#chess player x chess piece

[hydefever]

warm up hollowking

[tomboxed]

knight to k6

[vagueeyes]

I want you to know what it's like to be me.      I understand, Mr. Hofman. I've put myself in your shoes.

SPOORLOOS | THE VANISHING (1988) INSIDE NO. 9 | S9E2 "The Trolley Problem"

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[jksarchives]

TOO LATE

Even after all the promises he made, Jungkook was too late.

➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader

➪ GENRE; angst, light fluff

➪ TAGS/WARNINGS; mafia au, ANGST, blood, violence, attempted sa (not in detail), use of weapons, major character death, swearing, light fluff, mingyu cameo

➪ WORDCOUNT; 12.3k

𐚁₊⊹

You sat at the dinner table alone. Again. The food that was once warm was now completely cold and untouched on your plate. The atmosphere around you felt heavy. The familiar silence continued to outstretch and the only sound that accompanied you was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

The bodyguards stationed in the corners of the dining hall remained expressionless as they stood like statues. You were beginning to get sick of their presence and how it constantly reminded you of the world your fiancé belonged to. A world that you had stepped into because of love, but now, you weren’t sure if love was enough to keep you there.

It was the fifth time this week that you ate dinner alone. It was becoming a routine you didn’t sign up for. On normal days, Jungkook would sit across from you and tease you about the way you always saved your favorite bite for last, or playfully steal food off your plate.

Meal times were your little escape. It was a time when Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the feared leader of a ruthless mafia gang, but just your Jungkook — the man who would hold your hand under the table and kiss you between bites when he’d get the chance.

But lately, he’d been distant. His seat was empty more often than you were used to, and his presence was fading like a dream slipping through your fingers.

Jungkook wasn’t just any ordinary man. He was a king in the underworld. He was a leader that commanded respect and instilled fear in those who considered themselves fearless. He built his empire on discipline and strategy, knowing how to put people in their place without mercy.

He never harmed the innocent though, but when it came to threats, he was quick and remorseless. Drugs, weapons, and underground dealings — he was entangled in all of it. He moved each piece like a master chess player. He lost count of the number of enemies he made along the way, men who wanted nothing more than to see him fall from his grace. But Jungkook was always one step ahead of them. He always prepared with his mind sharper than any blade.

To the world, he was cold, ruthless, and terrifying. His eyes alone were enough to make someone’s legs tremble, or in most cases, wet their pants. He was like a shadow that lingered over the city, and his name was usually whispered in fear.

But to you, he was different.

When it came to you, Jungkook’s walls would fall apart. The hardness in his gaze would melt the moment he would see you. His dark eyes would soften in a way they never did for anyone else. You were his only safe space. Only you could ground him to his senses and to gain control of himself again.

He adored you, and protected you with a devotion that sometimes felt overwhelming. The only reason he had so many bodyguards surrounding you was because of the countless threats he faced daily. Losing you was the one nightmare he couldn’t afford.

You were his world, his universe.

And yet, despite his love for you, you saw the side of him that people knew him for. The side of him that made others fear him. You saw what he was capable of and how easily he could take a life when it was necessary.

Jungkook tried not to scare you off or worry you by coming home covered in blood. But the days where he would, the scent of iron that clung to his clothes was sickening in many ways. He never let his victims go easily, and that was the scariest part of loving him. No matter how gentle he was with you, you couldn’t ignore the darkness beneath his skin.

You knew people whispered about you behind closed doors, calling you insane for staying by his side. Loving a man like Jungkook was dangerous. But despite everything, you couldn’t walk away.

Maybe they were right. Maybe you were insane.

Jungkook was always busy, but he was never too busy for you. He would make time, whether it was a quick coffee break together or late-night conversations in bed when the rest of the world was asleep.

But lately, things had changed. As his nights grew longer, his time with you became shorter. You saw that stress was wearing him down, and with each day that passed, he became more distant.

But to you, it wasn’t the lack of time — it was his attitude.

He was different now, or rather, colder. Some nights, he wouldn’t even bother coming to bed, and choose to drown himself in work instead. And when he did, he was exhausted and barely spoke a word to you before drifting off into another cycle of restless sleep.

Other times, he would lash out and let his frustration spill over onto you in sharp words and tense silences. He was never physically violent — Jungkook would rather die than hurt you that way — but his emotional distance was hurting you just as deep.

At first, you brushed it off, assuming he was stressed and had too much on his plate. He would usually come back to you when things settled down. But as the days passed, you realised the hurt was sinking in.

You missed him. You missed the version of him who would hold you in his arms and promise to keep you safe, who would kiss your lips forehead and tell you how much he loved you. You missed the way he used to smile at you like you were his entire world.

Now, it felt like he was drifting away from you, and you didn’t know how to hold on.

A part of you wanted to confront him and demand to know what was going on. But another part of you — the part that saw his darkest side — hesitated. You weren’t afraid of Jungkook, but you were afraid of pushing him further away.

So you stayed silent, and swallowed the loneliness that was slowly suffocating you.

As you sat there at the empty dinner table, staring at the untouched food, you wondered how much longer you could keep pretending that everything was okay.

And more than that. You wondered if Jungkook even noticed that you were hurting.

You were tired of Jungkook’s attitude. Tired of the way he barely spared you a glance when he was home. Tired of feeling like you were the only one holding onto this relationship while he let it slip through his fingers. You tried to be understanding, tried to be patient, but the loneliness was eating you alive.

It wasn’t just about him being busy anymore. It was about how he treated you. The hurtful words, the cold silences, the way he acted like your presence was an afterthought. You weren’t asking for much, just a little bit of his time, a moment where he could look at you like he used to, where you could feel like you mattered.

But it had been weeks since you had last felt his warmth. And you couldn’t take it anymore.

You decided that tonight, when he came home, you would talk to him. No more bottling up your emotions, no more pretending you were okay when you weren’t. You needed to know where you stood in his life.

At the same time, you prayed he wouldn’t lash out.

Your appetite was long gone at this point. You got up from the chair with your untouched plate of food and walked into the kitchen. You felt drained and your heart heavy with everything you had been suppressing for too long. You didn’t even notice Jungkook entering the house.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes landed on you just as you were dumping your food into the bin.

“Seriously, Y/n?” he spoke up. “Wasting food again? Why the hell do you even cook if you’re not going to eat?” he said in irritation.

Your body tensed at his words, and slowly, anger flared inside you. You spun around and placed the plate into the sink with more force than necessary, and the loud clatter echoed in the kitchen. Your patience finally ran out.

“You tell me, Jungkook,” you snapped as your eyes burned with unshed tears.

“Why am I doing this? Why do I sit at that damn table every night, waiting for you like a fool? Why do I keep hoping you’ll come home and actually spend time with me?” your voice cracked with frustration and hurt.

“Fuck, I’m not doing this with you anymore” Jungkook let out a long sigh, and ran his tattooed hand through his already disheveled hair before turning away, as if he had no energy to argue. But that only fueled your anger even more.

“Do what?” you snapped, “have a decent and mature conversation?”

You clenched your fists. “You know what, Jungkook? I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of your attitude. I get that you’re busy, I get that your world is dangerous, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like this. I’m not your enemy. I’m not someone you can just ignore until it’s convenient for you.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but you pushed forward because you were unable to stop the words spilling from your lips. “All I want is for you to spare some time for me. Just a little. Because I miss you. I miss us. Why can’t you understand that?”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, as if he was barely holding onto his patience. “Like I said, Y/n, I’m not doing this with you. I don’t have time for this. I have another mission to go to” his voice was firm and cold, but the worst part was the way he wouldn’t even look at you.

“I want you to stay in the house. Don’t go out. Understand me?” it was only then when his dark eyes finally met yours. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that made your stomach twist. A warning almost.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. ���Another mission? Seriously? Again?” your voice was rising now, the pain overtaking your restraint.

“What the hell is up with you lately? We’ve been together for almost seven years, and I’ve never seen you like this!”

Jungkook’s expression hardened, but you pressed on. “Please,” your voice softened, cracking towards the end.

“I just want to spend time with you. It’s been so long, Jungkook. I miss you. I miss your kisses. I miss your warmth and your stupid little jokes” your eyes shimmered with tears while your chest ached. “I don’t need grand gestures, I just need you. Can’t you give me that?”

For a split second, something sort of guilt and regret flickered in Jungkook’s eyes. You weren’t sure. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by frustration.

“Well, I can’t fucking be there for you twenty-four-seven Y/n!” he snapped. “I have important things to take care of! I run a mafia gang, do you get that? I have responsibilities that you can’t even begin to understand!”

You flinched at the venom in his words, but he wasn’t done.

“Why can’t you just understand that? Why do you have to be so needy and clingy every single day?” his voice kept rising. “Just get over it already!”

His words hit you harder than any bullet ever could.

Needy. Clingy. As if wanting to be with him was a burden. As if your love, your presence, was nothing but an inconvenience.

You stared at him as your heart shattered into a million pieces, and in that moment, you realised something. You weren’t sure if the man standing in front of you was the same Jungkook you had fallen in love with.

And worse. You weren’t sure if you could keep waiting for him to come back.

But there’s always a second side of a story.

Two weeks ago, a small group of Jungkook’s highly skilled men were shot down by a rival gang in a brutal ambush that shook the very foundation of his organisation. Since then, he had been working tirelessly to track them down. He spent sleepless nights planning counterattacks, calling in reinforcements, and trying to ensure the safety of what remained of his team.

But with that responsibility came an unbearable level of stress, and that stress had started to take a toll on him. He became more irritable and more distant. His patience wore thinner each day, and when he wasn’t out dealing with gang matters, he spent what little time he had at home in a constant state of frustration. The worst part was that you became an unintentional victim of his temper.

You tried to be understanding. You knew his world was dangerous and the pressure he was under. But that didn’t make it any easier when he lashed out at you. That didn’t make it hurt any less when he acted like you were just another problem on his never-ending list of things to deal with.

And tonight was no different.

The moment the words left his mouth, you felt the sting of them like a slap. You flinched slightly, and your body tensed as your vision blurred with more tears.

Jungkook’s anger wavered when he saw your expression shift. He didn’t mean to raise his voice like that. He didn’t mean to let his exhaustion get the better of him. But it was too late. Your heart was already breaking.

Tears finally began to cascade down your cheeks, and the sight made Jungkook curse under his breath. He hated seeing you cry. He hated being the reason for your pain, yet lately, it felt like he was doing nothing but hurting you. That realisation made his chest twist with an ache that wasn’t just guilt but something more. Something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Sighing, he took a slow step towards you. You instinctively took a small step back, but he closed the distance before you could put any real space between you. His large hands reached out, and he hesitated for a brief second before finally cupping your face gently.

His calloused fingers brushed against your soft skin as he wiped the tears from your cheeks, his touch softer than his words had been moments ago.

“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice now quieter and gentler.

You hesitated but slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. His dark eyes, though still clouded with fatigue, now held regret. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against your damp skin.

“I didn’t mean to say any of that. You know how busy and stressed I am. It’s not that I don’t want to make time for you…” his voice trailed off for a moment before he sighed again.

“I just…don’t know how to balance everything right now.”

Jungkook let out another deep sigh as his hands moved to hold you by the waist, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I know it’s not a good reason to lash out at you like that. I’m really sorry for that baby. You know I love you” his dark eyes searched yours, like he silently pleaded for your forgiveness.

“I know how much you miss me and need me,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Trust me, I do too. But once everything is settled down, you can have me all you want. I swear baby” his thumb gently brushed over your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears.

“But for now…I have to fix things first. You just have to wait a little longer for me.” Jungkook was beyond exhausted. It was obvious he was drowning under the pressure of his responsibilities.

“You know I want to keep you safe from all these bad people,” he mumbled, his voice breaking slightly at the end. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Before you could respond, he leaned down and closed the distance between you as his lips captured yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was slow and desperate, like a silent plea for you to understand his world and his burdens. The warmth of his lips, despite the cold winter outside, against yours sent shivers down your spine. But as your body melted into his embrace, you felt a tear slip down your cheek, mixing with the kiss.

A small cry escaped your mouth. You were overwhelmed with the emotions pouring out of you. Jungkook immediately pulled away, his brows furrowing as he cupped your face once more. His fingers traced over your soft skin delicately, as if you were something fragile — something he already damaged too much.

“Please don’t cry baby. I’m sorry for everything,” he pleaded with his voice strained with guilt. His hands trembled slightly as he wiped your tears away with his thumbs, and pressed gentle kisses on your damp cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Fuck, I’m such a dick” he shook his head, angry with himself. His own emotions were raw as his walls crumbled in front of you. And you could see it — the pain, the exhaustion, the love.

He pulled you into a tight hug and wrapped his arms around you without saying another word. You laid your head on his sturdy chest and felt the heat radiating from his body, and the soft vibrations of his heartbeat against your ear. His breathing was heavy as he tried to calm you down with his hand stroking your back soothingly.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms. It was moments like this that reminded you why you had fallen for him in the first place. Because beneath the tough exterior, beneath the leader of a dangerous mafia gang, he was still Jungkook. The same man who loved you, the same man who would do anything to protect you.

Minutes passed in silence and the tension slowly eased between you. Your body had stopped trembling and the tears had finally stopped flowing.

When you pulled away a little, your gaze softened slightly as you took in his appearance. It was only now that you truly noticed how exhausted he looked — the slight bags under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders carried the weight of the world.

That was when you saw it — a small cut on his lower lip, a bruise darkening his cheekbone.

You let out a small gasp. “You’re hurt.”

Jungkook blinked, confused for a second, before realising what you were looking at. He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

You reached up without thinking. Your fingers ghosted over the bruise, careful not to apply too much pressure. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, and for a moment, everything else faded — the fights, the frustration, the distance.

“You got this on your mission, didn’t you?” you asked quietly. He didn’t answer immediately, but his silence was enough of an answer.

Jungkook let out another sigh as he dropped his hands from your face, running them through his hair instead. “Some of my men were shot down by a rival gang,” he finally admitted. “And because of that, the number of people I trust has gone down. I’ve been working non-stop to recruit the right men for my team. I just want to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

He paused and glanced away for a second before looking back at you. “It’s not an easy job. I have to take care of so many things at once. The missions, the team, making sure no one else gets killed…”

He exhaled sharply. “It’s stressing me out so much.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, even see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of everything he carried was finally starting to crush him.

For the first time in weeks, you saw something unfiltered, something vulnerable in him. You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his. He looked down at the small gesture as his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your skin.

“I know it’s not easy,” you murmured.

“And I know you’re under a lot of pressure. But Jungkook, I don’t want to be just another thing you have to deal with. I don’t want to feel like a burden to you. I want to be someone who you could talk to whenever you’re feeling like this.”

His eyes snapped up to yours instantly, almost in panic. “You’re not a burden baby” he said quickly. “Never.”

You swallowed hard. “Then stop treating me like one.”

For a long moment, there was silence. And then, for the first time in weeks, Jungkook let his guard down completely. He pulled you into his arms and held you tightly, as if he was afraid you would slip through away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I don’t mean to push you away. I just…I don’t want you to get caught up in all this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling softly against his chest. “I just want you, Jungkook. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And for now, that was enough.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a loud grumble from your stomach. Jungkook pulled back slightly with a small smirk playing on his lips. “Princess, you’re hungry.”

You frowned, “I don’t want to eat” you mumbled under your breath.

Jungkook sighed and shook his head. “You have to baby. You can’t go to bed with an empty stomach” he tried to be firm.

He glanced at his watch to check the time. He only had about ten minutes of spare time before he had to go back to work. “Come on, let’s eat,” he said and gently pulled you away from his chest. You hesitated for a moment before finally nodding.

Jungkook held your hand as he led you further into the kitchen. He reheated his food while making sure to put an extra portion on your plate. His movements were casual, yet there was something comforting about the way he cared for you. The two of you then sat down at the dining table and enjoyed the peaceful meal together, something that became rare due to his responsibilities.

Between bites, you couldn’t help but smile. “This is really good, babe,” he complimented as he looked at you with his dark brown eyes. His voice was soft. He wasn’t the ruthless gang leader everyone feared — he was just Jungkook. Your Jungkook.

You grinned as you chewed, feeling content. “I wish you were home more often to taste my great food,” you pouted, playfully nudging his arm. You knew he loved your cooking, and you took pride in the fact that, despite his dangerous life, he still found comfort in the meals you made for him.

“I know, I’m so—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the dining room door suddenly burst open. One of his men entered in a rush, panting as if he had run across the entire mansion. You were startled at the sudden entrance, and Jungkook noticed. His relaxed demeanour vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, hard expression he was fearfully known for.

He hated being interrupted, especially when he was with you.

“Boss, everyone is ready to leave. The Ravenclaw gang should be there any moment,” the man reported urgently.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched while his grip on his fork tightened until his knuckles turned white. The entire room seemed to darken as his expression shifted. Without warning, he slammed his fork onto the table. You flinched once again at the sound, feeling your breath catching in your throat as you placed a hand over your chest.

He abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up, his movements swift and intimidating. Without hesitation, he grabbed the boy by the collar, yanking him forward and slamming him against the wall. The boy let out a startled gasp, his eyes widening in terror.

“You know I fucking hate when people burst through the door without knocking and interrupting me,” Jungkook growled, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightened and knuckles turned even paler as he held the boy in place.

The boy gulped as his entire body trembled. He knew he had screwed up — badly. “I-I’m sorry, b-boss,” he stuttered.

Jungkook’s eyes flashed with unrelenting fury. “I made this rule very fucking clear when I recruited you, and you still can’t follow it?!” he barked.

You watched the scene unfold with a pounding heart. You knew Jungkook had a temper, but it was worse tonight. He was already on edge, and this interruption had only set him off further. While his anger was understandable, you could tell he was overreacting.

It wasn’t just about the boy barging in — it was everything. The stress, the pressure, the constant weight of leading an empire. He never got a moment to breathe, never got a second to just be himself. And now, he was taking it all out on this poor boy.

You saw Jungkook’s hand twitch and his fingers subtly moving toward his waistline. Your eyes widened in alarm as you realised what he was about to do.

He was reaching for his gun.

Panic surged through you as you shot up from your chair and rushed towards him. Without thinking, you grabbed his arm and held onto him tightly. “Koo, please calm down,” you pleaded, your voice gentle yet firm.

“He just made a mistake. Let him go. Please.”

Jungkook’s body was tense with barely restrained rage beneath your touch. You tightened your grip on his arm, your fingers pressing into his skin. “Please,” you repeated softly, looking up at him.

Silence filled the room. Jungkook’s chest rose and fell with each deep inhale he took. His grip on the boy’s collar slowly loosened, only slightly, but his jaw remained clenched. He looked at you before finally exhaling a sharp breath.

With one last glare he shoved the boy away, releasing him from his death grip. The boy stumbled back, visibly shaken, but he didn’t dare make a sound.

Jungkook slowly lowered his hand and slipped his gun back into place. His entire body was still rigid, but he had listened to you. He always did.

“Get out and wait in the car with the others. I’ll be there soon,” he snapped at the boy. His tone left no room for argument. The boy nodded frantically and bolted out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him as he did.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding as your grip on Jungkook’s arm loosened. He was still tense, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

You frowned as you looked at Jungkook. “What was that there? He looked terrified,” you asked.

Jungkook barely spared you a glance. “Good. He should’ve knocked before coming in,” he replied sternly. His strict nature when it came to his rules wasn’t surprising, but sometimes, you wished he wouldn’t be so harsh on the people working for him.

Carefully, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands. His eyes softened as they met yours. “Koo,” you murmured, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “You need to breathe.”

He let out a slow breath as he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the storm inside them calmed — just a little.

“I just hate when people don’t listen,” he muttered quietly.

“I know,” you said softly. “But you can’t let it consume you.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he leaned into your touch. For all his strength, for all his power, you were the one thing that could ground him. “Let’s just finish the food, hmm?” you tried to coax him in hopes to bring back the peaceful moment you had before the interruption.

But Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t now baby. I have to go,” he said softly as he looked at you.

Your expression fell instantly. A deep disappointment settled in your chest, but also fear. No matter how many times he left for these missions, the worry never faded. The possibility of him not coming home lingered in your mind like a ghost that refused to stop haunting you.

He noticed the sudden change in your demeanour and reached out to gently cup your face in his warm hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks as he looked you into your eyes. “I promise I’ll be back soon, hmm?” he reassured you softly.

You swallowed hard and pressed your lips together as you tried to hold back the unease bubbling inside you. “But…what if something happens to you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Before you knew it, your arms wrapped around his torso as you held him tightly, like you could somehow keep him from leaving.

Jungkook chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through his chest. He stroked your hair soothingly. “Nothing will happen to me love. I’m a strong man,” he teased as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. You knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help much. The anxiety in your heart was still there.

“You should go to sleep now. It’s getting late,” he murmured against your hair, pulling away slightly to look at you again. “I’ll get going.”

But you groaned and tightened your arms around him like a child refusing to let go of their favorite toy. “Babe, please,” you whined.

Jungkook sighed, shaking his head with amusement. “I’m getting late,” he whined back in a playful tone, mimicking you. “You’re acting like a baby now,” he chuckled, his usual serious demeanour cracking just a little as he poked fun at you.

Despite the comfort of the moment, you still didn’t want him to go. You buried your face into his chest for a few more seconds before reluctantly loosening your grip. Jungkook took the opportunity to finally pull away, though he lingered just a moment longer, his fingers brushing against your wrist before stepping back.

His playful expression faded as he turned serious again. He called for one of his men in a sharp and commanding tone. “What’s the position of the Ravenclaw gang?” he asked.

The man who was holding an iPad quickly updated him. “It looks like they’re at the Riverdale Bar. They should be at the abandoned warehouse in about five minutes,” he reported.

Jungkook gave a curt nod as he processed the information. The air around him shifted again. He was no longer your teasing, affectionate fiancé. He was the ruthless leader his men feared and respected. The moment he stepped into that mindset, there was no turning back.

The man hurried out of the room after receiving his silent dismissal. Jungkook turned back to you, and scanned your face. You were still standing there, watching him with those same worried eyes, and he sighed.

Without a word, he stepped forward and scooped you up into his arms. You let out a surprised yelp and instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you out of the dining room and up the stairs.

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” you asked.

“If you’re not going to listen and go to bed yourself, then I’ll make you,” he said simply, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You pouted but didn’t argue. He was too strong to fight off anyway.

Reaching the bedroom, he stepped inside and gently laid you down on the bed. His hands carefully adjusted you to make sure you were comfortable before grabbing a nearby blanket and draping it over you.

Then, instead of leaving immediately, he sat beside you with his fingers brushing through your silky hair absentmindedly. His eyes softened. “You really worry about me that much?” he murmured after a moment.

You looked up at him, your throat tightening. “Of course I do,” you admitted. “You’re my everything Jungkook, and my heart never rests when you’re not here with me”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a slow exhale. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ll be careful” was all he could promise.

Jungkook sighed softly as he continued to run his fingers through your hair, brushing a few strands away from your face along the way. He looked down at you with tenderness, but there was also worry in his dark eyes. He never liked leaving you, especially at night, but his duty called.

“Right, I’m going to go now,” he murmured. “And like I said, I promise to be back home soon, so just go to sleep, okay?”

You bit your lip as your stomach churned with unease. No matter how many times he reassured you, the fear never went away. Every time he stepped out of that door, there was a possibility he wouldn’t come back. The world he was a part of was dangerous and unpredictable.

“Please be careful,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “Come home safe — and alive.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened as he cupped your face, his thumbs tracing small circles on your cheeks. “Hey, I’m going to be fine. I promise,” he said with a small reassuring smile before leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

He kissed you once, then again, and again, each peck lingering just a little longer than the last. It was as if he couldn’t bring himself to stop, as if he needed to memorise the feel of your lips before he walked away.

You clutched onto his hoodie to hold him close as you kissed him back, your heart aching at the same time. “I love you so much,” he murmured between kisses.

“I love you too,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his. “Please be safe.”

Jungkook exhaled deeply and pressed one final kiss to your lips before pulling away. He stood up from the bed and ran a hand through his dark hair as he looked down at you. “You know what to do,” he reminded you with a serious tone. “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

You nodded weakly with your hands still gripping the blanket that covered you. Jungkook’s lips curled into a small affectionate smile. “Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight baby” you whispered. Jungkook turned off the light switch and quietly exited the room. You listened to the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall. Then, silence.

You sighed and curled up on your side. The bed felt emptier without him. Despite the lingering anxiety in your chest, tiredness soon took over, and you drifted off into a restless sleep.

But little did you know, you weren’t alone.

A figure stood motionless outside. His presence was barely noticeable because his breathing was slow and controlled. His lips curled into a sinister smirk as he listened to the soft sound of your breathing from inside the room.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a phone and dialed a number. The call was answered almost instantly. “Hello, boss?” the man spoke in a hushed voice. “Yeah, he’s gone. And his little bitch is sleeping.”

He let out a low chuckle as his fingers tapped lightly against the wall. “I’ll distract the bodyguard guarding the back area and signal you to come in,” he continued smoothly as his eyes flickered toward the entrance of the house.

There was a pause as he listened to the voice on the other end. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he nodded. “Yeah, okay, boss. See you soon.”

He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket before glancing back at your closed bedroom door. His smirk widened. “Hope you spent your last day well, Miss Kim,” he muttered under his breath before leaving.

The night was supposed to be peaceful. Everything was silent, except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. But then something woke you up. A sudden noise.

Living with Jungkook and around his lifestyle, your senses have sharpened throughout the years. You were up almost immediately because it wasn’t just any noise. It was the kind that didn’t belong during quiet hours in this house.

You froze, and your heart began to pound furiously in your chest. It sounded like whispering — low murmurs from downstairs. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as a deep, unsettling feeling crept into your gut.

Carefully, you removed the blanket, ensuring that not even the softest rustle gave away your movement. You tiptoed towards the door and pressed your ear against it. Silence. For a moment, you wondered if your mind played a trick on you, but then you heard it again — soft, hushed voices just below.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unlocked the door. You pushed it open just enough to peek into the dimly lit hallway. There was no one in sight. But the feeling of being watched made you paranoid.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out. Each step down the stairs was slow and calculated, while your heart thudded louder with every inch you descended. You reached the ground floor, and your eyes landed on a familiar figure. You bodyguard, standing still with his back facing you.

Relief washed over you for a brief moment, but something felt…wrong.

“Hello? Is anybody down there?” you called out.

But your bodyguard didn’t respond. He stood eerily still, and that’s when you noticed it — his posture was tense. “Who was making the noise?” you asked cautiously.

And then, when he turned, your blood ran cold. It wasn’t him.

The man before you wore the same uniform, but his face was one you had never seen before. His eyes were dark, lit with a sinister amusement. Your breath hitched. You knew every single one of Jungkook’s bodyguards, and this man was not one of them. He was an imposter.

Your heart pounded as fear took hold. “W-Who are you? A-And what are y-you doing h-here?” you stammered, taking a step back.

The man smirked, his lips curling with something close to satisfaction. Slowly, he advanced toward you. You instinctively backed away, step by step, until the cold wall met your back. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as your mind raced for an escape.

Then, a sudden rustling filled the air. From the corner of your eyes, men emerged silently, dressed in sleek grey suits. And then, you saw it — the glint of metal. Handguns. Panic overflowed through you. You spun around, but before you could run, they surrounded you, cutting off every possible escape.

One of the men stepped forward. His presence seemed like he was the leader, commanding. His eyes burned into yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. You swallowed hard and tried to mask the fear threatening to consume you.

“We’re really sorry for disturbing your sleep. But don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of sleep when we’re done with you.” His voice was a whisper against your ear, yet it held the weight of a threat. A shiver ran down your spine once again as you felt his breath against your skin.

Your throat went dry. “W-Who are you, and what do you want from me?” you demanded, though your voice trembled despite your best efforts to sound strong.

The man chuckled darkly and tilted his head to study you. “Who I am is none of your business, love. But what I want…is you. You and your blood smeared on my hands. Revenge for what your little fiancé did.”

Jungkook.

Your breath hitched again. Your mind raced to try and piece together what he meant. What did Jungkook do? Who were these men?

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you took another shaky step back, but there was nowhere to go. The men were closing in, their faces cold and merciless. You had to get out. You had to call Jungkook.

But the chances of escaping this room alive? Very, very slim.

Your eyes started to pool with tears as your body shook aggressively. “But I want to have fun before I get started with the real shit” he said, trailing his fingers along your bare shoulder.

But your instincts soon took over. You smacked his hand away and, with all your strength, drove your knee into his groin. The man let out a loud grunt as he doubled over in pain. Without hesitation, you shoved him aside and bolted for the door.

But before you could even reach it, his men blocked your path like a wall of stone. Your panic peaked as you spun around, looking for another way out.

“You little—” he snarled with rage burning in his eyes as he recovered. He lunged at you and grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip. You struggled and thrashed against him, but he was stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed as you twisted and turned in his hold.

But he wouldn’t budge. So you did the last thing there was to do. You reached down to his wrist and sank your teeth into his flesh with a force that was enough to break his skin. The man screamed out in pain and his grip on you loosened. You took the opportunity to shove him and move as far as you could away from him and his men.

But he was quick to recover this time too. When his head snapped to your direction, clutching onto his arm, you could see the rage in his eyes tripling.

“You bitch!” he lunged at you again and grabbed you by the hair, causing you to let out a loud painful shriek. He then pulled you in and threw you over his shoulder.

“LET GO OF ME! PUT ME DOWN” you screamed, but all fell into deaf ears.

“Move out of the way boys, I’m going to teach this slut a lesson first. She messed with the wrong guy” he said.

The men stepped aside and allowed him to walk past, while you cried and pounded your fists against his back. You were kicking wildly, but he didn't budge.

Once he reached a random guest bedroom, he threw you onto the bed with such force that you bounced against the mattress. Your pulse quickened as he removed his suit jacket and tossed it aside. His monstrous eyes locked onto you with dangerous intent.

You refused to let fear paralyse you. You refused to let him take advantage of you. Crawling backward, you pressed yourself against the headboard. “D-Don't come any closer,” you warned.

He smirked. “Or what?” he challenged, jumping on the bed and pinning you down. “You can’t do shit love, so be quiet and let me do my thing” he said leaning closer to your neck.

“NO! GET AWAY FROM ME YOU BASTARD!” you screamed, trying to push him away but failing. It only earned you a hard smack in the face that caused your head to turn sideways. You glared at him with your tearful but hateful eyes.

Just before he could do anything else, you brought your knee up and kneed him in the groin once again. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, you grabbed the nearest object — a heavy lamp — and swung it across his head with everything you had.

The impact sent him staggering back, clutching his head.

Breathing heavily, you scrambled off the bed and made a break for the door. Your hands fumbled with the lock as footsteps pounded behind you. Just as he lunged, you wrenched the door open and darted down the hallway.

Shouts erupted from the men downstairs as they realised you were escaping. Your adrenaline fueled you as you ran towards your bedroom and slammed the door shut behind you. You locked it and pressed your back against the wood as you tried to catch your breath.

Heavy footsteps soon approached. They wouldn't let you get away.

With shaky hands, you snatched your phone from the nightstand and quickly dialed Jungkook’s number. Each ring felt like an eternity. Your breaths came in short gasps as you fought the panic closing in at your throat. When he finally picked up, a wave of relief washed over you.

“Hey babe, you okay?”

Jungkook sounded a little concerned, you could tell, but you couldn’t get a word out. Your breathing was ragged and uneven, and you could feel the hot sting of tears in your eyes. Your entire body was shaking uncontrollably.

Jungkook immediately stopped what he was doing. His expression hardened as he sensed something was terribly wrong.

“Y/n, are you okay? What happened? Say something.”

You let out a broken sob, the tears rolling down your cheeks as your grip on the phone tightened. “There’s someone i-in the h-house, Jungkook…a g-group of men. I-I don’t k-know w-who they are a-and—” your voice cracked, and fear rendered you almost speechless.

Jungkook’s heart plummeted. His worst nightmare was unfolding, and he wasn’t there to protect you. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist. His heart was hammering in his chest in fear. His men, who were waiting for orders, noticed his sudden shift in demeanour. Without hesitation, he turned to them.

“Princess, tell me exactly what happened. I’m coming, okay? Go and hide somewhere safe.”

His words were urgent, but he tried to keep his voice steady for your sake. He signalled half of his men to follow him, while the others remained behind to finish the mission. His protective instincts had fully taken over. Nothing mattered more than getting to you.

You sobbed into the phone as you hurriedly whispered everything you had seen and heard. Your voice shook and every breath you took showed how scared you were.

Meanwhile, Jungkook’s blood boiled with uncontainable rage. He gritted his teeth, with fury and fear intertwining in his chest like a storm. He always feared something like this would happen — someone coming for you when he wasn’t there.

And now, it was real.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he sped down the road, his heart racing faster than the car itself. “Please come h-home soon Jungkook, I’m scared. I don’t want to d-die,” you choked out.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. “Nothing will happen to you, okay? I’m on my way. Stay hidden. Stay on the call with me, don’t hang up.”

You did as he told you and hurriedly slipped into the closet in your bedroom, curling up into a ball as you tried to keep your breathing steady. Every sound in the house made your pulse skyrocket. Your body was frozen in fear, but Jungkook’s voice in your ear kept you from breaking down completely.

“I hate this, Jungkook. I hate all the guns and the violence,” you whispered. Jungkook’s heart ached at your words. He knew. He knew you never wanted to be caught up in this world, but you had become his weakness, his greatest vulnerability. And now, you were paying the price for loving him.

“I know baby. Just hold on a little longer. I swear, I’ll be there soon.” And with that, he pressed down on the accelerator harder because he was determined to get to you before it was too late.

It was then when you heard faint creaking of the floorboards which sent a violent shiver down your spine, and you curled deeper into the corner of the closet as you tried to regulate your breathing. The room outside was silent, too eerily silent, except for the slow footsteps that were approaching you. Each of them felt like a countdown to your doom. You clutched your phone tighter, but your trembling fingers barely were able to hold on.

Was this the end?

Jungkook was still on the line, still half way there, but you feared it would be too late. “I love you, Koo.” you whispered as tears continued to roll down your cheeks. “Please come quickly...I'm scared.”

Tears stung his eyes as his breathing became uneven, “I love you too baby. Just hang in there, I’m almost home.”

And then, you heard a click. It was an unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded. Your stomach dropped.

“I love you,” you whispered like they were your final words.

The closet door was soon yanked open with brutal force, and your phone nearly slipped from your grasp as you looked up, terror finally paralysing you. “There you are, you bitch,” the man sneered as a cold smirk stretched across his face.

Jungkook's blood ran cold as he heard that familiar voice. “Y/N?!” his voice cracked in fear as he heard your muffled gasp. He was still too far away.

“Hello? Y/n? Are you there?” his voice came through the phone frantically. But before you could utter a single word, a rough hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you out of the cramped closet. The force sent you stumbling, and the phone slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the cold, hard floor.

A scream tore from your throat as the man's grip tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shot through your scalp, but the terror in your chest overshadowed it. “Y/N!” your fiancé yelled.

“YOU BASTARD, LET HER GO NOW!” Jungkook desperately screamed, but there was no one to answer him — only your frantic cries and the scuffle of shoes against the ground.

Then, he heard an ear piercing scream, followed by a deafening gunshot.

The line went dead, and Jungkook's heart stopped.

“No. No, no, no. This can't be happening” his breathing grew ragged, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned whiter than they were before. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and weaved recklessly through traffic, his mind spiraling with fear. Was that gunshot meant for you? Were you hurt?

Or worse.

The thought made him sick and his blood boiled with rage. He prayed and he begged that you were still alive, that he wasn't too late. If he found even a single scratch on you, he wouldn't rest until he made the man who took you suffer.

He was coming for you.

Reaching the mansion, Jungkook slammed the brakes and jumped out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop. His heart was pounding violently, breath ragged and vision blurred by tears streaming down his cheeks as he sprinted towards the grand entrance. The moment he stepped inside, his stomach twisted in horror.

Bodies of his men and his loyal guards lay motionless scattered across the floor in pools of red. The scent of gunpowder and death lingering in the air was compelling, and it was suffocating him.

The mansion was eerily silent. No gunfire, no voices. Just an overwhelming, deafening silence. But his mind focused on one thing only — you.

“Y/N?! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?!” he shouted desperately, his voice cracking. He ran through the halls, kicking open each door as he searched for you frantically. But there was no answer. His hands shook as he gripped the staircase railing. His legs were moving on their own and carried him upstairs.

“Y/n, please. Where are you, honey?” his voice came out weaker this time. It was a desperate plea rather than a demand.

Then, a small, delicate voice reached his ears.

“Jungkook?”

His breath hitched, and he spun around so fast he almost lost his balance. Then, he saw you. Standing in the doorway of the guest room. Relief washed over him like a crashing wave, and for a brief moment, the chaos around him ceased to exist.

“Oh my god, there you are!” he exhaled as he closed the distance between you in a few quick strides. His hands ached to touch you, to hold you, to make sure you were real.

You took a step forward, but something about the way you moved made him a little puzzled. Your steps were slow and irregular. Your lips were quivering while tears streamed down your face.

But still, you smiled at him — a soft, tired smile, like a person who had fought too hard and was finally surrendering.

Jungkook ignored the unease curling in his stomach and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly. He pressed his lips against your forehead, “I was so scared, I thought they hurt you” he whispered.

You didn’t respond, only melting into his embrace with your head resting against his firm chest as if you belonged there.

For a moment, everything seemed okay.

Until it wasn’t. Because it was then when Jungkook felt it.

A wet sensation against his palm.

At first, he thought it was just sweat, maybe even tears. But when he lifted his hand, his confusion turned into gut-wrenching terror. His fingers were stained red.

His blood ran cold.

Slowly, he pulled away. His breathing became shallow as his eyes locked onto the dark patch spreading across your dark blue pyjama top. His stomach reeled.

“No…no, no, no.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, but his body screamed. His fingers trembled violently as they reached for the fabric, peeling it away just enough to reveal the truth that shattered his entire world.

Three bullet holes.

Right in your abdomen.

Jungkook’s mind blanked. His heart thumped so loudly he could barely hear anything else. His chest clenched as panic gripped at his throat.

“No, baby, stay with me, okay? Just stay with me!” he was frantic. His hands pressed against your wounds to try and stop the bleeding, but the crimson liquid seeped through his fingers too fast.

You wobbled slightly, and your body leaned against him for support. Your eyes were fluttering as you struggled to keep them open.

“Jungkook…” you murmured weakly.

“No, don’t talk like that! You’re going to be fine. I’ll get you help, I promise” his voice broke as he cradled you in his arms. He held you tight as if holding you close would somehow keep you from slipping away.

But your body was growing weaker.

Jungkook’s world was falling apart, and he was powerless to stop it.

The pain continued to spread like wildfire through your body, triggering your legs to shake uncontrollably beneath you and shredding any remaining strength. The world around you was hazy, darkness was beginning to invade the periphery of your vision, and your thoughts struggled to remain alert. But the pain was unbearable and your body could no longer bear the weight of it.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as your legs finally gave out, and you collapsed. Jungkook moved faster than he ever had in his life. His arms shot forward and caught you just before you hit the floor. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.

“No…no, no, no!” he mumbled desperately as he pulled you into his lap. His hands pressed against your wounds while his entire body was shaking. The warmth of your blood oozed through his fingers, and a horrifying contrast to the coldness began to creep into your skin.

A raw, desperate cry ripped from his throat. “SOMEONE CALL THE AMBULANCE!” he screamed in panic that echoed through the empty halls.

But you shook your head weakly. Your breathing laboured, and every word was a struggle now, every syllable dripping with pain.

“N-No, it’s o-okay. T-There’s n-n-no need t-to. I-It’s g-going to be t-too l-late…”

Jungkook’s heart shattered at your words. His hold on you tightened more as if he could physically hold onto your life and keep it from slipping away.

“N-No! Don’t say that! You’re going to be o-okay. I won’t let anything happen to you!” he choked out as his tears dripped onto your skin.

You tried to smile, but it came out weak and broken. “K-Koo…y-you know I-I’m n-not going to make it. L-Look at me…”

He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Because looking at you meant accepting the truth. Looking at you meant accepting that this was happening, that he was losing you, that no matter how much he wished, begged, or prayed, he couldn’t save you.

Jungkook shook his head furiously. “No! No, don’t talk like that! You have to fight, please! Stay with me, baby, please!”

He had imagined a future with you — a lifetime together, a wedding, a home filled with joy, and your children. He promised himself that he would always protect you, that no harm would ever come to you.

And yet, here you were, bleeding out to death in his arms.

He was too late.

A sob racked his chest as his fingers traced your paling cheek. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he whimpered, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky. “This is all my fault…”

You looked up at him through hooded eyes. Eyes that were still filled with love despite the agonising pain you were in. With great effort, you lifted your hand and cupped his cheek. Your thumb grazed over his skin in an attempt to comfort him.

“I-It’s not y-your f-fault. It’s no one’s fault…” you whispered, though even as you spoke, your voice was fading, your breaths becoming shallower.

Jungkook felt his entire being fracture. His hand cradled your face while his tears mixed with the blood staining his skin. “No, no, no…baby, please…” his voice cracked as he shook his head.

The only sound between you was his broken cries and your ragged, weakening breathing.

His grief turned to fury. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening. He knew who did this to you, and he swore they would pay.

“I promise you, I will hunt down the bastard who did this. I swear, I will rip his head off” his voice was low with murderous intent. He spoke as if making that promise alone could keep you alive.

But deep down, he knew.

You were slipping away. And that there was little he could do to stop it.

Your fingers clutched weakly at the fabric of Jungkook’s shirt. Your grip was faltering as every ounce of strength drained from your body. The pain was unbearable now, like a fire consuming you from the inside out, but even worse than the agony was the sight of him — his face twisted with devastation, tears endlessly streaming down his bruised cheeks, his hands shaking as they cradled your dying form.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you had to tell him. You had to make him promise.

“P-Promise me…you’ll m-move o-on and f-find someone e-else…” your voice cracked with pain, your breathing growing more ragged. “I d-don’t want y-you to be s-sad forever when I’m g-gone.”

Jungkook’s entire body stiffened. His heart clenched as if someone had reached into his chest and crushed it in their grip.

“No. No, never” his voice was firm but choked with tears. “I love you, only you. There will never be another woman I want to love. I don’t see my future with anyone else but you.”

His words made your already weak heart ache. You wanted to stay. You wanted a lifetime with him. You imagined growing old together, waking up in his arms every morning, sharing laughter, love, and the simple joys of life. But fate had different plans.

You let out a soft, broken sigh. “I-I’m tired…”

Jungkook shook his head frantically. “No! No, you’ll be fine. The ambulance is on the way, baby. Stay awake, you’re going to be okay!” he rocked you slightly, as if the motion would keep you conscious, keep you grounded to this world.

But you gave him a small, sad smile. “J-Jungkook…h-honey, you know t-that’s not true…”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to scream at the universe for being so cruel, but your voice was growing fainter, and your eyes were fluttering as if you were already halfway between this world and the next.

“You r-really were the b-best t-thing that h-has ever h-happened to m-me…” you whispered. The weight of those words was breaking him more and more. He let out a heart-wrenching sob. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

“I w-wish I was able to s-stay with you f-forever…”

Jungkook’s cries grew louder, echoing through the empty hallways, and his entire body shuddered as he held you. “No, no, please don’t do this to me. Stay with me. Just a little longer, baby. Please!”

You forced yourself to gather the last of your strength to use your fingers and brush them against his cheek. You wanted to memorise him one last time — the warmth of his skin, the love in his eyes, even the pain he carried for you.

“I-I l-love y-you…” you gasped out.

Jungkook’s entire world came crashing down. His body shook as he let out a broken wail, pressing his forehead against yours.

At that moment, he knew. He had to let you go.

He had to watch the love of his life slip away, leaving him in a world that suddenly felt far too empty, far too cold. No matter how badly he wanted to fight for you, to keep you by his side, it was too late.

The least he could do was let you go and allow you to rest forever in peace. His hands continued to tremble as he held you close. His vision was blurred by the endless stream of tears that refused to stop falling. He knew this was inevitable. He knew there was nothing more he could do to save you. And yet, the weight of reality crushed him.

“I love you too princess,” he sobbed. His fingers gently traced your pale face.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly. Every word you spoke felt like a dagger to his chest, twisting deeper and bluntly, leaving wounds that would never heal.

“Shh, there’s no reason for you to be sorry my love,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pulled you closer, desperate to feel the warmth that was already fading from your body.

He leaned down and pressed one final, lingering kiss to your lips. It was soft, tender, and filled with all the love he could no longer express with words. You managed a small smile, tasting him one last time before your eyes fluttered shut, and the darkness swallowed you whole forever.

For a moment, there was silence. An eerie hush that made everything feel unreal. But when Jungkook felt your body go limp in his arms, when your hand slipped from his grip and fell lifelessly to the side, the world collapsed.

“No,” he gasped, his eyes wide with horror. “No, no, no — please!”

A heart-wrenching scream tore from his throat that resonated throughout the house like a ghostly wail of pain. The sound was raw and unfiltered, a cry so broken that it sent chills down the spines of those who heard it. With their leader's agony echoing louder than any gunshot they had ever heard, his men, who were positioned throughout the house, recoiled at the sound.

As though cradling you closer would somehow make you come back to life, Jungkook held on to your lifeless body, his fingers pressing into your flesh. His whole body rattled as he sobbed hysterically while burying his face in the crook of your neck. His lungs burned, his chest hurt, and he felt as though his sorrow was drowning him.

How was he supposed to live without you? How was he supposed to go on knowing that the only thing that made life worth living had been ripped away from him? You were his light in his dark life, his happiness, the only thing that kept him sane in this merciless world. And now, you were gone.

And someone was going to pay for it.

His hands trembled as he reached his hand to lightly, almost reverently, caress your cold cheek. His anguish turned into something more sinister, something lethal, and his jaw tightened.

“I will make them pay baby, I swear” he murmured, his voice hoarse, filled with quiet fury. “I will not spare them.”

He heard a rustling sound from behind that made his body stiffen. They were light footsteps. A presence. And he recognised it before he even turned around.

“Jungkook.” It was gentle, but hesitant.

Jungkook turned his head slowly, his tear-streaked face contorted in anguish once again. Mingyu stood a short distance away with his eyes reflecting their sorrow of watching his friend's broken state and his face brimming with grief.

“H-Hyung,” Jungkook stammered, his lips quivering, his entire body shaking. His throat was tight, as if words would never come out properly again.

Mingyu approached him cautiously, moving slowly and mindfully so as not to disturb him in his vulnerable position. With a mournful heart from the unimaginable scene in front of him, he knelt next to Jungkook and lowered himself to his level.

With his body jerking with sobs, Jungkook held onto Mingyu like an aid and leaned against his chest. He was shaking, his pain so overwhelming that it consumed him entirely.

“S-She’s g-gone Mingyu,” Jungkook choked out. “They killed her.”

Mingyu shut his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of Jungkook’s grief settle in his chest. He saw Jungkook in many states before — angry, ruthless, untouchable — but never like this. Never so utterly shattered.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. It was all he could say, all he could offer, knowing that no words would ever be enough.

Jungkook’s cries filled the large empty space, his body curling into itself as he mourned the love of his life. And amidst his heartbreak, amidst the unbearable grief that threatened to consume him, there was one thing he knew for certain.

He would not rest until the people responsible for this paid the price in blood.

“S-She was crying…she was so s-scared…but I was too l-late,” he choked out, his breath hitching with every word. “I f-failed. I failed to keep the p-promise I made to her, I f-failed to protect her.”

His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain would wake him from this nightmare. But this was real. Too real.

“She h-hated all this… she h-hated guns and v-violence because it s-scared her.” His body convulsed with another sob, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to continue. “S-She was s-scared to die.”

Mingyu watched helplessly as Jungkook completely broke before him. He never saw him like this — not even in their darkest moments, not even in the bloodiest wars they fought together. Jungkook had always been the strongest among them, the one who never let his emotions show, the one who kept his heart guarded behind walls of steel.

But now, those walls crumbled. He was no longer the ruthless, fearless leader Mingyu knew. He was just a broken man, holding onto the only person who had ever made him feel whole.

“B-But she still chose to s-stay with me,” Jungkook continued. “And I p-promised to protect her.” His grip on your lifeless body tightened.

“But I f-failed her…I was too l-late.” His words ended in a heartbreaking wail as he buried his face into your shoulder.

Mingyu felt his own heart break at the sight. The room was filled with Jungkook’s agonising cries that echoed off the walls. No one, not even Mingyu himself, had ever seen him cry like this before. The man who was feared by so many, the one who stood unshaken in the face of death, was now completely undone.

When his eyes traveled to your body, his breath hitched. The sight of the bullet wounds on your abdomen made his stomach churn. The blood that had soaked through your clothes, staining Jungkook’s hands as he held you, was a reminder of the brutality of it all.

Mingyu swallowed hard, knowing that once Jungkook moved past his grief, all that would remain was rage. And that was what terrified him. The moment Jungkook decided to go rogue, there would be no stopping him.

He stayed with him for what felt like an eternity, allowing Jungkook to cry until his sobs dulled into quiet whimpers, his tears still flowing freely. Even as the silence grew heavier between them, Jungkook refused to let go of you. His arms remained wrapped around you, his face still pressed against your cold skin, unwilling to accept that you were no longer breathing.

Then, finally, his voice returned — hoarse and cold.

“Call Namjoon,” he ordered, his voice still as a whisper but there was authority. “And get—” his throat constricted as he forced himself to swallow the lump forming there. His eyes that were swollen and bloodshot, flickered back to your body as his fingers brushed over your face gently.

“Get her body to the hospital” his voice cracked on the last word, clenching his jaw to try to hold himself together. But Mingyu could see it — the war waging inside him, the battle between grief and fury, between the part of him that wanted to fall apart and the part that demanded vengeance.

Mingyu hesitated for a moment. But then he nodded, knowing there was nothing he could say to ease Jungkook’s pain. He pulled out his phone and dialled Namjoon.

As he spoke, he glanced back at Jungkook, who still didn’t move. He remained frozen, clutching you tightly, as if he could somehow bring you back to life if he just held you close enough. His lips were trembling still, while his breathing remained uneven, but there was something else in his expression now.

A destructive storm was brewing inside him.

Mingyu had seen Jungkook angry before. He had seen him furious, livid, merciless. But this? This was different. This was something deeper, darker. This wasn’t just anger.

This was war. On everything and anything that came his way.

Each time Jungkook looked at the bullet holes in your abdomen, his fury only grew hotter. His breathing turned heavier, his fists clenched tighter, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Things were going to be a bloody mess after this. And Jungkook would make sure of it.

When Namjoon and the others eventually showed up, the air was heavy with melancholy and tension.

Their footsteps grew heavy as they took in the tragic sight in front of them, and their faces turned grim. As if he couldn't let go, Jungkook remained kneeling on the ground with his arms encircling your limp body and his face pressed against your cold skin. In an instant, his entire world had fallen apart, and he was unsure of how to put himself back together.

Namjoon approached the man carefully, and his usual composed demeanor faltered as he watched the agony in Jungkook’s bloodshot eyes. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Jungkook,” he murmured.

Jungkook inhaled shakily, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the others standing around him. Instead, he leaned down, pressing one last, lingering kiss on your forehead, and then your pale chapped lips.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Things won’t be the same without you…but I promise I will learn to live. For you.” A tear slipped down his cheek, landing on yours.

Then, as if something inside him had snapped, he finally released you. His body felt heavier than ever as he let Namjoon and the others take you from his arms. The absence of your warmth sent a sharp pain through his chest, but he forced himself to sit still as his eyes fixated on the blood staining his hands. Your blood.

His fingers twitched before slowly curling into a tight fist. His breathing grew steadier, but the warmth that once filled his eyes was gone, replaced by something darker. When he finally rose to his feet, there was no trace of the broken man who had been sobbing moments ago.

Instead, there stood a man prepared for a blood smearing war.

His voice was low and cold, void of all the emotions that had consumed him before. “Call up everyone. Everyone with their weapons. Meet me at the main base,” he commanded, his tone sharp as a blade.

His gaze shifted towards Mingyu, who flinched slightly at the newfound steel in his voice. “Tell the boys at the abandoned warehouse to finish off those bastards and get to the base immediately” there was no hesitation, no room for argument. This was an order.

“We’re gonna end this bastard and his gang once and for all” his words dripped with venom, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his neck were visible. The pure hatred radiating off him sent chills down Mingyu’s spine.

Jungkook bent down and picked up his gun, his fingers gripping the cold metal as if it was the only thing anchoring him. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the house, his movements fueled by vengeance.

Mingyu remained frozen in place, his throat dry as he swallowed hard. He knew things were about to get very, very ugly. Jungkook wasn’t just seeking revenge — he was out for blood, and nothing was going to stop him.

Your death had left a scar so deep that even wiping out an entire gang wouldn’t be enough to heal it. No amount of bloodshed would bring you back. But even knowing that, Jungkook was willing to burn everything down to make them pay.

And Mingyu knew that once the battle started, there would be no stopping him.

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

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Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

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That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

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The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

You kept your voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

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Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

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The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　

You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　

part III　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[marauder-misprint]

Ahhh congrats of 500!!!

For the dialogue prompts, could I request #52 “what do you want from me?” with any (or all/poly) of the marauders? Maybe some miscommunication tropes and some good old hurt/comfort with a happy ending?

Thank you for the request! This could've been like 1.2k words but I started writing the build-up and I like it too much ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

I don't write for poly so I chose James - Hope you enjoy!

Your death wish

James Potter x reader

3.2k words

cw: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

It was an extraordinary day when James realized he did not love Lily. He loved the version of her that he created in his head and fantasized about, which was not the real girl. It turned his world upside down. He sat on his bed alone, with the curtains drawn and staring straight ahead. There wasn’t a thought in his head. 

You were sitting with your friends in the common room and after a while, you really noticed that James wasn’t there. At first, you thought maybe he was at a quidditch practice you forgot about or something, but all the other players were around. As was Sirius, so that knocked out detention since one rarely had it while the other didn’t. You turned toward the Marauders.

“Oi, where’s Potter?”

“Dorm? Dunno. Not here,” Sirius answered, staring at the wizards’ chess board in front of him. He slowly reached out and moved one of the pieces.

“He had a thought and it fried his brain,” Remus said.

You looked at Peter, hoping he’d give you a better answer. 

“He’s having an existential crisis and won’t come down,” he said before moving one of his chess pieces. “Checkmate, Padfoot!”

Sirius swore loudly. “Moony, you play him! Sick of losing…” 

You rolled your eyes and looked at the stairs. So James was theoretically up those stairs in possible need of a friend and his closest two were trying to beat the third in chess and failing. You got up and went to their dorm. You stood outside the door for a second before knocking. 

No response.

So you knocked again and called his name. Still no response. When you knocked a third time with another call of his name and no response, you opened the door and entered the room slowly. 

You tried not to gasp at the state of the room. It was like a tornado had come through and instead of cleaning up the wreckage, the boys simply made paths from their beds to the bathroom and the door. But, only one of the beds had its curtains drawn so you approached that one. 

“James,” you sang as you stood next to his bed.

There was a noise that sounded something like a grunt and a groan. You gripped the curtain before realizing the slight risk of opening it.

“Are you at least semi-decent?”

“Mhmm.” 

A response you recognized! You smiled as you threw the curtain open and were met with another grunt-groan. James recoiled into himself at the sudden light. 

“What’s up with you, Potter?” you asked, leaning against the bedpost at the foot of his bed. “Lupin said you had a thought and it fried your brain.” 

Once again, you were met with silence. You sighed as you scanned the room. You didn’t see what you were looking for. You crouched down to look under his bed. There it was: James’ broomstick. You grabbed it. Standing up, you slung it against your shoulder and headed for the door.

“Well, if you don’t mind me borrowing this, just stay in bed,” you said casually.

As soon as you were outside the room, you broke into a run. If James took the bait, you needed your head start. 

For a moment, James didn’t move. It took him a second to get out of his head and process what had just happened. Then, he was swinging his legs on the bed, pulling on his shoes and sprinting after you. 

When you reached the bottom of the stairs and bolted towards the portrait door, Remus said, “She’s mad, that one.”

Peter laughed. “More like a death wish!” 

The thundering footsteps of James and the expression on his face only confirmed the reason for the boys’ comments. It was common knowledge that no one touched James’ broom. You were no exception. 

You didn’t stop running until you heard the faint slam of the portrait and the Fat Lady’s scolding. 

Turning around briefly, you hollered, “Come and get me, Potter!” 

And then you were off again. You kept running until you were outside. Then, you were mounting the broom and kicking off. James was faster than you on foot, but with the advantage of your head start and his broom, there was no way he’d catch you. You flew to the quidditch pitch and did a lap. Then you went to the goal posts. With careful finesse, you jumped to the hoop and perched yourself on it, holding James’ broom across your lap. 

When James made it to the pitch, because where else would you have gone with his broom, he stopped in the locker room and grabbed your broom from storage. He stalked onto the pitch and scanned the air before spotting you in the goal post. 

“I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU!” he yelled.

“Got to catch me first,” you responded with a wicked grin. 

James mounted your broom and kicked off the ground. You only had a few seconds to remount his broom and take off. You led him over the Forbidden Forest. Whenever he got close to catching up with you, you dipped below the canopy. Something about the chase made you cackle, especially when you heard the thwack of a branch hitting James and the following string of swears.

Eventually you came across a small clearing. You slowed down and slid off the broom in a graceful dismount. James didn’t see you stopped and overshot the clearing. Once he circled back and landed, he lunged at you. You were backed up against a tree with his hand gripping your clavicle. 

“What the hell were you thinking!” he growled at you.

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, which only made him angrier. 

“I was thinking that you needed to get out of that pretty little head of yours. See, you’ve gotten out of bed, left your dorm and gotten some fresh air!”

His facial expression softened but his grip stiffened.

“So, what had you down?”

He sighed. “Just a reality check.” He paused. “And now I have to see what’s actually real.” 

Your smile twisted as you looked up at him.

“Your flying skills are real. As is the thrill of a chase,” you told him, earning a dry chuckle from him. “But, uh, Potter, you either gotta slug me or kiss me if you’re going to keep holding me like this.”

His face flushed a brilliant red as he gently let go of your shoulder and took a step back.

“Ah, erm, sorry. You did take my broom though,” he said, stumbling through his words. 

You shrugged. “A means to an end. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You really think you deserve a thank you for thievery?” he chortled in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah. What’d your other friends do to get you outta your funk?” 

He didn’t answer.

“They were playing chess, Potter. Chess.” You took a step towards James and pressed a finger to his chest. “I took action.” 

“How ‘bout this: I’ll buy you a butterbeer?” 

Your smile grew.

“That’d be great. Shall we go now? Don’t feel like heading back to the castle just yet.” 

He nodded and you swapped brooms with him so you were each riding your own. Madam Rosmerta gave you both a strange look when you entered the Three Broomsticks. While it wasn’t uncommon for students to sneak out of the castle when it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, it was rare for them to enter with brooms. 

Rosmerta was already pouring two mugs of butterbeer when James called out, “Can we put it on my tab?” 

“Only because I know you’re good for it,” she said as she slammed the mugs down in front of you.

James laughed. “You won’t serve me again until it’s paid off, I know, Rosmerta.” 

As you talked and drank your butterbeers, James decided that his friendship with you was real. More real than anything he had with Lily.

---

From that moment, you noticed a shift in James. The biggest change was he stopped asking Lily out, but there were other smaller changes. You grew closer with him and you swore that how he looked at you changed. It was softer, kinder and filled with… admiration? You didn’t tell anyone about this, nor did you tell anyone about the growing feelings you had for him. Whenever you saw him slipping into that funk, you threw whatever was in your hands at him and told him to take a flight. He usually listened. 

Then there was a particularly rough quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Gryffindor lost. The locker room was tense and no one was talking. The rest of the team showered and headed back to the castle in silence. You lingered a little bit after your shower to see if James wanted to walk back with you, but he seemed to be attempting to use all of the water in Hogwarts. You walked back alone and waited for him in the common room. 

When James finally came up, the entire room quieted. He didn’t look at anyone. He stared straight ahead with a blank expression as he marched directly to the stairs. You frowned as you got up to follow him. 

“Still has that death wish, I see,” Sirius muttered while giving the boys a sideways glance.

You were only a few steps behind him, but by the time you reached his dorm, he had already slammed the door shut and was laying face down on his bed horizontally. You carefully took the path to his bed, sitting at the foot of his bed near James’ head. 

“James,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He grunted. “It’s not the end of the world.”

He lifted his head just enough to not muffle his voice. “Love, we lost. We’re not undefeated anymore.”

“So what? Now we have something bigger to train towards. Plus, we still have the best record.” 

He turned his head to look at you. You responded with an unimpressed look.

“Sit up, James. Up, up, up. We are not moping.”

Reluctantly, James rolled onto his side and then sat up, leaning against his headboard while you still sat at the end of his bed. He scooted over before patting the spot next to him. You climbed to the top of the bed. Then, as if reading each other’s minds, you rested your head on his shoulder so he could rest his head on yours. 

“You can be upset we didn’t win. Don’t bring down the entire house with your attitude though,” you told him in a soft voice. “You know younger students look up to you and they see how you handle losses. And, well, monkey see, monkey do.” 

You felt him nod. You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then he moved. It was subtle at first with slow, small movements. His hand reached yours and held it. You didn’t move. Your heart started to beat quickly.

“Maybe… maybe I can have one win today then?” he asked, his head still resting on yours.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

He lifted his head and looked down at you.

“Would you want to be my girlfriend?”

---

James did have a win that day and he considered himself to be winning every day since. He laughed at himself for all the time he spent yearning for a fictional Lily when you were there the whole time and you were real. The boys constantly told you that you had a death wish but you both knew that they liked how you affected each other. 

You were heading up to the boys’ dorm to study with James for your 7th year finals. The door was cracked open, voices drifting into the stairwell. 

“I need to, Padfoot. I have to think about the future. I can’t leave Hogwarts and have a girlfriend.” 

“Prongs, I get it. But what if you’re rushing it?” 

“I’m not. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s something I have to do.”

James was speaking with such conviction. You felt like someone sucker punched you. You wouldn’t breathe. You thought James was as in love with you as ever. Everything was going good. Great, even. You were so goddamn happy with him and here he was, talking to Sirius about breaking up with you? You couldn’t walk into that dorm. Instead you turned around with your books hugged to your chest. 

You still had to study for your finals so you went to the library. You found an open spot at the long tables in the middle of the library. Usually, you would have opted for a more secluded table. You hated working in open view, but you knew you had to. If James came looking for you, he wouldn’t dare break up with you in the middle of the library. You were safe for now. 

The afternoon slipped away from you. Your studying wasn’t progressing as well as you had hoped. Your mind drifted back to James every few review questions, every few notecards, every few pages. Rather than memorizing spells and potion ingredients, you questioned every part of your relationship from the past year and a half. Every conversation, confession and shared joke was put under scrutiny. What changed? 

You didn’t leave the library until Madam Pince kicked you out. You didn’t pause to see who was in the common room when you got back to Gryffindor Tower; you went straight to your dorm. You put your books away and got ready for bed silently. 

James was in the common room when you got back. He stood up as soon as he saw you enter the room. He almost called your name, but you were on a mission to disappear. He slumped back into the airchair he had been sitting in. You were supposed to meet up with him to study earlier, or at least he thought you were. He could have sworn you agreed to meet in his dorm hours ago, but apparently you had studied elsewhere without him. 

“Ooo, someone’s in trouble,” Peter teased. 

James glared at him. He assumed Peter was correct but didn’t want to admit that out loud. Not when he had no idea what he could have done to upset you. You always met in his room to study, and if you had made plans to study elsewhere, you would meet in his dorm first and then go study. And certainly, one missed study session wouldn’t piss you off that much. 

But maybe he was wrong. The following days, your demeanor changed. You didn’t touch James as much. You still sat next to him and walked with him and talked to him. But there was something off about it all. He just couldn’t put his finger on why you were acting this way.

“Maybe she’s stressed for finals? I am,” Remus offered at one point.

James shook his head. Stress for finals would be understandable, but you’d talk about it with him. You always talked about your struggles with him. You were a team. 

He was about to lose it when you did everything in your power to avoid being alone with James. You figured that if he could never get you alone, he couldn’t break up with you. You knew that you were only delaying the inevitable, but putting it off was all you could think to do. You would study and pretend like everything was normal, okay, just fine until after finals. Maybe after graduation. Then James could leave you and Hogwarts in his past in one fell swoop. You believed you were doing him a favor. 

When the weekend before finals arrived, you hid yourself in the deepest corner of the library that you could find and built a wall of study materials around you. You had disappeared into the library without anyone seeing you leave and you were certain that no one saw you come back here. Most of all, you needed to really work on your Transfiguration wandwork and you wouldn’t be as productive in the middle of the library. Your secluded corner was what you needed to ensure the grades you seeked. 

“Love, there you are!” James’ cheery voice reached you from behind your pile of books and old assignments. 

“What do you want from me?” you asked, a bit snippy yet your voice was sad. 

In a moment, you had gone from studious bookworm to pitiful mess. Finals were just around the corner. You could not handle a breakup right now. 

James stared at you with wide eyes. He approached you slowly, coming around to your side of the table to crouch beside your chair. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You let out a dry laugh. “I overheard you talking to Sirius. I know what you’re going to do. I just… I can’t handle it before finals.”

Your words hit James like a stack of bricks. He immediately knew which conversation you were talking about, which left him confused and slightly hurt. He ran a hand through his hair before reaching for your hand. Every inch of you was screaming to pull your hand away but you let him hold it. 

“I… I wasn’t going to do it before finals,” he whispered with a frown. “You don’t want to?”

You felt tears beginning to gather in your eyes. How could he be so dense?

“James, I love you. You know I do. Why on earth would I want to break up?”

James suddenly lost his balance and fell onto the floor. You stared at him, gaping as he laid on the ground and didn’t make any move to get up. His head was spinning at what you said, what you thought you overheard. After a moment, he propped himself up with his elbows.

“Who said I was going to break up with you?”

“You did? Said you had to think of the future. You couldn’t leave Hogwarts with a girlfriend.” 

“No. Oh, my love,” James said, quickly standing up and getting close enough to cup your face with his hands. “Is that you’ve been a bit distant?”

You nodded, but your confusion was still evident.

“You must not have heard everything I said. It’s not my future I’m thinking about. It’s our future. I don’t want to leave Hogwarts with a girlfriend, because I want you to be my wife.” He watched your face apprehensively as his words sank in. “I want to ask you to marry me. I was waiting until after finals.” 

“Oh.” 

All of your anger and sadness melted away like it never existed. It was replaced with a lightness. Your entire being felt lighter than it had before. 

“So, I guess, to answer your question. What do I want from you? I want your future. I want your hand. To have and to hold, you know. All that jazz. I want to love you for the rest of my life.” 

You reached up and pulled James down by his shirt collar so that you could kiss him. You hoped that that would answer his technically unasked question because you couldn’t speak. You had too many emotions swirling within you, but the one that stood out the most was your full and complete love and devotion to him. 

[4nyangnyangz]

— checkmate! ♟️

synopsis: it was supposed to be just a normal hangout for you and your best friend, Taehyun until the both of you decide to add a little twist to the game of chess that you were playing, uncovering hidden truths and removing a piece of clothing with each loss. the game leads to the both of you revealing unspoken desires and dealing with the suffocating tension between you. a certain turn of events causes the both of you to discover that your friendship may evolve beyond platonic boundaries.

pairings: best friend!taehyun x fem reader

tags/warnings: nsfw content! minors dni. smut, masturbation, fingering, oral(f receiving), unprotected sex(wrap it before u tap it!), overstimulation, creampie, slight exhibitionism, slight voyeurism, best friends to lovers(?), freaky chess if that makes sense, LOTS of teasing and sexual tension.

wordcount: 5k!! THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD.

a/n: HEOL I can't believe I'm reaching 200-400+ notes already, it all seems so surreal to me still, but i'm really thankful for all the support!! I do have to say I would consider this as my actual first smut fic(the guitarist gyu fic was just a glimpse lol) so I may have gotten carried away on some of the scenes.... i'm still not too confident with writing smut so pls go easy on me! 🙏 happy tyun month! <3

fic below the cut!!

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

It was your typical Saturday afternoon when you found yourself at Taehyun's place. The weather outside was gloomy, clouds hanging low, casting an overcast that matched the lazy mood you were in. You knocked on the door to his apartment, a soft thud as your knuckles met the wood.

A few moments later, the door opened, revealing your best friend, Taehyun, standing with a wide grin that revealed his dimples and perfect teeth.

“Hey, y/n, I'm glad you made it,” he greeted, stepping aside so you could enter. “So, what are we doing today?”

You shrugged, offering a playful smirk. “I don't know. Just whatever sounds fun, I guess.”

He motioned toward his living room, where a table sat in the center. On top of it rests a chessboard which made your heart skip a beat. You’d played countless games of chess with your siblings over the years, but to your surprise, you recall you haven't actually played chess with Taehyun before.

Something about the way your best friend looked at you today made you feel like this particular game might be different.

What did he come up with this time..... you thought to yourself.

“How about a chess match?” Taehyun casually suggests, a mischievous glint in his eye.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really, Taehyun? You know I'm not exactly a pro, right?”

Taehyun chuckled. “Well, I'm not either. Besides, it's not about winning or losing. It's about... having fun.”

You shrugged, intrigued. “Okay, sure. But if I get destroyed, I'm blaming you.”

He chuckles as he set the pieces up with practiced ease. You took your seat across from him, ready to dive into a familiar rhythm. But as he moved his first piece—a white pawn, his eyes twinkled as he leaned back.

“Actually,” Taehyun said, his voice had a lower tone, “I was thinking we could play with a twist.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity visible in your expression.“A twist?”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curling into a smile. “For every time someone gets a check on the other player, the person who’s in check has to answer a question. No dodging. No lying. Honest answers only.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you nodded in response. It was a bit unconventional, but it wasn’t like you had anything to hide, and you have always been able to talk to Taehyun about anything. Still, there was something in the air—something unspoken between you two. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it made your pulse quicken just a little. You knew it wasn't going to be easy, especially knowing how Taehyun could come up with something you'd least expect at any time.

“Deal. But don't expect me to go easy on you.” You said, picking up your knight and making your first move, dragging it across your row of pawns and placing it on the board.

The game began smoothly, both of you slipping into familiar roles. Taehyun's confidence was clear as always, despite it being your first time playing chess with him, it was clear he wasn't going to go easy on you. The sound of the pieces clicking into place was oddly comforting.

But the twist, the questions, were a different element altogether. You found yourself becoming more aware of Taehyun's every move, every glance. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he moved his pieces. You tried your best to keep calm, but you couldn't deny that it was slightly affecting your ability to focus.

By the time you’d captured his bishop, it was already becoming clear that this wouldn’t be a typical match. Your thoughts were scattered; you weren't focused solely on the game anymore.

When you made a bold move, putting him in check, you grinned. “Check,” you muttered softly, eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Alright, question time.”

Taehyun adjusted in his seat, grinning as if he was starting to have a glimpse of where this game was heading. “Ask away.”

You leaned back slightly, tapping your chin as you thought. “If you could change one thing about our friendship, what would it be?”

He blinked in surprise, not expecting such a serious question coming from you. He pauses for a minute before replying, “Wow, I wasn't expecting that kind of question.”

“Don't give me that, you added these rules in the first place. Honest answers only, remember?” you chuckled, seeing how he got flustered after your question. You were just starting to enjoy this game, after all.

You observed him as he contemplated, biting his lower lip as if he was trying to find the right words before answering. You couldn't hide the smile tugging from the corners of your lips as you figured from his hesitation that he was starting to regret adding these rules to what was supposed to be a simple chess game in the first place.

There was an immediate shift in his expression as he answers, however, catching you off guard.

“Nothing. I like how our friendship is right now. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As his words settled in, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment creep in before you could stop it. You had hoped—just maybe—that his answer would hint at something more, something beyond friendship. But instead, it was safe and neutral. You swallowed the feeling quickly, masking it with a chuckle as you leaned back slightly.

“Good answer,” you said, forcing an easygoing tone.

But your mind lingered on it longer than it should have, and it showed in your next move, as much as you didn't want for it to. Your fingers hesitated before settling on the wrong piece. Taehyun, always perceptive, caught the shift on your behavior immediately. He could have called you out on it, but he didn’t have to. Instead, he seized the opportunity on the board, swiftly capturing one of your pieces and cornering you into a check.

A small smirk played on his lips as he rested his chin on his hand. “Check,” he murmured, then tilted his head slightly.“My turn.”

His eyes held yours for a second too long, and then he asked, almost a little directly for your liking.

“What do you think are the chances that what we have could be something more than friendship?”

Your heart stuttered.

Your eyes widened and your breath was caught in your throat, heat rushing to your face as you scrambled to form a response. Your mind raced between a thousand possible answers, each one tangled with feelings you weren't sure you were ready to admit out loud.

“I—” You hesitated, looking anywhere but at him.

Taehyun’s gaze didn’t waver. “No lying, y/n.” he reminded you, his voice softer this time but firm. “Just honest answers, remember?”

One thing about Taehyun is that whatever game you play with him, he definitely plays it better. You are just now realizing that you shouldn't have provoked him first.

You cleared your throat, trying to pretend your mind wasn't a mess before answering, but clearly failing as you let the words slip out of your mouth. “Um, well... I don't know. That depends. You said you liked how it is right now, and I like the way things are too, so-”

“Y/N,” Taehyun is quick to snap you out of it and you blink in confusion, your eyes meeting his gaze.

“You do know that I've known you enough to tell when you're lying or not, right?”

You stared at him, heat creeping up your neck as you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I'm not lying,” you insisted, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tightly. “I really haven't thought about it that way, and even so, I just like it the way it is now.”

Taehyun didn't say anything right away, just watched you with that knowing look that made it impossible to hide anything from him. He had always been good at reading you—probably a bit too good. It was both infuriating and terrifying, to say the least.

A small smirk curled at the edge of his lips. “Alright then,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair.“Why don't we up the stakes a bit?”

You narrowed your eyes, suddenly wary. “....what do you mean?”

“For every check from here on out, instead of asking a question, the person in check takes off a piece of clothing.” Taehyun suggests, not breaking eye contact.

You felt your stomach flip at the idea.“Are you serious right now?”

“As serious as you were when you said you hadn't thought about us being more than friends,” he shot back, his tone deceptively casual.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart pounded.“That's ridiculous. Why would I even agree to that?”

“Because I know you'd never back down from a challenge,” he said simply, tilting his head slightly. “Unless, of course, you were lying earlier and you're actually worried about losing your focus.”

You bristled at that, fully aware that he was baiting you. And even worse, it was working.

Your pride warred with your common sense, but Taehyun just sat there, waiting, perfectly composed, perfectly unreadable. He wasn’t going to let this go, and you knew it.

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. You felt your heartbeat start going faster at the idea that you're going to play a much more dangerous game from now on.

“Fine. But don’t think for a second that I’m going easy on you.”

His smirk widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And with that, the game resumed. Only now, the stakes were much, much higher.

———————

You scanned your remaining pieces, picking up your rook and aimed for his king that was left open.

“Check.” you muttered hesitantly, obviously not prepared for what was about to happen next.

You barely registered the sound of Taehyun’s sigh as he unhooked his fingers from the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. The moment the fabric slipped away, your brain short-circuited.

Oh no.

You knew he had been working out a lot lately. He always made a point to update you—sometimes with a casual text, sometimes with a mirror selfie from the gym that you pretended not to analyze too much. But seeing him like this, right in front of you, was entirely different. His broad shoulders, the sharp definition of his abs, the way his toned arms flexed slightly as he tossed his shirt to the side—everything about him suddenly felt... distracting.

Way too distracting.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, but it was a losing battle. Your thoughts were loud, so loud, and no matter how hard you tried to focus back on the game, all you could think about was how ridiculously good he looked. You were having a hard time even trying to look at the board without getting distracted by his bare torso as he sat across from you.

“Your move,” Taehyun reminded you, his voice was smooth and amused.

You blinked, realizing you had been staring just a second too long. You quickly dropped your gaze to the board, but the pieces were all a blur. What were you even doing? What was your strategy? Did you even have one?

A quiet chuckle broke your already fragile focus. You glanced up, only to see Taehyun watching you with a knowing smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. He wasn’t saying anything, but his expression said enough.

He knew.

He knew the effect he had on you. He knew exactly what was going through your mind, and he was enjoying every second of it.

“Why? Is there something wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You scoffed, quickly reaching for a piece just to seem composed.“Nope. Just thinking.”

“Thinking,” he echoed, clearly amused. “Right. About your next move, or something else?”

You shot him a glare, but your face was already burning, and Taehyun—ever perceptive, definitely noticed. His smirk deepened, and he let out another soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Y/N,” he mused, his voice low and teasing, “for someone who insists they haven’t thought about us being more than friends… you sure are an open book right now.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, your voice lacking any real bite as you forced yourself to look away from his ridiculously smug expression. You needed to focus. You needed to stop thinking about the fact that Taehyun was very much shirtless, very much toned, and very much aware of how flustered you were.

With a sharp inhale, you made your move, pushing a piece forward with more force than necessary.

Big mistake.

You realized it a second too late. The moment your fingers left the piece, you internally cursed yourself. But it was too late to take it back.

Taehyun hummed, clearly noticing your slip-up, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he made his move seamlessly, as if he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, your mind was still a mess, thoughts tangled between the game and the way his bare shoulders flexed slightly with each motion.

Another move. Another mistake.

You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to regain control, but the damage was already done. With each exchange, you slipped further and further into a losing position. And then, just as you were scrambling to fix things, Taehyun’s fingers moved decisively, and your heart sank.

“Check.”

You stared at the board, dread pooling in your stomach.

Oh, fuck.

No, no, no.

You were trapped. Your pieces were cornered, and there was no easy way out of it. Slowly, you lifted your gaze, only to be met with Taehyun’s expectant grin. He leaned back slightly, arms resting lazily on the chair, clearly waiting.

And that was when the real horror sank in.

You immediately regretted not wearing more layers. A jacket. A hoodie. Maybe a coat or two. Anything that could have saved you from this exact moment.

Swallowing hard, you hesitantly reached for the hem of your shirt, fingers curling around the fabric. Your pulse pounded in your ears as hesitation gripped you.

Then, before you could move any further, Taehyun's voice cut through the charged silence, soft and serious.

“You know,” he said, his teasing edge completely gone, “if you're not comfortable with this, you can just surrender and we can stop right here. I'm fine with it, but you really don't have to push yourself.”

Taehyun's gaze held yours, steady and unreadable, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. His words fully settled in, his offer to stop the game still lingering in the air.

You looked down at the board, your eyes scanning the remaining pieces. There weren’t many left. The game was reaching its final stretch, and you were dangerously close to losing. The logical choice was to surrender, to let yourself off the hook before this got even more out of hand.

But something inside you refused.

Maybe it was your competitive streak. Maybe it was the way Taehyun had been teasing you all night, getting under your skin like he always did, always so composed, so sure of himself. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that some part of you wanted to prove to yourself that you could handle this. That being this close to him, playing this ridiculous game, didn’t affect you as much as it did.

Well, it did, but you weren’t ready to admit that yet.

You exhaled slowly, lifting your gaze to meet his.“I want to keep going.”

Taehyun studied you for a moment, his usual smirk replaced by something softer, something laced with concern. “Y/N… are you sure?”

“I mean it,” you insisted, forcing a small, almost defiant smile. “What? Are you worried I might actually beat you or something?”

He didn’t answer right away, but his lips twitched, as if amused by your bravado. Still, his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. And when he found none—or maybe just saw that you were too stubborn to admit it, he leaned back with a sigh.

“Alright then,” he said, though his voice was quieter now.“But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Your stomach twisted as you finally gripped the hem of your shirt, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you pulled your shirt over your head and placed it to the side, the cold air of the room hit your skin instantly, sending a shiver down your spine.

If I had known I would've ended up doing this, I should've worn better underwear... you thought to yourself as you felt your face heat up.

And that’s when it really sank in.

You were sitting across from your best friend while playing chess, the both of you half-naked, just the two of you, in his apartment. Alone.

You felt the weight of the situation settle over you, a mixture of embarrassment and something else entirely crawling up your spine. Every inch of you was hyper-aware of the fact that his gaze was on you now. You weren’t looking at him, you refused to, but you could feel it. A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye, a subtle shift in his posture. You could've sworn you caught the change in his expression the moment you took off your shirt.

Still, you forced yourself to focus, swallowing hard as you reached forward to make your next move. Your fingers trembled slightly, but you steadied them, determined not to let this affect your game any more than it already had.

Even as you sensed Taehyun’s lingering gaze towards you, you kept your eyes locked on the board, pretending like this was just another match. Like your heart wasn’t just about to jump out of your chest.

Despite the undeniable tension crackling between you, the game pressed on.

Each move was careful, calculated, yet neither of you could fully ignore the underlying awareness now lingering in the air. The playful teasing had faded into something else. Something heavier, something unspoken. And through it all, Taehyun remained unusually quiet.

It wasn’t until a few moves later, when the game was teetering dangerously close to its end, that he finally broke the silence.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved a piece forward.“What should the winner get as a prize?”

You blinked, realizing only now that he hadn’t muttered a single word since you had taken off your shirt.

Your fingers, which had been hovering over your next move, paused mid-air as you glanced up at him. He was doing his best to appear nonchalant, but there was a slight stiffness in his posture, a certain tightness in his jaw that made your pulse quicken.

Was he…. struggling too?

The realization made something stir in you, a quiet thrill creeping into your chest. You felt relieved and slightly amused at the realization that he had grown awfully silent compared to how he was earlier.

So it wasn’t just you.

Your lips curved slightly as you leaned back. “I don’t know,” you mused, tilting your head. “What do you think?”

Taehyun’s eyes flickered to yours before he offered a small shrug.“How about the loser gets the winner a gift or something?”

You hummed to yourself, pretending to think it over. But really, you were studying the board, judging the current situation of your pieces. It was neck and neck now, one wrong move from either of you would decide everything.

And suddenly, an idea struck you.

You glanced up at him, feeling a boldness rise within you, fueled by the tension, by the competition, by the fact that he wasn’t as unaffected as he had seemed.

“You know what would be more interesting?” you said, voice smooth, teasing. “The loser has to do anything the winner asks them to do. Anything. No matter how extreme. There's no limit.”

Taehyun stilled for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk—one that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Anything, huh?” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.“Anything.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, as if measuring your resolve. Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Alright,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly. “But just remember, Y/N… you were the one who suggested it.”

Your heart pounded at his words. There's no turning back now.... you thought to yourself.

And with that, the final stretch of the game began.

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

The game had never felt more intense.

Each move was deliberate, each decision weighed carefully, but the tension between you both made it nearly impossible to think straight. The stakes were higher now, not just because of the game itself, but because of what came after. It was a battle of wits, of patience, of knowing exactly how to push each other’s limits, both in the game and outside of it. Neither of you wanted to lose.

You held your breath as Taehyun studied the board, his eyes scanning for an opening. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his fingers resting near a piece—but then, in an unexpected moment of miscalculation,

Taehyun made the wrong move.

It was subtle, something he normally wouldn’t have overlooked, but the second his fingers left the piece, you saw it. You saw the opening you needed. You didn't hesitate.

You moved your piece with confidence, a triumphant grin spreading across your lips.

“Checkmate.”

Taehyun blinked. He looked down at the board, lips parting slightly as he replayed the sequence in his mind, and the realization flashed across his face for just a second before he sighed, leaning back.

He had lost.

For a moment, you simply stared at the board, almost not believing it yourself. You had won. You had actually beaten Taehyun. All the built-up tension, all the stress of the game, came crashing down in the form of uncontrollable excitement. Maybe a little too much, but you couldn’t help it.

“Yes! I won!” You shot up from your seat, cheering and throwing your arms up in victory. “I actually won!”

Taehyun exhaled, shaking his head as he watched you practically bounce in place. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, lips twitching. “No need to rub it in.”

“Oh, but I do need to rub it in,” you teased with a grin, slightly leaning down towards him.“Losing in the very game you suggested? That’s kind of embarrassing, don’t you think?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair and avoiding eye-contact with you. “I was careless. That last move… I shouldn’t have made that. But it was a close game.”

“But you did make that move,” you snickered, still basking in your victory. “And now you have to do whatever I ask. No matter how extreme. No limits, remember?”

Taehyun sighed, finally looking up at you with a small, amused shake of his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You won fair and square.”

Then, his expression shifted, growing more serious as he leaned forward.“So? What do you want me to do?”

You froze.

Oh, right. The prize.

You had been so focused on beating him, so determined to win, that you hadn’t actually thought about what you wanted.

Your excitement faded slightly as you sat back down, humming to yourself in thought. What did you want? You had thrown out the challenge so boldly, but now that the power was actually in your hands, you realized you had no idea what to do with it.

While you were still contemplating, Taehyun cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he muttered, voice quieter now. “While you decide, could you... put your shirt back on? The game's over, so....”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the request. But then you caught it—the slight unsteadiness in his tone, the way his voice was slightly shaky, the way his jaw was just a little too tense.

And when you really looked at him, you could see it. The way his fingers curled against his knee, the way his eyes flickered anywhere but directly at you. He had been keeping himself composed this entire time, but now that the game was over, his self-restraint was starting to crumble.

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized you weren't the only one struggling to keep composure. Taehyun’s usual confident facade had shown cracks tonight, and you decided to have a little fun with it. With a playful smirk tugging at your lips, you crossed your arms and refused his request outright.

“Why should I put my shirt back on?” you teased, your voice low and mischievous. “Were you too distracted by me that you couldn’t make your move properly or something? I could’ve sworn I caught you glancing at my chest earlier.”

For a moment, Taehyun’s eyes widened in mock indignation before he sighed, his defeat evident. He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to smooth over the embarrassment.

“Believe it or not, Y/N,” he admitted, his tone softening with a trace of exasperation and honesty, “I'm a man too. I have no control of whatever physiological reaction my body has when a girl takes off her shirt in front of me.”

The confession hung in the air between you both, charged with unspoken meaning. His words, laced with vulnerability, made you feel a warmth that rivaled the playful teasing in your heart. You couldn’t help but let a genuine laugh escape, mingling amusement with the thrill of having the upper hand.

“Oh, really?” you replied, leaning in slightly as if daring him to say more.“So all those missed moves were because you were busy drooling?”

Taehyun’s cheeks flushed, and despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.“Maybe,” he grumbled good-naturedly.“But I can’t help it when you're… too distracting.”

In that moment, the tension shifted from the competitive spark of the game to something warmer and more intimate. The room, filled with the cool draft against your bare skin, suddenly felt charged with anticipation.

Taehyun’s honest admission had stirred something inside you, and suddenly the charged air of the room felt almost too intense to bear. In an effort to lighten the mood, you blurted out a terrible joke with a nervous chuckle, hoping to defuse the heat of the moment.

“Huh, I'm glad I won then,” you said with a lopsided grin. “I can't even imagine what you'd ask me to do for you if you ended up winning. What, were you going to ask me to kiss you or something?”

The words tumbled out almost too fast, and you chuckled awkwardly, immediately realizing the weight of your own words. For a heartbeat, silence reigned, punctuating the sudden vulnerability of the moment.

Before you could second-guess yourself, Taehyun’s expression shifted. The playful glimmer in his eyes was replaced by a resolute seriousness. Leaning forward with a calm intensity, he cut straight to the chase.

“Well, you're the winner. If you asked me to kiss you right now, I'll do it.”

The words hit you like a jolt. For an instant, your heart pounded, and you felt a flush of unexpected heat. You hadn’t meant for things to escalate so quickly, this was entirely unanticipated.

Your laughter wavered, replaced by a trembling silence. The playful banter had crossed a line, and suddenly every word felt amplified, every heartbeat echoing the gravity of the moment. You met his gaze, searching for a sign that maybe this was all just another game, but his eyes held nothing but earnest intent, leaving you breathless and uncertain of how to respond.

For a moment, you were unable to speak, unable to find the words to diffuse the tension or turn his request down. Your mind spun with every possibility, but your body responded without your conscious consent.

A warmth pooled in your core, and a tingling sensation spread across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You squirmed in place, shifting uncomfortably as the heat built in your lower abdomen. A whimper escaped from your lips before you could silence it, and with fumbling fingers, you discreetly rubbed the tops of your thighs together. The friction provided only partial relief as you tried to massage the pulsing ache away.

“I, um... Taehyun, I—” you stuttered, struggling to form coherent words. His gaze remained fixed on yours, a hint of gentle encouragement in the furrow of his brow. He was waiting for your response, and all the while, the pounding in your chest threatened to drown out your own thoughts.

You shook your head, desperate to regain control and steer the conversation back towards safer waters. Your words tumbled out in a nervous rush, contradicting the very actions your body had betrayed.

You bit down on your lower lip, hoping to contain the arousal that was building inside you. It was a futile effort; the ache between your thighs only intensified as you stole a glance at Taehyun. His gaze was fixed on yours as he waited for you to continue, his curious round eyes staring right at you seemed to only fuel your growing need.

You rubbed the tops of your thighs again, seeking any form of relief from the pulsing heat. But it was no use, and before you could stop yourself, your legs wobbled and gave way under their own strength. With an embarrassed squeak, you leaned into Taehyun, placing your hands on his shoulders for support that stopped yourself from completely falling to the floor.

Today was the first time you’d ever seen Taehyun’s shirtless. Even being this close to him and touching him like this felt strangely new and intimate to you, as if you were beginning to blur the lines that marked the boundaries of your friendship with him. But the thought fled from your mind as soon as Taehyun wrapped his right arm around your waist, providing balance and support with a gentle yet stable hold on the small of your back. Those months of him going back and forth to the gym turned out to be pretty useful in this moment, after all.

His touch sparked another jolt of electricity through your core, amplifying the pulsing ache between your thighs. A soft moan escaped from your lips, and your breathing grew heavy as you struggled to maintain your composure. You were a flushed mess, knowing Taehyun must have heard you considering how close you are to him at this moment.

You felt Taehyun’s gaze linger on you as the corner of his lips formed into a smirk.“Is this what you want?” he whispered, his voice raspy and low.“You want me to hold you like this?”

Taehyun’s warm breath tickled your ear as he spoke, the pulsing ache in your core growing stronger and harder to resist. His hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer as he leaned in to speak again.

“Tell me, y/n. Is that what you want me to do?”

Your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts and desires. All the while, Taehyun held you in his embrace, his bare chest pressed against yours. The heady scent of his perfume wafted through the air, heightening your senses to an unbearable level of arousal.

You were embarrassed and desperate, clinging onto him for dear life. His body pressed against yours was more than you could handle, and every part of you wanted to surrender to the lustful urges that had taken over. It didn’t matter that Taehyun was your best friend—your best friend of four years, for goodness’ sake. In this moment, all that mattered was for only him to satisfy your desires, and no one else.

The tighter you clung onto Taehyun, the more you could feel his body pressed against yours. And the more you needed him, you needed his touch in places that you couldn’t reach on your own. Every movement seemed to press your thigh against the hard bulge of his own arousal, the heat of his crotch against your core through the fabric of his pants. The sensations combined into an overwhelming ache, and it was all you could do to hold on for dear life.

With a deep breath, you gathered up every ounce of courage to confess your desires, whispering into his ear.

“Fuck, I... need you,” you stammered, voice trembling with need. “I want you, Taehyun, please...”

The moment you uttered those words, Taehyun stiffened. There was a pause of hesitation, a moment of anticipation as you both waited for the inevitable. Then, with a playful chuckle and a teasing note in his tone, Taehyun whispered into your ear.

“Took you long enough.”

Before you could process what he’d just said, Taehyun swept you up into his arms. You squealed in surprise at the sudden shift, but it quickly turned into a gasp as he placed his fingers on your thighs, wrapping around your legs in an intimate embrace as he carries you. Your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst forth in anticipation of what was to come.

With your arms wrapped tighter around Taehyun’s shoulders, you hid your face in the crook of his neck. It felt too embarrassing, too shameful to look at your best friend knowing that you were about to cross a line from which there was no turning back. You felt him chuckle as a response and yet, you couldn’t help but cling to him, needing the support and reassurance as he carried you to his bed and laid you down.

You closed your eyes in anticipation of the inevitable, waiting for Taehyun to climb on top and cover your body with his own. But instead of the heavy weight of his frame, you felt a featherlight touch on your knee. Your eyes snapped open, and your gaze met his, the corners of his lips forming into a smirk and his gaze is fixated on you. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks from the sight of him.

Taehyun knelt between your thighs, the fingers on your knee stroking up and down the length of your leg.“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice low and husky in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“I-” you stammered, unable to think straight. “I...please, Taehyun.”

You couldn’t seem to form any coherent words, so you let your eyes plead your case. They met his in a desperate search for an answer, but all you found was his unwavering gaze and a small smile on his lips.

“Do...please,” you whimpered helplessly, losing the battle of wills between you two.

“Please what?”

“Please...” you gasped again, struggling against the overwhelming waves of arousal that seemed to suffocate you.“I just need you,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, do anything you want with me—just...I want to cum, okay?”

You felt the flush rise to your cheeks at the words you’d just uttered. It was so unlike you, so desperate and needy. But with Taehyun looming above you like that, there was no way you could think straight.

Taehyun laughed then, a husky sound that was filled with amusement and desire. The fingers on your thigh stilled, and he looked down on you with a reassuring gaze.“Don’t worry,” he murmured.“I’ll make you cum as much as you want.”

His hand reached down to your shorts. Your breath was caught in your throat as he tugged the waistband, dragging both your shorts and your underwear down, exposing your inner thighs and core to his hungry gaze. But before you could even register the loss of clothing, Taehyun had grasped your thighs and pushed them open.

“Ah!” you squealed, arching your back from the sudden movement. Your hands flew up to cover yourself, but Taehyun soon had them pinned above your head.

“Be a good girl for me, y/n.” he chuckled as he leaned over you.“Let me get you ready first.”

You squirmed at his words, unable to stop the rising tide of desire within you. But there was only so little you could do as Taehyun started massaging your inner thighs, slowly inching his way up towards your core.

His fingers skimmed across your clit and over your pussy lips, the gentle pressure sending sparks of electricity across your nerves. Your hips arched into his touch with a will of their own, and you could feel the wetness of your arousal coating his fingertips with a growing slickness. He teased your clit with slow circles and tugs, driving the building heat between your legs to an unbearable peak.

“Taehyun,” you whined, unable to contain your pleas any longer.“Please—” your words ended in a broken moan, punctuated by the relentless teasing of his fingers on your clit.

Taehyun smiled, and his eyes never left yours as he leaned down to lick your wetness off his fingers. Your whole body flushed at the sight, and you couldn’t seem to look away from the intimate action of his tongue lapping up the evidence of your arousal.

“Please,” you begged again, losing all composure. “I need you inside me....”

Taehyun hummed, and with a teasing grin, he leaned in closer.“Okay,” he whispered into your ear.“I’m gonna give you exactly what you want. But I promise you, y/n, it’s gonna be so much better than you’ve imagined, so just trust me.”

And before you could say another word, Taehyun shifted his body, lowering himself between your thighs to leave you trembling with anticipation. His tongue flicked out, swiping over the length of your slit and over your clit. You gasped, bucking your hips in desperation as he settled his lips over your core, lapping and sucking on your arousal with a hunger that rivalled your own.

“Oh fuck—fuck! Taehyun...!!” you moaned, your mind reeling from the pleasure coursing through your body. The slick heat of Taehyun’s mouth covered you in waves of your blissful release, and you could only arch your back and succumb to the onslaught of pleasure that he had unleashed on you.

The first orgasm hit you suddenly, and all you could do was grab Taehyun’s hair with a wordless cry. Your pussy clenched with the force of your release, pulsing with an ache that threatened to tear you apart. But Taehyun didn’t let up, not even a bit. His tongue only seemed to grow more eager, his lips sealing tighter around your core as he sucked you dry with the fervour of a starving man.

The second orgasm hit you harder, and this time your voice rang out clear in the quiet of his bedroom. Your hands fell limp to the sides, too spent to do more than writhe under Taehyun’s relentless touch. And still, he wouldn’t let up. Even as your legs began to tremble with fatigue, even as your whole body trembled from the aftershocks of your second release, Taehyun’s fingers and mouth continued their ministrations.

It was more pleasure than you could take, more than your body could bear, and yet you were so desperate for his touch that you couldn’t bring yourself to say stop. All you could do was cling to the bed sheets, your mind a haze of lust and arousal as Taehyun devoured your wet pussy like it was his last meal.

Finally, it was Taehyun who drew back, his breathing heavy and his lips slick with your juices. He sat up, his gaze flicking over your body as if taking stock of what he’d accomplished. You watched him with hazy eyes, still struggling to regain your composure in the face of what you’d experienced.

Taehyun smirked then, satisfaction plain on his expression as he saw the state you were in. He reached up to wipe off his lips, and without a second thought, he pushed two fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean while looking straight into your eyes. A new wave of arousal washes over you at the sight and you could only let out a whimper at the expectations of what's about to come next.

Taehyun turned back to unbuckle his belt, and you watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he tugged down his pants. His hard cock sprang free, and you gasped at the sight before you. Taehyun was big, almost impossibly big, and the throbbing of his cock only served to make you realize why he’d had to prepare you like that first.

A soft laugh escaped Taehyun’s lips as he saw your reaction.“Didn’t expect that, huh?”

You shook your head, unable to voice a response as Taehyun climbed off the bed.

“I’m not exactly carrying any condoms around, I wasn't expecting for this to happen today-” he admitted, his chuckle low and his cheeks a tint of pink from embarrassment.“So...are you okay with this? Just trust me and I'll pull out, I promise-”

You nodded hastily at his words, too desperate for him to make the offer.“I trust you, Taehyun,” you said with a gasp of breath.“I trust you.”

Taehyun smiled at your response, and without a word, he leaned forward to kiss you. His lips were hot on yours, their touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped into his mouth, and Taehyun took advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue in.

He kissed you with an intimacy that was more than enough to drive you wild, and even when he pulled back, he didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned down to remove your bra, his fingers gentle as they traced over your skin and unhooked the clasp at your back. A quiet moan escaped your lips as his fingers brushed over the skin of your back, but it only grew louder when he began massaging your breasts.

“Taehyun—” you whimpered, his name a broken plea on your lips.“Please—I’m—” you couldn’t finish, couldn’t get out the words to express just how desperate you were to have him inside of you. But Taehyun understood all the same.

He positioned himself between your legs again, the tip of his hard cock brushing against the slick of your entrance. You arched your back in anticipation, body trembling from the growing need within you.

“Ready?” Taehyun murmured against your ear, his breath hot on your skin.“Tell me if it hurts or if you need me to stop, okay?”

You nodded, unable to say anything else. Taehyun groaned in response, his body leaning over yours as he began to push himself in slowly. The stretch of his cock was more than enough to make you moan, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your lips.

“Shit, Y/N!” Taehyun cursed under his breath.“You’re so tight.” He leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle as he continued to push into your core. Your whimpers turned to cries of pleasure as he bottomed out, your whole body trembling from the overwhelming sensations that threatened to consume you.

“Fuck,” Taehyun breathed, his eyes fluttering close for a moment.“Ahh, fuck—” he gasped again, drawing back before pushing into you once more.

And that was it. The thrusts started slow and shallow, but soon grew to deeper and faster thrusts. Your nails dug into Taehyun’s back, and your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him in closer. The waves of pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, threatening to drown you in their depths. And all you could do was hold on to Taehyun with everything you had, your lips sealing over his as he fucked you into the bed with everything he had.

Your breathing came in short, desperate gasps as his cock ravaged your wet pussy, your body writhing under him as his thrusts grew deeper and faster. Every movement of his sent sparks of electricity coursing over your skin, every thrust building your need to the breaking point until you could hold on no more. With a loud cry, your body tensed, and your pussy clenched down on Taehyun’s cock with enough force to make him cry out in response.

Taehyun slowed his thrusts to give you a moment’s respite, but even as you felt the aftershocks coursing through your core, he started moving again. His cock began to pound into you harder, deeper, and you couldn’t stop the cries that fell from your lips.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Taehyun groaned, his breaths growing heavy and desperate.

“Y/N, fuck, I—” his thrusts became shorter, and you knew he was close, so close to cumming too. “I can’t—I won’t last much longer. If you want me to pull out—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence. “No, Taehyun— I want to feel your cum,” you gasped, your voice broken with need.“I'm on the pill, so please—I want you to fill me up....”

A soft curse escaped Taehyun’s throat, and before you could say anything else, he started rutting into you like an animal. Your whimpers grew louder, your pussy clenching down on him with a force that threatened to suck the cum right out of him. His thrusts grew wilder, deeper, until he let out one final groan and shuddered above you. The warmth of his cum flooded your core, filling you up with his load deep inside you and your own release soon followed in its wake.

Taehyun collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing the breath from your lungs. You didn’t even care, couldn’t even process the overwhelming pleasure that still coursed through you like a raging tide. All you could manage was to cling to Taehyun’s broad shoulders, holding him close as the aftershocks ravaged your core with wave after wave of your release.

And when Taehyun finally rolled over, pulling out of you with a soft grunt of pleasure, you couldn’t do anything but fall limp against the bed.

“Fuck,” Taehyun muttered, his hand reaching up to card through your hair.“That was.....amazing.”

You chuckled into his chest, the movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you as his softening cock slipped from your core.

“You’re...” Taehyun whispered, his fingers brushing over the strands of your hair. His touch was light, gentle, and his words sent shivers down your spine.“I always knew that you were gorgeous but I never knew you could be so beautiful like this. I never knew you could look so cute.”

You smiled at that, his words sending warmth to your chest. You reached up, wrapping your arms around Taehyun’s neck and pulling him into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around you, and without any prompting, he rolled over until you were lying on his chest with his arms still wrapped around you.

“Can I clean you up?” he offered after a moment, his voice soft and gentle.

You shook your head hastily at that, the idea of being parted from him suddenly becoming unbearable.“No,” you stammered, pulling him closer as if to prevent him from moving.“Just let me stay like this, please.”

Taehyun chuckled at your words, his lips pressing against your hairline.“As long as you want,” he murmured, holding you tighter still.

The room was silent for a long moment then, neither of you doing anything but basking in the warmth of the other’s embrace. But then, suddenly and without warning, you were reminded of the answer he’d given earlier.

“Nothing”, he’d said, his response echoing in your ears like a cold slap to the face.“I like how our friendship is now. I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

He hadn’t even thought of anything beyond that, hadn’t even considered the possibility of more. It was just you, desperate and shameless. And now—

“Why?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, your body suddenly tensing in Taehyun’s arms. “Why did you say that earlier?” you asked again, turning your head to look up at him.

Taehyun blinked in response, confusion plain on his features.“Say what?”

“That you didn’t want anything to change in our friendship,” you replied, your heart suddenly heavy in your chest.“I thought you—” your voice trailed off, the words too shameful to say aloud.

Taehyun’s expression changed at that, softening into an understanding gaze.“Hey—” he began, his hands smoothing over your back.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to push away from him. “I get it. I guess it was just me feeling this way this whole time.”

But Taehyun didn’t let you go. Instead, he pulled you back into his arms, holding you closer as if trying to keep you from running. “Hey,” he repeated, his lips brushing over your hair.“Look, y/n, I didn’t say that because I didn’t like the idea of being with you.”

You turned your head to him, your brow furrowed with doubt.“Then why did you?”

Taehyun sighed, his arms pulling you in tighter still. “Because I didn’t know how you felt at the time,” he replied.“And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by forcing something you didn’t want.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing,

“And even if you did, I didn’t know if you’d want to stay like that in the future, or if...if it was just a one-time thing.” His voice was soft with his words, reassuring despite the uncertainty behind them.“But I’ve always liked you,” he continued.“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, if it was what you wanted.”

You were silent for a moment at that, your mind reeling with the words he’d just said. And then, finally, you smiled up at Taehyun, relief and happiness flooding your chest at the simple reassurance of his words.“I...” you began, the words threatening to spill from your lips.“I—” and then, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Oh my god, I can't believe I actually fucked my best friend,” you laughed out, your head falling on his chest.

Taehyun chuckled then, his whole body shaking with the movement.“Well, yeah,” he grinned, pulling you closer to his body. “You did.” He paused for a moment, his lips kissing over your forehead.

“We’ll deal with the consequences later. For now... let's stay Iike this for a little longer.” he trailed off, his hold on you only growing tighter.

“Okay,” you whispered, smiling to yourself as your words muffled against his chest. And as the warmth of Taehyun’s body wrapped around you, you couldn’t help but smile at the simple intimacy of the moment. It wasn’t just a game now. It was real. And despite all the unknowns that still lay ahead, there was one thing you were sure of: Taehyun would be there through it all. He would stay with you, no matter what. And that was enough to make you smile, enough to make your heart flutter with a newfound happiness.

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

taglist: @tyunzznluvr @interestellear-blog @hyunelixbun @dawngyu @tubasmiracle @no1likemybbgcharlie I hope y'all like this one too!! 🫶

[hypno-matt]

One of the best parts about hypnosis is that you can turn any fun game into something completely incredible by just sprinkling a few trancey elements into it.

Take HypnoChess, for example. It's just regular old chess, but every piece you lose makes you dumber, dizzier, and less focused. This one change alters a game of wits into a game of defense, where trades of pieces are incredibly risky at all times, while also turning losing from a frustrating result to an arousing one.

Or we can look at Hypno Truth or Dare. It has all the elements of regular Truth or Dare, mixed in with dirty questions about hypnosis and dares to go deeper, listen to files and to obey without question~

And the best part is that this change is incredibly easy to do. Any game can be made more fun with hypnosis if you alter a few rules. You can replace boring punishment cards with suggestions to stare at a spiral, or to become another player's toy for x ammount of turns.

You can make it so that the closer you get to the finish in a game like Snakes and Ladders, the emptier you get, and the more addicted you become to the thought of sabotaging yourself going back to the beggining.

This does not just apply to physical games either. Video games lerfectly lend themselves to hypnosis. A lot of them feature very rigid gameplay rules and repetitive gameplay, so, in theory, you could make a very mindless task like farming for a certain item or mining for a certain ore condition you deeper, every level gained and block broken drilling in the suggestion of your choosing into your already focused head.

I'm sure that there are a million other examples, ranging from simple to extreme, but I'm going to let you readers share some of yours~

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (1/20)

See? I'm here and you didn't even waited that much😋

I hope you can enjoy the first chapter!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, angst and semi-public sex.

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Accepting the date with your friend Carol cost you more than you imagined.

Music recommendation:

Pawn

noun

1. a chess piece of the smallest size and least value. Each player has eight pawns at the start of a game.

Staring at the mirror for the sixth time, obsessively applying yet another layer of lipstick. You sighed—you still didn’t feel grown-up enough.

A little more mascara, even though your lashes were already heavy from previous coats.

But it didn’t matter.

You still weren’t pretty.

You weren’t worthy.

Checking your teeth, you spotted a smudge of lipstick on them. You exhaled sharply, grabbing your toothbrush to scrub away any imperfection.

You brushed a single tooth exactly twenty times.

Fuck.

The lipstick smudged.

You could feel hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes in frustration, as your reflection seemed only to highlight every flaw on your face.

You hated mirrors.

Three sharp knocks startled your muscles into tension.

“Bear, we’re gonna be late!” your roommate’s voice rang out—loud and impatient.

Bear. As if you were special, as if it were affection. But this was only when no one else was around.

It had been three months since you arrived in Washington. Three months of a new city, new university, new social codes you were still trying to decipher. And tonight would be your first off-campus party.

It felt like some kind of rite of passage into adulthood now.

This wasn’t Westview. Back there, the parties were small, familiar. The big city turned everything into a spectacle, and you didn’t want to be part of it—not even a little.

“Wow. You look… stunning!” Carol’s voice made you smile as you stepped out of the bathroom.

Carol Danvers.

Tall, blonde, with that air of someone who always knew what you were about to say before you said it. The girl of your dreams, your nightmares and your vices.

Having a crush on her wasn’t new—you had always liked them.

Girls.

But especially the tall, popular ones—and maybe, just maybe, the ones who were a little mean to you.

However, Carol… she’d always treated you differently. One night, she snuck into your room and kissed you.

And in that moment, you felt like the only one.

But you never were. And you knew that. Carol asked to keep things a secret, said it would be... weird.

The ambiguity of that word haunted your nights, often stealing your sleep.

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks flushing under her gaze.

She stepped closer. Close enough to cup your cheek in her hands, a sweet, innocent gesture. One that melted you inside, like everything she always did.

“Okay!” She dropped her hand. “Here’s your ID! Don’t worry, it’s totally legit. A few dollars work miracles…” She smiled with her tongue between her teeth—mischievous, cocky.

You took the card from her hand.

“Melinda… Nox?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Amazing, right?” She beamed. “Tonight, you’re someone else. Give Melinda the chance you never gave yourself, Bear,” she whispered it with her lips close to your ear, planting a soft kiss behind it—warm enough to melt your common sense.

You tried to smile.

Pretended to believe her.

Pretended it didn’t hurt.

[...]

“Shit! Deep breath. If you keep staring at him like that, he’ll get suspicious,” your situationship said.

You were in line to enter Lux, an expensive bar in Seattle. You didn’t even know how you were going to pay for it.

Your thoughts spiraled toward the worst. They’ll find out. You’ll be expelled. Arrested. Or worse—you’ll be sent back to Westview.

To your mother.

Oh God.

The thought alone made you want to vomit.

“Carol, how are we even going to pay for this?” You looked at the people in line—it felt wrong.

You didn’t belong here.

“I’ve been working on a project,” she said cryptically, and before you could ask more, a very tall man said:

“ID!”

You handed him the fake ID, which he barely glanced at.

“Enjoy the party,” he returned the papers, leaving Carol confused.

“Excuse me, sir. You didn’t even look properly,” she said with a nervous laugh. “How can you be sure we’re not underage?”

Fuck. Carol. No!

She was being impulsive again.

“Are you?” he asked, peering over his glasses.

“No!” you both answered at once.

“Then enjoy. Next!” He turned back to the line.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled her by the arm.

“What were you thinking? Are you insane?” you hissed.

“Do you know how much those damn things cost? Too much not to be at least looked at!”

“Forget it, okay? We’re in. That’s what you wanted, right?” you softened your tone, trying to calm her.

“Yeah… yeah, whatever.” Her eyes scanned the bar, like she was looking for someone. “Don’t do that again, okay?” Carol warned, and you nodded, ashamed.

Normally, alcohol only amplified what you spent your life trying to suppress—the smothered affection, the unresolved longing, the neediness spilling through rehearsed smiles. And you knew that. Knew that two shots were enough to make you even more desperate than you already were when sober.

Carol probably thought you were unbearable. Too fragile, too dependent, waiting for a kind of love she never promised and deep down, never intended to give.

You watched her walk away again, disappearing into the crowd, into the lights and noise. And still, even with the absence scraping at your chest, you didn’t follow.

You stayed.

Alone.

A sudden bump against your shoulder jolted you back like a harsh tug to the surface. Your body reacted before your mind: your lungs faltered, the air grew thinner, and everything around you felt both distant and overwhelming.

Panic was an old acquaintance, a silent visitor who always knew where it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clenched your fists like you were trying to hold the whole world inside them. You could feel the edge drawing near with the precision of a step in the dark.

But not tonight.

Not with this name.

Melinda wasn’t you. She didn’t shake. She didn’t break. She didn’t cry at fancy parties or beg for scraps of attention. Melinda wanted to live, to have fun, and feel something other than fear.

You raised your chin, fixed your smudged lipstick, and ordered some shots of tequila. Drank the first without breathing. The second burned, and you almost smiled.

The alcohol slid down warm, spreading through your body like an unwelcome hug—comforting and fake, but effective.

You looked around, your eyes wandering over silhouettes dancing under pulsing lights.Some laughed loudly. Others whispered before smiling drunkenly.

You wondered, as you always did, if they were happy. What was the story behind each of those figures? Did they also feel small sometimes? Did they watch, too?

Or were you the only one carrying this absurd desire to be seen, this ridiculous need for approval?

Another shot.

This time, a slower sip. The world seemed to dissolve into soft tones and disjointed rhythms and then, your eyes landed on someone.

A woman.

She was surrounded by voices, yet didn’t seem to belong there. She laughed naturally, but there was something rehearsed in it —something too practiced.

The kind of smile a powerful woman wears like a weapon.

You smiled too, without realizing it.

A foolish and childish reflex, almost ridiculous.

And when you opened your eyes again, she was looking back.

Two blue eyes, so intense—but from where you sat, the color shifted. Sometimes green, sometimes blue, deep, almost violet, like precious cold stones carved into a face too sculpted to be real—and you wanted to get closer, to find out the true color of the mysterious woman’s eyes.

She wasn’t smiling anymore. Just that raw and wild look.

Aimed at you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Shame came first, hot and treacherous. But it was quickly replaced by something more primal: curiosity. Fear. Fascination. You should have looked away, you knew that.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were being devoured by that gaze. And somehow, you wanted it.

You wondered if she saw something in you too—or if she was just playing, like everyone else.

You laughed to yourself.

It was a stupid thought—a woman like that would never look at you... Not really.

Not the way you wished she would.

You downed your last shot in one go, the taste burning your throat, your stomach, what was left of your judgment.

The world spun a little—but honestly, you didn’t care anymore. It was past 3 a.m., and the heat of the dance floor felt like it was choking you. Sweat glued the dress to your body like the fabric was punishing you for every misstep.

You needed air.

You got up with effort, ankles a bit unsteady, and pushed through the crowd. Shoulders bumped into yours like no one had time to acknowledge your existence. That was fine. You were used to going unnoticed.

The first door in sight was the emergency exit. Narrow. Empty. The cold concrete outside contrasted with the heat from inside, and you felt the thermal shock ripple across your skin, up your spine.

Seattle's lights blinked on the horizon like promises never meant for you.

The cold air froze the tip of your nose and bit at the bare skin of your arms, but still… it was better than the suffocation inside.

You leaned your back against the wall and sit on a concrete stool, lettting your head fall back, eyes fixed on a starless sky.

For a moment, you thought of your childhood summers back in Westview. Those days when the world was small and kind, when the sound of the ice cream truck’s bell was enough to make you run barefoot, lighthearted, laughing freely.

God, how you missed that.

When you were just a girl and that was enough. When your father’s love was all you needed to fill the empty spaces—Before he died.

Before the world crumbled at five years old.

Since then, ice cream never tasted the same again.

Your mother never looked at you the same. Or maybe she never looked at you at all.

You were always the mistake.

The disappointment.

She said it with her eyes—and sometimes with harsh words—you weren’t enough. That everything you did could have been better, prettier, more useful.

But she smiled at your brother with that pride that never belonged to you.

So when the letter from UW came, it was your chance. The chance to prove to her that you could, to find your own path.

The chance to run.

A city where no one knew your flaws. Where you could be someone— anyone. But even here, you brought the same fucking broken pieces.

The same hunger that now made you accept Carol Danvers’ scraps like they were feasts. She kissed you in secret, called you “mine” in a whisper, but never in public.

And still, you waited—like a fool.

Because deep down, being with her hurt less than admitting that maybe no one would ever truly choose you.

You bit your lip, tasting the metallic sting of frustration. The alcohol made everything feel more distant, more confusing.

The truth was you didn’t know who you were or who you wanted to be.

You just knew that… maybe you needed a little love.

Was that too much to ask?

The door behind you creaked open.

You turned slowly—thinking it was some janitor asking you to leave.

But no.

It was her.

The woman with the mysterious eyes.

The feminine silhouette in front of you was imposing, exuding importance. Her long dark hair fell like a rope, framing a strong face—and yet, the redness in her cheeks—from the alcohol or the cold gave a softness to such a harsh figure.

Your eyes locked for a while, too long, but neither of you dared to look away.

You swallowed hard. Should you say something? Your lips trembled, parted to speak, but her voice came first—strong, rough:

“Are you alright?”

The question cut through the silence like a blade.

Her voice was firm, almost impersonal, but there was something there...

You nodded, a gesture too small to mean anything.

Of course you weren’t alright. But what could you say? That you were trying not to cry over a woman who didn’t know how to love? That the bitter taste of tequila still burned in your throat, but what really stung was the absence—of everything?

You looked away, pressing your shoulders against the cold wall behind you.

“Just needed some air,” you finally said, almost in a whisper, like the words were being swept away by the freezing wind between you.

She stepped closer with careful strides, sitting down beside you. Not too close, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of her body. And her perfume, too—something woody, discreet, sophisticated.

You knew she was special. Rich, very rich—from the leather heels to the minimalist jewelry.

“I figured…” she said, drawing a breath with some care. Her head tilted slightly, like she was trying to steady her thoughts more than her steps. Her hands buried in the pockets of her cream colored coat—expensive, heavy, pristine like her. “It’s crazy in there.”

Her voice, though touched by alcohol, still carried strength. But you noticed the subtle crack in her posture, like a piece of porcelain that only fractures under the right light.

But the question circled her mind and refused to fade away. What was she doing here? Had she followed you? Had she come here just because of you?

"Why are you here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Shit.

You didn’t want to sound rude to her—not at all.

She didn’t answer right away.

She just turned her face toward you—and there was something in her eyes that froze you in place. A contained glint, sharp, like wet steel under the moonlight. And now, up close, under the moonlight, you could tell. Her eyes held perfect shades between green and blue.

It was like saltwater meeting freshwater in a single gaze.

The woman was truly stunning.

Her jaw clenched, as if she were fighting her own words. Or the impulse to say them.

Your stomach turned. Chills ran down your spine, and it wasn’t just the cold.

It was her.

How could someone look so dangerous and so hypnotic at the same time?

"I don’t know," she finally said. The sincerity in her voice was a near wounded whisper, and it caught you off guard. "I saw you leave. And... I came."

Silence returned, but now it was a different kind of silence.

Alive.

Dense.

You looked down for a moment, feeling your heart beat too loud in your chest. It was scary. Not her—not exactly. But what she awakened. 

The way she looked at you. Like she saw something even you couldn’t name. And still, she didn’t look away.

"I don’t usually do this," she continued, and there was something restrained in her voice. Almost self-directed anger.

And you understood. Fuck. How you did understand!

That feeling of doing something against your own instincts just because, for some inexplicable reason, you have to.

That stupid war between protecting yourself and letting go.

"Me neither," you confess with a laugh, still feeling her now-blue eyes cut through you. Your voice came out small, almost like a shared secret.

You felt naked under those eyes. Like every layer of you was being unfolded with unsettling precision.

She didn’t smile.

She only looked deeper, and for a moment, you had the impression she was going to say something. Reveal something.

But she stopped.

The blue-eyed woman seemed to be battling her own body. Her own impulsivity, as if every inch of the space between you had been measured, restrained, smothered by something she refused to name.

You could feel her breath. The woody scent of her perfume. You wanted to get closer.

She turned her head sharply, like it would stop her from doing something reckless. You noticed her jaw tightening, her hard swallow, and her hands—now out of her coat—clenching into fists.

She rose from the concrete bench, stumbling elegantly in her heels to face the city.

"You’re... different," she said, as if spitting out the word with difficulty.

And she didn’t sound like she meant it in the usual way people try to impress someone at a party. There was real weight behind it. As if that “difference” was dangerous—or worse: unacceptable.

Your eyebrows furrow.

"What do you mean?" you ask, standing up with some effort.

She hesitated. A small pout formed on her lips, as if annoyed that you had asked. Or that she didn’t know how to answer.

Her eyes drifted to your mouth. A subtle, restrained motion, but not fast enough to hide it.

You held your breath.

"I don’t know," she said, but it felt more like a confession. Her hard gaze stayed fixed on you, but there was something different now. Something raw. More... human. "But I despise it."

The words came out like poison caught in her throat—not necessarily to hurt you. But as if the mere idea of someone unraveling what she thought was solid was intolerable.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating so fast it hurt. You stood there, between impulse and fear, trying to figure out someone who seemed made of thorns and glass.

Too beautiful to touch without getting cut.

But maybe, getting cut would be worth it.

"Why?" you dared ask, your voice low. You were afraid of the answer, but more afraid of the silence.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting yours with something close to fury—but it wasn’t at you.

It was at herself.

A clash of wills sewn by years of restraint. Everything about her was control, you realized that now. Every gesture, every word, every space between blinks was meticulously guarded.

Except here. Except now.

"Because I hate losing control."

The phrase hit you with the force of an intimate confession, almost an apology, and at the same time, a warning.

The wind blew stronger at that moment, tossing her hair across her face. She didn’t brush it away. She stayed like that, partly hidden, as if she didn’t want you to see what her eyes were saying.

But you saw anyway.

"Maybe..." you began, not knowing exactly where you were going. "Maybe that’s not such a bad thing."

She laughed. Softly. Without humor. A bitter, restrained laugh, like you’d told a joke too cruel to be funny.

"You have no idea what you’re saying."

You stood up to face her. 

Now there was no space between you. Only tension. A magnetic, cursed field. Hot and cold at once.

Your eyes searched hers, and in them, you found a wound no one should’ve ever touched.

But you wanted to.

You wanted to enter that pain and know it like someone opening a forbidden book.

"Then tell me," you whispered. "Make me understand," you pleaded.

She was so still, she looked carved out of air.

"I can’t do that." Her voice broke, and it was the first time that had happened. She stood up. Stopped at the door to leave, to run. Run from you. "You should go back too. You’ll freeze out here in that outfit," she said without looking at you, still facing the door and holding the handle.

And she seemed to be waiting.

You studied the silhouette of the much older woman leaning against the door. She was undeniably elegant, and the heels made her seem even taller next to you.

Those eyes seemed so dominant, always in control.

And maybe you were the one who had to take the risk here, after all, she looked like someone who had much to lose...

You stepped closer.

Each step measured, deliberate, until you could hear her breath change. A subtle, trembling exhale, as if your nearness had broken something in her.

Carefully, your fingers touched her dark hair, sliding through the strands like someone caressing a secret.

She let out a soft sound through her mouth—a stifled noise, somewhere between a moan and a protest.

And you smiled.

She was trying to resist, but failing.

"Please..." you begged, your mouth so close to her skin your warm breath touched her.

She turned sharply. Her back against the iron door. Breathing fast and looking like she might kill you if she could.

But you were too far gone now to care about dying.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" she growled, her jaw tight, her breath short like she could barely stay on her feet.

You didn’t answer.

You just let your lips touch her neck. Slow kisses, warm, like promises you didn’t even know if you could keep.

"Please, please, please," you begged between the kisses, the words staining her skin like fever.

You lifted your face until it was level with hers. Your lips brushed against hers in an almost-kiss.

Burning, cruel.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice so low it barely made a sound.

But she heard it.

The woman finally leaned in, ready to be kissed—but you pulled back.

Just enough for her to feel the absence.

Her blue eyes burned with something primal.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

And then she kissed you.

Like she was breaking a promise. Like she was diving off a cliff, not expecting to survive.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was ravenous.

It was need, despair, fury.

The kind of kiss that shouldn’t happen, but it did.

And you knew—right there, with her back slammed against the cold metal door, lips crushing yours with a hunger that felt decades old—that nothing would ever make sense again.

Her mouth was hot, urgent, and her tongue claimed yours with such authority it made you moan into your own teeth.

She took control without asking, without waiting. Like she was quenching a thirst that had gone too long ignored.

Her hands—big, firm, experienced—grabbed your waist with such force that you lost your breath.

And you let her hold you.

Let her brand you.

It was insane to be there.

In an emergency hallway, in an uncomfortable position and the wind bit at your exposed skin.

But honestly? None of it mattered. Because the heat came from her—that tall, mature body carved by time.

She could’ve been your mother’s age.

And fuck, why did that make it even hotter?

The way she held you, like she already knew every path to pleasure before you even knew their names. The way she kissed, without hesitation, without the impatient rush of someone just chasing release.

Nothing like Carol.

Your hands moved up her back, feeling the expensive fabric of her coat, then pushed it gently off her shoulders to reveal the heat her skin carried.

Your fingers moved on their own, hooking into the waistband of her linen pants.

She moaned against your mouth, a muffled sound, and a shiver ran through both of you. She broke the kiss violently, her breath ragged, like she’d just run a marathon. 

“No,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “I can’t...”

You whimpered at the sudden distance and pressed into her, needing to make sure she was real.

“Why not?” you whispered back.

“Because...” She inhaled, trying to think, to erase your scent and your kiss from her mind. “Because this is wrong.”

“This?” You smiled, dragging your tongue across your lips. “Well... You don’t have to do anything.” Your voice was soothing. “I can do it for you.”

You brought your lips back to her neck.

Yes. You’d do it. You’d do anything.

She melted under your touch, letting out a desperate moan as your hands traveled lower down her body.

“W-what are you going to do?”

“Shh... Just feel.”

You stole her lips again, this time taking the control that seemed meant only for her. You explored every curve, alternating between squeezing her waist and her ass.  

“Can I do this?” you asked, resting your hand over her panties, waiting for a reply.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. And she just nodded.

You smiled.

Unbelievable.

You slid to her clit, and she gasped. She looked so beautiful, so ready...

You moved your fingers in figure eights, making her moan and grab the back of your neck.

Then, without warning, you slipped two fingers inside her, dragging a cry of pleasure from her lips.

“Fuck, it’s been so long,” she moaned, delirious.

You kept thrusting, fingertips massaging the soft flesh inside. She throbbed and clenched so tightly around you...

“More!”

You brought your thumb to her clit, stimulating both spots at once. You felt her legs tremble. “I can give you this,” you whispered into her ear, biting her sensitive earlobe. “I’m a good girl.”

And when you heard her moan loudly, you knew she was the kind that liked dirty talk.

You looked at her again.

Fuck! How is she this beautiful?

Cheeks flushed, spit escaping her lips, hair tangled in your fingers, one leg wrapped around your waist—the tip of her high heel digging into your back—while the other leg stayed grounded, giving her that precious balance she seemed to crave.

This time, she was the one who stole your lips—and the moan that escaped you was shameful. Her tongue moved wildly, like it was saying something.

She was going to come.

“God— I—” she cried, bouncing on your fingers.

With one final thrust, she came.

Watching those once-cruel, dominant eyes roll back in bliss was something you would tattoo into your memory, forever.

And when she opened them again, you saw two oceans—still shimmering with pleasure.

Your chest burned with pride, you could die happy.

But all that feeling was devoured by three words:

“This never happened.”

The words hung in the air like the toxic smoke flooding the city, seeping into you.

You needed a second to process. Then two. And on the third, your stomach turned.

Your blood boiled.

“What?” Your voice came out as a choked disbelief.

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just straightened her coat, then her hair, staring past you at the buildings like you were a mistake she needed to delete.

Like you weren’t worth her time.

“You heard me.” she said coldly, sharply.

Her blue eyes locked on yours—and this time, there was nothing in them.

No desire.

No warmth.

Just a shadow of disdain.

You stepped forward. “Are you serious?” Your voice cracked midway, but you stood your ground.

She sighed, like she needed patience to deal with you and that only made you angrier.

“It was a mistake,” she said, dry. “One I don’t intend to repeat.”

Your chest cracked.

You laughed, bitterly.

“Of course. Because God forbid someone like you be seen with someone like me, right?”

“It’s not about that, girl.”

Girl.

Said like that.

Like you were too small to understand.

“No?” You stepped closer, so near you could see her spit on her own chin. “Then what is it? Your last name? Your reputation? Whoever you think you are!?”

She glared at you, like she wanted to reduce you to dust.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Silence.

A bottomless void.

It hit like a punch to the chest. A blow full of condescension and venom.

You stepped back, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m nothing,” you nodded, smiling with eyes full of rage. “The nothing that made you moan like a desperate whore in a dark corner.”

Her jaw clenched. She took a deep breath, but said nothing.

“Don’t look at me like you’re better than me,” you went on, your voice shaking with fury and adrenaline. “You’re just a lonely woman fucking the void inside you with someone else’s fingers. And fuck, you love it. Every second. So spare me the performance.”

“If I were you, I’d watch that tone.” she replied, tense—but not with the same fire.

You laughed again, bitter, haunted by the echo of that damned phrase.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Like a low blow.

Like a rejection letter.

Like Carol.

Your chest tightened in that familiar, because you already knew that taste: the taste of abandonment that comes right after the touch.

The touch that makes you feel wanted.

The touch that lies.

You pulled away like you'd been burned, as if every second there had started to scald you. Swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in your throat, the salty taste that threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Go fuck yourself,” you said, but your voice came out too soft to hurt.

You brushed past her, your body still hot, still trembling, but already feeling the cold swallowing you whole again.

You stormed out the emergency exit like fleeing from a fire—even if now, the fire was inside you.

The dawn air hit you like a slap—cold, harsh, indifferent.

You descended the emergency exit steps with heavy steps, feeling the concrete vibrate beneath the thin soles of your shoes, but it was like every step was a surrender.

As soon as you returned to the dance floor, you saw your “friend with benefits” grinding on some guy while his hands roamed her sculpted body.

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of them.

A retreat on the board.

A pawn.

The smallest piece. The most predictable. The one that only moves forward and dies first.

You laughed again, alone, with that irony that rises from your gut. The bitter laugh of someone who realizes they were just a convenient move in someone else’s game.

Just a pawn advanced out of pure whim.

You stumbled outside, like a mistake hidden behind the scenes of a party that was far too expensive.

The wind whipped against your sweat-damp skin and unshed tears. And you swallowed hard again, throat tight, the acidic taste of humiliation rising like bile.

You thought of her.

A stranger—eyes sometimes blue, sometimes green, but always vivid.

Of her touch.

Of the rough fingers gripping your waist. The way she moaned greedily for more, even if only once.

The way she came with her face turned toward the sky, as if you were some kind of gift.

And even then… “You’re nothing.”

Fuck.

Why do those words hurt more than they should? Why does part of you want to go back, just to scream? Just to force her to admit that you gave her the best orgasm of her life?

But you didn’t go back.

You just clenched your fists, walking the dark streets like someone running from their own shadow. Like someone who finally understands that some people were made to move the pieces… and others were made to be moved.

And you swear to yourself—somewhere between the step and the regret—that next time, God, if there’s a next time, you’ll play the game before it plays you.

Because being a pawn is exhausting.

And you weren’t born to die in the first move.

~*~

UHhhh... Agatha's such a bitch... I'm sorry!! Y-Y

Tag List <3

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[10spoons]

𝐋𝐄𝐓’𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘₊˚⊹ᰔ

Sabrina Carpenter x reader

summary: your girlfriend decided to distract you from chess by suggesting…to play

warnings: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢! established relationship/marriage. teasing. little dom/sub if you squint. chess player reader

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE

You were sitting on the edge of the chair with your feet up. A wooden board stood right in front of you, and an army of figures stood on top. Your gaze darted from the book in your hands to the board and back. Your hand reached out to move a figures. Bf4-g3, f6:e5, b2-b4! You frown and upon closer analysis you see that black couldn’t have taken the pawn without suffering damage. You read on while biting your lips, deep in thought.

"Are you reading about this Nimzowitsch again?" A sudden question takes you by surprise and you look up at your girlfriend. Sabrina looked as gorgeous as ever, even in her house shorts and stretched out T-shirt. She walked past and sat down in the chair opposite, placing a cup of coffee on the table.

“Actually, it's Capablanca, the game with Bernstein," you muttered under your breath, pretending to be deeply offended. The gaze turned to the book again. c5-a7, Bd3:b5! The gears in your brain were spinning with renewed vigor as you felt hands gently massaging your shoulders.

"I think it's time for you to take a break babe.” Sabrina said and dropped her hands down your shoulders. Luckily for her, your hair was pinned up in a high bun, giving her the opportunity to leave a bite on your neck. A shaky breath left you, but you pulled yourself together.

“Brina…I want to finish this game.” You spoke as your hand slid into her hair to move it away from your neck. You were always so engrossed in studying the games of grandmasters that you didn't see anything around you.

It seemed that the woman was not going to give up, because the next thing she said was self-confident.

“Let’s play.” She walked around you and sat down in the chair opposite you again. You raised an eyebrow, looking at her skeptically. You didn't know what game she was going to play, but it definitely wasn't chess. As far as you knew, Sabrina was never into chess. You narrowed your eyes.

“What are you planning?”Sabrina meanwhile swept away all the pieces and placed them back in their original positions. The whites were on your side. How generous.

“I just want to play chess with my girlfriend.” She bite her lip and smile. “Maybe this way I'll understand why you're so into it.” You knew for sure that there was a catch somewhere. Oh, there definitely is. And the woman confirmed your guesses by continuing to speak.

“But! We will play until the first capture of the queen. Whose queen is defeated first must wish.” You frowned. “But no one plays chess like that! It’s…it’s…” A chuckle rang out. “Are you afraid of losing?” It was such a cheap manipulation, but it worked. You were never good at losing. “Deal.”

Pawn on e4. Her pawn is d5. E4:d5. Qe8:d5. She took your pawn. Knb1-c3. Her queen retreats. You move the second knight. Her rook moves to the right. The knight moves again and defeats her queen. It all happened in 7 moves. She didn't even try! When Sabrina was defeated, she got up from her chair and headed towards you.

"It's such a shame. I lost..." She came closer and sat on your lap. Her arms wrapped around your shoulders and you immediately grabbed her waist, holding her in place. Her face came closer and she said looking into your eyes. "The winner makes a wish." She fidgeted. The movement made your stomach do a thing.

«Oh, I knew it. I figured out your plan a long time ago.» You say and bury your face in her neck. Your mouth kissed and sucked the soft skin of her neck. You could feel her nails scraping against your back through your shirt. Her golden curls cascaded and covered your faces. You ran your thumbs over her stomach, lifting her shirt and moving further, finding the swell of her breasts.

“My wish…” You whispered. “My wish is that you ride me now. Is this what you wanted to hear?” A whine escaped her mouth and her pelvis rocked again, fingers digging into her soft thighs leaving marks. Something that sounded like words came out of Sabrina's mouth, but you couldn't make it out. She tried again.

“Yes baby…please.” Oh that was so cute, she’s just wanted a little attention. “As you say angel. Take it off.” You pulled her large T-shirt up, revealing her torso and neat breasts. Her pink nipples were swollen and you took one into your mouth, exploring her entire body with your hands. Squeezing here and there. The soft sighs that Sabrina made added to the experience. Your leg rose and pressed between her legs.

“Mhm…it feels so good baby, please..” She whined in despair. At some point you felt so stupid that you couldn't see anything except your chess. In a rush to fix this, your hand reached for the indecently short house shorts and discovered that she hadn't been wearing any underwear all this time. The fabric of the shorts was completely soaked and you just had to move it to run your fingers along the slick folds.

“Fuck Brina…so hot and wet, would you ride my fingers like a good little thing?” You said this while teasing her dripping entrance. Then you raised your head and took Sabrina's face by the chin, gently stroking her cheek. “Cmon babe, don’t be shy.” Her grey eyes looked at you with despair and her lips were beautifully swollen.

“I would please.” Right after these words, you pushed two fingers inside and curled them, stroking the soft, sensitive spot inside. “Oh fuck…fuck babe..” Sabrina screamed and you grabbed her by the waist guiding her up and down helping her move.

“Like that babe, ride me I know you can do it .” You praised her and kissed, catching her sighs with your mouth. With your help, woman moved, jumped and rolled her hips. Her clit hit the edge of your palm, creating additional stimulation. “Y/n..oh it feels so good…please I wanna cum.”

Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes and you couldn't refuse her. Your thumb brushed over clit pushing her closer to the edge. “Do it Brina you deserve it.”

After these words she came. You feel how her walls are clenched and the arousal flows on your palm. The last kisses decorate her chest and she falls into your arms. The woman sniffles and you stroke her disheveled curls and kiss the top of her head. “That’s it babe..that’s it.”

With these words, you stand up with her in your arms and head to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up love.”

Hi guys! I don't claim to be a great chess player and I only recently started playing and studying this area.

anyway i really like this idea and what came out of it.

I don't really like smut but why not sometimes

the game at the beginning is taken from the book and is a real game of Capablanca

xoxo Ella

[frost-queen]

🅵🆁🅾🅽🆃🅼🅰🅽 // part 10 (Reader x Young-il / player 001)

Tag: @slythetic, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr @noiyaaa, @filmedbyharkness , @uniquecutie-puffs, @r3va-dwme, @annasnape7, @starkeyszn, @bonelessghoul, @carrotjuicepdf, @imenekiki, @gay4hotmilfs, @yummycement, @sooyasya, @nerdytif, @hollxe1, @venavanup,

 @love-zami, @formula1love,@coruja12345, @ingstadstarlight, @samanthadegaro, @sweetheartlizzie07, @enhasrii, @lokiscure, @esposadomd, @hanta-seros-wifey, @verouys , @p1ckld3r, @thelastemzy , @Iglily, @hanakokunzz , @lovelifeyolo18 , @dumbestchaos, @watasinekoru , @bloooooopblopblop, @mrsyixingunicorn10 , @kyxmlii , @angelofthorr , @carolinevoight , @ooddiieesblog, @reka13, @solarpotato, @fallout-girl219, @avery-043009, @colorwastaken, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @metalbaby2, @machipyun, @gloriousjellyfisharcade, @tomiokasecretlover

@blogforhoes , @4inchfae , @tinylawyerbluebird, @reallysparklychaos, @dxrkheavensworld, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @itosh1teru, @agentcable, @trashy1turtle, @verouys, @indifitel6661, @udgigdtivfsjh, @luvleyprincess, @luvr4miya, @enzosluvr, @pinkyzzz, @prongs-moon, @albubek1, @cowuies, @hansharfi

Summary: A man comes in action when something drove him to it. With one thing on his mind, he ventures deep. Deeper than he has ever been to bring back what he yearns so eagerly. [series]

“Hajima!” – his hand trembled hard around the walkie. Sitting at the edge of his seat. Clutching the sofa chair tight with his other hand. Eyes glued onto the big screens in front of him. There was static on the walkie when he panted loud. Heart pounding in his chest with each beat. The triangle pink suit had slightly turned his head to the side. Making known to him, they had heard him. The frontman moved the walkie closer to his mouth once more.

Static coming through as he ended it with a click. – “Don’t shoot her anywhere lethal.” – he ordered out. Setting the walkie down, he kept watching the big screens. Seeing how the triangle pink suit lowered his gun. Lowering it so he wasn’t pointing at your head anymore. Forced to watch it. To watch you after you had made a stupid mistake. Something he should’ve foreseen. The sudden bang made him startle. Taken back by the sound as it normally wouldn’t affect him.

His gaze darted briefly to the side. Watching Gi-hun. Watching him sink to his knees with uncontrollable tears. His cries echoing through the room. It made him slightly tilt his head. Slightly narrowing his eyes. He had seen Gi-hun at the very bottom before. Right when he shot Jung-bae in front of him. The frontman was intrigued by how Gi-hun seemed to be more affected by your death that Jung-bae’s. His gaze got drawn back to your tile.

Seeing you lay down. Lifeless. Circle pink suits entering the scene with a black coffin. Setting the coffin down beside you. Opening the lid. Carrying you by your shoulders and legs. Lifting you up from the pool of blood to lay carefully in the box. The frontman’s attention got drawn away again. Seeing Hyun-ju cursing and shouting loud at the pink suits but also at the white pieces.

The frontman moved the walkie closer to his mouth once more. Changing the station on it. Silencing the static when he pressed to speak.- “Mark it.” – he told them. One of the circle pink suits remained knelt down. Dipping a gloved finger into the pool of blood. Marking it with a cross at the edge.

With one firm nod, he helped lift it up.  Tagged, the pink suits carried you out of the room so that the game of chess could continue. There was a wild commotion. The frontman watching your friends. The people he had spend the past few days with, get overwhelmed. Ready to riot and kill everyone in the room.

He let his gaze go away from the screen. Right to the black mask stationed neatly on a tray at his side. With a stern expression, he reached for it. Lifting it up and bringing it closer to his face. Hiding his true identity.

Getting up, he could care less about what was displaying on the big screens. Not interested in how the games endured. Putting his hood on, he left his room without a last look. Following a few corners to head for the blue stairs. Two square pink suits that stood guard took one look at him before standing stiff.

Not batting an eye at him as he walked past. Heading down the stairs without being questioned. For no one questioned the frontman. When he had gone down a few stairs, he gently started to quicken his pace. Jogging down the stairs to reach his destination in time. His shadow bouncing off the deep blue walls as he made his way deeper into the fortress.

The circle pink suits walked in line. Coffin in between them. Carrying it out as they were ordered. Following the long corridors towards the ovens. Walking a dead’s path. All who roamed these halls eliminated. Hundreds. Thousands. Men. Women. Young. Old. All but one thing in common. Their lives ended in the pursuit of money. All carried out in black coffins strapped with a pink ribbon.

A gift. One last scenery of beauty before they reached the ovens. Hundreds. Thousands. Having met their fate’s here. Now they carried out one more. One more towards the last post. The last exit from this earth. Souls gone, but bodies remaining. The final cleansing of this earth. A triangle pink suit opened the door for them. Allowing them to enter. Enter the oven room.

Ovens lined up from wall to wall. Coffin getting placed on a stander. One of the circle pink suits went to open the glass door. Looking back at his comrade. They nodded back before shoving the coffin inside. Glass door closing. The circle suit came standing in front of the glass door. Watching as the black coffin laid inside.

Waiting for the heat. The underground opened making the black coffin drop down. Then the flames came. Burning nothing but air. Sending a heat through the oven it made the pink suit take a step back from the warmth. Remaining there a moment before they turned on their heel. Walking out of the oven room for their next one to cleanse of this earth.

The coffin dropped with a loud thud down. Nearly cracking the wood. Square pink suits approached. One of them bend a bit through their knees. Finger gliding over the blood mark. They looked up to their partner, giving them a nod.

Each taking a side, they lifted the coffin up once more. Another square pink suit opening the door for them. A secluded dark room. Blood splatters on the walls and floors. Some already dried up from over the years. – “Ah! A new subject.” – a man wearing a white coat spoke.

The pink suits placed the coffin down. Opening the lid from it. Taking your arms and legs, they carried you up. The surgeon gesturing at the table. They moved sideways placing your body down. The surgeon came hovering over you with a loud hum. Seeing the red stain on your shirt. It made him lift your shirt up to see the bullet wound for himself. Eyes flashed open with a panic. Pink suits jumped in, grabbing you by your shoulders and feet. Keeping them pressed down against the table.

The surgeon coming in your vision. Shushing you as his hand went to your hair. – “All will be over doll.” – he let out with a crooked grin. Your eyes widened seeing the scalpel in your vision. The pink suit pressed a gloved hand over your mouth. Shaking your head, you tried to scream. Feet kicking at the grip of the other pink suit. The scalpel kept coming closer to your throat.

As it made you scream even louder against the gloved hands. For some reason you weren’t dead yet, but soon you would be. Wondering what kind of sick games these were. The scalpel glistered brightly under the light bulb. The sight of it nearly made you pass out. The surgeon kept shushing you, pressing his hand deep onto your chest.

The tip of his scalpel close to your skin. One simple gesture it took. One swift motion and a thin line of red would form. Right before more red would gush out. The tip of it touched your skin as your sweat broke out. – “Hajima!” – a sudden loud and deep voice let out. The scalpel dropped, clattering against the floor. The surgeon staring in shock back at the black mask.

Never had he seen the frontman down here. The frontman swallowed hard, straightening his posture. Mask staring down at you. You couldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t look away from the piercing gaze even with a mask on before you passed out. The world fading around you, swooping you under. – “Tteonada.” – he ordered the pink suits. They knew better than to go against the frontman.

Bowing respectfully before taking their leave. The surgeon humbled himself to his knees with open arms. – “You bless me with your presence frontman.” – he said in a kissery way. The frontman approached the table more.

Tilting his head at you laying down on the table. The surgeon could care him less. – “Igeoyo.” – the frontman said with a point. The surgeon got up noddingly. – “Yes… yes I was about to end this one’s life for the organs.” – he responded proudly. Presuming the frontman was here to watch.

The frontman turned his head to the surgeon. The sight of the mask alone making him gulp loud. – “Save this one.” – he let out. The surgeon’s eyes popped wide open. – “What?” – he called out confused.

The frontman turned more towards him, grabbing him firm by his coat. – “Did I stutter?” – he spoke with agitation. The surgeon shook his head pleadingly for mercy. The frontman let go of him. The surgeon nodded his head. Knowing he was in no right condition to save a life. Not with the right equipment here.

He took out a needle, nearing it to you but before he could do anything. His wrist got grabbed firm by the frontman. – “To… to sedate her… I… I can’t take out the bullet if she keeps squirming.” – he informed him with a sweaty forehead. Trembling on his knees a bit that if he did something wrong, it would end badly for his life.

The frontman’s grip faltered allowing the man to put you down. The frontman watched. Kept a close eye on you as your body became numb. The surgeon lifted your shirt up to reach the bullet wound in your side. The surgeon grabbed a tool as he suddenly heard the click of a gun unlocking behind him.

Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he could see the gun pointed at him. Making him whimper soft with trembling hands. – “Keep a steady hand, surgeon.” – the frontman spoke as a threat. – “Ye!” – he called out with a stiff posture. Receiving the order from his superior.

The frontman kept pointing the gun at the surgeon while he worked. Grabbed tweezers to take the bullet out. Depping away blood in the process to keep his vision clear. Working his way with a lethal weapon pointed at him. Knowing that one bad slip would cause his skull to be penetrated by a bullet.

The bullet clattered into the metal bowl. Sighing relieved as all he needed to do now was stitch you up. Under the watchful eye of the frontman. You got stitched up. Patched up and bound to secure your stitches. A bandage going round your stomach.

The surgeon took a trembling step back, backing up against the wall. The frontman putted his gun away, approaching the table. He touched the side of your head, turning your head to the other side. Seeing how sweaty your neck was. He lowered himself a bit, sliding his arms underneath you.

Grunting quietly as he picked you up. The surgeon came closer once more. – “She… she is in no condition to be moved.” – he told him. – “Move!” – the frontman let out. Ushering the man to get out of the way. The surgeon bowed his head, stepping aside. The frontman walked out.

Leaving the stench of blood behind him. The square pink suits staring at the him when he walked past. Keeping quiet. Watching him leave. The frontman kept staring in front of him, setting off to climb the stairs back up with you in his arms. Bringing you to the one place, he would be sure to keep an eye on you. To keep you save from any harms way. His private quarters.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[lizardboiii]

Tongue Tied┃One Piece - Pt. 2

[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]

│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark an empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

・❥・

│cw: SFW, 18+, unfortunate slow start

│wc: 1.4k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: accidentally wrote the reader as such a golden retriever lmao. also, please let me know if the switch between languages is getting hard to understand! shorter chapter cause i'm overworked ;(

│AO3 Link!

・❥・

│Chapter II: Golden Hour

Ever-eerie. Ever-present. Ever-gold. 

The undeniable sensation of watchful eyes consumed you as you haunted the castle’s halls. They followed from vestibule to vestibule. The source of them hiding somewhere in the darkest of corners. Sometimes…Goldy seemed more phantom than man.

It was foreign at first, the omnipresent feeling of sharp eyes piercing through you. They reigned supreme. Placing every action you made on trial, Goldy played the judge, jury, and executioner.

Eventually, you learned to pay his stare no mind, preferring to slowly attempt communication with the ravenette in your native tongue. 

The aforementioned man merely allowed you to rattle on. He treated your voice as if it was simply background noise, disregarding your presence like a lesser being. 

Goldy’s pride scarcely made a dent in your determination. In fact, after a few days had passed, you no longer clung close to the walls, favoring to follow the massive man around like a lost duckling. 

Your previous isolation had made you needy.

Before you knew it, you and Goldy had developed a routine - whether he liked it or not. Your day started earlier than most. The sun just barely rising before you stirred awake from a restless sleep. You found Goldy preferred to slumber longer. His form not stalking the halls till an hour later, possibly more.

Until then, you’d pad around the empty halls. You walked with no destination in mind, noting any foyers you preferred over another. And when you scoured the entire castle - you’d start again. The soles of your feet wore into the stone. You were sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the beginnings of a path in the shape of your feet.

At last, Goldy would awaken. He moved with little disturbance, often evading your notice. However, whether he was outside refining his skill in the art of sword or simply relaxing in the parlor, you always managed to find him.

Today was no different. 

You had been meandering throughout western wing, absentmindedly tracing the serpentine engravings of the coffered ceilings with your eyes. Then, a wedge of light caught your attention. 

You dropped your gaze, glancing out of one of the many floor length windows. Its cracked windowsill framed a direct view of the northwestern courtyard. 

Through the quickly fading golden hour, you could just make out the form of Goldy. He sat passively in a cushioned chair facing the sea. 

A fresh newspaper was clutched in his hand while the other held an opaque chalice. Across from him was a chess table. However, no second chair existed for another player to claim.

You smiled at your discovery, you had found him faster than usual. It didn't take long for your form to gently glide towards the window. Curiosity consumed you. Standing before the window enthralled, you watch every movement Goldy made intently. 

When he yawned - so did you. 

When he rubbed his chin - you followed in suit. 

When he re-crossed his legs - you shifted your feet.

Your mimicry didn't last long. As quickly as you noticed him, he noticed you. Without warning, Goldy’s eyes flung to your own, drilling into them. You jumped in surprise. Even after a week of dancing around each other, you still couldn't get used to their divine aureolin. 

Regaining composure, you grinned at him with a wave. Goldy ignored your hospitality. He was quick to return to his newspaper, feigning ignorance. However, you were sure he understood what would come next.

You barreled towards the courtyard. Skipping steps and slamming doors, you easily found your way to the grumpy man. Goldy remained unfazed at your sudden appearance. 

You walked beside his chair with a large smile, excited to talk to someone other than yourself. 

“𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐!”

Your voice drew a puff of air from the man, his eyes shifting to you for only a moment. You hummed at the attention. Plopping down on the ground, you rested your head against the arm of his chair.

“𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?” You beamed at the man above you.

Flip.

You turned your gaze to the sea, “𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕?”

Flip.

Your composure began to waiver, “𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢? 𝙸 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝!”

Flip.

Finally, the smile you forced dropped, “��𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎.” You picked at the grass beneath you, “𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎.”

A long sigh made you jolt in surprise. Goldy tossed his newspaper on the side table next to him in annoyance. Two firm fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Just what are you chattering about?” 

You perked up at the response, returning your gaze to the ravenette, “𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢?”

He met your excited gaze coolly. You could practically see the gears in his head turning, frustrated with the fact he wouldn't be able to pull answers from you.

Goldy leaned his head on his hand, refusing to move his eyes off of you, “What am I going to do with you?”

Your mouth curved into a small smile. Although you couldn't understand him, you've determined your second favorite thing about Goldy was his voice.

You turned back to the sea solemnly. Even though you could see his imposing figure, hear his rich cadence - it was as if nothing had changed. You still felt so utterly alone. 

The crashing waves called you home, beckoning your aching heart. Beyond them, bobbing up and down, Goldy’s ship offered itself. A way back home. 

A way back to sanity.

Pointing your finger at the ship, you snapped your head over to the older man, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

Goldy raised a sharp brow at your sudden outburst. 

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to articulate your thoughts. Determined, you pointed at him, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢.”

Then, you pointed to the ship, "𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

A low rumble escaped his chest before he gestured to himself, “Goldy?”

You shook your head enthusiastically, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢!”

“You named me?” He spoke more to himself than you, rubbing the pointed edges of his beard. Displeased, Goldy quickly shook his head, “No.”

You tilted your head in confusion. Had he rejected the name? 

Goldy swished the glass in his hand, “Mihawk.” 

You tasted the name on your tongue, carefully mouthing every syllable, “Mi-hawk?”

A faint smile grew on his face, “Mihawk.”

Grinning, you signaled to yourself, “(𝚢/𝚗)!”

“(𝚢/𝚗)?” He placed the chalice to his lips, “You’re quite a troublesome brat, “(𝚢/𝚗).”

Your stomach flipped at the sound of your name. You hoped he'd say it more.

Pointing at the ship once more, you called out to him, "Mihawk. 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

Mihawk followed your finger, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝?” His brows furrowed slightly before relaxing, “Do you want my boat?”

He stood suddenly, as if he connected the dots he had been chasing. Ignoring your confused form, Mihawlk allowed his long legs to lead him to the path back to the castle. He looked back only for a moment. His large hand beckoning you to follow in suit. 

You stood quickly, fumbling over your own feet. You couldn't lose this chance. 

Mihawk walked briskly, winding through the castle halls before he led you to large french doors. You had seen them before during your morning strolls. However, you were never able to investigate what was hidden behind them. Mihawk kept them under lock and key. 

Reaching inside his pocket, the aforementioned man pulled out a small silver key. It glimmered under the sunlight enhancing the skull design on its embossed head. As quick as he revealed it, he unlocked the room.

The door swung open ominously. The darkness of the room seemed to creep out into the hallway, dying the floor black. Even so, Mihawk entered the room without hesitation. You wasted no time following close behind.

Eventually, Mihawk allowed himself to relax in an armed car across from the room’s fireplace. Taking out a pen and paper, he offered the utensils to you. You gladly accepted them. 

Twirling the pen in your hand, you tried to ignore Mihawk’s piercing stare. 

First, you began to draw a boat. Beneath it you labeled:

“𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

Next, you drew an arrow leading to a small island with a house on it. Beneath which you wrote:

“𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎.”

Looking up from your drawings, you smiled at Mihawk eagerly. However, your grin quickly dropped at Mihawk’s expression.

You had never seen Mihawk’s face get so pale.

“This is impossible.”

Mihawk snatched the paper from your grip. 

“How could you possibly know…”

His eyes searched your writing frantically.

“Poneglyph.”

・❥・

[kedsandtubesocks]

game changer (national league)

MLB catcher!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

summary: it’s your boyfriend’s first big game on his new team & you can’t wait to see what fun the match holds for you and your favorite player

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, baseball AU, light use of gendered language, good cozy fluff, lovesick & sweet!Frankie, competency kink, smutty thoughts, spicy themes, light mask & outfit kink, car sex, heavy making out, oral (f receiving), allusion to p in v, eventual!husband Frankie, lots of baseball talk

word count: 2.9k

a/n: yeah didn’t think I’d ever make a new baseball story for another Pedro boy but I’m on that World Series championship celebration high so here we are LMAO, thanks to @tonysopranosrobe my darling for always dealing with my sports ass (ily forever Han) & to @jolapeno for always being the best Frankie enabler i could ever scream with (I adore you Jo) - and to anyone who decides to read please know I appreciate you thank you so much ♡

This is Frankie’s first season catching as a Los Angeles Dodger. You thought he’d be playing for Miami until he eventually retired. But baseball is still a strange sport, an almost chaotic rush of chess at times with pieces switching all around.

“A team still wants me even when I’m about to turn thirty nine. So fuck, yeah I’ll take it.” Frankie had joked then, but you knew, even for his age, he’s considered one of the league’s best veteran players.

Then before the trade was finalized, Frankie sat you down and told you he might be moving to LA.

“This means…we really might not be seeing each other as often.” He muttered. “But I can maybe try to see if Tampa can be an option.”

He was willing to find a way to stay in Florida for you. Even though you were a bit heartbroken he was leaving, you couldn’t let him pass up on this amazing deal and new opportunity.

The gentle cooling California breeze now flutters all around. You won’t be able to make many trips out here often, but you wanted to at least be here for the first home game to support your favorite baseball player.

You first were introduced to Frankie at your best friend’s cookout. You had met her cousins Benny and his brother Will before. You were instead being introduced to all their friends, including the very handsome Santiago who insisted you call him Pope.

However, it was Frankie who stole your heart that day.

You and him had accidentally walked into each other, causing your drink to spill on him. Frantic, and so embarrassingly apologetic, you immediately went to wipe away your mess.

“I gotta admit… I’ve been trying to work up the confidence to talk to you. Guess the universe helped me out a bit.” Frankie had shyly said, and his words sent your heart fluttering.

It was an effortlessly sweet introduction after that, filled with easy small talk. When you asked what he did for work, Frankie explained he worked at the stadium for the Miami Marlins.

“Oh that’s cool!” You had said bright, but Benny just as bright yelled out -

“It’s cause he fucking plays there!”

Frankie had blushed furious, cussing angrily in Spanish at Benny. But what Benny said was true.

Frankie, very humbled and almost embarrassed, confirmed he did in fact play for the Marlins.

“But I’m just a water boy.” He added with a boyish grin.

“He’s a fucking liar! He’s one of the league’s best catchers!” Pope had then yelled proud.

You became friends with Frankie that day, but you also quickly learned about Francisco Morales.

Professional Major League Baseball player Francisco Morales.

That very first day you met Frankie your knowledge of baseball was bare bones.

Now, as his girlfriend, he jokes how hot it is hearing you talk about the game with him or anyone else.

It’s how you’re able to mingle with the others in the large friends and family suite for the team now. The food of course is delicious, and everyone warmly welcomes you. But you want to be by the action when the game starts.

You need to be near your guy.

Frankie’s job as a catcher has him sitting behind home plate.

A catcher is an intense position. They’re the one person during the game that has full eyes on the field. They alone protect home plate and sometimes call pitches for the pitcher to throw. The catcher is even argued to be the commander of the field. Catchers need to be solid, almost a rock like foundation for their team.

“I only started playing catcher in high school ‘cause our team’s catcher got suspended, and they needed someone, so I just did it.” Frankie had told you with a shrug.

To you though, Frankie seemed born to be a catcher.

Even as quietly warm and playful your Frankie can be, he holds a stead quiet diligence. Always watching, protective of those he cares for. He’s hardworking and incredibly resilient.

However, there was a joke you read about catchers being stubborn because what person willingly and stubbornly sits in the same position game after game. You can greatly agree to the hidden stubborn streak Frankie holds, like stubbornly telling you he was going to fix your ceiling fan and then getting pissy when you had Benny simply do it for you.

But stubborn or not, Frankie has been the most perfect and openly communicative partner. Even with the long distance between you and him, he has always been a phone call away. He even stepped away from a pregame warm up when you called him crying and upset.

Your heart tries not to burst just thinking about him.

Then you catch a glimpse of him sliding his protective mask on, and your throat gets dry.

The first time you went to a game and witnessed Frankie in full catcher mode, you almost didn’t think it was him. The mask covered his face most of the time and the gear almost made him seem bigger.

It’s been many games since that first match, yet he still takes your breath away.

The mask covers most of his face, but you can still catch peaks of him. It does something to you knowing it’s him beneath it.

Now he takes the field in his new lovely blue catcher’s gear.

The chest guard extenuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. And if you thought baseball pants did amazing things for men’s legs and butts, the catcher’s leg guards highlight Frankie’s gloriously thick thighs and study legs.

Pride absolutely courses through you watching him behind the plate and warming up with the dodger’s pitcher.

“Come on, catfish!” Someone from the crowd even yells his famous nickname, and your lips twitch fondly.

With your Morales jersey on, you cheer loud and exhilarated when the game starts.

Frankie is unwavering behind the plate, rarely letting any wild pitch get past him. He earns the love of his new team fast.

Especially when he goes up to bat.

The walk up song he picked to play in the stadium is Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog, and the crowd cheers electrified when it booms loud over the speakers.

As hot as Frankie looks in his catcher’s gear, seeing him in the base uniform, with his batter’s helmet on, working on his swing just amplifies the strength of his shoulder and amazing arms - you’re in awe of how absolutely gorgeous he is.

He ends up striking out, but you still cheer loud and with reassurance.

“Looking good, Morales!” You even scream, and you swear you see his lips twitch fighting a grin.

The Cardinals take the lead fast with two runs. The game becomes a slow claw to catch up. By the fifth the score hasn’t changed with St. Louis leading. But then the bats get hot and the dodgers manage to get on the board to tie.

The game heads to the bottom of the eight inning and the atmosphere dances electrified with the hope of a chance.

Eventually two players get on base with two outs, a very dangerous situation.

And Frankie goes up to bat.

You along with the rest of your section close by the field stand to cheer him and the rest of the team on.

This is a chance to score.

The first pitch comes too high.

The second speeds in, a sharp inside pitch that has Frankie swinging a strike.

It stings, but it’s a good swing. Plus there’s still time, more pitches. You reassuringly rally behind Frankie hoping just an inch of your words reach him among the buzz of the game.

The pitcher throws the next pitch, a wild breaking ball.

Frankie swings. The bat hits the ball with a rattling whack sending it zooming right along the first base line.

The stadium erupts wild. You scream watching Frankie run to first then watching a player run in, scoring the run. Francisco’s hit brought in the lead.

Your favorite player now on first base screams jubilant and punches the air elated.

The excitement of seeing Frankie bring the run in, seeing him so exuberant…it’s a moment coated in a glimmering confetti that cements into your soul.

The start of the ninth inning comes, and Frankie emerges behind the plate, your armored hero.

If the Dodgers manage to hold the Cardinals, they’ll win.

Each pitch, each play, has you on the edge of your seat.

At one point the batter for St. Louis hits a foul ball. Frankie flips off his mask, allowing for sight to catch the ball.

Of course the ball soared over the net into the stands unable for him to maybe catch it. But without his catcher mask on, you’re rewarded a glimpse of his gorgeous face.

Frankie’s traditional catcher’s helmet keeps his hair flat, hidden, but it highlights his strong features, that beautiful nose of his and his perfectly classic scruffy Frankie beard.

Then seeing him covered in sweat, your mind can’t help but flash to images of him in bed sweaty, his face blissed out and panting. Your mouth waters just thinking about your tongue dragging across his sweaty neck and tasting the salt of him-

You immediately snap yourself of the too heated thoughts when the crowd yells upset at a bad call.

With a runner on base now and two outs, the tension piles on as dread trickles in.

Soon enough the cardinal’s batter makes a solid hit. The ball gets fired up high in the air.

Then center field rushes in and catches the ball.

Game over.

Dodgers win.

The stadium overflows with excited pride, and you happily embrace the atmosphere in all its warmth.

You don’t move from your spot, too hypnotized by Frankie who beams with the brightest smile while he celebrates with his new teammates.

You feel prouder than ever to wear his jersey.

The third baseman's wife, who you clicked with earlier, brightly tells you to follow her so she can show you to the locker room. You readily go.

Excitement electrifies every inch of the place. Even though you feel slightly awkward being here for the first time, no one seems to pay you attention.

Until you hear someone shout your name.

When you turn to spot Frankie, he's in gear looking intimidating and sexy wearing his chest guard and protective leg gear. Heading down from the dugout, your catcher rushes over to you. Like a magnet, almost like sensing a tug at your soul, you instantly move towards him.

Frankie collides into you solid, all encompassing as he gathers you into your arms squeezing you tight.

“You need to get out of your gear, Morales!” You laugh.

“It’s fine. Bebita, you’re gonna have to keep coming to the games now. I’ve told ya, you’re my good luck charm.” Frankie’s voice sounds like the bright sun from today’s game still shines brilliantly in it.

You hug him back, spilling nothing but praise.

“You were amazing! I’m so proud of you!” You gush.

You’re already thinking of how to celebrate.

“Marry me.” Frankie says simply that you think you maybe misheard him.

“Frankie honey, what?” Curiosity has you about pulling away from his grasp. Instead Frankie clutches onto you even more.

He says your name. “I…fuck I don’t have the ring with me here, and I know just sprang this up but-“

“You wanna marry me?” Your voice wavers, cutting him off.

You and him have talked about the future, a tentative slow swim treading the possible waters. Frankie’s mentioned buying an apartment together. He’s made the joke, lightly teasing, about you one day becoming a baseball wife.

You had held onto all these small edges of hope. It now all unfurls beautifully overwhelming.

“Yeah baby, but only if you’ll have me.” Frankie nods, his voice thick as he finally draws back out of your arms to get down on one knee.

You wonder if this is a dream you’ve slipped into.

Asking this still in uniform is so Frankie, and your eyes spill over with tears. You nod yes, and your favorite baseball catcher springs to life bolting up to kiss you.

You forgot you’re still in a very open and public setting until all the gasps and excited claps fill the space.

Taking it all in stride you warmly laugh it off letting Frankie hold you close to his side. His eyes even shimmer, precious earth stones.

The evening feels soaked in joy like a beautiful watercolor dream.

You urge your favorite baseball player to go eat dinner with his team, celebrate. But he leans down to whisper in your ear -

“I wanna eat my fiancée’s pussy for dinner.”

Your knees almost give out that second.

Frankie and you barely make it to his truck before he’s drawing you into the backseat, clawing at you, frantically. And you’re just as bad.

You want him inside you. But as promised, Frankie maneuvers you to sit up for him to crawl between your legs. The position is cramped, but you could care less.

Your sweet Frankie, who normally loves to take his time, tear you apart with the most focused and patient ease, now is replaced by a man wild who grips your thighs so tight and laps at your clit messy. You come ridiculously fast on his skilled fingers and feverish tongue feasting on you.

You whine unbearably needy for him, can't go on anymore without him inside of you.

Frankie shifts to sit on the back seat and keep you close while you slide on top of his cock. His stretch in you rips a fire up your spine and you moan as your eyes close.

“Mi amor, my future wife.” Frankie’s voice fills the heated sweaty space with a gilded reverence, and you scramble to kiss him.

Your future husband.

You were slightly worrie about Frankie being tried from his game, but the way he frantically fucks up into you reminds you of a man compeltely possessed. His hands grab you as if he’s worried you’ll float away.

“God, I fucking love you…gonna marry you,” Frankie mumbles, pussy drunk.

You feel just as drunk and reborn as he does, melting into this love.

Your climax knocks you breathless, a blazing star, and Frankie is not far behind.

You don’t move off him and with the way his arms tighten around you, he’s alright with you staying simply close to him as possible.

“You said you had a ring?” You ask tentatively, running your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” Frankie chuckles. “Bought it the day after you face timed me about that cute dog you saw at the store.”

That was a year ago. Your heart feels like it’s blooming a new world right in your chest, and you curl closer into him.

“Thought about proposing to you when I picked you up at the airport yesterday, but you were so tired baby.” He softly says, his hands a warm cocoon around you.

“And today…fuck seeing you cheering in the stands, hearing you. It just got me to more.”

Curiously, you ask what he means.

Frankie, confident as he is on the field, is still so shy, especially now as he burrows his face into your shoulder.

“I mean…I just want to see you at every game. Wanna come home to you. Then just thinking about that, and seeing you wearing my jersey, maybe having it as your last name-”

You rush to kiss him quickly, overtaken by so much adoration and love for this man. The thought had come once, or twice, about being a Morales yourself. You even tell him that.

“Yeah, you ready to be mine officially?” His voice drops low and silky.

You nod moving to kiss his cheek, then rest your face against his.

A soft moment passes while his warm hands rub against every inch of you he can reach.

“Know it’s still early to even talk about wedding shit or living arrangements, but just wanna take care of you, that’s all.” Frankie says firm. “I’ve joked about it but… you could quit your job tomorrow, move out here this weekend, and I’d be fucking over the moon. But I also want you to have your own path too.”

You think of Frankie, your stable ever loving and giving Francisco. His heart shines beautiful right here, right now. It’s like a live wire dances on your skin. Everything still feels intense. Maybe the sensation and rawness of becoming engaged has your mind feeling deliciously fuzzy.

“Just want you Frankie, that’s all.” You breathe those words letting them sink past your bones.

You softly kiss him, love sick syrupy drunk again.

It’s a promise to talk about this more later, about the possibility of living among the California weather with your future husband, it’s a dream you want to soak in.

But it summons up another dream, a sticky hot desire that crawls its way up.

“You remember that fantasy I told you about?” So dazed and in love, your thoughts slip out.

Frankie groans clutching onto you tighter.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he sighs. “Trying to fuck me in my gear, before a game.”

“Yeah but that was before when I was just your girlfriend.” You coo already feeling your body slowly roll against him.

“As your wife maybe I could-”

Frankie swiftly cuts you off, kissing you so fast that it rattles your bones, and it’s beautiful.

You laugh feeling like maybe you’re the one who truly won tonight.

[theweepingangelofcas]

Pip pip from your friendly neighbourhood lurker, I saw your requests are open and so I shall request my fluffy little idea to you dear writer and I hope you find just as funny and sweet as I did.

So for my request for the mtp bois basically on TikTok I saw a vid where a gf found her bf sleeping on the soft and decided to prank him by setting up a fake game of uno (but you can choose a different board game/card game if you want) once set up she starts shaking him awake and telling him its his turn obviously confused and half asleep but still takes his turn.

I don’t have any pacifically for this request so I’m leaving up to you to choose who would be best for this scenario.

From yours truly,

Your friendly neighbourhood lurker 

Hello, Friendly Neighborhood Lurker! For your ask, I decided on a few things on my own. Sadly, I don't believe uno existed during the Victorian era, so I opted for chess instead (a game I am absolute trash at, but shall write about it nonetheless). I also decided that William and Sherlock would be the most likely to fall asleep on the sofa during a busy day, so they will be our victims lol

***********************

My Turn? - Moriarty Boys x Reader

William Moriarty

Your poor William had been working himself to death lately.

Between the long days of teaching, long evenings of grading papers, and long nights of committing acts of violence, it was a miracle he ever got any sleep.

So when he finally fell into a deep slumber on the sofa one lazy morning, you knew now was the perfect time to spring your trap.

William awoke to the realization of a few things. 1. There was fresh tea brewing beside him. Earl grey, as far as he could tell. 2. You were sitting beside him. The floral notes of your favorite perfume was unmistakeable. 3. You were calling to him. Gently, lovingly. It brought him out of his slumber in the most lovely way he could imagine. His eyes opened sluggishly, turning his head to look over at you. "Yes, y/n? What is it?" He yawned, trying to focus on your words. You giggled, "It's your turn, William." He realized what you were talking about. There was a chessboard in front of you, set up next to said previously mentioned tea. The table between you two held snacks as well, set up like one of your usual game nights. He observed the board, before chuckling himself, "I can assure you, my dear, I am not the one who placed these pieces. But, to humor you..." He picked up a pawn, using it to behead one of your knights. Another laugh, "Why do you say that, Will? We were playing, and you must've been so tired you dozed off-" "This board is set up to a Stafford's gambit. Though I am no great chess player, even I know that this is a poor choice of plays." You finally released your laughter, trying to scoff it down to no avail, "And here I was, dear, hoping I had finally tricked you." Finally, he sat up. leaning across the table to give you a peck on the cheek. "Mm. Maybe one day, my sweet girl. Maybe one day."

Sherlock Holmes

This man is the most manic creature ever created by fiction, do you think he sleeps on a regular basis?

He's too smart to fall for your tricks after just one nap, which is why you waited for a much different occurance to happen...

You waited til he was coming back from a case.

"Dove?!" He was elated. His latest case had truly been genius. A devious crime scene, a truly mad perpetrator, everything he could have wanted! Even a headless nun! He simply had to tell you, his beloved partner of 2 years, all about it! "I'm over here where you left me, Lock!" He ran to you, bounding over heaps of books that he had looked through earlier, before joining you on the ragged sofa. In front of you was a chessboard, still in the early few plays. "Did John play a few games with you? Goodness knows that man is rubbish at chess. He should stick to being a doctor." You laughed, placing your hand on his knee, "No, dear, remember? We were just starting our game when Lestrade barged in and asked for your help." His face fell, trying to recall the events earlier that day. Truly, he couldn't recall too much besides following Lestrade out the door. A guilty look marred his face, "Dove, I am so sorry. I don't even remember. The case, it took up so much of my mind..." He looked over to you. Normally, he would have expected you to look sad. Disappointed, maybe. Instead, you had a smile. He took an extra second to observe the layout in front of him. Those were not any type of moves he would have played. He pinched your arm, and you squealed, "Liar. Good one, though. You almost got me." A kiss on your cheek, and he picked up one of your bishops off of the board. "Now, let me tell you about the headless nun."

[aventurineswife]

Maybe some jing yuan x reader who is just like Kamisato Ayato? Maybe they playing chess or something like that together?

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Jing Yuan and you, a young but highly accomplished leader, engage in a game of chess. Both of you are skilled strategists, and your quiet, intellectual battle reveals your shared understanding of leadership and strategy. Throughout the game, you bond over your mutual respect, calm demeanor, and dedication to your responsibilities, with the game serving as a metaphor for your lives—where the true victory lies not in the outcome, but in the rare, silent connection you share.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Kamisato Ayato (Genshin Impact) based Reader, Chess, Calm Demeanor, Mutual Respect, Friendship, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Mild strategic tension.

The vast expanse of the Xianzhou Luofu stretched out beneath the grand balcony of the General's private chamber. The breeze that filtered through the ornate latticework was faint, but it carried the scent of the ocean air, a reminder of the world below. Inside, the room was meticulously arranged, with a few scattered scrolls and documents bearing witness to a life of calculated decisions.

Jing Yuan, dressed in his trademark attire, exuded a calm and collected air. His sharp eyes flickered with disinterest as they traced the swirling patterns of the chessboard before him, but his mind was sharp and engaged, a contrast to the slothful appearance he often displayed to those around him.

Across from him sat a figure just as poised, a man whose polished manners and composed demeanor matched Jing Yuan’s in every way. You, the young leader of your own domain, an accomplished individual with the responsibilities of a clan weighing heavily on your shoulders, sat with practiced grace. Much like the General, you had learned the art of maintaining appearances—calm, collected, always in control. Yet, behind your eyes lay the same sharpness, the same intellect, a desire for quiet satisfaction that only a select few could understand.

Jing Yuan shifted his gaze toward you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his tea cup. “Your move, my dear friend,” he murmured in a low, languid voice. His words were always precise, never hasty. But there was something in his tone—a challenge, subtle but present, like the delicate tension before a storm. He had been waiting for this moment all afternoon.

You met his gaze, unruffled by the challenge he presented. It had become routine by now, this quiet contest between the two of you. Chess, a simple game to most, but to both of you, it was an exercise of strategy, a battle of wits that revealed more about the players than mere actions on a board.

“I’m afraid you’ll find this next move a rather unpleasant one,” you replied, your voice carrying the same calm assurance that had made you a respected leader in your own right. You could feel the slight shift in Jing Yuan’s expression, the way his eyes gleamed ever so slightly at your words, as if sensing the sudden change in the tempo of the game.

With a deliberate motion, you moved your queen, a calculated strike that left Jing Yuan with fewer options than before. The board, once carefully balanced, now teetered in your favor.

Jing Yuan’s lips curved into a faint smile, but it was one that held no real warmth. “Hmm... it seems I’ve underestimated you once again,” he remarked, his voice still as smooth as ever. There was no sign of anger or frustration, only a quiet acknowledgment of the challenge he had been presented with. “But do you truly believe this will end so easily?”

You met his gaze, your own expression unreadable. “I never said it would be easy,” you replied softly, watching as he regarded the board with the same concentration as you had moments ago. There was a certain satisfaction in the way you watched him think, the way he shifted his attention from one piece to the next with the same precision and grace he applied to every aspect of his life. You both shared an understanding of strategy—how every move, no matter how small, could change the course of a battle.

Minutes passed, the sound of the pieces shifting on the board marking the silence between you. Jing Yuan’s long hair swayed slightly with each movement, and his eyes never left the board, studying it with the intensity of a general preparing for war. Yet there was a quiet amusement in his gaze, as if he enjoyed the tension of the game, the delicate balance of it all.

Finally, after a long pause, he spoke again. “You have an impressive mind, just like them,” he mused, his voice laced with a hint of respect. “I can see why your people trust you so completely.”

Your gaze softened slightly, but you said nothing. Instead, you gave a faint nod, acknowledging the compliment. “Trust is earned,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “And sometimes, it’s the quiet moments like this that reveal the most about a person.”

Jing Yuan leaned back in his chair, his hands folded gracefully in front of him. His eyes never left you as he considered your words, his usual air of detachment replaced with a rare, introspective quiet.

"Yes," he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "Perhaps it’s the quiet moments where one truly finds clarity. And in these moments, I find myself wondering how long you’ll be able to keep up with me."

You smirked softly, a playful glint in your eyes. “I’ll leave that to be seen, won’t I?”

And so, the game continued, the two of you locked in a silent contest of minds, a battle not of pieces on a board, but of intellects that had long shaped your respective worlds. As the hours slipped by, the chessboard became less of a game and more of a mirror reflecting both of your unspoken truths—your shared dedication, your mutual understanding, and the quiet respect that existed between you, two leaders from different domains, yet so similar in so many ways.

In the end, there was no victor. The game, as it had always been, was a draw. But as you and Jing Yuan exchanged knowing glances, both of you understood that the true victory lay not in the game itself, but in the rare moments like these—moments where time stood still, and minds as sharp as yours could meet on equal ground.