#another part of me is like . writing this stuff out and i’m like ‘actually this could be fic content and you’re not using it’

[littledykeblue]

(𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐/𝟒: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍)

──𝐌𝐘 𝐏.𝐔.𝐍.𝐊. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋;

(frontman!jinx x groupie!reader): you are what some people would call obsessive about your favorite band; and you finally get the chance to realize all of your dreams when you end up in the home of jinx lanes.

PART ONE HERE!

wc: 9k | cw: lead vocalist!jinx, loser groupie!reader, generally rough sex, dom bottom!jinx, biting, hair-pulling, dacryphillia, begging, rope play (r! tied up), vibrator (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), oral sex (r! & j!receiving), overstim, edging, dry humping, piercings, MINORS DNI.

note: i was wayyy to eager to get to jinx's part so i gotta do it now! vi is up next and im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. also holy shit somebody was getting Freaky writing this.

You would confidently dub yourself Hotwired’s biggest fan. You’ve been around since the very beginning, back when they were just two sisters in their dad’s garage, crafting the songs that would one day become their greatest hits. You were at their first ever show (at a shitty bar with a busted PA system), and you’ve kept every single ticket stub since. 

When they brought on the mysterious, masked C.K., you were there. When they had a brief fallout, cancelled their slot at Riot Fest, and went offline for six months? You were there. For every single bit of the whole stealing Sevika from her old band, Blood Feud, you were right there in every thread and underneath every discussion post.

Your collection of signed merch is practically priceless now, stuff newer fans would probably commit crimes for. You run a well-known fan blog that’s updated religiously, mostly dedicated to the band’s chaotic, blue-haired frontwoman: Jinx.

Your bedroom is a shrine. Posters on every wall, records lined up on your shelves, a glass case dedicated to your wristbands and setlists and polaroids. Everyone who knows you is beyond tired of hearing about them, and especially tired of hearing about her.

Jinx Lanes. All attitude, no brakes. She says what she wants, does what she wants, flips off the cameras while doing it. You’ve seen every stage interview, every grainy fan clip, every viral moment where she’s either flashing the crowd or starting a fake fight with Vi for fun. She’s a full-on nightmare and you are obsessed. You’ve got painfully vivid daydreams where she picks you out of the crowd, grins that feral little grin, and takes you home to ruin your life in the best possible way.

Unfortunately, that fantasy’s still just that. A fantasy.

You go to every show, sure, but it’s not like you’re balling on VIP money. If it’s not your birthday or some kind of Hotwired-related anniversary, you’re usually stuck somewhere in the middle of the crowd. Lost in the sea of people screaming her name. Completely invisible.

You’ve accepted it, mostly. The truth that the girl you’ve spent years loving from afar probably doesn’t even know you exist. And if she does? You’re just another fan. Another face in the crowd.

But the thing about Jinx is, she’s never been great at sticking to the script.

Your first actual meeting with her (outside of the brief signings where you were quickly ushered away to make room for the ridiculously long lines) is not nearly as glamorous as in any of your many, many daydreams. 

It’s early afternoon, middle of the week, and you’re leaning against your car, waiting for your latest post to upload, when you hear footsteps approaching. You glance up, ready to size up whoever’s headed your way—only to nearly choke on your own spit.

Standing in front of you is Jinx. Jinx fucking Lanes.

She’s got on these huge sunglasses and a spiked beret; neither do a great job at hiding who she is. Though, you like to think you’d be able to recognize her in a heartbeat either way. She’s looking up at you over the rim of the glasses with those big blue-gray eyes.

“Hey, could you do me a huge favor?” she asks, barely giving you time to react. “So, like—I’m kinda famous, and these annoying-ass guys have been following me around trying to get a picture. Normally I’d just cause a scene and smash their gear, but apparently I’m supposed to be on my best behavior or whatever. Look, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

She talks fast, like the words are trying to outrun each other, and you’re pretty sure you only catch about half of what she actually says.

“You’re…you’re Jinx Lanes,” you manage to get out, brain still buffering.

Her shoulders drop a little and her arms cross defensively, like she’s bracing for impact. “Yep. That’s me. You gonna sell me out?”

“No! No, of course not,” you blurt out, instantly panicked at the idea. “I’m just—I’m a huge fan. You’re literally my number one artist. I think you’re a brilliant songwriter—”

“Think I’m brilliant enough to give me a ride?”

Right. Right. You remember the whole reason this conversation is even happening and nod so fast it might give you whiplash. “Oh my god. Yes. Of course. Sorry. I’m just—this is kind of insane. Get in, please.”

You know you’re talking too fast and probably too loud, and your heart feels like it’s turning into soup in your chest. This is not how you imagined this moment going. You’re supposed to be in the perfect outfit, front row, stage lights casting that soft glow, and Jinx points to you mid-song during Pretty Punk Girl, so taken by your killer look and smooth moves that she hauls you on stage.

Instead, she’s climbing into your car, and you’re cringing as her boot knocks over some half-empty water bottle and an embarrassing tangle of receipts and snack wrappers. So much for the cool, effortless fantasy.

Whatever. Sue you for not being perfect.

You pull out of the parking lot with slightly trembling hands, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jinx is in your passenger seat. Your initial plan had just been to go home, maybe heat up leftovers and reblog a few photos of Hotwired’s last show. But now?

Now your number one obsession is sprawled out beside you like this is no big deal. You suppose that, maybe for her, it really isn’t. You’re not entirely sure whether your should be impressed or deeply concerned with how easily she got into the car with a stranger.

You hesitate at the first red light, your blinker ticking away as you try to stall and think of somewhere else to go. You can’t just…take her back to your place. That would be insane. Not because you’re ashamed or anything—everyone who knows you knows you’re obsessed—but there’s a difference between being a dedicated fan and opening the door to what’s basically a museum of her face.

That kind of devotion might be just a little much in person.

You risk a glance out of the corner of your eye and immediately regret it. Jinx has her boots kicked up on the dash, scuffed black leather creaking slightly as she adjusts. Her legs are bare and pale and stretch impossibly long out from the cut-offs she’s wearing. Your gaze drifts up to where her low-slung shorts sit, a few teasing inches of toned stomach peeking out under her cropped tee. Ink clouds curl around her navel, disappearing into the waistband. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

She's busy on her phone, thumb flying across the screen with streaks of chipped pink and blue polish. Completely unaware—or at least pretending not to notice—that you’re openly staring like a deer in headlights.

You clear your throat quickly, whipping your head forward as the light flips green. “So, uh…where exactly should I be going?”

“Right. Lemme just—” she leans over, not even asking before tapping on your car’s GPS with all the casual confidence of someone who doesn’t hear the internal screaming going on beside her. “There.”

You glance down at the glowing screen, squinting at the address. “Is that…your house?”

“Yep.” She pops the p, still tapping away on her phone. “Hope you don’t mind playing chauffeur for a bit. I’ll even give you five stars.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say, like your brain isn’t short-circuiting. “No problem. Totally normal day.”

Jinx finishes typing something out on her phone and tosses it carelessly into the cupholder. Then she leans back, kicking her boots off the dash and turning her head toward you. "Play something," she says.

You glance at her. “Anything you’re in the mood for?”

Jinx hums. “I dunno. Surprise me.”

You hesitate for half a second before asking, “Are you opposed to hearing your own stuff?”

“God, no,” she scoffs, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I love the sound of my own voice.”

You huff a laugh and scroll through your playlist until you find the first track in the “Hotwired: Timefracture Saga” queue. You don’t hesitate to hit play.

The opening guitar riff of Parallel Hearts spills into the car and Jinx perks up immediately, grinning like you just handed her a slice of cake. “Oooh, you’re going deep cuts on me, huh?”

“I’m committed to the bit,” you say, trying to sound cool and not like you’re slowly melting into the driver's seat. The idea of singing Jinx’s song in front of her in real life? Literally unreal. Your hands are already sweating.

But then the first verse starts and your body knows what to do. You belt it out with the kind of confidence that only comes from listening to a song approximately nine thousand times. To your amazement, Jinx doesn’t just let you carry it. She joins in with all the same energy she brings on stage.

The two of you blast through the first two songs—Parallel Hearts and Phantom Frequency—loud and off-key and gloriously dramatic. When the final chorus ends, Jinx turns in her seat to look at you, visibly impressed.

“Okay, wow,” she says, a little breathless. “You maybe you really are my biggest fan.”

You shrug like it’s not the best compliment you’ve ever received. “Yeah, I mean, I kinda know everything there is to know.”

That gets a raised brow. Jinx smirks, already shifting in her seat like she’s ready to stir shit. “Everything?”

You nod. Maybe a little smug.

“Alright, fan club president,” she says, cracking her knuckles. “Pop quiz time. Let’s see if you’re full of shit.”

You don’t even blink.

She fires off the first question. “What city did we play our first sold-out show in?”

“New Orleans,” you say immediately. “At a place called The Violet Room. You jumped off the drum kit and nearly broke your ankle. It was the first time you guys ever performed Despair Girls live. It was magical.”

“Fuck, all of that’s true,” she mutters, almost to herself. “Okay. What’s Vi’s pre-show ritual?”

“She does five push-ups and kisses her guitar. That’s child’s play.”

Jinx laughs. “Okay, try this one out. What’s the first song I’ve ever written?”

“Easy. I Love You, Dad. You wrote it when you were thirteen for your dad’s birthday and you and Vi performed it for him. If I recall correctly, there were tears?”

“Holy. Shit.” She flops back against the seat and looks at you for a second, slack-jawed. “You should be like an interviewer or some shit. Wait…are you an interviewer? Tabloid?”

You shake your head. “Nah. Just a fan,” you answer, drumming your fingers on the wheel to the song playing quietly now. “I found you guys pretty early on, when it was just you and Vi. I was hooked from then.”

“Alright, alright. One more. Let’s see if you know this one,” she says, leaning in like this one is going to be her real ace up the sleeve. “What is C.K.’s real identity?”

“Oh, come on! Nobody knows that except you guys and even that’s me speculating!”

She throws her head back and laughs, wild and delighted and loud, and for a second you feel a weird flutter of something between adrenaline and affection. “I know, I know. I just had to get one over on ya. I don’t like to lose, superfan.”

You can’t help but join in on her laughter. Then, you feel the sudden need to explain yourself. “I-I hope you don’t think I’m some kinda freak, now. Like, I’m not gonna turn into some crazy stalker or anything. I believe in ethical obsession…with your music! And your whole persona.”

“Nah,” she says, grinning out the window. “Kinda hot, actually.”

Eventually, the road curves around a sharp bend and there it is: a tall iron gate flanked by brick pillars, ringed with ivy, with a small keypad mounted on the side. You ease to a stop in front of it, unsure of what comes next, until Jinx leans fully across the center console to punch in the code herself. Her body brushes yours and you go rigid on instinct, hands glued to your lap as if moving them might set off some kind of alarm.

Her weight is warm, surprisingly solid. You keep your eyes forward but your gaze betrays you, flicking down to take in the bare skin of her lower back as her cropped shirt rides up. A little tattoo rests there, inked just above the waistband of her low-slung shorts. 

You recognize it immediately. It’s the grinning robotic monkey from Hotwired’s first album cover. It’s crude in a way that feels personal, a perfect fit for her. You catch a whiff of her perfume as she leans over you, warm and sweet, cinnamon-spiced and dizzying. It makes your fingers twitch where they’re clenched, white-knuckled, against your thighs.

Just when you think your heart might give out from sheer sensory overload, Jinx pulls away and settles back in her seat. “Full speed ahead,” she says, casually, and you try to follow that directive but end up hitting the gas a little too hard. The car jerks forward before you recover, easing up and offering a weak laugh. She doesn’t say anything about it, but you catch her smirk from the corner of your eye.

The gates swing open and you cruise slowly up the long, curved driveway. At the top of the hill, her house comes into view. Less mansion, more mini palace. Sleek, modern lines dressed up in stone and glass, surrounded by manicured hedges and little bursts of wildflowers. From the outside, it doesn’t scream rockstar, but the gated privacy and oversized front door definitely whisper it.

You park at the top and cut the engine, hands hovering awkwardly as Jinx climbs out. She stretches with a groan, then slams the door shut and starts heading toward the entrance. Halfway there, she turns and sees you still frozen in the driver's seat. She lifts her arms with an incredulous little laugh.

“You coming, or are you gonna sit there until I drag you out?”

That shakes you loose. You hop out, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary, trying not to let your nerves show. Jinx jogs the rest of the way up and punches in a different code at the front door before swinging it open. She steps inside first and flicks on a light.

The interior hits you like a wall of color and chaos. It’s loud and messy and perfect, a curated kind of maximalism that looks like someone raided every vintage shop in a tri-county radius and made it work through force of will. 

Sunken couches in mismatched colors, shag rugs layered over each other like someone couldn’t choose, neon signs and lava lamps and velvet posters that are definitely original prints. There’s an old jukebox in the corner that might actually work and a huge blown-up shot of the band’s first Rolling Stone cover takes up half the wall behind the couch. You see guitars hung like art and a massive wall-mounted shadowbox of ticket stubs, backstage passes, and little bits of confetti sealed in resin. A few shelves are crammed with Hotwired memorabilia, some of it rare enough that you actually gasp a little.

Jinx sweeps her arm out in a grand, over-the-top flourish. “Welcome to the madhouse. Make yourself at home.”

You step in cautiously, like you’re walking through the most holy of places. It’s hard to believe any of this is even remotely real; you sneak and pinch the back of your hand, praying you don’t suddenly wake up. 

The door shuts behind you with a soft click. All you can think is: holy shit, you’re in Jinx’s house.

You can't help yourself. The second Jinx gives the okay, you're flitting from corner to corner like a sugar-high kid let loose in a toy store. There’s just so much to take in. 

You zero in on a glass display case near the stairs, pressing your hands to the glass as you stare down at what looks like one of Jinx’s stage costumes from their third tour—the blue leather jacket with the jagged, mismatched patches and the “KISS ME, COWARD” painted across the back. “This is from the Bright Lights, Bloody Knuckles tour,” you say, breath catching. “You wore this in Chicago and then again in Paris, but the patch on the left shoulder wasn’t torn off until the Tokyo show so it’s the only one sewn on with red thread. Vi’s work, I’m assuming.”

You’re not really assuming. You know this as fact.

Jinx whistles low. “Damn. I still can’t believe you know your shit like this.”

You glance over your shoulder, sheepish, but your feet are already carrying you to the next treasure. There’s a line of guitars, none of them in cases, just propped up like art along the back wall. One of them is Jinx’s first—a cherry red Gretsch with cracked lacquer and band stickers peeling at the edges. Another is Vi’s, the body all scratched up and scuffed from a thousand drunken stage dives. 

You spot a limited run vinyl from one of your other favorite punk bands and let out an embarrassing little gasp. “Wait, can I just ask: was the whole Hollow Vow/Hotwired friendship real? Or were you guys playing it up for the camera?” you ask, pointing.

“Fuck yeah,” Jinx grins. “You probably already know this, but they were the first legit band to give us a chance. Let us open for them and shit. Total weirdos. Great energy.”

There’s a wall-mounted rack of signed magazine covers—Spin, Rolling Stone, NME, even Teen Vogue, from that one brief moment where Hotwired was just two teenage girls making their way across the west coast. “That cover got us so much hate mail,” Jinx says, sidling up behind you. “You’d think we pissed on someone’s grandma.”

You laugh, almost nervously, finally starting to feel a little more grounded in the whirlwind that is her house. But then you realize how much you've been talking, how fast, and how completely unhinged you probably sound. You snap your mouth shut before you can rattle off which Spin article has your favorite quote.

When you glance back at Jinx, she’s watching you. Just looking, head tilted like she's figuring you out. And then, casually as anything, she says, “You wanna go for a dip?”

You blink at her. “What?”

“Hottub,” she replies, already turning toward a side door that you hadn’t even noticed before. “Consider it part of my payment for the ride. I’m going either way, so if you wanna come, bring your fine little trivia brain with you.”

“I don’t—I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” you say, instinctively glancing down at yourself like one might spontaneously materialize.”Not really a, uh, car essential.”

Jinx scoffs, her smirk practically criminal. “So? Get naked. I’m not shy.”

The very idea has your brain going horribly blank. You go visibly stiff, body locking up entirely against your will. She laughs—loud and genuine.

“Okay, okay. Jesus,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “You can just go in your underwear. I’ve got robes and a dryer. It’s not a big deal.”

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The idea of being that close, in so little, with her is almost enough to make you reconsider. But you’re not dumb enough to pass this up. An honest to god once in a lifetime possibility was just dropped into your lap and you would never be able to forgive yourself should you let it slip through your fingers. 

You nod, slow and shaky, then offer a small, breathless, “Okay.”

Jinx gives you a look like she’s thoroughly amused by your entire existence. “Cool. You can go ahead, I’ll be there in a sec..” She disappears up the grand staircase, taking them two at a time and you just stand there for a beat, silently trying to remember how to walk.

You strip down to your underwear in the living room, folding your clothes into a neat little stack on the edge of the couch like that somehow makes this entire situation feel less insane. At least you wore something cute. Matching set, soft cotton, nothing too showy but still enough that you won’t die of embarrassment. 

You head through the door Jinx showed you just moments ago and find a stone hottub that looks like it probably cost a small fortune. There’s chairs surrounding it and the whole thing overlooks the equally stunning pool. 

The evening air is cool but not cold, and you’re grateful for it when you climb the short steps and settle into the hot tub’s edge.

You turn the jets on, feeling them whir to life beneath your legs, and sink in. The water is still warming up but it feels nice, soothing the weird ache in your limbs from how tense you’ve been since Jinx got in your car. You keep your arms propped on the edge, head tilted back, eyes on the stars above because it’s easier than staring down the panic creeping up your spine.

Then you hear the door slide open.

You glance up and immediately forget how to breathe.

Jinx steps outside holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and two flutes in the other. She’s changed, if you could call it that. Her bikini is leopard print and tiny, and very, very familiar. You recognize it instantly from the “Trashy Punk Drunk” music video where she sang an entire verse while riding a mechanical shark. Seeing it in person, on her body, is borderline unfair.

“Like what you see?” she asks, already grinning as she gives you a slow, exaggerated twirl. The light catches on her pale skin, almost giving her an otherworldly glow. You catch a glimpse of the small navel ring you hadn’t noticed before, the dip of her hips, the tattoo wrapping her rib cage.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“You look—uh. Nice,” you manage, mentally kicking yourself as the words come out. “Really, um. Good. Like...sexy. Really sexy.”

Jinx barks out a laugh, delighted, and finally hands you a glass before she steps into the water. “I knew you were cute, but this is adorable.” She taps the rim of your flute with hers and then sinks into the hot tub beside you, head tipping back with a satisfied sigh as the bubbles start to build around her. “You’re lucky I’m such a sucker for awkward.”

You take a long sip of champagne and try not to combust.

She reaches over to set the temperature gauge a few degrees higher, her fingers dancing casually across the digital screen, and then she settles in with her arms outstretched along the back of the tub. One arm brushes against yours. It takes every ounce of your self-control not to flinch.

“So,” she says, eyes flicking your way with a lazy smirk, “you come here often?” Despite it obviously being a joke, her voice still comes out as a purr that sends a shameful wave of arousal through you. It’s a good thing you’re already wet. 

You let out a breath and do your best to match her casual. “Can’t say that I do.”

Jinx hums, pleased, and takes another slow sip. “Glad you are.”

You take another sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles fizzle down your throat, and risk a glance at Jinx from the corner of your eye. Her legs are kicked up in the water, toes just breaking the surface, and her head is resting lazily against the lip of the hot tub. She looks...content. Maybe a little tired, in that way people get when they’ve finally exhaled after holding their breath for too long.

You turn toward her a bit. “Hey, can I ask you something kind of personal?”

Jinx cracks one eye open. “Shoot.”

“Do you, like...regularly invite strangers into your house? Or am I, like, special?”

She huffs a small laugh and stretches her arms behind her head, chest lifting slightly above the bubbling water. “Not usually. Though, to be fair, I make a lot of bad choices. So the answer’s not always no.” She glances over at you, smile crooked. “You were adorable, though. And passionate. And you don’t really seem like the psycho killer type yet. You haven’t even asked me for an autograph yet and you’re my little superfan..”

You laugh, flustered but warm. “I try.”

Jinx shrugs a shoulder, her expression softening. “And...I dunno. It’s been a minute since I’ve talked to someone who wasn’t in my band or working PR or trying to sleep with ‘Jinx Lanes.’” Her voice lowers slightly, sincerity bleeding through. “You’re very easy to be around.”

You nod. “You’re pretty cool like this, too. Just so you know.”

She nudges her shoulder into yours, that playful grin finding its way back. “Flatterer.”

You grin right back, nerves slowly unspooling.

“Wanna know something only, like, two people know about me?” she asks after a beat, turning a little more toward you, her leg brushing yours under the water. “A little treat to add to your endless trivia?”

“Obviously.”

She leans in conspiratorially, her voice a half-whisper like someone might be listening. “I actually graduated with a degree in astrophysics.”

Your jaw drops. “No shit?”

“No shit,” she says proudly, lifting her glass in a little cheers to herself. “Top of my class, too.”

You blink. “Wait—what? How did you go from literal rocket science to fronting a punk rock band?”

Jinx’s smile dims just a little, not sad exactly—more nostalgic. “Vi. I always thought she’d do something like this. Big stage, screaming fans, y’know? When the band started getting traction, she didn’t want to do it alone. In fact, said she’d only go for it with me. And I figured...why the hell not? I’d already chased one dream. Why not try another if it meant doing it with my sister?”

“That’s actually amazing,” you say, your voice softer now. “How’d you manage to keep that one under wraps?”

“Oh, I looked a hell of a lot different then and, obviously, my real name’s not Jinx Lanes.” 

“You know, you’re making it really hard not to idolize you,” you whisper. And you’re not really sure why you’re whispering. It may have something to do with just how close Jinx is to you. “Not—not in, like, a weird way. Just, uh, just like the normal amount. Because you’re so cool and so pretty and now I know you’re, like, a genius and stuff and…yeah.”

There’s a pause.

You’re both looking at each other, water bubbling around you, glasses half full and the night wrapping its arms around the deck in a quiet hush. Jinx’s eyes are a little softer than usual, lips parted slightly as if caught between a smile and something else. You think she might say something, but instead, she just leans in.

And you meet her halfway.

The kiss is slow and warm, hesitant at first like neither of you is sure how long it’s been coming. Her lips taste like champagne and spearmint, and the second your hand drifts up to cup her cheek, she sighs into it. “I do so very like being worshiped,” she says against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip.

Jinx floats over into your lap like she belongs there, legs slung carelessly over one of your thighs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her hands find your chest, sliding over the swell of your breasts through damp fabric, fingers curling and groping with open hunger. 

She kisses you again, but this time there’s no testing the waters. It’s harder, hotter, more desperate. Her mouth is demanding and slick with champagne, her hips beginning to roll slow and deliberate against your leg. The friction is minimal, but it’s enough to have her sighing into your mouth like she’s already halfway there.

Emboldened by the way she reacts to every tiny movement, you let your hand settle at her hip. The soft give of her flesh beneath your fingers is dizzying, and she doesn’t stop you when you guide her hips, encouraging the rhythm she’s building on your thigh. The way her body grinds down is enough to send heat pooling between your own legs. 

Your other hand moves up without thinking, sliding along her back and up to the base of her neck, where you find the thick roots of those signature twin braids. You grab them—not tight, not yet—but it’s enough to feel them in your grip.

Jinx pulls back just far enough to look at you, eyes bright and wild, lips swollen from the kiss. “If you’re gonna yank ‘em,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Do it hard.”

You hesitate for only a moment, unsure of your own strength, terrified you might misjudge the line and snap the tension in the wrong direction. You give a test tug, just enough to jolt her head back a little, just enough that your mouths part by a fraction. 

But it’s clearly not enough. She lets out a frustrated sound, half growl, half moan, and then she’s crashing back into you, teeth scraping against your lower lip, biting hard enough to draw the sharp tang of blood.

You gasp at the sting, the warmth of it on your tongue, and your fingers clench on reflex. You yank harder, and her head jerks back with a gasp that melts into a laugh, her grin feral. She’s loving this. She’s completely out of her mind with it. You loop one of her braids around your fist and drag her back down into another kiss that’s messier than the last, all spit and tongue and aching need.

Her hips grind down with reckless abandon now, sloshing water over the edge of the tub as her pace stutters. Jinx lets out a broken, breathy cry against your mouth, every muscle in her body going taut. You can feel the tremor in her thighs, the way her whole frame shudders, and your only thought is that you did this. You hold her like that, letting her ride it out, letting her fall apart against you until she’s gasping and trembling and grinning like the devil.

When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours. Her breath ghosts across your lips, heavy and hot, and her grin is still sharp enough to slice you open. “You’re not so shy anymore, are you?”

You don’t even have words. You’re drunk on adrenaline, dazed and reeling because your idol—your ultimate fantasy—just used your thigh to come. Nothing in your entire life will ever top this.

Jinx leans in close, nipping once more at your bottom lip. “How would you like to take this up to my bedroom?”

You nod, unable to form a proper response to the question.

Jinx hops off your lap and out of the hottub; she can’t get you out behind her quick enough it seems. “Come on,” she says, breathless and giddy, already halfway to the stairs. “Upstairs. Now.”

You stumble after her, legs still shaky, heart trying to catch up. She takes the steps two at a time, half-dragging you in her excitement. You follow with much less grace, feet squelching with every wet step the two of you take.

“Jinx,” you call, panting a little, “we’re still soaked. There’s a literal trail behind us.”

She glances over her shoulder, completely unconcerned. “So? I’ve got a cleaner. Don’t care.” Her eyes flash mischievously. “Besides, maybe I like it better wet.”

You pass wet footprints and little drops of water marking your path, but she doesn’t slow down. You barely catch the door to her bedroom swinging open before she pulls you through it and kicks it shut behind you.

The room is big, chaotic in the way only Jinx’s space could be. Her bedroom is exactly as chaotic and stylish as the rest of the house. But the bed is huge, practically a stage in itself. Thick, crushed velvet sheets stretch over it in deep, electric blue, glowing faintly under the dim lighting. You don’t even want to think about how expensive they probably are.

You hesitate, standing awkwardly at the foot of it, still very aware of how wet your skin is, how your soaked underwear sticks to your body. 

“These are fresh sheets,” you say. “Jinx, seriously—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, already pulling at the knot of her swimsuit bottoms. “You’re cute when you worry about stuff like that.” 

The bottoms peel away from her skin with a soft, sticky sound and hit the floor. She peels off her top next, tossing it in the same direction. And suddenly, she’s naked in front of you, skin flushed, thighs slick, nipples pierced with silver barbells that catch the light.

Your mouth actually falls open.

“Oh, that got your attention,” Jinx teases, climbing up onto the bed on her knees. Her breasts bounce lightly as she moves, each piercing a little glint of danger and temptation. “I’ve got one more, by the way. Wanna see?”

You can’t even answer. You just nod.

She crawls across the bed with unhurried confidence, her knees dragging soft ruts in the velvet as she makes her way to you. You stay frozen until she pushes you back, until your spine hits the mattress and your underwear makes a soft squish against the sheets.

She straddles your hips, and your hands come up instinctively to her thighs—warm, strong, slick where she was grinding earlier.

“Eyes up,” she says with a crooked grin, as she shuffles up your body, her heat growing stronger the closer she gets to your chest…your throat…your mouth.

Then you see it.

Right at the peak of her slick folds, nestled against the swollen pink of her clit, is a small silver ball. Your breath hitches hard enough to make your vision blur.

“Still speechless?” she asks, teasing, hips hovering just above your mouth now. “God, you’re so easy.”

You try to form a reply, but you’re already craning your neck, already reaching up to meet her.

Jinx lowers herself with no hesitation. One hand braces against the wall behind the bed, the other gripping the headboard for leverage as she sinks down onto your mouth, full and flush.

Her taste hits you instantly as her thighs press firm against your cheeks, framing your head. You let your hands settle on her hips, fingers curling tight.

She gasps, loud and unfiltered, then lets out a broken laugh. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, yeah, that’s good.”

The pressure of her against your mouth is intense—your nose buried against her, the piercing rubbing slick against your tongue. Every time she rolls her hips, that little ball brushes you just right. She’s so wet already, and her pace starts unsteady before she finds a rhythm, grinding slow and deep.

You moan into her and feel her thighs tense.

“Damn,” she pants, looking down at you with wild eyes, braid tips brushing your chest. “You keep that up and I’m gonna fall in love or something.”

Your only response is a groan, muffled against her, too far gone to care.

Jinx laughs again, more breath than sound, and plants herself fully down. “Go on then. Let’s see how long I can last.”

You take a steady breath through your nose before burying yourself in her, licking with a wide tongue across the expanse of her pussy. It pulls a cute squeal from her lips and she clenches her legs a little harder around you head. You set a steady pace, making sure to take your time. To commit her every sound and movement to perfect memory.

Jinx rocks her hips forward with more urgency now, chasing friction, chasing that sharp edge she’s clearly been holding back from. Her grip on the headboard tightens, knuckles pale, and her thighs start to tremble against your face.

You’re soaked with her. Your mouth, your chin, your cheeks. Her slick drips down your jaw and onto the crushed velvet beneath you. But all you can think about is that piercing.

You focus on it—rolling your tongue around the little ball at the tip of her clit, tracing tight circles around it, then flicking fast across the sensitive spot it guards. It moves with her, tapping gently against your teeth now and then with a soft, addictive clink. Every time you hear it, feel it bump into your enamel, it makes your brain stutter. You want to taste her forever. Want to see how many times that little piece of metal can make her lose control.

Jinx groans loud above you, throwing her head back. “Shit. Shit, you’re good,” she pants. “Keep that up and I’ll—fuck, that feels so fucking good.”

She grinds down harder, using you now, water sliding down her ribs and dripping from her chest onto your skin. Her piercings swing slightly with the motion, glinting in the low light.

Then her voice cuts through, rough and commanding:

“Slap my ass.”

Your eyes flick up to her in surprise, but she doesn’t slow.

“Do it,” she growls. “And none of that gentle shit. I don’t have time for that.”

You hesitate for a heartbeat—then oblige. Your hand comes up with a firm smack, the sound echoing sharp through the room. She jolts above you and lets out a loud, broken moan.

“Fuck, yeah,” she gasps. “Just like that.”

You do it again, your palm stinging as it connects. Her skin reddens under your touch, and you can feel the way her muscles twitch beneath it. Her rhythm stutters and she bears down harder, barely holding herself up now.

Every moan, every tremble, every word out of her mouth is filthy and desperate. She’s soaked your whole lower face, slick running freely down your chin, her thighs practically shaking on either side of your head. You keep your mouth open and your tongue working. Flicking, circling, teasing that perfect little stud until she’s panting, clawing at the headboard like it’s the only thing anchoring her.

“Shit. Shit! I’m gonna—oh, fuck—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You slap her ass again, harder this time, and she shatters.

She comes with a cry that tears from her throat, full-bodied and raw. Her thighs clamp around your head, her whole body locking up as she grinds down, riding your mouth through it. Her slick floods you, dripping hot and fast over your lips, your chin, soaking the sheets even deeper.

You hold her there, let her grind it all out, hands braced tight on her hips as she rocks and shudders above you. Her breaths are wild, broken little gasps, and her chest heaves like she’s been sprinting.

Eventually, she starts to come down. Her thighs relax. Her grip on the headboard loosens. She slumps forward slowly, catching herself on her elbows above you, braid ends brushing against your collarbone.

She lets out a low, shaky laugh and looks down at you, eyes glassy and satisfied.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. Her eyes stay fixed on you for a beat longer before she lets out one sharp exhale. And then, just like that, her energy flips back on like a switch. The grin spreads across her face again, wicked and electric.

“Now it’s my turn to have some fun,” she says, bouncing up onto her knees. “Also, you should really get those wet clothes off. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold!”

You sit up slowly, skin sticky with sweat and slick, your head still spinning a little from how hard she came. “That wasn’t your fun?”

“Semantics!” she chirps, already rolling away from you. She crawls toward the foot of the bed, where there’s a battered metal chest tucked underneath. She lifts the lid and immediately starts digging through it, muttering under her breath as she tosses things aside.

“No, not that one...ugh, too much effort...ooh, could be fun...definitely this one.”

You take the moment to peel off the rest of your clothes. Bra, underwear, both soaked through and clinging to you. They land in the same messy pile as Jinx’s swimsuit. Your skin prickles in the cooler air, still flushed from before, and your legs instinctively rub together, already slick with fresh anticipation.

Jinx pops her head up from the trunk like a triumphant raccoon. “Hey,” she says, holding something out of sight in one hand. “You cool being tied up?”

You raise a brow. “Sure. Try anything once, right?”

Her grin widens. “Atta girl.”

She climbs back onto the bed and unceremoniously drops her findings at the base of it: a neatly coiled length of red rope, a small black vibrator, and a strap-on with a deep blue silicone dildo attached. The second she does, you feel a fresh wave of heat bloom low in your belly. Your breath catches slightly, thighs pressing together as your gaze lingers on the toy.

Jinx notices, of course.

“Already squirming,” she says, pleased. “God, you’re so easy.”

She crawls up the bed with deliberate slowness, rope in hand. You raise your arms without being asked, and she kneels beside you, beginning to tie them to the headboard with practiced ease. The rope is soft but firm, just rough enough to remind you that it’s there. The knot is tight, your wrists held snugly apart.

Once she’s satisfied with the tension, she leans down and gives you a long, unhurried kiss—her tongue slipping into your mouth, hands braced on either side of your ribs. The kiss is slower than before, but still hungry, like she’s staking a claim now. When she pulls away, you’re left breathless, chasing the taste of her on instinct.

Jinx slides back down the bed, settling between your thighs like she’s done it a thousand times. Her palms run slowly up your inner thighs, spreading you open.

“I’m leaving your legs free,” she says, kissing the crease of your thigh, then the other. “Which is so nice of me, by the way. But I need you to be good and keep them still, yeah?”

You nod quickly, breath shaky. “Yeah. Okay.”

She hums in approval and leans in, dragging her tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, slow lick.

Your head thunks back against the headboard. “Fuck.”

Jinx grins against you, nosing in deeper. “That’s kinda the idea.”

She keeps her hands on your thighs, gentle but grounding, as she dives back in with unrelenting attention. Her tongue moves with purpose. Circling, lapping, teasing.. She doesn’t rush it, just lets the tension build as you writhe under her, doing your best to keep still even as your legs twitch with every flick of her tongue.

And when she closes her lips around your clit and sucks, you actually gasp, wrists tugging uselessly at the rope. You draw one of your knees up, unsure of what exactly you intend to do with it. 

“Already twitching,” she says, voice muffled. “You’re so fucking cute like this.”

Jinx doesn’t rush.

Her tongue drags slow and deliberate against your clit, her fingers spreading you open to get a better angle. The rope binding your wrists digs in just enough to remind you of how helpless you are like this—laid out, arms stretched above your head, thighs trembling. You try to keep still like she asked, but it’s getting harder by the second.

She hums against you, the vibration making your whole body tense.

“You’re so wet it’s dripping,” she murmurs, grinning as she looks up at you. “It’s like your pussy’s crying for me.”

Your breath hitches, and your hips buck upward before you can stop them.

Jinx slaps your cunt lightly. “I said keep those still.”

“Sorry,” you gasp.

She shakes her head, mock-disappointed, and returns to her work like you’re a puzzle she’s not quite finished solving. Her mouth is merciless: tongue circling your clit in tight, teasing laps, then flattening against it to give you just enough pressure to almost fall apart. Her fingers slip inside you slow and shallow at first, then curling just enough to drag against that sweet spot before pulling back again.

It builds. It burns. Your whole body starts to tighten.

“Jinx—” you warn, voice already wobbling.

She pulls back with a wet pop, her chin shiny. “Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Not yet.”

You whine, body shaking, the denial hitting hard. Your legs twitch, thighs trying to close, but she’s already pressing them back open, settling between them again with that same infuriating smirk.

“You’re gonna be a mess, huh?” she says, almost admiring. “Can’t even take a little teasing.”

“A little?” Your voice cracks, breathless.

She just laughs and reaches for the vibrator.

It’s small and sleek, and she turns it on to a low, steady hum before nestling it right against your clit. You jolt like you’ve been shocked. It’s perfect. Too perfect.

She slides two fingers back inside you and begins to fuck you slow, curling just right—again and again. The vibe stays pressed in place as her free hand comes to pin your hip. You can’t move. Can’t run. All you can do is take it.

The pressure builds too fast. You bite your lip so hard it almost bleeds.

“I—I’m gonna—” you choke.

Jinx immediately pulls the vibe away.

You cry out, full-body shaking as the orgasm rips away from you like it was stolen.

She grins, unbothered. “Oops. Timing’s a bitch, huh?”

You’re panting, chest heaving. “Please.”

“Oh, we’re begging already? Thought you’d have a little more fight in you.”

She repeats the whole thing again—mouth and fingers and vibe—and once more drags you to the brink only to yank it away. You can’t even form words the third time. Your eyes start to water, your hips squirming, desperate for friction.

Jinx looks up and laughs. Full, delighted laughter, like this is the best show she’s seen in weeks.

“You crying, babe?” she coos, tilting her head. “God, you’re so hot like this. Look at you.”

You try to blink the tears away, but they fall anyway, tracing down into your hair.

Her smile turns wicked. “Do you want me to stop?”

Your body jerks. “No!. No—please don’t stop.”

She hums, licking her lips. “I dunno. I’ve always been moved by begging.”

You nod, breath breaking apart. “Please, Jinx. Please let me come. I can’t take it, I need it. Need you. I’ll be good, I swear, just…please. Please let me.”

She watches you for a second, then lets out a satisfied sigh. “God, I love when you get pathetic.”

She reaches for the strap-on.

You’re barely coherent by the time she gets it situated on you: adjusting the harness, then placing the vibrator so it presses directly against your swollen clit, held snug by the base of the strap. She climbs back over you, straddling your hips, and leans in to kiss you. Slow, filthy, tongue dragging against yours.

Then she pulls back just enough to speak.

“You wanna come?” she asks, grinding her hips forward just enough to tease the tip against her entrance. “Then do it. But I’m not stopping until I get mine.”

Jinx sinks down onto the strap with a hiss, her fingers digging into your sides as she adjusts to the size, her mouth open, her brow pinched just slightly in that way you now know means she likes it. She rocks her hips once, experimentally, then twice—finding the rhythm.

And then she takes off.

There’s no buildup, no slow tease. She starts fucking herself on you fast and filthy, bouncing with reckless abandon. The sound of her thighs slapping against yours fills the room, joined by the wet suck of her pussy as she takes every inch. She leans back just a bit, bracing one hand behind her on your thigh for leverage, her other hand squeezing one of her own bouncing tits, fingers brushing over the silver barbell through her nipple.

Your mouth is open but no sound comes out at first—just panting breaths and the electric buzz of the vibrator grinding into your clit, steady and relentless under the base of the harness. Every time she comes down hard, the strap shifts just right and the toy pulses deep against you. It’s impossibly good.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so good at that,” you whine, your hands twitching with the desire to touch her.

Jinx just laughs, wild and breathless. “I know.”

She slams herself down again, harder this time, and your entire body jumps. The vibrator doesn’t let up—it keeps pressing into your clit, low and constant, while Jinx fucks herself like she’s chasing the end of the world.

Her tits bounce with every movement, small and perfect and pierced, the metal flashing in the low light. Her body is slick with sweat or maybe lingering water, thighs trembling slightly from exertion, but she doesn't slow. If anything, she gets rougher.

You’re already close. Too close. That hum against your clit and the friction where her body meets yours is maddening. Every time she grinds down, you swear sparks go off behind your eyes.

Your nails dig into your palm as you orgasm comes rushing into the edges of your body.

“Jinx…Jinx, I’m gonna—”

“Oh, please do,” she pants, breath catching. “You earned it.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come hard, almost violently, the orgasm crashing over you in white-hot waves. Your back arches, the rope around your wrists straining as you cry out, legs shaking beneath her. The pressure from the vibrator doesn't stop—it forces you through it, even as your muscles lock and your vision blurs.

But Jinx doesn’t stop.

She keeps going, riding you through it with a desperate rhythm, hips still snapping down, her moans going high and ragged now. She’s losing it, right on the edge.

Your hands twitch, helpless, overstimulated, but she’s using your body like a toy now—her toy.

Her breath stutters. “Shit—shit—fuck—”

And then she falls apart.

She slams down one last time and shudders, hard, crying out as her pussy clamps around the strap and her thighs tremble uncontrollably. She collapses forward with a choked sound, her entire body going limp against you as the aftershocks hit her in waves.

She doesn’t move for a long moment—just pants against your neck, the both of you sweating and tangled and shaking. Her breath is warm on your skin. Her arms wrap around your torso, clinging, grounding herself.

-

Later, the two of you are curled up on her couch again, the chaos of the earlier hours now a warm buzz in your bones. You're both wrapped in oversized robes—hers patterned with flames, yours borrowed and far too soft. Jinx is stretched across the cushions with her head in your lap, her damp braids spilling down over your thighs. She’s playing with your fingers, twisting them gently, brushing her thumb along your knuckles like she’s trying to memorize the shape of them.

She lifts your hand suddenly and bites down on the fleshy part of your palm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you jolt.

“Ow,” you mutter, staring down at her.

“You’re very biteable,” she says with a grin, nuzzling your wrist like it’s nothing.

You should be floating. You were floating. But now, with your head clear and the room quiet, something heavier settles in your chest. That creeping sense of reality creeping back in. The part where you leave, and she goes back to being Jinx, Jinx, and this all becomes a story you tell yourself on lonely nights to prove it happened.

Jinx stills slightly. Her fingers stop playing. She glances up at you, brows drawn together. “You’re being loud,” she says softly.

“I’m not saying anything.”

She tilts her head. “Yeah, but your brain’s shouting.”

You try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin. “It’s nothing. Just…post-nut clarity. Happens to the best of us.”

She doesn't let it go. “What are you worried about?”

You sigh and meet her eyes. She's watching you too closely.

“That I’ll leave,” you admit, “and you’ll forget I exist. That this was just…a one-time thing with a hot fan and you’ll move on to the next one. And I’ll just go back to normal life, pretending this wasn’t the best night of my life.”

In a truly humiliating turn of events, you feel the sudden urge to cry.

Jinx stares at you a second longer. Then she smirks, gentler this time. “Wow. Dramatic.”

You open your mouth, but she reaches up and tugs your face down so she can kiss you. It’s short, soft, but enough to make your heart lurch.

“I’m not gonna forget you,” she murmurs. “You’re way too fun to play with.”

You blink at her, stunned. “That’s it? That’s the bar?”

“It’s a great bar.” She grins and sits up, snatching her phone from the coffee table. “Now give me your number before you give yourself a heart attack.”

You rattle it off, and she types it in with one hand, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. The moment is cut short by a loud beep from the laundry room.

“Hey, that’s you,” Jinx says. “Clothes are done. Guess I’ve gotta let you go, huh?”

You nod, heart heavy even as you smile. She leans in and kisses your cheek before hopping off the couch.

-

A week later… 

JINX: sending u tix for our vegas show! im gonna ride u into the sunset <33

don’t worry abt plane tix either, mama’s got it handled

Another message follows a few seconds later.

JINX: see you soon, superfan ��

You don’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!!): @izzy-sevika, @shxdy0ariia, @sevikas-whore

[thesharktanksdriver]

Devils May Love?: Vergils mixtape playlist

I’m spoiling yall with oneshots cause the newest part is taking me a bit to write. Have this instead

Links: masterlist, Dante playlist

Vergil was weird, that was something you had quickly come to terms with after his grand return with Dante from hell. The two of them coming back and Vergil for the first time in 20 ish years adjusting to humanity once more after denying himself it. It’s expected he’d be odd, hell you’d be a lot more surprised and unsettled if he wasn’t.

But with all that came the fact that communicating with Vergil was hard, but even harder was Vergil communicating with anyone, you included.

But this? Well this was odd even for his standards.

Placed neatly in a letter with a sapphire blue wax seal with his first initial (you didn’t even know he had one?) is a letter, or more accurately a list.

Expensive ink curled elegantly across nostalgic yellow paper that frayed at the edges and smelled of old books. Beautiful cursive displaying the names of songs and lyrics accompanying them. It’s written with care, with an intent to them meant to symbolize and communicate something.

That was a thing with Vergil you had come to notice. Rather than voicing stuff aloud (besides complaints about Dante) he communicated mostly through gestures, silent but deliberately telling in what he thought or wanted. Yet this? Well it kinda stumped you in what he meant or wanted from you. Which was increasingly vexing as you kept reading and rereading over the letter and its songs.

This was…well for a lack of a better word romantic?

Like this entire letter thing with the nice paper and wax seal was already something out of a Jane Austin esc period romance, but the songs and deliberately written lyrics were another level. And this is from Vergil, god damn Vergil of all people.

Was this a sign of something?

Like, you’d known he’s always been a bit weird with you even for his own standards but this? Well this was on a stratosphere to normal.

You scratch your head, rereading the songs and their lyrics again.

He picked a good selection, a lot of classics that you now realize is probably the only songs he’s remembered let alone heard in at least 20 years-

You pause. Going back to the other day you remember a distinct conversation you had with lady in the van with Vergil also conveniently there as well. It was a mission gone well, and you and her were reminiscing of old times back in high school as Nico began the drive back to DMC. The old shenanigans you’d both somehow get into was brought up, plus some old hobbies and habits you both had and-

“Making mixtapes!”

At one point lady brought up your old hobby of burning CD’s but especially of making mixtapes. You used to have to be sneaky about what music you listening to since you parents didn’t like you listening to “uncultured” and “filthy” music…aka anything besides classical music. Strict parents raise sneaky kids and for this time you weren’t the exception. You snuck making mixtapes with the first couple tracks being Bach or beethoven and then switched it to what you actually wanted.

You became quite good at making them to, it was a pretty fun hobby even if the anxiety of being caught kept making you feel like you were on pins and needles constantly for just enjoying music.

But you digress, he heard you talk about the mixtapes! That made a lot more sense.

It’s not like Vergil liked you, that would be ridiculous! He couldn’t even look you in the eye half the time. This was probably his weird convoluted attempt at asking you to make him a mixtape since he didn’t know how to ask for anything and he hasn’t heard music in like 20+ years in hell.

He’d rather walk halfway across the shop to get something Dante would’ve easily gotten him plus shoot himself in the foot 50x over than ever ask for help.

But you guess this is baby steps, or rather small steps when he thinks no one will notice.

Well you suppose while still being reasonably upset about what he did to Nero (that would linger for a long while) you still knew that this was likely a big thing for him to do. To ask someone for something he couldn’t do on his own.

So you coincide…partially to that and the fact that it gave you an excuse to dust off that old hobby of yours.

“You know…the cure and depeche mode do make a lot of sense for him”

𝐄𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 - 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐞 '𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐲, 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐄𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬”

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐈 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧', "𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞"”

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐈 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧, 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥. 𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 ��𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞, 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞?

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈’𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨 - 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭, 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞.

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞? 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐱𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭.

𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 - 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐧

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐒𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐔𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐎𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐔𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐔𝐩 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦

𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐒𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐤𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐬

𝐌𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 - 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐌𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐈 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞. 𝐌𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐰,𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲. 𝐌𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐲, 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 '𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐞.

"𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮"

"𝐀𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞"

"𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭"

"𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞"

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 - 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 ��𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐈𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲, 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞.

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥, 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥, 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰.”

𝐒𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 - 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬) 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝐒𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞) 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬) 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫. 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬) 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬) 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬)

𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞

𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞. 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞. 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐄𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐌𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐁𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

Making the mixtape took a lot longer than you remember them taking to be made back then but you’d done it. Thank god YouTube existed to fill in the blanks of what you’d forgotten after about 20 years of putting aside this old hobby of yours. Though on that note maybe you’d get back into it.

There was something nostalgic and fun about making a tape when online streaming was so prevalent. Nice to hold your favorite songs in the palm of your hand in a physical manner instead of hoping and praying it isn’t a lost piece of media in x amount of years.

Oh, maybe if you dug up your old stuff you could even find some of your older tapes.

You know lady had made you a few back then. Maybe playing them would get a laugh from her from old memories.

Good times.

Your knuckles rack against the wood door to Vergils newly converted room in devil may cry. What once used to be a storage closet filled with boxes upon boxes of ammo, mementos and a plethora of cursed or objects of demonic origin was either placed elsewhere or sold to Enzo for money to afford furniture. You may or may not had chipped in to also buy furniture for Vergil, though you hadn’t mentioned or brought it up.

Was kinda weird to bring up, especially to him.

“Vergil! I-“

Before you have the time to finish your sentence the door is wretched open. Had the doors not been reinforced both in its wood and in hinges it would have surely been flung off and hit the wall with how forcefully Vergil opened it. He’d done this a few times before, he nearly ripped various doors out just because he underestimated his strength. Nicos Van nearly suffered such a fate.

“Yes?”

His face is impartial as usual. Complete wooden like a inanimate object besides how his eyes drift around you.

“I…got your playlist?”

“Yes…and?”

He looks like he’s anxiously waiting for you to say something. He fidgets with his crossed arms, fingers drumming against his forearm.

Blue eyes bore into you.

Man was he really this nervous about you helping him out in making a mixtape?

And you thought that you had trust issues…

“I didn’t know what exactly you meant at first with the playlist…”

You see his grip tighten a bit and his brow furrow. Yet there’s a look in his eyes that pertains despite whatever weird anxiety he’s having.

“But?”

“But…I think I got what you meant”

He lets out a sigh that even he looks surprised at letting out.

“I-“

Before he had to explain himself you save him from whatever shame he was holding. Pulling out the mixtape he stops whatever he’s about to say, it dying In his throat as he stared down at the cassette sitting in the palm of your hand.

“I wasn’t sure what exactly you wanted your playlist on since you didn’t specify CD or cassette but-“

Unbeknownst to you the man you stand in front of currently feels the hope in him crack and crumble like fine china in his very soul. It shattered at the sight of the little piece of plastic and tape sitting in your hand.

A hand he wished to kiss the back of even now.

He had…underestimated Dante’s taunts of how hard of an endeavour this would be.

He just didn’t expect for his curated playlist of exclusively romantic songs to be misinterpreted this way.

Though the words did in his throat yet again when seeing you offer the cassette. Soft palms extended towards him, ones he wishes to feel the warmth o-

Grabbing the small cassette he gives you a nod, a small one with slumped shoulders but one nonetheless.

“…..Thank you”

“No problem. You can come to me again if you’d like me to make more for your playlists…oh! I can also show you some newer stuff as well since you probably haven’t heard anything from the past 20 ish years". It's offered with some hesitancy but it’s still an offered olive branch. A branch that hadn’t had ample chance yet to be given to him often.

“I’d like that”

He takes that branch and holds tight. Even if this didn’t work out as expected he still got something out of this besides a bit of broken hope and dashed pride.

That's certainly something Dante hadn’t gotten with his incident regarding a playlist love confession. Something his brother babbled on about while drunk off his ass one night as Vergil found himself listening to his younger twin’s misery. It’s not like he’s had any better luck but it does make him feel a bit better he got a slight better chance out of this than he did.

“Tomorrow could you show me some new music?”

“Sure thing, I’ll try and figure out what you’d like”

“Much Appreciated”

It’s more appreciated than you’d ever know, but for different reasons to what you initially thought. He couldn’t care less about the songs, all he wanted was you and your time.

Tag list

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[barnesonly]

„all because of the wedding band on your left hand […] jealously. lust. desire. possession, even though he knew you weren't his to hold a claim on.” OH I JUST KNOW IT’S GONNA BE GOOD.

„you were something special to him. in a world where he was surrounded by nothing but blood, weapons, and death, you stood out.” That’s it. He’s got my heart already. Fuck the marriage.

Omg the setup of this is so absorbing and the vocabulary?? holy!!

„chose to ignore the fact that he was what he was. who he was.” Oh my god I can totally understand him UGHH the way someone finally treats him like a person and not a weapon… throwing up.

„you trusted he would never lay a finger on you. he didn’t. he wouldn’t.” FUCKKKK that’s IT for me!!

he wouldn’t do it if you were his target fuckkkkk need me some man who’s this loyal because—

„your life was in his hands, and he loved it.” THAT’S POSSESSION AND DEVOTION AT ONCE AND I’M SO HERE FOR IT

„your dirty little secret.” oh. my.!!! okay the way she keeps it to herself—… this is fire. AND SHE KNOWSSSS she sees the way soldier looks at her, fuck!!!

„now he had the image of you in his head, naked, with another man.” OH HE JEALOUSSSS—I just know their smut part is about to be wild.

„he wants to destroy it. he wants to grab you, take you, and fuck you through his bed” please do??? i hope it happens, please 💔

"I always come back," oh fuck me already

„consider it your anniversary gift to me." Wanna punch him in the face i’d leave the restaurant if i was her honestly.

„when's the last time he looked at you the way the soldier does every day?” OHHHHH YESSS THE REALIZATION. Thank you for coming to ur senses!!

„he wouldn't treat you like this.” OFC HE WOULDN’T!!! HE’D KILL FOR YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND CAN’T EVEN TREAT YOU RIGHTTT

imagining soldier oh yessssssss yes yes yes!!

„the man you're thinking of now could never be so insecure, so fucking pathetic” GIGGLINGGGGGG

„there's a man out there who would kill for you if you asked him to.” THAT’S WHAT I SAIDDDDDD

„would he be quiet when he fucks you, the way he normally is? or would he let himself go, let you know how much he enjoys feeling you?” OH GODDDDDDDD im squeezing my thighs on instinct!!

„You’ve done nothing wrong, right?” ABSOLUTELY NOT GIRL I SUPPORT YOUR RIGHTS AND WRONGS TOO!!

„maybe his dick is still hard from having watched the life drain from the man he was just sent to kill.” OH MY FUCKING GODDDD WE TALKED ABOUT I SAID WRITE THAT DOWN!!!! THIS FEELS LIKE THEY’RE BREAKING THE 4TH WALL HELP.

ITS HAPPENING. STAY CALM. STAY CALM.

taking off the mask oh godddddd… It’s so hot and vulnerable at the same time Im gonna pass out

HE BITES HER AND THEN LICKS IT FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! i’m such a whore for inflicting pain just too sooth it with tongue right after god i’m such a mess.

THE RING IS OFF!!!!!!! WE CELEBRATE!!!!

"you own me." i love when people come to their senses.

"you belong to me." I—again—read this as that one The Weekend line in House of Balloons/Glass Table…

WAIT ACTUALLY THAT SONG FITS SO MUCH I’m gonna think about this now „this is a happy house, we’re happy here.” NO actually tf we’re not!!

okay fuck, this is hot the way he— … the throat fucking and stuff 😣

"you're perfect." HER HUSBAND COULD NEVAAAA

„did your husband tell you how good you were?” That’s what I said…!!!!

"gonna fuck you 'til you don't know where you're at," THE WAY MY EYES WIDENED UP AND THE SMIRK ON MY FACE GREW 😭😭

his metal hand on her mouth holy fuck im so weak i told ya this part is gonna be good.

„this, you? all mine." whatever you say pretty boy

„he doesn't seem to care, grunting and wincing” LOVE ME SOME VOCAL WINTER SOLDIER FUCK YES

„I'll take care of him." I GASPED!!!

„let me take care of the motherfucker who kept me from you for so long." I GASPED EVEN LOUDER!!!!!!!!’

"do it." FUCK!!!!!!’nbnqnqnwududiwhsdu

okay so i need to say that I fucking love and adore this concept — a „good” wife who’s a nurse/doctor so basically she helps people yet she’s yearning a man who is a literal serial killer and questions her marriage just because of the way he tends to look at her—it just speaks to me. The contrast is so sharp between them and I love it. How she prefers this—something fragile that can disappear any moment when he dies on a mission—over the comfort of her own relationship, definitely more stable and… normal.

I don’t know If you plan on writing another part one day but I’d be so down to read it.

dirty little secret - nsfw winter soldier

word count: 6.6k based on this ask. disclaimer: offensive depictions/language regarding mental health. graphic depictions of violence and murder. cheating. *please note: the winter soldier willingly works for hydra and therefore bucky barnes does NOT exist in this universe. NOT associated with my pre-existing winter soldier series.

~~~

it's not like you didn't know, what with the way he looked at you.

the way he'd stare whenever your skin was exposed. a sliver of your ankle, the skin of your neck, your cleavage when you'd bend over... it didn't matter.

he would stare all the same, like you were a prized possession that he wanted but he knew he couldn't have.

all because of the wedding band on your left hand.

so he watched you, and didn't bother to look away whenever you caught his gaze in the act of him staring.

but he didn't dare touch you. that would be crossing a line.

he didn't need to touch you for you to know exactly what was going through his head.

jealously. lust. desire. possession, even though he knew you weren't his to hold a claim on.

~~~

you were something special to him.

in a world where he was surrounded by nothing but blood, weapons, and death, you stood out.

where he tore people limb from limb, disemboweled them, murdered them, you did the opposite. you stitched them back together, healed them.

you healed him.

that was the job you were hired to do, anyways. clock in, take his vitals. check his injuries. ensure he was in pristine condition to do the job that he was hired to do.

your inherent desire to nurture people, all those years of medical education you went through, all of it just to dedicate your life to tending to a man whose life was dedicated to violently executing people.

something about that thought appealed to him.

on the surface, you seemed to be a normal person. just any other doctor, any other woman. pleasant to be around, pleasant to socialize with. casual conversations with the other employees of the organization, smiles flashed at your coworkers when they walked by.

he rarely spoke to you, though. that would defeat the challenge.

defeat the challenge of trying to read you, trying to understand why you chose this job with all the work you'd done to get to where you are in life.

though he tried, he never could understand what about you drew you to this job. he knew that somewhere, deep down, you had to be as sick and twisted as the rest of them in order to work here.

to be willing to be the one who looked after him. the only one allowed to touch him. the only one who spent so much time with him excluding his superiors. the only one willing, nay, actively choosing to be alone in a room with a heartless, brutal assassin.

~~~

in the year you'd worked with him, he didn't speak to you unless he determined it was warranted. at first, you didn't know what to make of it.

when you were offered the job, you knew what you were getting yourself into. you knew the goal of the organization. you knew that you would be working with the most valuable asset among them.

you'd been forewarned, contingent on signing an NDA at interview, that he was deranged. off the rails. a psychopath.

but rest assured, he wouldn't hurt you. despite how they characterized him, you were assured that he was the most self-disciplined and self-controlled person you'd ever meet. he didn't do anything unless it was in the job description, unless it was a direct order.

it was an interesting dichotomy.

it intrigued you, the way he capitalized on his dark desires, monetized his insanity.

no way in hell could you say no to the job when it was offered to you.

so although you didn't know how to interact with him in the beginning, you were never afraid of him. even though his eyes trailed you from the second you entered the room until the moment you left. even when you caught glimpses of him covered from head to toe in blood, guts, and brains. even though you knew he was physically enhanced, had a specially-designed weapon attached to his shoulder disguised as an arm. even though he never said a word unless he deemed it absolutely necessary.

despite all of it, you weren't afraid.

so you continued to show up for work, and you continued to speak to him.

you knew he was listening. he didn't respond to your stories, didn't laugh at your jokes, didn't smile when you greeted him.

but those crisp blue eyes never left your face, never left your form.

after a while, you discovered that was his weakness. you learned to read his emotions through the look in his eyes. the way his eyes would widen ever so slightly when you got to the good part of a story.

the way his eyes would narrow when you mentioned your husband.

his gaze gave it all away.

~~~

that exact gaze gave way to his prized possession: you.

because that's all he could do. observe you.

you chose him, day in and day out, knowing what he did. you chose to speak to him like any other person, chose to ignore the fact that he was what he was. who he was.

you chose him.

you trusted he would never lay a finger on you.

he didn't.

he wouldn't.

about a month after you began work, the tides in his mind shifted. what once was a dedicated loyalty to his craft shifted to you. you became more important.

he realized he would never hurt you in any case. if a day ever came when he was told that you were his next target, he wouldn't do it.

he'd never failed a mission, not once. every target was successfully eliminated at his hands, which is why they never tried to replace him, never tried to seek out other willing talent. he was priceless, paid more than even the superiors who directed him, all because he was the best of the best. even they bowed down to him.

you, though.

forget the money, forget the protection and opportunity they offered him. he would turn on them in a heartbeat if it came to you.

he'd kill anyone who tried to come near you.

your life was in his hands, and he loved it.

he loved knowing that you knew that he could kill you without breaking a sweat, and yet, you continued to show up. he loved that everyone in this organization feared him so much that they would never even try to come near you. he loved that he was the one who dictated whether you made it through each day.

he loved that he owned you. that even though you didn't report to him, that he wasn't even in your direct chain of command, you still served him.

he controlled the breath that flowed in and out of your lungs. he controlled the blood that raced through your veins. he controlled everything.

all those thoughts, all that darkness within him, it all stayed within the confines of his mind. not a word of it was spoken into reality.

real power is best left unsaid.

but his desperate reassurances to himself that he controlled you were nothing more than an attempt at consoling himself.

he told himself he controlled your breath because he couldn't control what he actually wanted.

your pleasure. your happiness.

that's what he wanted to command.

if only for that stupid wedding band on your finger.

~~~

you knew he hated it. you knew that he didn't want to fucking hear about your marriage, about your personal life that didn't involve him. you knew from pretty early on that he wanted to be the only one allowed to look at you. that look told you he was constantly undressing you in his mind.

it's not like he ever explicitly told you to quit talking about your husband. it's not like he would even be allowed to; it wasn't his place. you were colleagues.

your husband, however, never heard about him. perhaps that was a deliberate decision on your part to protect him from knowing too much, protect him from the danger that came with being associated with such an organization.

perhaps it was because you didn't want your husband to know about him. perhaps you wanted to keep him to yourself, your dirty little secret.

perhaps you didn't want to protect your husband at all, but yourself.

you liked the attention the soldier gave you. you reveled in the way he looked at you, the way you felt like something to be desired. you enjoyed the way his eyes grew dark, even angry when you spoke about your marriage.

but that's all it was: a personal comfort to make yourself feel better.

even if it was at the emotional expense of both your colleague and your husband.

~~~

"I have to tell you, I'm leaving early today," you spoke to him, rambling on as you usually did to fill the silence. "it's my anniversary. my husband is taking me out for dinner tonight."

you glanced up at him as you said it, wrapping the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around his bicep. he glared at you as though pissed off at the discovery, yet as usual, he didn't say anything. he didn't tell you to quit talking. he didn't make any snarky comments.

but he heard you.

and he was pissed. now he had the image of you in his head, naked, with another man.

another man getting to touch you, getting to strip your clothes from your soft, delicate skin. a man that's not him getting to watch your face as you fall apart, overtaken by pleasure.

he hated the thought. he didn't want to know that another man was going to parade you around on his arm in some fancy restaurant only to take you home and touch you like he owned you.

worse yet?

it's not just the idea of another man acting like he owns you that pisses him off.

it's the fact that this other man does own you. he's your husband. you've committed yourself to him.

as he looks down at you squeezing the bulb of the monitor over and over again, he notices the way your ring catches the light with each release of your grip. that damn band pledging you to someone else.

he wants to destroy it. he wants to grab you, take you, and fuck you through his bed, ring shattered into a million pieces.

he looks back up to your face.

you don't look particularly excited about the words you're saying. you don't look like you're even happy that it's your anniversary.

you look entirely neutral, which is entirely uncharacteristic of you.

you've never spoken ill of your husband, and you've never seemed unhappy before.

this, though?

perhaps this is telling.

he watches as you continue to take his vitals and check up on a stab wound he sustained to his torso a few days previous. it doesn't bother him. pain doesn't faze him. the feeling of bleeding out is almost enjoyable, if you ask him.

he likes that you always fret over his injuries. he loves how concerned you look when you discover that he's been hurt. he enjoys how you work so diligently to take care of him, to clean him up, to do everything in your power to make him better.

he definitely won't tell you that he lets his opponents stab or shoot him once or twice just so that he gets to feel your warm hands on his skin, to see your complexion against his. to have you closer to him, to have you worry about him.

do you worry about him when he's on a job?

easy. of course you do.

you keep on talking, clearly as a means of convincing yourself that you're excited, that you're looking forward to dinner.

you're not a good liar.

at least to him, you're not.

"you need to be careful," you tell him as you re-bandage his injury. "one of these days, they'll get you real good and you won't come back to me."

your tone of voice is casual, teasing. but just as before, it's a cover-up, a deflection from how you really feel.

he's getting sick of that.

"I always come back," he speaks, gruff, voice hoarse from lack of use.

he would like to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, to remind you that nothing can possibly touch him. except, of course, he's kind of blown that cover by letting himself get injured.

he's long debated if his pride and his ego are more important than getting what he wants.

not when it comes to you.

"yes, of course, but I'd hate to see you come back in a body bag," you laugh.

real amusing.

you offer him some painkillers, to which he denies. you offer him a lot of things, a lot of comforts that he never accepts.

nothing would be as satisfying as you offering him yourself.

~~~

you sit at a table that's too small to comfortably eat at in a restaurant that's too dimly lit to even read the menu.

"don't do that," your husband reprimands when you hold up the screen of your phone to the menu to try and read it.

"I can't even see," you hiss back, but you agree, setting down your phone and trying your best to read the words without enough light.

this is your anniversary. you shouldn't be fighting on today, of all days.

when the waiter comes by, your husband orders a bottle of whiskey, top-shelf, likely hundreds of dollars.

"why the hell did you order that? I told you I have work in the morning, I'm not drinking," you remind him.

"it's my anniversary, too, isn't it?" he retorts, just as the waiter returns with the bottle and two glasses.

you just roll your eyes as he proceeds to down his first few drinks of the liquor.

"and how are you paying for it?" you whisper gently to him. you don't want to piss him off, but you can't just let it go.

"you make enough money at your goddamn doctoring job that you don't tell me shit about."

how dare he speak to you that way?

"oh, so you're paying for it out of my salary? seriously?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"consider it your anniversary gift to me."

you sigh and shut your eyes in frustration as he continues to drink. you're not in the mood to argue over this in public.

it's not like he got you a gift, either. four stupid years of stupid marriage, only for it to lead to this...

fuck.

when's the last time you told each other you loved one another?

when's the last time you had sex beyond scratching that itch, fulfilling that obligation?

when's the last time he looked at you the way the soldier does every day?

woah, okay, enough. don't go there.

you shouldn't go there. you shouldn't be thinking about another man while at dinner with your husband.

he wouldn't treat you like this.

stop this. right now, you tell yourself. it's not right.

it's not.

but you're really fucking sick of pretending like you don't just casually enjoy the attention he gives you.

~~~

so maybe you give in a little.

maybe you let yourself pretend. at home, in bed, under your husband, that it's not him who's touching you. that it's someone else's hands peeling your dress from your skin, someone who appreciates you. who doesn't see you as the person he fucks but the person he gets to have like this.

as he touches you, the room is dark enough that he's nothing more than a body on top of yours, seeking his own pleasure from between your legs.

your marriage has never felt as loveless as it does to you right now, as you realize how he's not even looking at you. not saying your name, not saying anything.

amidst the pain of realizing it's over the second he presses himself into you without any care for how you feel, amidst the guilt of pretending that it's not him taking you right now, there's a flicker.

a flicker of hope. of potential. that maybe it's not too late for you, that you're not actually tied to the man whose ring sits on your finger. that you can be more than just the person your husband mooches off of, uses to pretend like he's more of a man than he actually is.

the man you're thinking of now could never be so insecure, so fucking pathetic as to demean you by pulling out the second he's done without making sure you're satisfied.

"happy anniversary," he mumbles as he turns away from you, already falling asleep from the liquor.

except you're wide awake. the thoughts in your head are swirling, and the heat in your stomach is growing.

you're up and walking yourself to the bathroom quietly so as to not wake him, shutting the door and flicking on the light.

as you look in the mirror, you don't know what to think. you barely even know who you are anymore, just now realizing the extent to which you're truly miserable. how you don't feel seen, how you feel like a shadow in your own home.

how you feel like someone when the soldier looks at you. how you feel special.

there's a man out there who would kill for you if you asked him to.

you can't help it when you brace one hand on the bathroom sink, the other reaching between your thighs.

would he be quiet when he fucks you, the way he normally is? or would he let himself go, let you know how much he enjoys feeling you?

would he ruin you so quickly you wouldn't even know what hit you? or would he torment you, taking you apart so slowly that you begin to cry, pleading for more?

you reach to turn on the showerhead to mask the sounds of the whimpers escaping your mouth, even as you bite your lip so hard it tastes metallic on your tongue.

you imagine him looking at you with those eyes of his, the ones that never leave you, as he fucks you on his fingers until you're dripping down to your ankles.

before you know it, you're coming. you're hunched over the bathroom sink uncomfortably, your fingers struggling between your thighs.

it's awful, and it's amazing, because the thoughts of what he would do to you continue running rampant in your head.

as you hop in the shower, you tell yourself that you've done nothing wrong.

you've done nothing wrong, technically.

right?

~~~

the next morning, you can't look yourself in the eyes in the mirror.

you can't wake up your husband to tell him you're leaving, to kiss him goodbye, because you're still reeling from the night before.

you're a good person. you're a committed, devoted wife, even through your struggles. you're going to stand by your husband and quit letting the soldier ogle you because it's wrong.

when you get to work, you toss your purse on your desk and change into your scrubs. the entire time, you can't help but be overly aware of the weight on your left hand. it's weighing heavy on your heart and mind, not just your hand. you want to take it off, to relieve yourself of the pressure for the day.

except you know he'll notice if you take it off. he'll see it. it might even be so substantial that he speaks up, questions you about it.

you're stuck.

by time you gather up the courage to go see him, you're told he went on a quick last minute assignment. he'll be back this afternoon.

somehow, that's both a relief and a disappointment. you have to act normal, put last night behind you. you have to move forward.

you don't have a choice.

~~~

in normal circumstances, he goes to get cleaned up before you evaluate him post-mission.

this isn't normal circumstances. somehow, you're frantic to see him, just to remind yourself what normalcy looks like. you need to lay your eyes on him, remind yourself he's actually a colleague, not a fantasy you've made up in your head. that way you can fucking get over yourself.

you've got too many thoughts at once, all swirling around like a hurricane in your head.

this isn't like you. you need to relax, calm yourself down.

but somehow, you feel more trapped than you've ever been right now. even in this job where you have free reign, take orders from next to no one, get along with your coworkers...

the ring on your finger continues to weigh heavy, no longer a symbol of connection. just a ball and chain.

just when you get yourself so riled up that you think you might quit your job and leave your husband without a word, there he is. you're standing in the doorway of your office as they lead him down a hallway to his quarters.

he's back, covered from head to toe in blood, sweat, and dirt. he's wearing that tactical gear you rarely see him in. he looks better than you think you've ever seen.

you want to hide the way you gasp, the way you're taken aback at the sight of him like this.

but when you're there, he knows. when you're in the room, his gaze has nowhere better to be. he's far more observant than you know, reading your body language better than you yourself can, thanks to his enhancements.

he immediately knows something is different about you. how your heartbeat is racing faster. how you're not the calm and collected person you usually are.

he ditches his handlers, telling them to fuck off as he walks over to you. they're none the wiser.

he towers over you, black synthetic covering the lower half of his face as he glares down at your shocked expression, sensing the way your face heats under his watchful eye.

you normally don't respond to his gaze.

something is off.

something is different.

he permits himself to speak.

"how was your anniversary?"

the question, particularly from him, shocks you and angers you all at once. you try your best not to respond, keeping your real thoughts to yourself, as you let out a scoff and roll your eyes. the whole time, you fidget with the ring on your finger, gently tugging it up to your knuckle, and back down to its seat...

your lack of a response is just another indicator on top of your inability to hold eye contact, the way your eyes roam.

roam his face, catching the scratch on his left temple, noting the way his hair is a mess.

even though he sees everything, always maintains his composure, he's still wound up from the mission. maybe his dick is still hard from having watched the life drain from the man he was just sent to kill.

you don't know it, but he's just as amped as you are right now.

he's never crossed the line. he's never touched you.

he shouldn't do this.

but then your eyes meet his again, and the choice is made for him.

his hands come to your hips, gripping you tightly, forcing you backwards into your office as he kicks the door shut behind him. you almost trip as he walks you backwards, but his hold on you is so firm, it keeps you upright.

his eyes are pointed in a manner you've never seen before. you've seen them narrowed in confusion and in anger when you've told him your life stories, but never like this. never with all the heat in his body manifesting itself into his expression as he looks at you.

you could spend the rest of your life right here, being watched, observed, if only by him.

he's shameless as he drops his eyes from yours, down the slope of your nose to your lips, gently smeared with tinted lip balm.

did you wear bright lipstick for your husband?

what would it look like smeared on his skin?

his eyes continue their descent, all the while you make no effort to fight against it. you should push him away, tell him this is inappropriate, that you know where this is leading.

even in your baggy scrubs, he manages to make you feel naked and exposed.

you might swoon.

once his gaze finally trails back up to meet yours after what feels like a lifetime, you're powerless against the way you whine,

"please."

without hesitating, he's gripping your hip tighter in his flesh hand, pushing his thumb up under your shirt to finally feel your skin. his metal arm, little more than a weapon attached to his body, comes up to wrap itself in your hair, tugging roughly to expose your neck to him. you gasp at the sudden motion, but comply without a second thought.

his flesh hand moves from your hip, ever so slowly, to remove the mask from his face.

there he is.

you hear it clatter onto the desk behind you where he tosses it, his hand coming back to hold you tightly, fingers pushing up under your shirt to splay his huge palm against your skin.

he leans down, pressing his face into your neck, and he inhales so sharply against you that you can hear the swoosh of air. he adjusts his grip on you, holding you closer to him as he presses his lips to your flesh.

his mouth is warm, and wet, and then-

he bites down, hard.

"oh, fuck," you hiss, but still make no attempts to move away, instead finally bringing your hands to his waist, holding him in place the way he's doing to you.

he makes a noise against you as he licks over your skin where he just bit into you, and you know right now: you're so fucked.

he covers every inch of your exposed skin in his marks. he wants you to remember this, to know who left all these bruises on your delicate skin, even long after the fact.

all the need he's harbored, all the desire he's kept perfectly under control over the last year, all comes undone in less than a second.

you squeal as you find yourself being shoved to your knees in front of him, his metal hand holding the back of your head so you can't escape.

as you look up to meet his gaze, he knows he could keep you here forever.

maybe he should.

your hands find their way to his outer thighs to hold yourself up, and you watch as he continues to just stare you down without making a move.

"soldat?" you inquire. it must shake him from his thoughts as his other hand comes to his cargo pants, pulling and ripping at the buttons and zippers. he's already straining against the fabric, finally having you like this, at his mercy.

he's never letting another human being see you like this again, least of all your husband.

your husband.

"give me your hand," he orders, and the sound of his voice in your ears heats your whole body. you shakily reach your hand to his, where he grasps it softly, taking a moment to look at your ring as though admiring it.

and then you feel his fingers wrap around it, tugging the platinum gently off your finger, and then-

you hear it clatter to the floor, and you watch as he stomps on it, the beautiful diamond shattering to pieces.

"look at me," he hisses at you. you're still in awe, in shock, jaw dropped from the sight. what this means for you now, what it represents.

his hand comes to your chin when you don't move quick enough for him, forcing you to look back up at him.

"you belong to me."

you want to revel in the words, forget all about the ring destroyed on the floor. your eyes so badly want to flutter shut at the thought.

you know better.

"I own you."

this time, his words are a smidge gentler. the look in his eyes almost softening, showing some real emotion behind them, how badly he's wanted this, too.

your ring is on the floor, destroyed. your marriage in the gutter, hopeless. your body and soul in the hands of the man above you.

it's so refreshing, somehow so freeing to repeat back to him,

"you own me."

only then does the weight of your ring finally fall from your shoulders, the chain finally cut, freeing you to tie yourself to who you really want.

his hand on your head pushes your head forward, pressing your face up against the outline of his cock under his black boxers.

"damn straight," he whispers. he releases you momentarily to yank the fabric out of the way, and you're immediately drooling all over yourself when you see him.

you don't get the chance to stare for long because he's yanking your jaw open with one hand and pushing himself down your throat without another word.

it should be uncomfortable, making your jaw ache as you struggle to hold your mouth open enough, eyes watering, unable to breathe.

it's exactly what you want.

he wastes no time in moving your head for you, thrusting in and out of your mouth, watching as your lips part to take him without complaint. your eyes shut as you eagerly let him fuck your face, tears falling down your cheeks to mix with the mess of saliva collecting at the sides of your mouth.

you grip his legs as tightly as you can, hands still shaking, as he continues to use you the way he's longed for since he met you.

"you're absolutely fucking perfect, you know that?" he grits out amidst his rough movements. "you're perfect."

did your husband tell you how good you were?

did your husband even appreciate getting to have you like this?

you're a mess, whining and whimpering around him, disgusting noises filling the room and catching his ears.

you want nothing more than this, for him to want you, to keep going. but you don't know how much more of this you can take.

as though on cue, he quits moving, holding your head down on him as he lets go down the back of your throat. his release fills your mouth so wholly, dripping down your chin as you don't swallow in time.

he hauls you to your feet and sits you down on the desk behind you. his flesh thumb finds your chin and wipes away the remainder of his mess.

"gonna fuck you 'til you don't know where you're at," he hisses, reaching his metal hand to yank at the string on the waistband of your scrubs. "tell me you want it."

"shit, I want it," you affirm, your voice absolutely wrecked from the way he just debauched your throat. "I want you so bad."

you watch as he pulls on the string, bow coming undone, the sound of nothing but both your breathing in your ears. you let him reach for the hem of your shirt, gently dragging it up and over your head. you kick off your shoes so he can ease your pants down and off, finally getting them out of the way.

in all the times you felt his gaze on you, it's never felt like this. you've seen him look needy, wanting, staring at you like you're the most valuable and priceless treasure known to man.

this is something else. this is him realizing he gets to touch you, gets to see what he's imagined under your clothes for a year. he gets to strip you, gets to have the only thing he's ever wanted more than the feeling of someone dying at his hands.

he gets to have you.

he gets to make you scream in pleasure, all because of him, only for him.

it just then hits him that you're in your office where anyone could hear what's only for his ears.

his metal hand comes to rest atop your lips, gently sealing your mouth shut to prevent any sounds from escaping. at the same time, his flesh fingers find their way beneath your underwear.

if not for his hand keeping you from moaning out, you'd be a wreck, a noisy mess all from a single one of his touches.

"look at you," he whispers, pressing his fingers further down between your folds to where you're aching for him so desperately. "so warm and wet for me."

he grunts as he pushes two fingers up into you, making your whole body withdraw automatically.

"shhh, I've got you," he tells you, and you ease into the feeling of his fingers inside you making your mind go blank.

you've never heard him talk this much, ever. the sound of his voice makes you feel so giddy, the fact that he's speaking to you making you feel relaxed beyond belief. he's always so deliberate, so careful, that the feeling of him talking to you like this only exacerbates the heat in your abdomen.

he continues to hold your face firmly, keeping eye contact the whole time as his fingers move inside you, deeper than you could get yourself the night before.

fuck, the night before, when you got off to a scenario almost mirroring the situation you're in now. you let out a low whine against his hand, and he steps closer, staring at every reaction that manifests itself in your eyes.

he looks determined. excited.

you don't want to come too fast. you don't want to embarrass yourself, except-

you grip the edge of the desk tightly as your orgasm takes you with little warning, your whole body trembling, his hand never faltering.

he keeps working you through it, continuing the pace and rhythm he's set even when your body feels like nothing more than liquid. it's so much, it's too much, you want to protest.

"again."

you don't know if you can, cries bubbling in the back of your throat as your eyes struggle to open to catch his gaze. you can't, you can't...

"you will."

is he an actual mind reader?

he might be, you think, as your body shakes uncontrollably as he sends you into a second release so quickly you might die from overstimulation.

you lay back, head tapping the desk as you try to catch your breath. your hands are shaking as you bring them to smooth our your hair, trying to calm yourself, wiping the drool from your chin.

you can't possibly force yourself to move right now, not even to sit up as you feel him stepping in between your legs, the insides of your thighs against his hips. you shiver yet again as he trails a metal thumb up the soaked fabric of your underwear.

he hooks his thumb inside the fabric, pulling, ripping it from your skin to see the way you're already swollen and still dripping for him.

"all mine," he hisses, cupping you in one large hand and leaning over where you're laying on the desk. his face is right in front of yours as he grits out, "this, you? all mine."

you nod lazily, eyes fluttering open and shut repeatedly, humming your approval.

his flesh hand comes to rest under your head as he lines himself up against you, between your legs. your body moves before you're aware of it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, legs moving to hitch themselves around his hips.

"please," you mumble. you're already half gone, all thanks to him.

now you need him to fuck every last thought, every last doubt out of your head.

"that's my girl, begging for it like you should," he mutters, pressing a metal thumb to your clit just as he steps forward, thrusting himself entirely into you in one quick motion.

"fuck," you scream out suddenly, keening at the burn, how utterly stretched beyond belief you feel.

he quickly covers your mouth again with his free hand to keep you quiet, rubbing you between your legs to help you settle. "you're fine," he whispers to you, "doing perfect."

you nod your head vehemently, trying to compose yourself, all of your limbs clinging so tightly to wrap yourself around him.

next thing you know, he's pulling out about halfway, just to drive back into you with so much force it rips a moan from your throat. he doesn't hesitate, having craved having you like this for so long, fucking you with all the built-up tension inside of him.

the sting gives way to the most blinding pleasure between your legs. you're a complete mess as you hold onto him like you never want to let go. you feel the way his fingers move against you in tandem with his thrusts. if you had any critical thinking skills left, you would wonder how he finagled this position, how can he possibly be comfortable leaning over you like this...

he doesn't seem to care, grunting and wincing with every movement. this is the first time you've ever seen his face contort, the first time you've seen him actually put his feelings on display for you to see.

you're infatuated with him, the way he's showing you a part of him no one has seen before, the way he's fucking you like he has something to prove.

you're a mess, losing control of your muscles, your stomach cramping as you're already on the edge so soon.

by the way his breathing changes, you sense he is, too.

"come for me, right now," he grits. "on my cock, for no one else, ever again."

you're helpless against the way your body follows his orders, every other part of you going lax as you squeeze him so tight it sends him into his own release.

you don't know how long you stay like that, him leaning over you and still buried so deep inside of you. you feel a burning pain in every fiber of your being, but it's the most satisfied you've felt in a long time.

you listen to him breathe against your ear, and you eventually realize he's looking at you again, watching as you come back to yourself.

your mind slowly starts to turn on again, as does your body.

you blink once. twice. you swallow.

what have you done?

the instant his hand falls away from your mouth, you begin to panic.

"my husband-"

"I'll take care of him."

you don't want that to sound appealing. you don't want to savor in how hot and bothered the idea of him killing for you sounds.

"I can't ask you to do that."

he lets out a rough exhale.

"then I'll ask you. let me take care of the motherfucker who kept me from you for so long."

he feels the way you tense, how you squeeze around him, still half-hard inside you.

he wants to smirk at you, tell you that he knows. he knows you like the idea of it, that you get off on it the same way he does.

"let me take care of him."

"they'll think it was me, I'll be the one who gets accused-"

"you think I'm gonna fucking let that happen to you?"

you don't know what to say.

deep down, you knew he would do this for you. you knew he would do anything for you, but the fact that he's actually confirming it, telling you that he'll kill your husband for you?

you were an idiot to not give in to this, to him, sooner.

he watches how the look in your eyes morphs from one of concern to one of contentment. he's already hard again by time you tell him,

"do it."

~~~

masterlist

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[seventh-district]

babe wake up a new Venti-coded song just droppped

“I’m as sober as a drunk.

I’m as high as rock bottom.

Free as a man with his hands handcuffed to the bar.”

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: K-Pop Demon Hunters has me in a chokehold and I have so many ideas floating around in my head but I’m really bad at actually writing and executing them. But I had to write something to help with this fixation. Also, I don’t know how the Honmoon works. Like, can anyone alter or control it after some training? Do you need to be born with a certain predisposition? So, I kinda just made some stuff up.

Edit: Now has Part 2! Part 3! Part 4! Part 5! Part 6! Part 7!

‼️SPOILERS FOR KPDH‼️

“Okay, you guys are just going down there, right? I’m gonna go pick up some groceries,” You tell the three girls in disguise.

“Thanks, (Y/n)!”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, (Y/n).”

Sighing, you wave over your shoulder as you separate from the girls. You managed their wardrobe and visuals, you were able to take the vague ideas in their heads and their music and bring them together in stunning visuals while maintaining their individual styles and own input.

But, you were also Rumi’s twin sister. You grew up alongside her under the guidance of your Aunt Celine. You trained with her, learning to fight, dance, and sing with her. However… You were never able to tap into the Honmoon like her or Mira or Zoey.

Which meant you couldn’t debut with your sister or help her with the Honmoon. All you could do was support her and the other girls how your Aunt Celine taught you: Cover up, keep your patterns hidden, cook for them, clean for them, make sure they always look beautiful, no fractures or faults in their image. And no faults of your own must ever be visible either.

You love your sister, there was never any doubt about that. And you love Mira and Zoey too, they were practically your sisters too. But you couldn’t help but feel… invisible and jealous sometimes. You wanted to perform too. Just once.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You were shaken from your thoughts by a smooth, male voice and a colorful flier being held out to you. Looking further up, your eyes widened and your face warmed at the sight of such a handsome guy right in front of you. You were no stranger to beauty working in the idol industry, but wow. Soft, black hair, warm brown eyes, clear skin and a soft smile. Your heart couldn’t help but skip.

“Uhm, I’m sorry,” You shook your head, trying to focus on listening to what the boy said. You couldn’t help but swallow thickly, your face still hot, “Can I help you?”

He smiled kindly, “My friends and I are having our debut performance this afternoon just a street over. We’d love for you to come watch and support us.”

Flustered by his charm and his beauty, you took the flier from him. “The Saja Boys…” You read. Looking around, you tried to spot the rest of his group.

You were startled when an arm suddenly landed on your shoulders. Actually, make that two arms.

Looking up, two more gorgeously unreal guys were on each side of you, an arm around each of your shoulders. One was a buff beauty with shorter magenta hair in a yellow beanie, his shirt hanging on for dear life. The other had longer pink hair that framed his face in a heart shape.

“That’s right,” the long haired guy smiled on your left.

“We’re the Saja Boys,” the buff guy on your right smirked. The two boys spun to slide into place on each side of the black haired guy, the three posing. “I’m Abby,” the muscle man posed, flexing which caused his shirt to strain.

“I’m Romance~” He blew a kiss at you.

“And I’m Jinu,” the black haired guy winked, smiling which made your heart pound all that harder to be the center of attention of three gorgeous guys. “We also have Baby and Mystery who are passing out fliers somewhere as well.”

“Right here, boss.” Oh great, more hot guys to make your heart explode.

A mint haired guy looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, joining the other three with a cool air. Another guy with long, pastel hair that covered most of his face walked past as well. Did he just smell you…? Was he purring…?

Oh boy. These boys were gonna give you a heart attack at this rate. Your heart was racing and you felt so flustered and awkward having their attention. “Uhm, wow, sorry, I’ll try to be there to support your debut! If you’ll excuse me,” You gave a small bow. Escape. Too many hot guys.

“You promise, sweetheart?~”

Your face flushed darker and you hurried away faster, “Y-Yup! See you there! Good luck!” You had groceries to get.

After getting enough groceries for you and the Huntr/x girls, you checked the time and noted that you had time to see that debut performance. The girls hadn’t texted that they headed back yet so they must still be at the doctors. Carrying the bags, you walked over to the other street, which was only a little more crowded than usual.

It seemed like you were just in time as a cloud of pink smoke grew in the middle of the street. You got closer as music started to fill the street and from the smoke, the five boys appeared.

“Don't want you, need you~ Yeah, I need you to fill me up~ 마시고 마셔 봐도~ 성에 차지 않아~ Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)~ You could be everything that~ That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)~ Every sip makes me want more, yeah~” The black haired guy, Jinu, seemed to take the main vocals. The song was so bouncy and catchy that you couldn’t help but bounce your shoulders as the crowd grew around you. You got pushed to the front of the crowd and blushed as Jinu winked at you. You blushed, holding your groceries tighter.

“You're all I can think of~ Every drop I drink up~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~ Cool me down, you're so hot~ Pour me up, I won't stop~ You're my soda pop~ My little soda pop~”

Okay, Huntr/x would always have your whole heartfelt support as your favorite group, but the Saja Boys were also really good… Like, if you weren’t Rumi’s sister, you might’ve jumped ship…

You were just a girl after all…

You blinked when some of the boys started blowing kisses into the crowd, launching hearts out of thin air. If they were just debuting, how’d they afford such great special effects…? These boys must’ve worked hard.

At least you thought so until you saw a flash of demon patterns and eyes on some of the boys.

You gasped. Were they… like you and Rumi? Part demons? Wait, no, they can control their demon features, you and Rumi can’t. No matter how much you tried to hide the growing patterns inching across your skin, it never worked. All you could do was cover up with long sleeves and pants.

They were just performing though. The girls would probably kill them as soon as they could once they caught wind of this demon idol group, because demons were all evil, emotionless creatures… But, if they were just demon guys performing because they wanted to perform, if they were nice demons, then wouldn’t that help prove that it was okay for you to live too…?

They helped the girl at the corn dog stand and gave those stressed kids some gifts, and they didn’t try to suck a soul once.

Your heart pounded, not just with how attractive the five were, but with hope.

The performance ended as the boys took their final poses before taking a moment to wave and send kisses into the crowd. As you scanned the group of boys, Romance sent you a flying kiss, Abby flashed you some finger hearts, Jinu’s smile widened at you, Baby raised an eyebrow at you, and Mystery gave a head nod.

What were you supposed to do now…?

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[hyuckiefluff]

casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

READ PART 2 HERE

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

“hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner. 

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again. 

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious. 

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain. 

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

 but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

it was friendly and not too over the top… right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed, then three more, and nothing. you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. not even a read receipt.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed with no reply. you tried to talk yourself down. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city,  not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

“what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you’d never felt more nervous getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, not even for a final exam. nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod. 

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper. 

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear. 

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy. 

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!” 

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors. 

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never…  it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.” 

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs. 

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word. 

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

[aajjks]

Wifey and Groceries (m)

synopsis. Another day, another shenanigan. Going grocery shopping with your nightmare of a roommate who really wants to fuck you, can’t be that much of a struggle, can it?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: crack, 18+

warnings: grôcêry stôre shênânîgâns, flïrty jungkôôk, ôbsêssêd jungkôôk, tsûndêrê yôû, împlîcît sêxûâl jôkês, ânnôyîng jungkôôk whô wôn’t stôp bâbyîng yôû, lïkè îf yôû thïnk lâûghîng îs flïrtîng.

note. I never imagined receiving so much love on stuff like this but thank you- thank you so much for sending so much love on stuck with you and loving our horny roommate jaykay so much. 😵‍💫🥺 so on high demand here is another part. If this flops like I’m expecting well- umm but anyways I hope you guys enjoy this but please share your thoughts and feedback and if this also becomes a hit, I will write another part and I will really make this a series!! ENJOY!

“Jungkook, I swear to God, put that back.”

What did you do so wrong in your past life to deserve this kind of torture in the human form of your roommate, Jeon Jungkook?

You cannot believe this.

You glare at the ridiculous amount of instant ramen he’s just dumped into the cart, your fingers gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are white.

It’s the third time he’s done this, and you’re this close to losing it in the middle of the aisle.

“What? We’re gonna need it,” he says, all faux innocence, holding up one of the packs like it’s a sacred artifact. “You never know when there’s gonna be a ramen emergency.”

“There’s never going to be a ramen emergency, you idiot,” you snap, shoving the packs back onto the shelf. “Stop acting like a child.”

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just mortally wounded him. “Wow. You’re so mean to me. Is this what married life is gonna be like?”

“Married life?” You look at him like he’s grown a second head. “We’re not even—why are you like this?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,”

he smirks, leaning casually on the cart. “We’re grocery shopping together, picking out ingredients for our future home-cooked meals. Pretty much married already.”

“Jungkook, I’m going to kill you.”

“Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Jeon, let’s not resort to violence,” he teases, pushing the cart forward as you glare at him. “Not when we’re still in our honeymoon phase.”

MRS JEON???? What the fuck is he barking about?

You shove the cart to a halt, ignoring the way he laughs at your frustration. “Stop calling me that. And stop putting random crap in the cart!”

“I’m not putting random crap in the cart.” He points to the giant stuffed bear sticking out of the basket. “This guy’s coming home with us. He’ll be perfect for our couch.”

“Jungkook, we don’t even have a couch.”

“Yet,” he says, grinning. “But when we do, he’s gonna look great. You’ll see.”

You groan, turning your back on him to grab the toothpaste you actually came for. But before you can even decide between mint or charcoal,

Jungkook sidles up behind you, way too close for comfort.

“Why are we even looking at toothpaste,” he murmurs, voice low, “when your smile’s already perfect?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you serious right now?”

“Always, babe.” He smirks, leaning casually against the shelf like he’s in a photoshoot. “You should get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?” You scoff, shoving the toothpaste into the cart. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. You do it for me,” he fires back, trailing after you like a lost puppy as you head toward the produce section.

You ignore him, but it’s impossible when he suddenly grabs a cucumber and holds it up like a microphone.

“So, tell me,” he says, pretending to interview you, “what’s it like to be out grocery shopping with the man of your dreams?”

“Man of my nightmares, you mean,” you mutter, snatching the cucumber from his hand and tossing it into the cart.

“You wound me,” he says dramatically, clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him.

Then he grabs a pack of strawberries and holds it up.

“What about these? Strawberries for my sweetheart?”

“Your sweetheart isn’t here, Jungkook,” you deadpan.

He’s really testing your patience right now.

“Sure she is.” He winks, tossing the strawberries in the cart before you can protest.

By the time you reach the checkout line, your cart is a chaotic mix of actual groceries and Jungkook’s ridiculous additions, including the giant stuffed bear he refused to leave behind.

He’s a big man child.

As the cashier starts scanning your items, Jungkook casually drapes an arm around your shoulder.

“By the way,” he says, flashing his signature grin, “this is my girlfriend. Isn’t she pretty?”

Your brain short-circuits. “What—no, I’m not—;”

“She’s just shy,” Jungkook interrupts, squeezing your shoulder.

“But yeah, she’s the love of my life. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Why is your heart fluttering?

You slap his arm off you, your face burning as the cashier tries to hold back a laugh. “Jungkook, shut up.”

Just shut up before I shove my fist up your mouth.

He just laughs, that loud, obnoxious laugh that makes you want to scream and smile at the same time.

As you drag him out of the store, he’s still grinning like he’s just won the lottery. “Admit it,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“You had fun.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, twitching up into a reluctant smile. “You’re insufferable.”

He really is insufferable and you’re constantly suffering.

“And yet, here we are,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Wanna grab ice cream on the way home, wifey?”

You groan, but you don’t shove him off this time.

[wafflefries13]

Asking Out the Twisted Wonderland Cast (Multi TWST cast X Reader)

Summary: Sometimes, you can't just wait for good things to happen to you. Time to screw your courage to the sticking place and finally ask out that boy you like!

AN: I meant for these each to be like 200 word drabbles. Some of them kind of got away from me, lol.

Cross-posted on my AO3 TheGhostInTheKitchen

Warnings: Fluff, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

Part 2: First Dates

The sounds of the NRC cafeteria clattered around the group of first years. Utensils scraping on plates, sizzling from the open window to the kitchen, a hundred different conversations from all sides. Their small group sat clustered around their table, nestled close together to be heard over the general din. 

“I’m just saying,” Ace said, mouth half full. 

“You’re always ‘just saying’,” Deuce said. 

Ace shoved him. “I’m just saying, if you want to try out for the anchor position on the track team you have to actually ask for it. Get Coach Vargas and don’t stop bugging him until he sees what you can do! No one’s going to just wait for it to happen.” 

“And I’m saying it doesn't do any good to be a nuisance when I don’t even know if I’m good enough yet. I might as well wait till tryouts next semester.” 

“No, no, he’s right,” (Y/N) said, distantly. 

“Yeah!” Ace said. “Wait, right about what?” 

“You can’t just wait for stuff to happen to you. If you really want something you have to go and take it for yourself.” She stood abruptly, face determined. “I need to ask something.” 

Ace:

“Ace!” 

Ace jumped, brushing off crumbs from his jacket. “What? What did I do now?” 

“Do you want to go out with me?” 

Epel choked, Jack thumping him on the back. Deuce looked like she had just insulted his mother. Sebek rolled his eyes as he took another bite. Ortho gasped, leaning forward, eyes wide and excited. 

“I-What?” Ace stuttered, his face rapidly turning red. “Where the heck did that come from?” 

“You were just saying you shouldn’t wait for something you want. I like you, I have for a while now. So, do you want to go out?” 

Ace stuttered out a reply, slapping on his normal cocky smile but decidedly not meeting (Y/N)’s eyes. “I mean, yeah, of course you fell for me! It’s about time you said something. But, um, yeah, I’d like that. A lot.” 

“Well,” Deuce said, rolling his eyes. “It’s about time one of you said something.” 

“Hey!” Ace shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

(Y/N) playfully shoved him. “Oh, please, don’t act like I haven’t noticed that you like me too. You’re not subtle about it.” 

“What made you think that?” 

“Ace, within the first week of me being here you asked to sleep in the same bed as me twice.” 

From another table, definitely not eavesdropping, Riddle fainted. 

Deuce:

“Deuce!” Deuce jumped at (Y/N) suddenly shouting his name. “I need your help with something. Can you come with me for a second?” 

“Oh, yeah, sure, of course.” Deuce ignored Ace’s pointed look. Deuce followed (Y/N) out of the cafeteria down the halls. “Where are we going?” 

(Y/N) suddenly turned around, Deuce almost colliding with her. Before he could apologize, she took his hands, looking up into his eyes as he felt blood rush to his cheeks. 

“I just wanted somewhere more private,” She said. “Deuce, I really like you. Will you go out with me?” 

“I-huh?! I mean, yeah, yes! I like you, too!” He rubbed the back of his head and looked away shyly. “Man, I wanted to ask you out first.” 

(Y/N) grinned. “Really? How were you going to do it?” 

“Well, my mom said that when my dad first asked her out he got her this big bouquet of flowers. But he ended up being allergic to them so he kept sneezing the whole time. She took him to the infirmary at their school and he had to write it down since his face was too swollen to talk.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no to flowers. Maybe we can skip the rest of that, though.” 

Deuce marched over to the cut out window of the hallway, opening out onto the quad. Reaching over, he plucked a fluffy pink peony from one of the bushes. He came back to (Y/N), suddenly very flustered, and held it out to her. 

“(Y/N),” He began. 

She clasped her hands together. “Yes?” 

“Would you do me the honor of - Ah!” Deuce yelped as a bee flew out of the peony blossom, shooting for Deuce’s face to sting him. 

Turns out, they did spend time in the infirmary. But, after (Y/N) kissed his cheek and gently held the flower, Deuce didn’t seem to mind too much. 

Trey: 

“Ow!” 

Trey paused outside the Heartslabyul kitchen as he heard the exclamation from inside. He was planning on testing out a new bread recipe his parents had sent him and wasn’t expecting anyone else to be using the kitchen that day. He peaked in, seeing (Y/N), Grim, Ace, and Deuce crowded around the island in the middle. (Y/N) was blowing on a burn on her hand, Grim rifling through the pantry for various sweets, and Ace and Deuce waving away smoke from a burnt pastry freshly pulled from the oven. 

“I told you!” (Y/N) said. “You can’t just raise the temperature for it to cook faster, it’ll just burn!” 

“Well, sorry for trying to make your confession go faster before you chicken out,” Ace said. 

“I’m not going to chicken out! Probably. Maybe. What if the pie burning is an omen?” 

“I wouldn’t read too deeply into it,” Trey said, entering the kitchen. The first years jumped, (Y/N)’s eyes going wide and she stared at the floor. 

“Well!” Deuce said, grabbing Ace and Grim and hurrying them out the door. “Omen or not, that’s our cue to leave. Good luck, (Y/N)!” 

Silence echoed around the two of them as the door of the kitchen thunked closed. (Y/N) fiddled with her fingers, still not looking up. Trey walked around the island, looking at the smoldering pie. There was a mostly neat lattice across the bubbling fruit, with extra crust cut into letters around the rim. 

“‘Trey,’” He read. “‘Will you-’”

“Ah! No, wait!” (Y/N) jumped forward, covering it with her hands. She jumped back as her palm accidentally hit the hot pie tin, giving her another burn. 

“Oh, wait, hang on.” Trey quickly went over to the sink, grabbing a clean towel and soaking it in cold water. He gently took her hand, pressing it to the burn. (Y/N) chewed her lip. “You know, I’d be happy to help if you want to try again. I’ve been wanting to try this new butter pie crust that’s good with custards and-”

“I really like you!” (Y/N) blurted out, face going as hot as the burn on her hand. “Would you want to go out with me? Please?” 

Trey tightened his grip on her hand, careful to avoid the injury. He smiled, laughing. “I was wondering if I should say it first. I guess you beat me to it. Yes, (Y/N), I’d love to go out with you.”  

Cater: 

Cater was relaxing in the Heartslabyul gardens, a can of red paint discarded beside him. He hummed something the pop music club had been working on as he scrolled through Magicam. He took a quick selfie, winking, tongue out with a peace sign, before refreshing his feed. 

He paused when he saw (Y/N) come across his dash. She was smiling brightly, one arm arched above her head and the other held down at an angle to create half a heart. The word ‘Will’ was written in bubbly cartoon letters in the middle. A few posts later, there was a second photo, an almost perfect mirror of the first to complete the heart. The word ‘You’ was written in the middle of this one. 

Cater almost felt like he was solving a puzzle as he searched the rest of his feed for more posts. Each had (Y/N) in a dramatic pose, adding another word to complete the sentence, ‘Go,’ ‘Out,’ ‘With’, ‘Me.’ When he realized it was a request to ask someone out, he couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. He shook his head. Of course (Y/N) would be crushing on someone. With all the adventures she had gone on during their time at NRC, it would make sense to develop strong feelings. He tried to quiet the voice in his head that hoped those strong feelings would go his way. Well, whatever, that just meant he had to keep a close eye on whoever had earned her affections, maybe give them a good threatening to treat her right while he was at it. 

Cater tapped on her name, taking him to her Magicam profile. It felt like just the other day when he was helping her set it up. He sighed at the happy memory. For a second, it occurred to him that the message (Y/N) had been spelling out in pictures didn’t end with a question mark. He thought it was weird. Was it a mistake? Then his eye caught on the latest picture, posted just a second before. 

It was a selfie of (Y/N) holding a large bouquet of yellow and orange flowers, marigolds, daisies, and buttercups. The majority of the frame was over her shoulder, showing Cater himself sitting against the hedges. His name was drawn in the same cartoon font with a question mark, surrounded by a heart.  

Cater snapped up, whirling around. He quickly whipped away the happy tears budding at the corner of his eyes as he saw (Y/N) waiting for him. The flowers were crushed between them as he scooped her up in a tight hug, both of them laughing. 

(They both carefully rearranged the flowers after to be presentable for the mandatory #TogetherForever couple photoshoot after.) 

Riddle: 

Riddle frowned at the commotion building from the Heartslabyul common room. He could make out the familiar rising sounds of Ace and Deuce’s voices. He began marching to the source of the racket, faltering a little when he heard (Y/N)’s voice joining in. Mentally scolding himself from eavesdropping  (it wasn’t eavesdropping, he was keeping tabs on his dorm mates, that’s it) he hovered near the cracked open door. 

“No, wait!” (Y/N) said. “We can’t use coral roses! I said pink!” 

Ace huffed. “What’s the difference?” 

(Y/N) tapped a small dark red book she was holding. “Coral roses symbolize desire, pink roses mean admiration and happiness. I’m not trying to scare him off before I can even ask him out!” 

Before he could even think about it, Riddle threw open the door, shouting, “Just what is going on here?” 

Everyone inside jumped. Riddle swept his eyes across the room, taking in the bundles and bundles of roses in multiple colors carefully poised on every surface. Ace and Deuce were meticulously balancing a bouquet in the chandelier, plucking out the offending coral colored roses. Cater was smirking in the corner, phone poised to capture everything. Trey chuckled behind his own large bouquet of yellow roses.. 

“Um,” She said, startled by his interruption. Taking a deep breath, she set the book down and picked up a bouquet of lavender roses, shoving them in Riddle’s direction. 

‘Lavender,’ He thought. ‘Love at first sight.’ 

“Riddle!” She said, probably a little too loudly. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

The silence that followed was deafening. Cater tried to break the tension with a laugh. “Aww, (Y/N),” He said. “What happened to that whole speech you had?” 

“He surprised me!” She said. “Oh, wait, hang on, I still have it.” Without thinking, she shoved the bouquet in Riddle’s arms, searching her pockets to pull out a neatly folded piece of notebook paper. “Ahem. Riddle, I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Heartslabuyl with the single objective to see you. I-” 

“Everyone out!” Riddle shouted. As the group scuttled to the door, he pointed at (Y/N). “Not you.” 

The door thudded behind them, Ace and Deuce giving a quick thumbs up and what was supposed to be a confident smile as they left. (Y/N) crinkled the paper in her hands. 

“It gets better,” She said meekly. “The speech. Although I guess in the movie it ends with a rejection too. I should have used the one from the end, or Shakespeare maybe. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more - well, I guess you're not very temperate. Wait, let me try again.” 

“(Y/N),” He said. He held the lavender flowers tightly. “You know what this means?” 

“Oh, the flowers? Yeah, I, um, I’ve been studying.” She picked the book back up, shyly holding it up. Riddle could read the title now: The Queen of Hearts Guide to Courtship and Love. 

“You,” Riddle said, feeling his face heat up. He held up the flowers. “You mean it? Really?” 

(Y/N) took a step towards him, understanding softening the worry on her face. “Of course. I wanted to ask you out and I thought, well,” She waved at the multicolored roses, laughing. “Go big or go home, right?” 

“It certainly is a statement.” Riddle picked up a yellow rose with red tipping the petals and handed it to her. (Y/N) recognized the colors immediately as meaning ‘Falling in love.’ She gasped in happiness, jumping forward to wrap Riddle in a tight hug. 

Leona: 

“Ruggie!” Ruggie paused as he heard (Y/N) call his name. She jogged over to him where he held Leona’s typical boxed lunch order. “Hey, that’s for Leona, right? Do you mind if I bring it to him? There’s something important I have to talk to him about.” Ruggie considered it for a moment before shrugging and handing it over, but not before stealing a couple of chips to pop into his mouth as he strolled away. 

(Y/N) found Leona in his normal spot, a hidden alcove in the gardens in the biodome. He was laying on his back, arms crossed behind his head, and eyes closed as he dozed. He cracked his eye open as (Y/N) approached. 

“Hi,” She said, kneeling down beside him. 

“Hmm,” He replied. 

“I have something important to ask you.” 

“Are you going to try and make me get up?” “No.” 

“Alright, ask away.” 

“Will you go out with me?” 

Leona’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows to stare at (Y/N), smiling sincerely at him, and maybe holding his lunch hostage until she got an answer. 

“I really like you,” She continued. “You’re brave and confident and know exactly who you are. Sure, you can be stubborn as hell, but you also really care about people close to you. Don’t make that face, you can’t fool me. You could have easily thrown me out when Grim and I needed someplace to stay when Azul took over Ramshackle, but you didn’t. You didn’t even kick us out when we were making so much noise and annoying you, you helped us break Azul’s contracts instead. You joined the Culinary Crucible because Epel did and you wanted to keep an eye on your team mate. Please, as if you ever need to learn how to cook, I know you can’t even use a microwave. And you pretend not to notice when Ruggie steals your credit card. And there was that time you followed all of us to Playful Land because you were worried we were going to get scammed. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. You’ve got a big heart of gold under that spiky exterior. And I really admire you for that. I… I really love you, Leona.” 

“Well,” Leona said, laying back down, tail flicking. “I suppose going on a date wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” (Y/N) decided not to point out the content smile stretching across his face. She made a move to stand up, but Leona shot an arm out to hook around her waist, pulling her down next to him with an “Oof.” “Now don’t tell anyone else about all that,” Leona grumbled without any real heat. 

Ruggie: 

Ruggie was in Leona’s room, folding laundry while the house warden took a nap behind him. Ruggie stretched his arms above his head, sighing when there was a satisfying pop in his back. Suddenly, the door to the room slammed open. Ruggie yelped and Leona woke with an undignified snort. 

“Gah, what now?” Leona mumbled. 

“Ruggie!” (Y/N) said, standing in the doorway. She was panting as if she had just run across campus (she had). 

“Uh, what? Yeah? Whatever it was, I didn’t take it!” 

Unperturbed, (Y/N) marched over to him, taking both his hands in hers. “You did take something.” Ruggie frantically tried to remember if he had stolen anything from Ramshackle recently. He tried not to, knowing (Y/N) was pretty much as broke as he was. It didn’t seem fair. And maybe he liked her a little too much to swipe something. “You stole my heart!” (Y/N) continued dramatically. “Will you go out with me?” 

Behind them, Leona coughed to unconvincingly cover up a laugh. 

Ruggie’s ears flattened to his head in shock. He reached back and batted at his tail as if that would get it to stop wagging. “I - what? Are you sure? Me? What?” 

“Of course! You’re resourceful, you work hard, you’re clever, and you care a lot about your family back home. I really admire all that about you and more! Not to mention you’re super cute. So, will you go out with me?” 

“Oh, just say yes already, Ruggie,” Leona said, settling down to continue his nap. “At least then I won’t have to hear you being such a sap all the time.” 

Ruggie let out his signature laugh. He tightened his grip on (Y/N)’s hands. “Well, sure then, why not? As long as you’re paying, right?” 

Jack: 

Jack and Vil were out on their daily morning run. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting the Night Raven College campus in a warm golden light. At their halfway point, they took a break, Vil stretching in his cooldown. 

“You sure you don’t want to keep going with me?” Jack asked. 

“No,” Vil said. “I’d rather stay slim than bulk up like you. I have my status to maintain. And besides, it looks like I would be interrupting something rather important.” He smiled knowingly and pointed with his chin a little ways down the sidewalk. 

Jack turned. He felt his tail start to wag on its own when he saw (Y/N) standing by one of the Great Seven statues, drawing circles in the ground with her foot. She looked up, breaking out in a warm smile when she saw him. Vil chuckled under his breath and waved as he headed back to Pomfiore. 

Jack clenched his jaw, willing his tail to stay still as he approached her. “Good morning. You’re not usually up this early, right? Is everything okay?” 

(Y/N) jutted her arms out completely straight, offering up the flowering Chin cactus in her hands. “Jack!” She said. “I really like you. I love how brave you are. I love how you’re dedicated to the people you care about. I love how you can be sweet and kind even when you try to act tough all the time. Would you go out with me?” 

“Yes!” Jack replied, almost before the words had even left (Y/N)’s mouth. He put his hands over hers, cradling the cactus. “I mean, yes, I would like to go out with you. Very much.” 

Azul: 

Azul jumped as (Y/N) slammed her hands on his desk in the VIP room of the Monstro Lounge. He quickly gathered his composer, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Well, Prefect, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I have a deal for you,” She said confidently. 

“Oh? I’d love to hear it.” 

Smiling, she whipped out a sheet of paper and slapped it on top of the other documents Azul had spread over his desk. On the top of the page in an elegant script were the words ‘Contract of First Date.’ Azul felt a lump form in his throat as his heart sped up. He quickly scanned over the rest of the ‘contract,’ outlining the proposed date. 

“Terms of the deal,” (Y/N) continued. “You, me, romantic night out. I know a guy in Craneport who said we could use one of their rowboats and I found this really cool pond with all these willow trees and fireflies. Plus I have this cute picnic basket all set up. Jamil has been teaching me how to cook, you know? Can’t say it’ll be as good as his, if we’re being honest about the terms of agreement. And the contract leaves an opening for future dates depending on the success of this one! Of course, success is not really a super definable term but you get what I mean. So, do we have a deal?” 

Azul covered his face with one hand, trying desperately to ignore how red his face must be at this point. He couldn’t seem to meet her enthusiastic and twinkling eyes. 

“I, uh,” (Y/N) continued, shyer this time as Azul scanned over the contract. “I really like you, Azul. A lot. So, will you go out with me?” 

He looked back down at the contract where her name was written in elegant script at the bottom with space for his next to it. He cleared his throat, bringing back his practiced (definitely not shady) businessman smile. With a sweep of his pen, he said, “It’s a deal.” 

Jade: 

(Y/N) marched across the cafeteria, determination in her eyes. She stopped in front of a table with Jade, Floyd, and Azul. “Hi!” She said, maybe a little too loudly with nerves. Jade and Azul looked up from their conversation, Floyd pausing his efforts in making a castle out of mashed potatoes. “Jade, I really like you. Do you want to go out with me?” 

“Oh?” Jade said, a brief moment of genuine surprise crossing his face before he schooled his features back into pleasant neutrality. “Well, what a pleasant surprise.” 

Floyd snorted and elbowed his brother. “Shrimpy’s got a crush,” He said in a sing-song voice. 

“I must admit,” Jade said, pouting with one hand on his cheek. “I always did imagine a more theatrical confession. Nonetheless, I happily acc-” 

“I can do that!” (Y/N) interrupted. Holding on to Floyd’s shoulder for balance, she climbed on top of the table. She clapped her hands loudly, shouting, “Attention! Attention, please, everyone! I have an announcement!” She cleared her throat as the room fell silent. “I would like to declare my unequivocal, utter devotion and love for Jade Leech.” She heard a choking sound below her but continued on. “I am hopelessly in love, helplessly enraptured, and absolutely head over heels. And it is my deepest hope that he could return my affections. Thank you.” With that, she hopped down, beaming. There was a smattering of applause and laughter from around the room. Epel whooped from back at the first year table. 

Jade’s hands covered his blushing face, fierce sharp eyes peeking out between his fingers. His mouth was split in a wide smile, sharp teeth glinting in a mixture of bashfulness, excitement, and desire. 

“Congratulations, (Y/N),” Azul said. “I can barely remember that last time Jade was actually flustered.” 

“Aww, look at him, he’s speechless!” Floyd teased. 

(Y/N) winced. “Sorry, was that too far?” 

Jade shot out with lightning speed, crushing her in his tight eel grip. “I should let you know,” He whispered to her. “I expect this level of dedication for the entirety of our relationship.” 

Floyd: 

Floyd darted through the stacks of the library. He could have sworn he saw Goldfish in here earlier, and he was in the mood to mess with the easily angered boy. And, while he didn’t find Riddle, he did pause as he saw (Y/N) between the books. He paused, pushing a few books aside to rest his chin on the shelf, an easy smile crossing his face as he spied on her. 

She was hunched over one of the study tables, a large book propped up and open in front of her. She was diligently working on something in her hands, tongue poking out between her lips (lips that Floyd found himself thinking about more often than he would admit), looking back up at the book in front of her every so often. 

Dropping down low, Floyd carefully made his way behind her, silent on his feet. Rising up to his full height behind her, unsuspecting, he jolted forward, wrapping her in a backward hug and pulling her back so the chair careened back on two legs. 

“Shrimpy!” He said, taking delight in her startled squeal. “Whatcha doin’?” 

“God, Floyd,” (Y/N) said, putting a hand to her chest to calm her raging heart. Her eyes suddenly went wide and she lunged forward to cover what she was working on with her arms. “Ah! Don’t look, don’t look! It’s not done!” 

Floyd grinned again. “Aww, it’s not nice to keep secrets.” His hands shot out, pulling out the thing she was hiding. (Y/N) covered her face as Floyd inspected the object. It was a thick piece of twine, various polished shells, sea glass, and dried shiny scales strung throughout. Although it wasn’t exactly neat, the way it caught the sunlight cast tiny rainbows and simmers around the library. Floyd peered at the open book. It was a cultural history of merpeople in the Coral Sea. The opened chapter described mer courting rituals and marriage traditions. Floyd started cackling as (Y/N) buried her face further in her hands.  

“How old is this thing?” Floyd asked, poking at the book. “I don’t even think my grandparents made courting charms.” 

“Shut up,” (Y/N) mumbled. “I was trying to… Forget it.” 

Floyd slipped the haphazard necklace over his neck, prying her hands away to hold them tightly in his. “I accept!” He said brightly. “This was for me, right? It better be, Shrimpy.” 

She smiled and flicked his forehead. “Possibly against my better judgment, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, Floyd.” 

Kalim: 

Kalim knew he should probably be studying, but every time he opened a text book or looked at the notes Jamil had oh-so-carefully marked and tabbed for him, he felt his eyes start to droop and mind get fuzzy. A good after lunch walk was just what he needed, and he definitely wasn’t just saying that to put off work. 

He stopped when he realized he had wandered outside Ramshackle dorm. Was that on purpose? Did he subconsciously come here, with the hope he might see (Y/N)? Kalim walked up to the front door, knocking before opening the door and calling inside. 

“Hello! It’s Kalim! Can I come in?” 

There was a squawk of surprise from the front sitting room. (Y/N) poked her head around the corner, flustered. 

“Hi. Sure, come on in. Uh, sorry, I’m kind of in the middle of something.” 

“Can I help?” Kalim asked, walking over to her. Peering into the sitting room, Kalim’s face lit up. Every available surface, and a few unavailable surfaces, were covered in colored and patterned paper. There were stacks and crowds of tiny paper birds littered between everything. 

“I don’t know if it counts if more people make them.” 

Kalim sat on one of the plush chairs, picking up a flowery piece of paper. “If what will count?” 

“It’s an old superstition from my world. If you can fold 1000 paper cranes, your wish will come true. Or something like that.” 

“Ooh, origami! I’ve made decorations using that before! I’m not super good at it, but I’ll help if you want.” 

(Y/N) smiled and sat next to him and Kalim felt his heart flip. “Yeah, I’d like the company.” 

They lost track of time folding cranes, the sun beginning to set high above the dilapidated house. They talked the whole time, jumping from topic to topic, joke to joke, without any real sense of flow. It was warm, there in the small room, not only due to the crackling fireplace. 

“So,” Kalim asked eventually. “What wish were you wanting to make? If this dosen’t work out, I can help you with it!” 

(Y/N) suddenly went bashful, turning away to pay extra attention to the folds of her bird. “I…” She muttered. She took a deep breath, turning to fully face Kalim. “I was going to ask you out. You have all these elaborate decorations and parties all the time. I was going to string all of these together and hang them in your room then ask you out. But, now that you’re here… Kalim, would you go out with me?” 

Kalim dropped the paper crane, flinging himself across the couch to wrap her in a tight hug. “Yes! Yes, yes yes! Oh, I would love to! Huh, I guess that means I need to cancel that order of doves now. That’s how I was going to ask you out next week. Hey, we both thought of birds! That must mean we definitely belong together, right?” 

Jamil: 

“Be right back,” (Y/N) said, standing from the first year cafeteria table. She walked across the cafeteria until she stopped in front of Kalim and Jamil. 

Jamil was shoving a napkin at Kalim. “Careful, you’re going to get sauce all over your shirt.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll be careful! And besides, it’s a pretty color, right? Oh, hey, (Y/N)!” 

“Hi,” She said, looking solely at Jamil. “Jamil, I really like you. Would you want to go out with me?” 

Kalim gasped, hands to his cheeks as he looked excitedly from Jamil to (Y/N). Jamil sucked in a sharp breath, clenching his hands. “I…” He started. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I can’t.” 

“Oh.” Jamil looked down, but not before he caught the hurt confusion on (Y/N) face. “That’s okay. Thanks for hearing me out. Bye, guys.” She walked back to her table. 

Jamil only looked up again when Kalim slapped his arm. “Jamil! That was your chance!” 

Jamil scowled. “There is no chance. I said no, she accepted it. Drop it.” 

“But you told me you liked her!” 

“I said no such thing.” 

Kalim waved his hand dismissively. “I read between the lines.” 

“There were no lines!” 

“Jamil.” He looked up at Kalim. It wasn’t often the other boy used such a serious voice, or had such a set expression on his face. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep yourself from being happy because you feel like you don’t deserve it.” 

Jamil flinched back, standing suddenly. A million retorts zipped through this mind at once, all of them falling flat and dying on his tongue. Before he could say something he would regret, heart thundering in his ears, he fled the cafeteria, ignoring the stabbing looks from the first year table as (Y/N)’s friends gave her sympathetic pats on the back. 

Jamil couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, listening to the soft, even breathing of his roommate. Huffing in annoyance, he threw off the covers and left his room. He thought he would just take a walk, just get some fresh air. Without paying attention, Jamil’s feet took him out of Scarabia, across campus, and, before he knew it, in front of Ramshackle dorm. His fist hovered in front of the door, internally debating whether or not he should knock. He startled when he heard talking behind him, spotting (Y/N) and Malleus making their way up the pathway. 

(Y/N) stopped when she saw him. “Oh. Hi, Jamil.” 

“Hi,” Jamil said, limply lifting a hand in greeting. 

Malleus looked down at Jamil, glaring. “Viper.” It sounded more like an insult than his name. 

“Did you need something?” (Y/N) asked. “It’s kind of late. Is everything okay?” 

“I-” Jamil started. “I need to talk to you.” 

Malleus stepped in front of (Y/N), but stopped when (Y/N) put a hand on his arm. They had a quick and quiet conversation, Malleus nodded and walked away. (Y/N) came up to the front door, opening it for him. 

“I’ll make some tea,” She said as they stepped into the entryway. 

“Wait-” Jamil said, catching her hand. Everything tumbled out of him all at once. “I wanted to go out with you. I like you, so much so that it scares me sometimes. That’s why I said no earlier. I just think - I thought you would - should - do better than me, after everything that’s happened. But I -” He paused, only realizing now how out of breath he was. (Y/N) looked up at him and he felt breathless all over again. “I want to do better. I want to be better, for you if not for anything else. I know I probably don’t deserve it but, (Y/N), will you go out with me?” 

(Y/N) laughed, wiping away tears at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.” 

Vil: 

Something was wrong, Vil could feel it. After all the chaos of his time at Night Raven College, he had almost developed a sixth sense for this type of thing. 

Vil narrowed his eyes, sweeping them over the Pomfiore sitting room. A group of students were sitting around one of the tables, studying. A few others were in front of the fireplace. A couple others were performing some viral dance for a Magicam reel. Nothing seemed amiss here. 

Vil walked down the hall of the dorm, heels clicking against the marble floor. With a missed step, Vil realized he hadn’t seen Epel or Rook in quite some time. That was… concerning. He quickened his walk. 

Vil almost gave himself whiplash as he passed by the ballroom. The door was cracked open ever so slightly so he could peer through. He felt slightly ridiculous, eavesdropping as if he wasn’t the caretaker for the dorm and all those in it. But his thoughts faltered as he observed the scene inside. He found Epel and Rook, as well as several other Pomfiore students, constructing elaborate sets out of painted cardboard and repurposed decorations from the dorm. Was that…? Something about this all seemed eerily familiar. 

“Wait, wait! You’re early!” (Y/N) said. She appeared in front of him, waving her hands to try and block his view. She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the room. “Don’t look!” She pushed him back into the hall, disappearing back into the ballroom. A second later, she emerged with a chair, setting it down and waving to it. “Just another few minutes.” The door clicked closed behind her before Vil could say anything. He thought about barging in, demanding an explanation. But his curiosity got the better of him. And besides, he always loved to see what (Y/N) got up to. Huffing in amusement, he sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

A while later, Epel, Rook, and the other students fled the ballroom, giving Vil knowing looks as they passed. With skepticism, Vil stood up and made his way inside. Standing in the doorway, he was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. Taking a better look, he recognized the replica set. It was from one of his first ever movies, a children’s adventure called The Heist of the Everlasting Rose. This particular scene was set in a museum where the Everlasting Rose was kept. It had been a supporting role, where, ironically, he had played a child actor in part of a crew to steal the titular Rose to pay for the main character’s sister’s surgery, or some other such justifiable nonsense like that. It was his first big screen production, although it was a relatively low-budget and minor movie. He remembered after the film had come out he and his father would pour over reviews praising his performance. At that moment, he felt like he was on top of the world. 

Vil was brought out of his reminiscing by (Y/N)’s voice. “Hello, sir!” She said. She had put on a tour guide’s jacket, once again modeled after the one in the film. “Welcome to the museum! We have our prized exhibit right this way.” Vil smirked, humoring her, if nothing else than to see where this was all going. Linking their arms, (Y/N) brought him through the makeshift museum. “Legend has it that this rose was given by a cursed prince to his beloved, who saved him from the brink of death with its magical powers. Since then, it has been a symbol of pure and everlasting love.” She carefully lifted the cloche from the silk flower, tiny fairy lights arranged around the base. She held it out to him, one hand dramatically pressed to her chest. “And now, I’d like to give it to you, Vil, to profess my everlasting love. Would you go out with me?” 

Vil couldn’t help it, it was all too much. The extravagant set, (Y/N) memorizing specific passages from such an old and now obscure film, the entire production. He burst out laughing, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth, eyes closed. “Well,” He said, catching his breath. “After such a wonderful effort, how could I possibly say no? Yes, my dearest (Y/N), I would love nothing more than to be with you.” 

Rook: 

“(Y/N), you’re gonna shoot your eye out.” 

“No, it’ll be fine. You have to take risks for the sake of love.” 

“Oh, Seven, we don’t need two of you.” 

Rook’s ears picked up, hearing Epel and (Y/N) talking in the back gardens of the Pomefiore dorm. Smiling, he crept around to (definitely not) spy on them. (Y/N) was struggling with a large bow, an arrow flopping around as she tried to aim it. Pomfiore had a small target practice area set up in the back of the dorm. (Y/N) was trying, emphasis on trying, to shoot arrows at one of the red and white round targets. After her latest arrow struck the ground in front of the target, Epel sighed and walked to the target, collecting other fallen arrows. He stabbed them into the target in the shape of a heart, a letter with Rook’s name pinned to the bullseye. 

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Epel said. 

“Oh? And what favor are you performing, Monsieur Pommette?” Both of them jumped, Rook smiling wider at the surprised squeak (Y/N) made. 

“You’re on your own, (Y/N)!” Epel said before rushing off. 

(Y/N) huffed. “Traitor,” She said under her breath. She turned to Rook. “Hi.” 

“Bonjour, Trickster.” 

“You’re, uh, early. I thought you were going to be at your club for a while longer.” 

Rook waved a hand. “There was an unexpected explosion and we had to evacuate. But I am much more interested in what you’re up to here.” 

“Ah, well…” She trailed off, limply pointing to the letter stabbed in the target. She covered her face with her hands, heat rushing to her cheeks as Rook elegantly plucked the letter up and began reading. 

(Y/N) could basically see the hearts forming in his eyes as he finished reading her confession. He dramatically clutched the love letter to his chest, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, mon amour le plus cher! Comme c’est merveilleux de lire vos sentiments les plus caret! Je n’ai jamais vu quelque chose d’aussi beau!” 

“So,” (Y/N) asked nervously. “Is that a yes?” 

“Oui, oui! One thousand times oui!” He cheered as he gathered her in a swinging hug. 

Epel: 

Epel found the first note the day after (Y/N)’s announcement in the cafeteria. Whatever she had wanted to do was apparently pretty important, as she had grabbed Grim and they left immediately. Epel hadn’t seen her the rest of the day, but he would recognize that handwriting on the paper wrapped around his dorm room handle anywhere. 

He looked around to make sure no one was watching before unfolding the paper and reading. ‘Epel, I have something important I need to ask, but before that I have a simple task. Take this first note of the set and go to the place we first met. Love, (Y/N).’ Epel tried not to think too much about that ‘Love’ part. Where did he and (Y/N) first meet? At this point it almost felt like they had known eachother forever. 

Would that be, maybe, the well in the quad? Epel remembered meeting her, Ace, Deuce, and Grim there when he was rehearsing singing, using the well’s acoustics. But, no, they had seen each other somewhere else first. Epel blushed in embarrassment at the memory. He had been crying, frustrated to hell and back with Vil’s lectures right after coming back from winter break. He’d run into them at the Great Seven statues. 

Epel went to the statues, deciding if he didn’t find anything there he would try the well. But, lo and behold, another note was waiting at the base of the Fairest Queen’s statue. He read, ‘Epel, Congrats on finding your second clue! By now you have an idea of what to do. For the next place I want you to go, think of the place we lived side by side before the show. Love, (Y/N).’ 

That one was easy, Ramshackle dorm. As Epel sprinted across campus, both notes held tightly in his fist, he reminisced about spending his days training for the VDC in Ramshackle. Most of the time there seemed like torture, running endless dancing drills, feeling constricted by Vil’s lessons whose purpose he still didn’t fully understand at the time, worrying about the whole dorm falling down around his ears at any moment. But there were plenty of good moments too. (Y/N) making them - Vil approved - breakfast in the morning, her encouragement at each of their rehearsals, how she would slip them treats when Vil and Rook’s backs were turned to help boost their mood. 

Sure enough, Epel found his next note on the Ramshackle front gate. There was another rhyme instructing him to go to another location, also connected to his and (Y/N)’s relationship and past. That lead to another and to another and another, each unlocking a precious memory between the two. Eventually, he unfolded the final note, the sun just starting to set, casting NRC in beautiful golden light. ‘Epel, I hope by now you get to see exactly how much you mean to me. We’ve been through a lot and I’ve enjoyed every and I’ve enjoyed every second, and… Okay, I can’t come up with any more rhymes. Just turn around!’ 

Lowering the paper, Epel turned, opening his arms just in time to catch (Y/N) in a big hug. They spun around each other for a second with the momentum, finally coming to a stop and looking to each other's eyes. 

“Hi,” (Y/N) said. “Did you like my scavenger hunt?” 

“You’re bad at rhyming,” Epel said with a crooked smile. 

She wacked his shoulder. “Hey, I meant what I wrote, though. I really like you, Epel. Would you go out with me?” 

Epel squeaked her tight. “Only if you promise not to write any more poetry.” 

Idia: 

Idia was holding out in his room, huddled under a blanket, his phone clutched tight in his hand. He was watching a live stream from his favorite idol group, Premo. He smiled as the group answered fan questions, talked about their upcoming tour, and demonstrated how to perform some of their most famous dance moves. 

The viewer chat scrolled across the side of the screen. Donations and chat reactions popped up in various animations across the screen. Idia hit the donate button, sending a flurry of roses blooming along the edges of the screen. He smiled as the idols thanked Gloomurai for his support. 

One of the idols leaned over, checking the chat feed. She gasped, flapping a hand at the others and enthusiastically pointing at what she was reading. They all started smiling and giggling, whispering to each other. Idia shuffled closer, as if that would let him read whatever message they had gotten. 

“Hey, everyone!” One of them said. “We’ve got a super special shout-out! This is from (Username) to… Gloomurai!” 

Idia’s heart raced as he sat up in bed, blanket draped over him. (Username), (Username)... Wait, he recognized that. That was your username! He had helped you set up your account to the MMO he played a while ago. He remembered helping you through the intro stages, stumbling over the tutorials. He had laughed at your frustrated frown as you died on the same boss for the third time. 

“Aww,” The second idol said. “This is sweet. It says, ‘Gloomurai, I thought about telling you this in person, but I wasn’t sure when that would actually be. And sometimes big feelings require big gestures. I like you, I really, really like you. I think I have for a long time. I love your smile, I love your hair, I love your brain, I love that you’re such an amazing big brother. Will you go out with me?’ Well, Gloomurai? Tell us your answer! We’re waiting on pins and needles here!” 

“Oh, wait,” The third idol said. “There’s more. It says, ‘PS, check your door.’” 

Idia yelped as he shot up, the blanket falling to a heap on the floor. Heart thundering in his chest and head starting to go fuzzy. He almost felt like he was in a daze as he walked with trepidation to his door. Slowly opening it, Idia saw a basket placed just in front. It was filled with his favorite snacks, small acrylic standees of characters from his favorite games and anime, and studded with bluebells, irises, and blue asters. A large paper heart was pinned to the front with her and his initials drawn in the middle. Hair flaring pink, he quickly brought the basket back into his room before any of his dorm mates would notice. 

He heard commotion from his phone, Premo and the chat all eagerly awaiting his response. He sent in another donation with a simple, “Yes.” The idols cheered and squealed. 

He swiped out of the livestream, opening his messaging app. (Y/N)’s name popped up with a new message, a cheering emoticon with three blue hearts. 

He subconsciously covered his face as he smiled wide, typing back, “You’re so cringe. Can’t wait for the date.” 

Silver: 

(Y/N) sprinted across campus, heading whipping around to try and catch a familiar shimmer of silver white hair. She skidded to a stop when she saw a black Diasamonia coat draped over a low tree branch, a pair of shined boots sticking out behind the trunk. 

(Y/N) rounded the old oak tree. “Silv-! Oh, sorry.” 

Silver was reclining against the tree, hands folded across his stomach, chest rising and falling with deep even breaths, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he slept. A few songbirds and a pair of squirrels congregated around him, looking up with big eyes at the newcomer. 

(Y/N) shifted her weight from foot to foot before screwing up her courage and sitting down next to Silver. She shuffled down so she laid next to him, still leaving enough room to not cause too much of a scandal if anyone walked by. She settled down, closing her eyes and relaxing, taking in the sounds of the woodland animals around them, the talking of other students in the distance, the wind whispering through the trees. 

A short while later, she heard stirring next to her. (Y/N) blinked awake quickly, propping herself up and leaning back on her hands as Silver woke up beside her. 

“Hi,” She said. “Would  you want to go out with me?” 

Silver blinked the sleep out of his eyes, looking up at her. “I must still be dreaming,” He muttered. “If I am, then…” He reached forward, cupping the back of her head and pulling her down. She gasped as their lips brushed. Silver’s eyes suddenly shot open and he jerked back from her as if burned. “I- uh-” He studded, pale skin turning a ruby red. 

(Y/N) giggled at his embarrassment. “Well, I guess that’s a yes, right?” 

Sebek: 

“Be right back!” (Y/N) said as she suddenly stood from the first year cafeteria table. Before anyone had a chance to say anything, she was off like a shot. 

“Any idea what that was about?” Epel asked. The others shrugged. 

Grim reached over to snag half (Y/N)’s sandwich from her discarded tray. “Probably going to go ask out that boy she keeps talking about,” He said nonchalantly, mouth full. 

Sebek choked, standing fast and slamming his hands on the table so all their plates and cutlery clattered. “What!” 

“Chill, man,” Ace said, waving him down as people across the cafeteria turned to stare. Ace smirked. “Unless you’re particularly invested in (Y/N)’s love life?” 

Sebek blushed and slammed back into his seat. He picked his knife and fork back up and started sawing at his Salisbury steak. “No,” He snapped. “(Y/N) can do whatever she wants. What do I care?” 

“Sure,” Epel said. 

(Y/N) reappeared in the cafeteria a short while later, Malleus in tow. She was talking with him, gesturing with her hands. Malleus had a wide, amused smile, nodding along. 

Sebek stood again, at attention for his prince. “Good afternoon, Lord Malleus!” He said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” He scowled at the other first years rolling their eyes at his formality. 

“Hello, Sebek. I’ve come to give my blessing.” 

“Blessing?” 

“Sebek!” (Y/N) said brightly. She took both his hands in hers as he sputtered and blushed. “I really like you. Would you go out with me?” 

For once, Sebek was speechless, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. (Y/N) squeezed his hands tighter as Malleus chuckled next to them. “Well, Sebek? It’s not polite to keep a lady waiting.” 

Life seized back into the knight. He tightened his grasp on (Y/N), pulling her closer. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, ahem, I accept your offer of courting, since you went so far to get my lord’s blessing, after all.” 

Lilia: 

Lilia wouldn’t call what he was doing skulking, exactly. More like surprise chaperoning, keeping an eye on the youngsters of Night Raven College like a good upperclassman should. And, if he just so happened to pop out and scare the living daylights out of whatever unfortunate student happened to be nearby, well, more fun for him. 

So it wasn’t especially surprising when he heard Silver and (Y/N) talking to each other in the courtyard. As a sly smile stretched across his face, he floated to a hiding place in the shadows of the flying buttresses, resting on his stomach to kick his feet, chin resting in his hands, as he observed the two. 

“You want my permission?” Silver asked, an amused smile on his face. 

“Of course!” (Y/N) replied. “I wouldn’t want to make it weird by dating him while we’re all still students together.” 

Lilia faltered. That was the problem with spying, sometimes you heard things you didn’t want to. So the Prefect was romantically interested in someone, eh? And if they were asking Silver for permission, it must be someone close to him. Sebek, maybe? Or, oh dear, Malleus? Lilia knew for a fact that both of the boys thought of (Y/N) as a close and dear friend and nothing more. His heart panged in sympathy at the idea of rejection. And, if he was being honest with himself, it panged with something else as well. 

“You don’t think he’s a little old for you?” Silver asked teasingly. 

“Maybe I like a silver fox,” (Y/N) teased right back. 

Silver laughed. “I don’t think I ever want to hear my father described as a silver fox ever again.” 

Lilia lost his concentration, falling with a yelp against one of the chandeliers hanging in the hallway. 

“Lilia?” (Y/N) asked with a gasp. 

Lilia smiled, trying to regain poise as he floated down to them. “Looks like I’m not as slick as I used to be. Now, what were you two discussing just now?” 

(Y/N) look startled. Silver gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and left with a wave. Just the two of them now, (Y/N) took a deep breath, building up her courage. 

“Lilia!” She said, probably a little too loudly with nerves. “I really like you! Would you go out with me?” 

Lilia chuckled, leaning close to enjoy the shy and flustered look on her face. “Well, if you have my son’s blessing, how am I to refuse? Besides, I think I rather like being called a, what was it you said? A silver fox?” 

Malleus: 

Malleus looked up from his book, looking around his room for the source of the noise that disturbed his studying. There, another sharp ‘ping’ from across the room. He looked to the window, noticing a small pebble hitting the glass. He walked over and opened the window, dodging just in time to miss another pebble. 

“Oops! Sorry, Horton!” He looked down, a smile automatically crossing his face at (Y/N)’s voice. But his expression quickly changed to puzzlement as he looked down at her. (Y/N) was standing in the courtyard of the Diasomonia dorm, inside a giant heart made of dozens of tiny tea candles. 

In a swirl of green light, Malleus appeared next to her on the ground floor. She jumped a little bit at his sudden appearance, but quickly recovered herself and beamed up at him. He felt his heart flip in that pleasant way it always did when he was near her. 

“What’s all this?” 

She cleared her throat dramatically, dropping to one knee. “Dearest Horton, you have bewitched me body and soul. I would like to officially court you. Would you do me the absolute pleasure of accompanying me on a date this weekend?” 

Malleus blinked down at her for a moment, basking in the admiration and adoration filling her eyes. He laughed, reaching down to take her hand and pull her to standing. “My, how formal,” He said. 

She smiled, shrugging. “I wanted it to be memorable. Couldn’t manage the fireworks, though. Sorry.” 

“I can rectify that.” With an elegant sweep of his hand, sparks erupted from Malleus’s fingertips, shooting into the dark sky around the dorm to explode in fantastic colors. Students from in the dorm leaned out windows to admire the impromptu show. 

Malleus drew (Y/N) closer to him, admiring the multicolor flashes playing across her face. “I would adore being anywhere with you.”

[atlabeth]

heat lightning

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you end up at the heart of the bau's latest case.

a/n: took way too long but here's more gideon reader! just as irritable as ever with some actual human emotions this time around. send help and prayers bc she's gonna need it. and before you ask there will in fact be some more parts to close up this case, i just have to write them first and it may take approximately 10 years. thank you for your consideration

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): reader still has daddy issues, still hates spence, and still argues w gideon the whole time. more angst! typical cm case stuff (a stalker that has taken vulnerable pics of reader) read w/ discretion if you are sensitive to those things. more drama and more tension and more not being a good time for anyone but me

“On your right, pretty boy.” 

Spencer stops as Morgan rushes past him back to his desk, eyes trained on the hallway. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he complains. “I nearly spilled my coffee.”

“Gideon’s daughter is here again,” he says. “Did you not feel the temperature drop five degrees?”

Spencer frowns. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears the telltale signs of your arrival: arguing. 

“—so typical of you! I have to drop everything the moment you need me, but it’s like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.���

Gideon turns the corner with you in tow. He has a duffle bag in one hand and a file in his other, his brow furrowed in frustration. 

“That’s because this is important,” he says. 

“Oh, and everything else I try to get you to be around for isn’t?” 

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Gideon says, keeping his voice level. 

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. 

“It’s necessary,” he corrects. “I’m not going to play games with your safety.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you mock. “Because you’ve always cared about that.” 

He just shakes his head. “I’m not debating this with you.”

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?”

You follow Gideon into his office and Spencer watches him close the blinds. The door slams shut, and though he can still hear the muffled argument he can’t make anything out.

“Oh, great,” Morgan says. “Now we can’t even get Reid to read their lips.”

“I don’t think we need it to know what they’re talking about,” Elle says. “They’ve been arguing since she was brought in.”

“Of course they have,” JJ says. “Gideon sent Hotch to pick her up instead of doing it himself. She sees it as another slight.”

“She sees everything as a slight,” Spencer says. “She hates him.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Morgan mutters. “Not when we only found out about her last month.” 

“Surely this isn’t helping with anything,” JJ says wryly. 

Elle shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes pointless arguing makes you feel better, even when you’re in the wrong.” 

“That’s enough, agents.” Spencer’s attention—along with everyone else’s—snaps to the top of the bullpen to see Hotch holding a file with the same expression as always. “I need you all in the conference room.” 

“Does it have anything to do with that?” Morgan asks, tilting his head towards Gideon’s office. 

“You’ll find out,” he says. Hotch starts walking to the conference room, the conversation clearly over. 

JJ sighs as she stands up and grabs the files on her desk. “I’ll get Penelope. The rest of you try not to gossip too much.” 

She goes off, and the others disperse back to their desk to finish up some last-minute things before the case takes them away. Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from Gideon’s office, even though he’s not getting anything. 

All he can think about is the last time you were here, when he got caught in the middle of your argument with Gideon—your dad, which was still a little weird—and he can’t help but feel guilty. 

Gideon is a father figure to him, sure, but it isn’t that difficult to end up with that dynamic when Spencer’s the youngest on the team. And he can go into everything about his father leaving and the psychology of that, but it doesn’t matter. Gideon treated him like a son when he had a daughter all along that he’d been neglecting. 

For all Spencer knows, it is his fault. 

“Reid,” Elle says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “you coming?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding far too many times as he catches up to her in a few quick strides. “Sorry.”

“No need,” she remarks. “Gideon’s kid was all anyone could talk about when she first showed up here. This is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can’t really be that bad of a dad,” Spencer says, “right?”

“All I know is that having a parent in the force rarely ends well,” Elle murmurs. She opens the door to the conference room and looks at him. “We can’t be too hard on her when we probably see Gideon more than she does.”

Spencer recalls his meeting with you, how he barely got a word in edgewise while you spent the whole time arguing with someone half the office viewed as immovable. 

“Yeah,” he says distantly. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

-

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?” 

Your dad shuts the blinds on all the windows in his office, then closes the door behind you. He sets your duffle down on the floor then looks at you, that infuriatingly even expression still unchanged.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he says. “Sit down and lower your voice, please. We have some things to talk about.” 

“I gathered that when you sent your guy to pick me up,” you say, crossing your arms as he walks over to his desk. “Couldn’t even do it yourself?” 

“Aaron Hotchner is the chief of this unit and one of the most accomplished agents here,” he says. “He lives closer to you than I do, and I asked him to pick you up on his way in because I knew you would be safe with him. Sit down, please.” 

“There it is again. My safety.” You remain standing. “Tell me what this is about. I’m missing work right now— I know you can understand that, at least.” 

He lets out a sigh as he says your name and looks at you. “Can we get through this without any arguments for once?” 

“That depends. Are you going to treat me like your daughter or an inconvenience?” 

“You’re my daughter, I love you, and your life is in danger,” he says evenly. 

You open your mouth to retort, but your dad opens the file in his hands and sets it down on the other side of the desk. You can see from your position that they’re photos, but your curiosity ultimately wins out. You walk over to get a closer look, and any words die in your throat as you pick up the first photo. 

A photo of you. 

You pick up the next one, only to see it’s another picture of you. At least ten photos are tucked away in the file, and they’re all of you. Taken outside your work, at your apartment, on your morning run— god, there’s even one taken through the window of your bedroom, half-naked in a towel after a shower. 

You fall silently into the chair, your heart hammering inside your chest as your eyes dart between all of the photos. You want to crawl out of your skin. 

“What the fuck is this?” you breathe. 

“The heart of our newest case,” your dad says. “It appears that you have a stalker.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still glued to your oblivious self, “I would fucking think so.”

“These photos were dropped off at my door this morning,” he says, and he flips to the next section of the file, “with that note.”

The erratic handwriting instantly stands out to you as you pick the photocopy up, the lump in your throat growing with every word you read. 

such a pretty little thing. I wonder if she knows it.

you don’t care about her, but I do. she’s just like all the rest of us, everyone that you’ve ruined.

think about your priorities, agent gideon. I’ll be watching.  

“What the fuck is this?” you repeat. Blood pounds in your skull as a distant chill creeps down your spine. “I— I’m one of your cases now?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” he admits. “These only appeared yesterday, but from the looks of it, the unsub has been watching you for a while. Can you pinpoint when any of these photos were taken? 

You stare at him. “Some psycho has been stalking me for a while?” 

Your dad says your name again, slightly strained. “Please. I know this is difficult to think about, but figuring out a time frame would help us.” 

“Difficult,” you scoff. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

But it doesn’t have the bite your words usually hold. For once, you don’t think you’re mad at your dad. You think you’re terrified. 

“...Yeah,” you finally murmur, and you pick up one of the photos. “I thrifted a mirror a month ago, and this one doesn’t have it.”

Your dad nods, and he picks up two others. “Neither do these.” 

“So this has been going on for at least a month,” you say bitterly. “Great.”

Your dad says your name, quieter this time, and when you finally look at him his eyes have softened. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” he says. “This is a threat against an FBI agent’s family, and it will be treated accordingly. Forensics is doing tests on all the original copies to try and find a lead. The whole BAU will be on your case—I will be on it, and we won’t rest until we find whoever’s doing this.” 

“Yeah,” you say numbly. “You sure that’ll help? Because it looks like all this is happening because I’m your daughter.” 

“I know this is scary,” he says. “This… this is nothing like you’ve ever dealt with before. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. But you have to trust my team. We know what we’re doing.” 

“Of course you know what you’re doing,” you say. “You’re always here.” 

Your words have no bite behind them, more of an instinct as you grab your purse from the ground. You can feel the pinpricks of incoming tears, and you refuse to cry in front of your dad. 

“I— I need a minute,” you say. “This is all just—” 

“I understand,” he says. “Just don’t go far. Stay on this floor.”

You nod and start towards the door, but you pause right before you reach it. Your mouth opens as you try to think of something to say, but it falls shut just as quickly. You shake your head as you reach for the door handle, but before you get the chance, it swings open and you’re met with a familiar face. 

Spencer Reid, the kid your dad likes more than you. He’s nothing less than surprised to see you, from his stumbled step back, the slightly wide eyes, his hand poised to knock on the door. 

A mumbled apology falls from your lips as you move around him, and you can still feel his eyes on you as you speed off. You wonder what ideas he and the rest of the BAU have drawn up about you since your last visit to the office. 

You don’t really care. 

True to your word, you don’t go far—just to the bathroom. Thankfully it’s close, because the moment you make it to one of the stalls, knees stinging as you fall to the tiled floor, you vomit. 

By the time you’ve expelled the contents of your stomach, it feels just as empty as the rest of you. You stare at the wall, breathing slightly harried and skin warm to the touch, and you resist the urge to punch it. 

You have a stalker. Someone has been watching you for a month—at least a month, maybe longer—and you had no fucking clue, and now your only decent hope lies with your dad and his team. 

Normally, you wrote off anything depending on your dad as fruitless, but this involved the thing he loved more than anything in the world: his job. 

You huff a wry laugh at the thought. This wouldn’t get solved because it concerned you, it would get solved because it concerned his job. 

You stand up and walk over to the sink. You rinse your mouth, then just stare at yourself in the mirror. 

It— it feels strange. Looking at yourself like this, knowing someone has been—still is—watching you. 

You recall their words. 

Pretty little thing. 

You don’t care about her, but I do. 

A chill crawls up your spine. You can’t shake the dread settling all over you. 

What the fuck are you going to do?

You have to trust your dad, but you’ve never trusted your dad. God, he’s not even really your dad. He’s Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, nothing more—the estranged kid is an unfortunate side effect of the estranged wife.

You let out another breathy laugh. Would he even care if this psycho actually ends up killing you? 

You stand there for another couple minutes, time idling in the background as you continue to stare at the mirror. 

You haven’t cried, at least. That’s certainly something.

The door opens ever so slightly and someone says your name. Your eyes flick to the mirror almost immediately as your body tenses, and you recognize her as one of the BAU’s agents. She’s pretty and blonde with sympathetic eyes, and you know they’ve been briefed on your situation. 

If you have to deal with an office of pitying looks, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Are you alright?” she asks softly. 

“Just peachy,” you mumble. “My dad ask you to check up on me?” 

She nods. “You can imagine why Gideon is a bit high strung at the moment.” 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I just… needed a second.” 

“I understand,” she murmurs. “Do you still need some time?” 

“What do you need?” 

“Gideon wants to talk to you. It’s best if he explains it.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Fine. Lead the way, Agent…” 

“Jareau,” she supplies. “But call me JJ, please.” 

In lieu of a response, you walk over to her. She offers a thin smile and holds the door for you, then falls into step with you. A moment of silence passes before she speaks up. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” JJ says. “Your dad is one of the best to walk through these doors. If anyone can solve this, he can.” 

“So I keep hearing,” you murmur. 

-

Spencer watches you hurry off with wide eyes, and it takes a few seconds for him to snap out of it. He’s less surprised by your pace, and more surprised that you actually apologized for bumping into him. 

“Reid,” Gideon speaks up, and his attention snaps back over to his superior. “What do you need?” 

“Is she okay?” he asks instead. He can’t help it—after what Hotch just told all of them, he’s worried about you. 

Gideon gathers the photos back into the file then stands up. “Our job is to make sure she will be.”

“Hotch briefed us,” he says, and his eyes darted back to the doorway almost on instinct. “This— this is crazy. We just found out about her last month, and some guy’s been after her for longer?” 

“What this is is one of my enemies targeting my daughter because they’re too much of a coward to go after me,” Gideon says evenly. “We just have to figure out which one before they escalate.”

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“What you said is true,” he admits. “Hardly anyone knows I have a daughter. Even fewer would know where she lives. Someone who wants to hurt me would have incentive to discover both.” 

“So we look into unsubs you’ve put away that have been released,” Spencer says. “Or ones that are still in, but have family that might be bitter.”

“Exactly,” Gideon nods. “But I have to ask something of you, Reid.”

He frowns. “Anything.”

“We’re working on getting a safe house for my daughter,” Gideon says. “I need you to stay there with her.” 

Somehow, his frown deepens. “What?”

“I need to know she’s with someone I can trust,” he says. “There’s someone after her, and we don’t know who—that means we need to keep this circle tight.”

“So you want me to be her bodyguard?” Spencer marvels. “Do you remember that you had to waive all my physical tests?”

“Less of a bodyguard,” he says. “More just… keeping her company. Making sure she’s alright—mentally as much as physically.”

“Why am I the one that has to keep an eye on her?” Spencer asks. “She hates me!” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Gideon says. “She hates a lot of things.” 

“But it is personal,” Spencer insists. “She hates me because she thinks you like me more than her.” 

Gideon doesn’t seem phased at the comment. “She’s opinionated, but she’s harmless. And right now, I need to know that she’s with someone I can trust.”

“I— I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, Reid.” Gideon leans forward, and there’s an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. "If I'm going to be on this case, I need to know that she's safe. I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Spencer wasn’t going to lie—he genuinely thought it was a bad idea. But… Gideon said he trusted him. And this was his daughter—they might’ve argued, but they still cared about each other. if he could keep Lila Archer safe, he could keep you safe. 

“…Okay,” he finally concedes. “Okay.”

Gideon nods, and he watches the change in his eyes, the slightest bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Just… make sure there are two bedrooms,” Spencer says. “I don’t need her to kill me one day in.”

At that, he cracks a rare smile. Spencer is thankful for it, that he can bring even the smallest amount of levity to Gideon’s life right now. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your dad says your name, but you hardly let him finish. 

“No! First I find out I have a stalker, then my whole life’s going to be uprooted until you find them, and now I have to be stuck with boy genius?”

“You know, we’re about the same age—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” you cry, whirling on Spencer.

“I actually don’t talk that much when I’m around you,” Spencer says, his brows creasing. “This is the third time I’ve met you, and I’ve only said nine sentences across those meetings. Thirteen, if you count all of these too.”

You let out a strained laugh as you shake your head, trying to blink back tears. “This is fucking unbelievable. I know he’s practically your son, but this is just—”

“A safety precaution,” your dad interrupts. “Doctor Spencer Reid is another one of the BAU’s finest agents, and he is fully qualified to keep you safe.”

“He looks like a strong breeze could snap him in half.”

“This is not a joke,” your dad says sternly. “None of this is a joke. Your life is in danger—you have a stalker that has been watching your every move for at least a month, and we have no idea what their next move will be. Doctor Reid is more experienced than you in every facet of this, and I am entrusting him to your care. I respect him immensely, and you will do so as well.”

You don’t even look at Spencer, quiet rage simmering beneath the surface as you stare at your father.

“You really don’t get it,” you murmur. “Do you?”

“The only thing to get is that your life is in increasing danger with every moment you spend pushing against me,” your dad says, and he stands up. “Get your purse. Reid, get her duffle. We’re leaving.”

He leaves before you get the chance to do anything—you assume he’s finally tired of you. 

You just shake your head and pick up your purse, and Spencer clears his throat as he reaches for your duffle bag. You wonder if it even has anything useful—Aaron Hotchner was the one who packed it. 

“…So,” Spencer says. “I guess we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

You huff in fully unveiled annoyance, and you push past him on your way out. 

“Great,” he mutters to himself as he follows you. “So this is what Gideon’s trust earns me.” 

It doesn’t take him too long to catch up to you, despite the unnecessary quick pace you’re taking. You bypass the elevator and head towards the stairwell, and Spencer catches the door before it’s able to slam on him. 

He says your name, but you just shake your head. 

“If we’re gonna be stuck together until this is over, I’d prefer silence.” 

“I don’t really do silence,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of books for you to read in whatever jail cell they throw me in.” 

“It’s actually going to be a pretty nice safe house,” he starts, throwing his hand up against the wall to catch himself from running into it as he turns, because god you are moving fast, “Gideon picked it out himself.” 

“Oh, then it’ll definitely be a jail cell,” you mock. “It’s not like he knows anything about me, so he’ll probably think that it’s perfect.” 

Spencer frowns. “Cut him some slack. This is all just as hard on him as it is on you.” 

You come to a sudden stop, whirling around to face him, and Spencer has to reel to the side to prevent himself from running into you. Had he not already been pressed up against the wall, he would have moved back further, what with the fire blazing in your eyes. 

“I’m not going to cut him any slack,” you spit. “This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with my dad in months, and it’s only because some creep is stalking me to get back at him. The only reason I’m in this at all is because of his job that he cares about more than me, and now he’s sticking me with the guy that he wishes was his kid. So no, Doctor Reid—I’m not going to cut him any slack.” 

You’re already off on your way again before Spencer even has time to blink, and you’ve made it down the whole last flight by the time he pushes himself back up. 

He takes the steps three at a time to catch up to you, and he once again barely manages to catch the door before it slams on him. He calls your name, finally managing to fall into step with you right before you reach Gideon. He, like a normal person, deigned to take the elevator. 

“You haven’t started arguing already,” he says, passing a glance at Spencer, “have you?” 

“What do you think?” you ask, your arms crossed. 

“I think you’re giving him a hard time that you usually reserve for me,” he says. “Cut him some slack.” 

Your jaw clenches. “I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. Save the profiling for my stalker, will you?”  

“There’s plenty of profiling to go around,” Gideon says. “You two wait here—I need to confirm the safe house location before we head out.” 

“Can we stop by my place before we go?” Spencer asks. “I need to pick up some things.” 

“You have a go bag, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, but I— I wasn’t exactly prepared for this sort of thing when I came in today.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Gideon says. He walks off before Spencer can protest, and he sighs. 

You lean against the wall, your arms crossed with your purse hanging off your shoulder, and for once you don’t pass judgment on his—admittedly small—plight. 

“I changed my mind,” Spencer speaks up, deciding to try and break the remarkably high amount of tension that had built up in such a short time, and your eyebrows rise as you glance at him. 

“About what?” 

“I— I think I can do silence,” he says. “Temporarily.” 

You huff a laugh. “Really?” 

“I don’t really want to annoy you while we’re stuck together in an undisclosed location,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.” 

And for the first time since Spencer has met you, you actually smile. It’s the smallest thing, just a slight tilt of your lips that’s more akin to Hotch’s moments of levity than anything, but it’s a smile. 

“...Good choice,” you say. It feels like a joke, but Spencer isn’t sure. 

He smiles anyway. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, you’re just another girl. Someone that Spencer could imagine himself stealing glances at in a lecture hall, a regular at his favorite coffee shop that he falls for over the course of an especially cold winter, someone he meets on a night out with the team that he ends up talking to all night. 

You really do have pretty eyes. 

And then your gaze hardens, darts away from him, and Spencer sees Gideon coming back in his peripherals. The moment fractures. 

You’re not just a girl. You’re Gideon’s daughter, you’re in a remarkable amount of danger, and lest he forget, you do in fact hate him. 

Spencer lets out another short sigh. 

At least this safe house won’t have a pool.

[chocobje]

How I like to characterize Sprout is that he’s great talking with the ones he’s close with (Cosmo, Astro, etc.) But incredibly socially awkward with others. He comes off as brash, but he’s trying his best.

What guidelines do you try to follow when writing Sprout? I’m just curious.

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to yap about one of my favourite characters hehe..

You asked for guidelines I gave you a character analysis instead.

(Don't mind the images I didn't want this post to look naked)

ALSO NOTE THAT AT THE END OF THE DAY THIS IS MERELY MY INTERPRETATION OF HIS CHARACTER. EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN!! Don't take my post as a mandatory guide to follow.

Let's talk about what's canon:

I like checking the Wikipedia for his dialogues every now and then to make sure he's not too out-of-character.

Sprout comes off as blunt, he does not sugarcoat his words when he has something to say.

Not even an excuse or a reason as to why he doesn't want to join Teagan for tea; It was straight up a "no" until Teagan told him Cosmo will join them too. (Also I want to point out he doesn't immediately say yes when he's told Cosmo will be there, so for all we know he'd still decline even if his best friend's joining Teagan).

Dandy's dialogue when you purchase Sprout. I think about it a lot. Out of all the character dialogues, the one with Astro is what I feel like is an example of his overprotectiveness coming across as "pushy".

He'd definitely be the type to scold his friends. Especially after Gardenview's shutdown with all the Twisteds wreaking havoc and whatnot. I don't think Sprout is fond of going on runs, but only does so he can watch over everyone and keep them safe. He makes sure everyone is focused and on high alert, he doesn't want anyone to be reckless.

He prioritizes safety over answers. His dialogue with Rodger shows that. Maybe he's also curious as to what has happened, because in Vee's dialogue he tried talking to Dandy only for Dandy to walk away. I assume Sprout just wanted to check up on him rather than knowing what's going on with Gardenview and the Twisteds.

Another thing I don't really see often is how Sprout is actually pretty forgetful and impulsive.

For a Toon who's constantly keeping watch on everyone he surely does not apply the same kind of attention to himself.

He talks before thinking about his words, but once he realized that he immediately apologized to Vee. I don't think he always notices when he comes across as rude though.

I actually think he's actually quite reckless when he bakes. I obviously can't show it in this post but if you look at that animation with Cosmo and Sprout baking they're not even measuring the ingredients. I mean what. 😭

The way he bakes feels so impulsive and it just looked like they were winging it. Somehow despite that their baked goods still end up great and that's honestly impressive.

Okay now for that dialogue between Bobette and Sprout, I was getting there-- I've never made a gingerbread house but from what I've seen from other people it requires a lot more patience and carefulness.

Sprout is neither.

According to him, his gingerbread house fell apart immediately and then he stopped trying afterwards. It's honestly funny.

I feel like this also shows through his stats. Both his extraction speed and skillcheck is 2 stars. His stamina and speed is way higher. He prefers running around, probably to make sure he can watch over everyone during their runs. That or because he has long legs.

Anyway to recap; Sprout in canon is blunt, pushy, overprotective, and impulsive. But he genuinely has good intentions and means well. He cares for his friends, which is why he scolds them because he wants to make sure they're safe.

Now for some headcanons:

Okay this is the part where I make stuff up. So it's just my take;

• He has ADHD.

I'M STARTING WITH THE NEURODIVERGENT HEADCANON.

This is not a unique headcanon. I've seen so many people who headcanons this too so it's relatively popular. Personally, I only see him with ADHD. (I'm projecting).

He's forgetful, impulsive, and quite socially awkward in a way aswell. He's easily distracted. He keeps forgetting about the oven. He's impulsive when baking. I'm a very impulsive and reckless person myself, I constantly make mistakes when I draw, yet somehow they end up okay 😭. When I'm not able to draw something right, I give up immediately. (I projected this onto the gingerbread house thing earlier).

• He comes across as intimidating.

You know in Kids' birthday parties when there's a mascot a lotta kids go run and hide? I based it off of that. I remember when I was like, 6 or 7, when a mascot came in I cried and hid under a table. They were tall.. <\3

I feel like there was a concerning number of kids who were actually afraid of him, despite how friendly he appears both in person and in the show. Maybe it's the RBF when he's not smiling..

I also like to think he's taller than some of the kids who comes to Gardenview which plays a factor to the whole "intimidating" thing. The way Sprout deals with this is giving the kids cupcakes or other sweets. Once the kids actually talk to him they're immediately comfortable.

• He was one of the very first to become "Twisted".

I don't have a concrete idea on how the story of the game goes, but I always imagine the Mains being the first victims. Sprout is a healer and he keeps an eye on everyone, so he had to go first.

–

Okay, I think that's all now. If you read all of that wow thanks, this took me hours to write 😭. I love overanalysing characters.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis part 4

oh look, gave in, masterpost

by HH discord vote, wrote on this while waiting for my nerve test today (good news, nerves good. bad news, hands bad because ?????. other news, OW) which was nice because this is very soft and I was very nervous about it all. Apparently I had another chunk not posted here too so have a decent bit!

-

“Yeah, well, you just met—saw? You just saw my parents. They’re just sort of like that. Everything always becomes dramatic,” Danny said, some of his humor fading as he talked about his family.

“I’ll remember not to come over for dinner,” Conner said with a purposefully light tone.

Danny snorted. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t subject you to that horror. Easier to just eat out anyways.”

“And yet you don’t eat lunch,” Conner pointed out.

Danny ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, school lunches aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Conner agreed after a beat. Him and Dad might still have some issues that they were working through, but Clark made sure that Conner always had a lunch to take to school, no matter how busy he was with a story. The only times there wasn’t a lunch is when Clark was off world for three or more days.

Conner wondered if Dad would mind making an extra one.

“Anything you hate?” Conner asked curiously.

Danny gave a little shrug. His fingers twisted restlessly against Conner’s. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I’m okay with complicated answers.”

“Turkey and chicken, but only if it’s the whole bird. Hot dogs. I guess all meat can be iffy a lot, depends on the day. Tofu. Um, plain broths and Jello at this point. Anything fake cherry favored. Lime Gatorade,” Danny listed off in a rush.

Conner blinked. “Okay.” He’d do his best to remember that.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Like, I think that’s actually not that hard to work around. And you can remind me if I forget anything, but, like, I’ll try not to,” Conner said. He gave Danny’s hand a reassuring little squeeze.

Danny stared down at their clasped hands like it was the most confusing thing.

Conner tried not to worry too much about it. Danny could be odd like that.

The shop was actually a pretty nice one. Maybe it was a little too hipster, but it was a coffee shop. The music could be worse and the spray painted art on the wall was actually pretty cool. There was no one waiting, so Conner pulled them up to the front where they could easily read the menu to make their choices.

He nudged Danny gently with his elbow. “They have some vegetarian stuff, if it’s one of those days.”

“The beetroot sandwich is damn good,” the heavily tattooed barista who was waiting on them said.

“Yeah?” Danny said, looking over that on the board. “I’ll do that, I guess, and a large iced coffee.”

“Whole milk, skim, or oat milk?”

“Oh, um, whole is fine,” Danny said.

“Same drink for me, but I’ll do the avocado BLT,” Conner decided. He went to pull out his phone to pay, but Danny beat him to it, holding out a credit card.

“My treat, since we couldn’t work at my place,” Danny said quickly.

Conner huffed. “Fine. But next study session is my treat then.”

“You two can go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring your stuff over soon,” the barista said with a smile as they handed back Danny’s card.

Conner followed Danny’s lead over to a comfortable looking pair of armchairs around a low table. They were forced to finally let go of each other’s hands to sit, and Conner tried not to pout. Now that he knew Danny would let him, Conner figured he could find another excuse to hold Danny’s hand if he worked at it.

Danny pulled out his sleek, new laptop and set it open on the table. The assignment was already open on the screen, glaring in the large, red text that Mrs. Simmons liked to use for all of her assignment headers. It was especially bold on the black background of the dark mode that Danny seemed to keep everything in.

Under every poet’s name, Danny had typed a sentence or two about them. It was far from academic writing (some of it was actually hilariously blunt), but it actually had some really useful information.

“Damn, Danny, you call this only a little?” Conner asked as he scanned over the notes.

Danny fidgeted in his seat. “I mean. Just like I said, I'm not good at English work and I don't want to be why you get a bad grade.”

“Hey,” Conner leaned over and bumped their shoulders together, “it's just a grade.”

“Yeah, try saying that in my house with two doctorate already and a third on the way with my sister,” Danny muttered.

“Well, good thing we aren't in your house then,” Conner joked. When Danny rolled his eyes, Conner reached out and tapped Danny’s hand, getting the other to look at him. “It’s just a grade, Danny, but I'll do my best to make sure that it's a good one, okay?”

Danny’s smile was a little wobbly, but at least it was there. “Thanks.”

“Course. Tell me what you've done so far.”

His smile turned shier, but Danny started to explain that he’d wiki searched the poets and also scanned whatever there most famous poem was. He didn’t really know how to talk about the poems, but tried to write a word or two about them. As they went through the list, it was clear that Danny already had some he didn’t like, by the way his nose wrinkled as he talked about them, scrunching up his freckles. He also had some good points about some poets that they shouldn’t do as two white guys. Conner didn’t know if he actually really counted as a white guy, not with Clark, but he figured since socially Clark was seen and raise as one, it fit as much as anything.

(Not like Conner could talk about the whole half alien clone thing anyways.)

[fireflyinks]

I have an idea for a request :) 💗 sorry if this is long but what if hamzah did one of the solo out of character podcasts and then he invited y/n but then the sexual/romantic tension between them so they stop filming to do other stuff (can be the deed if you want to take a smut route or just making out or being cuddly for a fluffy route!) or maybe 🫣 they forget about the camera and accidentally capture stuff on camera

special guest

hamzah x reader smut

contains : smut, oral sex (both giving and receiving), no p in v, use of y/n, cursing, sort of exhibition (they record themselves but don’t post it), munch!hamzah

a/n : I LOVE THIS SM, munch!hamzah is my new favorite thing to write, i’m obsessed. anon you’re literally a genius. thank you so much for the support on all of my hamzah posts, i love you alllll

18+ MINORS DNI

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hamzah and I had been friends for a couple of years. Both of us had YouTube channels and lived near one another so we would hang often. There was an obvious connection between us, but Hamzah nor I were bold enough to point it out. The two of us simply enjoyed dancing around the face that we obviously had mutual feelings for one another.

I sat on my couch, editing my latest video when I felt my phone buzz beside me. I picked it up, reading “hamzah” spread across my screen and a .5 picture I’d taken of him. I swiped right to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/n. Are you busy?”

I shook my head as if he could see me, “No, what’s up?”

“Well, Martin is busy today and can’t record for our podcast, so I was wondering if you’d want to come record with me. Like a ‘special guest’ type thing?”

I thought for a moment. I hadn’t seen him in a while just because the two of us had busy, and viewers loved it when we made content together. We actually got shipped a lot, but Hamzah always ignored it, and I never brought it up. Part of me was glad that even the fans noticed that there was something between us.

“Yeah, why not? That sounds fun, when do you want me to come over?”

Hamzah took a beat before answering. “You could come over now, and afterwards we could order dinner or something, yeah? You’ll have to come to Martin’s apartment because that’s where we film, it’s not too far from mine. I’ll send you the address.”

“I’m on my way, see ya in a second.”

“Thanks, y/n, drive safe.” He hung up.

My heart fluttered at his last comment.

I went to my room and quickly put on something sort of presentable. The star of my outfit was none other then a small denim miniskirt.

The drive to Martin’s house was only about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I was way more excited about spending time was Hamzah than I should’ve been.

Once I arrived at the apartment, I knocked on the door. I was greeted immediately by Hamzah. I couldn’t help but noticed as he looked me up and down once he’d opened the door, a small grin on his lips.

“Hey!” He said, pulling me into a hug. It surprised me a bit but Hamzah was always very affectionate with me, even as a friend. He’d play with strands of my hair on late nights after filming when we’d sit and talk about pretty much anything, and would always grab my hand when leading me places.

“Hi” I smiled into his shoulder right before he let go.

“I have everything get up in here.” Like clockwork, he took my hand and led me through Martin’s apartment. I looked around, seeing the scenes that had made appearances in many of Hamzah and Martin’s videos.

“So…” He sat down on the couch, motioning for me to sit to his right, “it’s going to real casual, just like it is with Martin. I might ask you a couple questions about your channel, if you want me to.”

I shrugged, “I’m fine with anything, just happy I could help you out.”

Hamzah smiled, handing me Martin’s microphone and looking at the camera. “Well, are you ready?”

I nodded, and he got up and began recording.

“You gotta just sit here for a second awkwardly while the intro music plays.”

A few seconds went by as we tried not to laugh at the silence. I couldn’t help but notice how his eyes flicked down to my thighs, exposed by my mini skirt, every few seconds.

“Hey guys, today I’m here with someone who is not Martin.”

Hamzah motioned to me. I lifted my hand and gave the camera small wave.

“Hi there, I’m y/n.”

“Martin decided to skip recording today to go roller skating with Mandy.”

I giggled, “Well, I think they sort of trapped you into recording without them so you wouldn’t third wheel them for once.”

Hamzah rolled his eyes. We went on and on, talking about how much better I am at rolling skating than Hamzah is, how ice skating isn’t real and it’s all just an illusion because neither of us can even stand up on the ice, and after about 40 minutes, somehow the topic of none other than Ice Spice.

“Munch is an absolute banger, but I’ve never met a dude that actually enjoyed eating it.”

Hamzah furrowed his eyebrows, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” I went on, “like most of them do it but they don’t like it, which makes it awkward. Like I’m yet to meet a dude that actually gets pleasure out of it too.”

There was a slight pause in the conversation, and I was scared I had made him uncomfortable.

“You’re talking to one right now.”

My cheeks flushed as his comment sunk it. I couldn’t respond, no words would come out of my mouth.

“Sorry,” he looked at me worried, “I totally just made it awkward.”

“Nah,” I shook my head, desperately. My heart thumped as I looked back at him. Maybe I wasn’t delusional about our obvious connection. Why in the world would he make a comment like that if he didn’t mean it in a flirty manner? “it’s okay, really.”

I couldn’t get the thought out of my head. Hamzah’s mouth on my heat, suckling on it like it was his last meal, rubbing my clit with his thumb. I bit my lip. The way he was looking at me showed that he was possibly imagining it too.

He shifted on the couch, looking at me desperately.

“I could show you, if you want.”

I nodded dumbly.

“Please.”

Hamzah leaned in, slowly pressing his lips onto mine. He slowly worked his mouth on mine, growing more and more passionate.

His mouth moved down my body, trailing down my neck. He paused, slipping my shirt and skirt off my body and taking a moment to stare at my breasts.

“God, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “I was so distracted, I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

He rubbed my thighs, looking down at them. It’s like he was mesmerized. “These thighs are so pretty. I couldn’t stop imagining them spread for me.”

Hamzah’s boldness surprised me, but I couldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy his praises. No matter how lewd they were.

“Can I take these off?” He curled his index finger into the band of my panties.

“Yes” I breathed out, shyly.

Hamzah chuckled to himself, “You’re so cute.”

He pulled my panties off of me, spreading my legs and looking down at my aching heat. Leaning down, he slowly kissed my core. I whimpered at the feeling.

“Tell me you want it.”

I bit my lip, looking down at him with pleading eyes. “I want it. I want it so fucking bad, Hamzah.”

Without further discussion, he dove down into my aching heat, swirling his tounge through the folds. I took his hat of his head with shaky hands and ran my fingers through his curls.

He looked up at me for a moment.

“Do you feel good?” He said quickly, wasting no time to get back to his meal.

“Yes! Yes! So good.” I moaned, my legs involuntarily closing in on his head. His hands held them back in place, spread wide for him to have the fullest access.

“You taste so damn good.” He groaned out. It was entertaining, watching how much he genuinely enjoyed this. He moved his mouth like it was his last meal. I’d never felt this much pleasure just from being eaten out, and it was so sweet.

My brain felt all fuzzy from the way his tounge worked through the folds of my heat perfectly, finding all of the sensitive places and causing my legs to shake under his hold.

“Fuck- I’m gonna cum.” I threw my head back, pure pleasure filling my head as I let out breathy moans.

“Go ahead, cum for me. Cum in my mouth, baby.”

I let myself release on his tounge, my body writhing against his working mouth.

After a few seconds, he pulled away, looking up at me with hopeful eyes, almost like he’d expected me to have had a bad experience.

I didn’t. I had the complete opposite; I couldn’t stop thinking about Hamzah’s tounge.

“Fucking wow.” Is all I could manage to get out.

“Was it good?” He asked.

“More than good. That was… can I please return the favor?”

Hamzah was quick to shake his head, “You really don’t have to. I know most girls don’t like to, and I don’t expect anything in return.”

I genuinely couldn’t let myself live knowing that I didn’t repay Hamzah back after he had me seeing stars.

“No, please, I really want to.”

I couldn’t lie, I’d imagined Hamzah’s cock plenty of times. I’d wondered how big it was, what it looked like, how it would feel in my mouth, what he was like in bed, pretty much everything. But now that I might finally get it, I felt more giddy than ever.

Hamzah slowly nodded, “Alright, go ahead.”

I reached down to his jeans, unbuttoning them as he helped me pull them off his legs, followed by his boxers. His member slapped his stomach, and it surprised me just how hard he was solely from eating out.

It was… big to say the least.

I slowly bottomed him out in my mouth, gagging slightly. He groaned, keeping his eyes on me. I bobbed my head, feeling him hit the back of my throat over and over again.

“Fuck, y/n, just like that.”

I continued these motions, occasionally pulling him out of my mouth and leaving small kitten licks on the tip. He was fighting the urge to throw his head back into the sofa, continuing to keep his eyes glued to me. He breathed out shaky praises to me.

“You’re so good at this, fuck. I- I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum in my mouth… please.” I begged, sucking his faster.

He moaned before filling my mouth with his loud. I swallowed it all before taking him out of my mouth, looking up at him shyly.

“Fuck… that was amazing.”

I giggled as we looked at each other for a few moments. It was crazy, the very things I’d been fantasizing about coming true, all because of a podcast episode.

Fuck. A podcast episode.

My eyes darted over to the recording camera, my cheeks flushing. Hamzah was still looking at me, almost in a hypnotic state.

“Hamzah…” I tried to grab his attention, he hummed in response. “The camera…”

His eyes widened as he looked over, coming to the same realization that I had.

“Fuck- sorry.” He got up, pulling his boxers on and walking over to the camera. “I’m deleting all the footage. You can check afterwards if you want. Recording us really wasn’t my intention.”

He was panicking, his fingers fumbling with the cameras buttons.

“Hamzah… relax. It’s okay. You- nevermind.”

Hamzah looks over to me, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “I what?”

“You can keep the recording if you want.” It felt so lewd to say, but I meant it. It was sort of hot, knowing he had that footage of us and could watch it anytime.

He smirked, looking down at the camera and nodding. “Alright… I will.”

I blushed, “Now can we get that food that you promised me?”

Hamzah chuckled, grabbing his phone.

It was strange, a couple of seconds ago we were performing such lewd acts for a camera we’d forgot was recording, and now we were arguing about whether we should get chinese or mexican take out.

[changisworld]

“Why do you make me feel like this, pretty?”

fuckboy!hyunjin x reader

Word count; 5,902

Summary: After hyunjin took your virginity, you grew attached despite trying your hardest not to. You find out he hooked up with someone the day after it happened which broke your heart, making you cry.. but of course, hyunjin caught you crying. He didn’t really know what he felt, it being new to him, as he tries to refuse the silly ideas popping into his brain, he can’t ignore how much you being upset is making his heart.. hurt?? Surely he doesn’t like you too..?

18+ ONLY, MDNI, SMUT UNDER THE CUT.

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

part 3 here

**This can be read on its own despite it probably being confusing but i highly recommend reading part 1!**

SMUT WARNINGS: spit/drool, PIV, needy reader, pet names, shyish reader, rimming( f rec), oral ( f rec), fingering (f rec), finger sucking, unprotected sex, jealous jinnie, edging???,pull out method, literally 1 spank, slight dacryphilia, jealous jinnie, soft jinnie, kind jinnie, hyunjins a tease obvs, slight aftercare, wayyy fluffier ending than last time you're welcome!!

You & Hyunjin walk off campus, you still hiding your face from him, embarrassed at the tears now staining your cheeks, your face tinged red, you also don't fail to miss the looks you & Hyunjin are receiving from other students walking past the both of you, his arm still around you & you can't help but feel judged, so you push his arm off.

"Forget the cafe, I'm just gonna go home, I feel.. sick. I'll see you later Hyunjin." you murmur, still not looking at him in the eye.

"Y/n stop being weird, just cmon. I promise to cheer you up." He replies back, reaching out to cup your cheek but you move your head before murmuring a quick 'bye' before walking away from him hastily, leaving him standing there, confused & a bit annoyed.

He watches as you turn the corner & he huffs before kicking a stone nearby. 'Why do I care she's actually upset? 'What did I do wrong?' 'I hope she's okay' & 'Shit how can I apologise' are all thoughts that race through his head, no matter how much he tries to shake it all off, he genuinely feels guilty. But why? He never feels sorry for the girls he fucks n chucks, so what makes it different? He barely even knows you? He only spoke to you for a week which is barely anything. He sighs before pulling out his phone & going onto his contacts, about to call Joy, another one of his side things, before deciding against it, instead calling his friend Jisung& asking to meet him.

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Twenty minutes later Jisung meets him at the local dog walking park & they end up sitting on a bench, talking about random stuff before the topic of you comes up, but not because of Hyunjin.

“You’re lucky you got to partner up with y/n for that assignment, I got put with Changbin so obviously i fucking failed, tryna do that presentation on the spot was absolute torture, you still talk to her? she seems quiet as hell.” Han sighs, sipping his bubble tea through his straw & Hyunjin laughs.

“Ay! I actually helped her so shut up, just because you both have no more than eight brain cells, i’m just proof there is such a thing as looks & beauty. Nah, we haven’t really spoken since, just been busy i suppose & what the hell am i meant to say to her?” Hyunjin replies, a quick chuckle leaving his lips.

“What do you mean you’re proof that looks n beauty exist, y/n basically invented it you idiot. Wha'cha mean what are you meant to say to her? Did you fuck her too or something?" Han questions, leaning forward.

Hyunjin just kisses his teeth before nodding & Han just raises his eyebrows. "fuck, I didn't think someone like y/n would get around that way. Can you do me a favour n start speaking to her again n put in a good word about me I wanna approach her but she feels intimidating, you get me?" Once Hyunjin hears these words, a bad & gross feeling bubbles up in his stomach.. is what he feeling... jealousy?

"Uhh.. you're really not her type, she's not up for dating, she told me. Go try your luck with someone else." Hyunjin says in a bitter tone, not looking at the man in front of him & Han scoffs.

"You chat shit Hyunjin, stop gatekeeping! I'll just use my charms & trust me, we'll be fucking a week later n dating two weeks later." Jisung jokes, patting Hyunjins leg but he pushes it off.

"You're ridiculous Jisung, she won't want what's between your legs." Hyunjin spits out before standing up off the bench, stretching out & sighing. "I have things to do, you can keep day dreaming, I'll see you later. choke on your boba." Hyunjin jokes with Han & he spits out a bubble as a response before he walks away, leaving Han on the bench.

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He walks through the rest of the park, thinking about Hans words & he can't get over it. 'Why am I so jealous?' 'Who does he honestly think he is talking about y/n like that?' 'They wouldn't even look good together.' are things that keep racing through his head & he is getting more pissed off as the seconds go by.

He gets out of the park & he keeps walking on the pavement, not having an actual destination in mind.. until he seen you walking out of a random convenience store across the street & a lightbulb lights up behind his brown eyes.

He picks up the pace of his walk as he follows just far enough behind you on the other side of the road until you reach your apartment complex before entering & he can't help but feel like an absolute creep, but that doesn't stop him. He screenshots his location on find my Iphone, just so he won't forget where to go later on as he walks back the way he came, heading to the main line of shops near the campus.

He strolls around for around twenty minutes, looking at random little trinkets, bookmarks with the college logo on it, which he cringes at due to the look of it, before he keeps walking until he reaches a little florist shop.

He enters it, aimlessly walking around, fingertips grazing over a few roses & tulips, admiring the pretty colours as he sets his eyes on a bouquet of lillies. He picks it up, giving himself a better look at it before deciding he is happy with it, heading to the counter.

He places them down, not paying attention to the cashier as he looks at the little vases beside the register.

"Can I get this pink vase to- ohh, I didn't know you worked here Jennie, hiya." he says, surprised. "Sure. You know, Lisa doesn't like lillies, I suggest you get her daffodils, her favourite colour being yellow n all." she responds, smiling up at him. "Ah, they.. they're not for Lisa so I'll pass. Can you fill up the vase with a bit of water too? I think that's what you're supposed to do, right?" he says quickly, hand coming up to the back of his neck, the awkwardness filling the small space.

"mhmm. £29.11 is the total." She says in a cold voice, taking the tag off the vase as she turns around to the small sink, filling up the vase 1/3 of the way. She dumps the bouquet in the vase with no care at all before pushing it towards him, giving him the card machine. He pays, a strained, awkward smile on his face before saying thank you & leaving.

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After buying you a box of chocolates & a Vanilla bean smelling candle & following the path you walked on earlier, he ends up back outside your apartment complex.

He sits on the front steps, waiting for someone to leave the building so he can catch the door & once he is inside, he begins knocking on every door, talking to each person who answers in a quiet voice, Ignoring the confused looks of other students who recognise him who are all definitely wondering why he is knocking doors looking for you, making sure you wouldn't hear him & then refuse to open the door.

He reaches the fourth floor, mouth slightly dry from all the talking he has had to do & he is beginning to doubt his memory. He knocks on the third door & takes a step back, waiting for an answer as he hears footsteps & he can't help the smile that spreads across his face as you are the one who open the door.

"Surprise, & I'm not just talking about my pretty face. Can I come in?" he chirps as he raises his arms, making sure you see what he has brought despite it being almost all you can see, not missing the chance to give you an up & down look, you wearing black tight shorts & an oversized off the shoulder graphic shirt.

"Hyunjin, I told you I was sick.. How the hell do you know where I live?" you question, honestly just confused. "Does that matter? I asked a question, Don't leave me standing here I went to like twenty doors to find you!" he pouts. You roll your eyes & begin to shut the door but Hyunjin stops it with his foot.

"Okay okay okay! I followed you, but not in a creepy way I swear! I just wanted to.. apologise? But I knew you would ghost me If I text you." he says in a sulky voice. You groan before opening the door back open, his pretty face poking through the gap. "You are a creep, you know that? Why you apologising?" you question him, crossing your arms, not amused but slightly flattered despite not showing it.

"I'm not going to broadcast my deep, heart warming words in the corridor for everyone to hear, just let me inside, pleaseee." he pouts again & you just sigh before moving out of the way so he can enter, taking his shoes off as soon as they touch your laminate flooring.

You walk into your connected living room & kitchen before sitting on your corner kitchen counter, your legs swinging off it as Hyunjin follows behind you, looking around at the cute random decorations hung up on your walls & on the mantle pieces.

He places the flowers on your coffee table before walking back into your small kitchen & leaning on the opposite counter top, still holding the chocolates & candle.

"Okay, Can I give you my apology now? I rehearsed this to make sure I get everything right." He tries to joke but you just look at him with a blank expression before nodding, encouraging him to continue. "Okay, I didn't realise how much I've upset you & I'm sorry for not trying to check up on you sooner & stopped speaking to you. I partially didn't even mean to ghost you but I also genuinely thought you wouldn't speak to me anymore since you're always so concentrated on lessons & studying, I thought you would have thought I was getting in your way. I'm also sorry for fucking with that girl & you overheard it, if I'm genuinely being honest, I did it to try wipe my mind of you. I know what we did is a huge thing & it was wrong of me to have acted the way I did, if i'm being honest, this was the first time I did what we did so I just didn't really know how to act, but I'm genuinely sorry y/n. Chocolates?"

He blurts out, not taking his eyes off you as he feels his cheeks go hot, the nerves & also the way you're looking at him making him flustered. You both sit in silence for a minute, him waiting for a response & you thinking of a response.

"Gimme the box & light the candle for me, second drawer to your right n you will find a lighter. If you felt like this all week, You've still had seven days to come n tell me this but instead you've let me feel like shit for a week, this was the exact reason I was unsure to do it with you Hyunjin, in fear something like this would have happened & instead of just growing a pair & talking to me, you fuck someone else to just try forget?" You reply, your voice getting a bit shaky without meaning it, the feelings of it all hitting you again.

Hyunjin listens as he digs into his pocket & pulling out his own lighter & lighting it before putting it on the counter & he walks the few steps over to you, handing you the chocolate before standing right in front of you, leaning his hands on the counter on the outside of your legs, caging you in.

"Please y/n, don't think like that. I know I should have swallowed my pride n apologised earlier, I was just trying to convince myself I didn't give a fuck but I do, hence why I'm here. I honestly think you used those crystals & manifested this or something." he mumbles the last part, looking away from you, his ears going red after hearing his words out loud & your legs stop swinging as you pause at his words.

"What do you mean you actually give a fuck? What are you trying to say." you reply back, resisting the urge to reach out & stroke his hair. Hyunjin sighs & shakes his head. "Don't make me spit it out y/n, It's just gonna sound like a lie to you." You get an anxious feeling in your belly before taking his chin & guiding him to look back up at you. "Hyunjin, just say it, it's only me here anyway. Just say what you gotta say." you respond in a quiet but firm voice, honestly scared.

He doesn't have much option but to look at you as he lets himself melt into your hand lightly before taking a deep breath. "I.. care about you? I don't know, it feels weird but like... I genuinely felt like shit after how I treated you n i've tried to bury it but it just won't leave, I don't really know what it is about you n honestly it scares me." he says in a quiet, quick tone & your jaw drops.

You just freeze as you both just look at each other in complete silence not including the quiet crackling of the candle & your living room clock ticking. Hyunjin can't bare the awkwardness anymore as he gets shy for the first time in years, moving his arms to stand completely upright but you pull him in by the shirt to hug him, tears threatening to leave your eyes as his arms wrap around you in return.

"This better not be some sort of sick joke Hyunjin or i swear I'll kill you, you're gonna boost my ego to a fraction of what yours is." you half laugh as he nuzzles his face into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell. "It's not, dead serious. You're just different n I don't know how to feel about it, stop casting spells to make me attached to you. I've been itching to ask to see you all week, I wish I wasn't being so stubborn." he muffles into your neck, moving his head side to side slightly, his nose tickling your neck, making you lean more into him, chuckling at his stupid joke.

"Stop with the silly magic jokes, you're ridiculous. I want to say you're not forgiven since you need to prove to me you're not talking out your ass but I do accept your indeed heart warming apology & I appreciate it just more than the flowers n chocolate." you say in a soft voice & you feel Hyunjin smile against your neck before he moves & kisses the tip of your nose, smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"That's what I wanted to hear, I wouldn't be able to handle it if you had told me to fuck off, my first ever rejection coming from the first person I've ever bought a present for that isn't my mom." You chuckle at this before hopping off the counter, grabbing the box of chocolates that were staring at you.

"Rejection? You tryna say you like meee?" you tease, taking his hands before swaying them back & forth & he rolls his eyes, chuckling. "Was it not kinda obvious? I wanted to say it without directly saying it in case I embarrassed myself but... yeahhh I have a tiny crush, I think you made us soul tied or something." you just 'tut' at his remark but your face goes bright red at his confession, cheeks hurting from how much you're smiling.

"I'm touched. Got thee famous playboy hwang Hyunjin to like like me, not sure if it's a surprise but I like you too." You kiss his cheek before leading him to the couch as you sit on it, him flopping next to you. "Enough of the soppy talk for now or I'll get embarrassed, you can choose a movie while I get us a blanket." He just nods & you hand him the box of chocolates & he begins opening them as you scurry to your room to get your favourite fluffy blankets.

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You both end up watching a recommended Netflix romcom suggestion, both of you devouring your chocolates but you pay no mind to it.

Some point throughout, your legs end up swung over his as your head lays against his shoulder, him stroking your hair with one hand as the other hand caresses your thigh.

Every few minutes or so, you focus less on the movie & more on his touch as his hand slowly rises up your leg, then your thigh & his hand is now grazing against your inner thigh over your tight shorts, giving you goosebumps, which he doesn't miss.

This continues up until Hyunjin repositions himself, pushing your legs off him so he can lay down over your thighs, his view now sideways of the TV, not that he cares, not paying the slightest bit of attention anyway as you momentarily tense up beneath him.

You continue stroking his hair, sometimes digging your fingers into his scalp a bit to scratch it, making him let out a satisfied hum. You can't help but keep looking down at the beautiful man laying on you & you can't help but smile to yourself.

As if he can feel your eyes burning into his skull, he moves the blanket down your legs enough to expose your legs enough for him to begin planting little pecks on them, slightly tickilish but you don't miss the wetness now pooling under your shorts. "Stop teasing Hyune." you speak up, your voice quiet & he just chuckles.

"If you don't want me to tease, I won't complain if you lay back." he replies, not bothering to look up at you as his hand reaches to squeeze your thigh softly as he keeps giving your legs kisses, suckling at them slightly,

You think about what he says & you would be stupid to deny the chance, your pussy clenching around nothing. You lightly push his head up off you & he takes the hint, moving & you push the side of his arm, towards the edge of the couch & he looks at you slightly confused but does what he thinks you're hinting at, getting onto the floor right in front of you, looking up at you with his pretty eyes.

You give him a shy smile before you take it upon yourself to wriggle your shorts & underwear off, leaving your bottom half completely nude, biting your lip in anticipation.

"You really got this desperate since last time I saw you?" he teases & you put your hand in front of your cunt, covering it with how shy you've just started feeling but he is quick to pull it back off, looking at the small shimmer on your middle finger before licking it off in one go.

"Don't be shy, gorgeous. I've been just as desperate if not more, can I get a taste?" he says in a sweet voice, not looking away from you, stars in his eyes. "Please.. If you want to." you respond, hiding your face in your hands but he reaches up & swats your hands away yet again as his other hand begins to slowly drag through your folds, making your hips buck.

"Stop hiding, where's your confidence gone hmm? Do I make you that nervous? trust me, there's nothing I want more." he leans in & kisses right next to your lip before smirking at you & sinking back down onto the floor, blowing cold air onto your now soaking cunt, making your legs tense up & he tongues his cheek as he watches your face twitch.

He spreads your folds open, getting a better view of your hole, clenching around nothing before he licks a long, slow strip from your hole to the top of your clit, letting out a low groan in the process. "Taste better than anything y/n, I fucking swear." he says as he looks up at you for a split second. "eyes on me, if you look away I'll stop." he voices before digging in.

You do as he says & make eye contact with him as his mouth latches onto your cunt as he begins letting spit roll off his tongue, mixing with your juices just before slurping it back up, not afraid to make as much noise as the mixes of juices allow.

You weave your hand in his hair & play with his hair & scratch his scalp for him as he suctions his tongue onto your swollen button, both of you groaning at the same time.

"Hyune, so good" you whimper out, your breath shaky as your eyes struggle to stay open & you feel Hyunjin smile against you. He brings his fingers up to your clit before rubbing it in a steady rhythm as he lets go of before his tongue find its way into your opening before beginning to tongue fuck you & you throw your head back, your moans now louder than the TV still playing behind the both of you, your legs now closing around his head, not that he pays attention to that anyway, if anything he is enjoying it.

You begin to clench around his tongue which he remembers is your tell tail sign you're about to orgasm, your moans getting higher pitched & your grip on his hair getting tighter & he chooses to worm his tongue out of your hole before pinching your clit between his two fingers & dropping a glob of spit to it before giving it one more lick, smirking.

"I wanna try something I think you might like, turn over so you're facing your back to me, hunny." You huff at the beginning of a future orgasm beginning to appear suddenly bubbling away but you do as he says, slightly confused.

You get up on your knees & rest your elbows on the back of the couch, you now looking at the wall behind you. "Why am I fac-" you're cut off as Hyunjin spreads your cheeks & begins fondling them as he begins suckling on your pussy from behind, letting out a satisfied hum behind you as you begin kneading the couch until your fingers begin to ache, biting your lip to try hold back moans.

"G-gonna cum Hyunjin, keep g-going." you whimper, pushing yourself into his face, seeking even more from him if it's even possible & he gives you a quick slap on your ass as he removes himself from your cunt again, much to his own displeasure.

"Don't bite your lip y/nnie, I wanna hear you fully, Mkay?" he speaks from behind you as you yelp at the impact & he hums as he keeps kneading your ass, giving it a few kisses. "Your ass is to die for, you know that? Gonna taste it." Before you can even process what he says, your mind too full of lust to understand, he is letting a glob of spit fall past his lips & it landing right on your tightest hole.

You try jerk your hips away from him but he is quicker & pulls you back to him, keeping a tighter grip on your ass, keeping it spread as his tongue begins to graze over your pretty pucker, his eyes scrunching together as he smiles against you, tongue now drawing patterns on it as he lets go of one of your ass cheeks, going down to your leaking cunt again before entering two fingers, instantly finding the same G-spot that made you orgasm only a week or so ago.

Your hips buck at the new sensation & you let out a long mewl, letting your face fall onto the back of the couch as your knuckles turn white from how hard you're clenching on it.

Your pretty hole is clenching & pulsating on his tongue as he lets out a deep growl at your taste, so different compared to your cunt but still enjoyable, you're moans getting to an even higher pitch as his tongue enter inside you, swirling around as much as the tight ring will allow.

"Hyun- please l-let me cum, s-so- fuck!" you basically scream out, not even being able to find the strength to lift your head up to look at the man behind you as your pussy & ass clench around his fingers & tongue but right before you cum, Hyunjin pulls completely away, again & your legs shake from the painful pleasure of yet another stolen orgasm.

Hyunjin leans over so his clothed chest is touching your back & he tilts your head so he can see your pretty face & he sees your now tear soaked cheeks & your pretty, glossy eyes.

"Awww, pretty girl couldn't contain their tears, could you? I promise you can cum now, I don't have a condom on me though beautiful so do you just want my fingers hmm? or my tongue?" he questions as he strokes your now damp hair out of your face, pouting at you.

"J-just fuck me Hyune, j-just pull out." you whiimper back to him, your breath so unstable it's difficult to even push the words out. Hyunjin opens his mouth to re ask you, just to make sure he is hearing things right but you wiggle your naked ass against him & he bucks his hips before just nodding before kissing your shoulder & then shimmying his pants & underwear down, freeing his pretty cock.

He spits onto his cock, pumping it into his hand a few times, letting out a hushed groan before he aligns his tip with your pussy, rubbing himself against it a few times to coat his tip in your juices before prodding his tip against your hole, before pushing just the tip inside.

"I'm still gonna be gentle, it's only your second time, tell me if this position is uncomfortable." he speaks behind you & as you mumble out an 'okay' while your face now being mushed against the cushion again, he pushes his hips forward very slowly until he buries himself to the hilt, you both letting out a moan in unison.

He stills inside you, trying to not cum instantly from how hot your walls feel without the restriction of the condom he wore last time, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he waits for your signal to continue.

Your breath staggers as he pushes forward, the stretch being a bit painful but no way near as painful as last time & after a minute or so, you push yourself on his cock experimentally, making you both hiss.

"You- please move, mak-make me cum Hyune, p-please." you elongate the last word, turning your head to the side so he can actually hear you. He takes a deep breath & pulls out half way before pushing back in, the both of you letting out a whine as his balls slap against your clit, making it even more intense for you.

Hyunjin sets a steady rhythm, lightly using the tips of his finger nails to add sensation to your back, tickling it but also feeling nice as you know it will leave those pretty little red marks later on. Both of your moans & whines fill the small apartment, not even thinking about how your neighbours can one hundred percent hear you.

"Y/n yo-you're too tight, s-so warm." he breathes out, lifting his leg & standing it on the couch for a better angle as he keeps rutting into you, leaning over your back again to kiss your cheek, your moans going straight into his ears.

"To- so big hy-hyune, pleas-e lemme c-cum." you whimper, your eyes scrunching closed, the ends of Hyunjins hair tickling your face as he begins to nibble on your earlobe, your cunt clenching impossibly tight around his cock, almost suffocating it.

"c-cum with me baby, h-hold on for me." he groan back as he tilts his neck into an uncomfortable position just so he can kiss your lips. His tongue instantly enters your mouth & you suckle on it, tasting the remaining taste of your juices from what he hasn't already repeatedly swallowed, making you moan in content.

Hyunjin speeds up his pace slightly & your G-spot loves this, making your legs almost give out on the spot as your brain turns into mush. "I-in my s-stomach Hyun-deep." you babble out against his lips, barely even knowing your own name at this point.

As Hyunjin stands back upright after giving your shoulder a few pecks, his phone begins to ring. Your eyes spot his phone on the other end of the couch, where he was sitting earlier but he reaches over & declines it before shutting his phone completely off, throwing it to the side, his pace not slowing once.

You don't bother questioning it, instead focusing on the noises of your slick & his balls connecting together mixed with the sweat of the both of you, sloppy clapping noises of your skin connecting filling the room, your legs begin to give out as Hyunjin worms his fingers down to your clit yet again before rubbing it frantically.

"In your s-stomach hmm? You can cum for me angel, n-not gonna last, too w-wet n tight." he squabbles, breathing frantically & this i all you need to hear as your entire body tenses up as finally, your orgasm hits you like a brick wall & you let out a squeal & Hyunjin has to grip onto your hips as his life depend on it in order for you to not flop & slip off the couch.

Your noises & the way your pussy flutters around him is just too much for him to handle & as much as he doesn't want to, he pulls himself out of your wet, hot walls as his cum spurts down your ass & back, throwing his head back as his cock quite literally pulsates as his balls empty, a high pitched whimper leaving his lips, breathing staggered.

He comes back to his body quicker than you do & he helps reposition you so you're fully laying on the couch, trying to make sure his cum doesn't get onto any other surface.

He grabs his underwear & wipes the cum off your back in a comfortable silence, slightly twitching as he wipes it off. He leans over your back again before kissing your earlobe. "Did so well, so proud of you, still so pretty for me despite being sticky with sweat." you both weakly laugh as you turn onto your back before using the ounce of strength you have left to pull on his wrist.

"cuddle." is all you say as you pull on him until he lays on top of you, half his weight dangling off the arm of the couch as he lays his head on your chest, listening to your still racing heartbeat & he can't help but feel secure.

⭑･ﾟﾟ･:༅｡.｡༅:ﾟ::✼✿　　✿✼:ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You both sit like this for a while, talking to one another about what you both spoke about in a bit more detail & also just talk to each other about things you don't know about one another, things like family pets, favourite colours, favourite brands etc.

Hyunjin ends up powering his phone back on & you are both just scrolling through his for you page, when you remember his phone ringing. "Quick question hyune, who was it that called you? If it was important you coulda stopped to answer." you ask him, not lifting your eyes from the video playing on his phone screen, not really thinking too much of it.

"Don't stress it, it was just someone I'm not gonna be speaking to anymore." he replies in s tired voice, still scrolling. His reply slightly confusing you. "Who? I don't mean to be nosey or anything but now i'm curious." you respond back, your fingers in his hair now pausing.

Without saying anything, he switches apps, onto his call log & it's Lisas name at the top.. nineteen missed calls. He just sighs as he presses on the 'more' option before deleting her number & deleting the Imessage conversation without even bothering to read her spam of texts, yelling, crying & cussing him out before switching apps back onto tiktok without saying a word & you just blush, your hands cupping his cheeks from above, your thumbs just below his eyes.

"You're cute." you say as you squeeze them playfully & he just 'tut's but still, he melts himself into your touch.

I'm not completely sure if I want to leave this story as a two parter orrrrrr do a third n final part but to everyone wanting a happier ending here you all are!

Tags: @troublemaker02 @ismokeeweed @lmhcats @isagerada @tsunderelino

[jarofstyles]

Pierced Through The Heart

Hello my ducklings! Welcome to Pierced Through The Heart (I’m writing a second part it’s okay 🫶) friends to lovers, piercing artist h, artist Y/N, fluffy and smutty and all the fun stuff!

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WC- 8.7k

Warnings- smut, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, h has tongue and lip piercings

“Finally! Hey.” An easy smile lit up his face as he watched her walk into his flat. It was always welcome to see her enter like she owned the place- she very well could, if she wanted to.. Looking her over with what he hoped were at least slightly concealed heart eyes, he lifted his hand for her to sit next to him on the well loved sofa. “Where have you been, gorgeous? Off hiding away?”

It had been a bit since they’d gotten together so when she had texted him asking if he was busy tonight, he had scrambled to make sure his place was clean and he could appear as nonchalant as possible when he texted her when he texted her to come over- even if his heart had been in his ass when she gave her ETA. 

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, stretching her legs out as she took a seat right next to him as he so graciously offered. “I got a huge fucking commission and it’s taken me ages. M’happy about it, don’t get me wrong, but I feel a bit over my head a bit. I needed to get a head start on it so I didn’t fall behind.” Sometimes she did get in her head about work so it made sense, though it didn’t make him miss her any less. 

Harry nodded, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “I get it, babe. S’important and you've got to take care of your work. I just missed having you around.” He pouted playfully, putting his arm around her “But hey, you're here now.”

“Exactly.” She smiled tiredly, leaning her head on his shoulder. His cologne was a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed- as well as the simple concept of human touch. Being locked up in her studio as she chipped away at the commissions often had her forgetting how much both her body and mind actually craved a cuddle or two. “Where's the roommate tonight?”

Harry shrugged, his hand tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.  “He's out. Some party or another. You know how it is with Kev. Always living life on the edge.” He chuckled, but there was a hint of worry in his voice. It wouldn’t be long before he went off the deep end- but that wasn’t a discussion for tonight.

“Yeah...” It was hard. His roommate was a bit much, so it was better they were alone, but she felt bad for feeling that way. “Did you order the food yet? Or were you waiting for me?”

Harry smiled, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulder in a little squeeze. It felt so good to have her close to him again. Thankfully she was just as happy to be cuddly with him and didn’t seem to be weirded out by her friend’s overt clinginess- or didn’t show it- because he felt slightly pathetic with how much he’d missed her presence. “I ordered already, love. Should be arriving any minute now.” He took a glance down at her, his eyes soft with… something. She couldn’t tell quite what it was, but she’d seen it a few times. “I've got everything set up just the way you like it.” 

“Ugh. You’re a godsend.” Wrapping her arms around him she hugged him tight, feeling a little bit of pressure roll off of her shoulders. He was always so good at things like that. taking care of her, making her feel relaxed, always being one step ahead. “You are the absolute best. I hope you know that.”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around her in return and relishing in the feeling of her initiating the embrace before pulling back. It wasn’t that he wanted to, nor did he fully, but he needed to attempt some semblance of normalcy. “I do my best, babe. Just want to make sure you're taken care of, that's all.” The man smiled down at her, his fingers trailing through her hair. Just couldn’t fucking help it, could he? “And honestly, I love doing things for you.”

Harry had never considered himself much for taking care of people prior, tending to be more of a lone wolf in most aspect of his life, but when he met Y/N it had all… just come out. He loved being the one making sure she was smiling.  Making sure she was well fed, warm, feeling comfortable in his presence. It gave him a sense of purpose, he thinks. The smiles were reward enough, but making her feel comfortable in his company was the ultimate goal. It's why he made sure his roommate wasn’t going to be here tonight. Y/N was too polite to say he made her a little uneasy, but he was attentive to her and receptive to her feelings. Her body language never seemed at ease when he was around-‘so he eliminated that sort of issue

“And that’s why you’re above everyone else.” Y/N mumbled, keeping her eyes closed as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “That feels incredible, by the way.”

Harry blushed to himself, grateful she couldn’t see it right now. It was weird, feeling such a sense of pride wash over him over something so simple. He loved being the one she turned to, the one she felt most comfortable with. Hearing her praise him made him feel like he was genuinely doing something right. “Ah, yeah?”

“Mhm.” The girl nodded. “Tell me about work, though. Any interesting piercings? Anyone pass out? Had that one weird guy come in again? I want to know it all.” She kept her cheek pressed to his shoulder as he continued the motions.

Harry let out a soft laugh, settling into the comfortable rhythm of running his fingers through the silky locks as he tried to think of something interesting enough to tell her. “Well, actually, there was this one guy who came in for his first ear piercing and he freaked the fuck out when he saw the needle. He started shaking and sweating and just about passed out cold on the chair.”

“For an ear piercing?” Y/N let out a choked laugh. “I try not to judge people but… that’s kind of an overreaction, isn’t it?”

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. It was like her to be sweet about it and not judge, but he did sometimes. She was the only one who knew he really rolled his eyes at shit like that. He leaned down, pressing a small kiss to the crown of her head before pulling back to continue his story. “Yeah, I thought so too. But you should've seen the look on his face when I finally got the needle through.”

“Oi.” She winced. “Yeah, M’sure that was a joy to deal with.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “You have loads more patience than me. It’s why I work with as few people as possible.” Retail and service has never bode well with her, and when she had fallen into her own artwork she had counted her blessings that it meant she didn’t have to work with people day to day. 

Harry smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he listened to her voice. He loved her sarcasm, her wit, her everything, but he tried to keep that sort of fondness off of his face the best he could. “That's part of why I like bein’ close with you, actually. You're low-maintenance and always so easy to be around. A little grumpy, but s’cute.”

“Grumpy?” Her nose wrinkled, but she couldn’t deny it. The girl did her absolute best to be as sweet as she could but one of the things that made her tick was stupidity, and that was something people had to deal with in abundance when they worked in those industries. She was a little bit grumpy when it came to people. “I…wish I could deny those allegations, but I can’t. But in my defense, people shouldn’t be asking so many stupid questions. I worry more and more that people lose common sense as the days go by.”

Harry laughed, pulling her a little tighter against his side. "Grumpy and worried about the loss of common sense, huh? That's my girl." He paused, his fingers still gently fiddling with the ends of her hair. "But even with all that, you're still the most comfortable person for me to be around."

“Really?” She looked at him in surprise. Her guess would have been maybe Mitch, or Connor. Not her. “How come? I mean, not that I’m not extremely flattered and have to calm my ego at this moment because I can literally feel it growing out of my ears.” 

Harry smiled, feeling his tummy twist slightly as he looked down at her, "Because you're just... you, ya know? You're honest, and a bit grumpy-which we already established as cute-, and you don't put up with any of my shit." It was refreshing to have someone who cared about you enough to call you out on shit, and that’s what he needed. It was an interesting juxtaposition to see her soft doe-like eyes looking up at him with her head tilted, telling him that he’s absolutely ‘full of shit’. Harry had been known to be a bit arrogant at times and she had taken that level way down, in a good way. "And you're the only person who can make me laugh without even trying."

“H… you’re gonna make me blush.” She playfully batted at his chest, but felt the swirl of warmth in her tummy. It was a true compliment all things considered. Harry seemed open, but he kept people at an arm's length usually. She had noticed that he didn’t do it with her which she had always special, but hearing it out loud made her feel even more so.

Harry's eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "You're the only one who can see past all the layers and shit and just get me, you know?" He leaned in just a bit, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "And I fucking love it." 

It was that moment, she would come to reflect, where the tension started. The kiss to the cheek, the compliments. It had started the loaded tension, the sexual undertone for the rest of the night. 

Later on, after the food had been eaten and settled in their bellies and the second episode had ended and the third had begun, she realized how close she had gotten to him through the night. Her legs over his thighs, his thumb tracing over her knee. His eyes were on the screen giving her a chance to observe his beautiful fucking face for a moment without feeling the normal intimidation she would from him staring right back at her. The lip ring, the sharp curve of his jaw, his pretty mouth, the slope of his nose- a modern Apollo. It had been no secret that he was good looking but it was harder to ignore tonight. It was always hard to ignore just how beautiful the man was, but feeling it now, seeing it up close and personal felt like a privilege. Her body flushed when she noticed his eyes on her- he caught her staring, his eyebrow raised at her, but didn’t say a word.

Harry moved his hand from her knee, tracing his fingers up her thigh slowly before resting it there again. He leaned in closer, his lips curling as he whispered to her. "You like what you see, love? Wanna take a picture? I’ll pose for you, even. Let the pretty artist do her thing. Think I’d be a good muse?" The hint of tease was in there but he was waiting for her reaction. Feeling his own want for her bubbling over, simmering under his fingertips.

“You’re really handsome, H. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that, but you are.” Ever the blunt person, Y/N didn’t shy away from telling him that he was beautiful. That was the god’s honest truth. Harry was factually gorgeous and she had always thought so, as did most human beings whenever they went out. He commanded a room without even trying, attracting eyes like magnets- only his being the opposite pole. 

Harry's smirk grew wider at her words, his hand still resting on her thigh. "Handsome, huh?" He repeated, his voice huskier than she had heard it before. It sent a bit of a zing to her tummy because- that was hot. There was a quick glance at the TV before looking back at her, his eyes locking onto hers. "You're pretty fucking stunning yourself, you know that?"

The air between them was static, the tension thick and palpable. Harry's hand on her thigh was a constant reminder of his presence, of his touch. Her legs were draped over his, their bodies close, touching in a way they had before a million times but it felt… different. The charge was there. He could feel it and he was sure she could too. What exactly changed, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps the heart had grown fonder over their bit of time apart, or perhaps the dam was finally overflowing and breaking against the weight of trying to hold back desires hidden behind the walls- either way, he was going to find out. The sound of the TV in the background was barely audible over the pounding of their hearts, but he could feel it in his throat.

Harry had been pining for her for what felt like an eternity. He'd watch her from afar, his heart aching with every smile she shared with someone else. The only true explanation he could come to was that he loved her, he realized. He had loved her for a long time now. He ached for her, his heart hurting every time she mentioned dating apps or hookups in the past because fuck, he wanted to be the one she was talking about, the one she was laughing with. He wanted to be her world, her everything. No one would expect the man to be a romantic, but he was. Maybe she’d brought it out of him, but he felt completely at her mercy and she had no idea just how tightly wound he was around her tiniest finger.

“You think so?” She felt a little shy with that compliment. It wasn’t often that she got like that, but Harry had a way of pulling it out of her. “Stunning is a big word, but thank you.” Licking over her lip, she looked down to his tattooed wrist, running her finger over the ink. “I’m glad you invited me to hang out tonight.”’

Harry's heart flipped at her shy reaction. Damn, she was so fucking cute. He wanted to lean in, brush his lips over hers and take a taste of her. The way she was looking at his tattoos, running her finger over them was driving him crazy. The sensation was something he’d dreamt about, post coitial bliss with her hands all over him in the best way. He wanted to feel all of it, all of her, everywhere

"You're more than fucking stunning, you know that?" Harry's voice was raspy as he spoke, volume low as if trying to keep it private for them even if they were already alone. He shifted in his seat, his hand on her thigh flexing a little as he leaned in closer to her.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked at him, throat tight. She had an idea what was happening but she hadn’t anticipated it actually being any reality, let alone one that would be happening tonight. Part of her wanted to shy away but she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her. Eyes curious and round, her head tilted in question as he looked right back at her.

Harry noticed the way she was looking at him, head falling back slightly as he let it a light groan. "Fuck, don't look at me like that, please." He begged. He couldn't take it, seeing her so nervous and shy. 

“Like what?” Her eyes widened slightly but she made no move to shift away from him. What was she doing? What was happening? And why did she want him to keep going, keep touching her, why did she feel like she was lightheaded from the attention he was paying to her? Had he always looked at her like this?

Harry's eyes were locked onto hers, his gaze intense. "Like you're confused. Like you don’t know how fuckin’ gorgeous I find you." He admitted, his hand on her thigh trembling slightly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, you're fucking killing me."

Warm fingertips trailed over his wrist and down his hand, brushing over his wrists and back up as she waited for him to react. The anticipation was killing her, sitting perfectly still as she decided to wait. to let him take the lead. “Why am I killing you?” She was playing dumb. The sexual tension had risen up, her skin hot from it, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Harry sucked in a breath as she trailed her fingertips over his wrist, his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to tell- had to show her. To let out everything that was building up inside of him. "Because I want you so goddamn bad." His voice was hoarse, laced with fervor, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He couldn't help the way he felt, the way he had always felt about her. "I've wanted you for so long, been pining for you.. it's driving me insane."

“You have?” Her head tilted, hair falling over her shoulder as he dropped that bomb on her. Y/N hadn’t had any real idea that he had wanted her, had always sort of thought maybe he just liked that she was easy to hang out with and that they’d meshed together really well, but the knowledge that he was pining over her sent the hoard of butterflies into her stomach. “How.. for how long?”

Harry's jaw clenched, knowing it was time to confess. There was no use in hiding it anymore, even if she was going to reject him. It was about to burst from his seams, leak from his lips regardless. "Since we’ve met," He admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I’ve been fucking useless over you. Used t’watch you, wonder what it would be like to have you, to hold you, to kiss you." He looked at her with desperate eyes.

"I'd see you talking to that asshole ex of yours, and I'd just want to fucking rip him apart and keep you all to myself. Knew I could treat you better, make you feel better, give you all the shit he couldn’t. Heard you cry too many times over people that aren’t worth it and I can give you all the shit you need. I know I can." He admitted, his face flushing with anger and jealousy. "I've tried to ignore it, to move on, but I can't."

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined telling you, but I didn’t want to fuck things up between things up between us. You’ve felt safe with me. I didn’t want you to feel like I’ve been friends with you as some fucking attempt to get into your pants because that isn’t it. I’ll be your friend regardless, but I just need a shot. Please. Just give me one chance t’see." Harry felt a little pathetic for his approach but he didn’t have much control over it. It was all in her hands now.

Her breathing hitched as she listened, her cunt getting slightly wet at the way he looked at her, at how he spoke. losing that bit of a veil he had over him, showing her how he had felt. Finally, It felt like that part she couldn’t figure out was coming to the light. “Harry…” she breathed, feeling his hand reach for her jaw. It was welcomed, his warm fingertips tilting her head up.

She didn’t know he had that in him, but she really fucking liked it. 

Gripping her chin firmly, his thumb brushing over her pouted lower lip as he looked into her eyes. "Shut up and kiss me." He commanded, leaving no room for argument. Harry didn't wait for her to respond. Leaning in, his free hand came up to wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him as he crushed their lips together. It was rough, passionate and intense, a hunger she hadn't sensed from him before- and she strangely loved it.

Harry’s lips were demanding, claiming hers as if she belonged to him. His tongue pushed past her lips, tangling with hers in a heated kiss that left her gasping. He kissed her like he was starving for her, like he hadn't eaten in days and she was the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips were bruising, hungry, insistent, molding against hers with a fierce intensity that took her breath away. The tip of his tongue delved into her mouth, probing, tasting, owning, his moan vibrating against her lips as he deepened the kiss.

She melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she returned it with equal fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him close as she surrendered to the overwhelming hunger he stirred within her. She whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling with need, her heart racing in her chest.

Y/N could feel just how much he meant it, how much he had yearned for her. She could taste it on his tongue as he held her to his body, resting her on his thighs. He was greedy with her, taking and taking and taking- but she didn’t mind at all. If anything she flowed into it, melting into the feeling.

The way she fed into the kiss, so willingly and completely, made his heart race and his head spin. He could taste her surrender, her desire, her longing for him and he drank it in eagerly, as if he could never get enough of her. Her body melted into his embrace as her lips parted further, inviting him in deeper. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, her hands gripping his hair almost painfully, but he hardly cared.

Her body was pliant, her breathing uneven, as he continued to delve into her mouth. He could feel the way she shifted on his lap, her legs bracketing his hips as she slowly began to move herself against him.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound almost primal as he felt her shifting on his lap. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and it only served to drive him further into madness. He wanted more of her, all of her, every single part of her. “Baby…” The nickname fell out of her mouth as a breathless sigh. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

He pulled back from the kiss slightly, his breath coming in ragged pants as he stared down at her. Her eyes were glazed over with desire, her lips swollen and so prettily puffy from the intensity of their kissing- he wanted this to be the state of them every fucking day. Why was this only the first time he’d gotten the privilege of getting to see this? "I can't... I can't think straight when you're like this,"

Uneven breaths filtered the room, the TV show long forgotten behind them. She, too, was unable to think straight as she looked into his eyes. It was gorgeous, he was fucking gorgeous, looking fucked out just from a kiss alone. “Huh?” Y/N was hazy herself. This wasn’t what she had expected from coming over tonight but she had no complaints. Her mouth felt like it was buzzing and her clit was throbbing as she sat against him, his large hands keeping her still otherwise she’d continue her ministrations on top of him.

Harry reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gentle touch. "Just looking at you, baby, makes me lose my damn mind. I need you to focus on me for a second, okay?" He swallowed hard as he tried to calm himself down. "You're fuckin’ stunning. Driving me crazy, really fucking crazy. The way you move against me... I need more of it." The man sighed out, his fingers trailing down her throat gently, petting her.

Harry's mind was swimming with need, a deep and intense desire to have her, to make her his and his alone. He wanted to feel her body pressed against his, the heat rolling off of her in waves. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to taste her. “But I don’t want t’just fuck you. I want you. Want you to be my girl.”

Holding her eyes with his own, he thumbed over her swollen bottom lip and watched as it snapped back to place as he released it. “I want t’do the whole thing. The dates, the flowers, everything you want. I don’t want to ruin this friendship but fuck, darling… I just want you to be mine.” He swallowed thickly, watching her reaction. “I’m willing to work for that title… but I can’t hold back anymore. Can’t keep pretending that I’m not dying t’hold you and kiss this perfect fucking mouth.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Her cheeks were hot under the skin, chest rising and falling with every deep breath she took. It felt like he’d stolen her breath and her thoughts as he confessed to her, making her blink at him a few times. She looked completely lost in his words and the way he looked at her as he spoke them. The air around was thick with tension and desire.

There wasn’t a thought that needed to be had to confirm that she wanted him back, though. She always adored him, but he’d never seemed like the relationship type. Never showed his interest in the way she had anticipated. It had taken her by surprise, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy about it.

Without thinking, she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his berry hued lips and running over the piercing as she searched his eyes. She could see the raw emotion in them, the way he was barely holding on to his control. And it broke her heart, in a way, because she was so completely aware of how painful it could be to hold back emotions for someone. “I wish you hadn’t hidden it for so long.” Softly, she used her other hand to push back his hair. “I can’t lie and say this isn’t a surprise… but I am more than willing to give it a shot.” Indulging in him, she leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Especially when you kiss me like you just did.”

She deepened the kiss, parting her lips for him and wrapping her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. Harry groaned against her mouth, pulling her flush against him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

That was the answer he needed. He had imagined her rejection a million times, her acceptance a few times more, but nothing could compare to the actual feeling of it. Having her in his lap and the overwhelming giddy feeling working its way through his limbs as he tried to show it through his actions.

The kiss was needy, full of the  longing and passion that had been building up over the months. He was rough and gentle at the same time, leaving her dizzy as he trailed kisses from her lips to her jaw. “Good. So it’s settled… no more silly dates with useless boys. You’re gonna give me a shot to show you just how much I can appreciate you.”

“Mhm.” Y/N nearly purred, rolling her head to the side as he kissed over her skin and down to her throat. It had always been sensitive for her, but feeling the cool brush of his lip ring, and then the metallic ball of his tongue piercing brush her hot skin had her shiver in his arms.

Harry smirked, knowing he was getting to her head. His hands roamed her body, pulling her in even closer as he sucked on a soft spot right under her ear. God, she was fucking soft wherever he touched her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He sucked hard on the spot, his nose brushing against her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply. His other hand came up to wrap around her throat, applying just a bit of pressure as he tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck.

“Fuck.” Y/N felt her second heartbeat between her thighs, the strong hand and thick fingers holding her still. Positioning her where he wanted her. His rings added a similar sensation to his piercings, the mix of hot and cold working her up.

He hummed at her response, his hand tightening around her throat just slightly as he moved down to bite at her collarbone. A low growl rumbled in his chest, feeling the way her body trembled under him as he pressed a kiss over the racing pulse on her neck. Harry pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own dark and intense as he spoke in a low, rough tone. "M’gonna mark you up, m’love. Every inch of your skin is gonna have my fingerprints, my bites, my kisses. You're gonna be my girl, and everyone's gonna fuckin’ know it."

“Yeah.” She hummed, grinning as his hand loosened slightly on her throat. As toxic as it may be, she ate up the possessive words, wanting to let him do that very thing.

Harry let out a low, pleased noise at her words, his hips rocking forward as he pressed against her heat. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth as he gripped her hip with one hand and reached down to undo his pants with the other. His poor cock needed to breath, aching with need as he finally got her exactly where he wanted her.

"How do you like to be touched, baby?" He whispered into her ear, before sucking on the lobe gently and nipping it, smirking to himself as he felt her shudder in his arms. He pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining. “Hm? I want t’know. Want t’make you the happiest fuckin’ girl. Can do anything y’want.”

“I…” She had trouble finding her words. This was not at all the sort of thing she’d anticipated coming over tonight, but she was loving every second of it. Harry… wanting her? It seemed like it was one of those dreams, one of those things that sounded nice in theory but would never happen- and yet here he was. Asking how she liked being touched because he wanted to be the one doing it. “I like when you held my throat… and when you bit me. And when you held my jaw.”

Harry's lips quirked into a half grin and he nodded. He pulled back to look at her, his thumb tracing over her jaw where he had just held it so gently. He leaned down and bit the skin there lightly, feeling her shiver under him. Her reaction was immediate and visceral. The moment his teeth sank into her jaw, she let out a soft, needy whine, her eyes fluttering closed as her body relaxed into his grip. Her leg tightened around his waist, her free hand reaching up to gently touch the spot where he'd bitten her.

Her whole body seemed to melt against him, her back arching as she pressed herself closer, seeking more of that delicious pain. A soft, high-pitched noise escaped her lips, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, as she tilted her head to the side, offering him better access to her neck as she felt his nose drag down the side of it.

She was completely lost in the sensation, her mind going blank as all her focus shifted to the feeling of his teeth on her skin. Her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging in slightly as she held on for dear life, her other hand still resting on the spot he'd bitten, gently massaging it. “That feels so good.” She exhaled, the feelings washing over her. “I love how you touch me, H.”

Harry smiled against her skin, his teeth grazing over her jaw as he spoke. "I love touching you too, sweetheart. You're so fuckin’ responsive, for me.” He kissed the spot he'd bitten, soothing it with his lips before pulling back to look at her again.

His bulge rocked between her thighs, his hand moving to cup her face. She could feel his want for her, his affection. Harry hadn’t been joking in the slightest that he wanted to be hers, and that was something she hadn’t experienced before.

"You still haven't let me make you mine, properly," Harry said, a hint of a pout on his lips. "I want all of you, Y/N." He moved himself against her again, the cock in his pants rubbing against her aching cunt. "Are y’gonna let me have you?"

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, shy smile on her face. There was nothing she wanted more in the moment, actually. 

 “Don’t want you to regret it, though.” Harry murmured, face sobering. As much as he wanted her, he wanted to make sure this was what she truly wanted above anything else. “We don’t have to go too far if you don’t want to.” 

“I wanna.” Y/N hadn’t been fucked in a while, no, but she trusted him. Hell, he’d waxed near poetry about how he wanted to be hers and vice versa. There was no one night stand needed to get off. Harry could do it- and if the things she had heard were true, he could do it very well.  “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry's eyes widened at her confession, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment before he let go. "Well," he said, swallowing thickly. "I can certainly do that."

He was practically vibrating with excitement, his heart racing in his chest as he held her close. The thought of finally being able to claim her as his own, to be the one to make her feel good and cry out his name, was almost too much for him to handle. "I've wanted to be with you for so fuckin’ long." Harry murmured against her skin, his breath warm against her. "I've thought about you every night as I've fallen asleep, imagining what it would be like to finally have you, Y/N. You’ve got no idea"

“Then have me.” Y/N could hardly believe it, but she needed it just as badly now. Her body was hot and achy and her cunt was wet and felt so empty- Harry would fix it. He was the only one that could. “Touch wherever you want. I trust you.”

The declaration of trust meant more to him than she would probably ever realize. It gave him the confidence to go for it. Harry's hand immediately moved between her legs, rubbing her through the fabric of her pants. The man groaned as he felt how wet she was, his fingers tracing over her cunt as he breathed against her lips. "Oh, fuck, baby." he whispered in awe.

“Take them off.” her plea was a little whiny but it seemed to make him happy with how he smiled against her lips. “Please… I want to feel you touch me with nothing stopping it. Need it.”

Harry's smile was wicked as he reached for the waistband of her pants, quickly adjusting her so he could tug them down her legs along with her underwear. There was very little time to waste when it came to getting to have her. This had been his wet dream, his fantasy, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He sat back up and looked at her, his eyes roaming over her bare pussy before he knelt down in front of her with a husky groan.

“What?” She felt shy with him staring at her, the most vulnerable she had ever felt in front of him. The hunger in his eyes was visible and she knew he liked what he saw, but his quiet observation was unnerving. She watching the silver glint of his piercing glint as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, strong, ringed hands gently pressing her thighs open and black polished fingers digging into her skin.

“M’sorry, baby.” he crooned. “Don’t mean to stare, but…. I’ve been waiting so long. M’not even sure this is real.” Any bit of control was completely gone. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the plush of her lower tummy, inhaling her scent before he looked up at her with those starving eyes again. "Fuck, you smell so good. You’ve no idea." he murmured before placing a kiss to her mound. “Wanna eat you up.”

Where she found the nerve, she had no clue- but the moment she had it, she let it go. “Do it.”

Her words were the last thing he needed before he gave into her- happily. Harry's hands gripped her thighs greedily as he buried his mouth between her legs, indulging in what he’d been wanting to taste for ages. He lightly kissed over her clit and nuzzled her as her felt her jolt at the feeling, letting her settle into it for a moment before getting into it. The cool metal ball of his tongue piercing tapping over her clit had her shivering, a shaky gasp leaving her swollen lips as her eyes fell closed. 

It was overwhelming, to say the least. Harry's tongue felt hot and slick as it lathed over her pussy- the contrast in temperatures between him and her sensitive flesh making her squirm. He explored her, leaving nowhere untouched as she gripped the cushion next to her, taking full advantage of his permission to taste before he settled into a slow, gentle rhythm of lapping at her cunt. The man was good- almost too good.

She could feel herself sinking into the cushion beneath her as he ate her out, his tongue dipping into her pussy and licking at her entrance before swirling around her clit. His hands were gentle on her thighs, rings cool to the touch and fingertips digging into her skin as he pushed them open wider for him. He groaned against her, eyes peering up at her.The vibrations against her pussy sent tremors through her body.  “Look at me, baby. Let me see your pretty eyes.”

The view was something else completely. Looking down at him, she felt herself nearly lose it altogether. It didn’t seem fair to have someone look that good doing such a filthy act, but it only seemed to make perfect sense for him. Harry exuded sex, and his sensual nature had always made her a bit curious in the past- but this was other worldly. His nose rubbed against her clit, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh, hair a mess, as hazy, dark green peered up at her from where they were so comfortably buried between her legs. Like they were made to be there.

Her hands fell to his hair, back arching as his tongue brushed her entrance again, breathing hitched as he nuzzled into her cunt, not caring about any mess as he pressed his tongue into her, nose brushing her clit with every movement. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice was a choked mess as she looked down at him in shock, not at all expecting this out of him. She should have, she should have known he was a filthy fuck, but she’d apparently unleashed something in him.

His hair was a wild mess as she gripped it, pulling him closer as he devoured her. He made happy noises against her, moving up to momentarily suck on her clit before plunging his tongue back inside her. She could feel his scruff scratching against her inner thighs, a rough sensation that made her clench around his tongue. It was animalistic, desperate in a way she had never felt before.

Harry hadn’t felt this deprived in his life. He hadn’t liked a woman this much before either, hadn’t wanted her this badly. He needed some relief, especially with her rocking her damn cunt against his face. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled his sweats down, tugging his embarrassingly hard cock out and started to stroke. His hips rocked in time with the rhythm of his tongue, hand moving faster as she arched her back, pulling him closer. He could feel her getting closer, body trembling beneath him.

“H…” she panted, gently tugging him away from her cunt. “Inside me. I want to cum with you inside me.”

Harry groaned, a whine slipping from his lips as he pulled himself away from her pussy, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to her entrance before breaking away.

“M’not done with that. You taste so fucking good.” He mumbled, leaning himself up. His hands were gentle as he adjusted her to make them both comfortable. “Gonna make it good for you, baby. I promise.”  Another time he would take his time, make love to her properly. Spend hours with her in a bed when they both had patience- but right now? He knew the both of them needed relief, and they needed it now. Taking a shaky breath, he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, the head pressing against her soaked lips. He looked up at her, eyes wild as he pushed forward, the tip popping inside her. He let out a satisfied groan as he sunk himself in to the hilt, her tight pussy squeezing him the way he knew she would. 

She gasped, the way her walls closed in tighter on him as he sunk to the base was a small slice of heaven for him. He closed his eyes, riding out the pleasure of it for a moment. He could feel her body reacting in kind, legs trembling. “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?” He looked down at her, making sure she didn’t have any discomfort on her face. 

“I’m okay.” She sighed, gripping onto his forearm. “I’m so okay. I want it all. You can give it to me.” Lightly dragging her nails down his skin, she knew she could handle it. It’s how she liked it- how she wanted him to give it to her. Y/N wanted Harry exactly how he wanted to give it because she had full confidence he was going to give it to her good. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Jus’ hold on t’me then.” He pulled out barely, just the head remaining before thrusting himself back in, making her jolt under him. Deep- he was so deep, making her gasp as the pleasured fullness was felt to its extent. This was exactly what they needed. His hands grabbed her hips and he started moving in earnest, every thrust baring his need for her to cum around him. “Don’t have to hold back with me, sweet girl. Gonna make sure you feel good all night.”

She was a vision of beauty, legs spread wide as he fucked into her, the sound of their skin thudding together echoing through the room. Tears of pleasure slowly pooled in her waterline as he fucked her deep, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. Slow, deep, passion. It was palpable. 

Not overly rough, no. Not at all. It was hot and heavy in the best possible way, making her eyes roll back. He wasn’t using her as a toy, but showing her how much he wanted her with his body. There was no mistaking it. Harry meant what he said. He wanted her, and he was speaking through his body. She heard him loud and fucking clear. Hopefully, he was listening back. 

The room was filled with the sounds of their sex, the slap of skin, the wet squelch of his cock sinking into her over and over. She was shaking, her nails digging into his biceps as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts making the aged sofa squeak. If it was any other scenario, he’d be cautious- but he was finally getting the woman he had been dreaming of around his cock.

Her whole body was a trembling mess, her breasts bouncing with each thorough thrust. Her back arched off the couch as he hit that sweet spot inside her, her walls clamping down on him like a vice. She let out a mewl, a saccharine call of his name as the intense pleasure washed over her. “Harry- Harry if you keep going M’gonna cum.” It was a frantic warning. Her mind couldn’t figure out if it was too much or not, but she didn’t want it to stop.

He couldn't help himself, his thrusts became even more urgent as he felt her walls fluttering around him, signaling her impending orgasm. He grabbed her face, his thumb pressing against her lips, shushing her as he fucked into with a blissed out smile. "Shh, m’dream girl, let it happen. Cum on my cock. Been dreaming of you for ages.

Let me have it." 

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled moan of his name as her orgasm hit her. White hot pleasure hitting her blood as the tears left her waterline when her eyes squeezed shut, she dug her nails into him with a garbled whimper. Her body shook, her pussy fluttering around his cock as he continued to fuck her through it, prolonging her pleasure.

Harry leaned down, resting his forehead against hers as he felt his own climax building within him- especially with the feel of her nails digging into him and her own orgasm. "Fuck.. You're so fuckin’ perfect, so good, I'm gonna cum.." He whispered his final warning, groaning against her skin.

“Please.” Y/N whispered, dragging her nails up his arms and over his shoulders. “Give it to me. M’on the pill.” Her lips brushed his ear. “I want to feel it. You’ve been so nice to me tonight and I love it. Cum for me how you want. Anywhere you w-want.” 

Harry was a mass of frayed nerve endings as he neared his release. His entire body felt like it was buzzing, his heart beating fast against his chest. The build up of pleasure in his balls and the slick feeling of her pussy made him feel as if he was on cloud nine.

His muscles tensed, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, coiling in the base of his spine, ready to explode- but her sensual coos into his ear and fingers down arms had been the breaking point. "I'm gonna cum so fucking hard," he gritted out, his voice strained with effort. “M’cumming for you, baby. G-Gonna give it all t’you and make you m-mine.” His words stuttered as he felt it start. His vision started to blur and his breath hitched in his throat as he thrust into her one final time, holding himself deep inside her as his orgasm ripped through him. His vision went white, his mind going blank as he emptied himself into her, his cock pulsing with each spurt of cum.

Catching his breath, he let himself sag into her as he felt her hand dragging up and down his back. Mutual comfort as she held him, helping him through his own orgasm as she wrapped a leg around him, making sure he felt steady as he checked in on her. His ears were sorta ringing in a good way, but he was chuffed. “Okay?” He cupped her cheek, stroking her heated skin. At her nod, he grinned widely. “Yeah? Okay- okay, good. Jus’, need to make sure you’re good. Hold on. Need t’make us more comfortable. I’ll clean up in a second.” 

Ever so carefully, Harry pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping from her sensitive pussy. He cooed at the slight hiss she let out, apologizing as he grabbed a few tissues clumsily from the coffee table and wiped her the best he could as gathered her close on his lap, cradling her in his arms as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, anywhere he could reach without breaking the tender moment. “That’s my girl. Fuck… you’re everything I want.”

Y/N had pushed away her crush on him when they’d first met, especially when they started to become closer friends- but this had been beyond her expectations. Harry had given her the fuck of her life all while claiming his devotion to her- something no one else had done before. She was borderline giddy as his hands stroke her, the rushed sex leaving their tops on and a true nod to the frantic passion they’d felt once the kissing had started.

A giggle left her throat as she peeled her eyes open to look at his flushed face and swollen lips, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t place as she ran her hands over his shoulders. “We probably look so silly.” Harry’s pants around his ankles and hers off completely, both with just a shirt on.

Harry chuckled softly, his breath ghosting along her cheek as he spoke, his voice low and raspy from the intensity of their just-past fucking. The way she was looking at him was almost better than her moans had been.

“Silly, hmm?” Harry’s eyes took on a mischievous edge as his fingers traced the curve of her waist. He sat up on the couch, dragging her with him so she was straddling his lap. His roommate be damned, he wasn’t too concerned about the mess on the couch right now.

“Mhm.” Her smile faded into a soft grin. “We were a little eager, huh?”

Eager was an understatement, but Harry loved how cute she looked in this moment. The way she was sitting on top of him, all breathless and relaxed—it made him want to do it all over again, if only to see that look on her face.

Harry’s hand wandered to the back of her neck, his thumb gently tracing circles against her skin as he spoke. “I am eager.” He sobered slightly. “I meant what I said. I want you. I promise I’d be the best person you’ve ever dated. I’ll worship you every day and make sure you know how much you mean to me.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes still locked on hers. “I’ll make you laugh every day, be there for you through everything. And when it comes to the bedroom,” Harry paused, grinning slyly.

“Hush.” Y/N giggled, placing their lips back together for a longer kiss, slow and smooth as she pulled back. their lips made a soft clicking sound as she rubbed her nose against his. “So if you want to be my boyfriend…. does that mean you’ll give me free piercings?”

Harry let out a chuckle, his arms wrapping around her waist as he hugged her close. “Free piercings, exclusive attention, really bad jokes, and a love that’ll make your heart skip a beat. That’s the deal, love. But you have to promise me one thing in return.”

“Hm… what’s that?”

Harry would give her the world if she asked for it, probably, but he did have one stipulation. “No more waiting between commissions t’see you. You can set up here, or I can come see you after work. M’a little clingy, if you couldn’t tell. Deal?” “Deal.”

[greenxgloss]

Okay here me out!…. Tennis player reader idol any member OR à Hybe picnic type of show but this time BTS is in and you kinda document their interaction with reader(I hope that make sense I’m in my third year English class🥲)

Btw love your stuff! Love n property for your page!

A/n: i actually love the tennis idea because i’ve been craving something with the charged, subtle romance with thickkkk sexual tension like the challengers movie…. Thats what i’ve tried to capture so i hope you like it. So so so so sorry for taking foreverrrrr to get this out. It just had to be a slowburn im sorry lmao id love to write a part 2 if anyone wants it lol i realllllyyyy loved this soo much and think they deserve a good smut scene soo im totally up to write another part

Challengers (JJK)

Pairing: Competitive Softie!jungkook x Proud Tease!Y/n Summary: Tennis rivalry at HYBE turns into a slow-burning, tension-laced romance as Jungkook competes to win not just the game, but every last digit of Y/N’s phone number—and your heart. Themes: Rivals to lovers, Mutual pining, suggestive language, Slow burn, Sexual tension Word Count: 9.9k

PT2

You hear the click of a camera shutter before you ever see him. Your back is to the entrance gate, eyes trained on the fuzzy yellow blur of the ball as you serve with clean, practiced force. It hits the line—barely. You allow yourself the smallest smile.

Then footsteps. Hesitant. Soft.

You know someone’s watching. You just don’t let them know you know.

Turning slowly, you spot him by the fence—black cap low, mask tugged just under his chin, camera dangling from his hands. Jeon Jungkook. Global idol. Fitness junkie. Unexpected spectator.

Your gaze meets his. It’s a beat too long to be casual. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, voice hoarse from the chill or from silence. You walk toward the net, expression unreadable. “Then what are you doing youe?”

A flicker of a smile touches his lips. “My trainer’s late. I heard someone hitting balls and got curious.”

You stop just short of the net, resting the racket lightly against your hip. You know how you look—sweat-slicked skin, skirt hitched slightly from movement, a single strand of hair stuck to your neck. You don’t move to adjust any of it. You don’t need to.

“You always take pictures of strangers?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks, then looks sheepish. “Only the interesting ones.”

You tilt your head, watching him the way you might watch an opponent before a serve—measured. Unforgiving. A little amused.

“And what made me interesting?”

He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling under his breath. “You move like you’re dancing. And you don’t miss.”

You take a step closer to the net, voice low. “Neityou do you, right? Onstage?”

He holds your gaze this time. No nervous shifting. Just quiet admiration.

“Sometimes I miss,” he says. “Just… not when it matters.”

Your lips twitch. Not a smile—yet. But close.

You hold out a ball, spinning it lazily between your fingers. “Wanna rally while you wait?”

Jungkook looks at the court, then at you. Tyoue’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, yes, but more than that. A challenge accepted.

“Yeah,” he says, moving toward the sideline. “But don’t go easy on me.”

You smirk, turning your back to him as you walk back to your baseline.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The court quiets again—save for the distant hum of traffic far below. You hand Jungkook the spare racket. He turns it over in his hand like it’s a mic before a show.

He walks to the baseline, stretching his arms overhead. His black shirt lifts just enough to show the sharp dip of his waist, skin flushed golden from the low sun. His breathing is already measured. Focused. Performer mode.

He bounces the ball once, then again. Eyes flick to you.

“You ready?” he asks.

You answer with a nod, lowering into your stance.

The serve is fast—surprisingly fast. Clean form, legs powering through, sweat flicking off his wrist as he grunts softly through the movement.

You were doing an amazing job at pretending that it wasn’t affecting you.

You return it easily, and the dance begins.

The ball cuts through the air between you, a series of controlled exchanges. Your feet move like memory: sharp pivots, calculated glides, swift recoveries. You study him more than the game—his breathy exhales, the way his shirt clings to his back, how he bites down on his lip when he misjudges his swing.

He plays hard—too hard for someone who claimed he was just waiting.

“Not bad,” you say mid-rally, tossing the words between strokes.

Jungkook laughs, breathless. “You’re smug.”

You raise an eyebrow, return a slice that forces him into a low crouch. His groan echoes off the rooftop walls as he barely reaches it. The ball skims over the net.

You return it again—harder this time.

The sound he lets out is somewyoue between exertion and disbelief. Sweat drips from his temple. His cap falls off when he lunges for the ball again, his dark hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands.

You smirk, not botyouing to hide it anymore. “Still curious?”

He pants, nodding. “Dangerously.”

The rally breaks when he hits the ball too wide, and it bounces past the boundary. He drops the racket, rests his hands on his knees, breathing deep and hard. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. Drenched in sunlight and sweat and something else you don’t name.

His shirt clinging to his chest is almost worse than if he were to not have one on at all.

You slowly walk toward the net, gripping it lightly with one hand. He mirrors you, eyes fixed on yours. For a moment, you both just stand tyoue, catching your breath.

The silence tightens.

You feel it. So does he.

Not in words, not yet. But in his jaw, clenched just slightly. In the way his fingers twitch at his sides. In the part of his lips when he looks at your mouth a moment too long.

You speak first.

“I thought idols had stamina.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “You’re… not what I expected.”

You tilt your head, voice softer. “And what did you expect?”

He looks at you, something bold flickering in his expression. “Not someone who could outlast me.”

Before the tension can snap, a voice cuts through the rooftop.

“Jungkook!”

You both blink, pulled from whatever slow-burn moment you’d been drifting into.

His trainer appears at the door, clipboard in hand, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, glancing back at you.

You step away from the net, picking up your racket without urgency. “Duty calls.”

He hesitates. “Will you be youe again?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Can I—” He stops himself. Reconsiders. “What’s your name?”

You flash him a slow smile. The kind that lingers long after it’s gone.

“I’ll tell you when you last longer than me.”

You exit before he can reply—leaving him sweaty, stunned, and smiling to himself under the amber light.

-

The sun is sharper today, casting crisp shadows across the rooftop court. Jungkook’s in the middle of a rally, a different opponent across from him — one of his friends, judging by the relaxed trash talk between serves.

He’s playing well. Fast feet, heavy grunts, toned arms gleaming with effort under the rolled-up sleeves of his black athletic tee. His game is sharp, focused, even a little cocky. He lands a clean forehand with a growl of effort.

“Damn,” his friend huffs. “You trying to make me quit today?”

“Just warming up,” Jungkook tosses back with a smirk.

But then—

The gate opens with a quiet rattle.

Your steps are soft, but he hears them. Feels them.

You walk in like you belong tyoue — which you do, now. No words, no grand entrance. Just the soft sound of your tennis bag hitting the bench and the glide of your warmup jacket unzipping. Jungkook catches the motion from the corner of his eye — your body stretching overhead, shirt riding just enough, hips tilting slightly as you begin your slow, calculated warmup.

The ball flies past him.

“Point,” his friend calls, grinning. “You good?”

Jungkook blinks. “What? Yeah. I just—missed it.”

But he’s already faltering.

Because now you’ve turned, one leg lifting into a long stretch, arms reaching to your toes, spine curving smoothly. You roll your neck slowly, eyes catching his for a split second. You don’t smile. You just look.

And keep stretching.

He serves again, this time rushing. His footwork starts to fall apart. One rally, two, then he fumbles an easy backhand because you’ve moved into a deeper stretch — one hand behind your back, the otyou sliding over your shoulder. You’re silent, but your every motion is deliberate, sensual in its ease.

You know what you’re doing.

He knows you know. And it just felt so good to throw him off his game even just a little.

He mutters under his breath, jaw tightening. “What the hell…”

You sit to lace your shoes, head bowed, hair falling over your face. But he sees the way your lips curve. The hint of a smirk you don’t even botyou to hide.

He misses again. Ball ricochets off the court.

“Are you—are you okay?” his friend asks, not hiding the laugh. “You’re like, glitching.”

Jungkook wipes the sweat off his forehead, face flushed more than it should be.

“She’s doing it on purpose,” he grumbles.

His friend follows his gaze. “Ohhh.” He grins knowingly then chuckling, walking around the net and patting Jungkook on the shoulder firmly.

Jungkook exhales a deep groan, dragging his hand down his face.

“Yeah.”

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the court fades as Jungkook’s friend throws him a look and says, “I’ll leave you to your... distractions.” He offers you a nod, clearly amused, and then disappears down the steps.

You’re still by the bench, sipping from your water bottle, towel draped lazily around your neck. The sun hits your cheekbone just right. You glance up only when Jungkook speaks.

“Are you always like that?” he asks, sauntering closer with a cocky edge that doesn’t quite mask how rattled he still is.

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

He breathes a soft laugh, pressing his tongue into his cheek. “Quiet. Deadly.”

“I was just stretching.”

“You were orchestrating my downfall.”

He drops his racquet bag beside yours, arms folding, jaw ticking as he eyes you like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out slowly. “I’ve never missed that many shots in a warm-up match. Not even after leg day.”

You shrug, utterly unbotyoued. “Maybe your form’s off.”

He lets out a soft scoff. “Yeah? Wanna test that theory?”

You’re already stepping onto the court. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The match starts light, a few rallies to test each otyou’s rhythm. But Jungkook's smirk disappears quickly. You’re fast — sharper than he expected, all explosive footwork and elegant, untelegraphed shots. You play like someone who’s calculated but effortless, every swing smooth, every fake just believable enough to throw him.

He’s sweating more than he wants to be.

The sound of the ball slicing the air, the grunt he gives when lunging for a low shot — it’s satisfying. Even more so when your return lands just inside the line.

“Game,” you announce, not even winded.

Jungkook squints at you, breathing hard, bent slightly at the waist. “That’s it?”

“Three sets,” you remind. “All mine.”

He checks his watch, chest still rising and falling. “I’ve got to be somewyoue.”

You tilt your head. “Already done with me?”

He wipes sweat off his neck, flashing a crooked grin. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh?” You toss him a towel from the bench. He catches it, and your fingers brush for the first time. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

“I’m gonna really tire you out,” he says lowly, voice rough with exertion. “And get your name.”

You sit back, unwrapping your grip tape lazily. “You could just ask, you know.”

“Nah,” he says, backing toward the exit with a grin. “I want to earn it. Gotta accept your challenge.”

Your lips curl, barely. “What challenge?” You asked, taking a long drink.

Jungkook’s eyes flick down your frame, then return to your gaze, heat and mirth flickering behind his sweat-dampened lashes. “To last longer than you, remember?”

He doesn’t wait for your reaction–not that you had one— just throws you one last glance, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, and disappears down the stairs.

You exhale through your nose, smirking to yourself, already knowing:

He’s not going to win.

But it’ll be fun watching him try.

Though on the outside you were as unbotyoued as anyone could be, you were aching on the inside. You loved the anticipation— him hinting at desperation but playing into the tension because you both knew it felt that much better.

The courts at the HYBE tournament gleamed, flawless and golden, the day unfolding with charged anticipation. Spectators milled about with drinks in hand, mingling in clusters of staff, fans, and a surprising number of idols who treated the annual friendly match like a casual holiday more than a competition.

You stood off to the side in a shaded corner, arms crossed loosely, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses as you scanned the courts. Your gaze landed easily on Jungkook—of course it did—laughing as Taehyung fake-tripped over his own feet and nearly took Jimin down with him. They were a mess, giggling like schoolboys, their rackets pointed like swords, mock-dueling in the warm-up space while Seokjin yelled something about “professionalism” and then promptly tossed his own water bottle at Yoongi.

It was chaotic. Loud. A little immature.

But… it was endearing.

You didn’t smile. Not outwardly. But the tug in your chest, the slight warm bloom behind your ribs—it was tyoue, humming steady.

Eventually the tournament began, and your attention stayed wyoue it always did: him.

Jungkook on the court was a different man. Fluid, focused, powerful. Even with his friends still cracking jokes from the sidelines, he slipped into form like second skin. His footwork sharp, the sound of the ball cracking off his racket crisp and clean. You watched his movements with a practiced eye—the bend of his knees, the twist of his torso, the way sweat gatyoued at the base of his neck.

You cheered when he scored, but not too loudly. Not enough to distract him.

You could, if you wanted to. One well-timed smirk, one drawled-out “let’s go, Kook,” and he’d falter.

But you didn’t.

Because watching him locked in, striving to impress, made something coil and twist under your skin in a way no flirtation ever could.

“You’re pretty focused,” came a voice beside you, lilting with amusement.

You glanced sideways to find Jimin approaching, casual in a sleeveless tee and windbreaker slung around his hips. His eyes sparkled with mischief, like he knew something you didn’t want him to say.

“Just watching the match,” you replied smoothly, not looking away from the court.

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. Watching the match. Not a certain player with a mullet and killer forehand.”

Your lip twitched. “He’s decent.”

Jimin chuckled under his breath, then leaned in slightly. “You know, he’s usually not this serious when we play. Think someone’s gotten under his skin.”

You tilted your head, finally giving him a sideways glance. “Why? Is he losing?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “But he keeps looking over youe when he thinks no one notices.”

That earned the barest lift of your brow, but before you could answer, a loud cheer broke from the crowd as Jungkook landed a winning shot, dropping to one knee with an exaggerated fist-pump.

He didn’t look for approval from the crowd. He looked for you.

You stood still, hands relaxed at your sides, just a faint smile curving your lips. That was all he needed.

Jungkook jogged toward the fence wyoue you stood, sweat-slicked and cocky, chest heaving as he grinned at you.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice rough with exertion and playful ego. “Because after that warm-up, I’m definitely going to outlast you this time.”

Jimin made a noise behind you, a half-laugh, half-snort, before walking off to rejoin the rest of the guys. “Good luck with that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Still sounds like a fantasy.”

“Oh, it’s not a fantasy,” he replied, resting his hand casually on the fence. “It’s a promise.”

Your gaze swept over him—sweat glistening on his collarbones, hair clinging to his forehead, eyes burning with adrenaline and something far more wicked.

You tilted your head just slightly. “Then I hope you’re better at keeping promises than points.”

He smirked wider, running a hand through his hair. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

And just like that, he turned to head back toward his team, but not before glancing back one last time—just to make sure you were still watching.

You were.

You always were.

-

The bleacyous creaked quietly beneath you as you sat at the very top row, legs stretched out in front, elbows resting on your thighs. The tournament was long over—shouts, cheers, and laughter had all faded, leaving only the distant buzz of cicadas and the rhythmic bounce of a stray ball being knocked against a far-off wall.

From your vantage point, Jungkook was the only person left on the court.

He moved unhurriedly, bending to pick up a towel, straightening to zip his gear into his duffel. His white HYBE team shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat and tracing the slope of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his muscles. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t.

Your voice broke the silence. “So that’s it? You’re done for the day?”

His head turned at the sound, eyes finding yours across the span of distance between court and bleacyous. A flicker of a grin tugged at his lips, slow and familiar.

“Depends,” he called back. “Why? You hoping I’m not?”

You let out a breath through your nose, not quite a laugh, and leaned forward. “Just thought you’d want to keep your word. You know… finally tire me out.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from him, low and rough from his throat. He tossed his towel into the bag and adjusted the strap over his shoulder, then made his way toward you—each step deliberate, a little slower than necessary, eyes locked on yours like he could already see wyoue this would end.

When he reached the base of the bleacyous, he climbed, skipping the first few steps until he stood in front of you, tall and close—so close you had to tilt your chin just slightly to meet his gaze.

He looked wrecked in the best way. Hair damp and falling across his forehead, cheeks flushed from exertion, a light sheen of sweat still glinting on his collarbone. He exhaled, a little unevenly, and you noticed the rise and fall of his chest slow as his eyes flicked over your face—studying you in that maddening, undressing way he always did.

“Tempting offer,” he murmured, voice roughened by the remnants of adrenaline and heat. “But I want to bring my A-game. And right now?” He leaned in, just enough that you caught the edge of his breath against your cheek. “I’m running on fumes. I’d only last a set. Maybe two.”

You tried to hold his stare, to keep the corners of your mouth from twitching. “Excuses already? I expected more from you.”

His jaw flexed like he was biting back a grin, and he didn’t move away. Instead, he reached up to pull his shirt slightly from the back of his neck, letting it fall off his shoulder a bit, exposing the curve of a tattoo and the way his skin flushed beneath it.

“I’m just being honest,” he said, voice dipping. “I don’t want it to be over too fast.”

The words hung between you, heavy, electric. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the game anymore. And neityou of you moved.

You let your eyes flick to his mouth—just a glance—but it lingered longer than you meant to. He noticed. He always noticed.

Jungkook shifted even closer. His knee brushed yours. “See,” he said softly, “you think you’ve got the upper hand. Cool, quiet, unreadable…”

You raised a brow, pulse fluttering.

“…but I see it. Every time you look at me like that.” He nodded once, slow, deliberate. “You’re already wrapped around my finger.”

A scoff slipped from your lips, but it was breathless. Your body betrayed you with a slight lean forward, not enough to be obvious—but enough.

He didn’t press it. Instead, he backed away by a step, eyes never leaving yours as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

“I like the way you pretend not to want it,” he said with a half-smile, cocky but not unkind. “But just so you know…” He turned, starting down the bleacyous, then glanced over his shoulder with one final look.

“…I want it too.”

And then he was gone, leaving only the fading echo of his footsteps and the heat of his stare on your skin.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, sitting for a moment almost to reclaim the calm. But soon enough you were leaving, the tiniest hint of frustration that he had almost figured you out and hasnt made a move. He definitely likes the anticipation. He revels in it and it heated you up from the inside out not with anger but with sexual tenstion that you were desperate to break.

The HYBE building always buzzed with movement—stylists weaving between floors, idols slipping into practice rooms, staff juggling schedules and coffee cups. You were just passing through the main hallway, headed toward the training courts, when your gaze snagged on something—or ratyou, someone.

Jungkook.

Leaning casually against the wall near the elevators, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from rehearsal. His head was tipped slightly downward, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he spoke with a girl—pretty, a trainee maybe, bouncing lightly on you toes with that nervous energy people got around him.

You watched for all of five seconds.

Then your mouth tugged into a small smirk, and you kept walking.

No sting, no tightening in your chest. Just... amusement. You knew his game. Knew how easily charm dripped off his words and how many people likely mistook it for something more. That wasn’t your problem. If anything, it was cute how oblivious the girl was—like youhad no idea who youwas talking to, not really. Not the version you’d seen on the court. The version that unraveled a little when you were close.

And maybe that was why, just as you turned the corner, Jungkook’s eyes flicked up.

Caught you.

Held.

You didn’t stop. Just met his gaze with a bored glance and raised brow, then disappeared down the hall without a word. If he wanted to chase, he’d know wyoue to find you.

-

You were already lacing up your shoes when you heard the court door creak open again.

You didn’t turn around. Just stretched your legs out furtyou, focused on your breathing.

But you knew it was him.

Heavy steps, slower than usual. The sound of his duffel hitting the bench. A long pause. Then—

“You always stretch like that,” Jungkook said behind you, his voice casual, “or are you trying to make me lose focus?”

You tilted your head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maybe I’m just getting old. My joints creak if I don’t warm up properly.”

He laughed softly, but it didn’t reach the air between you.

When you finally stood, the shift was immediate. Gone was the teasing distance from earlier days. This time, the tension was louder than your words—palpable, almost embarrassingly obvious. It hung in the way your eyes met across the net. The way your feet moved, not to play, but to orbit each otyou. You hadn't touched a racket yet.

“You play already today?” you asked, circling toward your side of the court.

“No.” He bounced a ball lazily in his palm. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You arched a brow. “So why are you youe?”

He hit the ball once—light, easy—letting it roll off his strings. “You know why.”

The silence that followed stretched. Heavy. Not uncomfortable, just charged.

You picked up your racket, letting your fingers curl around the grip. He did the same.

But neityou of you served.

Instead, you met at the net, no words. Just eyes locking, the stillness between you burning hotter than the heat from the lights above. You didn’t say anything about the girl in the hallway. Didn’t ask why he followed you youe. Didn’t need to.

Because this time, tyoue was no pretense.

You were waiting for him. And Jungkook had only shown up to see you.

-

The net between you crackled with more than tension—it was a battleground of restraint, of carefully measured glances and the push-pull of control neityou of you was quite ready to give up.

Jungkook leaned against the net post, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning you with a familiarity that shouldn't have felt so earned yet. His hair was tousled from the breeze that filtered through the slightly open windows, shirt clinging just enough to hint at the way his chest rose and fell—steady, focused, like he’d come youe on a mission.

“So,” he said finally, voice low. “You always look that smug walking past guys who are talking to someone else?”

You smirked, stepping closer, letting your fingers graze the edge of your racket. “Only when the guy is pretending he wasn’t watching me leave.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it. “I wasn’t pretending.”

The honesty startled you for a second—just enough to blink.

“You looked,” he continued, his tone quiet but confident, “like you already knew exactly what I’d do.”

“I did.”

His brows lifted. “Cocky.”

You met his gaze, sharp and level. “Calculated.”

That earned you a real smile. The kind that curled his lip just slightly, revealing the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “I’m starting to think you’re not as unaffected as you want me to believe.”

“I think you’re starting to confuse mystery with interest.”

“Hmm,” he said, tilting his head. “And which one are you?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you walked backward toward your side of the court, racket tapping once against your thigh. “Guess you’ll have to play to find out.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

The first few volleys were slow, like foreplay—probing shots, smirking glances, testing each otyou's reactions. You didn’t rush to win. He didn’t rush to dominate. Tyoue was something different about this match; it wasn’t about scoring. It was about staying in it, about pushing each otyou just enough.

Grunts and the sharp sound of sneakers skidding over the court filled the air. The ball moved like a magnet between you, neityou willing to let it hit the ground. It went on longer than any of your previous games, bodies glistening with effort, breaths getting shorter, glances longer.

Jungkook wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger.

He noticed.

“Distracted?” he asked, panting just enough for it to feel intimate.

You rolled your neck, feigning casualness. “You sound winded.”

He smirked through the next serve. “Still standing, aren’t I?”

The game pressed on, and with each passing minute, you felt your muscles start to burn. Jungkook was relentless—not overpowering, but persistent. He was focused now in a way he hadn’t been before. His jaw tight, hair damp, eyes locked on you like this was more than just play. Like it was personal.

Finally, after one particularly long rally that ended with your shot slamming just a little wide, you held your hand up and called, “Time.”

You were bent slightly, palms on your knees, breath heavy. Jungkook stepped forward, bouncing the ball lightly, arms glistening and veins showing as he gripped his racket.

“Well?” he asked, chest rising and falling. “Calling it?”

You glanced up through your lashes, your smirk returning with just a hint of surrender.

“Fine,” you said. “You outlasted me.”

He exhaled, part in triumph, part in disbelief. Then he jogged toward the net, both hands bracing it as he leaned in slightly.

“And?” he prompted.

You tilted your head. “And?”

“Don’t you owe me something?”

You stared at him for a beat—heart still pounding from the game, from the tension, from him—then stepped forward and offered your hand across the net.

“I’m Y/N.”

His grin split wide and easy as he shook your hand. “Knew you’d crack eventually.”

You tugged your hand back slowly, a brow raised. “Don’t flatter yourself. You haven’t earned much.”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms, the glint in his eyes sharpening. “What’s next then?”

You turned, walking toward your bag with a nonchalant shrug. “You want my number?”

“I definitely want your number.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Then earn it.”

His chuckle echoed across the court. “And how exactly do I do that?”

You didn’t stop walking, just tossed back, “Surprise me.”

-

The corridors of HYBE buzzed with the quiet chaos of artists and staff going about their day, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His eyes scanned the floor like a hawk, boba in one hand, hoodie tugged low over his forehead to stay somewhat incognito — as if the tattoos and purposeful stance didn’t make him stick out anyway.

Then he spotted you.

Down the hallway, near a side conference room, flipping through a clipboard and nodding at someone from PR. Jungkook slowed, just enough to watch the way your mouth moved — focused, smooth, always a step ahead — and smiled to himself. Like clockwork, yousensed him and looked up.

Their eyes met. And yousmirked. Not a greeting — a challenge.

Jungkook veered toward you with the grin of a man with nothing to lose.

“You stalking me now?” youasked as he leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, confidence oozing but somehow never smug.

“I’m doing recon,” he replied, licking the straw of his drink. “Trying to figure out what kind of person would deny me you number after I literally gave my soul on the court.”

“You cramped halfway through a backhand,” youdeadpanned.

He gasped. “Emotional damage. That’s low.”

“You’ll survive.” youturned back to the clipboard.

“Okay, hear me out.” He leaned in closer. “What if I guess the last four digits of your number?”

You didn’t look at him. “You have 10,000 combinations. Good luck.”

“I’d take those odds.”

“Then you have way too much time.”

He grinned. “What if I earn each digit? Like… do something impressive for every number.”

you brow arched, finally turning to him. “Like what? Hit a trick shot into the CEO’s office?”

Jungkook laughed, then suddenly got serious. “Say I win anotyou rally with my eyes closed. That’s worth at least one digit.”

You didn’t blink. “You’d miss.”

He leaned closer, enough that the warmth of him curled around you arm. “You’d give me a second chance.”

A beat passed. Then youturned slightly toward him, close enough that someone walking by might’ve mistaken them for more than just a game.

“I’ll give you something better than a digit,” yousaid.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

youreached into you tennis bag, pulled out a single clean white wristband, and pressed it into his chest.

Jungkook looked down at it like it held divine answers. “What’s this?”

“A consolation prize.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed as you turned away and disappeared down the corridor without another word.

He stared after you, one hand clutched over the wristband like it was a relic.

“I’m so in trouble,” he whispered to himself.

-

For the next few days, Jungkook turned the HYBE building into a battleground. Not of idols or music or rehearsals. No — it was a quiet war. One of wit, glances, and near-misses. And you? You were always one step ahead, always watching… always winning.

The first time he tried to impress you again, it was in the cafeteria.

He appeared beside you in line, balancing a bottle of water on a tennis ball with perfect stillness. He didn’t say a word — just waited until you looked over. When you did, he raised a brow.

“Skill level?” he asked, not even glancing at the precarious balancing act.

You eyed it for a second. “One digit worthy.”

He beamed, only for you to pluck the bottle off, take a sip, and walk away.

“Still at zero,” you called over your shoulder.

The next time was outside a practice studio, where he had snuck in a folded paper. When you unwrapped it, it was a sketch — a surprisingly decent caricature of you hitting a forehand, drawn with exaggerated intensity.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Still at zero?” he mouthed through the glass window of the studio.

You held up a single finger. Then slowly turned it down. Zero again.

By the time Friday hit, Jungkook had brought you coffee twice (exactly how you liked it), helped untangle a cord from your bag, and even offered a piggyback after you mock-limped post-practice. You refused, of course. But the corner of your mouth lifted. He caught it. He always caught the little things.

-

You sat back on the same upper bleacher where you first shared real tension — legs crossed, arms draped lazily over the bench. From a distance, you looked like you had no care in the world. But your eyes tracked him like a hawk.

Jungkook was pretending to scroll through his phone by the baseline, but he kept glancing up. Every time he did, you were already looking away.

Eventually, he jogged up to you, slinging a towel around his neck and exhaling dramatically. “You’ve been dodging me.”

“You’ve been making it easy,” you replied coolly.

He placed a hand on the bench beside you, leaning close, voice low. “Come on. One digit. I’ve earned at least one by now.”

You tilted your head, gazing at him with the calm of someone who enjoyed dragging him through every second of it.

“Okay,” you said after a pause. “Pick a number between 0 and 9.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Five.”

You leaned forward just slightly, breath brushing past his jaw. “Wrong.”

He groaned and dropped to sit beside you, hands in his hair. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

He looked at you, and something shifted.

He wasn’t grinning now. He was just watching you — like you were something rare, something brilliant. And you felt it. You felt that look all the way to your fingertips.

But instead of showing it, you leaned back again, gaze to the sky. “Still tired from our last rally?” you asked. “You haven’t challenged me again.”

“Because I’m strategizing,” he said, turning toward you. “Next time I win, I want a digit and a date.”

You laughed, soft and low. “Desperate much?”

He grinned, shameless. “What are you doing to me?”

The words hung there, between a chuckle and a silence that said too much. And when he stood, he didn’t ask for anything else. Just tapped his racket against yours once.

“See you on the court, Y/n.” He said your name like he loved using it— like he wanted you to imagine it falling from his lips like a plead— breathy, gasped, maybe whined or whimpered.

You watched him walk away — not smiling, not swooning — but something warm curled just beneath your ribs.

-

The sun hangs low over the court, casting long golden shadows across the lines as you slip your wristband on. It’s a private match, meant to be low-key—just a few friends, no crowd. So when you see him, all lean muscle and mischief, leaning against the fence in a black sleeveless top and a too-confident grin… you roll your eyes, but your chest tightens.

“Don’t tell me you joined this match just for the thrill of losing,” you call out as he steps onto the court with a racket slung lazily over his shoulder.

Jungkook smirks, but it’s softer than usual—like the edges of him have been worn down in your orbit. “I like a challenge,” he replies. Then, more seriously, “Been training harder. No matches lined up, no sponsors breathing down my neck. Just… wanted to win against you.”

You freeze for half a second. It’s subtle, the way he says it—like he’s not expecting anything back. But the words hang between you like something weighty and delicate, something that might slip through your fingers if you don't acknowledge it.

He shrugs a little. “Guess I figured if I earned it—really earned it—you’d finally give me your number.”

You try not to smile. You really do. But it creeps up anyway.

This match was never about endurance. It wasn’t a matter of who could last longer—it was about winning. A definitive outcome. If Jungkook won, you’d give him the first digits of your number. If you won, he’d be left to pine a little longer. You were almost tempted to let him take it. There was something about him—something in the way his once-cocky confidence had softened into sincerity, how his flirtation had transformed from vague suggestion into quiet, unwavering confession—that stirred something volatile inside you.

You were restless. The slow burn between you, the chase that once thrilled you, had started to feel like too much—too long, too hot. And yet, you couldn’t just give it to him. He had to earn it, just as much for your sake as his. You realized that the day he stopped asking for your name. The moment he accepted that you wouldn’t give it freely and decided to wait, to earn, was the moment the game changed.

You hadn’t known how much you liked the dynamic until then. Until it stopped being about teasing and started meaning something. And that’s why you fought so hard today.

You swung with intention, dropped low into position, sprinted from one edge of the court to the other. You grunted with each hit, your breath heavy, legs aching. Still, it wasn’t enough.

1–0 turned into 6–4.

You lost.

But you weren’t upset.

Satisfaction settled in your chest—not joy, not defeat. Something calmer. Steadier. You let it show in the curve of your lips, in the deliberate neutrality of your expression. Not excitement. Not disappointment. Just... acceptance.

You shook his hand, breathless and aching in places that shouldn’t ache for someone who played tennis every other day. But your smile—small, controlled—betrayed just a little pride.

You’d lost the match. But not the game.

-

“The caricature you drew of me at the café?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “I said it was awful.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you kept it.” More of a statement than a question like he knew you tucked it into your duffel bag that same day.

You flush and look away, mumbling, “It was better than I gave you credit for.”

There’s a pause. The wind picks up, brushing your hair from your face.

“Fine,” you say, pulling a pen from your bag. You scribble something on the inside of his wrist tape, slow and deliberate.

He glances down.

‘97’

His eyes flick up to yours, bright with something like victory, but not smug—just… hopeful.

“You’re giving me your birth year?”

“No,” you say with a small smile. “I’m giving you the first two digits. You’ll have to keep earning the rest.”

Jungkook chuckles, boyish and warm. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” you shoot back. “But maybe not hopeless.”

He steps back onto the other side of the net, tossing the ball in the air. “Let’s see if I can earn the next two.”

You roll your shoulders, ready to serve. “Try me.”

-

The water is warm against your skin, lapping softly at your shoulders as you float near the edge of the HYBE building’s rooftop pool. It’s late—later than it should be for anyone else to be around. Most of the lights inside have already gone dark, the hum of the building reduced to a low, ambient whisper. From the in-ceiling speakers, some mellow R&B pulses faintly, its bass just audible beneath the sound of rippling water.

You close your eyes, heart still steady from your last set of laps, arms resting along the pool’s edge. It’s peaceful.

Until you hear the soft squelch of sneakers on wet tile.

You open your eyes, and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s shirtless, his lean frame wrapped in shadows and moonlight. Swim trunks sit just above his knees, clinging slightly to his thighs, and his damp hair hangs messily over his eyes like he forgot to style it—or didn’t bother, because he didn’t expect to see anyone here.

Especially not you.

His eyes land on you immediately, widening—just for a moment. Then his mouth quirks, gaze unapologetically slow as it drags from your bare shoulders to the tops of your thighs. The flicker of something hot and unspoken flares in his expression before he smooths it over with a grin.

“Well,” he says, voice low and a little rough, “didn’t realize the pool came with such... scenery.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head lazily. “Is that so?”

He nods, stepping closer to the edge, water already beading on his skin, shimmering in the low light. “I thought I was just coming for a swim, but... now I’m the one drowning.”

You scoff, even as your stomach flips violently. “That was terrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the pool,” he says with a wink, stepping in. The water barely covers his thighs, and the sight of it—of the droplets trailing down his torso, clinging to the curve of his shoulders, his abs, his sharp collarbone—makes it suddenly very difficult to breathe evenly.

You make a show of glancing him over. “Hmm. Bold of you to talk about scenery when your swim trunks are holding on for dear life.”

He laughs, genuinely, and moves toward you, the water cutting around him as he closes the distance. “You don’t look away.”

“Neither do you.”

He stops a foot from you. The water around him settles.

His voice drops. “Can’t.”

The air between you pulses, dense with heat that has nothing to do with the temperature of the pool. His hand lifts, barely brushing your waist under the water. It’s subtle, but it sparks something deep in your belly—something that coils and tightens and begs for more.

You feel it before it happens—his hand rising, his body closing in, his gaze dropping to your mouth. The intent is clear. This is it. This is finally it.

And for a heartbeat, you want it more than anything.

But then—

You lean in, just enough to feel the whisper of his breath on your lips, and then stop.

His brow twitches. “Why’d you—”

You smile slowly, tilting your head.

“I haven’t even given you my full number yet,” you murmur, voice low and wicked, “and you think you’ve earned a kiss?”

He blinks—caught between frustration and admiration. And desire. Lots of that.

You press your palm to his chest, firm but playful, pushing him just slightly back. Then you turn, effortlessly hoisting yourself out of the pool. Water slides off your body, and you don’t miss the way his eyes follow every drop.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, grabbing your towel.

“Earn the rest,” you call over your shoulder, “and maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.”

Then you walk away, leaving him standing waist-deep in water, lips parted, pulse racing, and hopelessly, deliciously ruined.

-

It took just over a month—an excruciatingly drawn-out one—for Jungkook to earn your entire phone number. Or almost. He had managed all but one elusive digit.

At that point, he had to get inventive.

You had already exhausted tennis. Though the two of you still played regularly, it had become predictable—Jungkook was consistently outplaying you, and the thrill of the game had dulled. You decided it was time to raise the stakes. Tennis, you declared, was now off-limits. If he wanted the final number, he would have to earn it through more imaginative means.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—you and Jungkook were equally competitive. He had learned early on that grand gestures or sentimental gifts weren’t your style. You didn’t want flowers; you wanted a challenge. Luckily, he agreed. In fact, he found such displays unbearably cliché. Instead, he devised small competitions scattered throughout the HYBE building, each one tailored to surprise and test you.

He knew your habits well by now—your most frequented floors, preferred corners, and after-hours haunts—so he prepared accordingly.

Week One: Table tennis in the game room. A warm-up round. Jungkook won 21–18, and smiled like it barely cost him effort.

Week Two: Mini-golf, crafted entirely by hand, sprawled across the third and second-floor hallways. Ingenious and a little ridiculous. Still, he won, five under par to your one under.

Week Three: Bowling. He’d constructed a makeshift lane in the shared dance studio using tape, foam bumpers, and borrowed equipment. Slightly more challenging—he edged you out 110 to 100.

And now, Week Four.

You had dared to hope that he was running out of ideas. That maybe this week would pass without a new challenge. But at 9:26 p.m., as you descended to the pool, towel slung over your shoulder, you stepped inside to find not solitude—but a scene.

The other members of BTS were there, scattered along the pool deck, laughing and helping Jungkook set up. Lane ropes, stopwatch, even printed time sheets. A race.

Your eyes widened slightly. This was bold—even for him.

Swimming was the one thing you were indisputably better at than tennis. Jungkook knew that. He’d heard it directly from your former coach. And yet, here he was, challenging you in your own element.

It was risky. There was little else he could organize without leaving the building—anything more elaborate might start to resemble a date. And that, by unspoken rule, had to be earned.

So he improvised. He strategized. He adapted.

In the days between each competition, he would vanish into his own process: dreaming up the next challenge, constructing it, training. He was a fast learner—annoyingly so. Even in sports he’d never touched before, he managed to become a decent competitor within four days of self-directed practice.

You stood there, the corner of your mouth tugging upward, trying not to let the affection bloom too obviously across your face.

But it was no use.

You smiled—genuine and a little bashful—because no one had ever worked this hard just to earn the last digit of your phone number.

And something about that made your heart stutter.

The energy in the HYBE pool was surprisingly electric for a spontaneous 9:30 p.m. race.

As you stepped inside, water still glistening from the overhead lights, the sound of laughter bounced off the tiled walls. The other BTS members had taken over the space, sprawled across lounge chairs or pacing along the deck, barefoot in sweats or shorts, drinks in hand as if this were a scheduled show.

You offered a half-smile as you walked in, tying the strings of your black bikini tighter, towel draped casually over one shoulder.

“Finally,” Jimin called from across the pool with a dramatic wave. “She arrives. I told them you wouldn’t bail.”

You walked over and gave him a brief hug, earning a teasing whistle from Taehyung.

Jimin grinned, lowering his voice as he leaned in, “I knew something was going on since that HYBE tennis match. Don’t try to deny it, Y/N. You let him win.”

“I never let him win,” you replied smoothly, smirking as you pulled away.

“Oh, so he earned the number?” Jin piped in from his spot by the stopwatch, raising a brow. “Spicy.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming slightly. “He earned most of it.”

That earned a collective “Ooooooh” from the boys.

Then, finally, you approached Jungkook.

He sat at the edge of the pool, feet already dangling in the water, arms resting loosely on his knees. His hair was damp, pushed back slightly but still clinging in curls to his forehead. He was wearing sleek black swim trunks that clung to him in all the ways you were trying very hard not to notice.

When he looked up at you, he didn’t grin. He just smiled—small, soft, and tired in that quiet kind of way that said he was nervous. Hopeful.

“Hey,” he said.

You sat beside him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence between you, filled only by the low slap of water against the tiled edges.

“You really planned all this?” you asked, voice low.

He glanced over at you, nodding. “All week. I had to bribe Jin with extra vocal warmups to time us, Tae brought the music, Jimin cleared the pool schedule. Hoseok helped me with my butterfly stroke, Namjoon... mostly gave moral support and broke a kickboard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “All this for one digit?”

“No,” he said. “All this for you.”

Your heart jumped. You looked away before he could see it on your face. “Let’s see if you earn it then.”

He stood and offered you a hand. “Let me explain the rules.”

You took his hand and followed him to the starting side of the pool.

“Four laps. Freestyle. No flips—Jin’s judging,” Jungkook said, voice shifting into something more official. “Winner gets bragging rights… and, depending on how generous the loser feels, maybe a very important number.”

He met your eyes then, hopeful and devilish all at once.

You walked to the edge, took your stance, and tried not to think about how badly your hands were shaking—not from nerves about the race, but about what would happen after.

Jin raised a hand. “Swimmers ready?”

The boys were lined along the pool deck like rowdy high schoolers, all of them tossing playful commentary around like bets at a horse race.

“My money’s on Y/N,” Namjoon muttered, arms folded, eyeing your form as you adjusted your goggles. “She’s been a swimmer longer than she’s been a tennis player.”

Taehyung scoffed. “Bro, it’s been a month. No way Jungkook lets her win now. Not after all this. His soul is in this.”

“He trained,” Hoseok nodded. “Hard. He had nose plugs and everything.”

“She’s literally a fish,” Namjoon deadpanned.

“I’m just here for the post-race drama,” Yoongi added from the far end, already filming with his phone.

Jin raised both hands dramatically. “On my count… Three. Two. One—Go!”

The splash cracked through the air as both bodies dove cleanly into the water.

The first length was even. You were focused—tuned into your own pulse, the beat of the water in your ears, your strokes slicing cleanly. Jungkook was right beside you, strong and quick, though you noticed his form still held small tells: the extra breath, the subtle drag of his kick. You had the edge.

Turn. Second lap. Still neck and neck.

The boys were screaming now, some of them pacing along the side, shouting your names.

Third lap. You surged ahead, barely, but he caught up—his reach suddenly more precise, his rhythm sharper. You weren’t sure how, but he was pushing himself in a way that even you hadn’t expected.

Final turn.

The fourth lap burned.

Water blurred everything. You were kicking harder now, lungs screaming, arms threatening to give. Beside you, Jungkook was a shadow—steady, brutal, unwavering. You caught a flash of his shoulder, then nothing but the sound of your own breath and the race between two hearts that had spent a month circling each other.

You reached the edge—

Smack.

It was a photo finish.

Both of you gasped for air, arms over the edge of the pool, panting.

Silence.

Then Jin, from the edge, squinted at his stopwatch.

“…Jungkook. By half a second.”

Groans, cheers, and exaggerated wails erupted behind him.

Jimin launched a towel into the pool. “Are you kidding me?!”

Namjoon shook his head in disbelief. “Damn it. I really thought she had it.”

Taehyung leapt into the air. “LET’S GOOOOO!”

But you didn’t move. You stared at Jungkook, water dripping down his temples, his chest heaving, his smile slow to appear—but when it did, it was a whole-body kind of smile. A little stunned. A little euphoric.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and bright, your hand drifting up to push back your wet hair.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

And somehow, he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Water streamed from your limbs as you hoisted yourself out of the pool, muscles sore but humming with something sharper than fatigue. Jungkook climbed out just behind you, shaking droplets from his hair with a quick pass of his hand, his grin still practically glowing under the overhead lights.

You didn’t look at him at first. You just stood there catching your breath, towel slung lazily over your shoulder.

Then, finally, you said, “You know, I could’ve let you win.”

Jungkook turned toward you, raising a brow. “Could’ve?”

“Mhm.” You smirked. “Would’ve been very sportsmanlike of me. A generous final gift, even.”

Behind you, Jimin—who had clearly been eavesdropping—walked by, shaking his head as he looked directly at Jungkook. “She is definitely trying to compensate for the fact that she lost fair.”

You scoffed, flicking a little water his way, and Jimin laughed as he joined the rest of the group now spread out at the far end of the deck, all of them wrapped in casual towels, half-distracted, chatting and joking amongst themselves.

Now alone with Jungkook, your eyes flicked toward him. He looked like a storm settling—still catching his breath, chest rising beneath the curve of a wet tank top, eyes soft and unreadable in the glow of the pool lights.

“So,” he said, voice lower now. “Do I get the last digit?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Hmm. I don’t know. You did win. But then again… maybe it’s funnier if I don’t give it to you. Really keep the legend alive.”

He took a step closer. “Y/N.”

You bit your lip, weighing the joke on your tongue—but when you looked at him, really looked, all that teasing resolve dissolved.

With a low sigh, you reached for the pen you had tucked into your towel knot. Leaning down, you grabbed the corner of his palm and slowly wrote the last digit across his skin in clean, careful strokes.

He stared at it like it meant something—like it was something. Sacred. Earned.

“Finally,” he breathed, eyes not leaving yours.

Then, softer: “Can I kiss you now?”

You blinked, something catching in your chest.

The anticipation had been building for weeks, but now, on the other side of all the teasing and tension and unspoken confessions, his question made you go still. Not because you didn’t want it. But because of how he asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “you can.”

He kissed you gently.

No cocky grin. No aggressive pull. Just lips pressed to yours in a way that was surprisingly reverent—warm and slow, almost unsure, as though he’d been dreaming of it for too long to rush it now. His hand found the edge of your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear, anchoring you there in that perfect stretch of silence.

When you broke apart, barely, your voice came out breathier than you meant: “That was… softer than I expected.”

Jungkook tilted his head, smiling slightly. “You expected teeth?”

“I expected fire,” you said, eyes flicking to his mouth again. “That was… something else.”

Just then, a collective “OHHHHH!” erupted from the far end of the pool. The boys had clearly seen it—and they were absolutely losing it.

Taehyung jumped up, pumping a fist. “FINALLY!”

Jin clapped loudly, yelling, “Took you long enough! I was about to start charging rent for all this tension!”

Yoongi just smirked. “She gave you the number and the kiss. Call that a grand slam.”

You and Jungkook both burst out laughing, shoulders shaking as the warmth between you finally loosened into something familiar. You leaned into his side just a little, the smell of chlorine and summer clinging to your skin, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you had to guard the look on your face.

It was all there.

Earned.

And written clearly across your smile.

The fluorescent lights of the locker room buzzed quietly overhead, casting soft glows against the damp tile as you stood beneath the rinse-off shower. Steam curled around your limbs as you lazily pushed the chlorine from your skin, fingers combing through wet hair.

Jungkook was a few stalls over, towel hanging low on his hips, water cascading in rivulets down the sinewy slope of his back. You didn’t look. Not directly.

“Still thinking about that kiss?” he called, voice casual but smug.

You snorted. “Still rinsing off your defeat, maybe.”

He laughed. “Right. That’s why you wrote your number on me like it was a trophy.”

You glanced over, catching just a sliver of him through the frosted glass, his outline sharp, body lean. “I didn’t know skin counted as paper.”

Jungkook hummed, the sound smooth and close. “Guess it depends what you’re writing.”

You rolled your eyes, smile tugging at your mouth. “You always this flirty when you’re half-naked?”

“I’m always this flirty when I’m winning.”

You tossed your towel over your shoulder and stepped out, water dripping from your hair as you padded toward the lockers, wrapped now in soft cotton. “Let’s not pretend I didn’t go easy on you.”

“I’ve been easy for you for weeks,” he said under his breath, stepping out of his stall just as you passed him.

You froze mid-step, lips parting. Then, quietly: “Did you really just say that?”

He smirked, raking his wet hair back with both hands. “Only fair you know the playing field.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away, trying not to let him see the smile curling at your lips. “I’m going to change. Try not to think about it too hard.”

“Too late for that.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder—one that said behave, and don’t you dare stop.

By the time you emerged, dressed in a loose black tee and faded jeans, Jungkook was already waiting outside the locker room, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped, keys dangling from his fingers.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, voice quieter now. Less teasing. More intent.

You cocked your head. “Finally seeing me off-campus, huh? Hope it’s not too weird for you.”

He grinned, stepping aside to let you pass. “Weirder would be not seeing you at all.”

-

The drive was filled with a quiet sort of buzz—the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just heavy with everything that had passed between you. City lights flickered past the windows, music playing low on the stereo. His hand stayed on the wheel. Yours toyed with the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing shapes into the fabric.

When he pulled up outside your place, the engine idled for a moment before he shifted into park.

You both stepped out, moving slowly, like you didn’t really want the night to end. The air was cooler here, brushing across your damp skin as you leaned back against the car.

Jungkook joined you, close but not touching, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it.

And then—quietly, without a word—he leaned in.

This kiss wasn’t like the one by the pool.

This one was deeper.

Slower.

His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the space where your shirt lifted slightly, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. His mouth moved against yours with the patience of someone who’d waited long enough and didn’t want to rush a second of it. You kissed him back with equal weight, breath hitching slightly when he tilted his head just right, when your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie and pulled.

You only broke apart when the need for air forced you to, both of you breathing heavy, foreheads resting against one another.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes fluttering open. “That felt… overdue.”

He laughed softly, eyes tracing your lips. “So what now?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “Now? You text me. Because you finally have my number.”

And when he laughed again, warm and rich and real, you realized just how much you’d wanted this—not the chase, not the clever banter or stubborn pride—but him.

And this—whatever it was—felt like just the beginning.

Later that night, your phone buzzed with a message that simply read: Worth every digit.

a/n: when i was writing this i reaslized that i was using she/her instead of “you” so i ctrl+f and changed is and didn’t realize it would change the sequence “her” and “she” so words like “bother” are now “botyou “ sorry

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