#but this year has torn me so much FUCK THIS

[kissboybyler]

i swear i have a life outside of byler tumblr but- priorities

[apatheticsunday]

I literally love this idea. But specifically the version where Danny targets the Batfam and they're like?? wtf is happening??? And Jason opens his door to this random kid with a dufflebag of Bat paraphernalia, demanding cash.

Like, imagine that Danny ends up in Gotham - maybe he was disowned after being revealed as Phantom or Gotham is an entirely different realm that he got body-slammed into by accident; either way, he's there and he actually likes it. It's still a brutal, violent dystopian city full of criminals, but there's a general understanding that you mind your business. Which means that if Danny goes invisible in front of two masked robbers, they just mumble about "damned metas" and find another victim. I mean, Gotham literally has Poison Ivy, Clayface, Killer Croc, Mr. Freeze, and Man-Bat. You're telling me a little invisibility, intangibility, and floating is going to genuinely shock most Gothamites? Please. Give them some credit.

And the best part? Gotham has vigilantes. A lot of them. He got the quick rundown from a couple other kids, but there's Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin, Oracle, Orphan, Spoiler, and Signal, and apparently more who crop up from time to time. There's more than enough vigilantes to keep an eye on Lady Gotham, so Danny is happy to enjoy his own destitute situation without worrying about hero-ing on the side. He's can kind of manage with the Martha Wayne Foundation shelter and a couple ten-fingered discounted items. He's... managing.

When Danny hears about The Application, he thinks it's a joke. Most of the street kids think it is. Until Tara stumbles back into Crime Alley with a shell-shocked expression, a huge plastic bag of BatBurger takeout clutched in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

It's the job application. Tara pins it back up on the Martha Wayne Foundation community board for the next kid to try - it gets folded, crumpled, stained, and torn so much that it almost looks like a 100 year old dollar bill. The writing is barely even legible at this point. Danny stares at it tacked up to the board, taken and returned, so many times that he memorizes the thick Sharpie smear and scrawling handwriting. It couldn't be that easy, could it? Would it be worth possibly being revealed as a "Meta"? And the Wayne family aren't even bad people, can he truly steal from them?? In the end, what makes Danny's decision is thinking about spending the rest of his adolescence in Crime Alley, barely scraping by. If there's even a chance that he doesn't have to, he'll take it.

So, Jason Todd is obviously Danny's first target. He's seen the guy in Crime Alley enough times to tail him with ease. Except... Jason disappears into... the known hideout of infamous Crime Lord, the Red Hood? Uh-oh. Maybe chalk it up to being new in Gotham or not really knowing the whole "Brucie and Dickie Wayne" routine, but Danny catches on almost immediately. If Jason is Red Hood and Bruce Wayne has a bajillion kids who happen to have the exact same physique as the bajillion Bat-vigilantes, then... he's gotta steal from the Bat Cult?? Oh, shit. (Also, the idea of Bruce's own son encouraging kids to steal from him is hilarious, Danny's so down for it now that he knows it's not malicious.)

The thing is that the Wayne family is literally famous. Any time they go out into public, there are people taking pictures of them (such as the viral meme of a sleep-deprived Tim Drake clutching three opened cans of Monster, Redbull, and Celcius. Or Dick Grayson cramming an entire Taco Bell burrito into his mouth at a gala. He'd ordered Doordash to Lex Luthor's mansion). But you know who isn't in the public eye? The Batfam. So, Danny makes a decision that can kind of be considered dumb, and decides to pickpocket Gotham's Bat Cult Vigilantes.

Jason Todd slings his custom-made leather jacket over his motorcycle and turns his back for two seconds. Then he turns around and-??? His fucking jacket's gone?? It was the one with like eight secret pockets, too, damnit!!

Tim Drake is suddenly missing a Robin Batarang?? It's the beginning of his patrol and he hasn't even used his utility belt yet, how did he lose one already? (Yes, he does inventory every time he goes out, he was trained by the literal Batman.)

Dick Grayson drops his escrima sticks while fighting and just... can't find it after? He could've sworn he saw it roll by this trash can, though? He doesn't think much of it, honestly, he's got a ton of spares since it happens pretty often. At least it wasn't one of the electric escrima sticks.

Damian Wayne is next. He's kind of like a feral dog while on patrol, eager to violently lunge towards criminals and moving so erratically that Danny can't really find a great time to nick him. It's a lot easier to just steal one of Damian's daggers from where it's lodged into a criminal's shoulder. Robin is too busy terrifying the rest of Two-Face's gang to care about a tiny red dagger, anyways.

Bruce Wayne is the last victim. Danny tried to nick him one time while out in public. He couldn't help it, Bruce walked straight into Martha Wayne Foundation to speak with the managerial board and Danny happened to be there; it was all too easy to steal the man's delicate gold wristwatch. There's a strict no-cameras rule in the shelter, made to protect the identities of those in need regardless of who they may be outside of the shelter. Everybody knows the Martha Wayne Foundation is a neutral ground. So, there's no fear of a wayward camera catching his ghostly visage when Danny makes Bruce's watch intangible for a mere moment. Except when he squints at the underside, there's a faded engraved "to my dear Martha, from Thomas" in cursive script.

Bruce's wristwatch is returned with its owner none the wiser. (Bruce knows. Even if he hadn't felt his mother's watch slip through his wrist, he would've known anyway since Danny accidentally phased it back on upside down.)

So, it turns out, Batman is the last victim. Danny feels sick at the thought of possibly taking something worth something to the man like back at Martha Wayne Foundation, so he steals a single grape-flavored candy from Batman's utility belt. (Batman pretends not to notice.)

Cue Danny knocking on Red Hood's door in the middle of the night with a plastic bag of miscellaneous Bat Cult Items. He's also wearing Red Hood's leather jacket. It's comically huge on the kid, but Danny loves it - loves how warm it is and now much he can sneak into all the hidden pockets. Plus, finders keepers and all.

Red Hood:... what the fuck.

Danny: That'll be 25k.

Red Hood, begrudgingly admitting that he may be a little like Bruce after all: ...okay.

Man, I love Jason-adopts-Danny fics!!!

Pickpocket for Hire

Dpxdc Prompt #61

It started off as a joke.

No really, it was something that Jason felt the Bats would laugh about, while also helping out some street kids along the way.

He put out a job for the kids of Crime Alley, anyone who could pickpocket the entire Wayne family would get all necessities paid for them by Red Hood until they turned 18.

Most kids that saw the challenge would think it was a joke.

Most kids that believed it was real would think it wasn't even worth trying.

Most kids that tried would be caught immediately, and subsequently get a meal paid for by their Wayne of choice and suddenly have some doors opened for them, because Jason knew his family and knew they had a soft spot for kids.

Except the one thing he didn't account for was Danny Fenton, who most certainly was not most kids.

[brothersfuck]

I will genuinely defend Sam Winchester for all of my LIFE with "his" decision to not look for Dean.

Arguably, it's the most out of character moment in the show for me. First of all, we have a great parallel between when Sam went desperately looking for Dean in s4 (Eric kripke influence), and when Sam didn't look for Dean at all in s8 (post-Eric kripke influence).

I'm saying, the Sam Winchester we know as a constant would have looked for Dean, and no way in the world would he have put off hunting for some girl and a life, because the point of Sam Winchester is that he's torn between wanting a normal life and wanting to be with his brother. There can't be a both, and Sam chooses his brother every. Time. Even when Sam does settle down (s15), it was because Dean wished it, and I'd like to think that after all they've really been through, Sam knew Dean was going to be just fine.

This show hates Sam Winchester so much that they want you to hate him too by making him do things that are out of character. Say it with me now-

SAM WINCHESTER WOULD HAVE LOOKED FOR DEAN

If, of course, the narrative didn't fuck him up in the asshole just so Dean can have more mourning and sad and "ohhh I'm so defeated I spent a year fighting and even though my brother spent 10K+ years in hell I'll still be the character you HAVE to be sad for" screentime. The only reason they did Sam like this is so Dean could have his brooding man moments. And so people could excuse his shitty actions more..

AND (woops, you thought I was done) EVEN IF THIS IS SOMETHING SAM WOULD DO, he already punishes himself enough! Dean already punishes himself enough! The narrative has punished Sam enough!

Okay..now I'm done. Thanks for coming to my Tedtalk.

[callmrmorrow]

let’s talk about… POOOOOWERPLEX

(spoilers for invincible s3ep6 below, discussion of guilt/grief and death, all invincible-standard topics)

this motherfucker is a point of contention for the whole invincible fandom. do we love him, do we hate him? is he righteous or is he a hypocrite? at what point does the victim become the perpetrator, and is said point when he charbroils his loving wife and child while trying to kill his mortal enemy? is it even all his fault, or is his wife an instigating jane clone from breaking bad who egged him on? and most importantly… how the fuck did the GDA not clock that their new lab worker had loved ones lost in the chicago disaster? give him a psych eval or two, cecil!

also, if he’s so powerplex, how come i can understand him?

okay, all jokes aside, i think powerplex, or scott duvall, if you’re a friend, is a fascinating character. at the beginning of the episode, his formal debut for the show, he’s hanging out with his sister and her niece, gretchen and jessica respectively (another breaking bad nod). we see that his powers are based on transforming impact into electricity, but only in really small bursts. this brings up a fun idea in the invincible world, of natural-born supers who aren’t strong enough to make it big. does the GDA have a file on these guys, or do they spawn in at unpredictable rates within the human gene pool?

it’s super clear that jesse — sorry, scott — loves his family, and it becomes even more clear when they fucking die right in front of him. his entire revenge arc is based on pure misinterpretation and a salt shake of idiocy, because he assumed that invincible holding the severed arm of his (adopted?) sister meant he had torn it from her shoulder socket. easy to misconstrue in the haze of destruction, but really, you can’t tell me that working at the GDA for 1-2 years wouldn’t make you privy to how the fight really went down. short of invincible’s secret identity, of course. fallacy in the writing, and it really would’ve been better if his wife, becky, worked at the GDA instead and got the supplies for him.

also, his wife was 100% egging him on. couldn’t tell you why, maybe she has a power (com)plex herself. she seemed to have her fair share of hate for invincible and the hero system in general. one of the themes of the episode is indeed power, and how it translates into whether or not you deserve to live. the viltrumites are founded on this ideology, mark’s ability to survive is based on his power, but… what if you’re just a normal guy like scott duvall?

“why do you get to live when so many others died? what makes YOU so special?”

this puts me in the mind of deadpool and wolverine’s honda odyssey scene — not the sex allegory — but the part where wolverine is chewing out deadpool and about halfway through his spittle-flush monologue, you can tell he’s talking more about himself than the man he’s castigating. part of scott’s issue is MAJOR survival’s guilt: he only survived because he went to get a coffee. the people he loved, who took care of him all his life, the kid who adored him and whom he really seemed to treat like his own daughter, died and he lived.

half of the issue isn’t even invincible. it’s powerplex himself. this guy probably wishes he died with them. chances are his rage was redirected towards invincible when its initial source was genuine grief and potentially self-hatred. he threw the entire rest of his life into killing invincible, to the point where he arguably faced a mental sunk cost fallacy. i’m sure he did learn that invincible was a victim, but at that point, he’d already poured so much into this that he couldn’t just give up there and then. also if omni-man, the real perpetrator, was gone, then this was the next best thing. his power emulates his own mentality — a very popular thing in this show. his power translates physical impacts — pain — into power, and his story is about how violently and wholly that pain explodes out. even after he burns his wife and child to a crisp, which is arguably the point where he should’ve been like “fuck, stop fighting, it’s so over and this time it’s my fault,” he drives that shock (pun here) outward towards mark again.

aside: why is mark getting packed the fuck up by powerplex? you could ascribe it to his own guilt and perhaps a desire to pay a physical reparation for what he did to scott’s family, and all the other’s families. or you could chalk it up to plot relevancy, where it literally has to happen in order for becky and little baby boy whose name i forgot to die.

and when mark is speaking to scott in prison, he totally fumbles the “let me comfort you, bro” ball. but it is not [title card]’s fault! powerplex’s complex stops him from taking blame for his own actions regarding his wife and son, so he’s only going to be more furious with mark. he pins blame on an external source, and i’m sure this was a learned habit, probably from his wife (i do hate blaming the woman but she did really show some markers of an instigator here. wish that wasn’t the case but it is). i like that the invincible show/comics address the sheer destruction that follows these powerful, high-octane fights, because the s1 finale really was just omni-man showing mark how insignificant we humans are.

“he can’t keep getting away with this!!”

tldr: no, you’re gonna go back and read that.

[erasedcitizen2]

EA releasing both dragon age the veilguard and the sims 4 life and death on the exact same day sure is a choice made to torture me specifically

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[sincerelyneo]

could i request a mark smut 😣😣 where reader and mark just had an intense argument but in the end, they cant be mad at each other for long so they just fck it out of each other 🤐🤐🤐🤐

mad at you | l.mk

“then i try to leave, but baby i just can’t stay mad at you”

💿now playing: mad at you by why don’t we

❯ summary: Mark learns that you’ve made a ‘selfish’ decision that’s bound to put a strain on your relationship. Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in an argument that somehow ends with you sprawled out beneath him; because, let’s be honest, he’s never really been any good at staying mad at you.

❯ pairings: idol!mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, smut, established relationship, make up sex

❯ words: 4.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, lots of arguing, swearing, reader is lowkey dramatic, makeup sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), nipple play, dry humping, brief clit play, slight needy mark bc i can't help myself, creampie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader and mark argue and resolve it by fucking.

an: i love writing angsty arguments (testament to my real relationships lol) so thank you so much for this request. it lowkey brought me out of writer’s block.

The honeymoon stage lasts approximately thirty months or two and a half years – which would make sense considering you and Mark were approaching your third year together and have argued more recently than you ever had. 

But this time it’s different. You’ve never seen Mark like this, so angry that his face is bordering red and his jaw ticks so hard it might crack as the both of you drive in complete silence from your work dinner. He doesn’t even bother sneaking his usual glances at you when he pulls up at stoplights, the hand he likes to place on your thigh is gripping the wheel instead, and the only noise in the car is his rugged and frustrated exhales. 

You could feign ignorance about why he's upset, but you know the reason all too well. And while a part of you acknowledges his right to be angry, another, more prideful part, resists the idea of apologising, especially when you think his reaction seems so disproportionate to your mistake.

So you sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed and body frozen, contributing to the cold silence settling between the two of you. You prepare yourself for the earful of a lecture you’re about to get when he pulls up outside your shared apartment. 

He parks the car, slams the door shut, and strides towards your building without a backward glance. You scoff at his pettiness; he's never been so angry that he wouldn't at least wait for you to get out of the car with him. He doesn't even slow down when you trail behind. And when he nearly lets the elevator doors close without you, any chance he has of receiving an apology from you flies out the window, you think. 

He does, however, show some decency by leaving the front door open for you as you both step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment – how chivalrous. 

The chivalry doesn’t last long because the minute he hears you clasp the door shut, he’s glaring at you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you can't help but notice that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in frustration. If he weren't on the brink of yelling at you, you'd be tempted to make him do more than just roll up those sleeves — you'd want the fabric torn off and thrown on the floor in an instant.

“Paris, Y/N?!” Mark seethes, voice deep and uneven. “You signed a fucking contract to work in Paris?!?”

You pause, attempting to gather your thoughts, but the momentary silence doesn't offer much clarity. Eventually, you settle on, "It's just a six-month gig..." – a statement that seems to send him into a frenzy. 

“Just six months?” He rubs his jaw repeatedly in disbelief, “That’s six months that we won’t get to see each other, did you even think about that huh?”

You scoff, “You’re one to talk, need I remind you that your job takes you away from me for months at a time.”

"That's not fair," he protests. "You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. I didn’t agree to not seeing my girlfriend for months because she’s gallivanting away in Paris without me."

Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare, “So what? If you would have known, you wouldn’t have wanted to be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hands fly to his hair and he tugs at the strands as he huffs out a breath. 

“How the fuck did you get that conclusion from what I said?” He asks, voice sounding baffled. “The reason I’m so mad is because I like being your boyfriend, but I’m not going to see you for the next six months.”

“You’re being a hypocrite right now.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Right, because I’m always the one being unreasonable.”

“Yes, you are,” you scorn, “This job is my dream, don’t you see how selfish you're being?”

“I’m selfish?” He gasps, “That’s rich considering you didn’t even consult me when making this decision, I had to find out from your smug little co-worker in front of everyone. You were thinking solely about yourself, Y/N.”

You're on the verge of screaming. How is he not seeing things from your perspective? He's usually so understanding, so open to hearing your side. But the razor-sharp look in his eyes tells you that there's no getting through to him. He's convinced you're wrong, and nothing will change his mind.

“It’s for my job, Mark,” you cross your arms and shrug. 

“And how many times have I told you that you don’t need to work? How many times do I need to tell you I can look after the both of us?”

“And how many times have I told you that I don’t want that? I don’t want to have to always rely on you!” You snap. 

Your teeth grit as the words spit out of your mouth. They seem to hit Mark, deep, his eyes softening for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He swallows thickly and blinks before running a hand through his hair. 

“Then what are we doing, Y/N?” He asks deflated, “What are we if you don’t want to rely on me?”

You're not sure what compels you to say it – whether it's the way you're all worked up, the entire context of the argument, or some inner recognition that you're the one who's fucked up this time despite you both having stuff to apologise for. Still, you escalate the situation from zero to one hundred without a second thought. 

“Oh, so you want to break up?”

He shakes his head and tongues the inside of his cheek, “When did I say that?!”

The fight only gets worse after that, the two of you blowing up after every sentence. You run around in circles, throwing accusations and insults at each other to the point the original premise of the argument is lost along the way of a thousand new arguments. It’s like every little thing you’ve both done to irk each other over the last month is brought up; and by the end of it, the two of you swear you’re done with each other. 

Sure, you've had your fair share of arguments, but the biting finality of the word "done" as it leaves his lips sends a sharp pang through your stomach – it hurts like hell. You've reached your limit with this endless cycle of back-and-forth; you've had enough of him. Storming past him, you head towards your shared bedroom.

Mark sighs and reaches out for your arm, but you pull away. He doesn't like this, doesn't like the chilliness he feels from you. He doesn't want to end the argument like this; it's never gone this far without a resolution before.

“You can’t just storm away when we argue Y/N, it’s childish.”

“If you don’t like it then leave!” You slam the door shut after you and lock it. 

Mark hates this more, not being able to talk this out because you’ve put a wall between the two of you. Then your words register in his mind and he’s the most hurt he’s ever felt. You want him to leave. Fuck that, he thinks. He’s not going to watch his relationship go down the drain over a petty argument. 

He knocks on the door a few times, then jiggles the doorknob, calling out your name and pleading for you to let him in. But you remain unmoved, denying him even the satisfaction of hearing your voice telling him to go away. This only adds to his frustration. He's the one you've upset, and yet here he is, begging for you to open up so he can fix things.

After a few more tries he scoffs, your words echoing in his mind once more. Leave. It crosses his mind as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He swings it open, ready to clear his head and crash at Johnny's for the night. But just as he's about to step out, he catches sight of a picture of the two of you on the coffee table where he keeps his keys. 

It’s from your honeymoon phase when it was easier for the two of you to say you’d never let anything come between you – when love seemed to blind you both. Mark picks up the photo, memories flooding back to the day it was taken. It was the day you met his parents and shared your aspirations of becoming a fashion designer. You reassured them that you had your own dreams and weren't just with their son for his wealth – though his parents wouldn't have minded either way; they would have been content with any girl that made their son happy. And you made Mark happy – you make Mark so fucking happy. 

Which is why he can’t believe he’s even considering leaving you in this apartment on your own after a fight. He shuts the front door and makes his way to the couch. He's eager to resolve things with you now, but both of you are too caught up in emotions, spouting shit you'll likely regret in the morning. So he opts to grab a few sofa pillows and a blanket from the storage closet instead. He strips down from his dress shirt and pants, throwing them to the floor before lying back and resting his eyes with a heavy mind.

Regret doesn't hit you until 2:00 am the following morning, when you're met with the chill of an empty space beside you as you reach out to cuddle your boyfriend, only to find him absent. Sure you thought he was overreacting to the news, but you're also painfully aware that your own words were uncalled for. You shouldn’t have asked him to leave – you didn’t want him to. 

As you heard the front door open and then close with a clink, a thick lump formed in your throat. The realisation that you had driven him away hit you hard, and you lost all motivation. You lay on your bed, makeup still intact, as you sniffled and sobbed quietly into your pillow. And even now, after tossing and turning from your mind running laps, you’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes. 

You stretch your stiff legs and reluctantly leave your bed, unlocking your bedroom door with sleepy eyes. You're taken aback when you see Mark sleeping soundly on the sofa, his breath steady with his eyes closed. You thought he had left, but there he is, covered only by the blanket from the storage closet. It breaks your heart to see him like this; he's likely cold, and he'll probably have a stiff neck in the morning for practice. And you know it's all your fault.

The guilt eats away at you, and without hesitation, you rush to the bedroom to grab his pillows and an extra blanket. Realistically, you should wake him up and insist he sleeps in bed, but the fear of his lingering anger keeps you from doing so. Instead, you kneel in front of him, attempting to swap the sofa pillows for his own bed pillows.

However, your efforts prove futile because Mark is a light sleeper – a detail you foolishly overlooked in your worried state of mind. He blinks as he wakes up once, then twice, appearing confused to find you in front of him in the living room instead of beside him in bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, his eyes hazy as he tries to make sense of what you're doing. It doesn’t take him long once he spots the sofa cushion in your hand to put the pieces together.  

You bite your lip and sigh, “I know you're mad at me, but I didn’t want you to wake up stiff in the morning.”

Mark's chest constricts. How could he possibly stay mad at you when you're so cute, fussing over him like this? He notices the smudge of black makeup beneath your eye, and his heart tightens once more – this time with sadness rather than affection.

His hand reaches out to touch your cheek, and you’re shocked at the touch. “You’ve been crying?” He asks and you bow your head. 

"I thought you left..."

Mark wants to laugh at the irony. You asked him to leave, and yet here you are, upset at the idea of his departure. He swears if he weren't so in love with you, he'd rant about how much you mess with his head, pushing him to the edge only to pull him back again.

“Would never leave you, baby, you know that,” his voice is soft and comforting as the rough edge of his fingertips finds your jaw. 

You can't control it; tears fall freely from your eyes. He's being incredibly considerate and gentle with you, even after you acted like a bitch. Honestly, you almost wish he'd just yell at you instead. But he doesn’t, his eyes widen and he immediately sits up straight letting the blanket fall to the floor as he pulls you up to sit on his lap. 

He shushes you, his hands finding your waist where he rubs soothing soft circles into the fabric of your tank top, “Hey, why are you crying? I’m here…please don’t get upset, Y/N.”

His kindness only amplifies your guilt. 

"I'm so sorry," you stifle in short sobs, your voice almost cracking. "I should've talked to you about the job offer before signing the contract... I-I didn't mean to act so selfishly. I just... I wasn't thinking."

Mark gives you a half-smile as he runs a hand through your hair. "It's okay, baby... You got caught up in your dream. I'm sorry for not realising that. I'm the one being selfish by always expecting you to put me first."

"No—"

He interrupts you to continue his apology. "You were right, you know. I always expect you to wait for me while I'm on tour. I never considered it from the other side, with me waiting for you... But I will. I'll wait because I know how much this job means to you."

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck as you cry even harder, and he tuts gently while rubbing your back.

"Please don’t cry, Y/N," he murmurs softly. "I hate seeing you upset."

"Can’t help it," you muffle. "I hate that I upset you…"

Mark pulls you away from his neck, needing to look into your eyes as he speaks. "It's normal for couples to argue, baby. We just need to promise to communicate better, okay?"

His fingers stroke your cheeks again, and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his hand feels so comforting as if he was made to soothe your skin, the only person capable of bringing you relief. You bite your lip and nod against his palm, because you're more than willing to work on your communication if it means never feeling like this again.

"Now, give me a smile. You know, the pretty one I like," he says with a laugh. "If I'm not going to see you for the next six months, I don’t want one of our last moments together to be so... sad."

You smile at him and press your forehead against his with a whisper. "Me neither.”

You’re so close to each other that you’re practically sharing the same breath, if you had said that two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed yourself. But here you are, lips so close that your heavy breathing practically begs him to kiss you.

Mark feels it too, so when he does, it's like the softness of his lips is a bandage, mending the angry tension between the two of you. It patches up the last few hours that have transpired, and when he pulls away, it feels as if nothing even happened.

His hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers pressing down as he guides your body to grind against his clothed crotch. His lips find yours again, accompanied by a groan that escapes into your mouth. It's only when you feel him harden beneath you that you remember he was half-naked on the sofa – clearly after you locked him out of the bedroom.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by your own clothes, you pull away from him to strip off your tank top, tossing it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. You yearn to meet his lips again – the only place you truly feel safe – but Mark wants to savour the way you look. Your clothed cunt eagerly grinding against his hard-on, hips chasing a high so eagerly that your bra strap has slid loosely down your arm.

You're a vision, Mark thinks, one that has him salivating and desperate to fuck you. He almost curses at himself for nearly ruining it all, for nearly walking out on the most beautiful person on the planet, the best sex he's ever had – and not only that but also the funniest, sweetest person he knows he'll ever meet.

He leans into your neck, his nose nuzzling into you as he whispers softly, "I'm sorry... so sorry, Y/N." His hand leaves your hips to cup your breast over your bra, massaging the mound with just enough pressure to elicit soft moans from your lips.

“‘s okay,” you whimper. 

Your head falls back as his hand snakes around to unclasp it. He wastes no time brushing his intrusive fingers down your chest, wearing a filthy smirk because he knows just how sensitive you are there. The tip of his finger circles around your nipple until he’s right in the centre, feeling it harden under his touch. He pinches it, and you jolt forward on his cock, making his boxers tighten, and he groans.

He loves how responsive you were to him, watching you writhe over him as he touched you in torturous pleasure. Just the way you arch your back into his touch has pre-cum leaking out of his cock. 

He leans in this time, sucking on your nipple and opening wide to get as much of the tender tissue of your breast in his mouth as possible. He holds your waist in place to keep you grinding on him to entice enough friction for him to feel good too. 

And when he looks down to see where the two of you meet, he moans when he sees the wet patch leaking through your shorts onto his boxers. 

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby. Just for me.”

You whimper, and his hand slips into the hem of your shorts. You’re glad you never wear panties to bed because his fingers find your clit immediately, relieving you of some of the neediness you’ve been feeling from grinding down on him. He rubs small circles as his mouth licks and sucks and nips at your bud. 

“Mark…” 

“Shhh baby,” he coos, “wanna make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.” 

You whimper with a nod of your head, humping into his hand, legs opening wider to give him easier access to the place you’re most sensitive. You let out mild pants, hips bucking more aggressively from the stimulation on both your nipple and clit.

And when Mark notices you getting close, he pulls off your tit to look up at your face. It’s his favourite part — watching your features contort when the bliss is at its highest. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing he’s the one making you cum, knowing his touch is enough to make you shake and moan. And if he wasn’t such a selfish lover, he’d think the sight is something everyone should see at least once.

As you come down from your orgasm, your eyes flutter open to meet him. Mark doesn’t know whether it’s from seeing your orgasm paired with the argument from earlier but he’s the hardest he’s ever been. 

You notice it too, looking down and giggling. “Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.” 

He lets out a soft huff, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nods. You free his cock from his boxers and shimmy yourself out of your shorts. You let out identical gasps when your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his cock. 

Slowly, you sink onto him, fully feeling him inside of you. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you take in the size of him, the way he fills you just right — the way he always does. 

The stretch as you take him in never gets old, eliciting the same whimpers and whines. You can feel his hands resting on your hips, then slipping to the bend of your waist, silently urging you to move as he presses you downwards.

You lift your hips, slow and steady as you let the sensations wash over you, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. His grip on your body tightens as you sink back down, blunt nails digging into your skin. The sounds he makes only drive you further into finding a teasing rhythm because his voice is just so pretty. The sounds are soon muffled to your disappointment when his mouth presses into your skin, so his tongue can slide along the top of your breast — making the disappointment fade away real quick. 

You let out a breathy cry, hands rising from where they’ve been resting, flattening against his chest, to wrap around his shoulders. The slow pace you’d adopted was becoming not enough. And you could tell from the way Mark is rutting his hips up to meet you, he shares the same sentiment. 

Your mouths collide as you pick up the pace, using his shoulders to leverage yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. When he breaks from the kiss, an unrestrained groan slips past his lips, low and rough, followed by another, and you have to bite back a whimper of your own.

Mark can’t help the noises, he just loves the way you swivel your hips in a way that makes him see stars. He loves watching you work yourself on him for pleasure – he loves when you ride him.

And right when you squeeze around him, he rewards you with a loud, obscene groan, a sound that makes you dizzy and limp. Everything about Mark is intoxicating and downright addicting, and you were in no hurry to kick that addiction. In fact, you craved more of it – needed more. 

You grab his hands and guide them across your body. He squeezes them at your hips, smoothing across your thighs, your stomach. His hands were everywhere, eyes dark and desperate, wordlessly begging for you to give him what he needed, the same thing he’d been kind enough to already give you. 

So you rock yourself forward, providing a new type of friction that makes you whine helplessly into his skin. Blunt nails mark into the plush of your thighs, a futile attempt at grounding himself. The upward thrust of his hips and the strained catch of his breath tells you that he's growing impatient. You know the pace was slow, but damn it, it felt so fucking good to feel him like this, every inch of him sliding into you, hitting all the spots that makes your brain stop working. It also felt like a sick little way to get revenge...

“Faster,” you hear him say. “Please baby, need it faster.”

You could feel his hips bucking up to meet you. Then his thumb finds your clit, working in circles and making you squeeze around him with a shrill, gasping cry. It was his attempt at bargaining with you, doing anything to make you speed up and shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock. Maybe if he pleases you, you’ll let him cum.

“Please fuck me properly baby, need it,” he rasps, “You want me to forgive you right?”

And then you remember what led you here in the first place. You’d upset him and now you’re teasing him – you suppose it’s only fair if you pick up the pace a little more, fuck him messily and desperately enough to have him dizzying towards his climax. 

And once you do, his thrusts grow sloppier, and your thighs start aching. It feels too fucking good so all that you can do is cling to him and let him take the lead, strong hands guiding you as he sucks against your neck. And even though you’re supposed to be the one making him cum, you find yourself buried in the crook of his neck, gasping as your walls clench and nails dig into the skin of his strong back. 

The slight stinging sensation is enough to work Mark over the edge, and you feel him twitch inside of you, sending shock waves up your spine as he fucks his cum inside of you with a final powerful thrust. You roll your hips to help him along, taking all you can get from him and he moans his appreciation as you do. 

You remain tangled up in one another as you come down from your respective highs with foreheads pressed close. You wrestle to find his hand, lacing your fingers with his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He kisses your nose, then your lips, with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed. 

You don’t want to move just yet, so you release your hands and wrap them around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his before you speak.

"Mark?" You mumble, your voice tired and hazy. He hums in response.

"I’m sorry," you say softly.

You feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses your lips. "It’s okay, baby. I don’t even remember what we were fighting for."

[bunnis-monsters]

Fighting like vampires and dogs

Vampire x Fem!Reader x Werewolf

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 2nd

Oct 1

Oct 3

warnings: public sex, threesome, knotting, breeding, blood drinking, two ps in one v, possessive behavior

summary: You’ve been friends with the werewolf and vampire for a few years now, and they’re both head over heels in love with you… but they hate each other! It takes them saving you from a common enemy to realize sharing is caring…

🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇🐺🦇

It wasn’t uncommon for your two friends to bicker over who got to spend time with you, but it was unusual for them to get so violent.

“I told you, this week she’s mine.” your werewolf friend sneered, bearing his canines as he stood on his haunches.

“And like I’ve said, I couldn’t give less of a shit about what a filthy mutt has to say. This week, she’s MINE!” your vampire friend retorted, hissing as his brown eyes turned red and his fangs extended, ready to sink into the wolf’s flesh.

“That’s enough!”

You smacked them both over the head, huffing. “You can both come with me to the club tonight! It’ll be fun, maybe you’ll even bond together.”

It wasn’t easy getting them to go out with you… ut the second you suggested going alone they were already picking out something to wear.

The two were protective, staying at your side and watching your short dress, making sure it didn’t ride up. Anyone that dared to look at you were emt with menacing glares and flashes of sharp teeth…

Despite them hovering over you constantly, all it took was a slight bump from the other to set them off.

“Fuck, don’t touch me, mutt. I’m only here for her, you should just leave.”

“Oh really? Why don’t I rip out your throat and show you how much a mutt I am?”

You attempted to stop them, but your pleas fell on deaf ears.

But after fighting for a bit, they were suddenly alerted to your cries for help. Even over the loud music and their own angry screams, they recognize recognize your scared voice.

“Angel?”

They made their way through the crowd, spotting you being cornered by a tall man. You were looking around frantically, relief spreading across your face when you spotted them.

Within seconds the man was torn away from you and stomped into the club’s floor. You chose to ignore the bloody remains, instead stepping over him and into your friends’ arms.

“Thank you…”

They realized then that no matter how much they hated each other, they loved you so much more. Your safety and happiness would always come first…

And that’s why they both grew hard against you, their hands traveling to your hips and thighs.

Soon you were back on the dance floor, squished between your two friends as they kissed you. The vampire bit down on your neck, drinking your blood as the werewolf rubbed his fat cock against your wert panties.

“W-what if they notice?”

They both nuzzled against you, the vampire dry humping against your fat ass.

“They won’t, the music is loud and everyone is focused on dancing.”

You yelped as your friend’s cock pushed into you, stretching out virgin hole. You were too wet to protest, knowing that after this night your relationship with your two best friends would be changed forever.

He tried his best not to knot you immediately. He had wanted this for so long, and all your werewolf friend wanted was to fill your belly was his cum and knock you up.

The vampire groaned, stroking his cock as he looked over your shoulder, watching the werewolf’s cock push in and out of you. Soon, you felt something else prodding at your hole, wanting access.

Two cocks were inside of you now, and you felt impossibly full. Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was love, but your heart was fluttering and so were your gummy walls.

You came around them, the werewolf quickly knotting you as they both came inside.

Both cocks were trapped inside of you, the vampire burying his face into your neck as his cock rubbed against the werewolf’s fat knot.

“Mmph… happy to see my boys getting along…”

Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~

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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[buckyalpine]

I need a feral and unhinged, touch starved Bucky to ruin me.

He’s selfish in giving and taking.

He's gone years without touching his cock, no orgasm, no relief, nothing. Any experience he has had has been long forgotten. The man loves getting his cock sucked. There’s something so filthy about the way he goes feral for it, torn between throwing his head back in pleasure and watching his cock disappear into your mouth.

He used to be such a gentleman but he can’t anymore.

He's a fucking menace because he loves how dirty it is, having his dick in your mouth of all places, letting you slobber and drool all over his length, getting his balls wet in the process.

He doesn't give a fuck who hears either, letting anyone and everyone know his cock is in your mouth, that he's getting the best head of his life.

"Fuck, suck me princess, just-yeah just like that, sucking my cock so good babydoll, makin' me so hard"

You let out a muffled whine in response, still on your knees, tears streaking down your face while he holds your face, his thumbs swiping your wet cheeks. He bites his lip while thrusting his hips forward, pushing his length down your throat. You claw at his thighs, gagging and he lets out a delicious moan seeing your arousal starting to drip with how turned on you are.

"You're makin' me feel so good sugar, you know that? Y'have any idea how good my dick feels right now, how much cum there is in my balls?" He takes a a hand off his thigh and makes you cup his heavy sack, guiding you to squeeze him while you suck, the combined feeling making his eyes roll back.

"C'mon princess, suck my balls next, never had them sucked before-oh fuck-yeah-just like that baby shit-oh fuck feels so good-" His abs tense as he moans loudly again, jerking himself while you move to lap and suck at his sack, precum dribbling down, making a mess everywhere.

He might as well be addicted to the feeling. On more than one occasion, he's missed morning training because you decided to wake him up with head and he loses himself to you, not giving a shit who is waiting for him at the door.

He hears the knocks, hears them calling for him and he'll let them know what's keeping him so busy.

"Buck, you coming-?"

"Oh Fuck yes! Suck my cock, yes, yes, yes, gonna cum, drink it up baby, c'mon, swallow, fuck yes, m'gonna cum again-don't stop princess"

"Well...technically he's coming" Sam snorted, hearing every filthy word the super soldier spewed out while Steve bit back a smirk, "I think your best friend is busy"

Steve couldn't help the proud smile that made it's way onto his face, shaking his head, quickly walking away before round two started.

Tony occasionally goes as far as cheering outside of Bucky's bedroom, especially when the steady thump of the headboard banging against the wall can be heard from downstairs.

No point hiding anything from Tony, especially when he's the one who had to install the xl mirror in the bedroom Bucky requested and god knows he didn't ask for it because he's into fashion.

He's gonna put you in positions that are unholy as it gets. He wants to watch every detail. He's gonna throw your legs all the way back till your knees hit the bed. He wants to watch his cock stretch you open. He's gonna experimentally flick that little button between your legs, using it as his own personal play toy, rubbing and pinching it to his delight just to hear you squeal.

“That’s-that’s your spot, huh princess-take my fat cock baby, doin' so good, moaning for me" He growls, watching he way you take his cock. His favorite thing to do is lock eyes with you in the mirror while your on your hands and knees watching you watch him while he fucks your brains out. Your breasts bounce with each thrust and he doesn't know what he loves to watch more. God forbid your eyes roll back, he spanks you till you focus again.

"Look at me when you take my cock baby, look at how pretty you are when you're all stretched open"

"Sargent-I-fuck-can't-

"Yeah, can't even speak huh, that how good your pussy feels baby? You wanna cum? Want me to make you cum?"

"Please!" You wail and he grabs your hair and pulls you till your back is flush against his chest. He forces your thighs apart as wide as they'll go before grabbing his phone and positioning it under, getting a perfect video of his cock pumping you full of cum while his fingers reach around to rub your swollen button.

"Go on and cum baby, cum with me, together, make your Sargent proud princess, make me dick feel good, fuck, gonna fill you till it spills out, mother fucker-FUCKK" He moans loudly with you, letting your convulsing pussy milk him dry, his veins throbbing as he shoots ropes of cum into you. The end of the video is blurry after all his cum drips onto the screen but it makes it so much filthier.

He's going to record all of this along with taking pictures, always getting you to spread your legs for him, laying on his bed after he's poured load after load into you. I want him to be the dirtiest fuck, looking at all the pictures and videos he's taken, jerking himself off afterwards when you're away for a mission. He can't have you but he's gonna take what he can get. He loves how you moan and scream, how cock drunk you get. A part of him almost feels like a pervert, tugging at his dick like a horny teenager but he can't keep his hands off when he thinks of you.

He's fucking feral even when he jerks off. Legs spread wide apart, no clothes on, back arched off the bed, fucking his hips up into his fist. He doesn't care if you walk in anymore. He was shy at first but now he just smirks while continuing to lazily touch himself, using his own spend to palm himself, the other arm propped behind his head. He knows you love the sight, planting his feet onto the bed to give you a better view while you take your clothes off-

Anyway, my bad, this was sitting in the drafts for long enough, you can go about your day now.

[pucksandpower]

Pride and Prejudice and Bullets

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x professor!Reader

Summary: your life is predictable — revolving around teaching about Jane Austen novels and grading term papers — and you like it that way … until an old classmate makes a sudden appearance that turns everything upside down

Warnings: minor character death

The sharp rap at the door jolts you from your late-night reading. You glance at the clock — 2:37 AM. Who could it possibly be at this ungodly hour?

Cautiously, you approach the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skips a beat. Is that ... no, it couldn’t be. But as you swing the door open, there he stands — the boy who vanished from your high school without a trace nearly a decade ago.

“Max?” You breathe, scarcely believing your eyes.

He doesn’t respond, just pushes past you into the apartment, one hand pressed firmly against his side. As he moves, you catch a glimpse of crimson seeping through his fingers, staining what looks like an absurdly expensive shirt.

“Jesus, Max, what happened to you?” You gasp, instinctively reaching out.

He flinches away from your touch, his eyes wild. “I hear you’re a doctor now. Do your doctor stuff,” Max barks the order at you, his voice rough with pain.

You blink, momentarily stunned. “I’m a doctor of British Literature! What are you even doing here? How do you know my address? Why are you here?”

“Needed a doctor, you’re a doctor,” he grunts, stumbling toward your couch.

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” Max snaps, his tone brooking no argument. “Don’t. Are you stupid? I’m here because I can’t go to a hospital.”

Your mind races, torn between concern and confusion. “Yes, right, fuck, I should call the cops. Why do you know my address?”

“Wound. Fix it,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Wound. Uhhhh, take off your shirt?” You stammer, fumbling for your phone. “I need to Google this- oh my god that’s disgusting, oh fuck, is the bullet still in there?”

Max’s eyes narrow. “You really don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!” You exclaim, your voice rising in pitch. “I write papers on Jane Austen, not ... whatever this is!”

He groans, both from pain and exasperation. “Fine. First aid kit. You have one?”

You nod frantically, dashing to the bathroom. When you return, Max has managed to unbutton his shirt, revealing a nasty wound just below his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steadier now. “Antiseptic. Clean the wound.”

With shaking hands, you do as he instructs, trying not to gag at the sight of so much blood. “Max, please, what’s going on? How did this happen?”

He ignores your questions. “Tweezers. The bullet’s still in there. You need to get it out.”

“What? No! I can’t — I’ll hurt you!”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Trust me, it already hurts. Just do it.”

Swallowing hard, you position the tweezers. Max’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist. “Wait,” he says, fumbling in his pocket with his free hand. He produces a flask, takes a long swig, then nods. “Okay. Go.”

You take a deep breath and plunge in. Max’s entire body goes rigid, a string of curses flowing from his lips that would make a sailor blush. After what feels like an eternity, you feel the tweezers catch on something.

“I think I’ve got it,” you whisper.

“Then pull it out,” Max hisses.

With a sickening squelch, you extract the bullet. Max lets out a strangled groan, then goes limp.

“Max?” You say, panic rising in your throat. “Max!”

His eyes flutter open. “I’m fine. Just ... give me a minute.”

As you clean and dress the wound, a tense silence falls between you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you speak. “Max, please. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in years, and now you show up at my door in the middle of the night with a bullet wound?”

He sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “It’s ... complicated.”

“No shit,” you retort. “Start talking. Now.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “After I left school, I got mixed up in some ... stuff. Bad stuff. It was supposed to be temporary, just a way to make some quick cash. But things ... escalated.”

“Escalated how?” You press.

He meets your gaze, his eyes hard. “You really want to know?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I run the Dutch Crime Syndicate now,” he says flatly.

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s a high, slightly hysterical sound. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate? Are you serious? That sounds like something out of a bad movie.”

“Does this look like a joke to you?” Max gestures to his wound.

The laughter dies in your throat. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He nods grimly. “Dead serious. And now you know why I couldn’t go to a hospital. Too many questions.”

“But ... why me?” You ask, still struggling to process this information. “We were barely even friends in school.”

Max shifts uncomfortably. “I ... kept tabs on people from back then. When I heard you’d become a doctor-”

“A doctor of literature,” you interject.

He rolls his eyes. “When I heard you had become a ‘doctor,’ I made a note of it. Just in case. Never thought I’d actually need to use that information, but ... here we are.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “This is insane. You’re insane. I should be calling the police right now.”

“But you won’t,” Max says quietly.

“And why’s that?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time since he arrived. “Because you’re curious. Because part of you, whether you want to admit it or not, is excited by this. By me showing up and shaking up your nice, safe, predictable life.”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not entirely wrong.

“So what happens now?” You ask instead.

Max shrugs, then immediately regrets it, judging by his wince. “Now, I rest for a bit, then I leave. And you go back to your life of Jane Austen and tea cozies.”

“That’s it?” You can’t keep the disappointment out of your voice.

He raises an eyebrow. “What were you expecting? That I’d sweep you off your feet and into a life of crime?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “Shut up. You’re delirious from blood loss.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe I’m seeing clearly for the first time in years.”

There’s a charged moment of silence between you. Then Max groans, breaking the spell. “God, I sound like a bad romance novel. Must be the whiskey talking.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Well, you did show up bleeding on my doorstep in the middle of the night. It’s all very dramatic.”

“What can I say? I aim to please,” Max quips, then turns serious. “Look, Y/N ... thank you. For helping me. For not calling the cops. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you probably don’t,” you agree. “But ... I’m glad you came. As crazy as this all is, it’s ... nice to see you again.”

Max’s expression softens. “Yeah. It’s nice to see you too.”

Another silence falls, but this one is comfortable, almost companionable. Finally, Max speaks again. “I should go. I’ve already put you in enough danger.”

“Wait,” you say, surprising yourself. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere. At least stay until morning.”

He hesitates, clearly torn. “I shouldn’t ...”

“Please,” you insist. “For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

Max searches your face, then nods slowly. “Okay. But just until morning.”

As you help him settle more comfortably on the couch, you can’t shake the feeling that your life has just irrevocably changed. For better or worse remains to be seen, but one thing’s for certain — it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through your curtains, rousing you from a fitful sleep. For a blissful moment, you forget the events of last night. Then reality comes crashing back, and you bolt upright in bed.

Max. The wound. The Dutch Crime Syndicate.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. What were you thinking? In the harsh light of day, the whole situation seems utterly insane.

Steeling yourself, you pad out to the living room. Max is still there, sprawled on your couch, his chest rising and falling steadily. He looks younger in sleep, almost vulnerable. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the hardened criminal he claims to be.

As if sensing your presence, Max’s eyes flutter open. He winces as he tries to sit up.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“How’s the wound?” You ask, your voice carefully neutral.

Max prods at his side gingerly. “Better than it has any right to be, thanks to you.”

You nod, then take a deep breath. “Max, about last night ...”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. “I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you agree, relief washing over you. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about this. But I think it’s best if we just ... pretend this never happened. You should go, and we should forget we ever saw each other again.”

Max nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” you say firmly, trying to ignore the small part of you that’s screaming in protest.

He starts to gather his things, moving stiffly. You turn away, heading to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something to do with your hands.

That’s when you hear it. The sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass.

You freeze, your heart pounding. “Max?” You call out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Get down!” He shouts back. You drop to the floor just as another bullet whizzes overhead, embedding itself in your kitchen cabinets.

Max is at your side in an instant, his earlier stiffness forgotten. “We need to move. Now.”

“What’s happening?” You ask, your voice shaking.

“Rivals,” Max says grimly. “They must have followed me here. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I never meant to put you in danger.”

Before you can respond, there’s a thunderous banging at your front door. “Open up!” A gruff voice shouts. “We know you’re in there, Max Emilian!”

Max’s face hardens. “The Silver Arrows,” he mutters. “Persistent bastards.”

“What do we do?” You whisper, panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Max’s eyes dart around the room, assessing. “Is there a fire escape?”

You nod. “Through the bedroom window.”

“Okay,” he says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make a run for it. Stay low, stay behind me. Got it?”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak.

“On my count,” Max says. “Three ... two ... one ... GO!”

You scramble to your feet, keeping low as Max leads the way to your bedroom. The banging on the door intensifies, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood.

“They’re breaking through!” You gasp.

“Almost there,” Max says through gritted teeth. He throws open your bedroom window, then turns to you. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate for a split second, then clamber out onto the fire escape. The metal is cold beneath your bare feet, and you realize with a start that you’re still in your pajamas.

Max follows close behind, pulling the window shut just as you hear your front door give way.

“Down,” he hisses, guiding you towards the ladder.

You descend as quickly as you can, your hands shaking so badly you nearly lose your grip more than once. Max is right behind you, his presence oddly reassuring despite the circumstances.

As your feet hit the alley below, you hear shouts from above. “There they are!”

“Run!” Max yells, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

You sprint down the alley, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. Bullets ping off the walls around you, and you let out an involuntary scream.

“Keep going,” Max urges. “There’s a car around the corner.”

“A car?” You pant. “How do you know?”

“I always have an exit strategy,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice despite the situation.

Sure enough, as you round the corner, you see a sleek black car idling at the curb. A man in a dark suit is behind the wheel, looking tense.

“Get in!” Max shouts, practically shoving you into the backseat before diving in after you.

The car peels away from the curb before Max even has the door closed. You’re thrown back against the seat as the driver weaves through traffic at breakneck speed.

“What the hell, Max?” You finally manage to say, your heart still racing. “Who were those people? Where are we going?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than you’ve seen him yet. “Those were the Silver Arrows. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for months. As for where we’re going ...” He exchanges a look with the driver in the rearview mirror. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Safe? I don’t even know what that word means anymore. My apartment just got shot up! I’m in my pajamas in the back of a strange car, running from a gang war. This is insane!”

“I know,” Max says softly. “And I’m sorry. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by leaving last night.”

“Well, bang-up job on that one,” you snap.

The driver clears his throat. “Boss, we’ve got a tail. Two cars, about three blocks back.”

Max curses under his breath. “Can you lose them, Daniel?”

The driver — Daniel, apparently — nods grimly. “I can try. Hang on.”

The car suddenly swerves, cutting across three lanes of traffic. Horns blare as Daniel takes a sharp right turn, tires squealing.

You’re thrown against Max, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Despite everything, you can’t help but notice how solid he feels, how good he smells ...

No. Focus. You shake your head, trying to clear it.

“Max,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I need you to be straight with me. What exactly is going on here?”

He sighs, his arm still around you. “It’s complicated.”

“Un-complicate it,” you demand.

Max is quiet for a moment, seemingly weighing his words. “The Dutch Crime Syndicate ... we’re not just petty criminals. We’re big. International. And lately, we’ve been expanding our reach. The Silver Arrows don’t like that. They think we’re encroaching on their territory.”

“And are you?” You ask.

A ghost of a smile flits across Max’s face. “Maybe a little. But business is business, you know?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re talking about illegal activities like it’s a corporate takeover!”

“In a way, it is,” Max says. “Just with higher stakes.”

“Boss,” Daniel interrupts. “I think we’ve lost them for now, but we can’t go to any of the safe houses. They might be compromised.”

Max nods. “Good thinking. Head for the marina. We’ll take the boat.”

“Boat?” You echo. “Max, I can’t just leave. My job, my life-”

“Your life will be over if the Silver Arrows find you,” Max says bluntly. “You’re involved now, whether you like it or not. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.”

The gravity of the situation finally hits you. This isn’t some exciting adventure that you can just walk away from. This is real, and it’s dangerous.

“What have you gotten me into, Max?” You whisper.

His arm tightens around you. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises. “No matter what.”

You want to believe him. Despite everything, despite the insanity of the past twelve hours, you find that you do believe him.

As the car speeds towards the marina, you try to process everything that’s happened. Your quiet life of academia seems like a distant memory now. In its place is ... what? Danger? Excitement? A chance at something you never knew you wanted?

You look at Max, studying his profile. He seems different from the boy you knew in high school. Harder, certainly, but there’s something else too. A confidence, a magnetism that you can’t deny.

As if sensing your gaze, Max turns to look at you. For a moment, the facade of the hardened crime boss slips, and you see a flicker of the boy you once knew.

“I really am sorry about all this,” he says softly. “If I could go back and undo it all, I would.”

“Would you?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

Max looks taken aback. “Wouldn’t you want me to?”

You consider this. “I don’t know,” you admit. “This is all terrifying and insane, but ... I’ve never felt more alive.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well, well,” he says, echoing his words from last night. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Y/N.”

Before you can respond, Daniel announces, “We’re here.”

The car pulls up to a private dock where a sleek yacht is moored. Max helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, his eyes searching your face. “Say the word, and I’ll have Daniel take you back. We’ll figure out a way to keep you safe.”

You look at the yacht, then back at Max. In your mind’s eye, you see your apartment, your job, your safe, predictable life. Then you see bullets flying, feel the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown.

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice.

“Let’s go,” you say, taking Max’s hand and stepping onto the gangplank.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re leaving more than just the city behind. You’re leaving your old self, your old life.

And as terrifying as that is, you can’t wait to see what comes next.

***

As the yacht cuts through the waves, you find yourself standing at the stern, watching the city skyline grow smaller by the minute. The reality of your situation is starting to sink in, bringing with it a cocktail of emotions — fear, excitement, and a nagging curiosity that won’t let you rest.

You turn to find Max leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. There’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before, a reminder that you’re not the only one affected by this sudden turn of events.

“Max,” you say, breaking the silence. “Why did you really pick me?”

He glances at you, a flicker of something crossing his face before his expression settles back into careful neutrality. “The doctor part, obviously ...”

You raise an eyebrow, sensing there’s more to it. Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“And you have no one who would miss you,” he continues, his voice softer now. “No contact with family and, as far as I’m concerned, no friends who would notice.”

Your heart sinks at his words, partly because of the stark truth in them, and partly because of the implications. “Notice ... oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me?”

Max’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in what looks like genuine offense. “No. That’s a last resort, too many questions. You’re on my boat now, aren’t you?”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure whether to feel relieved or more worried. “So what then? Am I your hostage? Your accomplice? What exactly is my role in this mess?”

Max pushes off from the railing, moving closer to you. “Right now? You’re under my protection. Beyond that ... I guess we’ll have to figure it out as we go.”

“Figure it out?” You repeat incredulously. “Max, I left everything behind. My job, my apartment, my entire life. I need more than ‘we’ll figure it out.’”

He has the decency to look chagrined. “You’re right. You deserve answers. But right now, our priority has to be getting somewhere safe.”

“And where exactly is that?” You press.

Max glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning in closer. “We’re headed to Monaco.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Monaco? As in, the luxury resort town on the French Riviera?”

He nods, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “The very same. I have an ... associate there who can help us.”

“An associate,” you echo skeptically. “Another crime lord, I assume?”

Max’s smile widens. “Something like that. His name is Charles. He’s the heir to the Rosso Corsa Mafia.”

You can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally getting to you. “The Rosso Corsa Mafia? Seriously? What is this, some kind of international crime syndicate convention?”

“Hey, networking is important in any business,” Max quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, you’re both laughing, the tension of the past few hours dissipating slightly. But as the laughter fades, reality sets in once more.

“Max,” you say, your voice quiet now. “What am I doing here? Really?”

He sobers, his gaze intense as he looks at you. “Honestly? I’m not entirely sure. When I came to your apartment last night, I was just looking for help. I didn’t plan for any of this.”

“But you must have had some idea,” you press. “You said you kept tabs on me. Why?”

Max is quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. Finally, he speaks. “Do you remember our last day of school together? Before I ... left?”

You furrow your brow, thinking back. “Vaguely. It was just an ordinary day, wasn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “Not for me. That was the day I decided to leave. I was in the library, trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents I wanted to drop out. And then you came in.”

“I did?” You ask, surprised. You have no memory of this.

Max nods. “You were returning a stack of books. You looked ... happy. Excited about your future. I remember thinking how different we were. How I’d never have that kind of certainty, that sense of purpose.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “So... what? You’ve been keeping an eye on me out of some kind of twisted nostalgia?”

He winces. “When you put it like that, it sounds creepy. I just ... I guess I wanted to know that someone from our old life made it. That it was possible to be normal and happy.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into your world,” you say, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

Max looks stricken. “I never meant for this to happen. If I could go back-”

“But you can’t,” you interrupt. “We’re here now. So what happens next?”

Before Max can answer, a crew member approaches. “Sir, we’ve just received word from Monaco. Mr. Leclerc is expecting us.”

Max nods. “Thank you, Rupert. Tell the captain to push the engines. I want to make it there before nightfall.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane. You know that, right? This whole situation is completely insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” Max says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Say the word, and I’ll have the captain turn this boat around.”

You consider it for a moment. Your old life seems so far away already, like a half-remembered dream. And despite the danger, despite the uncertainty, you can’t deny the thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

“No,” you say finally. “I’m in this now. For better or worse.”

Max’s expression softens. “I promise you, Y/N, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

As you stand there, the salt spray on your face and the wind in your hair, you find yourself believing him. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you trust him.

The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Max is constantly on his phone, speaking in hushed tones in what sounds like a mix of Dutch and French. You catch snippets about “security measures” and “clean identities,” but most of it goes over your head.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sea in shades of gold and pink, you find yourself back at the stern of the yacht. The coastline has long since disappeared, leaving nothing but endless ocean in every direction.

You hear footsteps behind you and turn to see Max approaching, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“I thought we could use a drink,” he says, offering you a glass. “To new beginnings?”

You take the glass, clinking it gently against his. “To new beginnings,” you echo, taking a sip. The champagne is exquisite, of course. You wouldn’t expect anything less from a mob boss’s yacht.

“We should be arriving in Monaco in a few hours,” Max says, leaning against the railing beside you. “Charles has arranged for a car to meet us at the marina. We’ll be staying at his family’s villa in the hills.”

You nod, trying to process this information. “And then what?”

Max shrugs. “We lie low for a while. Figure out our next move. The Silver Arrows won’t give up easily, but they’ll have a hard time touching us in Monaco. The Leclercs practically own the place.”

“And where do I fit into all this?” You ask, voicing the question that’s been nagging at you since you stepped onto this boat.

Max turns to face you fully, his expression serious. “That’s up to you, Y/N. I won’t force you into anything. If you want to walk away once we’re in Monaco, I’ll make sure you have the means to do so safely.”

You consider this. The sensible thing would be to take the out he’s offering. Go back to your life of books and lectures and quiet evenings alone. But the thought leaves you feeling ... empty.

“And if I don’t want to walk away?” You ask, surprised by your own boldness.

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Then I suppose we’ll have to find a place for you in this brave new world of ours.”

As you stand there, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear beneath the waves, you can’t help but feel like you’re on the cusp of something momentous. Your old life is behind you now, growing more distant with every passing moment. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger ... and possibility.

You take another sip of champagne, savoring the bubbles on your tongue. Whatever comes next, you realize, you’re ready for it. Ready for the adventure, the risk, the chance to reinvent yourself.

As the yacht cuts through the darkening waters, carrying you towards a future you never could have imagined, you find yourself smiling. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time ever, you feel truly, exhilaratingly alive.

***

The yacht glides smoothly into the marina, the lights of Monaco twinkling like a galaxy of stars against the night sky. You stand at the railing, taking in the sight of luxury yachts and sleek speedboats bobbing gently in their berths. It’s a world away from your modest apartment back home.

Max appears at your side, his face tense. “Remember,” he murmurs, “stay close to me and don’t say anything unless you’re directly addressed. Charles is an ally, but he can be ... unpredictable.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The reality of your situation is sinking in again, the brief respite of the boat ride fading away.

As the crew secures the yacht, a figure emerges from the shadows of the dock. Even in the dim light, you can tell he’s striking — all lean muscles and sharp cheekbones, with piercing green eyes that seem to take in everything at once.

“Max,” he says, his accent a mix of French and something you can’t quite place. “You’ve brought trouble to my doorstep again, I see.”

Max steps forward, clasping the man’s hand. “Charles. Thank you for this. I owe you one.”

Charles’ lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Add it to your tab, my friend.” His gaze shifts to you, curiosity evident in his expression. “And who might this be?”

Before Max can answer, Charles is already moving towards you, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips in a smooth motion. “Enchanté, mademoiselle. I am Charles Leclerc.”

You stammer out your name, caught off guard by his Old World charm. Charles’ eyes sparkle with amusement.

“Adorable,” he says. “Now, shall we? It’s not wise to linger here.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides towards the parking lot. Max gives you a gentle push, urging you to follow.

As you round the corner, your jaw drops. Sitting there, gleaming under the streetlights, is quite possibly the most ostentatious Ferrari you’ve ever seen. It’s matte black with an eye-catching racing stripe in the colors of the Monegasque flag, and sleek lines that practically scream speed and luxury.

Charles is already sliding into the driver’s seat, while Max ushers you into the back. As the engine roars to life, a thought occurs to you.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You blurt out, your nerves finally getting the better of you.

Charles catches your eye in the rearview mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. “You seem very willing for one.”

Your cheeks flush. “That doesn’t calm my nerves!”

“It is like this,” Charles sighs, accelerating smoothly as he maneuvers through the narrow streets of Monaco. “Do as Max says or we dump your body.”

“What!” You exclaim, your heart rate spiking.

Max shoots Charles a glare. “Charles, do not scare her more than necessary. The poor girl is already terrified.”

Charles shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road as he takes a sharp turn that has you clutching the seat. “I merely state facts, mon ami. Our world is not for the faint of heart.”

You look to Max, seeking reassurance. He meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Ignore him. You’re under my protection, remember?”

“And what exactly does that mean?” You press, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I still don’t understand my role in all this.”

Max hesitates, glancing at Charles. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Charles speaks up.

“You, ma chèrie, are an unexpected variable,” he says, his tone lighter now. “Max has a habit of collecting strays, but you ... you’re different.”

“Different how?” You ask, not sure if you should be offended or intrigued.

Charles’ eyes meet yours in the mirror again, a glint of mischief in them. “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I suspect you’re made of sterner stuff than you let on.”

The car falls silent as you process this. The streets of Monaco fly by outside the window, a blur of high-end boutiques and lavish casinos. It’s like stepping into another world.

Finally, the Ferrari begins to climb, winding its way up into the hills overlooking the city. The road narrows, becoming more secluded, until you’re passing through an ornate gate flanked by high walls.

The car comes to a stop in front of a sprawling villa that looks like something out of a movie. Marble columns, manicured gardens, a fountain bubbling gently in the courtyard — it’s almost too much to take in.

As you step out of the car on shaky legs, Charles is already striding towards the entrance. “Welcome to Casa Leclerc,” he calls over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything irreplaceable.”

Max appears at your side, placing a steadying hand on your lower back. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Max guides you inside, where you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the interior. Priceless artwork adorns the walls, and you’re pretty sure that’s an actual Fabergé egg sitting casually on a side table.

Charles leads you to a spacious living room, gesturing for you to sit. As you sink into a plush armchair, he busies himself at a well-stocked bar.

“Drink?” He offers. “I imagine you could use one.”

You nod gratefully, and soon find yourself nursing a glass of what’s probably the most expensive cognac you’ve ever tasted.

Charles settles into a chair across from you, swirling his own drink thoughtfully. “Now then,” he says, his tone suddenly all business. “Perhaps it’s time we discussed the situation at hand.”

Max, who’s been pacing near the windows, turns to face the room. “The Silver Arrows are getting bolder. This attack ... it’s a clear escalation.”

Charles nods grimly. “They sense weakness. Your recent expansion has left you vulnerable, mon ami.”

You listen, feeling increasingly out of your depth as they discuss territories, alliances, and what sound like complex financial maneuvers. It’s like overhearing a board meeting for the world’s most dangerous corporation.

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer, you speak up. “I’m sorry, but what exactly am I doing here? I’m not a part of ... whatever this is.”

Both men turn to look at you, as if suddenly remembering your presence. Charles raises an eyebrow at Max. “Yes, do tell. What is your plan for our unexpected guest?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you’re starting to recognize as a sign of frustration. “I didn’t have a plan. It all happened so fast, and I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“How gallant,” Charles drawls, though there’s a hint of genuine amusement in his voice. “But now we must decide what to do with her. She knows too much to simply let go.”

Your grip tightens on your glass. “I won’t say anything. I swear. Just ... let me go home.”

Max’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s not that simple, Y/N. The Silver Arrows saw you with me. They’ll assume you’re involved, whether you are or not.”

“So what then?” You ask, frustration bleeding into your voice. “Am I your prisoner now?”

“Non, ma chèrie,” Charles interjects smoothly. “Think of yourself as ... a valued guest. Under our protection.”

You laugh bitterly. “Some protection. I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with bodily harm in the span of 48 hours.”

To your surprise, Charles actually looks chagrined. “Ah, yes. My apologies for that. I have a flair for the dramatic, you see.”

“What Charles is trying to say,” Max cuts in, shooting his friend a warning look, “is that you have options. We can set you up with a new identity, somewhere far from here. Or ...”

He trails off, and you find yourself leaning forward despite yourself. “Or what?”

Max and Charles exchange another of those loaded glances before Max continues. “Or you could stay. Become a part of this.”

You blink, sure you must have misheard. “Become a part of ... your crime syndicate? Are you insane?”

Charles chuckles. “Now you’re catching on, chérie. We’re all a little mad here.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it. The cognac isn’t helping. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a literature professor, for god’s sake!”

“And yet,” Charles muses, leaning forward, “here you are. You could have called the police at any point. You could have refused to get on that yacht. But you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”

You open your mouth to protest, then close it again. He’s not wrong. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that’s been thrilled by all of this. A part that’s been longing for something more than your quiet, predictable life.

Max kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his. “I know it’s a lot to take in. And I’m not asking you to decide right now. But I want you to know that if you choose to stay, we’ll teach you everything you need to know. You’ll be protected, valued. Part of something bigger than yourself.”

You look into his eyes, searching for ... you’re not sure what. Deception? Ulterior motives? But all you see is sincerity, and something else. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I ... I need time to think,” you manage to say.

Charles claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “Excellent idea. A good night’s sleep will do wonders for clarity of thought. Allow me to show you to your room.”

As you follow Charles up a sweeping staircase, your mind is whirling. Two days ago, your biggest concern was finishing grading papers on Jane Austen. Now, you’re being offered a place in an international crime syndicate.

It’s absurd.

It’s terrifying.

And yet ...

Charles stops in front of an ornate door. “Your quarters, mademoiselle. I trust you’ll find everything to your liking. We can discuss more in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but call out. “Charles?”

He pauses, looking back at you with those piercing eyes. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping Max, offering me a place here? What’s in it for you?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let’s just say I have a good feeling about you, Y/N. You might be exactly what our little organizations need.”

With that cryptic statement, he’s gone, leaving you alone in a luxurious bedroom that probably costs more than your entire apartment back home.

As you sink onto the plush bed, your head spinning from more than just the alcohol, you can’t help but wonder: what would Jane Austen make of all this? Somehow, you don’t think even she could have imagined a plot twist quite like this one.

***

The morning sun filters through the luxurious curtains, rousing you from a surprisingly deep sleep. For a moment, you’re disoriented, the opulent surroundings a stark contrast to your cozy little apartment back home. Then the events of the past day come rushing back, and with them, a sudden clarity.

You sit up, your mind made up. It’s crazy, it’s reckless, but you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. You’re staying.

After a quick shower and change into clothes that have mysteriously appeared in the wardrobe (and fit perfectly, which you decide not to question), you make your way downstairs. The villa is quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

You follow the sound, finding Max nursing a cup of coffee at a marble island. He looks up as you enter, his expression guarded.

“Morning,” he says cautiously. “Sleep well?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve made a decision.”

He sets down his cup, giving you his full attention. “Oh?”

“I’m staying,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I want to be a part of this. Of your world.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise evident on his face. “Are you sure? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly, Y/N. Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’m sure. My old life ... it never felt right. Like I was just going through the motions. But this? As terrifying as it is, it feels real. It feels right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face, transforming his features. “Well then,” he says, standing up. “I guess we better start your training.”

“Training?” You echo.

Max nods, his expression turning serious. “If you’re going to survive in this world, you need to learn how to protect yourself. First lesson: shooting.”

Your eyes widen. “Shooting? As in, guns?”

“No, we’re going to teach you competitive archery,” Max deadpans. “Of course guns. Come on, Charles has a range in the basement.”

As you follow Max through the winding corridors of the villa, your heart races with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This is really happening.

The shooting range is state-of-the-art, with multiple lanes and an impressive array of weapons displayed on the walls. Max selects a handgun, checking it over with practiced ease.

“We’ll start with something simple,” he says, holding out the gun. “A Glock 19. Easy to handle, reliable.”

You take the weapon gingerly, surprised by its weight. Max positions himself behind you, adjusting your stance and grip.

“Remember,” he says, his breath warm against your ear, “breathe steadily. Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

You nod, trying to focus on the target at the end of the range rather than the heat of Max’s body behind you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs, stepping back.

You take a deep breath, aim, and pull the trigger. The gun goes off with a deafening bang, and you can’t help but let out a surprised scream.

Max tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t do that, it will give you away.”

You turn to him, incredulous. “Like the loud noise wouldn’t? I shot a gun!”

“And missed,” Max points out, nodding towards the untouched target. “Now go again.”

Gritting your teeth, you face the target once more. This time, you’re prepared for the noise and the recoil. You squeeze the trigger, and to your surprise, the bullet hits the outer ring of the target.

“Better,” Max says, a note of approval in his voice. “Again.”

As the morning wears on, you find yourself falling into a rhythm. Aim, breathe, squeeze. The shots become more accurate, your stance more confident. Max is a patient teacher, offering guidance and correction with a gentle touch here, a murmured word there.

“You’re a natural,” he says after a particularly good round. “Must be all those Jane Austen novels. Secret badass under all that propriety.”

You laugh, lowering the gun. “I don’t think Lizzy Bennet ever handled a Glock.”

“Her loss,” Max grins. “One more round?”

You nod, raising the gun once more. As you fire off the last few shots, you’re aware of Max’s gaze on you, more intense than before. The final bullet hits dead center, and you turn to him with a triumphant smile.

“How was that?” You ask, breathless with exhilaration.

Max doesn’t answer immediately. He’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher — admiration, certainly, but something else too. Something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Max?” You prompt, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

In one fluid motion, Max closes the distance between you. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks through your entire body. You respond instinctively, your free hand fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. The gun clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Max backs you up against the wall of the shooting range, his body pressing against yours. When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you opened your door that night,” Max admits, his forehead resting against yours.

You laugh breathlessly. “Even with me in my ratty pajamas?”

“Especially then,” he grins. “You were adorably flustered. And then you went and patched me up without hesitation. I was a goner.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is insane, you know that? A few days ago I was grading papers on 19th-century classic literature. Now I’m making out with a crime lord in a secret shooting range.”

Max’s expression turns serious. “Is it too much? We can slow down, or-”

You cut him off with another kiss. “No,” you say firmly. “It’s not too much. It’s ... exactly right.”

A slow smile spreads across Max’s face. “Well then, doctor. Ready for your next lesson?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Max’s grin turns wicked. “I was thinking something in the realm of close combat. Very hands-on.”

You laugh, a thrill of excitement running through you. “Lead the way.”

As Max takes your hand, leading you out of the shooting range, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. It’s dangerous, it’s completely illogical, and yet ... you’ve never felt more alive.

Whatever comes next, you’re ready for it. With a gun in your hand and Max by your side, you feel like you could take on the world. And who knows? Maybe you will.

***

As Max leads you out of the shooting range, there’s a palpable tension in the air, crackling with unspoken promises. You follow him through the winding corridors of Charles’ villa, your heart racing with anticipation.

“So,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “where exactly are we going for this close combat training?”

Max glances back at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I thought we’d use the gym. Plenty of space, padded floors ... you know, for safety.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Safety, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

He stops abruptly, turning to face you. “Y/N, if this is moving too fast-”

You cut him off, stepping closer. “Max, I literally left my entire life behind for you. I think we’re well past too fast.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Fair point. Still, if at any point you want to stop-”

“I’ll let you know,” you assure him. “Now, are you going to show me these close combat moves or what?”

Max’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, I’ll show you alright.”

He pushes open a door, revealing a state-of-the-art gym. The space is impressive, with gleaming equipment and, as promised, a large area covered in training mats.

“Shall we?” Max asks, gesturing to the mats.

You nod, suddenly feeling a bit nervous despite your bravado. As you step onto the mat, Max begins circling you slowly.

“The key to close combat,” he says, his voice low and intense, “is to always be aware of your opponent’s movements. To anticipate their next move.”

You turn, keeping him in your sight. “And how do I do that?”

In a flash, Max is behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “By staying alert,” he murmurs in your ear.

A shiver runs down your spine at his proximity. “I thought I was doing pretty well,” you manage to say.

You can feel Max’s chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Not bad. But you’re still too tense. You need to relax, feel the flow of movement.”

His hands slide up your arms, gently adjusting your posture. You lean back into him, relishing the warmth of his body.

“Like this?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s grip tightens slightly. “Getting there. Now, if someone grabs you like this, what do you do?”

You consider for a moment, then make your move. You twist in his arms, using the momentum to break his hold and face him. “How’s that?”

Max looks impressed. “Not bad at all. You’re a quick learner.”

“I have a good teacher,” you reply, a bit breathless from the maneuver and his proximity.

For a moment, you stand there, faces inches apart, the air heavy with tension. Then Max moves, swift and sure, sweeping your legs out from under you. You land on the mat with a soft thud, Max following you down, pinning you beneath him.

“Rule number one,” he says, his face hovering above yours, “never let your guard down.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that so? And what’s rule number two?”

Instead of answering, Max lowers his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You respond eagerly, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing heavily. “I think I like rule number two,” you say with a grin.

Max laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, we’re just getting started with the rules, doctor.”

He leans in for another kiss, but this time you’re ready. Using the moves he just taught you, you manage to flip your positions, straddling his waist triumphantly.

“How’s that for staying alert?” You ask, feeling a thrill at the surprised and appreciative look on Max’s face.

“Impressive,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “But you’ve left yourself open.”

Before you can ask what he means, Max surges upward, capturing your lips once more. As you lose yourself in the kiss, you feel him shift, and suddenly you’re on your back again, Max looming over you with a satisfied smirk.

“Distraction,” he says, “can be a powerful weapon.”

You laugh, breathless and exhilarated. “I’ll keep that in mind. Any other lessons you want to teach me?”

Max’s eyes darken. “Oh, I’ve got plenty more to teach you. If you’re up for it.”

You reach up, pulling him down to you. “I’m a very dedicated student,” you murmur against his lips.

What follows is less a lesson in combat and more an exploration of each other. Clothes are discarded, hands roam freely, and the only sounds in the gym are gasps, moans, and occasional laughter.

Later, as you lie tangled together on the training mats, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. Just days ago, you were grading papers in your quiet apartment. Now, you’re in the arms of a mob boss, in a luxurious villa in Monaco, having just had the most exhilarating experience of your life.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Max asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin.

You turn to face him, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Just thinking about how surreal this all is. A week ago, the most exciting thing in my life was finding a rare first edition at an antique book fair.”

Max chuckles. “And now?”

“Now?” You grin. “Now I’m learning to shoot, engaging in ‘close combat training’, and apparently joining an international crime syndicate. It’s ... a lot.”

His expression turns serious. “Is it too much? It’s too late to back out now, you know. I could have set you up somewhere safe, given you a new identity earlier, but now-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Max, I meant what I said earlier. I’m in this. All of it. With you.”

The smile that spreads across his face is radiant. “Good,” he says, pulling you closer. “Because I don’t think I could let you go now if I tried.”

You settle into his embrace, feeling safer than you have in years despite the objective danger of your situation. “So, what’s next on the criminal training agenda?” You ask, only half-joking.

Max pretends to consider. “Well, we’ve covered shooting and hand-to-hand combat. How do you feel about safecracking?”

You laugh. “Safecracking? Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valuable skill in our line of work,” Max defends, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Uh-huh,” you say skeptically. “And I suppose pickpocketing is next on the list?”

Max grins. “Now that you mention it ...”

You swat his chest playfully. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he points out, capturing your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Here I am,” you agree softly. “So, what happens now? Do we stay here in Monaco? Go back to face the Silver Arrows?”

Max’s expression turns thoughtful. “For now, we stay here. You need more training before we can risk going back. And I need to regroup, strategize.”

You nod, a mix of relief and excitement coursing through you. “So I get to play princess in a Monaco villa while learning the finer points of criminality? I think I can handle that.”

“It won’t all be fun and games,” Max warns. “The Silver Arrows are still out there, and they’re not going to give up easily. We need to be prepared for anything.”

“I know,” you say, your tone turning serious. “I understand the risks. I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

He studies your face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he nods. “Alright then. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

***

The Monaco sun beats down relentlessly as you step out of yet another luxury boutique, arms laden with shopping bags. Oscar and Lando, your assigned bodyguards, trail behind you, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

“I think that’s the last one,” you say, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. “Who knew shopping could be so exhilarating?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “I think the exhilaration comes from Max finally letting you out of the villa, not the shopping itself.”

You laugh, conceding the point. “True. I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of a Gucci store.”

Lando grins. “Just wait until Max sees the bill. That’ll be truly exhilarating.”

As you make your way towards the parked Ferrari, you can’t help but reflect on the past few weeks. The intensive training, the late-night strategy sessions with Max and Charles, the growing feeling that you’re part of something bigger than yourself. It’s been thrilling, but also claustrophobic at times.

“I still can’t believe Max agreed to this little excursion,” you muse as you reach the car.

Oscar shrugs, opening the trunk. “You can be very persuasive when you want to be. Those puppy eyes of yours should be classified as a weapon.”

You’re about to retort when a sudden movement catches your eye. Before you can react, the air is filled with the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Get down!” Lando shouts, pushing you behind the car as he and Oscar draw their weapons.

Your heart pounds as you crouch behind the meager cover, the sounds of a firefight erupting around you. This isn’t like the controlled environment of the shooting range. This is real, chaotic, and terrifying.

“Y/N, stay down!” Oscar yells over the din, returning fire at unseen assailants.

You nod, too shocked to speak. But as you huddle there, a horrifying realization hits you — you recognize some of the voices shouting orders.

The Silver Arrows. They’ve found you.

Suddenly, a strong arm wraps around your waist, yanking you up and away from the car. You struggle instinctively, but your captor’s grip is like iron.

“Well, well,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. “What do we have here? Max’s new pet, I presume?”

You crane your neck, looking up into a face you’ve seen before — in photographs, in briefings. Toto Wolff, leader of the Silver Arrows himself.

“Let me go,” you growl, trying to sound braver than you feel.

Toto chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my dear. You see, you’re my ticket to bringing Max to his knees.”

As he speaks, you become acutely aware of the weight on your thigh. The gun. The one Max insisted you carry, “just in case.” This, you realize with startling clarity, is that case.

Moving as subtly as you can, you reach for the holster strapped to your leg. Toto, focused on the fight around you, doesn’t notice.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, stalling for time as your fingers close around the grip of the gun. “There are other ways to resolve conflicts.”

Toto’s laugh is harsh. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t understand our world. This isn’t a negotiation, it’s war.”

You take a deep breath, Max’s training echoing in your mind. Stay calm. Aim true. Squeeze, don’t pull.

“You’re right,��� you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “I don’t understand your world.”

In one fluid motion, you pull the gun free and twist in Toto’s grip. Before he can react, you press the muzzle against his chest and pull the trigger.

The gunshot seems impossibly loud, even amidst the chaos of the firefight. Toto’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on you loosening as he stumbles backward.

For a moment, everything seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts anew.

“Boss!” Someone shouts, and suddenly you’re being pulled away, strong arms encircling you protectively.

“I’ve got you,” Oscar’s voice says in your ear. “We’re getting out of here.”

As he hustles you towards the car, you catch glimpses of the scene around you. Silver Arrow members rushing to their fallen leader. Lando providing cover fire. And blood. So much blood.

Oscar practically throws you into the backseat of the Ferrari before jumping into the driver’s seat. Lando dives in barely a second later, and then you’re peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Are you hurt?” Lando asks, twisting in his seat to look at you.

You shake your head, still too shocked to speak. The gun is still clutched in your hand, and you stare at it as if seeing it for the first time.

“You did good, Y/N,” Oscar says, his eyes flicking to you in the rearview mirror. “You kept your cool. That’s not easy in a situation like that.”

“I ... I shot him,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Toto Wolff. I shot him.”

Lando and Oscar exchange a glance. “You did what you had to do,” Lando says gently. “He would have killed you without hesitation.”

As the adrenaline begins to fade, the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. You’ve just shot one of the most powerful crime lords in Europe. In broad daylight. In the middle of Monte Carlo.

“Oh god,” you groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “Max is going to kill me.”

Oscar lets out a surprised laugh. “Are you kidding? He’s going to be thrilled. You just took out his biggest rival.”

“Took out?” You repeat, a new wave of panic washing over you. “You mean he’s ...”

“We don’t know for sure,” Lando says quickly. “But a point-blank shot like that ... it doesn’t look good for Toto.”

You close your eyes, trying to process everything. Just hours ago, your biggest concern was whether to buy the Prada or the Fendi handbag. Now, you might have just assassinated a mob boss.

The rest of the drive passes in a blur. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the villa, where Max is already waiting, his face a mask of concern and anger.

As soon as the car stops, he yanks open your door, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Are you okay?” He demands, his hands roaming over you as if checking for injuries. “When I got the call, I thought ...”

You cling to him, the familiar scent of his cologne grounding you. “I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m okay.”

Max pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. “What happened? Oscar said there was a firefight.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “The Silver Arrows ambushed us. And Toto ... he grabbed me. I ... I shot him, Max. With the gun you gave me.”

For a moment, Max just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You shot Toto Wolff?”

You nod, still unsure of his reaction. “I think ... I think I might have killed him.”

Max’s smile widens into a full-blown grin. “Y/N, do you have any idea what you’ve just done? You’ve single-handedly changed the balance of power in our world.”

“I have?” You ask, feeling slightly dazed.

He nods, pulling you close again. “You’re incredible, you know that? I knew you were special from the moment I showed up at your door, but this ... this is beyond anything I could have imagined.”

As Max leads you into the villa, his arm protectively around your waist, you can’t help but marvel at the turn your life has taken. From literature professor to potential assassin in a matter of weeks. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and completely surreal.

“What happens now?” You ask as Max guides you to the study, where Charles is already waiting, phone in hand.

Max exchanges a look with Charles before turning back to you. “Now? Now we prepare for war. The Silver Arrows won’t take this lying down, Toto dead or alive. But with you by my side ...” He trails off, a fierce pride in his eyes.

“You can be unstoppable,” Charles finishes, raising his glass in a toast.

As you sink into a chair, the events of the day finally catching up with you, you realize that this is your life now. Gunfights and power plays, luxury shopping sprees and criminal empires. It’s a far cry from grading papers on Jane Austen, but as you look at Max, seeing the mix of pride, concern, and love in his eyes, you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The war may be just beginning, but with Max by your side and a newfound confidence in your abilities, you’re ready to face whatever comes next. After all, you’ve already taken down Toto Wolff. What’s a little inter-syndicate warfare compared to that?

***

Five Years Later

The small apartment buzzes with the energy of five recent college graduates, sprawled across mismatched furniture in various states of relaxation. Empty pizza boxes and half-empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, evidence of their Friday night catch-up session.

“Alright, alright,” Emily says, reaching for her phone. “What should we put on for background noise? Music? TV?”

Jake, lounging on the worn leather armchair, perks up. “Oh! What about that true crime podcast I was telling you guys about? The one about modern mobs?”

Zoe, curled up on the couch, raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that a bit heavy for a chill hangout?”

“No, no, it’s fascinating!” Jake insists. “It’s not just gruesome stuff. It’s all about the economics and politics of modern organized crime. Super interesting.”

Lisa, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shrugs. “I’m game. Could be fun to learn something while we drink.”

“Seconded,” chimes in Alex from his spot by the window. “Hit play, Em.”

Emily fiddles with her phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speaker. “Alright, here we go. ‘The Mob in the Modern Age: Episode 7 — The Dutch Syndicate’s Rise to Power.’”

As the podcast’s intro music fades, a smooth, professional voice fills the room:

“In the world of organized crime, power shifts can happen in the blink of an eye. But few have been as sudden or as dramatic as the meteoric rise of the Dutch Crime Syndicate over the past five years. Once a minor player on the European stage, the Dutch Syndicate now controls vast swathes of territory and influences everything from high finance to international politics. But how did this happen? The answer, dear listeners, lies in an unlikely source: a literature professor turned criminal mastermind.”

The friends exchange amused glances. “A literature professor?” Zoe snorts. “Now that’s a career change.”

“Shh,” Jake hushes her, leaning forward intently.

The podcast continues: “It all began with a chance encounter. The Syndicate’s boss, known only as Max Emilian, was injured in a firefight with rival gang members. Desperate for medical attention but unable to go to a hospital, he turned up on the doorstep of a young literature professor in the middle of the night.”

Emily pauses the podcast. “Okay, this sounds like the plot of a bad romance novel.”

“I know, right?” Lisa laughs. “What are the odds?”

Alex shakes his head, grinning. “Maybe our old prof is secretly living it up as a mob wife somewhere.”

The group erupts into laughter at the absurd image.

“Can you imagine?” Zoe gasps between giggles. “Professor Y/L/N in a shootout?”

Jake wipes tears from his eyes. “God, remember how she used to get flustered just operating the projector?”

As the laughter dies down, Emily resumes the podcast.

“What happened next is the stuff of legend in criminal circles. The professor, whose name we now know to be Y/N Y/L/N, not only patched up the crime boss but ended up joining his organization. Within weeks, she had become his right-hand woman and romantic partner.”

The room falls silent, the friends exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“No way,” Alex breathes.

“It can’t be,” Lisa shakes her head. “It’s got to be a coincidence.”

Jake holds up a hand, shushing them as the podcast continues.

“But Y/N’s true moment of infamy came just a month into her new life of crime. During what should have been a routine shopping trip in Monte Carlo, she and her bodyguards were ambushed by members of the rival Silver Arrows gang. In the ensuing chaos, Y/N found herself face to face with none other than Toto Wolff, the notorious leader of the Silver Arrows.”

“Oh my god,” Zoe whispers, her face pale.

“What happened next would change the landscape of European organized crime forever. Y/N, using a gun given to her by Max for protection, shot Toto Wolff at point-blank range. Wolff did not survive the encounter, his death throwing the Silver Arrows into disarray.”

Emily pauses the podcast again, her hand shaking slightly. “Guys ... this can’t actually be our Professor Y/L/N, right? I mean, it’s impossible.”

The room is silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought.

“Remember how she just ... disappeared?” Alex says slowly. “In the middle of the semester? The department said it was a family emergency, but no one ever heard from her again.”

Jake nods, his brow furrowed. “And it was right around the time this podcast is talking about. Five years ago, give or take.”

Lisa shakes her head vehemently. “No. No way. Our Y/N? The one who cried when we threw her a surprise party for finishing her PhD? There’s no way she shot someone.”

“But think about it,” Zoe says, warming to the idea. “She was always talking about how literature reflects real life, how the best stories come from unexpected places. What if ... what if she decided to live a story instead of just teaching about them?”

The group falls silent again, each of them trying to reconcile the image of their soft-spoken, cardigan-wearing professor with the gun-toting criminal mastermind described in the podcast.

Emily takes a deep breath. “Should we ... should we listen to the rest?”

After a moment of hesitation, they all nod. She presses play:

“In the years since that fateful day in Monte Carlo, Y/N has become a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Known in criminal circles as ‘The Professor,’ she’s rumored to be the strategic mind behind the Dutch Syndicate’s most daring and successful operations. Her background in literature and analysis has proven unexpectedly valuable in the world of organized crime, allowing her to see patterns and opportunities that others miss.”

Jake lets out a low whistle. “Okay, that part I can actually see. Remember how she could break down a text? Find connections no one else saw?”

The others nod, still looking shell-shocked.

The podcast continues: “Last year, Y/N and Max officially tied the knot in what insiders describe as the criminal event of the decade. The guest list reportedly included high-ranking members of various international syndicates, as well as several politicians and business moguls whose connections to the underworld had previously been only rumored.”

“A mob wedding,” Alex says faintly. “Our professor had a mob wedding.”

Zoe suddenly sits up straight. “Wait a second. Guys, remember that weird email we all got about a year ago? The one that looked like spam but had our names in it?”

The others nod slowly, realization dawning.

“It said something about a ‘special event’ and how the sender wished we could be there,” Lisa recalls. “We all thought it was just a weird phishing attempt.”

“Holy shit,” Jake breathes. “She invited us to her mob wedding.”

The podcast wraps up: “Today, the Dutch Crime Syndicate stands at the pinnacle of European organized crime, with Y/N and Max as its power couple. Their story serves as a reminder that in the modern criminal underworld, brains can be just as valuable as brawn. And sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room might just be the one with a literature degree.”

As the outro music plays, the friends sit in stunned silence.

Finally, Emily speaks up. “So ... do we think it’s really her?”

They look at each other, years of shared memories and inside jokes about their favorite professor flashing through their minds.

“I mean, what are the odds of two literature professors named Y/N Y/L/N getting mixed up with the mob in the same year?” Alex points out.

Jake nods slowly. “And it would explain why she just vanished. Why the department was so weird about it.”

“But ... but it’s Y/N,” Lisa protests weakly. “She used to bring us cookies during finals week. She cried when we analyzed sad poems.”

Zoe reaches for her phone. “Only one way to find out for sure. I’m googling her.”

The others crowd around as Zoe types in their former professor’s name. The search results load, and they collectively gasp.

There, staring back at them from countless news articles and blurry paparazzi shots, is an unmistakable face. It’s older, harder somehow, but undeniably the woman who once taught them about Jane Austen and Shakespeare.

“Well,” Emily says faintly, “I guess this explains why she always said Pride and Prejudice needed more action scenes.”

The room erupts into hysterical laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting them full force.

As they catch their breath, Jake raises his wine glass. “To Professor Y/L/N,” he says solemnly. “May her gun be as mighty as her pen.”

The others join in the toast, clinking their glasses together.

“You know,” Alex muses, “I always thought her lectures on Crime and Punishment were a little too detailed.”

Another round of laughter fills the apartment as the friends settle in to re-listen to the podcast, this time with a whole new perspective on their former professor turned criminal mastermind.

As the night wears on, they share memories of their college days, now tinged with the surreal knowledge of where life has taken their beloved professor. And though none of them would admit it out loud, there’s a small part of each of them that can’t help but admire the sheer audacity of it all.

After all, how many people can say their literature professor went on to conquer the criminal underworld?

[wonustars]

𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 '𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴

“𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴. 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶” - 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩

𖧧 pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader 𖧧 wordcount: 23.5k words

𖧧 reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3! tumblr is based on reblogs not likes, and they help writers like me to get better reach. thank you ^~^

𖧧 genre: best friends to friends with benefits to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut (mdni 18+)

𖧧 summary: all it took was one kiss and suddenly you and Seungcheol’s friendship has turned upside down. 𖧧 In other words: exploring how far the boundaries of your lifelong friendship can take the two of you, you and Seungcheol try to navigate what it's like to be friends with benefits. just because you're secrelty in love with each other won't fuck everything up...right?

𖧧 tags: bsf!seungcheol, nonidol!au, rich!seungcheol, middleclass!reader, sml!wonwoo, jealous!cheol, possesive!cheol, mutual pining, SLOW BURN, ANGST, both mc's are heavily in denial, lotssss of miscommunication and misunderstandings, they are one year apart, jeonghan is the only sane person, hoshi is a clingy drunk, mona eisa makes an appearance!, its such a cliche story but i love it, they make bad decsions when theyre 'h' word... 𖧧 smut tags/warnings: dom!scoups, sub!reader, multiple smut scenes, p in v unprotected sex, semi-public sex (sorry), slight mutal intoxicated sex in the first smut scene, choking, slapping, multiple positons, oral (f. receiving), fingering, creampie, praise and degradation, pet names (baby, angel, princess, love).

𖧧 note: finally... its here. im sorry for the long wait :"). i thought i was only going to do 10k words but i got carried way. i want to thank @mysafehaneul who helped me with editing this story as well as my two irl friends who brainstormed ideas with me through out the writing process <3. if i've missed any tags/warnings please dont be afraid to lmk! anyways,,, im excited because this thing is my baby, i hope you enjoy! your thoughts and comments are always welcome :') leave me a comment or ask if you want~

As long as you can remember, Seungcheol and you have been attached to the hip. Even though he was a year older than you, you couldn’t remember the last time you spent a day without him, starting all the way from the young, bright age of 5, when you and your family moved into the small, humble house across his. Although your parents weren’t very well off, Cheol was. It was an odd thing that you two were neighbours because his house was much more grand and nicer kept than yours. This didn’t really bother you growing up though, he always made you feel like an equal.  

Seungcheol has been with you through it all, from the petty fights in middle school to the pains of adolescence in high school. He’s seen you at your worst like the time you tripped and fell trying to impress a cute guy at school, which resulted in a nosebleed. You were so embarrassed but at the end of the day, Cheol was there to help you clean your bloody nose and pick you back up. A true night and shining armour in disguise. He was the one to patch up your heart, breakup after breakup. Always your shoulder to lean on when you’re feeling down, and especially when you’re happy. 

A man and best friend like Choi Seungcheol didn’t come around very often, and you took notice of that since you were young. You cherish every moment you have and will have with him. He is a true gentleman with a heart of gold, he’s handsome, smart, rich and caring. Every single box on your list is ticked off when it comes to him. Yet, you know that no matter how hard you love him, you will only ever be his best friend. The girl he sees is practically his younger sister. The bittersweet feeling of being so close to him tugs your heart till it's torn. It took you a long time to accept that all you’ll ever be is his best friend, and even now you’re still trying to accept this fact. 

I.

Fall freshly arrived in your city. The bustling sound of cars, the light whistle of the wind, the leaves that would crunch with each step. It is the perfect atmosphere for you and Seungcheol's weekend movie marathon. On today’s agenda is Divergent, a series you loved reading growing up. 

There you two sat, snuggling on the couch, wrapped in maybe ten pounds worth of blankets that could be someone’s monthly rent downtown. This is why you loved having movie marathons at Seungcheol’s place, he always has the best blankets, the best pillows, the best snacks; you could go on for days with reasons. 

Your head on his shoulder, his arm resting behind you on the couch, everything felt perfect. If you closed your eyes for just one second, you could pretend that you and he were together and that this was just a stay-at-home type of date. But, the moment your eyes open again you are faced with the reality of the situation. 

“Wow, this movie was a lot better when I was like 13…” you snort after finishing re-watching Divergent for the first time in a long time. Only because Cheol hadn’t seen it before. 

“Hmm, it's not that bad..?” He tries to defend the movie, but as someone who read all the books in middle school, you knew that it just didn’t compare. 

“No Cheol you don’t understand, it’s just gets worse from here. I really don’t know why they didn’t just decide to follow the book more properly. The first one was so good.” you huff with a frustrated sigh after finishing your rant. 

Seungcheol can only chuckle, his voice sending vibrations from how close in proximity you two were. He didn’t mind the physical affection between the two of you, after being around each other for so long, you two became accustomed to it. You were always the type to rant to him about the little things, and he just likes to sit there and listen. He always wants to be the person you go to when you want to let your feelings out, no matter how trivial your tangents are. 

“Y/n, if you hate the last two movies why are we watching them?” He asks you, his brow quirked up. 

“You’re right actually, maybe we can watch something else…” You agree, your head craned up to look at him from where you’re positioned. A small smile danced across your lips, so close to him you could feel his breath fan your face. The smell of his cologne tickles your nostrils. 

“Wanna watch Ponyo?” Seungcheol suggests he knows how much you love Ghibli movies. You always like to mention to him that you’re Ponyo and he’s Souske. He doesn't disagree with you, jesting that he would carry you around in a bucket full of water as Souske does. 

Agreeing, giving an affirmative nod, you snuggle into him further as he changes the movie, exiting out of the dumpster fire they call the Divergent. As the movie starts to play, you think back to all the times Seungcheol was your Souske, and all the times he spent making sure you would heal from your hurt. 

II. 

Seungcheol has always seen himself as your best friend. The man that will be there for you when you have no one else to turn to. He has never seen you as more than his best friend, his y/n. He is a man who never second-guesses himself, always keeping a strong-willed sense of mind. Every time one of his friends asked him if he had feelings for you, he would simply answer no; and that you were like a younger sister to him. 

That first year was lonely for him, he didn’t really know anyone and all his classes kept him away from socializing. The only thing that seemed to have stayed constant was you. You face-timed him at least once a week before he went to bed, never forgetting to remind him how much you missed him, and how much you cared for him. In the simplest words, you were his rock for during first year. 

Seungcheol was never warned about how lonely and jarring your first year could be. The change in place, people, and most importantly the change in the fact that you weren’t there experiencing it beside him. He was never one to believe clichè sayings, but he finally understood what the saying “distance makes the heart grow fonder” really felt like. He had gotten so overwhelmed from the loneliness he even began to write you letters, ones he would never actually send out, as cheesy as it sounds. But knowing that he was addressing them to you brought him some type of solace in that first year. 

 A year later you came to study at the same university, and he was elated, to say the least. Finally, he had thought to himself. The one person he hadn’t been able to see, smell, or touch for a year was finally going to be in his proximity. 

Unlike Cheol, you were only able to go to this school through bursaries and scholarships, your parents simply just couldn’t afford to send you to school in a different city otherwise. It reminded you how lucky Seungcheol was to receive support from his parents, getting and going to school was nothing he had to ever think twice about. You knew you could’ve stayed with your family, and gone to school closer to your house, but with Cheol away, it just wasn’t the same. Nothing had felt the same since he left. But this didn’t matter to you the moment you felt his arms wrap around you again. 

You stood there in the airport all alone, eyes searching for a head of freshly dyed blond hair. The moment you heard his voice call your name, you knew you were finally home. 

“Y/n!” An excited, deep voice calls out for you. 

You whip your head around to see him. The man you hadn’t seen in so long, the man you were so desperately in love with. Your best friend. 

“Cheol!” A squeal escapes your lips, you run to him. He pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his large hands around your smaller frame. Swinging you around like crazy, a laugh bubbles up from your throat. 

“I’ve missed you so much y/n.” Cheol exasperates as he hugs you tighter, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’ve missed you too Cheol…” You whisper into his chest, breathing in his expensive cologne, not caring that you are in public; staying there to embrace him for a weirdly long period of time. “Never leave for that long again.” 

III.

“Y/n for fucks sake please stop asking me if we can match for Halloween,” Seungcheol whines, his hands running over his face in exhaustion. 

“C’mon it be so fun please please pleaseee,” you beg, your “please’s” getting longer with each second he refuses. You’re both sat on his couch, the morning after your movie marathon sleepover. Kneeling beside his spot on the sofa, shaking his shoulder excessively to get him to agree with you. 

It’s a week before Jeonghan’s infamous Halloween party, one that you’ve attended every year since you moved here. It is known for being one of the biggest parties of the year, and Jeonghan is the most dramatic yet genius host on campus. Everyone goes, and you mean everyone. This year is no different than the previous ones. You and Cheol have gone together every year, and he has yet to do a matching costume with you. This year you’re simply not backing down from a simple no. 

“But Tom and Jerry would be so funny!” You attempt to reason with him, giving him your biggest doe eyes and sweetest pout. You looked ridiculous, begging like a Victorian child asking for an extra piece of bread. 

“Fine. Fine!” Seunghceol finally gives in. If there was something he just can’t resist, it’s when you beg to him with puppy dog eyes. It somehow has always worked for you, even when you two were kids. 

“Yes! Finally oh my god, i’ve been waiting for this to happen for the past 3 years!” You jump around victoriously in your fluffy pyjamas. Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at your celebratory dance, especially when you wore fluffy bunny printed pj’s. 

“Ok ok calm down, I’ll only allow it if I get to be the stupid Jerry cat.” he grumbles, arms crossed as he leans against his couch. 

“You mean Tom you idiot..” You muttered under your breath as you sit back on the couch, returning back to the Ghibli marathon. 

You weren’t very slick though, Seungcheol weirdly had a great sense of hearing for someone who can act like an old man sometimes. He turns to you with a glare and you let out a squeak, ready to run away from his hold, wow he is really taking his Tom role seriously, you thought as he chased you around his apartment. The sound of child-like laughter fills the space, your Ghibli movie long forgotten. 

IV.

Monday had finally rolled around the corner, which you dread even more after spending the weekend in Paradise a là Seungcheol, a.k.a his apartment; which was a lot more fun to be at in comparison to your own. He lived on one of the highest floors in his apartment building, while you lived in the cheapest place closest to campus. It was kind of laughable how different your life is compared to Seungcheol’s, yet out of everyone he’s your bestfriend. 

What’s even worse about this Monday is that you’re finally getting your assigned partner for the midterm project. With your fingers crossed you hope that the professor would pair you up with either Jeonghan or Seunghcheol. At least it would make doing the project a little bit more bearable, especially knowing that the whole project itself is worth fifteen percent of your grade. Not a lot but enough to make a dent in your average if you get careless, which you can’t afford. Literally. 

“Okay, so I’m just going to start assigning people randomly…” The professor drones on before beginning to give out assigned partners. 

“Y/n L/n and Jeon Wonwoo.” Your name is finally called, and thank the heavens your partner is someone you actually know, and someone you know who is smart too. 

In a hurried fashion, you make your way to sit beside Wonwoo. You two weren’t really all that close, but you had mutual friends. He is often seen with Mingyu, considering the fact that they are roommates. You had only learnt this from Seungcheol, who was closest to Mingyu. A golden retriever turned person who he had become friends with at the end of his first year in uni. 

Wonwoo is an attractive guy, and smart too, which you cannot deny. He was relatively popular for those reasons, but you never really paid much attention to him. Only ever talking to him at parties or in the student union centre eating lunch with Cheol, Mingyu, and Vernon. Honestly, you were just glad to be paired with someone who you know isn’t going to make you do the whole damn thing by yourself. 

You slip into the desk where he sits, exchanging a soft hello before bringing out your laptop to write notes. “Hey Wonwoo, I don’t know if you remember me but I’m Y/n.” 

“Yeah I remember you, you’re Seungcheol’s best friend right?” He asks, probably thinking you look familiar from all the times you had been seen walking around campus with Cheol.

“I am, unfortunately…haha.” You laugh awkwardly along with your joke, trying to break the ice between you two. Wonwoo just nods his head at you slowly, aware of your attempt to make a joke. He definitely wasn’t much of a talker. You picked up on that every time Mingyu had brought him around, and every time you saw him he was either on his phone or talking to a friend quietly in a corner. 

You two got down to business pretty quickly after your lousy attempt to try and make conversation. This is definitely one of those moments that would potentially keep you up a night. The ones where you’re trying to fall asleep and suddenly remember an embarrassing thing you did or said. 

On the other side of the room are Jeonghan and Seunghceol, and much to Seungcheol's dismay he got paired up with the one person he didn’t want to be with. The moment the professors called out their names, Jeonghan turned around giving him the biggest shit-eating grin. With the professor’s queue, he makes his way to sit beside Cheol, sitting too close for comfort. 

Jeonghan loves to tick Seungcheol off, he thinks it’s a great way to pass the time. Maybe even one of his favourites. There was something about getting under his skin that he just found so amusing. It doesn’t really help that Jeonghan is one of Y/n’s closest friends, second to Cheol even. 

He met Y/n in her first year at the University and even knew Cheol prior to Y/n, but the two men somehow never really got along. Jeonghan and Y/n shared an intro to psychology class back in her first year and became close for sharing an innate hatred towards their professor. After that, they were like two peas in a pod. Four years into their friendship, Jeonghan still relentlessly teases Cheol, especially when Y/n is around. 

Jeonghan has always been an observant man, at least he’d like to think so. The first time he saw Y/n and Seungcheol interact he could tell from the beginning that they were hopelessly in love with each other. Although he would never outright butt into their relationship, he definitely knows how to push things along. Their body language towards each other really was the biggest giveaway and the way Cheol gives into everything Y/n would say. What’s even more laughable was the fact that they were both deeply in denial, for what reason? Jeonghan didn’t know but he found their oblivious attitude to be insufferable. Call him bitter but after spending much time with the two of them he just wanted them to finally bite the bullet and date already. 

“Hmm look at Y/n getting all cozy with Wonwoo, they would be cute together wouldn’t they Cheollie?” Jeonghan provoked, calling Seungcheol by a horrid nickname. He poked at Seungcheols arm, giving him a cheshire cat grin. The blond man was not very amused by Jeonghan’s antics, giving him a deathly glare. 

“You’re blowing this out of proportion you idiot, they’re just partners for a project.” Seungcheol scoffs, rolling his eys at how fast Jeonghan is shipping you with Wonwoo. “Also stop fucking calling me Cheollie, its such an ugly nickname.”

“Why not Cheollie? You let Y/n call you that…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m just saying people don’t just start dating out of nowhere, plus they’ll be spending a lot of alone time together.” Jeonghan eggs on, nudging Seungcheol with his elbow.

Seungcheol moves his attention towards you, boring holes into the back of you and Wonwoo’s head. Seeing you with Wonwoo didn’t settle right with him, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it’s because of what Jeonghan said or the fact that imagining you so close with another man wasn’t something he was used to. It doesn’t matter anyways, they’re just partners, nothing else, Seungcheol thought. He lets out a huff of vexation, bracing himself for the upcoming weeks he has to put up with Jeonghan’s antics. 

X.

The day of Jeonghan’s party had finally arrived, and you couldn’t be more excited. Midterms had just finished up and you were more than ready to drink away the stress. You hadn’t been to a party in a while now, and you were definitely due for a good one. You were dying just to get your mind off school at least for one night, drinking with your friends and wear a skimpy halloween costume. 

The walk to Seungcheol’s apartment isn’t very long, a brisk five minutes and you’re already in front of the entrance. You were excited to see his costume, especially because you haven’t seen him dress up for halloween since you two were kids. As you walked down to his apartment you couldn’t help but appreciate the perfect weather for tonights party. The slightly chilly wind blowing through your hair, the moon full and shining bright in the already dark sky. You just had a weird flutter in your heart that gave you the impression that this party isn’t going to be like any of the previous ones. 

Walking down the hall to your best friend’s place always has you in awe, no matter how many times you’ve been down the path to his apartment. Most of the time you felt out of place, everything is so extravagant. The doorman, the high-speed elevator, and especially Cheol’s large floor to ceiling windows. It had a whole view of the bustling city and it took the breath out of you everytime you would spend a few minutes appreciating the scenery. 

You knock on his door, and not more than a few seconds later hes opening the door for you. A hearty laugh leaves your lips as your met with the image of him wearing grey cat ears. His cheeks rosy and the tips of his ears turn a hot red as he lets you in. you can’t help but giggle as you make your way into his living room. 

Seungcheol may be a little embarrassed by the cat ears but the real reason he’s blushing so hard isn’t because you’re laughing at him. The moment he opened the door the first thing he notices is your costume. He mentally slapped himself trying not to drool at your figure. The brown corset you had on hugs your waist perfectly, the tightness accenuating your cleavage. Your breasts are practically spilling out of the top and the view is causing all the blood in his body to rush to his head. As you walked past him laughing he couldn’t help but look down at how little your skirt covered. His heart was beating so fast, but he quickly masks his desire for you with annoyance. 

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in cat ears.” You’re practically creasing on his couch, laughing after every word. 

“You’re the one who wanted to do Tom and Jerry!” he defends himself, a displeased look plastered on his face. 

“O-ok sorry sorry, it’s cute! Don’t worry.” A giggle slips past your lips. You stand up and fix his cat ears, your smile widening at the fact that he’s not happy with how “cute” his costume is. “C’mon lemme draw some whiskers and a nose on you.” 

Taking his hand, you lead him to the couch. You let him sit down comfortably on the couch before you climb onto his lap, your eyeliner pencil in hand, ready to draw some whiskers. You focus on giving a cute circular nose, your tongue sticking out a little in concentration. Not wanting to mess up the whiskers, you dont pay attention to anything else as you draw three straight lines on each of his cheeks. 

Seungcheol on the other hand is trying very hard not to focus on you. His hands are squeezing your hips with an iron grip. The direct view of your cleavage, the proximity of your body, it was getting too much for him. You were so in your own world, concerned by his cat makeup that you don’t even notice your skirt riding up the slightest bit. He takes notice of this, his breath caught in his throat. With your legs straddling his, he has a good view of your panties peaking out from your skirt. Seungcheol can feel himself getting aroused but he’s trying his best to ignore it, his hands starting to sweat profusely. 

“Fuck…” He mumbles under his breath, looking straight down at your exposed underwear. He felt a bit like a pervert but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from your body. 

“Shh I’m almost done promise.” You assure him, oblivious to the fact that he’s not whining about the make up. “Annnd done!” A satisfied smile spreads across your face as you get off his lap. Pulling down your skirt a little because of it slightly hiking up from being on his lap. 

With a relieved sigh, Seungcheol gets up from the couch after you. He wasn’t sure why he’s feeling about this away about you all of sudden. Maybe it was because you two were so close in such an intimate way? No that can’t be it, Seungcheol thinks to himself, we’ve known each other for so long. Maybe its because your costume was accenuating every attractive thing about you, he really didn’t know. But what he does know is if that happened again he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. With that last thought, he decides to just brush it off for now. He feels more than ready to get some alcohol in his system. 

“Lets go?” Seungcheol asks, lending you his bicep to wrap your hand around. You nod, taking his arm before walking out of his apartment, ready for the fun night ahead. 

VI. 

You two arrive in front of Jeonghan’s house. It isn’t a far walk from Seungcheol’s apartment, maybe five to eight minutes and you were already there. As you stroll along the side walk the music exuding from his house becomes increasingly loud. The thumping of the bass echoing slightly throughout the neighbourhood, the halloween decorations hanging off the exterior. You are a little bit in awe at how many people are able to fit in a tiny bungalow, but despite the crowded atmosphere, a party like this is a perfect way to celebrate the end of your midterms. 

As you and Seungcheol enter the house, you can already recognize a few familiar faces from your classes as well as some of your closest friends. The music practically enveloped you the moment you stepped into the room, the bass causing your heart to thump out of your chest. You squeeze onto Seungcheol’s arm tighter, not wanting to lose him in the crowd. He keeps you close, fearing that you may disappear the moment he lets you go. As you continue to scan the room for your friends, one person in paritcualr catches your attention. 

 Soonyoung who was of course wearing a tiger onesie, is already in a drunken state, swaying around aimlessly, bumping into people and then proceeding to apologize with a hug accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. Watching this unfold causes a giggle to escape your lips, you pat Seungcheol and motion to the silly drunkard making his way out of the heaps of people. Seungcheol chuckles at Soonyoung as he ends up making his way over to the two of you. The drunk tiger yells out for you , engulfing you and Cheol into a bone crushing hug.  

“Typical of you Hosh, you’re already drunk off your ass,” you scold him as you call him by his nickname, patting his fluffly tiger hood. “Now what are you doing going around and giving people kisses?” 

“Y/Nie stop acting like my mom, c’mon lets go find Hao and the others.” Soonyoung whines, tugging on your arm so that you would follow him. You give Seungcheol a look, and he just nods, you knew that meant he would go and find you later. So you let Hoshi pull you away, brining you over to your friends. 

You spot Jeonghan and Minghao conversing in a corner of the room. This is the first time you’ve seen an angel look like they were out to do more bad than good. Jeonghan’s angel wings and halo shaking as he laughs at something Minghao says. On Jeonghan’s left side is a Mona Lisa painting with the head and arms cut out. You laugh at the way Minghao is constantly keeping his hands in the same way as the original position of the painting as he talks. 

“Y/N! Finally the party doesn’t really start till you’re here.” Jeonghan greets you, taking you out of Hoshi’s grasp to pull you into a hug. “Your costume is adorable but also really sexy, Jerry right? Where’s your Tom?” 

“Goodevening to you too Hannie, and uhm…Mona Lisa?” You giggle at Minghao’s odd choice in costume.

“Mona Eisa actually.” He corrects and you don’t even think to ask any further questions. 

“Well… he would’ve been here if this intoxicated hamster didn’t pull me away from him.” You reply to Jeonghan, giving Soonyoung a look, seeing that he’s already cuddling up to Minghao, who doesn’t seem too pleased by the sudden affection. “Soonyoung stop trying to strangle Hao, he’s not going to disappear.” you scold him again, resulting in a pouty tiger. 

“Jesus Soonyoung let go of me that onesie you have on is like a fucking space heater.” Minghao complains, trying to push Hoshi away. Hoshi only whines, holding on tighter. Looking at the situation unfolding, a stranger would think Minghao is the older one of the two. You have always known how much of a lightweight Hoshi is, but tonight it seems he’s had more than usual. 

“Y/N stop calling me a hamster, and Hao what’s wrong with a hug? I thought we were friends..” He continues to whine, his cheeks red from the alcohol.

“We won’t be if you keep holding onto me like that you idiot,” Minghao replies, giving Hoshi a warning look. He let Minghao go with a mope forming on his lips. Minghao can only laugh and pat his head. He wasn’t a big fan of physical affection but he still adored Hoshi even if he was clingy. Y/N found their friendship amusing, they would always quarrel with one another yet still show affection when it really mattered. 

“Ok ok, break it up you two. Y/N over here is way too sober, let’s fix that.” Jeonghan suggests, and you happily agree. Hoshi’s face lights up and he attempts to follow the two of you. “No Hoshi, not you, you’ve had enough. Go find Seungkwan Hao, this guy needs to be put on an alcohol ban.” 

Soonyoung sulks even harder, causing his chubby cheeks to accentuate. It made you giggle at how cute he gets when he’s drinking. You bid your goodbyes to Hoshi and Minghao and follow Jeonghan into the kitchen. As you trek towards where the alcohol is you say hello to some of the people you were friendly with, complimenting the pretty costumes you saw on the way. 

 When you finally reach the kitchen, the countertop is filled with bottles of every type of alcohol. You end up spotting Seungcheol standing around the island, talking and drinking with Mingyu, Vernon, and Wonwoo. They notice your presence immediately giving you a polite wave. Wonwoo on the other hand takes a longer than normal look at you. This catches Seungcheol’s attention, causing him to grip his red cup harder till it is slightly crumpled in his hand. 

“Cheollibee! I didn’t see you come in earlier.” Jeonghan snickers, taking a good glance at his costume. This only makes Cheol scowl at him, muttering about the wretched nicknames Jeonghan is always coming up with. 

“Hello Jeonghan.” Seunghceol deadpans, still leaning leisurely against the island. 

“You wanna take a shot with me and Y/N? It’ll be fun, promise.” Jeonghan urges, a mischievous glint twinkling in his eyes. You watch the two and laugh, Seungcheol never fails to show his disdain for Jeonghan, it was kind of their thing.

“Sure why not.” Cheol shrugs, coming up to the two of you. He stands behind you, your body pressed against the counter, you can feel his breath fan the back of your neck. Stiffening at the feeling, you watch him grab a bottle from in front of you before pouring out three shots. For some reason the music was nothing compared to how fast your pulse was beating in your ears right now. 

Seungcheol’s strong bicep wraps around you to pour a sufficient amount of liquor in each glass, his cologne engulfing your senses. It makes your knees weak, the proximity of his body pressing up against you has your mind running laps. It was so close you could feel his front side brush up against your behind. The thin material of your skirt feeling the texture of his rough jeans. 

“You ready?” Seungcheol whispers in your ear as you look down at the shot glass that he’s trying to hand you. The way his breath fans across your face makes you shiver inwardly. You only nod, taking the little shot glass out of his grasp. 

From Jeonghan’s point of view you look like a deer in headlights, he can’t help but smirk. Seungcheol’s presence obviously affecting you. 

You turn around to face Cheol, and he backs away a little bit, taking the space beside you; one of his hands gripping the counter beside your waist. His blond hair pushed back, the soft cat ear headband hes wearing contrasts against his hard features. As you throw back your shot, you can’t help but keep your eyes on him. His strong jawline becomes more prominent as he takes his own shot, the liquor dripping a little bit off his chin onto his shirt. Fuck, you thought, i’m not drunk enough for this. 

Jeonghan sees you ogling and can’t help but chuckle to himself, he pours another set of shots before handing them off to the two of you. Taking the shot, you wince one again as you feel the alcohol burn down your throat. Two shots aren’t enough to get you drunk but you were definitely starting to feel a light buzz. Your surroundings start to become a tad bit hazy, but in a good way. 

“Cheollie why don’t you take Y/N to dance?” Jeonghan suggests, his cheshire cat like grin returning. The look of his mischievous smile in juxtaposition with his innocent and pure white angel costume. 

Your eyes light up the moment ‘dance’ slipped out of Jeonghan’s mouth, causing you to tug on Seungcheol’s sleeve, urging him to take you to where everyone else is dancing. The alcohol running through his system and the way your eyes sparkle under the kitchen lights is enough for Seungcheol to agree. He could feel his buzz coming on now but he knew he is far from drunk. 

“Fine, let’s go.” He allows, pretending not to be a little intrigued on what your definition of ‘dancing’ is.  

You smile excitedly and take his hand, leading him to the dance floor, your hips already swinging along with the music. Which was more like the middle of Jeonghan’s living room with the couches pushed to the side. The crowd of people in the middle of the room are moving with the groove of the thumping bass. You start to do the same, letting your inhibitions go. Taking Seungcheol’s hands you place them on your hips, your body's flush with each others. You snake your hands around his neck, holding onto him as you continue to move with the music. The grasp of his large hands holding your hips tight ignites sparks in your stomach. 

Seungcheol’s throat goes dry as you turn around, your back facing him. Your ass flush with his front, causing him to hold onto your hips even tighter. What the fuck…, he thinks to himself. The feeling of arousal sneaking up on him for the third time tonight. As you continue to grind on him, he can’t help but let out a low groan, your ass moving against his growing hard on. 

“You enjoying your self princess?” Seungcheol whispers in your ear, his hands starting to move up and down. From your hips to your waist, up then back down to your hips once again. Your breath hitches, the tips of his fingers leaving a searing heat on your skin in its wake. The buzzing haze clouding your thoughts, the pounding of the music, the feeling of his hands on you, it was too much all at once. 

“Mhmm..” Is the only thing you can say in response as you continue to dance against him. 

Seungcheol chuckles, he can sense your arousal too, with the way you put your hands over his, guiding them back to your hips. Keeping your hands on top of his own, you let the music take over you. You close your eyes to really savour the moment; just because you’re not sure when the next time you will get to experience this with Cheol again. 

The more you dance with him, the warmer you get. The heat of his body radiates onto you, his hands move from your hips down to your exposed thighs then back up. Who knew that two shots in, you would be dancing (grinding) on your best friend in the middle of Jeonghan’s Halloween party? As time goes on, you feel your clothes stick to your skin just a little more than before, as well as the heat brewing in your stomach. 

“Cheollie…” You look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. With a seductive smile, you give him bedroom eyes, not caring that you’re in front of so many people you know. Or the fact that you’re feeling extremely attracted to your best friend right now. “I’m feeling a little warm, can we go somewhere a little more quiet?” you ask, feigning your timidness. 

“Yeah if that’s what you want.” He nods, giving you his charming, dimpled smile. 

You take his hand, leading him down the hallway to Jeonghan’s room. But before you enter you send a text to Jeonghan, asking if it was ok to stay in his room for a bit. He replies promptly saying that it was fine and to drink the water in his mini fridge if you needed to. After reading that you had permission to enter, you bring both you and Cheol into the room, closing the door promptly behind you.

“You feeling better in here Y/N?” Seungcheol inquires, grabbing a water from the mini fridge and handing it to you. You simply nod, grabbing the water from his and taking a sip. 

“Yeah thank you, it was getting really hot out there. Thank god Hannie always keeps his room freezing cold.” You shrug before taking another sip of your water as you sit down on his bed. You admire Seungcheol as he walks toward you, his tight shirt highlighting his muscular biceps, veins running down his forearms. You mentally shake yourself to stop the drool from dripping past your lips. 

He towers over you, standing in front of you as you sit on the bed. You clear your throat before putting the water bottle down on the bedside table. Seungcheol grabs a piece of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, his hand moving down slowly to get ahold of your jaw. His grip is firm but gentle, forcing you to look up at him from where you sit. You gulp, frozen, his actions not clear enough for you to predict what he’ll do next. 

“You have been teasing me a whole lot while you were dancing, did you know that princess?” He asks, looking down at you while he runs his thumb over your lip, pulling it down slightly.

He relinquishes his hold from your face, going to sit beside you on the bed. Your heart beats out of your chest as your eyes meet his. Seungcheol’s pupils are enlarged, his brown eyes lidded with lust. You aren’t sure what to do, but whatever he has planned you really wouldn’t be opposed to any of it. Although you were having fun dancing with him, a part of you knew if you kept on grinding against him like that, his self-restraint would break. 

The muffled music and the sound of your heavy breaths are the only things to be heard in the room. You bite your lip, not sure how to answer him, your cheeks heating with a little embarrassment, apprehension, and excitement.

 “No Cheol I didn’t mean to,” you murmur, your face dangerously close to his. He shakes his head with a chuckle.

“Didn’t mean to what? Get me hard from having you grinding on me like that?” he retorts, his hand comes up to grip your cheek, squishing it between his thumb and forefingers. “I think you did mean to, I only have so much self-control princess.”  

He lets go of his grip on you, caressing the spot on your cheek where he pressed his thumb. With one swift motion, he grips your hips and pulls you onto his lap, moving your thighs to straddle his. You yelp due to how quickly he got you into the position, your skirt riding up once again. 

“Mm.. Maybe just a little bit, I guess I got caught up in the moment…” you admit shyly, averting his hard gaze as you play with the hem of your skirt. 

“Well your actions have consequences sweetheart, so what are you gonna do about it?” He whispers into your ear. A shiver runs down your spine, and the feeling of his hot breath fanning your face causes the heat to pool in your core, staining your panties. 

“Cheollie…” you whimper, his hands back on your hips, his grip tightening with every second that passes. Embarrassed, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, not wanting to look him in the eyes. You were just so embarrassed at how turned on you are, the feeling of his body so close to yours has your walls lining with arousal. 

“You gonna fix what you did princess?” He continues to whisper to you, making you feel like you two are the only people in the entire house. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly has you leaning more into his touch, his fingertips leaving sparks as he continues. You nod into where you buried your face into his neck. 

“With words.” His tone is firm and another shiver runs through you, but instead, it runs straight through your hot core. His hands now running over your bare thighs, squishing them ever so slightly, as he admires how they look smushed onto his lap. 

“I’ll fix it, I want to.” You whisper as you look down at his full lips, your arms moving to wrap around his neck. “I really want you right now Cheollie…” 

“I want you too, are you sure princess?” He asks, keeping a safe distance until he receives some verbal consent from you. 

“Yes, I want it please.” You’re practically begging, whimpering as you lean in closer, your nose touching his. 

Lost in his scent, you can feel the blood rush to your head at how close you are to him right now. His hands gripping onto your waist, his lips so close to yours but still not touching. The alcohol,  your beating heart, his touch, it’s making your head dizzy with arousal. You wanted this so bad and you didn’t know much you needed it up until this point. Out of all the people you’ve been with before, nothing compares to how much you’re own best friend is turning you on right now. Something about him intoxicates you way more than the two shots you downed less than half an hour ago. 

With that last thought, Seungcheol finally crashes his lips into yours. The moment he felt your lips on top of his it was like a fire ignited in him, one that he couldn’t seem to light properly till you. He’s only been kissing you for less than a minute but you’ve already got him hooked. He knows that theres going to be no one after you. The feeling of your body against his is making all the blood rush down to his dick. 

You place your hands on both his cheeks, pushing him into your face even more. Tasting the remnants of alcohol on his tongue, the flavour of him and what he drank making you whimper into the kiss. Seungcheol pushes his tongue into your mouth, exploring the softness of your lips. You couldn’t comprehend how delicious it is to kiss Seungcheol, like he was some nectar you’ve been deprived of all your life. 

He groans as he feels you grind your clothed heat against his growing erection, the friction causing his head to spin. Gripping your hips even tighter, he continues you to kiss you with while moving your hips back and forth with ease. The hard motions causing you to pull back to let out a moan. 

“Haven’t even touched you properly and you’re already moaning like that…” Seungcheol groans, kissing up exposed cleavage and collarbones. “Fuck angel you’ll be the death of me.”

He adores the corset you have on, the fact that your tits practically spilling out right in front of his face made his dick even harder for you. 

“Mmmph, Cheol please…” You whine as he continues to suck on your exposed skin, leaving red marks all over. Gripping on his biceps to stabalize yourself, the feeling of him sucking harshly on your soft skin makes your eyes roll back. As you continue to grind on him you could feel him growing harder underneath you, it nudges against your cunt but barely, teasing you even further. 

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” He chuckles against your skin, leaving kisses along your neck and face. 

“I need you to fuck me please…” You beg, your eyebrows scrunching in frustration, the kissing and grinding just isn’t enough for you. 

“Are you sure princess?” He asks slowly, trying to make sure that is something you really want. You look into his soft brown eyes with desperation, nodding to let him know that you need him right now. 

“I do I do please Cheol, cant take this teasing anymore.” you complain, grinding your hips to urge him to take you already.

“You’re a needy little slut aren’t you darling?” He smirks, placing his lips on yours once again. This time he doesn’t hold back with his actions, untying your corset from the back before taking it completely off you. He groans into the kiss as he places his hands your breasts, playing and tweaking with your pebbled nipples. You moan into his mouth as you feel him grope at your chest, fondling them in his hands expertly. 

“P-please I need you now Cheol,” you whine harder, gripping onto his strands of blond hair, trying to ground yourself in this moment of increasing pleasure. His lack of touch where you need him most is frustrating you, he may be sucking on your tits but you want him to be sucking on your clit instead. 

You’re irritation forces you to seek relief for yourself, your hand snaking down past the bottom of your skirt, pushing your thong to the side. Placing your fingers on your sticky clit you let out a sastified moan. Cheol catches on quickly to your attempt to pleasure your self. You barely got to go in a full circle on your throbbing bud before he throws you onto the bed, laying you on your stomach. Dizzy from the sudden change in positions, you yell out a yelp as he forces your skirt cladded ass in the air. 

“What a naughty girl you are…” Cheol mutters to himself. 

He tugs at your skirt so it bunches up around your hips, exposing your bare ass for him. Smirking to him self, he starts to caress the supple skin, that is until he brings his hand back to slap your ass with full force. It was so agressive that it jiggles from the impact, leaving a read hand mark on the soft surface. 

“Ah! Cheol please ‘m sorry, didn’t meant to touch m-myself,” you cry out, the tears stinging your eyes. The cries turning into moans as he continues to smack your ass one…two… three times… until its too much for you to count. You’ve never been hit like this before but you can’t deny how good it feels. 

“This is what happens when you act like a fucking whore princess.” He chuckles, rubbing your hand print covered skin, trying to soothe you. “Tell me you wont touch yourself without my permission again.” 

“I-I wont, p-promise. Please Cheollie I need you.” You blubber, the tears falling down your face. He hasn’t even touched your needy pussy and you’re already a mess for him. 

Seungcheol is satisfied at how pliant you’ve become, crying and apologizing for him like a good girl. He thinks of all the things he wants to do to you, but ultimately he decides to reward you first. You had taken his slapping so obediently, he thought, wanting to giving you a prize for enduring him. So he turns you around, your back against the mattress, legs spread wide apart for him. He finally gets a good look at your face, becoming more satisfied seeing that the tears are staining your make up, your nose red, and your eyebrows knotted in sexual frustration as you pout for him. Cute, he thought. 

“Dont worry baby, i’ll eat you so good you’ll forget all about the pain.” He laughs as he lowers himself until he’s face to face with your heat. His warm breath fanning against your folds. His hands gripping your thighs tightly, keeping you spread for him. He licks his lips, wetting them before he indulges into your hot cunt. 

Your underwear already pushed aside, he begins to lick a long fat strip against your wet lips. Letting out a wanton moan, you hold onto his hair, your thighs trying to close but his grip only becoming more tense. 

“Fuck Cheol… so good.” you moan out, your eyes rolling back with pleasure. He hums against your core, sending vibrations. His actions continue to make your walls build up with more arousal. You’re so immersed in the feeling of his tongue, he decides to take it up a notch. Choking on air, you feel him insert a finger into your dripping hole, hooking it so it rubs against that spot that sends you into heaven. As his finger slides in and out of you, he suckles on your bundle of nerves. This is the moment you begin to see stars, and you start to feel that familiar build up below your stomach. Cheol adds another finger, picking up his pace a little bit. 

“Hmmph Cheol please… need to cum.” you beg him, and he speeds up. He speeds up so much you almost black out. Screaming his name, he puts all his force into getting you to the edge, it makes your toes curl. And then its gone. 

“What the fuck?” you ask him, you face flushed from the moments before, but also with frustration. He can only smirk at you as he licks his fingers clean, his jaw wet with your arousal. Seungcheol’s eyes darken as he takes in your small frame below him, your wetness still glistening off his chin. His cat ears long gone, you admire his muscular build as he begins to take off his clothing. 

“Just wanted to see you come on my cock…” He mumbles, lining up his member with your entrance. Its large and the girth of it causes your breath to catch in your throat. You’re a little scared how much of it is going to fit without it stinging, but at this point you can’t bring yourself to care. All you want him to do now is to fuck you dumb. 

Seungcheol’s self control is thinning second by second, he wants to take his time with you. Playing with you till his touch is burned into your skin. Till his length is burned in your pussy’s memory. So he teases you more, rubbing the tip of his hard member against your  dripping folds. He loves how he can hear your lips squelch with every movement he makes. 

Savouring the feeling of his cock head bumping into your clit, he places his hands on the mattress beside your waist. He moves his hips back and forth, letting his length glide against your lips but never going into your needy hole. The underside of his dick nestled within your folds, hitting your clit with each thrust. 

“Oh hmph… Cheollie please… inside please.” you moan salaciously, as you peak at how his cock is rubbing you. It looks so pornographic you almost come just at the sight of all. 

“Sorry baby, I just want to savour you for a bit.” He apologizes, his voice wavering as pleasure radiates through his body. The pre cum beading off the tip of his hardness. He relents his teasing, pulling back a bit to sit on the back of his heels. He stares at your knotted brows, the anticipation clearly written all over your face. Chuckling to himself he enters your tight cunt in one go. “So fucking tight for me…” 

“Cheol!” you yell his name, your legs held up to your chest by his large hands, folding you in half. 

“Holy fuck princess, your pussy is perfect.” He praises into your ear while moving in and out of your entrance with ease. You clench around him after hearing him compliment you, your brain going blank with pleasure. The feeling of his cock makes you dizzy, especially with how perfectly he fills you. His large member stretching your walls deliciously, the tip grazing against that one spot that makes you weak. 

“You love taking this cock like a little slut don’t you.” He mutters, letting go of your legs to put one against his shoulder.  You can only nod and make sounds of approval. 

Seungcheol admires the way his thick cock is spreading your entrance, making him groan. The white ring forming around the base of his dick makes his push into you faster. Your moans increase as you feel him speed up, the sounds of skin slapping fill the room. The echoing sounds of your wet pussy being filled by Seungcheol’s cock grows louder, making you even more horny than before. 

You are so fucked out, you couldn’t even form words of praise for him. The ridges of your walls being filled up by him is something you didn’t know you needed until now. 

That feeling you had in your chest on your way to Cheol’s place resurfaces, is this the night your friendship with him changes forever? You think to yourself while looking into his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching as you moan.

 The sight is so lewd, his member twitches inside your heat. He knows he’s close, but he doesn’t want this to end. As he continues to thrust into you, he can’t help but admire your beauty. Seungcheol was always aware that you’re an attractive person, but something about you being under him right now, drunk off his cock, basking in the moonlight that spills through the semi-closed curtain is really doing something to him. The feeling in his stomach only intensifies as he watches you moan his name deliriously. So fucking pretty, he thinks, the image of your coming undone burning into his memory. 

“You close princess?” He asks you, watching the way your legs are starting to shake a little. You nod as you look at him, silently pleading for him to make you cum. He flashes you a smile as his free hand goes to rub circles on your clit, continuing to piston in and out of your tightening hole. Eyes rolling with pleasure, your back arching off the bed as you lean into his touch even more. Clenching and then unclenching, your pussy is pulsing as it greedily sucks him in. 

Seungcheol curses under his breath at the grip you have around his hard length, your walls pulsating with each circle he rubs into your clit. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” he warns you. 

You smile at him mischeviously, repeating your actions again and again, watching his strokes becoming sloppier by the second. 

“Come inside me Cheol, wanna see it drip out after,” you beg him, staring at him through your eyelashes innocently. He doesn’t have to be told twice, his speed increasing once again. This shuts you up quickly, as you whine at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. You feel him twitch in you again, and you know he’s close, so are you. Letting go, you orgasm, letting the high wash over your whole body. Your orgasm triggers his, causing him to spurt his hot load into your spent pussy, creaming you. 

“That was…” you say with a sigh, the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. Seungcheol’s breathing is heavy, his cock still buried in your cunt, his cum starting to seep out of the edges of your folds. 

“Yeah it was.” He agress with you, finally pulling out. He takes a tissue from the bedside table, wiping off his softening member and then you. Kissing your forehead, he collects your clothes as well as his own. 

You watch his muscular back as he picks up each article of clothing. A cold shiver running down your spine as the realisation washed over you, causing your heart to skip. 

I just fucked my best friend, you thought to yourself. Your cheeks heat up profusely at how lustful you two became, but also your bashfulness turns into embarrassment and a little bit of worry. The talks you’ve had with Jeonghan and the others about hooking up with a close friend flood your mind. You know things like these never end well, but at the same time this isn’t just any other friend. This is Seungcheol, and for some reason you can’t pinpoint whether that’s a good or bad thing. 

Seungcheol finishes picking up everything off the floor, handing you your corset as he puts his own clothing on. You untie the strings and clasp the front parts easily, only to struggle with re-tightening the back. With a meek expression, you stand in front of Cheol with your back facing him. 

“Uh, do you think you can tighten the back for me.” your voice sounding small. He smirks at how shy you’ve become after the fact he fucked you shamelessly less than fifteen minutes ago. 

“Of course princess,” he leans in to whisper in your ear. His breath fanning against your neck, causing you to shiver visibly. He lets out a low chuckle before tying up your corset, his fingers gliding agaisnt your skin. The touch is hot but gentle, yet the feeling lingers for a few seconds. You can’t help but gulp, thinking about how just a few moments ago his grip was harsh and possessive. Before you could register what was happening next, he steps away, asking if you want to return to the party. 

“Thank you,” you mumble before taking his hand and leaving Jeonghan’s room. 

It isn’t long before you find the host of the party. He is leaning against the counter, laughing about something with Joshua. The party had dyed down considerably, the only people left were a part of your friend group. You leave Seungcheol’s side to go talk to Jeonghan. 

“Now where have you been?” Jeonghan asks as you walk up to him, his smirk increasing as the blush on your cheeks grow. Your eyes are wide, as if he caught you doing something you shouldn’t. 

“U-um well me and Cheol just hung out in your room for a bit, the party was getting overwhelming.” you mentally curse yourself for stuttering. 

“Uh huh… hanging out. So do I or do I not have to wash my sheets?” Jeonghan presses, smiling deviously at how your mouth opens and then closes. Your eyes are wide with embarrassment, you can feel the heat radiate off your entire face. 

“Jeonghan!” You squeak, before grabbing his arm to pull him aside, leading him away from curious ears. “Ok yes, please wash your sheets. I’m sorry I don't know what happened, one thing just led to the next… and then yeah.”

You admit to your actions, feeling guilty for staining your best friend's sheets. Your eyes are glued to your twiddling thumbs, waiting for his response. Jeonghan laughs, he laughs. A hearty, bent over clutching his stomach type of laugh. 

“Fucking finally, oh my god Y/N. Sorry but it was bound to happen, you should've seen the way he was looking at you tonight. I swear to god if you didn’t fuck him anytime soon he was going to eat you whole.” He giggles, his hand on your shoulder to support himself, as he tries not to double over again. 

“W-what?” You’re confused, you weren’t really sure why Jeonghan said all that, from what you can remember Cheol was acting perfectly normal. 

“You really are so oblivious aren’t you Y/Nie.” He sighs as he pats your head. “I’m just glad you got that out of your system, you haven’t gotten laid in so long.” 

“Hey! You don’t have to say it like that…” you pout, “Hannie, I don’t know what to do now though? Frankly, I’m scared, this is obviously going to change things…” 

“You’ll be fine, trust me. Just talk to him, it’s only Seungcheollie after all.” He comforts you, and it admittedly it does help. You knew if there was anyone you could talk to about this it would be Jeonghan. 

“Ok, I’m going to his place after anyways. Thanks, Hannie. Also please don’t tell Soonyoung and Hao…” You plead. 

“Don’t worry darling, your secret is safe with me.” He smiles softly, pinching your cheek. You give him a hug, thankful you have someone to lean on when you’re feeling distraught. Especially because you can’t get advice about Cheol from Cheol, even if he’s your best friend too. 

“Y/N let’s go home?” Seungcheol interrupts your embrace with Jeonghan. You pull away and his mouth is pressed into a thin line, the possessiveness obvious to anyone but you. Jeonghan playfully kisses your forehead, knowing how much it will piss Seungcheol off. 

“Ok, bye Hannie, I’ll see you on Monday ok?” you wave goodbye as Seungcheol takes your hand in his. 

“Bye Y/N, i’ll speak to you later Seungcheollie. Get home safely you two.” He smirks, eyes connecting with Cheol. His face is hard with an unreadable emotion, he only nods at Jeonghan’s statement before leading you two to the front door. 

You bid your friends farewell as you walk towards the entrance of the house, your eyes drifting over to see the drunken tiger sleeping peacefully on Minghao’s shoulder. You wave goodbye to him as well before you’re engulfed by the chilly fall wind. 

It’s quiet as you continue on the path to his apartment, your footsteps echoing along the pavement. The city lights shine all around you, the moon gleaming in the dark sky. It really is a perfect day for Halloweekend, you think, hearing the cars zip past you along the street. It is nearing 2 a.m., and the streets are not as busy as they were while you were on the way here.  

“You’re not too cold right?” Seungcheol asks awkwardly with his hands in his pocket. 

“A little but it’s only a couple blocks till your place so it’s ok…” you mumble, aware of the stiff atmosphere. He only nods before wrapping his arm around your shoulders, sharing his body heat with you. As you two stride down the pavement, you lean into his touch more. The silence between you two becomes more comfortable, admiring the scenery even more as you’re wrapped in his warmth. 

VII. 

The morning after you lay peacefully asleep on Cheol’s king sized bed. Your breathing steady as Seungcheol observes your soft features. Without even thinking his actions through, he pushes your hair so it’s not in your face. He takes in the way your brows are scrunching, the pout clear on your face even in your sleep. Cute, he thought. 

It was a normal occurrence for you two to sleep in the same bed, platonically. A tradition that carried on from your child sleep overs to adulthood. 

Reminiscing about the events from last night, Seungcheol feels a tug at his heart, he’s confused. Never have you two been that intimate with each other before, and he’s surprised at how much he’s thinking about what happened. The visions of you under him playing over and over again in his brain. This is the first time he has hooked up with someone thats made him think about his actions so intensely. But knowing that its you, out of all people, complicates his feelings even more.Yet he still forces himself to acknowledge the fact that your friendship has changed, but he’s still not sure if it’s good or bad. 

⌗ 𓂃 flash back to seungcheol’s freshman year. 

beep. beep. 

With a heavy heart Seungcheol hangs up the facetime call. You had to go to sleep early, and he only hung up a few minutes ago, but he already misses you. 

The emptiness of his apartment was harrowing. The silence began to amplify, and the lack of noise caused his ears to buzz. The steadiness of his breath was the only sound keeping him grounded in his forlorn reality. 

In his 18 years of life, he has never felt more alone. He was in his first year at University, in a different city full of strangers. Most importantly, he was thousands of miles away from you. You had been with Cheol for the better part of his life, and not having you close was a foreign feeling for him. 

Pulling out his journal, he begins to write every single thought and feeling down, just needing a way to let go of all of his feelings. Telling you up front was scary for him, he didn’t want to burden you with his problem especially since you had many of your own. 

It’s your last year and highschool and when you two were on the phone talking, it was mostly when you were studying for your next test or something along those lines. 

Seungcheol wished that he could tell you everything that he held in his heart but it was just something he couldnt bring himself to do. You seemed so stressed and busy trying to make sure you were able to get into the same university as him, that he just didn’t want to add on to the baggage that you were already carrying. 

The familiar pang in his heart resurfaced once again, it ached in a way he couldn’t really describe. The feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar as well as being around unfamiliar people just made him feel so alone, secluded. It started out with a simple ‘dear y/n’. 

Dear Y/n, 

Today was just like the previous ones. I spent most of my time adjusting to my classes, going over lectures, and like every other day, I still miss you. I actually met someone new today, his name is Jeonghan, and I don't really like him all that much. Although he’s not my favourite person in the world he seems to make me feel less alone. His constant need to pester me about the dumbest things remind me so much of you. He has a childish attitude and I think you two would get along really well. Although in front of him I show distaste for his antics, I'm still thankful that he keeps me company. I wish I could just tell you what’s happening but I want to stay strong. I want to stay strong so that when you get here I can be the one you lean on. I want to be the one that you can talk to when you become overwhelmed with your first year. 

Just because I feel this way right now doesn’t mean that you have to go through the same things as me. I just want you by my side. So hurry up and graduate so i can finally see you in person again. 

Always yours, 

Cheol. 

⌗ 𓂃 end of flashback. 

Before he could wake you up for breakfast, his phone chimes with a notification. He picks up his phone, reading the name only to roll his eyes after, “Yoon Jeonghan”. 

“Had fun last night Cheollie?” Jeonghan chuckles over the line, Seungcheol can already invision the smirk on Han’s lips.

“So much Jeonghan. Why do you ask.” Seungcheol says sarcastically as he gets up to leave the room, not wanting to wake you up from the phone call. 

“Im going to need you to send me $50.” Seungcheol scoffs at this. 

“The fuck? Why?” He presses, pinching the bridge of his nose, he can already feel the headache coming on. 

“Because you and Y/n stained my sheets. Obviously.” Jeonghan says smugly. 

Cheol rolls his eyes once again, he can already envision the look on Jeonghan’s face. He should’ve expected that Y/n told him. He wasn’t mad at her, but he knows that Jeonghan is never going to let this go. He sighs, it was the right thing to do, he literally fucked you on Jeonghan’s bed. 

“Fine fine, just don’t call me again. I hear your voice enough at school as it is.” Seungcheol grumbles, knowing that even though he warns him, Jeonghan will continue to do what he wants. Cheol curses you in his head silently, wondering why a sweet girl like you became friends with the devil’s spawn. 

“So…you gonna finally tell Y/n you’re in love with her?” Jeonghan asks in a non-chalant manner. 

“Jeonghan. I’m not in love with her.” 

“Sure you’re not…but I’m sure you’re pissed as hell knowing Wonwoo was admiring her all night.” Jeonghan teases, causing Seungcheols ears to heat up. He noticed it too, the way Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on you for an abnormal amount of time. Multiple times that night Seungheol had caught him staring . 

“Whatever man, Y/n is my best friend. I want it to stay that way.” Seungcheol huffs before hanging up, the agitation never leaving his body. Agitated at Jeonghan for spitting nonsense and agitated at Wonwoo for looking at you so intensely last night. He doesn’t know why the latter has him so worked up, but he can’t shake the feeling off so easily. 

On the otherside of the door, you stand there, your heart sinking all the way down to your feet. You woke up shortly after Seungcheol went to pick up his call but decided to stay in bed a little longer. Now you’re fully awake, trying to keep your eyes dry after hearing the words that your best friend just uttered. 

It shouldn’t even hurt this much, you think. You know that all you’ll ever be is Seugncheols best friend, but why did it feel like you have just been hit by a ton of bricks? 

Before you could finish your thoughts the door slowly creaks open, so you blink away your unshed tears, coming face to face with your Seungcheol. 

“Oh. Didn’t know you were awake.” Seungcheol’s eyes are wide, he’s wondering if you overheard his call with Jeonghan. 

“Y-yeah I just came from the washroom.” You stutter. A wave of relief washes over Seungcheol. 

Whilst talking to Jeonghan over the phone, it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone that he doesn’t have feelings for you. It was like the words were practically being forced out of his mouth. The guilt was knawing at him, but why? Why should Seungcheol feel guilty for telling the truth? You’re Y/n, his bestfriend Y/n. The Y/n he fucked deep into Jeonghan’s mattress last night… 

“I feel like we should talk about last night…” He says after his train of thoughts. 

Wide eyed and rosy cheeked, you didn’t expect him to bring up the events of last night so early on. The visions of you and Cheol tangled in the sheets of Jeonghan’s bed starting to leak their way back into the forefront of your memory. 

Instead of saying anything more, you just nod. Making your way to his couch, sitting at the corner where the back of the couch and armrest connected. Seungcheol follows suit. He looks serious, lips press into a thin line, eyeing you for some type of indicator that you feel the tension as much as he does. 

“About last night…” you begin, not sure how you want to proceed, but you continue to talk anyways, “Did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

With that question, your heart stops momentarily, preparing for Seungcheol to tell you how much he regretted what happened. 

“I did like it. But I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship Y/n. You’re my best friend.” Seungcheol confesses, you’re nerves put at ease momentarily. He keeps repeating those dreaded words ‘You’re my best friend’. 

With every breath you take its like a stab in the chest. 

“If you regret it that’s ok. We can just leave it in the past, but I just want to be honest with you Cheol…” you gulp, trying to find the right words to express how you feel,

“I’ve never felt that good before, and if there was some way we could arrange something between us. I wouldn’t be opposed.” You finally huff out. Gnawing anxiously at the inside of your cheek, you wait for his response. 

Seungcheol’s heart skips a beat,  he’s quick to agree. “I’m ok with that.” 

“I-Wait? Really? You wanna do this…?” you’re dumbfounded. 

The man of reason himself, is agreeing to a friends with benefits situation. Huh?

Seungcheol is someone who is very aware of how “FWB” tends to ruin friendships, but he can’t resist this opportunity. Especially after last night. 

“I do. I would be lying if I said I didn’t want a round two of what happened at the party… but if we want to do this I feel like there should be some rules.” He concluded. 

VIII. 

“So you are and Seungcheol are fuck buddies now?!” Jeonghan exclaims, you try your best not to slap the incredulous look off his face in the middle of the student union centre. 

“Oh my god why don’t you just tell the whole world while you’re at it,” you seethe, shoving his shoulder lightly as he leans over the table, forcing him to sit back in his chair. His sandwich long forgotten. 

Jeonghan has known the feelings you’ve secretly harboured for Seungcheol for years now. He expected that after what happened at his halloween party you and Seungcheol would finally confess to each other. What he didn’t expect were for the you to do to the exact opposite. I’m surrounded by idiots, he thought to himself.

“You two are the stupidest people alive I swear…” he mutters under his breath. You’re close enough to pick up what he said, giving him a glare from across the table. 

That previous saturday morning you and Seungcheol hashed out the details of you’re enhanced friendship. It was a pretty simple set of rules: 

No strings attached. If one person catches feelings then the agreement is null and void. 

The “relationship” is strictly exclusive. No fucking other people. 

No one is to know about this. Exception: Jeonghan. 

There wasn’t really a point hiding anything from Jeonghan, even if Seungcheol was against him knowing, he knew that Jeonghan would find out one way or another. 

“We’ve been friends for so long Hannie, this is just an added bonus.” You tell him, although a small part of you knows you’re convincing yourself more than anyone.

“Good afternoon to you all.” A cheerful voice interrupts your conversation. Soonyoung walks towards your table with a cheeky smile on his face. Minghao trails behind him, looking exhausted. 

“Ah so the tiger finally is out of his den huh?” Jeonghan chuckles, referring to Hoshi’s weekend long recovery after the halloween party. The three of them took time out of their saturday nursing Hoshi back to health. 

“Well what can I say? You can’t keep me tame for long.” He practically growls. Minghao side-eyes him, the look of disgust and worry painted all over his face. 

“...Ok! So what were you two whispering about?” Minghao asks, wanting to stray as far away from the tiger discourse as fast as possible. 

“It wasn’t anything important. Well would you look at the time! Jeonghan we gotta go or we’ll be late to our class.” You try to avoid the conversation, the guilt start to boil in your stomach. 

Of course you wanted let Minghao and Soonyoung know what’s going on, but it’s just not a good idea. Especially after having a mutual agreement with Seungcheol not to tell anyone, other than Jeonghan. The more people know, the more blown out of proportion things could get. 

“Well thats my queue, see you two love birds later!” Jeonghan waves at the two frenemies, knowing it would piss Hao off. 

“Hey! Yoon Jeonghan come back here!” You can hear Minghao yelling from across the room as you tug Jeonghan along. The only thing he does is throw his head back laughing, while Soonyoung looks around cluelessly. 

IX. 

“So what should our research proposal be?” Wonwoo asks, looking at you for ideas. 

After entering class the professor allowed time for partners to start brainstorming for the midterm project. With everything that has happened during the weekend you hardly had time to think about school again. You actively recall the events in your head, thinking about the way Seungcheol towered over you. The thought of it all causing your cheeks to heat. 

“Y/n? You still there?” Wonwoo calls out for you, waving his hand in front of your face. 

Your eyes go wide, and you shake your head slightly, waking up from your self induced trance. Wonwoo on the other hand looked confused. 

“Yeah I was just thinking about something.” you mumble, your cheeks blushing even further. The fact that you were thinking about fucking Seungcheol while you were trying to work on a project made you feel bad for Wonwoo. Clearly you weren’t focused on the task at hand, which was more important than your mid-day fantasies. 

“Oh ok. Anyways what do you think about doing child development and growing up with pets?” Wonwoo looks for your reaction, trying to gage whether you thought it was a good idea or not. 

Internally, Wonwoo became curious on what has taken up half of your attention. He finds you interesting to say the least, and pretty. He doesn’t know why it took him so long to realize how fun you are to be around, but a part of him wants to get to know you more. The other part conflicted, knowing that all your friends believe that you and Seungcheol are meant to be. Yet he can’t help but wonder if he could be the one to make you fall instead of Cheol. 

“That actually sounds really interesting! I'm down to do that.” You smile at him, thankful he’s a good partner, and not someone who just makes you do all the work. 

“Perfect. Honestly I’m glad I have you as a partner Y/n. You’re a lot better than the ones I’ve had in the past.” He confesses, putting a hand on your shoulder, his warm smile causing you to blush hard. 

You glance over at his hand, before looking up at him once more. Wonwoo is an attractive man, you can admit that much. The time you spend with him is enjoyable to say the least, but to you he’s like any other guy friend you have. Seungcheol being the one exception, who has been on your mind since you’ve met him. A man who’s been able to woo you since you were kids, in the most silent and gentle ways too. 

You leave your train of thought to answer Wonwoo once more. 

“Y-yeah same! We’ve had the same friends but for some reason we were never that close. Maybe we can change that.” You return his friendly affection. At least that’s what it seems like to you, friendly affection. 

“I’d like that a lot actually. I'm sure you’d be better company than the boys, or at least cleaner.” He laughs. You laugh along with him, not really thinking much of his words. 

…

Seungcheol was annoyed, he watches the way you and Wonwoo are laughing together. The blood in his veins already starting to curdle and boil. Who does Wonwoo think he is? His habit of wanting to be around you at all times kicks in once more. 

Cheol is aware of his possessive tendencies, but he doesn’t ever admit about them out loud. It wouldn’t be fair to speak on your actions when you aren’t dating him romantically. Although he convinces himself he’s only your best friend, he can’t help but refuse to push aside his jealousy of seeing Wonwoo spend time with you when it should be him instead. 

“You know Wonwoo isn’t going to spontaneously combust the longer you look at him. You’re going to have to try a different tactic.” Jeonghan mutters beside him, trying not to laugh at Seungcheol. 

“I dont know what you’re talking about.” Seungcheol crosses his arms, pouting, looking like a cranky child who didn’t get his way. He knows Jeonghan is right but he can’t help but try to blow up the whole lecture hall in his mind. 

“Oh please, cut the act Cheollie. We both know you’re jealous of them. Wonwoo isn’t even doing anything and Y/n seems to already be falling for his charms.”

“Jeonghan whatever you have planned I don’t want to be apart of it.” Seungcheol quips, but he can still see the mischievous grin begin to form on Jeonghan’s face within his peripheral vision. 

“What plan?” Jeonghan gasps, putting his hand over his chest, feigning an insulted expression. Trying to keep up the act, as if  Cheol didn’t have him all figured out. 

…

“Thanks for today Wonwoo!” You beam at him, sitting up from your desk to collect your things. He smiles back at you, the crescent shape of his eyes emphasizing. 

“Maybe next time we can go to a cafe for our next study session?” He suggests, looking at you for a sign of approval. 

“Yeah that sounds like fun actually!” You agreed, feeling happy that you’re partner is actually wanting to put in the work for once. “Anyways, I gotta go meet up with Cheol, see you soon!” 

“See you Y/n.” He smiles at you politely, like always, and you find it quite endearing. 

You wave him one last goodbye before finishing up packing your things, and putting your laptop in your bag. 

“Y/nie!” Jeonghan calls out for you, standing by the door with Seungcheol.

You turn around and spot them, waving at them with excitement. Focusing more on your best friend than the person who called your name. His blond hair flowed, the tight polo shirt hugging his large biceps. You drooled inwardly, trying not to get caught practically eye-fucking him. 

He catches you staring at him, smirking at you as you continue to get closer. Pulling you in by the waist he hugs you. This caught you off guard, Cheol was never one for affection in public. Even as friends, it’s always been within privacy, unless there was some type of special occasion. 

“Always wearing a tight little skirt for me aren’t you princess?” He whispers in your ear, causing you to blush. 

 Oh. His voice is low enough that you’re the only one that can hear him. So this is why he hugged you? Because of the outfit you have on? You really hadn’t thought much of it, the skirt didn’t seem short in your own opinion, but you became flustered knowing it was turning him on. 

“Y/n and I gotta do something, see you later Jeonghan.” Seungcheol dismisses him quickly, tugging you past the lecture doors without another word. 

You begin to follow him down the long corridors of your University, pushing past crowds of people as they all herd towards their next class. The opposition of the two of you moving in the other direction causing you to bump into each person you pass. A string of ‘‘excuse me’s’’ and “sorry’s” leaving your lips. The handsome and strong man pulling you by your waist doesn’t care who he bumps into, his mind only on one thing and one thing only. 

It happens all within a blink of an eye, and before you can become fully aware of what’s going on, you find yourself in an empty classroom. The door locks with a click behind you. 

“Did you enjoy your study session with Wonwoo?” Seungcheol inquires out of nowhere, feigning nonchalance. Just saying his name is starting to piss him off. Yes he sees Wonwoo as a friend, but he wants you to only see Wonwoo that way too. 

“It was normal…why?” you’re suspicious. Since when did he care about the fact that you’re partners with Wonwoo? You wonder to yourself, but he continues to try and close the distance between you two. 

“I could see the way he was looking at you, even though I was across the room.” He huffs, like a spoiled child who was told to share. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Cheol.” you sighed. “Sounds like you’re jealous.” 

Your heart skips a beat as you utter those words. If Seungcheol is jealous of Wonwoo what does that mean for the two of you? Does he wants you more than as someone to press into his mattress each night? You pondered it for a moment, but you’re highly doubtful of that being the case. It just can’t be, Seungcheol grew up as an only child, he probably just doesn’t like to share, you try to justify. 

“Jealous? Baby of course I’m jealous. I don’t like to share.” He scoffs, fuck not voicing out my jealousy, he thinks. It’s like you were reading his mind.  

He begins striding his way over to you till your back is pressed against the desk behind you. 

“It’s not like we were going to hook up, he’s my partner?” It was your turn to scoff at him, trying to ignore your pulse quickening as his face inches closer to yours. 

Seugncheol looks down at your lips, admiring how your teeth graze against them as you bite down. He likes that he has an effect on you, especially with knowing that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Just thinking about being the only one making you come causes the blood to flow down straight to his already hardening member. 

Placing his large hands on your hips, he tugs you closer to him. A gasp leaves your lips as you feel his hard on against your thigh. Your eyes staring up at him, admiring how he is towering over you, the stern look on his face causing warmth to pool at your core. You’ve always loved how much larger he is compared to you, his shoulders and arms enclosing you completely. 

“That better be all he is to you angel, this pussy is mine.” He mutters against your neck, trailing kisses on your delicate skin. As your eyes roll back, you whimper, relishing in the feeling of his lips and the tightness of his grip on your waist. 

He pulls you on to the desk, causing you to sit, your legs spread wide enough for him to slip in between. Caressing your exposed thighs, he can’t help but let out a groan as he feels the softness of your skin. Everything about you and your body made his head dizzy with lust, especially when you look at him so innocently with anticipation. You’re alway so eager for his next move. 

“I love how wet this pussy gets for me. Barely touched you and you’re already soaked” He mumbles, grazing a finger ahaisnt your underwear clad wetness. The feeling of his fingers make your knees weak, and he hasn’t even put them inside you. He continues to move his fingers against you while kissing you tenderly. After what happened at Jeonghan’s, Seugncheol has been dying to get his hands on you again, savouring the taste of your lips even more. 

The smack of your lips moving against his fill the quiet classroom. It was so eerily silent through out the room that you become paranoid that someone might catch you two. Knowing how much your reputation matters for your scholarship, you wonder what the reparations would be caught having sex in public. 

“Hmm Cheol.” You whine, but your legs spread further instead of shutting closed. “We’re at school, we can’t be doing this.” 

Your brain is fogged by his touch even as you try to think rationally. With every kiss and every stroke of his finger, your mind begins to slip into a state of pleasure. The outside world becoming a muted background as Seungcheol is pulled further into the forefront of your mind. 

“But look at you all needy. Would you rather I just leave you like this?” He practically purred into your ear, licking up the side of your neck as he sucks behind your ear. The hotness of his breath and the heat of his kisses makes you give in to him completely. 

Fuck it felt so dirty being here, but you can’t bring yourself to ask him to stop. 

“This pussy needs tending to doesn’t it baby?” He chides, his tone of voice causing to whine against him once more. You decide to let your morals go for just one moment, spreading your legs further, giving him full access to where you needed him most. 

Instead of staying anything more, he takes the opportunity to press his lips against yours once again. The urgency of the kiss causing you to moan against his mouth, feeling the way his tongue pushes past your lips, caressing your mouth with passion and vigour. 

His hand snaking their way down to your skirt, pulling off your lace underwear without any hesitation. You lift your hips to ease their removal, excited to feel his fingers fill you.

 As he pushes a finger in, you gasp into his mouth, the squelch of your wetness echoes within the walls of the classroom. His finger pumps your hot pussy, your core clenching and unclenching with each thrust of his hand. Seungcheol continues to add more fingers until he’s able to fit up to three comfortably. Your moans never ceasing for a single moment, the euphoria of his long digits massaging your soft spot causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. 

“Want you.” You somehow were able to voice out, begging him for his length to fill you instead. 

“Be clear with your words princess. I’m already giving myself to you.” He plays dumb, continues you finger you as his thumb circles your clit. 

“I want you inside me please.” You let out another moan, the stimulation of him pumping his fingers into you, while rubbing your sensitive bud has your mind going blank. 

“I am inside you love.” He chuckles, enjoying you beg for him. His member straining against his jeans. Seungheol could continue this for hours, but he knows the moment you ask, he’ll be fucking you with his hard length instead. 

“Want your cock please Choelie” You whine louder, your hands making their way to unbuckle his belt. 

“Good girl, thats what I wanted to hear.” He mutters against your neck, finally moving his hands away from your body to remove his jeans. 

The absence of his fingers make you whine, but you’re quickly silenced by the feeling of his thick length pushing past your wet pussy lips. It makes you gasp and lean black slightly, your arms locked at the elbow as you try to support yourself. 

“S-so good.” You’re words practically imcomprehensable as Seugncheol pumps himself inside and out of you. His length leaving your warmth only to push back into you fully once more. Over and over till a creamy ring appears at the base of his cock. 

“Who’s pussy is this princess?” He asks you, his hand making its way to your neck, holding onto you tight, but only enough to make your head go fuzzy. 

“Mmph Yours!” You sputter, only able to think about the way his hardness is caressing against that one spot against you. He hits it once more and before you know it you’re coming all over his length. 

“Fuck you’re so tight angel.” He praises you, snapping his hips till he’s filling you with his hot white seed. 

“Ah Cheol.” You call out slaciously, your head falling against his shoulder, tired from how hard he fucked you. 

“You’re always so good for me aren’t you?” He kisses your cheek as he takes a tissue from your bag to clean you up. 

Too tired to respond you let him take care of you, it causes your pulse to beat against your veins hard. Hiding your face in his chest, he helps you get dressed after your classroom quickie. 

You jump off the desk, his hand wrapping around you to ensure you don’t fall. Knees wobbling slightly you hold onto him for support. One thing you can’t seem to get over is how caring he is after he’s pumped you full of his come. In a fucked up way it makes you fall for him further. 

“You ok to walk?” he cautioned, not wanting you to fall to the ground. You only nod and simply wrap a hand around his bicep, stablizing you. 

“I’m fine, but can we go home now?” You murmur, placing a kiss on his cheek as an unspoken thank you. 

“Of course.” 

X. 

After getting home from school and Seungcheol’s place, you decide to give Jeonghan a call. You didn’t know how to feel about what happened today, especially after Seugncheol had expressed his jealousy for Wonwoo. Maybe it really isn’t that deep, but the fact he acted so possessive made your stomach flutter, but also confused you even more. 

Jeonghan is the only person who knows what’s been happening, so you turn to him in your time of need. What you didn’t expect was from him to yell into your ear instead. 

“Why are you fucking in a classroom, are you insane?!” Jeonghan yells at you through the speaker of his phone. Your cheeks turning a bright pink at his words. 

“Ok I know it was a bad idea, but its fine we didn’t get caught!” you try to justify your actions, but you agree it is pretty insane to fuck in a classrom, especailly during school hours. It was like you were possessed in the heat of the moment, nothing could’ve stopped you from letting Cheol fuck you. 

“Y/n you can’t just be making bad decisonms because you’re ‘H’ word!” He scolds you, sounding like your mother for a second. You can’t help but giggle at the fact that he hates saying the word horny. Jeonghan once telling you someone like him should never say such an ugly word. 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t even see you. You’re phonecall with him quickly turning into a lecture because of how hard he’s scolding you right now. 

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me young lady.” He warns you, causing you to jump and look around your room. You know hes not here but somehow you’re spooked. 

“You can’t even see me so how would you know?” You bite back defensively even though you know hes right. 

“Becaue I know you! Oh my Y/nie one day this whole situation is going to bite you in the ass. You and Cheol should jsut be responsible adults and confess already.” He groans, he isn’t even the one in this predicament and yet hes the frustrated one. 

“Ok Han, you were literally on call with him the morning after your party. You heard him! He only sees me as a friend.” You counter, not wanting to have to remind yourself that your best friend doesn’t like you back. 

“Oh please Y/nie, we both know he was lying out of his ass.” 

“How would you know? He sounded pretty confident to me.” You mutter, absentmindedly playing with the drawstring on your shorts. The scene continues to replay in your head, he obviously doesn’t like me, you think. You can still recall the way your heart stopped beating for a millisecond as you heard him utter those words. 

“You two are impossible.” Jeonghan sighs, thinking hard. And with that, it was like a lightbulb went off in his head, with a large ding and everything. “Y/nie don’t hate me but I have an idea.” 

“Huh? What is it?” 

“What if you try and make him jealous.” He chuckles, it’s soft but there was an evil sound to it all.  

“Jeonghan whatever idea you have brewing in the scheming head of yours, I dont want to hear it.” You warn him, already not liking where this is going. The thought of seeing Seugncheol jealous is intriguing indeed, but what happens if you realize you don’t even have that effect on him? It would be so embarrassing. 

“You’ll never know what could happen unless you try!” He concludes in a sing-song tone, you can already invision the menacing look on his face. 

“Hannie it’s so highschool, I don’t think it’d be smart to do something like that.” 

“Ok but you’ll fuck him on campus grounds?” He rebuttals, shutting you up quickly. 

“I-” You couldn’t even defend yourself. 

“Night Y/nie! See you tomorrow.” The line goes dead, and you curse out at your blank phone screen. Leave it up to Yoon Jeonghan to put bad ideas into your head. 

XI.

The next day you sit with Wonwoo in a coffee shop that is only a few minutes away from campus.The city had gotten more chilly with each day that passed, and the cafe was a perfect meeting place to do your project. The warm atmosphere enveloped yout two into a perfect working rhythm. Your partnership with Wonwoo was a lot better than the previous ones you’ve had for classes, you agree to spend the majority of your time going over what to add to the presentation, as well as how it should be presented. Hours felt like minutes, and you two ended up finished earlier than you had anticipated. 

“I’m so surprised how quickly we got through everything! We even finished everything early,” you rejoiced, happy that Wonwoo is such a productive partner. 

“Honestly we make a really good team.” Wonwoo compliments you, giving you that same polite smile. You end up blushing, his eyes staring at you with so much kindness. 

“I agree, hopefully we get paired up more for the rest of the semester.” You giggle, shying away from his gaze. 

As you spent more time with Wonwoo, you realized how nice it was to be around him. He makes a good friend, and he’s definitely a lot more than just the quiet guy in the group. His personality more complex than what you had previously assumed, and it makes you wonder why you two weren’t really all that close in the first place. The two of you have the same friends, take the same classes, and enjoy the same things. So what was the one thing blocking you two from becoming closer? 

“Well that’s all for today. I can walk you home.” He clears up his things, ready to leave the serene environment of the cafe, throwing away his cup along with yours. 

“Oh no you don’t have to! Cheol is actually going to pick me up!” You tell him, seeing his black BMW sitting idle in front of the cafe already. 

“Sounds good. Let me walk you out at least.” He gestures to the door, allowing you to walk in front of him. He follows you suit till you’re in front of Seungcheol’s car. “It was fun, I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?” 

“Yeah sure! I’ll be free.” You beam up at him, his frame towering over yours. 

The wind is blowing slightly, causing your hair to get in your face, whipping at your eyes. Wonwoo is quick to react, taking the strand and placing it softly behind your ear. The heat begins to crawl up your neck fast, making you realize how close you two are standing together. 

Wonwoo leans in a touch more to place a soft kiss on your cheek, and the blush on your face is definitely evident now. Before you can say more, hes walking away with one last good bye. Leaving you there standing with a shocked expression painted all over your face. Quickly you shake your head of what just happened before heading into Seungcheol’s car. 

“Were you two on a date?” His voice is stern, obviously pissed off at what he just witnessed. 

“...No just working on our project.” you say with a dazed look, watching Wonwoo's figure get smaller the farther he walks away. 

“Ok…but he kissed you on the cheek? I thought he was just your partner.” Cheol presses for answers, he really wasn’t impressed of having to witness such an intimate moment between you and Wonwoo. His blood curdling as the grip on his steering wheel tightens. The flesh on his knuckles turning a ghostly white.

“He is just my partner, I really don’t know why he did that.” You mutter as you try to recall all of the events that could’ve led up to this moment. It didn’t make sense to you, did Wonwoo have a crush on you or something? He’s never made any advances towards you before. So what changed that? 

“He obviously likes you. Do you like him back?” Seungcheol is too jealous for his own good. His pulse reaching new heights with how fast the blood was pumping through his veins. You can’t like Wonwoo, there’s just no way. Right?

“Well no. I see Wonwoo as a friend.” you admit, and the relief sped its way through Seungcheol’s body.

Although another side of him is wondering why it made him so angry to see Wonwoo act so flirtatious with you. He concludes that he just donesn’t like it when peoples are touching what’s his. Wonwoo’s his friend and you and Cheol are intimate with each other, it would just be weird for Wonwoo to try something with you too, at least that’s what Seungcheol says to himself as he tries to calm himself down. You’re his best friend, nothing more, he keeps repeating it in his head. And if you decide to break off the arrangement with him to date Wonwoo, then he can’t complain. 

“Oh. I see.” He mumbles as he starts the car again, taking the route to bring you back to your apartment. 

…

You and Seungcheol sit against your sofa watching a yet another ghibli movie. This time it is Kiki’s Delivery Service. Cuddled up in your blankets, your Friday movie marathon happening like clockwork at this point. Nothing can make you feel more content than feeling Seungcheol’s heartbeat as you watch your favourite movies with him. 

His breathing is steady as his arm holds you close to him, his attention focused on the moving flashing across your tv. On the other hand, you continue to stare at him, his strong brows and nose bridge has always been your favourite feature of his. You love how manly he appears, but you know on the inside he like a big ball of fluff, so warm and inviting. He just smelt like home, even though your real home is miles away, he’s a piece that you can carry around with you anywhere you go. 

As the movie continues to play in the background your attention is forced away from admiring your best friend and brought towards your phone. It lights up with a text notification from Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo: Hey Y/n. I know this is sudden but I’d really like to take you out sometime. Would that be ok with you? 

Your eyes practically pop out of their sockets as you read the text over and over again. It kind of makes sense that he’s asking you, especially with how he acted today. But what does this mean for the situation between you and Seungcheol? You decide to respond anyways, not wanting to flat out reject him over text. 

Y/n: uhhmm i’m not sure, can i have time to think about it? :) 

Wonwoo: Sure. Take your time. 

Beside you, Seungcheol sits with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. He knows he shouldn’t look at your texts but he can’t help himself. The moment he decides to, he begins to curse himself mentally, reading the text over and over again just like you. It pisses him off, seeing how forward Wonwoo is about his feelings towards you. 

He ultimately decides not to say anything the moment you reply to Wonwoo’s text, why did you even need to think about it? Shouldn’t you have said no if you don’t have feelings for Wonwoo?  His heart falling all the way down to the pit of his stomach. The familiar feeling of the tug on his heart coming back to haunt him once again. Instead of asking you, he decides to call in early for tonight.

“Hey angel I think i’m gonna head home early tonight.” He whispers to you, stroking the back of your head softly. The stinging behind his eyes doesn’t leave, he just can’t seem to get rid of it.  He looks at you with such tenderness, from an outside perspective someone would mistake his stare for utter and complete love. 

You look up from your phone, locking it before looking at him with a worried frown strewn across your lips. 

“Is everything ok? You’re not sick right?” you ask, placing a hand against his forehead to check his temperature. He shakes his head, taking your hand and placing it in his. His long fingers wrapping around yours, squeezing them reassuringly. 

“No no, i’m fine. Just gotta wake up early tomorrow.” He attempts to give you a convincing smile. You don’t know why the mood has changed all of a sudden but you begin to worry even more. 

“Cheolie is something wrong?” You press the issue, not wanting for him to leave just yet. 

“No nothing’s wrong. Trust me I’m ok.” He insists before getting up to to grab his jacket and leave. And just like the seasons passing through the city, he left with a swiftness you couldn’t seem to comprehend. The hurriedness of his movements leaving you dazed and confused.

The guilty pit at your stomach only seemed to grow the longer the silence filled your tiny apartment. Seungcheol’s once warm presence left a dent on the cushions beside you and a cold cup of tea on the coffee table. You frown at the now empty living space, as well as the empty hole in your heart, which can only be filled by the man who left without another word. 

XII. 

The snow began to fall in your city. It came unexpectedly, and left just the same. This winter being colder than most, you started to feel the seasonal depression coming on a lot faster than usual. 

Seungcheol left so abruptly that day, and with the midterm project you weren’t able to reach out to him since then. It felt weird because this is the first time in a long time you’ve gone without talking to him. The week dragging along as you head into midterm break, trying to think of what to say to him the moment you’re able to talk to him again. 

For some reason, ever since that night you have had a weird feeling in your stomach. Call it intuition but it felt like Seungcheol was avoiding you. Even though you weren’t able to reach out to him, he also didn’t try to do so either. The predicament you find yourself in causing your thought to stray as you study for the second round of midterm exams. 

You would see him often, in class, or eating with friends, but strangely enough he was gone before you could muck up the courage to approach him. The two of you stuck in an odd limbo that feels like it won’t end. 

During this time in previous years, it would be you and Seungcheol studying together in the library, but with your current situation you knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead you sit with Jeonghan and Minghao, figuring out how to cram as much information as you can for the statistics final. 

“Y/n? You keep gazing out the window, is everything ok?” Minghao’s voice cuts off your thoughts. His eyesbrown knotted together in worry. 

“Huh? Oh yeah…everything’s ok.” You mumble, your eyes still looking out the window. The campus now coevered in a layer of snow, students walking around, bundled up in winter coats.

“You sure? You’ve been staring out there for almost fifteen minutes now.” He checks on you again. You can only muster up a sound of approval. 

Thankfully Minghao isn’t one to push to get an answer so he leaves it there. The sudden urge to pee overcomes you, causing you to walk over to the libraries bathroom. But before you could reach it, two people walk into the library, causing you to do a double take. 

The last person you expected to walk in is heading towards an empty table. Your heart beat stuck in your throat, the urge to use the bathroom is long gone. As you watch Seungcheol sit down with a girl, you feel the tears start to well. You were so confused as to why he has time to ask this random ass person to study with him, when he could’ve sent you a text instead. It made no sense to you, and with that, you leave the library without another thought. 

The tears falling down your cheeks with every step you took. Seeing him with another girl pulled hard at your heart strings, unsurfacing a feeling you thought you got rid of long ago. You continue to walk with your head down, just trying to think of a private space to let out your emotions. But before you could do so, you bump into something hard, which turns out to be a man’s chest. Looking up you realize it’s Wonwoo’s chest. 

“Y/n? You ok? Why are you crying?” Wonwoo speaks so fast, the worry spilling out of his mouth in words. His hand flying up to your face, wiping any tears that fall before they could roll down any further. 

“I-I don’t even know why i’m crying. This is so stupid my god, i’m sorry you have to see me this way,” you’re hicupping through your words. You begin to sob, and you feel wonwoo’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close. Giving you the comfort that you would usually receive from Seungcheol. 

Wonwoo’s large frame squeezes you in, giving you that secluded space that you were once searching for. 

Behind you is the frame of a man who is your usual safe space, your usual secluded corner. The one to help you deafen out the world from its ugliness and anger. He stands there watching you trade his comfort for Wonwoo’s. He’s never known what it’s like to be on the outside perspective and witness your hurt in this way. In the arms of another. With every moment passes as he watches Wonwoo comfort you instead, he feels his whole world crumble and fall at his feet. 

XIII.

⌗ 𓂃 flash back to seungcheol’s freshman year. 

“You talk a lot about this y/n person. Is she your girlfriend by chance?” Jeonghan asks Seungcheol. 

“No dumbass she’s my childhood bestfriend. I’ve known her for a long time.” Seungcheol tries to clarify his relationship with you, not wanting others to mistake you two for something more. 

“I dont know man, you only ever talk about Y/n.” Jeonghan shrugs before going back to his paper. 

Seungcheol thinks about Jeonghan’s words, ‘why is she always popping up in my conversations?’, he wondered to himself. He can’t help the fact that he talks about you so much, you’re all he knows after all. The only one to experience anything and everything with him. He can’t help but want everyone to know what an amazing person you are, and the fact thatt everything around him somehow reminds him of you. It was like an empidemic. You conquered all corners of his brain, always with him, but far enough for him to miss you all at the same time. 

“You know, it’s not a bad thing if you have feelings for her. She seems like a great girl.” Jeonghan pipes up after realizing how little work Seungcheol gotten done due to his rampant thoughts. 

“Yeah I guess if i did, it wouldn’t be a bad thing.” He mutters, attempting to focus on his work once again.

⌗ 𓂃 end of  flash back. 

XIV. 

For the majority of midterm break, you spent it cooped up within the confines of your room. Wrapping yourself in enough blankets to put a bear into hibernation. You’ve gone back and forth with your own thoughts. Calling yourself dramatic for crying over pretty much nothing, to crying again because you can’t just invalidate the pain you felt when you saw him with someone else, and you don’t even know what she is to him. Long story short, the over thinking is getting to you, but calling him up is the last thing you’re about to do. 

Although you’ve never really fully admitted or denied it, you know you’re love for Seungcheol goes beyond friendship. You’ve known for so long, and kept it to yourself for so long, and yet you’ve never known whether he felt the same way. His actions always contradicting his words. 

The cliché trope of the pain of falling for your best friend is as old as the bible. The story of the unrequited love you convince yourself you’ll never have reciprocated, and yet at the end of every story everything works out, the two friends turned lovers. The end. But what about you? What about the fact that this isn’t some story and you won’t be able to get ahold of your own cliché best friends to lovers ending. 

Before you could spiral even further a notification dings, your phone screen lighting up. 

Cheolie <3: im outside. 

Seeing the text makes your heart drop, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from climbing out of bed and opening the door to let him in. As you did so, you take a good look at his state. In fairness, he looked just as shitty as you did, if not worse. 

The eyebags accenuating how tired he looks, his cheeks slightly sunken in. Probably from lack of sleep, and not to mention the way his hair seems to stick up sporadically, you know immediately it’s because he keeps running his hands through it. 

“What are you doing here?” You cut to the chase, your heart already pounding out of your chest. 

“I-um. I’m not sure actually.” Seungcheol admits, his head falling as he stares at his feet nervously. You sigh, opening the door wider to let him through. 

He looks lost and not like his usual self, which makes you feel even worse, but what could you even do to help him? You two weren’t even mad, or had a fight, everything is just weird. So vague and hard to explain. All you knew is that you’re hurt and he’s at the root of it all. 

“I don’t have all day, Seungcheol.” You call him by his first name, and you can see how it pains him. The way his frown deepens with each moment you two stand there in the foyer, not exchanging the words you’re meant to say. 

“I’m sorry, I know we haven’t spoken in awhile and I just- fuck I dont even know man. I saw that text with Wonwoo and I just freaked out.” He puffs out, running his hand through his hair once more. 

“So thats why you’ve been acting weird? Because of Wonwoo?” The look on your face is unreliable and Seungcheol feels the knot in his throat begin to form. Your hand come to cross in front of your chest and you scoff. “Just because Wonwoo shows interest in me doens’t mean I have feelings for him.” 

“What? But you didn’t reject him?” He presses on the situation even further. 

“I just didn’t want to be an asshole and do it over text.” 

“Yeah right, I saw you two cuddled up last week!” He dejects, his arms flying around as he speaks. He doesn’t know why you decided right now is a good time to lie to him, but he knows what he saw that day. 

“As if you werent spending time with some girl instead of communicating to me what’s wrong in the first place? You’re unbelievable. I can’t read your mind Seungcheol, and why do you even care about what happens between me and Wonwoo? We’re just friends remember? Or do you only say that when you’re on the phone with Jeonghan?” You spat, the words on your tongue coming out as fireballs of hurt. Every single one hitting him right in the chest. 

“We are best friends. I can’t explain why I was so worked up, but if you were going to start dating him, you should’ve broken off what we had first.” Seungcheol attempts to defend himself, spewing out whatever he can to justify his acts of stupidity. He knows himself that what he’s saying wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you how in love he is with you. 

“Ok so because of that, you just get to do whatever the fuck you want then huh? The rules just don’t apply to Choi Seungcheol do they? It doens’t matter if I get hurt in the process of it all.” You sneer, the cold look on your face never faltering. 

“No Y/n, I know we made rules but you broke them first. I just copied your actions.” He replies, it makes you mad that he lashed out because of a misunderstanding. You feel fed up, too tired to talk to him or argue further. The tears already threatening to spill the more you look at him. 

You and Seungcheol never fought, you can’t even remember the last time it happened. It was probably when you two were still kids, fighting over something silly and not talking for an hour, only to make up the same day. This fight is different though, so many things said out of anger, you knew it wouldn’t just be forgotten the next day. 

“I really can’t stand you right now.” You say as a lone tear slips out, the salitness of it hitting your lips. 

“Then sit.” He bites back, his facade almost cracking as he sees your tearful expression. 

“Fuck you. Go home Seungcheol.” You walk to the door, opening it enough to allow him to exit your home. He doesn’t protest, his anger and sadness bubbling up faster with each second that passes. He’s smart enough to not let his temper overcome him completely. 

As the door closes on him, you let out an agonizing cry. Your sobs raking through your body as if the whole earth had crashed ontop of you. The echo of your cries filling the room, mocking you, reminding you of your loneliness. 

XV.

Seungcheol hasn’t been feeling well since the argument that went down a few days ago, but he can’t bring himself to contact you again. The anger and sadness he felt quickly dissipated into nothing but shame. He knows it’s his fault. Its his fault that he didn’t communicate with you properly, and the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to tell you he loves you. He doesn’t even know who he was trying to convince, but that argument with you made him realized so much about himself, you, and the friendship you two have. 

The constant sleepless nights were starting to catch up with him, the bags under his eyes more prominent than they were the last night he saw you. 

There are times he catches glimpses of you on campus and it pulls on his heartstrings, especailly because half the times he seen you, you’ve been with Wonwoo. It pains Seungcheol to know that you’ve been hanging out with him since the fight had gone down, but he has no right to stop you. After everything, he should be understand to let you do what you want freely. 

“Well don’t you look like shit.” Jeonghan interupts his train of thought, sitting beside him in the library. He takes out his notes and laptop, ready to work on their project for theri psychology class. 

“Wow thanks, I didn’t know.” Seungcheol grumbled, hating how cheerful Jeonghan looks in comparaison to his own gloomy expression. 

He takes out his tablet, pulling up their project. As much as he wants to ponder about you some more, he knows that he should probably focus on the rest of the project they need to complete. But everytime he tries to focus on anything other than you he ends up failing. 

“So what happened to you?” Jeonghan asks. He can tell something is wrong, both Seungcheol and Y/n have been looking so down in the dumps lately, and Y/n is flat out ignoring him, Soonyoung and Minghao. 

Seungcheol can’t even hold it in anymore, if there's anyone he can talk to about what happened, he knows it's Jeonghan. Despite their quarrelling, he finds Jeonghan to be a trustworthy person. 

Before he can even speak, he recalls your face, the tears that were about to spill, and the way your voice sounded when you two were fighting. He doesn't even recognize either of you from that day, it was just so out of character for the two of you to fight like that. And the only thing he can do is blame himself for everything that happened. 

Seungcheol feels his throat constrict, and his eyes start to sting. He hates that feeling, the feeling of crying and being vulnerable. In all four years of knowing Jeonghan he never thought he’d be crying in front of him. But once he asked that question it was like everything came crashing down upon him once more. All the memories of you, especially the ones from your fight make his heart ache so bad he has to clutch his chest. 

“Uh.. Y/n and I, we fought. It was a huge fight and it was really bad. I don’t know what to do and i’m so scared Han. I-I think I love her.” He confesses to Jeonghan, as the tears begin to slip down his cheeks. 

As he explains what happened that night, Jeonghan can’t help but feel sad with him. The way Seungcheol speaks about the events leading up to the fight and the fight itself makes his heart ache for the two of you. He also can’t help but mentally scold you two. He knew from the moment that Seungcheol and Y/n  decided to partake in becoming friends with benefits, that it would just blow up in flames in the end. They love each other too much to say what's really on their mind. So afraid to ruin their friendship that choosing to become friends with benefits did that for them instead. 

“Then let her know how you feel.. God Seungcheol, I’ve been telling this to the two of you for years now. You need to tell her, before it's too late.” Jeonghan is practically begging him, pulling Seungcheol into a much needed hug. 

…

You sit there, Wonwoo sitting beside you at the same cafe you two have been going to for the past week now. He always does the same thing, ordering your matcha latte and keep you company while you re-think your fight with Seungcheol. He can see that you’re hurting but he doesn’t ever overstep any boundaries you’ve set up. Instead he just sits there, waiting for you when you’re ready to talk to him. 

You called him after your fight with Seungcheol, not knowing who else to turn to. You know that Jeonghan would’ve been available but you weren’t ready for the lecture that he would’ve given you. Calling Wonwoo that one night turned into every night, and every night turned into daily trips to the cafe. He sits there, keeps you company, you thank him and he goes home. As much as he likes you, he realizes that you’re deeply in love with your best friend, even though you won’t directly tell him. 

Wonwoo knew something happened between you and Seungcheol, especially because of how red your eyes were that night you called him for the first time. As well as the fact that he caught glimpses of Seungcheol staring at you with so much longing during class, it even makes Wonwoo’s own heart ache. 

“We fought over you.” You finally speak up, not bothering to stare into Wonwoo’s eyes, instead opting to swirl your latte with your straw. 

“What? Why” He’s confused, why me? He asks himself. 

You finally look at him, letting out a bittersweet chuckle, you wish you kenw too. Seungcheol’s distaste for you becoming closer with his friend seemed uncalled for, especially because you’re under the impression that he has no romantic feelings for you. 

“Beats me.” You mutter. 

“I’m sorry Y/n, I should’ve never asked you out.” He says apologetically, the remorse filling his chest. He feels bad knowing he started this fight between the two of you, but he's also mad that Seungcheol just won’t admit his feelings for you. He just doesn’t  understand what was stopping him, especially since it’s so clear that you like him back. 

“It's not your fault.” 

“I know but you guys would’ve never have fought if it weren’t for me” He sighs, looking down at the his hands, picking at them. 

“No, I’m sorry that I even roped you into all of this. I should’ve just been a normal person and tell you everything right away. Instead I’ve been dragging you along because I feel lonely.” You sigh, the guilt of including Wonwoo in all this drama starts to eat away at you. 

“I want to be around Y/n, especially because you’ve been so down lately. I know you’re in love with Seungcheol, but I still want to be your friend. I hope that's ok?” He comforted you, putting a hand on top of yours. 

“I want to be your friend too. I’m really sorry about everything, and I’m grateful that you’ve been helping me. You don’t know how much this all means to me Wons.” You give him a small smile, the tears starting to running down your face as you glance up at him. 

You are so grateful that you and Wonwoo became so close in such a short amount of time. He is so kind to you, despite everything that’s happened. In another universe maybe you did fall for Wonwoo, and maybe you two were together and happy. But he’s not the one you’re in love with in this universe, and you’re thankful he understands that it’s strictly platonic between the two of you.

He pulls you in towards his chest, his arm wrapping around you. Staring at him, you can’t help but glance at his lips. You’re not sure what possessed you in that moment, but you feel yourself start to lean in with no rhyme or reason. Wonwoo does the same, he’s confused but he doesn’t stop himself or push you away.  Maybe if you just tried…

You’re so close that you can feel his breath fan of your face, and it’s like the realization hit you like a truck. Quickly, you pull yourself from his arms. You weren’t sure what happened but maybe his warmth and reasurring words were starting to get to you, but you’re glad you stopped before you could even make the mistake for kissing him. He isn’t the one you want, and he can’t do anything to change that. 

Wownoo can tell, he can tell that you don’t like him romantically, but the way you were closing in on him had him fooled just for one second. 

“I know, you’re in love with him. It’s ok Y/n, I understand.” He sighs, looking at you with longing eyes. 

“Yes I am.” You breathe out, before pulling away from him completely. 

XVI. 

“Y/nie open up! It's us.” A voice calls out from the outside of the door. 

Jeonghan, Minghao, and Soonyound standing outside of your apartment, hoping you’re still alive. After your fight with Cheol, you’ve been pretty much MIA from them. Not answering any of their calls or texts, so this is their last resort. Jeonghan knows why you haven’t been contacting any of them, but he decided it’s time that the two of you finally have a talk. 

His timing is a blessing and a curse, as he was the one to witness what happend the day you three went to study in the library. That’s when he knew that shit was starting to hit the fan. He’s concluded that hes had enough of the two of you being so closed off about your feelings towards eachother, and it was his time to help once more. 

You contemplated opening the door, but decided that you needed the comfort right now. 

“Y/nie! Are you ok?” Soonyoung comes running, tackling you into a bear hug. In this case, perhaps a tiger hug.  “Hannie told us everything.” 

He grabs your face, taking a closer look and inspecting your face, then making a conclusion before pulling you back into a hug. It warms your heart to see him so concerned about you, even after you’ve been ignoring them and only spending time with Wonwoo. 

You know you should’ve contacted them, but they can tell what’s wrong with just one look and you know you would’ve cried if you had to explain everything. As much as you love the three of them, it would’ve hurt your heart to recall what happened between you and Seungcheol. So you stayed quiet, opting for the solitude and comfort that Wonwoo offered. 

“Yes I’m ok. Dont worry your cute little head.” You say, patting his head as you savour his comforting hugs. 

“We were really worried about you kiddo. I’m glad to see you’re alive.” Minghao remarks as he squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. 

“Thanks Hao.” 

“Ok enough with the reunion. Y/n we need to talk to you.” Jeonghan interrupts the tender moment, a small box sitting in his hands. 

You arelady knew where this is going, but at this point you knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation. There is three of them and one of you. 

Jeonghan sits you on the couch, his stern face coming into your view. It reminded you of the times your mother would scold you when you were younger. His hands crossed over his chest, foot tapping impatiently. 

“Y/nie we love you but you really need to just come forth with your feelings about Seungcheol. The fact that you’ve kept it from him this long shows that it’s doing more harm to your friendship than good. I know you’re scared and I know you don’t want to get rejected, but you need to understand that if you don’t learn to tell him how you feel it’ll blow up in your face.” He sighs, coming down to sit next to you, his hand on your shoulder. 

“I know you don’t want to fuck up your friendship with him, but how else can you move on from this if you can’t even tell him how you truly feel?” Mingaho adds, giving you a soft frown. 

As you take in their words, you can’t help but feel the tears welling up again. Not just because your scared about the direction you and Cheol’s friendship is going to take, but also the fact that you’re thankful for friends who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth. 

“We love you ok? And what ever happens we’ll be there to help you. Every step of the way.” Soonyoung assures you, pulling you into a another hug. You laugh a little and hug him back tighter. 

“Thank you guys. I definitely needed that reality check.” you laugh as you wipe your tears. 

They laugh with you, embracing you and supporting you. 

“Anyways, theres something I want to show you.” Jeonghan says as he pulls back from the group embrace. 

He takes the small box from beside him, presenting it to you. As you open it you grow even more confused. It was filled with letters addressed to you. From Seungcheol. 

“What is this?” You look at Jeonghan, searching for an answer. He only shrugs. 

“I dont know. Seungcheol gave them to me. He told me he wanted you to read them” Jeonghan reveals, peering at the stack of letters in the box. “He’s sorry you know? He said the letters will explain the things he can’t say in person.” 

“Hes sorry? I-” you didn’t even know what to say, you were just scared of what all these letters could possibly hold. And why were there so many? 

“Anyways we’ll leave you to it. Text us when you and Cheol finally grow some balls and confess to each other!” Jeonghan and the two sidekicks bid you goodbye. Leaving you to scour through the letters on you own. 

There was one letter in particular that has a recent date written in the corner. 

Dear y/n, 

I know you don’t want to hear from me at the moment, and I know I’ve said some things I didn’t mean the last time we spoke. Im sorry. Im sorry I didn’t communicate properly with you, and that I left us in a vague and confusing position. I dont know what came over me. I was so used to the whole world just revolving around us two, and then when Wonwoo began to show interest, I just completely switched off. 

You deserve someone as kind as him. A person who will be there for you when you need someone to lean on, a person who’s willing to hold you till you can sleep peacefully. I was always that person for you for a long time, and if i'm not the one you want anymore i’ll come to terms with that. I just want to see you happy Y/n. In the same sense that I know you want me to be happy as well. 

There's not a day that goes by where I think about how thankful that I have someone like you in my life. You are my rock and sometimes you didn’t even know. The more you read these letters, the more you’ll start to realize how much you helped me. I know I would be able to survive without you, that I could do it even if it hurts me. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to live in a world where I’m living to survive, when I can be living to make you happy instead. My best friend, the one who understands me inside and out. Please come back to me angel. 

I love you and always yours, 

Seungcheol. 

As you read through the letter you couldn’t help but burst into tears. The relief you felt knowing that he felt the same way, that he wanted you in his life just like how you wanted him. This was enough for you to know that he needs you like you need him. 

You begin to sift through the countless of letters he wrote you, all of them as heart wrenching as the previous. It put into perspective all that he went through when he moved here all alone. And with each letter that you read, the harder it got to ignore to urge to just go and see him. So thats what you do. 

Dropping the letters on the coffee table, you slip on a pair a shoes and head to Seungcheol’s place as fast as your legs could carry you. The snow starting to stick to your hair as it fell from the sky, the chilly weather making you shiver. But you couldn’t stop yourself, you didn’t even care. You didn't have a coat on nor a warm pair of shoes, the only thing preserving your heat is the thought of finally confessing your love to Seungcheol. 

After ten minutes of speed walking, you find yourself in front of his door. You knock, nervously, your heart beating a hundred miles per hour. You aren’t really sure what to expect, but you knew that you just needed to see him. Even if you were shivering, even if your hair and clothes are damp from the snow. 

The door opens to reveal the man who you consider home. 

“Y/n? Holy shit you must be freezing come inside.” He ushers you in and you oblige happily. “Why did you come in your PJ’s? Are you crazy? You're gonna get sick.” He worries, grabbing your face, scolding you. 

“I needed to see you.” You pant, tired from how fast you walked. 

“Lets get you some warm clothes first.” He states, grabbing your hand to lead him to his room. Marching over to his drawer he grabs you a pair of sweats and one of his large tshirts. You’re completely engulfed in fabric but at least you’re warm. 

“Seungcheol I’m in love with you.” You tell him right before he goes to grab you a hot cup of tea. Better late than never, you thought.

He turns around, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Your neck turns red as the blush starts to creep its way up your cheeks. Seungcheol doesn’t say much more, his actions doing all the talking for him. 

Taking your face in his hands, he swallows you into a kiss. Pressing his lips against yours with the same amount of passion and vigour as the first night you kissed him. You whimper at the sudden affection, fisting his hair in your hands to ground you. 

He pulls way. “I’m so in love with you too Y/n.” 

He goes back to kissing you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding on so tight that you’re convinced he thinks you’ll disappear into thin air if he didn’t hold you close. 

“I love you, I love you my angel.” He keeps repeating those three words. Three words that finally replaced the dreaded “you’re my bestfriend” statement. 

“You’re my best friend and I love you.” You whisper to him against his lips.

Epilogue. 

“Just keep watching the movie love.” Seungcheol warns you, his tongue playing  skillfully with your clit as you try to do what he says. Your legs are spread for him, your hips grinding against his face, it’s pure bliss. The pleasure Seungcheol gives you seems to work better than any drug that’s been created. 

You don’t know what happened, one moment you two were sitting on his couch, watching Howl’s Moving Castle for the millionth time. The next moment you’re watching your boyfriend kneel in front of you, eating you out while you try to concentrate on the movie playing on the tv.

“Seungcheol please…” You moan, his hair intertwined with your fingers as he continued to lick at your folds. You can hear how wet you are and it makes your head spin, the pleasure, the feeling of Cheols tongue grazing against you, it’s all too much. 

“You like this don’t you baby? You like it when your boyfriend eats you out on his couch?” He taunts you as he pumps two fingers into you now, wanting to see you the way your eyebrows scrunch from all the pleasure.  

You love the way he calls himself your boyfriend, the label rolling off his tongue perfectly. It was like he was meant to be called that all along. It’s only been a week since you two started dating officially but you’ll never get tired of hearing him tell you that he’s your boyfriend. 

“Yes! P-please I need you now, please baby.” You whine and beg as he teases you, his fingers still playing with your entrance. All you can do is watch him, your eyes lidded with so much desire that Seungcheol can probably come just from looking at you. 

He relinquishes his hold on you, getting up to sit on the couch before manhandling you into the position he wants you in. Placing  you on his lap, he takes off his sweats, revealing his hard member. You drool at the sight of it, ready to take him for all he’s worth. 

“Look at how hard you got me love.” He whispers to you, placing a kiss on your lips after. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you moan against his mouth. 

Without breaking away from him, you lift yourself up to align his length against the entrance of your needy cunt. Slowly but surely you lower yourself, causing you to gasp against Seungcheol’s lips, feeling him stretch you.

“How are you still so fucking tight.” He mutters to you, his hands breaching the hem of the large shirt that you’re wearing.  He fondles your breasts, pinching your nipples as you bounce yourself on his lap. Groaning at your actions, he lifts the shirt completely off your body, taking the opportunity to take one of your mounds and enclosing his lips around it. 

“Hmm so close baby.” You tell him, feeling your climax coming on. He groans as he continues to suck on your nipples, his hands snaking around to your ass to grope at the flesh. He grips you tight, forcing you up and down faster, releasing his mouth from your chest. 

Seungcheol’s head leans against the couch to admire how sexy you look riding his cock. He doesn’t let go of your ass, slapping it and groping it till you’ve fully orgasmed. 

“Fuck you’re so sexy.” He mutters, driving you into overstimulation as he fucks up into you, his own release closely following yours. You clench at his words, your pussy gripping him like a vice, and it finally sends him into his own orgasm, his come filling you completely. 

“I love you.” He says, giving you one last kiss before finding a wash cloth to clean you with. 

“I love you too.”

⌗ 𓂃 end.  

© wonustars

a/n: you've reached the end! i hoped you enjoyed the story, because i know i loved writing it :")). if you have any thoughts, questions, or just want to chat, dont be afraid to visit my ask box <;3 - anna

𖠗 𓂃 。˚ ⋆ taglist: @mysafehaneul @christinewithluv @soonyoonswoo @aaniag @iluvmingi @auniverseline @k07-1313 @idubutily @kmoon @leah-rose03 @ana-marais98 @xcynthiaaa @wonwoo24 @yelsuki @yuyunhoo @sana-is-ms-rmty @hwashiningstar @svt-reads @imprettyweird

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Try Me

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: suggestive

"Lan, c'mon..please don't go." You whined tightening your grip on Lando's shirt. "Stay with me"

"Baby, I want to, believe me, I do, but I told you I promised your brother to go out with him tonight. Why don't you come along with us?" He asked holding your cheeks between his hands and leaving a kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Because I want to spend some time alone with you. Why can't he go out with Charles or anyone else?"

"Charles is not feeling well, and besides, it will be suspicious if I turn him down for the second time today." He explained trying to get some sense into you, but you just decided to be a brat today because, well, you just felt like it. You wanted his attention. You needed his attention.

"Fine. Go with him then. I don't care." You pouted crossing your arms and turning your gaze away from him.

"Y/n.." He sighed turning your chin with his finger making you look at him. "I'm trying my best to spend as much time as possible with you here. If Carlos knew I spent the whole day with his sister in her hotel room I'd probably be a dead man right now. So if you want me alive, you gotta let me go now okay?"

Everything Lando said made sense. It's true that Carlos would haunt Lando for the rest of his life if he knew that he had been seeing his 5 years younger sister for over 6 months now. It's also true that Lando is a bit torn between the two of you. He doesn't want any trouble with his best friend, but he also doesn't want to even think about having to stop seeing you.

Lando and you were not in a relationship, well, not officially, you didn't call it a relationship because you were forbidden to him. You had been seeing each other for half a year and both of you knew that there was something more between you, more than just sex although you never put a label on it. The more time passed the more you liked each other and wanted to spend more time together so it got harder to keep it a secret.

"Give me a kiss" He said leaning down to your lips. You hesitate for a second, but give in rolling your eyes which Lando doesn't take very well. "No, no, don't do that."

You ignore him and head towards the bathroom not wanting to wait until he leaves your room. You just wanted to show your dissatisfaction with all your might.

"I'll talk to you later okay?"

"Whatever" You muttered before slamming the bathroom door shut.

Later that night, Lando was texting you just to check up on you, to see what you're doing, to see how you're spending your time without him and you decided to continue being a brat for the rest of the night. Because you just felt like it today.

'Just took a shower. Think I'm gonna go check up on Charles since he's not feeling well'

You replied smirking knowing that you mentioning Charles would completely push his buttons with you tonight. Ever since Carlos introduced you to them, both Charles and Lando have been trying to flirt with you. Only Charles has been doing it directly and Lando was more subtle with it. Lando was always more mysterious about it, that's probably the reason why you were attracted to him and not Charles.

So ever since he got his eyes on you, he hated that Charles was trying to get your attention. He hated that he was still doing it and yet he couldn't do anything about it because you two were a well kept secret.

'Oh really? Carlos and I saw him. He's just fine so you don't have to do that.'

He was replying back to your messages within seconds. You knew he was going crazy about it.

'Well, I'm gonna go check anyway'

Of course you weren't gonna go. You were all ready for bed, but since you didn't get what you wanted tonight, you decided to play with his head a little.

'Y/n..You have nothing to look for in his room'

'I mean it's not like I have a boyfriend if you really think about it. So..I don't think it would be inappropriate, no? '

'I can hear the attitude through the text. Fix it, before I fuck it out of you.'

His text sent shivers through your body. You threw your head back against your pillow sighing and reminiscing the way this morning the bed was squeaking beneath you two.

'I don't think you're gonna do anything about it'

'Oh, try me then'

[bkgexe]

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

[ofbatsandballads]

so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.

Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.

Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.

Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.

Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.

“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.

Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.

“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.

Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.

“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.

“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.

“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.

He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.

“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”

Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?

“And then she broke his nose.”

Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.

“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.

“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.

Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.

Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.

“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.

He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.

“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.

Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.

“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.

“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”

You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.

“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”

[tiza0925]

Hi!...umm could you pls do a NSFW tanjiro x reader where reader starts to get jealous of kanao bcos kanao has started to gain feeling for tanjiro and has been trying to get close with him but she doesn't know that reader and tanjiro are secretly dating so reader ends up distancing herself from everyone and when tanjiro confronts reader they end up in a mating press+overstimulation and a bit breeding kink 😳

(Pls don't get me wrong I luv Kanao but I haven't seen any fanfictions like this and I'm sorry if this request is too much)😅

Take care 😊

only you | 18+

Warnings/Tags: nsfw, explicit sexual content, jealous!reader, afab/female reader, unprotected sex, mating press, creampie, breeding kink, reassurance, Tanjiro loves you so much, multiple orgasms (implied), overstimulation, soft!dom Tanjiro, ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS ARE AGED UP AND OVER 18 YEARS-OLD

Pairing: Tanjiro Kamado x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You feel two thick fingers shove inside your mouth, the fingertips hooking onto your bottom teeth to pull your head forward to look into sinful red eyes. 

You blink blearily, tears blur your vision, and you choke with a sob as drool drips down the corners of your mouth. 

“Already crying?” You hear Tanjiro murmur, voice sweet and low, a huge contrast to the brutal thrusts he’s been giving you—fucking your sore cunt with the intent to make you pass out. “Too much for you now, hm?”

You suck in a sharp breath, moaning around his fingers, and your eyes roll back when Tanjiro leans in to have his head near your ear—causing his cock to sink in deeper that you swear you feel him in your throat. 

“I’m sorry, love, but you’ll have to hold on for a little longer,” His voice rumbles against you, rolling through your ear as his lips graze the shell of your ear. “I still need to cum inside you, okay?” 

If you weren’t currently getting fucked to the point where you can feel Tanjiro’s dick in your soul and your mind wasn’t a puddle of liquid pleasure—

You would probably laugh at yourself for being in the situation you’re in at the very moment. 

Because none of this would’ve happened if it weren’t for Kanao.

And now you’re torn between still wanting to be mad at Kanao and also wanting to give her a hug of gratitude for getting Tanjiro like this. 

Not because Kanao directly told Tanjiro to fuck you like he’s some madman. 

Instead, funnily enough, it was Kanao who was the one that wanted Tanjiro for herself. 

It was obvious with the way you’d watch her laugh at his jokes that weren’t even that funny sometimes. 

Or the way you’ve noticed Kanao would leave light touches on Tanjiro’s hand and arm—brief but still giving the message that she wants more from him—whenever you were all out on the field training. 

You’ve seen the way Kanao looked at Tanjiro. 

And honestly—you don’t blame her. 

Tanjiro is an attractive guy. 

Not only in his face but his demeanor, how polite he is. Smart, funny, and god—have you seen him without a shirt? 

So you get why Kanao acts that way—even more recently, now, as Tanjiro started to train more and grew a little taller. 

It’s why you’re dating him, in the first place. 

But nobody knows that. 

You two didn’t want to get in trouble—dating within the Corps wasn’t allowed. 

But you guys couldn’t help it. 

He liked you, and you didn’t want to lose out on the chance of having him to yourself. 

The only issue with keeping your relationship with Tanjiro a secret—

Is that people, like Kanao, will try to get with him instead. 

Because in their eyes—he’s single. 

In Kanao’s eyes—Tanjiro is available for her. 

And at first—you didn’t care. 

You both knew what would happen once you kept this relationship a secret. 

People will still flirt—it happened to you many times by other guys. 

But you were always polite to let them down—made up some lie about wanting to focus on becoming a better slayer and all. 

And Tanjiro said the same thing to Kanao once before—and she listened. 

Admired him from far away. 

And you were okay with that. 

Until—

Until Kanao started to get handsy. Gradually.  

Until her small crush developed into something more for Tanjiro—and she wasn’t so subtle about it anymore. 

You were okay with it until Kanao and Tanjiro got a little closer—and you had to sit back with your teeth pinching your tongue, watching and doing nothing about it. 

And over time—it got to you. 

It’s not that you don’t trust Tanjiro—because this man has done nothing but respect and show you immense trust and security in your relationship. 

And he never flirted with Kanao back. 

But that doesn’t mean you trust Kanao. 

Not when Tanjiro is, in general, a really nice guy. 

Nice to the point where Kanao can mistake it for flirting. 

And if you couldn’t say anything about it—because what can you say without blowing your guys’ secret? 

‘Hey, stop flirting with Tanjiro because—‘ 

Because what? You like him?

That he’s yours? 

It was futile and you hated it. 

…Hence, why you started to distance yourself. 

From a few others at first. 

But then it started to turn into you making an excuse to not talk to Tanjiro. 

That distancing turned into you avoiding him as much as you can. 

Because it hurt. 

You can’t flirt with Tanjiro in public as Kanao can 

And honestly—you genuinely thought you would get away with this whole ‘distancing thing'. 

It even got to the point where you thought that you and Tanjiro's relationship could possibly be over. 

And wouldn’t that be amazing for Kanao, huh? 

But then Tanjiro confronted you about it one night—and that…

That was something. 

The door to your dorm closes behind him as you both walk in, and it’s deadly silent. 

The tension is so thick that you can cut a knife through it, but you don’t say anything.

And for a moment—it remains silent. 

Just waiting for something to drop, to set off the bomb that’s been ticking for a while, now. 

And—

And then you hear Tanjiro let out a tired sigh, and you turn to see him rub a hand over his face as he looks at you, confused. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, now?” 

Your eyes widen, and surprise flashes through your pupils as you swallow hard, playing dumb as you avert your gaze. “There’s nothing wrong.” 

He lets out a derisive snort, sarcasm lacing his words “Really?” 

“Yes, really,” Your voice comes out flat, and you walk towards your bed while taking off your shirt. “You should go, I’m tired.” 

A lie. 

One that Tanjiro immediately detects as he shakes his head and follows you. “Not until we talk this out first.” 

That’s the thing that also made you fall for him—is how big he is on communication. 

It’s something you generally love about him—except for this very moment. 

Because talking about how stupidly jealous you are will get you emotional—you can already feel the damn lump beginning to form in your throat. 

You try to ignore him as you set up the bed, sniffling. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Tanjiro huffs out a breath, his voice soft and pleading. “Don’t lie to me.”

You purse your lips, your teeth clenching. “You should go rest.” 

You feel him closer behind you, his body heat near yours, and his voice is so confused. “Was it something I said?” 

The breath you let out is shaky, feeling guilty for making him think he’s at fault here. 

Because he’s not but emotions are a bitch and it’s starting to get to you. 

You swallow thickly. “No.” 

Another step closer to you. 

“Was it something someone else said?” 

Your voice is a little strained. “…No.” 

“Did someone do something? Did I do something—?”

And at this point—something kind of just…snaps. 

“I don’t know,” You don’t mean to have any bite in your words, but you’re just so frustrated and overwhelmed and feel so stupid for the way you’re acting that it all just hits you at once as you sniffle, your voice cracking. “Why don’t you go ask your little girlfriend, Kanao?”

And then—

Everything turns silent. 

You can hear the soft ringing in your ears right after you say that. 

You can feel your heart thumping rapidly with regret flushing your cheeks and your stomach drops. 

Fuck. 

You didn’t mean to say that out loud. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

You feel a rough hand wrap around your wrist, and the next thing you know—

You’re being spun around—and your vision is instantly met with big, red eyes. 

And your breath hitches in your throat soon after when you take in Tanjiro’s expression because—

He doesn’t look mad at you. 

He looks…worried. 

Almost regretful in a way. 

“That’s what this is all about?” 

He asks, sounding incredulous and confused, looking at you patiently for you to answer. 

God—you feel so irrational now—

“I…” You start, not sure what to say with the way he’s looking at you like that, and you gulp. “…It’s not—”

“Oh, love,” Tanjiro sighs. Low and heavy—full with understanding once he takes a good look at you—and his eyebrows crinkle with focus as he brings you closer to him—tucking your head under his chin as he wraps his arms, full of muscles and warmth, around you. “You have no reason to be jealous of her, you know.” 

Your lower lip wobbles. “I know—”

“But,” He stops you, and you let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry for not realizing it sooner.” 

Fuck.

You close your eyes, feeling guilty for even making him have to say that because—

“It’s not your fault,” You mutter, but Tanjiro simply shakes his head, sounding firm. 

 “No, I should’ve made stricter boundaries with Kanao—which I will do when I see her.” 

“I don’t want to tell you what to do with your friends, though.” 

Tanjiro frowns and tips his chin down to give your forehead an achingly gentle kiss, mumbling against your head. “How you feel is more important to me.”

Well, that’s just not fair. 

You both stay like that for a bit—simply hugging and being in the other’s arms. 

It’s silent again but this time it’s comfortable. 

But then at some point—

“Hey,” Reluctantly, you lift your head to look at him, and Tanjiro’s eyes soften as he gives your lips a soft, gentle kiss. “You’re the only one I want, you know.” 

You whimper, feeling a small shiver crawl up your spine. 

He guides your mouth open with his, his warm tongue sliding against your lower lip. “You’re the only one I want to kiss.” 

His hands on you grow firmer, almost possessive, as he pulls you closer to him—and you let out a small moan. 

He kisses you so deeply that you feel it in your bones, and he starts to walk you towards the bed—the bend of your knees hitting the edge, causing your back to fall and land on the soft cushion beneath. 

And he follows, holding you close to him, his mouth traveling to your ear and giving it a small nip, his voice rough against you, “You’re the only one I want to be inside of, too.” 

God. 

You feel yourself throb and you throw your arms around his neck as your legs wrap around him—kissing him back just as deeply, moaning into his mouth because this is the Tanjiro that you want. 

This is what you need from him right now. 

…Which is how, moments later, you end up the way you are right now. 

Cheeks red and shiny from tears. 

Your head foggy and ready to explode. 

Body so exhausted and numb from the way he’s been fucking you—holding you down with your legs thrown over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he presses your legs against your chest—

And he’s fucking you through your third orgasm, all while you cry around his fingers, clinging onto whatever your hands can find as Tanjiro pushes down on you—groaning at just how pretty you look. 

“Only made for me, love,” Tanjiro breathes heavily, kissing one of your tears, before looking back at you with a small grin. “You take me so well.”

You whine, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth—your saliva shiny on his fingers—and he uses the same hand to wrap around your neck, putting one of your most vulnerable parts into his hand. 

“And I’m gonna make sure I get you all full with my cum.” 

That’s another thing about him. 

It’s the way he is in bed. 

He can be gentle but—

But there’s just this edge to him that makes your head spin and turn into mush. 

It’s the way he talks with words that sound sweet with the tone he uses, even if they’re filthy—as if each word has been dipped in sin-filled chocolate. 

It’s the way he fucks you with so much love and yet still manages to make you feel boneless and fucked stupid like some slut. 

And that little, spiteful, part of you grins—knowing that no one else gets to experience this side of him except you. 

Not even Kanao. 

He fucks you deep and slow, your fluids gushing out and getting both of you so wet that you can hear the sweet squelch of your pussy getting abused by his cock. 

Your clit is overstimulated from his body rubbing against it with every thrust—that your muscles tense and heat is constantly sparking in your lower belly.

He goes until he starts talking about breeding you—filling your sweet cunt with his cum and keeping it there until your belly is full with his babies and—

“God, love—”

And then you hear him groan, and Tanjiro kisses you as soon as his orgasm pushes through him—and he’s pumping his cum inside your pulsing cunt, filling you to the brim. 

It’s messy. 

You’re both so goddamn messy and out of breath by the time he cools down. 

But you don’t care. 

Even if your pussy is sore and wet and you know you’ll need a shower right after this—

And even if his breathing is heavy—hell, he feels heavy on top of you—

You like it. 

It’s welcoming. 

He kisses you again, this time slow and indulgent, and you feel yourself go numb at his words that get murmured right against you, “I’m all yours, okay?” 

End. 

Masterpost