day," you replied, smiling. "But for now, I think we still have more music to make, more stories to tell."

Ji-yong nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of contentment and anticipation. "I love making music with you. It’s like... every song is a piece of our story."

"And what a story it is," you said, leaning into him. Your conversation drifted into plans for a new collaborative album, one that would reflect your journey over the years, capturing the essence of change and the timelessness of love.

Years later, as you both looked back on a career filled with incredible highs and challenging lows, the impact of your partnership on both your professional and personal lives was unmistakable. Sitting together in your studio, surrounded by gold records and memorabilia from tours and projects, you reflected on the journey.

"Did you ever think we'd end up here when we first met?" you asked, your voice soft with nostalgia.

Ji-yong chuckled, his gaze affectionate. "I hoped. Something about us felt right from the start. Like we were meant to make music—and this life—together."

As you sorted through old photos and lyrics for an upcoming retrospective exhibit, you realized that each item was not just a memory but a milestone—a reminder of the challenges you’d overcome and the joy you’d shared.

The legacy you and Ji-yong built was about more than music; it was about creating a life that resonated with the harmonies of love, partnership, and mutual respect. Celebrating another anniversary, you hosted a small gathering of family and friends, the evening filled with laughter, music, and stories.

Later, as the last guest left and you settled into the quiet comfort of your shared life, Ji-yong pulled you into his arms, swaying gently to the music only you two could hear. "Here’s to us, to our music, and to all the songs we’ve yet to write," he whispered, his voice echoing the promise of more to come.

You smiled, your heart full, your future a melody waiting to be composed. Together, you had created a symphony of experiences, a crescendo of a lifetime that would continue to play on, timeless and beautiful.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Taglist:@janie-osuih @szonyix6277 @chrypir @redhoodedtoad @sherrayyyyy @mirahyun @sherxoo @dilfismz @forevervibezzzz1

#fanfic #bigbang #big bang #gdragon x reader #kwon jiyong #gdragon scenario #gdragon #gdragon bigbang #kwon jiyong x reader

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