#even if they turn out to be good in some twisted way

[nezuscribe]

you should be here.

you really shouldn’t be here.

but you were a good friend, maybe too good a friend one would argue, and one of your girls heard about this underground gig (boxing, fighting?) going on and roped you into going.

and knowing you, this was way out of your comfort range. she was shocked you agreed to it, but you were tired of being perceived as the sheltered on and decided to bite the bullet and tag along.

but now you realize that you should’ve just stayed home and rewatched some stupid show.

because this place was giving you all sorts of signals to just get out.

it was in what seemed like a dingy warehouse that could only be accessed through some sketchy alley. you truly have no idea how she found this place and your betting that it wasn’t some ad she told you she saw on someone’s story.

the vast room was barely lit, with only a few lights flickering as they struggled to stay on. you felt like you’d catch an undiscovered disease if you sat anywhere and opted to stand, but that was another issue.

despite how destitute this place seemed to be, it was packed.

there were so many people standing near the ring, everybody yelling praises or shouts of anger as somebody took a punch. you could hear skin hitting skin, could hear the breaking of tissues and bones even from where you were.

your friend dragged you by the arm, seeming as if there was no worry about this place, and it was too late to go back even though the alarms in your head were going off.

fuck, you start thinking, what is this place? what if you bump into someone weird? what if the cops come? what if the location gets leaked? what would happen to you two? what if….

your mind trails off as your friend wiggles her way through an empty spot, bringing the two of you closer to the ring.

you look at the fighters, mouth going dry at the sight.

one of the fighters, the one facing you, seemed bloodied to no return. his eye was black and weeks shut, nose dripping with blood. his face was salted with bruises, his body sagging as the other fighter, the one with his back to you, took another fighting stance.

“he’s who i wanted to see,” bri mutters excitedly, pointing her finger to the fighter with white hair, “i’ve heard he’s really good,”

you nod slowly, looking around in a skittish way. you knew you should’ve said no, but you really cleave no choice but to support her and her dangerous side quests.

he plants another fist to the injured one’s face, making him stumble back as the white haired fighter angles his body sideways, letting you two get a look at his side profile.

he seemed fine, a little bruising on the cheek but nowhere near the damage of the other guy. he must be as good as bri says you guess.

the people around you hoot and holler, pushing you further into on of the poles as you wince in discomfort, your face twisting in pain a little as some of the men behind you push forward with no concept of personal space.

you look over at bri but she’s just as engaged, shouting for the white haired guy to continue beating the other man up in ways that could only be described as primal and very, very illegal.

it’s only a few more minutes before the match is ended and the two fighters are pulled away from each other, the battered one looking like he was one punch away from becoming limp.

the yells around you grow louder and louder, the sound rattling around in your head. you wince, trying to smile for bri as she jumps up and down. you know this is only the beginning of the night and can’t afford to bring the energy down.

the white haired one turns around, raising his hands as he asks for the noise to grow louder, a smile on his face as his bandaged hands curl into fists, one pumped victoriously in the air.

but that’s not what takes you by surprise.

your eyes widen in shock when you see his face, mouth dropping almost comically when you realize this isn’t a random street fighter,

but the nerdy boy who sits next to you in your neuroanatomy class.

and judging by the way gojo looks around until he sees you, the proud smile on his face faltering for a second before his eyes cloud with utter confusion,

he wasn’t expecting to see you here either.

[charmed-quill]

The Bet// F.W x Reader

authors note at end.

summary: Fred Weasley and y/n make a bet: whoever gets a date to the Yule Ball first wins. But what starts as harmless competition devolves into full-blown war.

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word count: 6.2k

The Yule Ball had been the only thing anyone could talk about for the past few hours. Every conversation in the common room seemed to circle back to it, who was going to ask who, what everyone would wear, and, most importantly, who would end up going alone.

Y/n sat curled up in one of the cushy armchairs by the fire, pretending to be absorbed in her book. The flames flickered, casting a warm glow over the common room, but she wasn’t really reading, she was listening. 

Fred and George were sprawled across the couch nearby, talking in the way they always did: half-serious, half-dramatic, and entirely too loud.

"Everyone’s gonna be in a frenzy tomorrow morning," Fred said, stretching his arms behind his head.

George frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. "How do you mean?"

Fred waved a hand around vaguely. "You know," he said, searching for the right words, "like... everyone’s gonna be scrambling to get a date before all the good ones are taken."

At that, y/n finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they be scrambling?" she asked, feigning ignorance even though she already knew the answer.

Fred let out a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because no one wants to be the last one left without a date," he said, like it was some kind of universal truth. "Gotta snatch up the best options before they’re all gone."

Y/n scoffed, closing her book and resting it on her lap. "Define ‘good ones.’"

Her voice had that familiar teasing edge to it, and she narrowed her eyes just slightly, watching as Fred hesitated for a second too long. He always got flustered when she turned her full attention on him, and she found no small amount of amusement in that.

George, of course, was thoroughly entertained, smirking as he watched Fred try to think of a response.

"You know," Fred said eventually, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Fun ones. People you can actually stand being around for an entire night."

Y/n hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the cover of her book. "So what, if you wait too long, you’re stuck with someone unbearable?"

Fred opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing too late that anything he said now could get him into trouble. George chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying watching his twin dig himself into a hole.

"That’s not what I meant," Fred tried to backtrack. "Just" He sighed, shaking his head. "You’re twisting my words."

Y/n grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Am I?"

Fred rolled his eyes, but there was no real frustration behind it. It was just how their dynamic worked, Fred talked too much, and y/n made it her mission to make him regret it.

"So," George cut in, glancing between them. "You’ve got a plan, then? Gonna ask someone first thing in the morning?"

Y/n snorted. "Please. I don’t even know who I’d ask."

Fred raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. "You’re kidding."

"Dead serious," y/n said, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Haven’t really thought about it."

George let out a low whistle. "Risky move. Someone might snatch up all the ‘good ones’ before you get the chance."

Y/n rolled her eyes but smirked. "Guess I’ll just have to settle for one of you two, then."

Fred and George exchanged a look before Fred gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Merlin’s beard, George, we’re her last resort!"

George sighed, shaking his head. "Tragic, really."

Y/n laughed, nudging Fred’s foot with her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like either of you have dates yet, either."

Fred opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "Alright, fair point."

George grinned. "Maybe we should be scrambling."

Y/n stretched her arms over her head before smirking at the twins, her book long forgotten in her lap. "I won’t be scrambling," she said breezily. "I basically have to beat the guys away with a stick."

Fred scoffed loudly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. "As if." He shot her a challenging grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet I can get a date before you can even say ‘Yule Ball.’"

Y/n sat up a little straighter, the flicker of competition sparking in her chest. She knew that look, Fred Weasley never backed down from a challenge, and honestly? Neither did she.

"Oh yeah?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna shake on it?"

Fred’s grin widened, his head tilting slightly. "What are the stakes?"

Y/n paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she considered. It had to be something good, something that would really make losing painful.

"Whoever loses has to be the winner’s personal assistant for a week," she finally declared, a smug smile creeping onto her lips. "Anything they need; carrying books, fetching snacks, covering for them when they’re late to class."

George let out a low whistle. "That’s dangerous," he mused, glancing between them with amusement. "I like it."

Fred, however, didn’t even hesitate. He barely took a second to think before sticking his hand out toward her. "You’re on."

Y/n grinned as she clasped his hand firmly, shaking it once. The deal was set.

As she leaned back in her chair, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t just about getting a date anymore, this was about winning. And if there was one thing she loved just as much as messing with Fred Weasley, it was beating him at his own game.

—

The next morning, y/n was up before the sun had fully risen, determination settling deep in her chest.

She was going to win this bet.

She was going to win this bet and rub it in Fred’s stupid, smug face.

Her uniform was neat, her tie perfectly knotted, and her shoes freshly shined as she practically bounced down the stairs toward the Great Hall. The air was crisp, and the halls were still relatively empty, most students weren’t quite awake yet, dragging themselves toward breakfast like they were being led to execution.

Not her, though. She had a plan.

Sliding into her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, she ate with purpose, shoveling food into her mouth while her mind worked through her options. She started categorizing potential dates, ranking them from most to least likely to say yes.

She briefly considered asking George, he’d say yes in a heartbeat, if only to reap the benefits of her inevitable victory, but she scrapped the idea just as quickly. Where was the fun in that? No, she wanted to win properly.

By the time the Great Hall had started filling up with groggy students, she had made her decision.

Daniel Scott, a Hufflepuff in her year, was her best shot. It was no secret he fancied her, and she had a feeling he’d jump at the opportunity to go with her. 

Easy.

Just as she was about to finalize her approach, a familiar presence slid into the seat beside her. 

Fred.

He was as casual as ever, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, his tie half done like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly. He snatched up her half-full glass of orange juice, finishing it off with a satisfied sigh before turning to her with that lazy, infuriatingly confident smile.

"Are you preparing yourself for defeat?" he asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "I take my tea with extra milk, by the way, since you’ll be fetching it for me all next week."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You’re awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t even secured a date yet."

Fred just grinned wider, leaning in slightly. "Neither have you."

She shot him a smirk, picking up a piece of toast as she stood from the table. "Give it ten minutes."

With that, she sauntered off, feeling Fred’s gaze follow her as she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table. 

Game on.

Daniel," y/n said, her voice sweet as honey as she shot the boy a dazzling smile.

He froze, mid-bite into his toast, eyes widening like a deer caught in wandlight.

This was going to be easy.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, letting just the right amount of charm seep into her voice.

Daniel gulped, his fingers tightening around his fork. His eyes darted around the table, as if searching for an escape.

"I—uh, well—" His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he suddenly found great interest in the surface of the table.

Y/n frowned, confused by his hesitation. This was Daniel Scott. The same Daniel Scott who had stammered through at least three separate compliments about her hair just last week. The same Daniel Scott who could barely meet her eyes without turning pink. There was absolutely no reason he wouldn’t say yes.

Unless

Her stomach dropped as Daniel cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I, um, I heard from—uh, someone that you—er—only asked me because you lost a bet."

Y/n blinked, her head jerking back slightly. "What?"

"I just—I mean, it’s fine if you did," Daniel rushed to say, still avoiding her gaze. "I just—Fred Weasley mentioned something about it before breakfast, and—uh—I just don’t want to be anyone’s backup plan."

Her entire body went still.

Fred.

That absolute menace.

Y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling deeply through her nose before forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I see. Well, thanks anyway, Daniel."

Before he could stammer out another apology, she turned on her heel and marched straight back to the Gryffindor table.

Fred was right where she left him, lounging in his seat like he hadn’t just completely sabotaged her. He was halfway through a piece of toast when he caught sight of her storming toward him.

"You," she hissed, planting her hands on the table as she loomed over him. "Sabotage? Really?"

Fred grinned, entirely unbothered as he leaned back. "Oh, come on, love. You didn’t seriously think I’d play fair, did you?"

She narrowed her eyes, fuming. "That was a dirty play, Weasley."

He shrugged. "It was never off the table."

Y/n exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she reevaluated everything. Clearly, she had underestimated just how far Fred was willing to go to win this bet.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, she’d just have to get creative.

And she would win.

—

The Great Hall had been cleared of its usual long tables, the enchanted ceiling above a dull gray as a storm brewed outside. The Gryffindor students, fourth years and above, stood in two separate lines, girls on one side, boys on the other. The air buzzed with hushed conversations, a mix of excitement and dread hanging between them.

Professor McGonagall was saying something about lions and swans, but y/n wasn’t listening.

She was too busy plotting.

Fred’s little stunt with Daniel still had her seething, and if he thought she was just going to take the loss quietly, he had severely underestimated her.

Fred had made his move first, and now it was her turn.

She spotted him cutting across the floor toward Angelina, steps sure and confident. Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.

Without hesitation, she swooped in, looping her arms around him and settling his hands on her waist before he could protest.

Fred blinked in surprise before narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Y/n smiled up at him. "Playing the game."

His fingers twitched against her waist. "And what exactly is your next move?"

She shrugged, shifting slightly as the music picked up. "Haven’t decided yet. But I figured a little sabotage was in order."

Fred let out a huff, his lips quirking. "So, your grand retaliation is stealing me as a dance partner? That’s weak, y/l/n."

"Not stealing," she corrected smugly. "Intercepting."

He chuckled. "Ah, I see. Is that what you were doing with Daniel earlier? Intercepting?"

Her smile tightened as she shot him a glare. "Oh, you mean the boy you so graciously warned about my ulterior motives?"

Fred smirked. "Oh, did I do that? Hm. Must’ve slipped out."

"Sabotage wasn’t part of the deal, Weasley."

"Wasn’t excluded either."

Y/n exhaled sharply, shaking her head as they spun in time with the music. "You really don’t fight fair, do you?"

"Absolutely not," he admitted easily. "And neither should you, if you want to win."

Y/n hummed, as if considering. "Noted."

Fred tilted his head slightly. "So what’s next, then? Surely you didn’t just drag me away from Angelina to lecture me on fair play."

She smiled, slow and deliberate. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Fred eyed her, lips twitching. "Oh, I would."

They moved across the floor smoothly, the space between them filled with unspoken challenges. Y/n glanced at his tie, still barely holding itself together, as if he had done it in a hurry that morning. Typical.

With a smirk, she reached up, fingers deftly undoing the sloppy knot and tightening it properly.

Fred stilled slightly, brow furrowing. "What are you—"

"Fixing it," she muttered, patting his chest once satisfied. "Honestly, Fred, do you even try?"

"Not when I have someone to do it for me," he quipped, grinning.

Y/n rolled her eyes, stepping back as the music faded. "Enjoy the dance, Weasley. I’ve got work to do."

She turned on her heel and strode off, already formulating her next move.

Fred watched her go, adjusting the tie she had just fixed. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, already anticipating whatever chaos she had planned next.

—-

Fred was feeling good about Amelia Roberts.

Smart, sharp-witted, and completely unaware of his ongoing war with y/n.

She was laughing at something he’d said, her blue eyes twinkling under the candlelight of the courtyard lanterns. Progress.

Fred leaned against the stone railing, flashing his signature smirk. "So, what do you say, Roberts? Yule Ball with me? Best decision you’ll make all year."

Amelia smiled, tilting her head in consideration.

And then

Two warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

Fred stiffened.

"Oh, there you are, sweetheart!"

His stomach dropped.

No.

Absolutely not.

Y/n practically melted into his side, resting her head against his shoulder with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Fred didn’t even have time to react before she turned her sweetest, most innocent smile toward Amelia.

"Oh, Amelia!" y/n gushed, gripping Fred’s arm like he was the love of her life. "I love that you and Freddie are such good friends! Ever since we started secretly dating, I was so worried that people would suspect, but you—" she clasped a hand over her heart, voice dripping with sincerity, "you have been so supportive!"

Fred choked. "What—NO—"

Amelia’s entire expression changed in an instant.

Her smile vanished, replaced with suspicion. "Secretly dating?"

Fred tried to pull away from y/n, but she only tightened her grip, shooting him a warning glance that said if you move, I will make this worse.

Her head tilted slightly as she turned to him, eyes suddenly filled with mock devastation.

"Freddie," she whispered, voice breaking just a little. "Are you ashamed of us?"

Fred froze.

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

He looked back at Amelia, who now had her arms firmly crossed, her gaze icy.

"No," Fred said quickly, "no, I am absolutely NOT dating her—"

"Freddie!" y/n gasped, turning every single pair of eyes in the courtyard onto them. "I cannot believe you would deny me like this! After all we’ve been through?"

Fred was actually speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again—but nothing came out.

Y/n sighed dramatically, looking to Amelia as if she were the only one who could understand her pain.

"You have to forgive him," y/n said solemnly. "It’s just… so difficult for him. The constant attention, the pressure of keeping this a secret… He wanted to tell people" she sniffled, "really, he did"

"Yeah, I don’t do cheaters," Amelia muttered, already stepping away.

Fred’s entire body jerked forward in panic. "Wait—no, I—"

But Amelia had already turned on her heel and walked away.

Fred stood there, still partially trapped in y/n’s grasp, his brain short-circuiting from what had just happened.

Slowly, his head turned toward her.

Y/n beamed up at him, looking immensely pleased with herself.

She patted his shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Oops."

Fred exhaled deeply. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," y/n said, sing-songing as she walked away.

Fred groaned, slumping against the railing.

He needed a new plan. Immediately.

—

Y/n had spent the entire morning planning her approach. She’d decided that Thomas Greaves, a quiet but friendly Ravenclaw, would be her best shot. He wasn’t the type to make a huge fuss, and she figured she had a pretty solid chance at getting a yes.

She spotted him just outside the Great Hall, standing near the entrance, looking over a rolled-up parchment, probably last-minute homework. Perfect.

Straightening her tie and putting on her most charming smile, she strode toward him with confidence.

"Hey, Thomas!" she greeted brightly, tucking her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. "Got a second?"

Thomas looked up, blinking behind his glasses. "Oh—uh, yeah. What’s up?"

Y/n grinned, already sensing victory. "So, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Before Thomas could even process what she was saying, a familiar arm slung itself over his shoulder.

"Oi, Tommy boy!"

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

"Mate, I haven’t seen you all morning," Fred said, giving Thomas a heavy pat on the back, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Are you feeling alright?"

Thomas frowned. "Uh—yeah? I think so?"

Fred gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, thank Merlin! When I heard about your—" he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "condition, I thought you’d still be in the hospital wing!"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Fred, don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

Fred ignored her, turning back to Thomas with a solemn nod. "Bravest bloke I know," he said. "I mean, most people wouldn’t even show their face after spotted wandrot."

Thomas froze. "Spotted what?"

Fred sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, mate, no need to be embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey said she’d never seen a case spread so quickly. And to think, you’re walking around like nothing happened." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Inspiring, really."

Y/n clenched her jaw. "Fred—"

"Though, of course," Fred continued thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "it is highly contagious. Wouldn’t want to pass that on, right?"

Thomas visibly paled.

"Wait—what? I—I don’t have—"

Fred gasped. "Oh no! Did Pomfrey not tell you? I thought she was supposed to give you the full debrief." He turned to y/n, shaking his head. "You’d think they’d at least warn the poor guy before sending him off to infect the whole school."

Thomas took a full step away from both of them, his expression stricken. "I—I have to go—"

Before y/n could stop him, Thomas bolted into the Great Hall like a man fleeing for his life.

She stood there in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

Then she turned, eyes blazing, to Fred, who stood beside her looking utterly pleased with himself.

"You," she seethed. "Are the worst."

Fred smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Better luck next time, love."

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving y/n fuming on the steps of the Great Hall.

–

Fred had been extra careful this time. He had barely spoken about his next move to anyone, not even George, not even Lee. He was playing this one quietly, which, for him, was practically impossible.

But he wasn’t about to let y/n get the better of him again.

That’s why he’d chosen Lily Carter, a friendly and straightforward ravenclaw who, as far as he could tell, had zero history with y/n and no reason to get caught in the crossfire.

It was the perfect setup.

They sat next to each other in Charms, and just as Flitwick turned his back to demonstrate a wand movement, Fred pulled out a small slip of parchment and wrote, in his best and least-sarcastic handwriting:

Oi, Lily, fancy going to the Ball with me?

He folded the note quickly and, with the smoothest flick of his fingers, slid it onto her desk. He kept his eyes trained on his own parchment, waiting, listening.

A pause.

Then a faint rustling as Lily unfolded it.

Fred smirked. This was too easy.

Until—

"Uh… Fred?" Lily whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "Why did you hand me a blank piece of parchment?"

Fred blinked.

He turned his head, looking down at the note in Lily’s hands.

It was completely empty.

Not a single word.

No ink. No invitation.

Nothing.

Fred sat up straighter, now fully awake. "That’s not—" He grabbed his quill, tested it on his own parchment, yep, worked perfectly fine, then squinted at the blank slip. "I—I wrote something, I swear."

Lily gave him a bemused look. "Right. Well, I appreciate the effort, I guess?"

Fred’s brain was scrambling. This wasn’t possible.

Unless—

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Slowly, he turned in his seat, craning his neck toward the back of the classroom.

Sure enough, y/n was there, leaning casually on her elbow, watching him with a very self-satisfied smirk.

She lifted her wand slightly, giving it the tiniest twirl.

Fred groaned.

"Y/L/N," he whispered, barely keeping himself from laughing.

Y/n raised an eyebrow as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

Fred turned back around, taking a deep breath.

—

Y/n had planned this perfectly.

She had finally found someone Fred hadn’t gotten to yet, James Dunmore, a charming and easygoing Hufflepuff who was known for being friendly with just about everyone. He was the type who wouldn’t be put off by rumors or sabotage, which made him the perfect candidate.

It was foolproof.

She caught him outside the Herbology greenhouses between classes, brushing a stray leaf off his robes. "Hey, James," she greeted casually.

He grinned. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

She exhaled slightly, steeling herself. "So, I was wondering—"

But just as she was about to ask him, the doors of the castle slammed open.

A chorus of heavily off-key voices rang out across the courtyard.

Y/n froze.

Students turned in confusion as four overly enthusiastic first-years in matching pink suits came marching toward her, led by none other than Lee Jordan.

"FRED WEASLEY SENT US TO DELIVER A MESSAGE OF TRUE LOVE!" Lee bellowed.

James took a slow step backward.

Y/n clenched her fists.

Lee gave an exaggerated wave. "Hit it, lads!"

The first-years immediately burst into song:

"Oh, y/n, my darling true," "Your beauty shines, your wit cuts through," "Fred Weasley dreams of you all day," "So please don’t turn and run away!"

Y/n covered her face with her hands.

James looked deeply uncomfortable. "Uh—"

Fred, watching from the entrance, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had just orchestrated the greatest act of war in history.

The first-years weren’t done:

"The Yule Ball’s coming, don’t you see?" "So say yes, my love, and dance with me!" "Fred is waiting, don't delay—" "Or he’ll cry himself away!"

The entire courtyard was now watching.

James chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, y/n, this—this seems like a lot. Maybe I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely before retreating into the greenhouses at top speed.

Y/n slowly turned on her heel, rage simmering.

Fred grinned at her from across the courtyard.

"Sabotage is such an ugly word," he said smugly. "I prefer to think of this as… performance art."

Y/n narrowed her eyes.

This wasn’t over.

—

Fred was getting too close to winning.

Y/n had already lost three potential dates thanks to his sabotage, and she refused to let him have the last laugh. So, she pulled out her own bag of tricks.

She waited until dinner, when Fred was at his most comfortable, laughing loudly at something George had said while stuffing his face with mashed potatoes.

Perfect.

Sliding into the seat across from him, she leaned in, her tone light and casual. "Hey, Freddie. Have a drink, yeah?"

She pushed a goblet toward him, freshly poured pumpkin juice.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Awfully nice of you, y/l/n," he mused. "You wouldn’t happen to be poisoning me, would you?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You think way too highly of yourself. Drink."

Fred smirked, not one to turn down a freebie, and took a long sip.

Y/n fought to keep her face neutral.

The effects were instantaneous.

Fred blinked once. Then twice. His smirk faltered.

"Y/n," he said slowly. "Why does my mouth feel weird?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, beaming.

George snorted. "What did you do?"

Fred sat up straighter, his hands gripping the table as if he were trying to physically hold back his next words. His expression shifted from suspicion to horror as his mouth opened against his will.

"I KISSED A MIRROR ONCE TO SEE IF I WAS A GOOD KISSER," he shouted.

The entire Gryffindor table went silent.

Fred clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wild.

Y/n grinned. "Oh, did I forget to mention? That was a Truth Potion."

Fred shook his head violently. "No. Nope. Not happening."

His hands dropped from his face, and suddenly—

"I USED TO HAVE A NIGHTMARE WHERE PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL WAS A GIANT CAT AND CHASED ME AROUND THE CASTLE."

George fell off the bench.

Fred turned to y/n, betrayed. "THIS IS EVIL."

She rested her chin on her palm, enjoying the spectacle. "You started this war, Weasley. Now, tell me, who’s your next target for the Yule Ball?"

Fred tried to fight it, he really did. His entire body tensed, his lips trembled—

"I WAS GOING TO ASK LUCY AINSLEY AFTER DINNER!"

Lucy Ainsley, sitting two seats away, immediately stood up and walked out of the Great Hall.

Fred groaned. "Oh, come on!"

Y/n popped a grape into her mouth, looking very pleased. "Well. Guess you’ll have to try again tomorrow."

Fred glared at her. "I will get you back for this."

Y/n winked. "Looking forward to it, mirror kisser."

—

Y/n was dangerously close to winning the bet.

She had dodged Fred’s last few sabotage attempts, and now she had one final shot, Clarke Roswell, a smart and charming Ravenclaw who had always been friendly toward her. He wasn’t the type to get easily spooked, and Fred hadn’t had time to get to him first.

At least, that’s what she thought.

She found Clarke in the library after dinner, sitting at one of the quieter tables near the windows, scribbling notes on a long parchment. Taking a deep breath, she sat down across from him, flashing her most confident smile.

"Hey, Clarke," she said smoothly.

He looked up, smiling back. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

"Well, I was wondering—"

And suddenly, her mouth wouldn’t stop moving.

"WELL, CLARKE, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WANTED TO GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME BUT ALSO I USED TO SLEEP WITH A STUFFED HIPPGRIFF UNTIL THIRD YEAR AND SOMETIMES I STILL DO BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT—"

Y/n slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified.

Clarke blinked. "...What?"

Her eyes widened in terror as she realised she couldn’t stop talking.

"SORRY I THINK I’VE BEEN HEXED BUT I TOTALLY THINK YOU’RE HANDSOME AND THAT ONE TIME IN POTIONS YOU ROLLED UP YOUR SLEEVES I GOT DISTRACTED AND SPILLED MY INGREDIENTS EVERYWHERE AND PROFESSOR SNAPE GAVE ME DETENTION FOR IT—"

Clarke looked deeply alarmed. "Uh—"

"WAIT NO DON’T LEAVE, I SWEAR I’M NOT A WEIRDO, I JUST THINK YOU HAVE NICE HANDS AND I ALSO ONCE CRIED BECAUSE I DROPPED A SLICE OF PUMPKIN PASTRY ON THE FLOOR AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT SOMETIMES—"

Clarke was already backing away, his chair screeching against the floor as he practically ran out of the library.

Y/n slammed her forehead onto the table, mortified.

A slow, mocking clap echoed from behind her.

She knew who it was before she even turned around.

Fred Weasley leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"You know," he mused, "I was really hoping you’d start babbling about me, but that was almost just as good."

Y/n lifted her head just enough to glare at him. "You did this?"

Fred smirked, pulling out his wand and twirling it between his fingers. "A little Babbling Curse, just to make things interesting."

"I hate you," she hissed.

Fred grinned. "Nah, you love me. You said so, right before you mentioned that stuffed Hippogriff of yours,"

Y/n grabbed the nearest book and hurled it at his head.

Fred dodged it with ease, laughing as he ran out of the library, while y/n seethed, already plotting her next move.

—

Fred Weasley was in trouble.

It hit him like a rogue Bludger to the chest as he sat at the Gryffindor table, idly pushing peas around his plate. The Great Hall was filled with buzzing conversations, excited chatter about dress robes, last-minute dates, and who was going with whom.

And then, in a single horrifying moment, he realised.

The Yule Ball was two days away.

And he had no date.

His fork clattered against his plate as his brain kicked into overdrive.

He had spent so much time sabotaging y/n that he had completely forgotten to actually secure a date of his own. He quickly ran through his mental list of possible options.

Amelia Roberts? Gave him a withering glare every time they crossed paths after the “secret relationship” stunt.

Fiona Hayes? Still recovering from the boggart catastrophe and actively avoiding him in the hallways.

Sophia Benson? Thought he was in love with Lee Jordan, so that was a firm no.

Lucy Ainsley? Walked out of the Great Hall after his Truth Potion confession and hadn’t spoken to him since.

Clara Whitmore? Witnessed the public marriage proposal and didn’t want to be anywhere near that mess.

Fred groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. He was officially out of options.

But then

His hands froze.

His mind came to a screeching halt.

There was still one person who was available.

Y/n.

He let the thought settle, blinking rapidly.

Technically… technically, she counted.

She was still open. He was still open.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost poetic.

His lips curled into a slow smirk.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

He pushed his plate aside, standing abruptly. George, mid-bite into a chicken leg, raised an eyebrow. "Where are you off to?"

Fred cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders back. "I’ve got business to handle."

George snorted. "That sounds fake, but alright."

—

Y/n was pacing.

She had spent so much time playing defense against Fred that she had completely neglected to actually secure a date for herself. And now, with only two days until the Yule Ball, she was faced with a horrifying truth:

She had no options left.

Leaning against the stone railing of the Grand Staircase, she furiously ran through every possibility.

Thomas Greaves? Avoided her like she carried a deadly curse.

Noah Bell? Would rather transfer schools than interact with her again.

Liam Fletcher? No. Just—no.

Clarke Roswell? Likely in hiding.

James Dunnmore? Won’t even look at her anymore.

Her stomach twisted.

She was completely out of options.

And then, like a lightning strike, it hit her.

Fred.

Her head snapped up.

Fred was still available.

Technically, he counted.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost fitting.

The second she had the thought, she took off down the corridor, pushing past a few startled second-years.

She had to find him.

She sped through the Grand Staircase, dodging a confused first-year, nearly tripping over a moving step.

Where the hell is he?

This was Fred Weasley, he was always around, always loud, always in the way.

But now, when she needed to find him? Now, when it actually mattered?

Gone.

She gritted her teeth, rounding a sharp corner.

He was moving too fast.

His mind was whirling, his options were gone, he was out of time, and his only way out of this mess was y/n.

It was almost poetic.

Almost.

If he had time to dwell on it, he might have thought about how ridiculous it was that they had wasted weeks sabotaging each other, only to end up in the exact same situation.

But he didn’t have time.

Because he was running, and the second he turned the next corner—

CRASH.

It was instant.

One second, they were both charging full speed ahead.

The next

A solid impact, a tangle of limbs, a sharp oof as they collided full-force into each other.

Y/n stumbled back, slamming into the stone wall, hands gripping Fred’s arms to steady herself.

Fred nearly lost his balance, one hand bracing against the wall beside her head to keep from toppling over.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

They were close. Too close.

The impact had sent her stumbling back against the cold stone wall, and Fred, ever so slightly off balance, had caught himself by bracing a hand against the wall right next to her head.

She blinked.

He blinked.

Neither of them moved.

For a long, stretched-out second, the only sound was the distant chatter of students in the corridors, the faint flicker of torchlight casting warm shadows along Fred’s face.

Y/n swallowed. "You ran into me."

Fred exhaled sharply, amused. "I think you’ll find that you ran into me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You were the one running full speed down the hall like a lunatic—"

"You were also running full speed down the hall," he shot back, a slow smirk curling onto his lips. "Where were you headed, anyway?"

Y/n huffed, finally shifting out of his almost-trapped position. "To find you."

Fred blinked. "Oh."

A beat of silence.

Then, realisation flickered across his face.

"You were coming to—"

"You were also coming to—"

They both froze.

Understanding settled between them.

Fred let out a deep groan, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, for Merlin’s sake—"

Y/n snorted, crossing her arms. "I hate this."

"I hate this more," Fred muttered.

A charged silence hung between them.

Y/n cleared her throat. "So."

Fred glanced at her, arms still crossed over his chest. "So."

Her fingers drummed against her sleeve. "I suppose there’s really no way around it, then?"

Fred sighed dramatically, as if the very idea of what he was about to say pained him. "Unfortunately, I don’t think so."

She smirked. "Wow. You sound thrilled."

"Oh, absolutely. Overjoyed."

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t quite as combative.

Fred exhaled, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "You know…" he said, more thoughtful this time, "as much as I hate losing, and as much as I hate you thinking you won—"

Y/n grinned. "So much hate in that sentence, Weasley. Sure you don’t have something else to say?"

Fred ignored her. "I don’t think going to the Ball with you will be that bad."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, tilting her chin up slightly. "That bad?"

Fred gave her a slow, lazy smile. "Well. There’s always a chance I might enjoy myself."

Y/n huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t get your hopes up, Weasley."

"Oh, my hopes are very low, don’t worry."

A pause.

Then, Fred stuck out his hand, looking almost reluctant but also… maybe something else.

Y/n eyed him, amused. "What is this?"

"A truce," he said, though his lips twitched like he was holding back another smirk.

She considered, tapping a finger against her chin like she was actually debating it.

Then, slowly, she took his hand, shaking it once.

The moment stretched just a bit longer than it needed to.

Her palm was warm against his.

Neither of them let go right away.

Y/n arched an eyebrow. "What? Are we having a moment?"

Fred let out a loud groan, instantly pulling his hand back. "Absolutely not—"

"Sounded like a moment to me"

Fred scowled, but his ears were definitely pink. "See you at the Ball, y/l/n."

Y/n smirked, turning to walk away.

"You better dress nicely, Weasley," she called over her shoulder. "Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m dating a total disaster."

Fred scoffed. "Well, lucky for you"

He hesitated.

Y/n slowed, glancing back. "Lucky for me…?"

Fred rolled his shoulders, smirking again, but softer this time.

"Lucky for you, I look good in anything."

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed. i am having some serious writers block at the moment im so upset :(

[glambots]

BUBBLE, BUBBLE, MOON'S IN TROUBLE

Moondrop/Reader

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: 5k

A commission for @semidemi-minigod !! In which you give Moon a bath. But from Moon's POV.

It was difficult to say when it all started.

When he’d allowed himself to become so complacent. So vulnerable.

It wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. But you made it easier. Somehow.

Even now, when all he wanted was to slink away into the dark, far away from your pleading eyes and pursed lips.

“Come on, Moon. Please? You can look at it all if you want to. I won’t stop you. It’s really good stuff. Like, expensive stuff.”

You moved around the cleaning cart, picking up and brandishing several different items in his direction, with all the nervous excitement of a salesman trying to land a deal.

His eyes moved over each object laid out, atop the cart’s surface. Towels, fluffy and white. Bottles of cleaning solutions. Metal polish. Different kinds of scrub brushes. A few toothbrushes…?

He didn’t recognize any of the brands, which meant that they came from outside the Pizzaplex.

“…You bought these?” Cautiously, he picked up one of the little canisters and held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning the balm canister round-and-round like it was an oversized coin.

Polish cream. The fancy aluminum tin flashed under the dim lights, like the spark of a distant star.

“Yeah, I got them all from a hardware place that was nearby.” You smiled, hands roving over the assortment to grasp one of the smaller hand towels. His head tilted a bit when you held it out to him, a lopsided smile gracing your flushed cheeks.

“Feel these! I swear, I have never felt towels as soft as these.”

Curiosity burning, Moon placed the polish back down and reached for the towel. He fingered the soft, fluffy fabric in a bit of awe. It was much nicer than the old, tattered rags they had stashed away in the Daycare. Cleaner, too.

“They’re Egyptian cotton.” Your grin grew wider. “I got you a couple of sets, so you can keep some in storage for when they each get worn out.”

“…Keep?���

“Well…yeah! I mean, they’re yours now.” You gestured at the whole of the collection. “All of this is. I mean, I can keep it if you don’t have any room. But this is all for you. You and Sun, I mean. Obviously.”

He looked back and forth between you and the cleaning cart, utterly bewildered.

And, more than that, suspicious.

“Why?”

He watched your expression twist into bemusement, before you sighed dramatically and rolled your eyes.

“Because I can.”

“What if we…don’t want it?” He couldn’t stop the hint of amusement that crept into his voice. Even if there was a little bit of truth to it. It felt…wrong to accept this.

You just pursed your lips, brows raising so high they nearly touched your hairline.

“Well, that’s too bad. Cause I already bought it, and the store won’t let me return it. Which means either you take it, or I’ll just throw it all away.”

He grunted, looking back over the collection.

“Liar-liar, pants on fire.”

“Nope!” You popped the “p,” giving him a little half-shrug. “I’ve got the receipt, and it says no refunds allowed. You wanna see it? I’ll show it to you.”

Moon grunted again, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his chin and cheek.

To take it…or not…

It would be a shame to let it all go to waste.

But! But. He had one more question to ask you.

“Why me? Why not Sun?”

He can’t help but spit the name with a bit of venom. Out of the two of them, wouldn’t Sun be the easier target? Easier to work with. Easier to talk to. A better fit.

Better…in every way.

The look you give him is hard to place. It’s not hurt, not pity…a little frustrated.

A little sad.

“Do you not…trust me?”

There it is again: that feeling of wanting to hide away. A little tickle of guilt burning through his wires and sliding between his gears. He didn’t like it when you looked at him like that.

“No.”

“No, you don’t trust me? Or no, you don’t not trust me?”

“…No.”

You sighed, pulling off the bear-eared cap on your head to run a hand through your already messy hair.

“Alright. Alright…I won’t force you to do it. I just…” You looked down at the cart, eyes misty and lip quivering a bit. Like you were trying not to cry. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

And like that, he feels something in him melt.

“Fine.” He folded his arms over his chest, as if they’d serve as any sort of defense. He hates the way his whole-body tickles with heat when the sadness on your face melts away into relief.

Because it’s unfamiliar. Different.

He knows for a fact that what he’s feeling is something that he’s not supposed to be able to feel.

And yet, you make him feel it.

And that frightens him.

“Make it fast.”

Guilt is there again, gnawing at his insides when you reach up to quickly wipe the rim of your eyes clear, a breathy laugh bubbling up from somewhere inside you. Just like that, you’re so happy.

“Alright! Okay. Okay. Um, I’ll start with the—I mean, what do you want me to start with? I’ve got all this stuff, and I didn’t even think about it. God, where do I start?”

Moon watches you flit around the cart, hands moving over each object in a frenzy. You finally look up after a moment, going still.

“Sorry. Just. Give me a second, I swear I know what I’m doing.” Your eyes move to the floor, like you’re searching for something. “Do you want to sit down?”

Silently, Moon reached behind him, grasping one of the small child-sized chairs, and pulled it out to sit on without breaking eye contact.

“Okay.” You chuckled, a rag in one hand, a bottle of cleaning solution in the other. He could feel the hesitancy in your movements as you approached, like you were afraid he’d bolt at any second. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

For a moment, you hesitated, as if trying to decide where and how to get started. Moon simply sat still, watching your hands and eyes shift from his face to his arms, to his chest, then back up.

“Hang on, I can’t do this kneeling—my back hurts too much for that.”

You grabbed an undersized chair and pulled it up across from him, gently taking one of his arms and spraying a light amount of the solution across it. Moon couldn’t detect any chemicals, but it did smell slightly…fresh?

“This is just water and soap,” you explained, gently running the rag across his forearm, rubbing it between his fingers and over his palm. “To get rid of the surface stains. After that, I’ll use the stronger stuff.”

For a moment, there was a silence that stretched between the two of you. He wasn’t sure if it was comfortable or not but was more than satisfied to simply watch your tiny hands work their way up and down his arm.

You swapped to the other arm, wiping it down gently from hand-to-shoulder, then paused.

“Do you want me to do your chest or back first?”

Your voice was soft, gentle and coaxing.

Moon looked down at his arms, flexing his fingers as he thought for a moment.

“…Back.”

“Alright.”

Carefully, you placed a hand on his shoulder for balance, running the washcloth over his broad back. Moon twitched, an odd tingle rushing through his wires at the sensation of your palm rubbing little circles around the spot where the hook to his line protruded. He tried to ignore it, but you stopped again, having noticed.

“Sorry, is that uncomfortable?”

“No.” He scrambled for an excuse. “…It tickles.”

“Oh.” From the corner of his eye, he could see a tiny smile cross over your face. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“We’re not,” he replied, maybe a little too fast. “Just…sensitive.”

“Sure.” The tone in your voice betrayed that maybe you didn’t entirely believe him, but you didn’t push the issue. He was thankful for that.

The thought of your little hands coasting along his metal body, trying to find vulnerable spots to attack and manipulate—it made his head spin. That was the last thing he needed right now.

Things were quiet again, as you slid the rag over the thin pieces of metal that made up his hinged neck. Anxiety raced through his system as your hand moved dangerously close to the back of his face-plate—where the switch sat.

One wrong move (or maybe, one purposeful move) and he’d be forced into Rest Mode.

“Careful—” Before he could stop himself, his hand flew up, snatching your thin wrist. “Not there.”

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry…” You quickly jerked back, panic flashing in your eyes. “D-Did I hurt you?”

He searched your face for any sign of wrongdoing. Something to latch onto.

He found nothing.

“…No.” Moon finally said after a moment, letting your wrist go. He felt a little bad as he watched you rub it, knowing that he’d probably held on a little too hard. “Just…not there.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You scooted around the edge of the chair, rag hovering just below the edge of his neck ruffles. “I’ll start on your chest now, okay?”

He didn’t say anything but leaned his head back to give you more room. That, and to keep from having to watch you run the cloth over the expanse of his chassis. Just the feeling of it was enough to have him balling his hands tight into fists at his sides.

There was so much intimacy in the action, as simple an action it was. Your face was so close, eyes squinted as you scrubbed at the stains splattered across his metal body. Sticky hands, paint, glue, dirt, grime—there was no telling what made up the mass of it all. But the feeling of it being wiped away was a very pleasant one.

He felt lighter, almost. Like the weight of the stains were being peeled off him.

You were extremely gentle when your hands moved down to his waist, one holding him slightly in place, the other moving the cloth down his sides and across his stomach.

Moon squirmed again. If he’d had a stomach, it would have been fluttering. Full of butterflies.

“Sorry, I’m almost done.” You breathed softly, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

“It’s fine.” He lied.

A few more moments later, you finally leaned back, and Moon felt like he could breathe again. Not that he’d ever needed to in the first place. But whatever pressure had been hanging over his head was finally lifted away, if only momentarily.

You pulled out another bottle, gently drenching a small scrub brush across its surface with the oddly colored liquid. It smelled very strongly of disinfectant, and he flinched a little.

“This is the strong stuff.” You explained, offering him an apologetic smile. “It’ll get rid of the tougher stains—you don’t have a lot of them, so this part should be quick. I’ll try not to go too hard with it.”

“Do what you need to. We won’t run.”

This part of the cleaning process wasn’t quite as pleasant as the rag and soap. But you had been true to your word—your touch was gentle. Maybe too gentle.

“Harder.” He urged, after a while of watching you scrub at his arms. “We don’t have all night.”

You blew a few stray hairs out of your face. “I don’t know how you got this dirty. When was your last bath?”

He…couldn’t remember. So, he didn’t say anything at all.

You paused to glance up at him, but after it was apparent that you weren’t going to get a response, you turned back to scrubbing.

The bristles of the brush felt…strange, against his metal skin. Not painful. Just uncomfortable. It made him want to push your hand away, but he stopped short of doing so. You were just trying to help, and it wouldn’t do either of you good for him to make this difficult.

So, like a child sitting through a well-needed (but unwanted) haircut, he forced himself to simply sit there, squirming every so often.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you.” You finally said, your voice cutting through the silence. “I wish I could do something about the stains on your pants, but you probably wouldn’t want me to, uh…”

Your hands moved through the air, making vague gestures, before you just gave up and offered him a little half-shrug. “Mess with those.”

Moon had to think about it for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Once more, you paused, blinking rapidly. “What? Oh, uh—I was just joking!”

A spark of mischief fluttered in his chest. Your cheeks were flushing, the rosy color reaching all the way up to the tips of your ears. You couldn’t look at him suddenly, and his internals picked up a rapid jump in heart rate.

“Nervous?” A giggle bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, and he clicked his invisible tongue, wagging a finger in your face. “Naughty thing.”

The color on your face deepened to a shade that rivaled the ruby glow of his eyes.

“No! I mean—that’s not what I meant. Just—I just—” Your lips set in a thin line, breath coming quick and heavy.

“Want me to take them off?”

“What?”

He giggled again, quite enjoying the way your voice cracked.

“My…” His hands hovered for a moment, just above the hem of his pants. Then, he flipped them upwards, as if offering you his wrists. “Ribbons.”

Your face was so red that he wondered if you could even breathe properly. Your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. Seeing you all flustered made that bouncy, electric feeling inside him tingle and spark.

For a moment, you just glared at him, shaking the scrub brush like you were considering smacking him with it. Then, you sucked in a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and slowly let it out again, lowering your would-be weapon.

“I hate you.”

He snickered again, reaching out a single finger to gently tap the tip of your nose. “Liar.”

You love me.

The words were caught in his nonexistent throat. He could say it, to push your buttons even further, but something held him back. Hesitation.

He wasn’t…quite ready to push it that far, yet.

You sighed dramatically, placing the scrub brush aside, only to reach for one of the toothbrushes he’d seen earlier.

“Are we playing dentist?”

“You’re half right.” Amusement sparkled in your eyes. “This is for, like, getting into the tiny places. The seams between your fingers and stuff. I’ll be using it on your face, too, so…”

“You came prepared.”

You grinned. “I told you I did.”

“All this for little old me?” He struck a bashful pose.

“Yes, you absolute goober. Now hold still…”

The feeling of the toothbrush sliding into his seams was much more pleasant than the scrub-brush. It still tickled, enough to make him twitch now and then, but it wasn’t overwhelming.

You were so gentle with the motions, making sure to get every nook and cranny that you could work the bristles into. Moon was a little shocked to see just how much grime the brush was picking up, but then again—it had been a very long time since they’d gotten any sort of attention in the “appearances” department.

Every time you swapped to a new area, you dip the brush into a small container of cleaner, swirling it around and wiping away the dirt from the surface of the bristles. But even with such meticulous attention to detail, it didn’t take long for it to become too dirty to keep using.

You ran through at least three brushes before you stopped to take a break.

“Seriously, how the hell did you guys get so dirty?”

Moon could only shrug. There were several components that contributed to their current state, but the biggest offender was plain out negligence.

You sighed and shook your head, grabbing a thermos from behind the stack of bottles and tipping it back. His eyes followed the movement of your throat every time you swallowed—a strange voyeuristic feeling.

A rivulet of water dripped from the corner of your mouth, rolling down your chin, then your throat, then over the dip of your clavicle and down beneath the collar of your shirt…he tore his gaze away. Focused on flexing his hands in his lap, then folded them together and squeezed, one foot tap-tap-tapping away, anxiously.

“Phew! God, I’m sweating like crazy. Is it okay if I take this off?” You fingered the neckline of your shirt with one hand, using the other to fan yourself with your hat.

He really wanted to say no. Because that would make him feel weirder.

But he couldn’t, when you looked at him like that. So earnest and innocent.

Moon nodded silently, looking away once more when you reached for the buttons. It felt…wrong, to watch you undo them. The sound of fabric rustling had his foot tapping just a bit faster.

“Okay! I’m good now.” You stretched your arms up above your head with a little moan. “God, that’s so much better.”

Moon found it hard to look at you directly, now that you were sitting there in a tank top. It wasn’t anything salacious, it was just. So intimate. There was so much more visible skin now, and his eyes kept moving over the muscles in your arms, across the curve of your abdomen…

The shape of your body was so much clearer now, and that made him feel…almost shy.

 “Alright, last up is your face. I’m gonna have to get a little bit closer—is that okay?”

That was not okay. His system was on high alert.

But what was he supposed to say? You’d already gone this far, he couldn’t just say no. Despite really, really wanting to.

For a moment he felt the gears in his head grinding, a substitution for the teeth and jaw he lacked. The tension in his body felt like a rubber band pulled too tight, seconds away from snapping. It got worse when he forced himself to nod, only able to muster up a little grunt of affirmation.

“Alright. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. He did.

This was just. Too close.

You slid off the children’s chair, half-kneeling with one of your legs on the ground, a knee between his legs to balance yourself.

Too close. It was too close.

You reached up, rag in hand. Your fingers gently cupped the side of his face, feather-light touch sending sparks through his body.

Too. Close.

He felt his whole body go stiff as you pressed the soapy rag to his cheek.

Carefully, you moved it up to his forehead, then down to his chin. Warmth trailed down the metal of his face, burning in the wake of your touch. So hot that he almost couldn’t stand it.

Your eyes moved over his face as you swapped sides, smoothing down the crescent curve of his nose so delicately that it tickled. If he’d had the ability to sneeze, he probably would have.

“Sorry.” Your teeth dug lightly into your lower lip. “I know this is a lot. You’re doing a great job, Moonie.”

That did not help his situation at all.

Your praise struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he clenched his fists so tightly in his lap that he felt his metal knuckles pop.

“I really appreciate you letting me do this for you. I really, really care about you.” You paused to suck in a little breath. “I mean that.”

He could barely hear what you were saying. It was like static was buzzing in his ears, growing louder by the moment. All he could do was focus on the shape of your lips as they formed around each word.

“I…” The words refused to come out, caught in his nonexistent throat.

“It’s alright.” You laughed a little, placing the rag aside and reaching for the final toothbrush. “You don’t have to force yourself. I’m almost done.”

That wasn’t it.

You were just so close. The warmth of your body, your smell, the shape of you…it was suffocating him. If he leaned in, just a little bit more, he’d be able to wrap his arms around you, to feel the softness of your skin against his—

The abrupt tickle of the toothbrush rubbing against the seam in his faceplate made him jerk back.

“Sorry! Sorry.” You scoot forward, the hand on his cheek holding him in place a bit more firmly. “I’m almost done.”

Your body heat is suddenly all around him, then. You’re leaning up in his lap, both knees on the chair, straddling his leg. He can catch the scent of shampoo on your hair, scented lotion on your skin. He could count every lash framing your eyes. Feel the heat of your breath on his teeth—

His hands hover in the air, fingers twitching sporadically, just inches away from gripping you by the waist.

He wants to tell you to back up. But his invisible tongue is tied in knots.

He can’t stop looking at your face. Staring at you, as you maneuver the brush into the little dots lining his crescent-sloped nose.

“You have the cutest freckles.” You say, your lips turning up at the corners.

His body makes a strange noise. A low, grinding metallic sound that could be as much a growl as it could a whine.

That’s all the warning you get before he leans in, gripping you tight by the shoulders, and all but mashes his face against yours in a pathetic facsimile of a kiss.

It lasts for only a few seconds, but those seconds feel like an eternity. The softness of your lips against his hard, unyielding smile has his processor running at full tilt, fans blasting at full force inside of his chest, trying to chase off a heat that threatens to melt his insides into a gooey mess.

He was brought back to reality, then, as his brain caught up to his body.

Moon leaned back, shame burning through him. He slowly unfurled his hands from your shoulders, bringing them up to cover his face.

Why had he done that?

“M-Moon, I—what—”

Your voice is so small, trembling, and that just makes it so much worse.

“No, no.” He rasped, clawing at his cheeks. You stumbled back as he scrambled out of the chair, knocking it over in his haste to put distance between the two of you. “Against the rules. It’s wrong. Shouldn’t have done that. No, no, no—”

“Moon, stop.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have done that. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid—” Everything was spiraling. The gears inside his head grind so hard that it hurts.

He had you. He had something good. And he ruined it.

Sun was right. He ruined everything.

He always ruined everything good.

“Moon, stop!” Your fingers twine through his own, trying to pry his hands from his face. He can hear the panic in your voice. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“This is bad. This is wrong. It’s wrong.” He wanted to hide. He wanted to crawl into the dark, curl up in the shadows, and stay there forever. Away from you. Away from the good thing that he ruined. His fingers try to find purchase on something, anything, to grab and pull and break. “Wrong, wrong, wrong—”

“Moon…!”

He feels your fingers curl in the thin fabric of his neck ruffles—and then you yank.

The kiss is clumsy, teeth clicking against teeth as your lips smash against his plastic smile.

Everything in him screeches to a violent, almost painful halt. You’re kissing him.

And you keep kissing him.

Every kiss is hard and passionate, lips moving across his face as far as you can get to, standing on your tiptoes. He feels you stumble a little as you lean up into him, and his hands instinctively land on your waist to help you keep your balance.

“Wait, we can’t—”

“Sit.” You command.

He sits, following your will like the loyal, obedient dog that he is. He can see the chair he knocked over in front of him, sitting in what was your seat, but that view is quickly blocked when you climb into his lap. Your hands are trembling as they cup the sides of his face.

For a moment, your mouth opens and closes. Your brow furrows. You look like you want to say something, but no words come out.

So instead, you lean in and kiss him again.

And he lets you. He holds your tiny waist in his hands and leans into your touch, allowing the chaos filling his mind to simply melt away as you pepper kisses across his face.

Cheeks, nose, forehead, smile, eyebrows, chin. Back and forth and up and down and over and over—every kiss has his head spinning.

One of his large, metal hands come up to cradle the back of your head, urging you even closer. His fingers thread tenderly through your hair. Amongst the chaos, your hat is knocked free, falling to the wayside.

The heat of your body burns so hot through the thin fabric of your tank-top, and with the other hand, he gently squeezes the flesh of your side. A part of him wants to slide his fingers lower, to dip his hand beneath the shirt to feel the soft skin beneath.

It’s hot, it’s hot, it’s so hot he can’t stand it—

But then he feels your tongue slide across the thin curve of his lower lip, and he jerks back in shock. The thin line of saliva connecting your lips to his snaps.

“I, uh—ha..ha-ha…” You laugh a little as you rush to stand, quickly reaching up to wipe the drool from your mouth. Your lips are bruised red and a little puffy, cheeks flushed a pretty pink color. “Sorry, I-I got a little…uh, carried away.”

“Naughty.” Moon purrs, wagging a finger at you playfully. “Naughty boy.”

He feels so light and…and happy. That’s the only way he can put the bubbly, buzzy, excited feeling running all through his body. He’s happy.

“Was that…was that okay? That I…did…that?”” You can hardly look at him, eyes darting back-and-forth. He can feel you starting to pull back slightly, and his fingers curl possessively over the curve of your hip, keeping you tethered.

“…Maybe.” He muses, head cocking to the side. “Maybe not.”

“Oh.” Your face falls.

“Maybe you should…do it again.” His head tilted to the other side. “To make sure.”

He can’t help but giggle when obvious relief washes over your face.

“You…” Again, your lips move, not quite forming around words, like whatever you’re trying to say won’t quite come out. You settle with an awkward, lopsided smile. “So, it is okay? That I kissed you?”

Moon nodded, swaying lightly in his seat. “Yes. It’s…okay.”

He really wishes you would do it again.

“Okay. Okay! Good. I-I’m…yeah.” You laugh nervously, your cheeks still stained pink. Your grin stretches from ear-to-ear. Then you look up at him, and your expression morphs into an apologetic smirk.

“Cause now I’ve gotta clean your face off again.”

He stops swaying.

“Ah….” Moon can’t stop the little unhappy grunt that escapes him. He can still feel the sensation of each kiss buzzing against his metal skin. “Do you have to?”

“Yes, Moon, I have to.” You chuckle again, once more reaching for the cleaning supplies. “You can’t walk around with drool all over your face.”

“I’ve done it before.”

You fix him with a look. “You can’t walk around with MY drool all over your face.”

“Boo.” He crossed his arms, slumping back in a dramatic pout. His hat slumped over his face, the bell jingling as it bounced off his nose. “You’re no fun.”

A little whistle of air escapes your nose as you settled the other chair in front of him, scooting forward until your knees were touching. You reach up, gently moving the bell back over the curve of his head and beckoned him forward.

Moon, of course, leans into your hand without hesitation.

And so, you resume where you’d left off, with you gently wiping away the remnants of your improvised make-out session.

“So. Um.” Your voice cracks a little. “Are we, like…I mean. Do you…like…me?”

“Yes.” He says simply.

“No, I mean. Uh.” You suck in a shaky breath, still struggling to look him in the eye. “Like…like-like. Do you like me. In “that” way? Like—like “that”?”

He’s not sure how he didn’t make that clear. He thought that he had.

But you look like you want to sink into the earth right now, so he can’t help but tease you a little bit.

“Maybe.” Moon crooned, daintily folding his hands between his knees and swaying side-to-side. “Do you like-like me?”

He can hear the breath catch in your throat, and you look away quickly, face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

So very cute.

“Y-Yeah. I do. A lot.” You inhale slowly, forcing your eyes to meet with his. “I-I care about you, a lot, Moon. You’re…you’re my best friend and I…I like you. A lot.”

He stops swaying (again).

“Hm. Good.”

Before you can react, he leans forward to gently bump his smile against your forehead. You, of course, stare at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

 “I like you…too.”

For a second, you look like you’re thinking about saying something—and Moon simply giggles when you lean in to kiss him again.

Maybe, if he asks nicely, he can keep this one.

[revelboo]

got a bit of a silly one for you; which bots would get a kick out of hearing or making their human laugh so hard that they gigglesnort?

I think most of them would be amused, especially if the human is a bit embarrassed. A few would just go out of their way to try and make you do it again

Messing With The Human Headcanons

Trailbreaker

• Loves to make you laugh so hard you’re giggling and your eyes are leaking. Because you’re laughing with him, not at him like everyone else. Knows they whisper about him behind his back. That he’s just the “force-field guy.” Useless unless they need his skills. Overlooked a lot of the time by everyone but Hound. Like that’s all he’s good for. But you don’t care about what he can do, just like him for him. Sure you’d had a rocky start, at odds with each more than you got along. All his fault, every mistake and short-sighted decision all him. But he likes it when you laugh. Loves that smile.

Waspinator

• Leaning over your shoulder to vent against your neck and stir your hair, he huffs and his antenna perk up. Sniffing your coffee. Like he does every morning. Sighing, you hold out the cup. “Want to try some?” And those antenna immediately flatten back to make you think that he doesn’t actually like the way your coffee smells. “Try a bit,” you insist, grinning and he twists his servos together, clearly uncomfortable as you lift it to his face, watching his mandibles pull together and fidget before he reluctantly leans forward. Still find his mouth unsettling as his mandibles spread to reveal his actual mouth and those sharp denta as he obediently takes a drink. And his wings flare out, antenna flattening back. “Good, huh?”

• Not good. Dirt water. Nasty, bitter, dirt water. Whining helplessly at you as you start laughing and point at the sink. Giving him permission to spit it out and you’re wheezing, as he spits and fumbles with the controls like he’s seen you do until he can tip his head under the faucet, get a mouthful and spit again. Why would you drink that? “Waspinator doesn’t like,” he manages, shaking his head and you’re doubled over, snorting and laughing. At him. Can’t even be annoyed with you as your amusement spills through him to warm him. Likes that happy sound even if it’s at his expense.

Brainstorm

• Irritated that you’re laughing at him, instead of impressed. “Wait-is this to impress that other guy? Do you have a bro-crush on Perceptor?” When he doesn’t answer, you crack up, snorting and giggling. And okay. It’s a tiny bit cute. Even if you’re quite possibly the most obnoxious creature he’s ever met. “You do, don’t you? You just want him to notice you. Senpai, notice me!” You’re wheezing now, eyes leaking and he’s changed his mind. There’s nothing cute about you, you’re a little pit-spawned demon sent to torment him and if you breathe a word of this to Perceptor, he’ll offline and take you with him.

Swerve

• “Stop-stop, I can’t breathe,” you gasp, smacking at his servos. Almost screaming you’re laughing so hard and now your eyes are leaking. “You’re awful.” And heads are turning along the bar to stare at you both. Probably wondering if they’re the subject of your amusement. Which is fair enough because he’s been dredging up every bit of dirt on every other crew member he can think of to keep you entertained. Turns out you enjoy gossip as much as he does, but not as much as he loves your snorting laughter and giggles.

TFP Megatron

• “You really think you can make demands?” He growls, carefully hooking a servo through your glittery harness and tugging so you stumble forward a step. Expecting you to become indignant or just angry. Not to reach and carefully remove his clawed servo, patting him.

• “You honestly think I’m the one on the leash?” You say, grinning broadly up at him as he scowls. “I’m the one that’s settling here, because let’s face it. Anger issues and no impulse control even when you’re not on drugs? You’re not exactly the Nemesis’s most eligible bachelor.” There it is, optics narrowing and sharp denta bared in a sharklike grin. “Some of those Vehicons are kind of adorable,” you add, laughing at his expression. Because no matter how much you piss him off, there’s not a thing he can do about it.

• Servos slowly clenching and unclenching, he growls, but knows you’re teasing. Even if he despises your sense of humor. And the more angry he acts, the funnier you think it is until you’re cracking up at his scowl. Little brat. Knows you’ll make it up to him later and that you at least know not to dare voice such things if anyone’s around. Really, he spoils you letting you get away with your attitude. Anyone else would be torn limb from limb, but he enjoys your laughter.

[chrissssssmut]

BOUNDED

Yandere Karina, Hanni, Danielle, Wonyoung, Liz, Chaewon and Yunjin x Male Reader

*SORRY I FINISHED THIS STORY WAY TOO FAST HAHAHAH but here enjoy!🙏*

You had never imagined your life would turn into something out of a K-drama. After your dad remarried, you suddenly found yourself with seven new stepsisters—each one impossibly beautiful and somehow way out of your league in terms of charm and charisma. At first, the arrangement was simple enough: they ignored you, rolling their eyes or tossing sharp remarks whenever you tried to bond with them. To them, you were just some awkward, out-of-place stepbrother who didn’t belong in their picture-perfect world.

“Don’t touch my stuff, oppa,” Wonyoung had said within the first week, drawing an invisible line around her side of the house.

“Do you even know how to use a dishwasher?” Hanni had teased one evening, earning giggles from Danielle and Liz.

Even Karina, the most composed of the group, had given you cold, detached stares whenever you tried to strike up a conversation.

It was fine. You figured they needed time to adjust, and honestly, so did you. Life went on, and you kept your head low, avoiding their world of glittering social events, designer wardrobes, and seemingly endless selfies.

But things changed when you grew up.

You weren’t the same awkward teen anymore. College life molded you into someone more confident, someone who knew how to dress well, speak up, and draw attention without even trying. Suddenly, your step sisters weren’t just tolerating you—they were noticing you.

It started with small, innocent gestures.

“Oppa, I made extra coffee. Want some?” Yunjin smiled one morning, sliding a cup toward you.

“You’ve been working out, haven’t you?” Chaewon commented one day, casually brushing past you in the hallway. “You look… different.”

Hanni started asking for your opinion on her outfits. Danielle insisted you join their movie nights. Wonyoung, who used to act like you didn’t exist, began hovering around you during family dinners, peppering you with questions about your day.

It felt harmless at first, even flattering. But soon, things began to escalate.

The Turning Point

You were excited for your first real date with a girl from your university. Her name was Mina—sweet, down-to-earth, and refreshingly normal compared to the chaos at home. But when you mentioned her name over dinner, the air in the dining room shifted.

“Who’s Mina?” Karina asked, her voice sharp despite her calm demeanor.

“She’s just a friend,” you replied casually, sensing the sudden tension.

“A friend?” Wonyoung repeated, her fork clinking against her plate. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“She’s not that important,” you said, trying to brush it off.

The next morning, Mina canceled on you.

“I’m so sorry,” she texted. “Something came up. Let’s reschedule?”

You were disappointed but didn’t think much of it—until you noticed Chaewon smirking at you from across the living room later that day.

“Plans didn’t work out?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

The more you tried to explore your social life, the tighter their grip became.

When you mentioned studying late at the library, Danielle would suddenly “accidentally” spill water on your laptop. “Oops, oppa! I guess you’ll have to stay home and fix that.”

When you came home with a new phone, Liz snatched it from your hands, scrolling through your messages before handing it back with a tight smile. “Just making sure you’re not texting anyone shady.”

And when you decided to crash at a friend’s place for the weekend, Yunjin and Chaewon appeared at your door that night, claiming they “missed you too much to stay apart.”

Every time you tried to push back, they found a way to pull you closer.

It wasn’t until Karina set the new house rules that things turned truly sinister.

“Oppa, it’s for your own good,” she said, her tone soft but unyielding. “You’re too naive. The world outside is dangerous.”

Before you could argue, Wonyoung locked the front door. The key disappeared after that.

Thrilling Descent

The days blurred together in a twisted routine. You weren’t allowed to leave the house, and your phone was constantly “misplaced.” Any attempt to escape or call for help was met with swift punishment.

“Why don’t you trust us?” Hanni whispered one night, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she blocked the hallway. “We only want to protect you.”

Whenever you refused to comply, they’d gang up on you. “If you’re going to be stubborn, oppa, we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you,” Liz said, leading you back to your room and locking the door behind you.

Their sweet smiles masked something darker—a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

An Attempt

One night, you found a chance to snuck out—a window left unlocked, a moment of freedom within reach. You climbed out, your heart pounding as you sprinted into the night.

But before you could reach the gate, Karina stepped out of the shadows, a sinister grin attached to her face.

“Oppa,” she said, her voice calm yet chilling. “Did you really think you could leave us?”

Behind her, the others emerged one by one, their faces shadowed but their intentions clear.

“You’re ours,” Wonyoung whispered, stepping closer. “And we’ll never let you out of our sight, brother.”

The night after Karina and the others caught you trying to sneak out, they didn’t say a word. They didn’t yell, they didn’t cry. Instead, they simply guided you back to the house, their eerie calmness unsettling. Karina spoke softly as she locked the door behind you.

“I hope you learned your lesson, oppa. We don’t want to hurt you. But if you push us, we’ll have no choice.”

Your heart pounded as you stood there, drenched and trapped. You knew you had to tell your dad. He’d understand, right? He had to.

The next morning, you managed to get him alone in his office before he left for yet another business trip.

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” you started, your voice trembling.

He looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, son? You look stressed.”

“It’s about… them. My stepsisters. They’ve been acting really strange. They’re controlling everything I do—they won’t let me leave the house. Last night, they even—”

Your dad sighed, cutting you off. “I know they can be a little overbearing, but they’re just being protective. They’re girls, you know? They worry about you.”

“Dad, it’s not normal. They—”

“Listen,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you for being mature about this. They’ve had a tough time adjusting, too. Give it time. And if it gets too much, just talk to them directly, okay? You’re all family now.”

You stared at him in disbelief, your stomach sinking. “Dad, you don’t understand—”

“I have to catch my flight,” he said, brushing past you. “We’ll talk when I get back. Be good to your sisters, alright? I love you, son.”

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the silence.

Your dad’s absence wasn’t unusual. His work took him overseas for months at a time, and your mom—always tied up in her own international projects—was equally distant. It left you entirely at the mercy of your stepsisters, who wasted no time tightening their grip.

“Did you tell Dad?” Hanni asked innocently later that day, sitting cross-legged on the couch with Danielle.

The way she looked at you—head tilted, smile too sweet—sent a chill down your spine.

“Of course he did,” Chaewon said from the kitchen, her voice light but laced with menace. “Not that it matters. Right, oppa?”

You clenched your fists, refusing to meet their eyes.

A New Plan

Desperation clawed at you as the days dragged on. Your phone was still missing, and every attempt to sneak out was thwarted before it even began. It was as if they always knew what you were planning.

One night, you overheard Karina and Yunjin talking in hushed voices near the stairs.

“He’s been quieter lately,” Karina said. “Good. He’s learning.”

“Still,” Yunjin replied, “we can’t let our guard down. He’s stubborn.”

You realized then that the only way to escape was to outsmart them—to make them think you’d given up.

For the next week, you played along.

You smiled when Wonyoung asked you to help her with her makeup routine, even letting her brush against your arm a little too much.

You joined Danielle and Hanni for movie nights, laughing at their jokes and pretending not to notice how they pressed themselves against you on the couch.

When Liz asked you to cook dinner with her, you obliged, biting back your frustration as she leaned over your shoulder, her hand brushing yours.

“You’re being so good lately, oppa,” Chaewon remarked one evening, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “I like it.”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m finally getting used to this family thing.”

Your chance came late one night when you spotted Yunjin leaving her room, keys dangling from her hand. She’d been careless, leaving her door ajar as she went downstairs.

Heart racing, you slipped inside her room and began searching. It didn’t take long to find what you were looking for: your phone, tucked away in her nightstand.

You grabbed it, your fingers shaking as you powered it on. A flood of notifications popped up—missed calls from friends, messages from Mina, and even emails from your professors wondering why you hadn’t shown up to class.

But before you could call for help, the door creaked open behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing, oppa?” Yunjin’s voice was soft, but the anger in her eyes was unmistakable.

You froze, clutching the phone tightly. “I… I just wanted to check something.”

She stepped closer, her expression darkening. “You’re lying.”

Before you could react, the others appeared behind her, one by one, their faces shadowed but their presence overwhelming.

“Oppa,” Karina said, her tone calm but cold. “We trusted you. And this is how you repay us?”

Wonyoung shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I just wanted—”

“You don’t need anything outside of us,” Liz interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion.

Yunjin snatched the phone from your hand, tossing it to the floor. It shattered on impact, the sound echoing through the room.

“Enough,” Karina said, stepping forward. “It seems you still haven’t learned.”

A Dangerous Game

They didn’t lock you in your room this time. Instead, they kept you close, always watching, always near.

When you tried to retreat to the bathroom, Danielle stood outside the door, humming softly.

When you went to bed, Wonyoung insisted on sleeping in your room, claiming she “had nightmares.”

Everywhere you turned, one of them was there, their sweet smiles masking something darker.

“You’ll see, oppa,” Chaewon whispered one night as she tucked the blanket around you, her fingers lingering on your arm. “We’re all you’ll ever need.”

The realization hit you like a tidal wave: there was no escaping them. Not while you were under this roof.

But you weren’t giving up.

Not yet.

The days turned into weeks, and you quickly learned that resistance only made things worse. The sisters weren’t just possessive—they were meticulous, calculating every move you made as if it were a game of chess. You were the pawn, and they were the queens, slowly closing in on you.

“You don’t need anyone else,” Hanni whispered one evening, brushing a lock of hair away from your face as you sat trapped on the couch. Danielle was curled up beside you, her head resting on your shoulder.

“We’re all you’ll ever need, oppa,” Danielle added, her voice a soft melody that sent chills down your spine.

They controlled every aspect of your life now. Your meals were prepared by them, your wardrobe was chosen by them, and your free time was spent under their watchful eyes. Any attempt to rebel was met with swift punishment.

One night, you tried breaking a window to escape, but before you could climb out, Karina and Yunjin dragged you back into the house, their strength surprising.

“We warned you, oppa,” Karina said, her voice icy. “You’re ours. Why can’t you just accept that?”

Yunjin smirked, holding up the shards of broken glass. “If you’re going to act like a child, we’ll have to treat you like one.”

They locked you in your room for three days after that, only letting you out when you promised—no, begged—to behave.

Your mental state began to deteriorate. The isolation, the constant surveillance, the manipulation—it was suffocating. You found yourself second-guessing everything, wondering if maybe they were right.

“We’re just trying to protect you, oppa,” Liz said one afternoon as she caressed your hair, her touch oddly soothing. “The outside world is so dangerous. People out there… they don’t love you like we do.”

“Love?” you repeated, your voice hollow.

Wonyoung nodded, her eyes wide and earnest. “Of course we love you. More than anyone else ever could.”

It was in the way they said it—in their unwavering gazes and saccharine smiles—that made you realize just how far they were willing to go.

The Birthday Incident

Your birthday was supposed to be a moment of reprieve, a chance to reconnect with the world outside. Instead, it became the turning point—the moment you truly understood there was no escape.

They threw you a party, decorating the house with balloons and streamers. The dining table was piled high with your favorite foods, and a cake sat in the center, candles flickering.

“Make a wish, oppa!” Danielle chirped, clapping her hands.

As you closed your eyes, you thought of freedom. Of running far, far away from this nightmare.

But when you opened your eyes, the sight before you made your blood run cold.

Your phone was there, fixed and placed neatly beside the cake. For a moment, hope flared in your chest.

“You’re letting me have my phone back?” you asked cautiously.

Karina smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course. It’s your special day.”

You grabbed it, your fingers trembling as you powered it on. The screen lit up, and you quickly navigated to your messages.

Only to find them empty.

No calls, no texts, no contacts.

“What… what did you do?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“We cleaned it up for you,” Yunjin said, leaning casually against the table. “No distractions. Just us.”

Your stomach churned as you looked at them, their smiles widening as realization dawned.

“This isn’t love,” you said, your voice trembling. “This is… this is insane.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her expression almost pitying. “Oh, oppa. You’ll understand someday.”

From that day on, they tightened their grip even further. The locks on the doors were reinforced. The windows were barred. Every move you made was monitored, every word you spoke carefully scrutinized.

When you tried to rebel, they punished you—not with violence, but with manipulation.

“We’re only doing this because we love you,” Chaewon whispered one night as she held your hand, her grip firm. “Why can’t you see that?”

And when you begged for your freedom, they only smiled.

“You don’t need freedom,” Karina said, her voice soft but unyielding. “You have us.”

The Final Descent

One stormy evening, as thunder rumbled in the distance, you sat in the living room, surrounded by them. They were laughing, talking, acting like everything was normal. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’ve ruined my life,” you said suddenly, your voice cutting through the laughter.

The room fell silent.

“Oppa,” Hanni said softly, her eyes wide. “Why would you say that?”

“You’ve trapped me here,” you continued, your voice rising. “This isn’t a family. This is a prison.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Karina stood, her expression unreadable as she walked over to you.

“Oppa,” she said, crouching down so she was at eye level. “You need to understand something.”

Her hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You belong to us. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Whatever it takes.”

The others nodded in unison, their gazes unwavering.

And in that moment, as the storm raged outside and their words echoed in your ears, you realized the truth.

There was no escape…for now..

The storm outside grew more violent, the howling winds rattling the barred windows. As the sisters began retreating to their rooms for the night, you felt the familiar weight of hopelessness settle in your chest. But tonight, something was different. As you stared out the window, lightning briefly illuminated the outside—the gate was ajar. Maybe one of them had forgotten to lock it after bringing in groceries earlier. It was a slim chance, but it was a chance nonetheless.

You waited until the house fell silent, the sisters presumably asleep. Silently, you slipped on your sneakers, heart pounding as you made your way down the creaking staircase. Every sound felt deafening in the stillness, but you couldn’t stop now.

When you reached the door, you froze. The key was still in the lock. A miracle. With shaking hands, you turned it slowly, praying they wouldn’t hear the faint click as the lock disengaged. The moment it did, you pushed the door open and bolted into the storm.

The rain was cold, soaking you instantly as you sprinted down the driveway and toward the open gate. Freedom was within reach. The pounding of your heart drowned out the thunder as you crossed the threshold, stepping into the empty street beyond.

But then, headlights.

You turned just in time to see a car barreling toward you, the driver unable to stop in the rain-slicked road. The impact was sudden and brutal, sending you sprawling onto the pavement. Pain exploded through your body as darkness consumed you.

Waking in a Nightmare

When you finally came to, the bright lights of the hospital room burned your eyes. The beeping of monitors echoed faintly in your ears, and your body felt heavy, restrained by the weight of painkillers and bandages.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice said, and you turned your head to see a nurse standing by your bedside. She smiled kindly, adjusting the IV line in your arm. “You’re lucky. The accident could’ve been much worse.”

For a moment, relief washed over you. You’d escaped. You’d finally gotten away.

“Where am I?” you croaked, your throat dry.

“The city hospital,” the nurse replied. “You’ve been here for a few days. Don’t worry, we’ve been taking good care of you.”

You tried to sit up, but the pain in your ribs forced you back down. “My parents… Did you call them?”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at the clipboard in her hands. “We tried contacting your parents, but they’re both out of the country and couldn’t be reached. So, we contacted the next closest people to you.”

Your blood turned to ice.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

Before you could finish, the door to your room creaked open. One by one, they walked in—Karina, Wonyoung, Hanni, Chaewon, Yunjin, Danielle, Liz. Their perfect faces were painted with expressions of concern, but there was something sinister lurking beneath their sweet smiles.

“Oppa!” Wonyoung cried, rushing to your bedside. “We were so worried about you!”

“You should’ve told us you were leaving,” Karina said, her tone soft yet reproachful. “We could’ve kept you safe.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Yunjin added, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

You stared at them in disbelief, your heart hammering in your chest. “How… How did you find me?”

“We’re family, oppa,” Chaewon said, sitting on the edge of your bed. “We always know where to find you.”

Danielle leaned over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You scared us, you know. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. And we’re not letting you out of our sight again.”

You looked toward the nurse, desperate for help, but she only smiled. “Your sisters have been here every day, taking care of you. You’re lucky to have such a loving family.”

“No,” you whispered, panic rising. “They’re not my family. They’re—”

Hanni shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh, oppa. Don’t upset yourself. You need to rest.”

The nurse nodded. “She’s right. You need to focus on recovering. Your sisters will make sure you have everything you need.”

You wanted to scream, to beg the nurse to call the police, but your body betrayed you, too weak to fight back. The sisters crowded closer, their presence suffocating.

Karina leaned in, her hand brushing against yours. “Don’t worry, oppa. We’ll take you home soon. Everything will be just like it was before.”

“No,” you rasped, tears streaming down your face. “Please. Let me go.”

But their smiles only widened.

“You’re ours,” Wonyoung whispered, her voice dripping with possessiveness. “Forever.”

The days that followed were a blur of enforced care. The sisters rarely left your side, taking turns watching over you. Karina handled the paperwork for your discharge, ensuring you’d return home as soon as possible. Hanni and Yunjin fed you, their hands lingering a little too long as they helped you eat. Wonyoung fluffed your pillows, her touch oddly tender, while Danielle played soft music to “help you relax.”

You quickly realized there was no escape. Not here, not in the hospital, and certainly not once they took you back to the house. The accident had sealed your fate, tethering you to them in a way that felt unbreakable.

As they wheeled you out of the hospital on the day of your discharge, you saw the car waiting for you—sleek, black, and ominous. Karina held the door open, her smile as sweet as poison.

“Welcome home, oppa,” she said softly.

The ride home from the hospital felt suffocating. The rain poured down in sheets, blurring the windows of the van Karina had insisted they use to bring you back. You were silent, your leg still throbbing in its cast, while the others chatted in low voices, as if you weren’t even there.

“Don’t worry, oppa,” Wonyoung chirped from the front seat, turning her head to give you a sweet but unsettling smile. “We’ve made some changes to the house. You’ll love it.”

Your stomach twisted at her words. You had been too weak to resist when they insisted on signing you out of the hospital and taking you home. The nurse’s words still rang in your ears:

“They’re your family now, and they seemed so concerned about you. You’re lucky to have them.”

Lucky. You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, as the van pulled into the driveway. The house loomed in the darkness, its windows casting faint, flickering light like the eyes of a predator waiting for its prey.

The moment the van stopped, Chaewon and Danielle were by your side, unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you into the wheelchair. Their hands were gentle, almost too careful, but you could feel the iron grip of their control in every movement.

“Careful, oppa,” Danielle murmured, tucking a blanket around your lap. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

The door to the house opened, and Yunjin stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the lights inside. “Welcome home,” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of finality.

As they wheeled you inside, your breath caught in your throat. The house you remembered was gone. The cozy warmth and modern elegance had been replaced by something much darker. The walls were painted a muted gray, the windows draped with heavy blackout curtains that allowed no glimpse of the outside world.

But it was the dining room that sent a chill down your spine.

The large dining table had been modified—no, transformed. Each chair was outfitted with thick leather straps on the armrests and legs, as well as a wide belt across the backrest. The table itself had been cleared of its usual decorations, leaving only an eerie emptiness that seemed to magnify the oppressive atmosphere.

“What is this?” you croaked, your voice barely audible.

“It’s for your own safety, oppa,” Karina said, stepping in front of you. Her expression was calm, almost soothing, but her eyes betrayed something far more chilling.

“You’re so clumsy,” Wonyoung added with a giggle, her hand brushing against your shoulder as she leaned closer. “We can’t risk you running off and getting hurt again.”

They wheeled you to one of the chairs, and Chaewon knelt beside you, her fingers brushing your cast as she smiled. “See? This way, you’ll always be safe. Always with us.”

Your body tensed as Liz and Hanni began strapping you in, their movements precise and practiced. You tried to resist, but your weakened state made it impossible to fight them off. The straps were snug but not painful, their tightness a cruel reminder of how little freedom you had left.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We do, oppa,” Yunjin said from behind you, her tone soft but unyielding. “You don’t understand yet, but you will. We’re all you need.”

Bound Forever

As the final strap was secured, Karina crouched down in front of you, her hands resting lightly on your knees. “This is your home now. There’s nothing out there for you—nothing but pain and loneliness. But here… here you’re loved. Here you’re safe.”

Tears burned in your eyes as the reality of your situation sank in. There would be no more escape attempts, no more fleeting moments of hope. The house had become your prison, and your step sisters were its wardens.

“We’ll take care of you, oppa,” Wonyoung said, her voice almost a whisper as she kissed your cheek.

“Forever,” Chaewon added, her fingers brushing against your hair.

As they stood around you, their smiles unwavering and their eyes filled with an unsettling devotion, you realized the horrifying truth: you weren’t just bound to them by straps or walls. You were bound by their obsession, and there was no escaping it.

Not now. Not ever.

[dilfismz]

Hi! Can you write jealous professor dom!cho sangwoo x student sub!reader. Can you make sangwoo become real mad and some spanking too? Thank you so so much 🥹🥹

Mine

Summary: Turns out Professor Cho doesn’t like it when stupid young boys touch what’s his.

A/N: there are a few flashback scenes in order to build a backstory so don’t be confused!

Warnings: age gap, inappropriate teacher/student relationship, spanking, some degradation?, p in v, no prep (Sangwoo is desperate), dom/sub dynamics, and hair pulling.

In all honesty, you and Professor Cho had become close by complete accident. If you could even call it close…more so acquainted. You could recall every detail of your night spent together as if it had just occurred. Every single time you step foot into his lecture hall you can’t help but reminisce.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

The bar was quiet that night, many students in their dorms studying for finals. Luckily for you, yours had concluded in one long, godforsaken day. It was tough but the reward was getting to celebrate the end of the semester early.

Sliding into a seat with your friend you spot him. He was seated a few spots down, leaning casually against the bar. He looked out of place in his crisp, tailored shirt and sharp jawline—older than most of the patrons and far more composed. His presence seemed to draw attention without trying, though he didn’t seem interested in anyone else around him.

You weren’t sure why you caught his eye, but you did. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he spoke, his deep voice cutting through the noise.

“Not a regular here, are you?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Does it show?”

“Just a little,” he said, taking a sip from his glass. “You seem…young for this crowd.”

The comment made your cheeks flush slightly, but you held his gaze. “Maybe. But you don’t exactly blend in yourself.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and moved to sit closer. “Fair enough. I’m Sangwoo.”

You gave your name, and from there, the conversation flowed with surprising ease. You told him about your studies, your aspirations, and the stress that had driven you here tonight. He listened intently, asking thoughtful questions that felt more probing than casual small talk.

“I have to say,” he murmured at one point, leaning in just slightly, “I don’t usually find myself talking like this with someone… your age.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. “Maybe age doesn’t matter as much as you think.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Maybe.”

The air between you shifted, heavy and undeniable. When he suggested leaving, you didn’t hesitate.

The night blurred into stolen kisses in the cab, whispered words, and the heat of his hands on your skin. You fell into his bed with reckless abandon, the difference in your years forgotten in the haze of passion.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, forcing your eyes open. The unfamiliar room was quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing beside you.

You turned your head to see Sangwoo lying on his back, his arm resting over his eyes. The sharp lines of his face were softened by the light, but there was a tension in his expression that hadn’t been there the night before.

“Good morning,” you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

He let out a soft sigh, finally lowering his arm to look at you. His eyes were darker now, clouded with something that felt like regret.

“This… probably shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice low.

The words stung, even though you’d expected them. “Why not?”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “You’re young. Too young to be tangled up with someone like me.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was a firmness to it that made your stomach twist.

You sat up too, pulling the sheet around you. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

“That was a mistake,” he said, glancing at you briefly before looking away. “I should’ve known better.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the warmth of the night before replaced with a cold, sinking feeling. You wanted to say something, to argue that you were old enough to make your own decisions, but the look on his face stopped you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, standing and reaching for his shirt. “You’re… incredible. But this can’t happen again.”

As he moved about the room, dressing and avoiding your gaze, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever been more than a fleeting distraction to him.

⋆ ──── ❍ Δ □ ──── ⋆

Another thing you always thought of when you’d step into Professor Cho’s room is the moment you’d realized just how disastrous your night together actually was.

The first day of the new semester carried the usual energy—a mix of fresh starts and quiet dread. Students milled into the lecture hall, some chatting excitedly, others scrolling through their phones or sipping lukewarm coffee. You were somewhere in the middle, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped into the massive room.

You hadn’t given much thought to your schedule beyond the requirements you needed to fill. This class—some upper-level finance course you had reluctantly signed up for—was just another stepping stone toward your degree. You were more concerned with surviving the workload than anything else.

That was, until you looked up.

Your heart nearly stopped.

There, standing at the podium, flipping through a stack of papers with an air of quiet authority, was him.

Cho Sangwoo.

Your throat went dry.

For a second, you thought you had to be mistaken. But there was no mistaking him—not the sharp jawline, not the dark, intelligent eyes that had lingered on you once in the glow of a streetlamp, not the hands you could still feel on your skin if you let your mind wander too far.

You froze mid-step, the chatter of the other students fading into white noise. The last time you’d seen him, he had been pulling his shirt over his head in a dimly lit bedroom, his words clipped, his expression guarded.

“This can’t happen again.”

And yet, here you were.

And here he was.

As if sensing your gaze, Sangwoo glanced up from his notes.

The reaction was instant.

His confident posture faltered, his fingers tightening slightly around the edges of his papers. His brows lifted just barely before his eyes widened in unmistakable shock. You saw the exact moment recognition hit him, watched the composed, professional mask he undoubtedly wore every day crack—just for a second.

A blush rose to his face.

It was slight, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Enough for you to know that despite his careful words that morning, despite whatever lines he had drawn in his mind between you, the sight of you standing in his lecture hall had caught him completely off guard.

The confident, articulate professor—who had surely done this a thousand times, who commanded rooms full of students without hesitation—had lost his composure.

Your stomach twisted.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like you were back in that dimly lit bar, your bodies too close, your words laced with the kind of reckless flirtation that had led to this. The memory burned through you so suddenly that you were sure it showed on your face.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, you watched him shove it back down.

Sangwoo cleared his throat sharply, turning his attention back to his papers. The color in his face faded as he schooled his expression into something unreadable, his professional demeanor snapping back into place like a steel trap.

But you had seen it.

You had felt it.

And now, you had to sit through an entire semester pretending it had never happened.

Swallowing hard, you forced yourself to move, slipping into a seat near the middle of the lecture hall. Around you, students continued their chatter, completely unaware of the silent war raging inside your head—or his.

Sangwoo took a breath, straightened his tie, and finally spoke. His voice was steady, controlled.

“Good morning. Welcome to Financial Strategies.”

If you hadn’t seen the way his hands curled slightly against the podium, you might have believed he was completely unaffected.

But you had seen it.

And you weren’t sure either of you would be able to ignore it.

That day, after class ended you sat frozen in your seat, your fingers gripping the edge of your desk as if that could steady the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

Sangwoo hadn’t looked at you once throughout the entire lecture.

Not directly, at least.

Instead, his eyes had skimmed over you like you were just another student, his voice measured, his posture rigid. But there were moments—fleeting, barely-there moments—where his fingers tensed slightly on the podium, where his breath hitched in the smallest, most imperceptible way before he forced himself forward.

And now, as you remained seated while the rest of the students shuffled out, he still wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Stay after,” he had said near the end of class, his voice neutral, yet somehow sharp.

You knew this conversation was coming. There was no avoiding it.

Sangwoo stood by his desk now, organizing papers that didn’t need organizing, straightening his laptop screen only to close it again. It was almost frustrating—watching him fidget with anything but you.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, as if bracing himself.

“If you wish to remain in this class,” he started, his voice clipped, “you will forget about what happened between us.”

You swallowed, gripping your bag strap tightly, but said nothing.

He continued, his expression carefully blank, though you could see the tension in his jaw. “It was… inappropriate. A mistake.” His fingers curled around the edge of his desk, the only sign that his control wasn’t as steady as he wanted it to be. “And it cannot affect your education.”

Your throat felt tight.

He was speaking to you as though that night had been some careless accident, as though it hadn’t been charged with something real. And yet, even as he spoke, his voice was too deliberate, too forced, like he was convincing himself as much as he was convincing you.

But you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched slightly against the desk.

Your gaze dropped to his hands—the same slender hands that had once roamed your body, tracing paths of fire along your skin.

You could still feel them if you thought about it long enough. The way they had tangled in your hair, how his fingertips had brushed over your bare waist with aching slowness, how they had tightened possessively around your wrist just before he kissed you—

“Are you listening?”

Your head snapped up.

Sangwoo was watching you now, his brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

You nodded, trying to ignore the heat rising in your face.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before crossing his arms. “Good,” he muttered. “Because I can’t have distractions in my classroom. Whatever… that was, it’s over. Understood?”

His words were cruelly impersonal, but his body language betrayed him. The stiffness of his shoulders, the way he seemed almost restless standing still, as if part of him wanted to move, to do something else.

You wondered if he was remembering it, too.

The weight of him pressing you into the mattress. The way he had looked at you, his usual self-control slipping with every kiss, every touch.

You sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pang in your chest. “Understood,” you said quietly, though the words felt like a lie.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

His fingers tapped once against the desk. Then again.

Then, as if snapping himself out of something, he turned away, collecting his things with more force than necessary. “You’re dismissed,” he said, not looking at you.

You hesitated.

But there was nothing left to say.

So you grabbed your bag and walked toward the door, feeling his eyes on your back even though he had told himself not to look.

————-

Now here you are today and you have done exactly what Sangwoo asked.

For months, you kept your distance, pretending as though nothing had ever happened between you. No lingering glances, no hesitation when he called on you in class, no trace of the night you had spent tangled in his sheets. You became cold, detached—indifferent.

And it was driving him insane.

At first, he convinced himself that this was what he wanted. That this was the right thing.

But then Jisoo happened.

A boy your age. Bright-eyed, eager, always quick with a joke that made you laugh—actually laugh. You had never laughed like that in his class before. Not when you were with him.

Sangwoo ignored it at first.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Soft whispers shared between the two of you, your heads leaning close as if nothing else in the room existed. His blood simmered every time Jisoo touched your arm, every time he caught you smiling at him—every time he saw you looking at Jisoo the way you used to look at him.

But today was the worst of it.

Today, Jisoo had whispered something in your ear, and your face had gone warm—cheeks flushed, lips parting just slightly in surprise before you giggled.

Sangwoo gripped his pen so hard it nearly snapped.

The moment class ended, his voice cut through the murmurs of students packing up their things.

“Stay after.”

Jisoo glanced at you, curious. You barely reacted, nodding as you finished gathering your notes.

The last student filtered out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Sangwoo remained standing at the front of the classroom, bracing his hands against the desk, his head tilted downward. You could see the tension in him—the way his fingers curled, the way his breaths left him in slow, controlled exhales.

You knew this was coming.

You waited.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Tell me,” his voice was low, measured. “Do you plan to seduce him the way you seduced me?”

Your heart stuttered.

The accusation hung heavy between you, thickening the air, making it harder to breathe.

“What?”

Sangwoo lifted his gaze, and for the first time in months, his carefully constructed mask had cracked.

No indifference. No feigned professionalism. Only raw frustration—barely-restrained jealousy simmering beneath the surface.

He took a step forward, slow and deliberate.

“You heard me,” he murmured, his voice dark. “Is that your plan? To make him desperate for you? To make him think, even for a second, that he can satisfy you the way I did?”

Heat pooled in your stomach, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “That’s not—”

He scoffed. “Not what?” Another step forward. “Not true? You don’t think I see the way he looks at you? The way you let him lean into you, whisper in your ear?”

His jaw clenched.

“Do you think he can touch you like I did?” His voice dropped lower, barely above a whisper. “Think he can even attempt to please you?”

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles whitening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you forced out.

His lips quirked up—not in amusement, but something far crueler.

“Liar.”

Your stomach flipped.

You hated how easily he unraveled you.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t care,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I told myself I wouldn’t.”

You swallowed hard.

“But then I see you with him,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I see you laughing, smiling, and I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply as if disgusted by the confession sitting on his tongue.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“You’ve been punishing me,” he murmured. “All these months, Ive been trying to forget, trying to pretend it never happened—but it did. And here you are pulling this shit right in front of me.”

His fingers twitched.

“And it still matters to you…”, you intended to ask but it came out more like a statement.

Sangwoo inhaled sharply, and before you could react, his hand shot out—grasping your wrist.

Your breath caught.

His fingers, long and slender, wrapped around your skin. Not tight. Not pulling. Just holding.

A mistake.

A reckless, dangerous mistake.

But neither of you moved to stop it.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured, his voice lower, almost pained. “I broke the rules for you once.”

Your throat went dry.

His fingers slid down, tracing your palm before hesitantly releasing you.

Then, barely above a whisper—so quiet you almost missed it—he admitted:

“I think I’d break them again.”

Your stomach clenched.

Sangwoo exhaled slowly, looking at you as if he were already regretting saying it out loud. But it was there now. It couldn’t be unsaid.

For the first time in months, he wasn’t telling you to forget.

He wasn’t telling you to leave.

Instead, his voice was quiet. Measured. Unsteady.

“Stay, it’s your turn to be punished.”

You take a tentative step in his direction, testing the waters. Sangwoo blinks slowly, looking you up and down, “You stay there”, he commands while walking to the lecture hall door. He locks it with a flick of his wrist and returns.

He sits on his chair behind the large desk he often spends hours sitting at. He spreads his thighs, patting them expectantly.

You take this as a sign to straddle him but he immediately grunts in dissatisfaction. “No, bend over my knees, face down ass up”.

You flush at the command, all self respect fleeing your body as you comply without a second thought.

Tch tch

He clicks his tongue mockingly, all while lifting your skirt up to expose your plump ass, barely covered by a tiny thong.

“Now did you wear this for me or him”, Sangwoo asks, a scowl etched onto his features.

“You Sangwoo, always for you-”, before you could finish your sentence a loud smack echoes throughout the lecture room. Before you can even register the pain another red hot slap lands on your bottom, leaving you breathless.

“It’s sir”, he commands, a shit eating grin already overtaking his features.

“Y-yes sir”, you respond.

“Good fucking slut, finally you do something right. Maybe I should’ve done this right away, then we never would have had that silly little problem huh?”

You simply nod, his words going in one ear and out the other. Sangwoo pulls your hair harshly, forcing your head back to look at him.

“Speak when you’re spoken to”, he commands, his other hand landing another firm slap to your stinging ass.

“Yes sir-“, you moan as he kneeds the sensitive flesh, “-wish you would’ve done this sooner.”

He nods in approval, forcing you off of his legs and pushing you against his desk.

You can hear him unbuckle his belt and all but shake with anticipation. You’ve waited oh so long to feel him again.

Suddenly his swollen tip is prodding at your entrance, your thong pulled to the side. Sangwoo lets out a heavy sigh and declares, “I’ve waited way too damn long to do this again…now tell me have you been whoring around campus or is the last time your pussy got stretched with me?”

“Y-you sir, haven’t done anything since that night”, you splutter out, backing up into him, hoping he’ll just push in already.

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear”, he says right before completely bottoming out in one harsh thrust.

Sangwoo doesn’t start out gentle, he keeps thrusting into you slowly but oh so roughly. You swear you can feel him reaching spots even he didn’t hit last time.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as his hands grip your hips with a bruising force. He scoffs at your desperate mewls, “I won’t last long sweetheart so you’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful, ya?”

“Yes sir”

Sangwoo can feel his glasses slipping down his nose as his pace quickens. The entire room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and its filthy.

“Please don’t stop sir I’m close”, you beg as you feel that all too familiar feeling within you.

He doesn’t stop. His hands gripping you even tighter as he grits his teeth, cock twitching as your gummy walls suck him in.

“Fuck, it’s like this pussy was made for me, can’t believe I stayed away for so long”, he gasps out.

That’s all the praise you needed to reach your peak. Your walls spasm around Sangwoo and he continues his assault on your insides, coming to an abrupt stop as you feel his warm seed fill you up.

The both of you are a panting mess and he runs his hands through his own hair, pushing him glasses back up his nose.

When Sangwoo finally pulls out he sighs and looks at your pathetic form in front of him.

“Clean yourself up and we’ll have a serious conversation about how this arrangement is gonna work.”

[stllmnstr]

signed, sealed, delivered

Another drabble from an anon prompt! Started with this:

And turned into poor commoner Jaeyun x rich princess oc in a historical kingdom (so different setting but I hope you still enjoyyyyy 🫡) ps I usually write his name as jake but kept it jaeyun here to match the ask!

pps again I wrote this on my phone and it somehow ended up at 3k AND it's 4 in the morning. that's what you call a triple whammy, folks. enjoy and please excuse any mistakes 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Sim Jaeyun is turning twenty-two years old today. It’s an impressive feat, in a kingdom where making it to eighteen without succumbing to disease or illness or something more directly borne of war is becoming more and more rare.

But Jaeyun made it to eighteen. Four long years ago. And the years have only been adding up, surely, if not also incredibly slowly, since then.

The only reason he’s made it this far is because he’s smart. Not in the textbook kind of way. Jaeyun wasn’t born into a family important enough to be literate, so it’s nothing but a blessing that he’s as good with words as he is, considering that he can't read them.

It's mostly because he uses them so sparingly. After all, Jaeyun hasn’t made it twenty-two years by talking. He’s done it by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Just like any good commoner.

He pays his taxes on time and only participates in illicit activities - namely, harvesting crops from one of the sixteen royal gardens - after the sun goes down. He wears average clothes and eats average meals and spends his days with other average people.

From a lot of angles, it’s uninspired. It’s hardly a life at all. But it’s his reality, and for the vast majority of the kingdom’s population, it’s their reality, too.

So Jaeyun, even on his twenty-second birthday, doesn’t have any grand plans. The only thing he wants to do is barter for enough flour and sugar in the marketplace, and maybe even some butter if the dairy farmer takes pity on him, to make himself something sweet over the fire tonight.

As he walks towards the town square, there’s a lightness in his step. Even with midday sun beating on his back and perspiration beginning to gather on his nape, he’s sure that today will be a perfectly ordinary day. In his mind, that alone is something to be immensely grateful for.

By the time he’s secured minuscule amounts of flour and sugar, his mood is still in high spirits. Even though the dairy farmer does not seem to be in an agreeable mood.

“I’ll bring you an extra bag of corn,” Jaeyun whispers conspiratorially over a stack of delectable looking cheeses. He doesn’t even spare them a glance. There’s no point, really. The grumpy old farmer still seems reluctant to give up a fraction of a stick of butter.

“What am I going to do with corn?” The man waves a dismissive hand at him. Jaeyun suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. At least the woman selling sugar had been susceptible to a little old-fashioned flirting. He has the distinct feeling the same tricks won’t work here.

“Potatoes, then.” Jaeyun has no idea where he’ll get potatoes. The royal groundskeepers have a tight leash on that particular crop, but he’s getting desperate.

That, at least, seems to catch the dairy farmer’s attention. Jaeyun’s gut is starting to twist a bit in dread at the prospect of making good on his promise, but the thought of having butter is already enough to make his mouth water.

Before he has the chance to find out if his offer was accepted, the sound of trumpets cuts through the clamor of the market like a knife.

Immediately, conversations cease. Identical flashes of panic flicker through a hundred sets of eyes.

Three sharp, short notes. A beat of silence, and then they’re repeated. It’s a pattern that every citizen knows well.

The announcement of a royal.

Which also means it’s Jaeyun’s cue to craft a stealthy exit. It’s not that he’s a wanted man, per se, but he’d rather not be on the list of people the royal guard are familiar with.

Turning quietly on his heel, he silently mourns the loss of his precious butter with a small pout. And then he bumps straight into Park Sunghoon.

He’s an acquaintance, more than a friend. But he’s also one of the people Jaeyun is closest to in this world.

“Woah,” Sunghoon raises an eyebrow when he notes the swiftness of Jaeyun’s escape attempt. “Didn’t you hear the trumpets?”

“I think everyone on this side of the border heard them,” Jake grumbles, not pleased to be stalled. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

Sunghoon just shrugs, stepping to the side to let him pass. But Jaeyun barely makes it three steps before he’s asking, “You’re not curious?”

Jaeyun pauses, eyes going towards the sky above him in exasperation. He’s not sure why Sunghoon always insists on speaking in riddles, and especially when he’s trying to be discreet.

Turning back to face him, he bites, “Curious about what?”

Sunghoon smirks. He has a piece of information that Jaeyun doesn’t. It’s a rare situation, and he’s planning to milk the hell out of it. “The princess,” he finally says. “Princess ___” He adds in a sing-song voice.

The space between Jaeyun’s eyebrows begins to crease. “What are you talking about?”

“Rumor has it that’s who’s coming right now. Our lovely, fearless, princess is about to be paraded through the marketplace.”

“You’re lying.” Jaeyun shakes his head. He’s sure of it. He doesn’t know much about the king that he supposedly serves, other than his penchant for stationing rather incompetent guards by the crop fields that grow corn, but he does know how he treats his children. Namely, his daughter.

His oldest son is actively being groomed to become the next king, of course. The second born has a nasty chip on his shoulder about it and tries to make up for it by training until he can defeat every last member of the military in hand-to-hand combat and outsmart them in strategy meetings.

And you. The youngest. The only girl.

Much like your mother, you’ve been relegated to little more than a prop. Rumors of your beauty have spread far and wide, but that’s the only thing you’re allowed to be known for. Your days are spent learning how to sit correctly, how to curtsy nicely, how to embroider with alarming precision. How to please others.

Jaeyun’s never lost too much sleep about it. After all, a life in the palace, even a suffocating one, is still a luxury. He doubts you’ve ever had to wonder where your next meal would come from. You probably have actual cake on your birthdays, not makeshift concoctions that would taste significantly better if only you had a bit of butter.

But Sunghoon is insistent. “It’s true. I heard it from Sunoo. You know, he’s friends with that boy that works at the palace.”

“Well then Sunoo’s lying too.” Jaeyun’s words are clipped. He doesn’t have long to slip away if he wants to be gone by the time the procession arrives. “She’s never been in public before.”

Locked up in a palace for your whole life. For a moment, Jaeyun almost feels sorry for you. There’s nothing he loves more than an open field, wide and endless, under a starlit sky.

Taking a step forward, Sunghoon shakes his head. His voice is low when he adds, “Apparently it’s her birthday today. That’s why she’s here. They want to show her off a bit.”

The shock fades quickly. It’s not that strange of a coincidence, Jaeyun supposes, that the two of you share a birthday.

Jaeyun shakes his head firmly. He hopes it conveys a sense of finality. “I’m not staying.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Suit yourself. But I know a spot with a great view.” He jerks his chin to the left. “Just over the butcher’s shop. An old abandoned attic that no one uses anymore.”

Jaeyun hates himself for hesitating. Mostly because that small window of uncertainty is all Sunghoon needs.

“Come on,” he urges. “No one will see you. I promise.”

And it’s not like Jaeyun has that much stake in all of this, but Sunghoon was right. He is curious.

What is it like, he wonders, as Sunghoon leads him up a hidden set of stairs to the attic he pointed to earlier, to live your life at the epicenter of a well-oiled machine?

Do you know? That people like him have to fight to survive? That making it to twenty-two is something remarkable? Do you care?

Jaeyun can’t imagine why you would.

Still, as the procession draws near, Jaeyun feels his heartbeat quicken with it. Until it matches the cadence of the horse hooves coming closer and closer.

Until finally, finally, he gets his first glimpse of the first real royal procession he’s stuck around for in years.

Until he gets his first glimpse of you.

You’re pretty, he’ll give you that, but the more he studies you, the stronger the strange flicker of… disappointment begins to swirl in his gut.

From your seat in the pristine carriage you ride in, your posture is impeccable and your wave towards the crowd is fit for royalty.

You look exactly like a princess. He’s not sure why he expected anything different.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, doesn’t seem so satisfied with the glimpses of you he gets from the attic window. Eyes still locked on your carriage, he says, “I’m going to get closer.”

“What?” Jaeyun hisses. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, actually. And no matter how much Sunghoon annoys him, he doesn’t want to see the boy thrown in prison. Or worse, dead. “What do you mean, closer?”

But Sunghoon is already gone. Disappeared down the stairs that the two boys entered from only a handful of minutes ago. And now Jaeyun is alone.

Sliding an open palm down his face, he watches as your carriage fades from his limited view. Flour and sugar still in his pocket, he’ll have to wait now. At least an hour, probably, before the coast is clear enough to return home. He just prays Sunghoon manages not to do something too stupid before then.

Maybe he does have a bit of birthday luck, after all. A few moments later, he hears footsteps on the stairs again.

“You finally saw sense,” he calls out over his shoulder. “I tried to tell you that a closer look at some girl isn’t worth risking your life for.”

But Sunghoon doesn’t respond. Eyes rolling, Jaeyun assumes that he must not have found a better view and is deciding to sulk about it now. Fully prepared to rub salt in the wound. Jaeyun turns around fully.

But he was wrong. It’s not Sunghoon that he’s looking at. Or at least, he doesn’t think it is.

The figure who stands motionless at the top of the stairs is covered in a dark, shapeless cloak that extends all the way to the floor and has a hood that fully conceals its wearer’s face.

It’s also at least a head shorter than his friend.

Still, Jaeyun can’t help but hope. “Sunghoon?”

As if suddenly remembering themselves, the figure spins on their heel, turning back the way they came.

A thick sense of unease is building in Jaeyun’s gut. He has no idea who this stranger is, but it’s not Sunghoon. Quickly, awful scenarios begin to plague his mind.

What if it’s a spy? He wonders. A member of the royal guard. Someone here to report him for trespassing, if not one of his worse crimes.

Jaeyun can’t let that happen. Not when he’s made it this far. With all of his reflexes locking into gear, he lunges forward. His long fingers encircle the stranger’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

Still, they try to shake him. And for a moment, they’re successful. The wrist in his hand slips from his grip. But Jaeyun doubles down.

This time, he’s less hesitant. When he reaches for the figure, he grabs them by the waist instead. The struggle is noble, but brief.

In the span of a single heartbeat, Jaeyun has the cloaked stranger pinned beneath him on the attic floor, his knees encircling their rib cage as his hands pin both arms above their head.

Chest heaving, Jaeyun assesses the sight beneath him. In the struggle, the stranger’s hood has fallen loose, revealing a striking set of features.

And hair. Lots of it.

“You’re a girl,” Jaeyun’s breathes, just at the same time a devastatingly feminine voice accuses,

“You.”

“Me?” Jaeyun frowns. He’s never seen you before. Of that, at least, he’s positive. He would have remembered a face like yours.

Delicate and feminine and pretty in all the ways that make his mind spin, you’re a vision beneath him. One that almost has him forgetting the severity of the situation.

That is, until you lay another scathing accusation at his feet. “The corn thief.”

“Corn thief?” Warning bells are starting to sound in Jaeyun’s mind again. He’s been seen. He’s been caught. “You do work for the palace.”

Still on your back between his knees, your hands pinned above your head, your gaze is discerning. With rather flat intonation, you state, “We’re all citizens of the crown, are we not? We all serve the king.”

“Sure,” Jaeyun concedes, “but you actually work for them.” The reality of the situation, the severity of jt, is not lost on him. “You’ll report me to your superior and have me thrown in jail.” Or worse.

The only acknowledgement you give is a slightly raised eyebrow. Jaeyun hates himself a little for thinking that it makes you even prettier. “You make a lot of assumptions don’t you?”

“Are you new here?” He retorts. Sarcasm embeds itself into every word. “That’s kind of how things work.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Even though he’s above you, even though your arms are still firmly within his grip, Jaeyun has to fight the urge to squirm under your gaze. And then you sigh. “I’m not going to report you.” Sending a meaningful look towards his hands above your head, you ask, “Could you get off of me now?”

It’s probably stupid, the way he obeys your command so quickly. But there’s something in your voice, something that rings with authority. He’s scrambling off of you with a speed that’s almost comical.

You are slower to rise, rubbing at your freed wrists while you draw yourself to full height. Looking at you like this, Jaeyun almost thinks that he must have hit his head in the scuffle.

You’re not just pretty. You’re gorgeous. Disarmingly so. Jaeyun would be the first to admit that he hasn’t spent much time around girls, that he doesn’t have much to compare you to, but he’s still certain you’re in possession of a rare kind of beauty. Or, at least, one tailored specifically for him.

Despite his sudden fixation, your last words still ring in his mind. I’m not going to report you.

“You’re not?” He’s hesitant to believe it.

“No, I…” you trail off for a moment, unsure how to phrase your desire. “I want to help you, actually.”

He really must be concussed. “You want to help me?”

“I mean, not you specifically.” Looking around the attic, you seem to be talking to yourself more than him when you mutter, “Ugh. Jungwon swore this room would be empty.”

Still, Jake hears you. And he’s stuck on one word. Jungwon. It sounds so familiar. But why? Why does he know that name?

It takes him another minute of wracking his brain, but he does eventually locate the source of the familiarity. Sunoo. Jungwon is the name of Sunoo’s friend who works at the…

At the palace.

It’s not like he’s surprised that you’re closely associated with the royals, but based on what Sunoo gossips about with Sunghoon, Jungwon works rather closely with the royal family themselves. With the princess.

For a moment, all Jaeyun can do is stare at you. And then he asks, “Who are you?”

Your smile is wry, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. But your curtsy is perfect, even if you’re mocking him. “Princess ___. It’s a pleasure.”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes. How stupid do you think he is? He may just be a commoner, but he’s not an idiot. “Does that actually work on people? You know, the whole town just saw her ride by in a carriage. Literally less than ten minutes ago. And you,” Jaeyun makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, “are not her.”

“The whole town just saw Karina ride by in a carriage,” you correct.

Jaeyun frowns. “Who’s Karina?”

“My favorite handmaiden.”

Again, all Jaeyun can do is look at you. His jaw opens. Closes again. He has the distinct feeling he looks rather similar to the fish laid out on ice in the market beneath you. “You… you’re actually the princess.”

“Like I said,” you don’t bother to curtsy fully this time, just nod in a small bow, “it’s a pleasure. It’s actually kind of lucky that I ran into you here.” Jaeyun watches as your demeanor shifts, sarcasm turning to something far more serious. “So, corn thief, what can you tell me about the patrols they run near the corn crop fields?”

“Why?” Jaeyun doesn’t bother to mask his suspicion. “So you can reinforce them? Or apprehend me next time?”

“No,” you counter, “so I can pass the information along.”

It’s far too vague for his liking. “To…”

You look at him for a moment, as if deciding how much or your trust you’re willing to place in him, too. Finally, you say, “To people who might need it.”

Before he can press you further or ask what that means, Jaeyun hears the sound of trumpets again. A slightly different three note pattern than before.

“Shit…” You curse under your breath, Jaeyun hates the way it makes him feel hot beneath his clothes. “I have to go,” you tell him. “You know the old oak tree? The one near the mouth of the river?”

Jaeyun nods, suddenly distrustful of his voice.

“I’ll leave you a note there.” You’re already pulling your hood up over your head again, wrapping the cloak back around your body. “Check it tomorrow after midnight. It will tell you when and where to meet me.”

Jaeyun frowns. “But I—”

“What’s your name?” you interrupt. “I can’t call you corn thief forever.”

“Jaeyun,” he tells you after a beat. “Sim Jaeyun. But wait, I—”

“Tomorrow,” you reiterate, looking at him one last time. “After midnight.”

“But—” Jaeyun tries to protest one final time. It’s no use. You're already gone.

Out loud to an empty attic, Sim Jaeyun finally admits, “But I can’t read.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

STOPPP I'm kind of obsessed with them......

send me an idea for a drabble!

[lolitastories]

Ripples

Rafe Cameron

Part 1. Part 3.

“People can be such assholes!” I groan, slamming the interrogation door behind me. “Get him back in a cell,” The novice officer nods and rushes past me.

“You’re bleeding,” I lean against his desk, giving him an annoyed look.

“Really?” I roll my eyes, placing my hand on my forehead again. I could feel blood coming from my eyebrow. “Jon be a good boy and tell the Sergeant I got something.” He turned in his chair, huffing out. He hated talking to the Sergeant and that's because for some reason he got on his bad side. He was a good officer but very nosy too.

“Don’t go bleeding on my desk!” I smile moving away and falling into his chair. I scavenge his drawers looking for the first aid kit. We had thankfully found the fisherman and arrested him with no problem. The problem came when he got pissed after spending almost 2 hours being questioned.

“Hey!” My fingers freeze as I sit up hearing a well known voice call out to me. “Julie just told me you finished with your interrogation.” I twisted my head, “I was worried so I decided to wait-” His expression changed and I flicked my head back avoiding eye contact.

“You waited since I left the country club?” Although he has done it before, it still warmed my heart.

“Yeah…”My hand awkwardly moved around the paperwork on the desk trying to act busy. “What happened to your face?” From the side of my eyes I felt him try and move closer but I was quick to slip out.

“I got work Rafe,” For a split second I turned to give him a smile and began to walk in the opposite direction. “I will talk-”

“No. There is no, I will talk to you later,” He sped up and blocked me from taking another step. I twist my body but his hand grips my chin and pulls me to look up to him. “Did that guy do this?” I don’t know why but the way his eyes were inspecting my wound or the way his thumb slightly caressed my chin, it was such a simple act but I melted. “My sweet girl,” My body felt like it was floating, like if he were to walk away I would follow like a lost puppy. His demeanor was so calm, so different from what many people in this island think Rafe could ever be.

“I’m okay Rafe,” It was a whisper but due to how close we were I knew he heard me. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” I grip his wrist and pull his hand away. I knew he was going to say something about it but thank god someone interrupted us.

“Detective,” We both turned our heads hearing the voice of the Sergeant behind me.”Nice to see you Mister Cameron,”

“How are you Sergeant?” They smile, shaking hands and I feel like a third wheel on the side. 

“Can’t complain,” He lets out a laugh. He turned his head towards me. “Other than a future bruise, you got something else?” I smile hearing the humor in his tone.

“He was telling us nothing at first until I showed him the video footage from the country club. He offered her a ride on his boat. He said she freaked and jumped out. But I know there is more that he is hiding”

“I know how persuasive you can be so I know that didn’t earn you that” He pointed at my wound.

“I might have slipped in his daughter in the conversation. I wanted to ask if you can do something about the warrants?” The fisherman had a prior charge involving his daughter. It ended with him not being able to see or even contact her until she is of age and can make the choice herself.

“You got it. And how about next time you play nice?”

“You got it Sergeant.” I simply nod. I take a turn to the side to allow him to move past me.

“Can I have a word?” My brows furrowed, what does Rafe have to talk to him about?

“Of course Mister Cameron,” I watch them walking away together.

“What the fuck?” I throw my hands up in confusion. Deep down I was feeling a little disappointed.

“What? Pouting because your boyfriend didn’t give you some kisses for that boo boo?” I laugh at Jon’s stupidity. Maybe there was some truth in his words but I was too prideful.

“What are you, 5?” I opened his bottom drawer where I had seen the first aid kit. “I wasn’t pouting.” I opened it up and pulled out an alcohol wipe.

“You choose to deny the pouting but not that he is your boyfriend?” My jaw dropped. 

“Noted.”

“Shut up.” I throw the wrapper at him, earning a laugh. “Stop laughing and get the fisherman into integration again,” We only have a certain time to keep them detained and I needed more answers.

“What?’ I drop the wipe at Jon’s sudden jump from his seat. “They signed his release 20 minutes ago.”

“Who did?”

“The officer said you told him.” When the fuck did I do that?

“I told that dumbass to put him in a cell, not to sign him off.” I slam my fist on his desk. I let out a heavy sigh and looked over to Jon. “Try and find out where he is and I will get the Sergeant to hurry with the warrant so we can have a reason to arrest him again.”

“You don’t think he would willingly agree to be questioned by you again?” I let out a fake laugh.

“Get to it. I don’t want to fire two people today.” He puts his hands up in defense before rushing away. I pick up the clean alcohol wipe and trash it before walking towards the room the Sergeant and Rafe walked too. As I walked closer I could hear faint words. I lean my ear against the door,

“Fuck the, innocent until proven guilty. Those people should be handcuffed while being in there. He shouldn’t have been able to hurt any woman let alone mine.” My eyes fell shut. A little smile played on my lips as a warm tingle formed in my chest.

“How can he sound so casual when all I have done is pushed him away?” I mean other than the kiss but that was less than 3 hours ago. I cleared my throat pushing the door open. “Sorry to interrupt Sergeant.”

“Your good detective, what happened?” I awkwardly forced my eyes to stay on something other than Rafe. I could always feel the amount of warmth when he was looking at me but at this moment It became more evident.

“The rookie released the fisherman and I need you to check on the warrant to see how soon we can get him back.” If things like this always fell back on my I would have worry line all over my face but the Sergeant was always good at keeping calm.

“Consider it done. Have you sent out for a search?” I nod as I release my hold on the door knob to let him through.

“Yes, when we find him I will be waiting outside for your call.”

“No.” I step back, seeing him pause. He turned around as I was halfway through the door frame. “Jon will take care of that. You will go home and take care of that wound.”

“But-”

“Take care of yourself. You will have your fun again when we get him back here and that could be hours so go home.”

“Yes sir.” He nods accepting my look of defeat. He has never sent me home for a simple cut or a bruise. My eyes open in realization. “What did you say to him,” There goes another door slammed as I walk towards Rafe. A grin was already playing on his lips. “What did you do Rafe?” Oh that blind affection I was feeling a moment ago was long gone.

“I didn’t do anything,” He shrugged. His tall figure moved closer, one hand cupping my face and the other removing my hair from it. “But he is right, you need to go home and rest.”

“Rafe I am not a little girl, this is my job and I have to be here. I don’t need you messing around with this.” It came out like a whine but I didn’t care.

“But you are my girl.” Okay, I am blind again. Fuck wondering how the hell he does this everytime. My arms falling like a ragdoll to my side. “You haven’t taken a day to yourself in months and you heard him, as soon as they catch him they will call you.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “You need to learn how to shut that pretty head of yours and not try to control everything.” I roll my eyes at the feeling of being scolded.

“I am not your girl Rafe,” I looked him up through my lashes.

“Yet.” He moves his body closer until I can feel his chest against mine. “Take all the time you want,” His hands slide down my neck, shoulders, until the circle around my waist. His warm breath moved to whisper in my ears. “I can wait.” I shake my head denying his words. My head didn’t want to believe he said that, no. What he did was demand me. Demand that I grip the front of his black shirt. Demand me to pull him closer until our lips touched once again. Demand that I stumble back with him until we bump into the table behind me. As he grabs my waist and places me on the table he demands that I wrap my legs around his waist and not to let him go.

“Baby,” He pulled away but didn’t he just ask me not to let him breathe? I pull him back into a more intense kiss. My fingers gripping the back of his neck as my tongue slides into his mouth earning a moan. My hip pushing against his and in seconds I could feel him. “Wait,” He pulls away once more. “As much as I want to fuck you right now-” He lets out a moan as my fingers slide past his waist line and into his pants. It was tight but I found a way to wrap my hand around him. “You are making it fucking difficult.” He groans. He grips my chin forcing me to look up.

“Want me to stop?” I bat my eyelashes and I begin to move my hand up and down with a tighter grip. He lets go falling forward. His hands grip the table on both sides, caging me. His forehead fell to rest on my shoulder and I could see how he was trying to control his breathing. “Shit,” I moaned, feeling him rub up against my core with his bulge. It sent a shiver down my spine but I couldn’t allow him the satisfaction, not when I loved the feeling of him coming undone with only my hand.

“No!, Faster,”My pace increased with every noise escaping his lips. My toes curled and the room around us became hotter. His thrust against my core became sloppier making my breath hitch when I felt my core tighten.

“Rafe?” I bit my lip holding back a moan.

“Keep going baby,” He whined. So soft, so good.” I swiped my thumb over his tip causing him to gasp and linger his thrusts with more force. “Don't-” He said dryly, shaking his head. “Don’t make this quick for me. Been waiting so long for just a touch,” I smile loving how he wasn’t afraid to show he needed me.

“Really?” I tease slowing down.

“Mh-hm” He nods eagerly, pulling his head up to find my eyes. As I admire how tightly he closes his eyes my mind moves to imagine how beautiful he was. I paused for a moment and took my time scaling my fingers up and down. Feeling every vein, curve, counting the inches, how thick he was to not fit in my hand. “Do what you want with me, I am here for you.” He lets out a sigh of relief when I continue pumping his dick. Now with more meaning and purpose. “Yes baby,”He stuttered out. His brow furrowed trying to hold back but I knew it couldn’t be for much longer. My fingers glazed effortlessly up and down with the help of his precum coating his dick.

“So good”He twitches at my words telling me he was done for. With a deep groan his lips parted. I sped up my hand the best I could in the confinement of his pants.

“I’ve been good,” He nods eagerly. He began to throw whimpers and curses as he came all

over my hand. Hot ropes of cum smearing through my fingers. I held back a satisfied laugh as I continue to work him through his orgasm, “You’re a dream, a fucking dream.” My hand slowly came to a stop once I knew he was done. I removed my hand and waited until he opened his eyes, a prominent tint of his cum right on my finger. I ran my tongue teasingly cleaning it up, catching how his breathing got caught up. “Baby you do that again and I will have to put a baby in you.”

[lyvhie]

okay hi haechan anon again!! im back with another request! so I'm missing my taeyong a lot (hashtag military wife..) and I was listening to 2 baddies as any baddie would and. the line "now you wanna ride these wheels" had my legs FOLDED 🥴 those wheels aren't the only thing I wanna ride.

and that brings me to my request. riding tyongie pretty pretty please???

── .✦ everybody makes mistakes

ex-bf!lee taeyong x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ summary: You were going through a busy time in your life, and going to a party was supposed to help you relax a little and... Well, your ex certainly turned out to be a good distraction. 𓂃 ࣪˖ cw: smut, riding, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie because why not 😞, pet names. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: HIIII, ANOOOON!!! GLAD YOU'RE STILL HERE 😚😚 i get you... i feel like we are 12949 years without tyong, we need him back ASAP, i can't have a happy life if taeyong isn't here PLEASE. ANYWAYS, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONE!

This was definitely not part of the plan. It was supposed to be a fun night at your friend's party—a chance to unwind and forget about the chaos that had taken over your life lately. Honestly, you hadn’t even planned on coming, but your friends had insisted, saying some fresh air would do you good. You finally caved, figuring what was the harm?

Wrong decision.

If you had known your ex-boyfriend would be there, you’d have stayed home.

You thought you were over him, it had been months since the breakup, after all. There was no reason to panic, you told yourself. Besides, he hadn’t even seemed to notice you were there. You could enjoy the night without a care. Or so you thought.

Your eyes kept drifting to him, as if drawn by some invisible force. Watching how he moved through the crowd, laughing, leaning in to whisper things in people’s ears, flashing that smile that used to make your heart race. The same smile he was now directing at others.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from him. Focus on your drink. Your friends. Literally anything else, you told yourself, desperate to ignore the annoying tightness in your chest every time you caught sight of him leaning in close to someone else. But it was no use.

You didn’t even need to look. You could feel it. His eyes were on you, burning with that same intensity you’d once found irresistible. Against your better judgment, you glanced over and instantly regretted it.

There he was, lips curling into a smirk, that infuriating, knowing expression that only made your stomach twist further. And then, as if the universe itself was playing a cruel joke, he started walking toward you.

Your heart skipped, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in whatever your friends were laughing about. You even forced out a chuckle, hoping it sounded convincing.

Taeyong, of course, wasn’t fooled. He thought it was cute, how bad you were at subtlety, how transparent you always were when you tried to act cool, just as he remembered. If anything, it made him want to reach you faster.

From the moment he approached you and murmured a soft “hey,” everything became a haze, your senses drowning in the intensity of his presence. You remembered the way he leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that his warm breath sent shivers down your spine. His voice was low and familiar, dripping with charm as he told you how much he missed you, how surprised he was to see you there when he knew this wasn’t your usual scene.

His hand had found its way to your waist, his touch firm but not forceful, as if asking for permission rather than demanding it. You hadn’t stopped him. The heat of his body pressed against yours was both comforting and electric, stirring something in you that you thought had long been buried.

Every subtle gesture—a thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the way his gaze never wavered from yours—pulled you deeper into the gravity of his orbit. You knew you should step back, but instead, you let yourself lean into the closeness, into him, even though you both knew exactly where this would lead.

And all of it led to a kiss, slow, as if to test the waters, then deepening with the kind of urgency that only old lovers can share. That kiss led to lovely whispers and stolen touches, and before you knew it, you were in the parking lot, your heart pounding as he opened the door to the backseat of his car.

The air between you was thick with tension, your breaths mingling as he pulled you close, his hands finding your waist like they never forgot the shape of you. It was reckless and impulsive, the kind of decision that you knew you’d question later—but right now, with his lips on yours and the heat of his body pressed against you, it felt like the only decision to make.

His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin as he held you down against him. His mouth was relentless, his tongue exploring yours with a fervor that made your breath hitch. Your hips began to move instinctively, a slow grind against him that drew a deep groan from his lips. The confined space of the car only heightened the heat between you, every movement feeling more intense, more urgent in the close quarters.

You felt his hands slip to the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it over your head, but you stopped him just in time, pulling away from the kiss, both of you panting softly.

"This is a bad idea," you whispered, though your body leaned into his, contradicting your words.

"Maybe," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made your resolve waver. You tilted your head slightly, giving him more access.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," you tried to reason, though your hands remained on him, your touch lingering.

“You can blame the alcohol if it helps," he suggested, his lips tracing a path up to your jaw before capturing your mouth again. You didn't resist, kissing him back.

"I didn't drink that much," you argued softly.

"Then blame me," his hand drifting lower, inching toward the space between your legs, sending a wave of anticipation through you. "You're always good at that."

"Shut up," you retorted, nipping at his lower lip, earning a hiss and a soft chuckle from him. “Tell me to stop," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his lips hovering just above yours. "And I will, pretty.”

Yes, you just needed to say the word and get out of his car. Of course, that would be the right thing to do, but... you were already this far.

You would blame him.

"Fuck, I'm gonna regret this," you muttered before crashing your lips against his again, kissing him more fervently than before, grinding against him harder, his bulge applying just the right amount of pressure against your core.

Your hands fumbled with the button of his pants, a mix of nerves and anticipation guiding your movements. He was quick to undo yours in return, his desperation evident as he helped you, pulling his pants down just enough while you slipped out of yours along with your panties, leaving no barriers between you.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding you over him, one of your hands rested on his shoulder for balance while the other slid down, wrapping around his hard cock. It throbbed under your touch, and he let out a soft moan at the slightest contact. You stroked him slowly, savoring the way he responded, before lowering yourself just enough to let the tip brush along your slick slit.

He groaned, his fingers tightening on your hips, urging you to stop teasing. "Don't play with me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. You smiled faintly, enjoying the rare moment of control you had over him, but your own need was overwhelming.

With a soft exhale, you slowly sank down onto him, both of you gasping as he stretched you, filling you completely. Fuck, how he missed this—the feeling of your warm heat enveloping him, just as tight as he remembered. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent, his breath hot against your skin.

“You feel so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You missed this feeling too, the delicious stretch of him inside you, your walls fluttering around him, as if your body was echoing the same sentiment. He bit your neck to muffle a moan, the sound vibrating through you.

And for a few seconds, you both stayed like that, motionless, just reveling in the feeling of him taking up all the space in your pussy. Then, slowly, you began to move, rolling your hips over him before lifting yourself just enough and sinking back down, drawing moans from both of you. His hands slid down to cup your ass, fingers digging in as he followed your movements, his head falling back against the seat with a deep groan.

Your movements were slow at first, teasing, but you quickly found your rhythm, pressing down on him, the sensation sending waves of heat through your body. The heat between you was unbearable, the cramped space of the car amplifying every sound—the wet glide of your bodies, the breathless moans, the creak of the leather seat beneath you.

His hands moved back to your waist and his grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your flesh as he urged you to move faster. You picked up speed, setting a pace that felt good for you, making him gasp with each roll of your hips.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, lifting his head to watch where your bodies met, eyes dark with hunger. "Just like that... take me deeper."

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a whimper as you obeyed, bouncing harder, grinding down to feel every inch of him. The pleasure was dizzying, overwhelming, stealing what little self-control you had left. His hands left your hips, moving up your body, dragging your shirt up to expose more of your skin.

“Fuck, look at you," he murmured, leaning in to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation sent a shockwave through your body, making you clench around him.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he thrust up into you slightly, meeting your movements. "Shit—keep that up, and I won't last," he warned, voice strained. But you didn't stop. You couldn't. You were too close, too lost in the way he filled you perfectly, the way his body fit against yours like he was made for you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to kiss you, the heat between you both intensifying. Just as he had said, he wouldn’t last much longer. It wasn't just because it felt incredible, but because it was you.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, almost a plea, his thighs tensing beneath you. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, every little sound he made pushing you closer to the edge too, but you weren’t there yet.

You didn’t need to say anything; your body said enough. The way you moved, the way you squeezed him with every roll of your hips—it was too much. His grip on you tightened as he groaned deep, his body shuddering beneath you as he came, his release spilling inside you as you kept moving, letting him ride it out.

But he didn’t stop there—you still needed to finish too, and now it was his turn to take care of you. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buried his face in your neck. Even with his body still trembling from his own release, he started moving again, thrusting up into you with deep, desperate strokes.

A shaky whine escaped his lips as the overstimulation hit him, but he didn’t let up, his grip on you firm, determined. “Gotta make you feel good too,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, breathless.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your walls fluttering around him, dragging him deeper despite the sensitivity. His name spilled from your lips, hands fisting in his hair as he held you close, chasing your release like it was the only thing that mattered.

His breath was hot against your neck, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate, but he didn’t stop—not until he had you right where he wanted. His fingers slid down between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble around him.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, voice hoarse, lips brushing your ear. Your grip on him tightened as pleasure coiled low in your stomach, the pressure building with every stroke, every thrust. His name tumbled from your lips, breathless and needy, and he groaned at how good you sounded.

And then, with one more deep, well-angled thrust, pleasure crashed over you. Your body tensed before melting into his, a broken moan leaving your lips as your release washed through you. He groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him, his arms holding you steady as you rode out your high.

Even as your body sagged against his, he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his breaths ragged, shaky. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, tracing slow circles on your back as he helped you come down.

It wasn’t the smartest decision, you knew that. But, in that moment, you felt... satisfied.

You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes. Your friends had been right, maybe you did need to let go of the weight on your shoulders and relax a little.

"Wanna come home?"

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[makeyoumine69]

Disco Heaven

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Sub!Patrick Bateman x Dom!Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Patrick, after enduring restless nights consumed by obsession, finally meets the woman who has captivated his thoughts. Blinded by his own arrogance and misplaced confidence in his charm, he is unaware that the plan he has devised will unravel in ways he could never have foreseen and, in a twist of fate, ultimately turn against him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Smut, femdom, oral sex (reader receiving), obsession, humiliation, degradation, coming in pants, nipple play, finger sucking, teasing, hair pulling, Patrick is touch deprived, dirty talk, pet names.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 5.8k

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐂: Lady Gaga—Disco Heaven✨

𝐀/𝐍: Hello dear people! I hope you like this one, I had a lot of fun writing it!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST].

How could he be so lucky to meet you at the Palladium Club when he thought he would never see you again? It was a fucking miracle. And although he hadn't liked McDermott's idea of coming here at first, it was definitely worth it now.

The flashing lights illuminating the dance floor made it hard to recognize any more familiar faces in the crowd of people moving to the catchy rhythm of another Bananarama song called Cruel Summer. Bateman couldn't say that it was his jam, but it was pretty exciting to see an uncountable number of girls dancing next to each other, their dresses too short to hide much, only making everything more alluring to his prying eyes as he stood at the bar with a glass of some tasteless drink in his hand.

Well, everything seemed to be perfect tonight except the alcohol.

The split second Patrick spotted you, he knew that you recognized him too and he liked that even more than he could imagine because it fed his ego that you remembered him. Could it mean that you were thinking about him the way he was? 

Bateman smiled at his own delusional theories, but he did not really call himself delusional, on the contrary, this man could swear to God that he believed in his own irritability—no woman could reject him, the word 'no' simply did not exist in his realm. And this belief was so strong and vivid that Patrick had no doubt that you would be his next victim to fall for his charming charisma, his boy-next-door vibe, and his masterfully curated facade of a gentleman.

"What are you staring at, Bateman?" Craig's slightly provocative voice was barely audible over the loud music, but it was enough to make Patirkc flinch in genuine surprise. "Oh, I better ask who?"

McDermott stood next to him, smoking a cigarette and waiting for him to answer. Bateman took a moment to scan the dance floor again to make sure you were still there, and when he did, he turned to face his colleague—a friend, perhaps—before gulping down his cocktail, only to cringe at the bitter taste.

"I think I saw someone familiar." Patrick gave Craig a toothless smile, unable to hide the thrill in its timbre.

"How could you see anything in that fucking mess of limbs and sweaty bodies?" McDermott asked, following Bateman's gaze, now scanning the dance floor as well.

A mess of limbs and bodies.

That single phrase, cut out of context, struck a chord in Bateman's head like a drumbeat playing exclusively for him, and no one could hear it. For a fleeting moment, the two men stood in silence, not talking or drinking, just watching people having their moment, throwing themselves into the flame of music and passion.

"Do you think these chicks might have a condom?" Craig laughed at the absurdity of his question but never stopped staring at the group of girls closest to the bar, they were good looking, not hardbodies but pretty enough to be fucked. "I'm getting bored."

"Then why do you care about fucking condoms?" Patrick replied nonchalantly and put the empty glass down on the bar with a thud. "Are you afraid of catching dyslexia like Bryce?"

"Oh, fuck you, Bateman." McDermott took a long drag on his cigarette, blew out some smoke, and considered ordering himself a drink, but then he remembered Bateman's disgusted face as he finished his own drink. "As soon as Bryce gets back from rehab, we should have a party at his summer house in the Hamptons, and no faggots are invited."

The men exchanged eloquent glances before bursting into laughter, though Patrick's was not really genuine - it was more like he was trying to fit in, rather he really enjoyed Craig's shitty attempts to sound funny. But all that fell away when Patrick realized that he had lost your silhouette somewhere among the dancing people—for a moment he felt nauseous—his forehead immediately became slightly sweaty.

No fucking way he could lose track of you. No fucking way!

But on the other hand, what if this was another beautiful illusion that had been chasing him since the first day he met you in that damn restaurant where he had dinner with Courtney? And good Courtney, who was so reckless and clumsy that she somehow managed to spill her drink on your impeccable outfit—did he really call anyone but himself impeccable? Impossible.

Sheer panic clouded his anxious mind, McDermot's presence was nothing but an annoying bug, Bateman's slightly dilated eyes searched desperately for your elegant figure, literally praying for another miracle. Surprisingly, when he turned a little to the side, he saw you moving toward the small dance platform, and as you stepped onto it, the crowd consisted mostly of the men gathered around it. And Patirck could swear that all of them were trying to peek under your skirt—just the thought of it made his blood boil.

Fucking morons!

Yet the man never said it out loud. Patrick allowed himself to watch you so closely, as if this dance was for him and him alone, as if the two of you were the only ones in this club. The playful grin on your pretty face was like a burning sun—so painful to look at, but at the same time so glorious and wonderful. If only he could find you and kidnap you right in front of the greedy crowd of perverted men. As if Bateman was not one of them, oh no, his depravity was different. Exclusive. The man was so zealous in his belief that he had the right to be a horny animal and a cruel monster because he was so fucking rich, even though the constant pain he suffered from wouldn't stop even for a day. His life was both his blessing and his person. A golden cage covered with blood.

All these philosophical thoughts were just a backdrop. As if hypnotized, Patrick still watched you dance, every sway of your hips mesmerizing him, and when another girl rose and joined you on the platform, he felt himself so fucking hard that he almost chewed on the inside of his cheek. The imagination of this sick man was so powerful when it came to imagining two beautiful girls worshipping each other, their petite bodies rubbing against each other as they played with their pussies with pure abandon.

Fuck yes, yes, that was what he lived for.

And then Bateman suddenly felt too worked up—he could barely keep himself from exploding in his pants—thank God Craig was gone. Maybe the best option now was to just leave the club and go back to his apartment, masturbate and let off some steam, because Patrick was afraid that he would completely lose control and snap at someone right there in the club. He closed his eyes for a second and imagined himself getting his hands on the girl dancing next to you while you watched him grab her breasts and then suck on her nipples until they swelled. Holy shit, this man was literally obsessed, and he wanted you to be the same. 

Obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. 

Pathetic.

As soon as the music changed abruptly, the people around you started clasping hands and cheering the DJ as your "performance" slowly came to an end, he could tell by the way your movements became slower, less plastic and less energetic. Even though the girl next to you didn't end up kissing you as the man had imagined, he was satisfied just thinking about it. 

A little later, you gracefully stepped down from the platform to the floor to give another girl a hug and a light peck on the cheek. Patrick was literally stalking your every move, the way you were gossiping with other chicks, laughing heartily, and when you started to walk away, he could swear that he caught your gaze as you looked directly at him. And the eye contact was so intense that Bateman was left breathless, literally clawing at the bar to regain control. But then you dared to wink at him before turning on your heels and walking off in an unknown direction.

What was that but an invitation to follow you?

Patrick didn't even think twice before he left the bar and walked across the dance floor—the thrill of the chase set all his nerve endings on fire—he could feel the smell of blood in his nostrils, but he never forgot to keep his mask of a charming man. 

The music only seemed to get louder as he made his way to the VIP area. The VIP area consisted of several private little rooms where special guests could find some privacy for all sorts of things like sex, doing some drugs, or maybe...for a kill? 

Standing right next to the corner, the man looked over to remember which room you were in, but then he noticed a tall, rather bulky guy standing right next to the door. Who was it? Your boyfriend, a bodyguard? Bateman couldn't really decide which was worse, his mind was busy plotting what to do next and he even considered just leaving the club because this guy alone was literally ruining all his plans.

In the end, the risk took over and pushed Patrick to go around the corner to the private room where he would finally have a chance to get to know you better. At first, he considered ignoring the weird-looking man and pretending he was your friend or something. But as he approached the door, the guy turned out to be even bigger than he looked - he was much taller than Bateman and more muscular, which made Patrick feel uncomfortable. Sweating a little, Bateman started to say something, but the stranger just clasped his hands together and nodded, stepping aside, no longer blocking the way.

Okay, now it seemed so wrong, but it was too late to think about it.

Too-fucking-late.

It didn't take long for Patrick to enter the room, which was so dark because of the dim purple light. But that was enough for him to recognize your form sitting on the small plush couch on the other side of the room.

"Well, hello-hello," you murmured, stretching back in your seat, your voice enough to send shivers down his spine. "Aren't you curious?"

"Me?" Patrick hummed back before glancing at the small floor lamp next to you that made this room look so ominous and... intimidating. "Darling, you worked your ass off all night to get my attention. I'm flattered, really." Bateman chuckled and leaned against the wall, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. "But what is this?" He grimaced and held out his hands. "Are you a psychic or something?"

This little outburst of his almost made you laugh. Almost.

"No, I'm not a psychic," you replied, sitting close to the edge of the couch, genuinely interested in how far this man could go. "I doubt you know who I am. That's not really important. What is important is... did you satisfy your obsession by coming here?"

Confused, Patrick narrowed his eyes, which were as dark as the surroundings. Your question left him confused and he was on the verge of hysteria. But it was he who came here, he wasn't forced to, but why did he feel so... trapped?

"Hey-hey, hold on," he chuckled nervously, not really expecting you to act like this. "You wanted me to follow you."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Bateman let out a muffled gasp, his boner still stiff and yearning for release like a caged fire. "Because our meeting that day was no coincidence...I knew it. This interest is mutual-"

"I don't even remember your name," you suddenly cut him off, crushing his ego like a freight train might crush a small car on its way. "I don't even remember if I asked you one."

Leaning against the back of the couch, you smiled wickedly as you noticed the small glimmer of weakness in his brown eyes—the most delicious delicacy you could find these days, the broken ego of the yuppie. But besides all that, this man was handsome, it was hard to deny that, but his tactics to break you down, his assertion of control and his attempts to overpower you were simply pathetic to you. 

Embarrassed, Patrick nervously fixed his hair and then his red tie, his hands were visibly shaking and that prompted you to turn on another lamp, much brighter than the purple one—you wanted to see him blush in front of your eyes.

"But... I think I remember yours," Bateman added soon after, his cheeks truly flushed and the sight of it stirring something wild in your gut. "I hope you weren't upset about your dress."

"Oh, no, not at all," your smile grew wider and wider, and as you flew one leg over the other, you did not notice the way he was sizing you up. Literally taking in everything with his greedy eyes. "So what's your name?"

"It's Patrick, Patrick Bateman."

"Good," you really liked that name, it sounded solid, but in reality you didn't give a fuck. "So let me explain something to you, Patrick. I know that most guys like you only see women as fuckable pieces of meat," a short pause made the frown between his prominent eyebrows grow even deeper. "That since you're so rich, all women should fall to their knees."

Swallowing hard, Bateman stood still against the wall, his breath hitching in his chest, though he tried to look confident—in control of the situation—you couldn't blame him for being delusional. It amused you.

With a wry smile, the man finally decided to come closer, but not too close. "That's a valid point," he muttered, pacing since he couldn't stand in one place. "But not all men are like that."

You could barely hold back your laughter. 

"Oh, I know," your voice rang in his head so loudly that he had to clench his teeth. "But the truth is, I personally don't care about money, about wealth—all of that is boring to me, simply because," you faked a thoughtful expression, as if it was such a complicated conclusion. "My daddy is going to be president one day. Everybody knows the White House belongs to him. That's all."

And that was such a painful blow to his gut, you knew it, you could smell his frustration. Whenever some smug bastard like Bateman tried to impress you with his 'high social status', it was such fun to see their arrogant faces turn into a look of shock as they were literally speechless. But still, they didn't know anything about you and your family. For example, today you literally ran away from the charity dinner to have some fun at the club with some of your 'friends', in other words, just a bunch of people who followed you like a tail just because you were rich and influential. 

In the wake of the too-long silence between you two, Patrick let out a thoughtful hum, as if the cups on surreal weights were swaying from side to side inside his head, leaving the man perplexed in the complexity of his next decision.

"Do you think your father will protect you?" The man suddenly asked, and to be honest, the question was quite intriguing. 

This was what you had expected from him.

Thrilled, you smiled and crossed your arms over your chest. "And you... do you think you can protect yourself?" Bateman furrowed his brow but didn't answer, pretending not to understand the point of your question. "Do you think you can protect yourself from your obsession?"

After a short pause, Patrick burst into nervous laughter before he could say anything in his defense. "You're really funny. I always said that a good sense of humor is an underestimated trait in women."

He thought he was so smart—smarter than all the men who had been in the same situation before him, trying to show their dominance, not really understanding that only strong individuals could admit their weaknesses—that was such a cliché in today's society. Too bad for him that he still assumed that such tricks could work on you.

You shifted your legs to open them a bit, pretending that the whole conversation bored you, so you yawned loudly and stretched your arms out so that your breasts were on full display for him to see. You wanted to ask him some complex questions that would roast his brains, but seeing him so tense made you want to spare him a little.

"What do you want out of life? You seem to have everything and yet you decided to follow me here. Why?"

Bateman grinned in return, his face still tinted red even though the purple light had turned it a dark pink. "I could ask you the same question."

Spreading your thighs even wider to make sure he could see your black panties, you watched him gulp, his Adam's apple twitching so tantalizingly that you decided to go further and rake the hem of your dress to tease Patrick even more, and when the man finally surrendered, his eyes glued to your barely covered slit, you knew the trap he was setting for you had backfired in the most unpredictable way.

"Is this what you want, Patrick?" You murmured, fluttering your eyelashes as the most innocent creature on this planet.

The man didn't answer at first, fighting the urge to just snap at you here and now, but something still held him back. "Huh, you're not an easy one, are you?"

With a sly grin, you ran one of your hands along your chest, 'accidentally' bruising your nipple before tugging on one of the straps of your dress to slide it down a bit, revealing one of your tits. And that scene left him drooling as he was about to grab his hard groin at any moment.

"I can give you what you want if you can offer me something... special," you crooned, continuing to play with your taut nipple, twisting it between your fingers. "What do you say?"

Stepping even closer, Bateman approached your seated form so that you could see the huge bulge in his pants—at least nature had given him something to make up for the lack of brains—you stopped yourself from staring at his crotch as he continued to speak.

"Well, if you decide to spend some time with me, you won't forget it, baby," he grinned and glanced at the seat next to you, but you immediately put your hand there, implying that it wouldn't work that way. "I promise you."

"Nah," you replied casually, letting go of your little tip but only pulling up the skirt of your dress until it was cramped around your waist. "This is so boring! Always the same! Tell me this," you looked up at him before holding out a hand and taking small steps with your fingers along his hard groin. "Have you ever considered exploring something else? Because... I can't imagine that you don't get bored of the same thing. All those easily accessible chicks with low expectations... See, I can have you today and tomorrow I won't even remember you because I'll have another guy... maybe even with the same name as you," you giggled as you felt him twitch under your touch, his breathing becoming more audible. The sexual tension in the air coaxed you to switch to a whisper. "So the thing is, you can impress me, but not with the things you used to impress the other women, but with... devotion, dedication and submission. Because I find that really exciting."

With that, you sprawled across the couch with your legs spread, your underwear slightly wet from the thrilling game the two of you were playing. Bateman hesitated, but then he lunged at you in quick motion, and you managed to lift your leg at the last moment, almost sinking the sharp stiletto into his chest.

Furious as ever, the man tried to pull your leg up. "You bitch," he hissed in desperation as the memories of sleepless nights jerking off to the thought of you washed over him like a waterfall. "You think I give a fuck about your old man?" Patrick clenched his jaw but still did not do anything that could hurt you. "I don't fucking care if your father is Ronald Reagan himself!"

Bateman was about to lose control at any moment, so you used that for your own advantage and kicked him in the chest with all your might, almost threatening him. "That guy out there is my bodyguard and he has a fuckin' gun, a real one! And believe me, he won't hesitate to rip your ass apart if I tell him to!"

Another shock wave went through Patrick's system, turning everything in his head upside down. Stunned and lost, the man gasped for breath, and nevertheless he seemed to believe your words—he took them seriously.

Your breathing was as rapid as his, as you were still lying on the soft furniture, but your look was a bit disheveled. "I'm telling you for the last time, we play by my rules, or we don't play at all," you declared, slowly sitting back down. "And it's never too late for you to leave...no one is holding you here, you know."

Inflamed and annoyed, Bateman gave you a scornful look before turning and heading for the door, only to pause beside it as a genius idea dawned in his mind. What if he could trick you into thinking you were in control? So that when you lost your attention, he would cut you to pieces? That was not bad, not bad at all. Patrick smiled to himself, so damn proud of his own smartness that he saw himself as nothing but an evil genius.

As soon as you noticed the change in his demeanor and the man came back to you in several large strides, you couldn't help but smile broadly, especially when you saw him loosen his tie and brush off some sweat from his forehead.

"So are we cool, baby?" You asked him playfully, and before he could answer, you stood up to face him, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your heavy breasts.

The way your tits bounced a bit as you undressed was delicious, Patrick was literally on the verge of collapsing if you decided to touch his dick again.

"Yeah," the man finally replied before licking his lips briskly. "We're cool."

"Good," you walked closer to him, your hands never ceasing to caress your heavy breasts. "Now get on your knees for me."

The boiling, unbearable rage coursed through his veins, but he submitted to your will, kneeling gracefully before you, his brown eyes consumed by the darkness of their pupils as you hovered over him, only to lean down and press the soft mounds of your tits against his beautiful face, now so flushed again.

"Suck them," you commanded, biting your lower lip as he looked up at you in utter disbelief. "You've probably waited too long for this. Am I right, Paddy? I will call you Paddy because I really like it."

As much as he wanted to say that he hated any distortion of his name, the man simply couldn't pronounce a word when you were standing over him, the weight of your breasts felt so heavenly on his face and it seemed that his will to struggle for his dignity had fallen to his most basic desires. And there was nothing Bateman could do about it.

With an almost primal growl, the man obediently took one of your hard nipples into his warm mouth and sucked on it so greedily that you thought he was going to bite a piece of your flesh, so you had to claw a little at his scalp to make him be gentle.

"God, you're so fucking thirty for my tits!" You whimpered softly, burying your hand deeper in his brown hair, which looked so messy and chaotic now.

Panting, you let him wrap his arms around your hips and pull you closer to his face, but then you pulled away only to have him latch his lips around your other nipple—Bateman used everything he had, his tongue, a little bit of his teeth—you were soaking wet and it seemed that what was going on was not enough.

As you pulled your swollen peak out of his mouth, Patrick let out a small but loud gasp of frustration. "Are they natural?" 

Holy hell, that question alone almost made you fall to the floor, but instead you just smiled and looked down at your hard nipples, now wet with his saliva. "And what do you think?"

With that, you lifted the hem of your dress once more to place your leg on his shoulder, and the man wasted no time peppering your elegant leg with little kisses, nuzzling against your soft skin and moving higher until he grazed your inner thigh, but not daring to go any higher. Instead, he watched as you slipped your finger under the lace of your wet panties, and when you touched yourself with a lewd moan, Bateman had to cling to his hips as his orgasm loomed over him like an inevitable sin. Breathing heavily, you rubbed your swollen clit several times, covering your fingers with your flavor, before pushing them into his mouth and he gladly took them, sucking your taste off them and still yearning for more.

"Starved Paddy," you grinned, stroking his burning cheek as he pecked at your mound—his hot breath wafting around your core felt amazing. "You want me to use your face?"

Fidgeting on his knees, Patrick nodded and gently grabbed your ass, ready to dive between your legs and literally drink you dry—the wicked glint in his hazel eyes was a sight you would probably never forget. So Bateman was right about one thing—you would indeed remember him as an arrogant yuppie you had brought to his knees. And the feeling was absolutely delightful, even better than you expected.

"What are you waiting for?" Patrick's gruff voice brought you back to reality.

Oh man. Was this man really that desperate? 

You hummed and tilted your head, admiring his completely ruined appearance and yet there was so much more to come. "I want you to beg me," you suddenly demanded, literally hooking your leg around his neck, feeling the smooth fabric of his collar brush against your skin. "Come on Paddy, beg for my pussy."

Bateman took a nervous gulp, his face so red and sweaty, and you knew he was struggling between his own desires and the bruised ego it would all cause if he just gave in. Was he willing to pay that price to get what he so desperately wanted? Out of all the women, Patrick was unlucky to set his eyes on you, thinking you would fall for him the moment you met, but now that he realized you were not that easy, it seemed to excite him even more. Well, at least you liked to think so.

Patrick's heavy breathing was so warm against your mound as he pressed his face into it, nuzzling it, then kissing it, licking your skin here and there until he finally raised his eyes to you, his parted lips so red and glistening with your wetness.

"Please," the man purred, reluctantly at first, the stray strands of his brown hair scattered across his tense forehead. "I... I want... that little pussy of yours."

"Uwu," you smiled in awe. "That's so sweet of you," without any further hesitation you moved your soaked panties to the side and presented yourself to him and he couldn't take his eyes off of you, licking his lips in anticipation as he watched the soaked material of your underwear brush against your swollen clit, your oozing folds looking so damn delicious. "Cleat it up, baby."

To your surprise, Patrick didn't snuggle up to you the moment you allowed him to—the man decided to start with small, kitten-like licks along your pussy lips, savoring the taste of you with soft groans and the vibration they caused felt electric.

"Mhmmm...yes," you moaned into your palm, not wanting anyone to hear you, even though the music was quite loud. "Just like that...you're such a good boy."

As time went on, Bateman's actions became bolder as he watched your reaction all the time and the sight of him on his knees looking up at you was so fucking hot. The red tie was swung carelessly to the side and now lay on his shoulder as you grinded on his face, getting more and more heated up, and at one point you heard him moaning into your cunt as you pulled on his hair pretty hard. But you didn't care. And you couldn't really care, not when his mouth felt so good on you, when he sucked your little tip with inhuman ferocity, leaving out slurping sounds, and the next second he was already lapping at your cunt like a dog. And his tongue, fuck, his tongue was made for that.

"Oh-fuck," you cursed, pushing his face closer between your legs and holding him by the back of his head. "You know how to go down on a woman...do you like the taste, Paddy?"

Desperately gasping for air, Patrick tilted his head back for a moment with his eyes closed tightly—his whole look was so fucking ruined and messy—Bateman was glorious in his submission, though he would probably never admit it.

"Yes," he breathed out, licking his wet lips, catching the beads of your juices with his tongue. "I like it."

With these words the man dipped between your thighs again and this time you knew that you couldn't hold back any longer as the tight knot in your core pulsed like a bomb. And Patrick could tell by the way you clung to his head, leaning on his shoulder as your legs began to tremble, and as you climaxed he was still swirling his tongue around your feverish clit to prolong your bliss, not really realizing that he was about to explode as well. But what could he do? Bateman held himself back for too long, and as he lived through your orgasm with you, the man suddenly froze and grabbed your ass with all his might, as if you were his lifeline. It was a fucking disaster, he knew it, but he couldn't stop himself from cumming in his pants, still on his knees.

The musky, intoxicating smell of sex filled the small room, making it difficult for both of you to come to your senses, but eventually you were the first to push him away from you as the last aftershock of your orgasm faded. On your weak legs, you stepped away from the kneeling man, who didn't move as if chained to the floor, but that didn't bother you anymore. You straightened your dress and ran a hand over your slightly sweaty face before you snuggled back into the couch.

Utterly humiliated, Patrick tried to clear his mind to solve the fucking problem he had gotten himself into—he still had a designer handkerchief somewhere, and luckily his jacket was quite long, so he could hide his wet pants. But the thought of what had just happened could never be erased from his mind. 

Degraded, disgusted and completely abashed. That was how he felt.

"So," you suddenly began to speak, breaking the silence. "I hope you satisfied your obsession with me a little."

Fumbling for the pack of cigarettes in your purse, you frowned when the man either didn't move or didn't say anything. It was getting on your nerves, but you weren't going to tell the bodyguard to throw Patrick out—there was something oddly appealing about the fact that Bateman still couldn't pull himself together after everything was over.

"You'd better leave before you make trouble for both of us," you added in a stern voice, but then you smiled at your viscous idea and the next second you were already pulling down your panties to throw them in Patrick's face. "Here, so you have something to jerk off with."

But the man didn't even react when your wet underwear hit his tense face—he just watched it fall indifferently, only to take it later and hide it in his jacket pocket. And his pettiness was both breathtaking and frightening. Yet you didn't know about the chained beast inside of him that Bateman was somehow holding back, but still, the images of him stabbing you with the fucking stiletto of your shoe were so vivid. But if he was going to kill you here and now, what was the point of the game? 

Avoiding looking in your direction, Patrick could only say: "When can I see you again?"

Again?

Shocked, you grinned, but then looked at him with feigned concern. "Are you crazy? Was that not enough for you?"

"Was it... enough for you?" He muttered back and slowly started to get up, surreptitiously searching for the handkerchief.

You took a moment to consider this sudden...proposal? Because to you, his words sounded like a business deal, and that was kind of interesting. "Did you say you work on Wall Street?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, pressing a soft piece of cloth to his flustered face. "But I really work on Wall Street."

With that, Bateman handed you his business card, and when you looked at it, you saw the text Pierce & Pierce printed in a nice font. "Pierce & Pierce? Never heard of it."

Frowning, Patrick wanted to say something, but then he felt the slipperiness between his legs—it felt so fucking disgusting that he wanted to rip off his clothes and go naked, because it would be better than that.

"You know, my father worked on Wall Street too," you muttered thoughtfully. "Before one day he decided to become a fucking politician. My mother was so crazy in love with him that she forgave him everything and now... it all ended with my dear daddy having a new young wife. A model or something," the man listened to you without blinking. "This world sucks so much!" You giggled hysterically and waved your hands in despair. "Listen, if one day I don't know what to do... I'll call you. Until then, don't even try to find me. Do you hear me, Paddy?"

Bateman couldn't remember how he left the private room, how he found his way to the bathroom and waited for everyone to leave so he could clean up a little. The man didn't feel comfortable in his own skin anymore, he could barely keep himself from smashing the mirror with his fist every time he looked at his reflection. And all because he was afraid—afraid to admit that he might like the things you were doing to him. It was contagious to his ego and the perfectly curated concept of the ultimate yuppie he always wanted to be. But what could he do now when his body betrayed him?

There was no escape, only agony.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[utopiastri]

Hi, hello!!!

May i request sleep deprivation for the fic prompt, pretty please???? To be honest I'd be so happy with any ship (bc im obsessed with ur writing), but mayhaps landoscar or maxcar???🥺🥺🥺

Hope you are having a wonderful day!<3

-💫

💫 anon!!! hi lovely! thank you for the prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day too and i hope you enjoy some maxcar!!!

Of all the people that Oscar expected to bump into whilst walking around Monaco at 5am, he wouldn’t have bet on Max Verstappen.

Or, well, he wouldn’t have bet a lot on Max Verstappen – Monaco’s tiny and Max does live here, so it’s not entirely unreasonable to run into him. But still.

5am.

“Oscar! Mate, hi!”

Oscar does his best not to wince at how cheery Max is. From the way Max’s face falls slightly, he’s guessing he doesn’t do a particularly good job of it.

“Hey, Max,” he says quietly, giving him a tired smile.

“What are you doing up so early? I wouldn't have guessed you were a morning person.”

“Just, um, going for a walk, I guess.”

Max frowns. “Hm.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Oscar prays that the street lighting is dim enough for the dark circles under his eyes to stay hidden.

Eventually, when it becomes clear that Max isn’t going to say anything else, Oscar says, “Right, uh, I’ll see you.”

Oscar’s barely even turned around to start walking in the opposite direction when Max calls out, “Wait! What are you doing after your walk?”

Living the Monaco high life, Oscar thinks to himself, going back to bed and tossing and turning for another six fruitless hours.

“Nothing much,” is what Oscar actually says. In fairness, it isn’t exactly a lie.

“I was just finishing up my run. You should come back to mine for some breakfast,” Max suggests.

Oscar gives Max an assessing look and notes that he looks more like a person about to go for a run than one just finishing one up. Max folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, as if daring Oscar to call his bluff.

On another day, maybe Oscar would. But he feels so tired his bones are heavy with it and giving in is the much easier thing to do.

“Yeah, ok.”

-

Oscar doesn’t realise that the breakfast invite is a trap until he’s blearily blinking his eyes open a few hours later. Or, maybe ‘trap’ is the wrong word. ‘Trap’ implies that there was some trickery or persuasion involved. Max didn’t exactly have to do much convincing to get Oscar to take a seat on his sofa. And Max certainly didn’t have to do much convincing to get Oscar to let his eyes flutter shut, since they were very much doing that of their own accord.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Max calls from the kitchen. Oscar slowly begins to register where is. He bolts upright when he realises that he managed to fall asleep on Max’s sofa when the poor man had only invited him in for a pastry and some coffee.

“Shit, Max, I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to stand up from the sofa and only managing to almost fall flat on his face, his legs getting twisted in a knitted blanket Max must’ve thrown over him. His face flares bright red and he refuses to look in Max’s direction.

Unfortunately, Max has other plans. He feels Max’s gaze burn into the side of his face until finally Oscar looks up and meets Max’s eyes. He’s smirking ever so slightly.

“No apologising. You needed sleep and, for whatever reason, you cannot get it at home. So you slept on my sofa.” Max says it so matter-of-factly that Oscar almost finds himself nodding along.

“No, wait,” Oscar shakes himself and reminds himself that this is ridiculous, “Max, it wasn’t fair, or, I mean, it was rude of me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

“No, it wasn’t, I didn’t mind.”

Oscar groans slightly. “Well, maybe, you should mind.”

A calculating look appears on Max's face. “To clarify," he says, "You object to the part where you fell asleep on my sofa?”

“Yes,” Oscar says firmly.

“Fine. I agree you should not fall asleep on my sofa.”

“Good.”

“You should fall asleep on my bed.”

“What?” Oscar splutters staring at Max, “Hang on.”

However, Max is too busy grabbing Oscar by the arm and frogmarching him through his flat to take heed of Oscar's request for him to hang on. Oscar’s so bewildered by this turn of events he doesn’t even fight the manhandling that much. Before he knows it, he finds himself sat down on Max’s giant bed, staring up at him.

Max is smirking again.

“There, problem solved. You can’t fall asleep on the sofa if you’re asleep in my bed.”

“Max,” Oscar starts.

Max raises an eyebrow ready to counter whatever Oscar’s next argument will be. Oscar sighs.

He knows when he’s beaten. Max smile grows even wider.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me." He turns to leave but Oscar, almost without thinking, grabs his hand before he can.

His skin starts tingling where it's touching Max's and he does his best to ignore it. Oscar swallows. “Stay?” he asks, voice nothing more than a whisper.

Oscar thinks he might have found the one thing to say that would catch Max off-guard, even if that wasn’t his intention. His expression doesn’t shift, but Oscar can just about make out two dots of pink high in Max’s cheeks.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Oscar repeats, less of a request and more of a command.

Max takes a second but eventually nods and crawls into the other side of the bed. Oscar carefully arranges his body so it's not touching Max's at all and then has to do his best not to react when he feels Max reach out and gently interlock their fingers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

Oscar convinces himself the kiss he feels pressed to his forehead is purely induced by sleep deprivation.

[arbitrarykiwi]

It's Just Business, Baby: Workplace Conflict 1/4

The Recruiter/The salesman x Recruiter!fem reader Smut series

Summary: he saw no reason why they would want to hire you. He did just fine at the job! The higher-ups were stupid for even bringing you onboard, you had to be a liability. You were a walking enigma, a witch! He hated every little thing you did. So when he tells himself he’s following you so he could always be a step ahead of you, he doesn’t understand why after each meeting he’s left wanting to see you more.

Warnings: eventual smut (18+), stalking, the recruiter’s a warning in himself, kidnapping (reader is insane and kidnaps some people for fun who did her wrong), blood mention, violence, slapping ((list will change based on chapter))

Other Chapters: Overtime 2/4 , After Hours 3/4 , Professional Provocation 4/4

(Additional chapters will be linked when they release)

He’d like to think of himself as a level headed guy (he’s not) who can take orders from his boss well and can adapt in the workplace without issue (he can’t).

But when the big guy in charge hired you to join him in this odd recruiting job- he fucking hated it. He hated you.

He was the only one recruiting those low lives into the games and he did a fantastic job, there’s never been an issue! So why did they have to hire you?! Surely you were a threat to the organization. You hardly looked like you could hurt a fly let alone do the things that the job requires.

You were much smaller than him, always wearing a suit similar to his- though he noticed pretty soon upon meeting you that your jacked you wore was much more cinched than his, accentuating your waist. And that made him dislike you even more- is that why they hired you? They figured sex appeal would bring more to the games?!

And then you always had this sick and twisted smile on your face. It’s sickly sweet, like you can tell the future and plan ahead knowing what he’d say before he said it. You were always one step ahead of him. The worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice, or if you did you didn’t care. You paid him little to no attention. Only speaking to him to belittle him or to say some snarky remark in response to him belittling you.

Your eyes always seemed to be narrowed, like you were trying to solve everyone like a puzzle that was presented to you. You seemed to be observant, more so than the average person. He’s tried multiple times to sneak up on you, to try and stalk you from the shadows- yet you always spot him. He’s convinced you’ve adapted some ability of echolocation or something, there was no way you should be able to notice him half the time you do.

You were too complex, too aware of your surroundings, too quick on your feet. He was in competition. And he did not like competition.

Although you knew he greatly disliked you, you really had no idea of this inner battle he had. You didn’t think you were in a race or a competition at all, it didn’t matter to you. What did matter to you were his reactions. That’s the whole reason you continued to mess with him.

The first year you worked with him and the people behind the annual games, you were a complete enigma. He literally couldn’t figure you out. He was good at tracking people and digging up information, but you? Nothing. He was sure you’d be dumb enough to let your name slip in passing or even get a glimpse into your personal life. But nothing.

He tried to follow you home once, sticking to the shadows and moving silently. He knew you didn’t see him, he was sure of it. He managed to follow you from behind for nearly 45 minutes. He figured that’s why you were able to be so secretive- you lived so far away from where you two were normally stationed.

But as you begin to make random twists and turns, he begins to feel like you’re playing him- but you can’t be, he’s sure you never saw him. But when you rounded a corner and head into an alley way, him following after you only a few feet behind, he rounds the corner- and you’re gone. It was then he gets it, you probably didn’t live anywhere near where he followed you out to, you were simply just trailing him along in a god awful game of cat and mouse.

He screams, he’s agitated. He throws his briefcase against the metal trash can, kicking the bags of trash erratically in the alley way. He’s so enraged he doesn’t even realize you’re peeking out of a window of the building you snuck into. Giggling silently to yourself as you watch him throw a temper tantrum.

The next two years you worked for the games- it was the same fucking thing. He knew nothing. The only extra bit of information he had as the years passed was that you were bringing in more recruits to the game than he was.

He never had to worry about a ‘quota’ or worry about how many people join the game because of him; because they all joined when he offered them the brown card and promised them a chance for more money. All 456 players were recruited by him.

Now? With you in the picture? He had to compete. He had to work harder- something he hated having to do- to make sure he got more people to call and secure their spots in the game than you did.

But somehow. Some-fucking-how in the three years you’ve worked for the games- you’ve gotten more people to call in.

The first year, he had 227 people enter and you had 229. He called it beginners luck, only two more people- nothing he wanted to bother himself over. He already had to put all his attention on hating you- he couldn’t focus on losing to you by such a small difference.

The second year? He had 205, you had 251. Yeah, he was getting pissed. There was no way you were better than him. Who would even trust a girl like you to offer them a chance of a life time? Maybe it was because they thought you were a hooker. It was a surprise they called the number and when a sex-hotline didn’t pick up they didn’t just hang the phone up.

You did not care about numbers- you never kept track. You only found out that a log is kept detailing which recruiter got how many players to join when he made a snide comment the past year about how you ‘somehow’ got more players to join the game than he did. Sure, you knew you were quick- working down the list of names given to you by the anonymous higher-ups in rapid succession, but that’s just how you worked.

When you found out about his little competition, the one he seemingly made up by himself, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. It was somewhat endearing to seem him so worked up over some internal issue he had with being second best. He would put more effort into his recruitments- working over time to try and get to more people than you.

So of course you do work a bit faster than normal for the next time you’re given a list of names of the people you two were to scout out.

The third year, he came to the full realization that he hated you completely. With his entire being he loathed you. Your effort to annoy him paid off, you had gotten a whopping 306 people to join. To say he was enraged was an understatement- he could swear he would kill you only…. if it wouldn’t put his job on the line.

And to top it all off, he sill knew nothing about you aside from the fact you irked him to his very core. He wanted to find your weakness, use them against you. As much as he tried to find one, to hunt you down when you left work in hopes of catching you doing something he could use against you.

But he didn’t, you were more closed off than he was. And he despised you for it. He was supposed to know everything. And now that the head people decided to add another recruiter, that he adamantly swore they didn’t even need, he knew significantly less than he wanted, no, needed to.

You were a walking enigma. You seemed to just vanish into thin air as soon as your shift is over, you didn’t look like you could hold your own but he figured you had to be able to if you were hired, and you always had that dumb fucking smirk on your face.

He remembered when the first time when he actually saw you working. He was carrying a bag full of bread, making his way to a little side quest he decided to give himself. He figured maybe the break from constantly working to have the one up on you, he’d do something he enjoyed doing. And if that just so happened to be offering bread or lottery tickets to homeless people in some crude choice game, then that’s what he’d do. Anything to get his mind off you.

But no, you just had to be a pesky little parasite and show up everywhere he went.

Admittedly, you didn’t know he’d be passing through the park you’d be in- you were directed to go here by your boss to begin the recruitment process so the park is where you dutifully found yourself. You genuinely didn’t try to run into him- hell you enjoy keeping far from him, you couldn’t stand his attitude.

But when he steps through the gates of the park, leisurely strolling excited to begin his daily itinerary, he hears someone gasp and begin to shout. That’s not the normal sounds you’d hear in this park, he thinks. He stops in his track tilting his head as he listens harder.

It’s a almost rhythmic beat of a few sounds, a couple ‘thwaps’- like something light and sturdy hitting the cobblestone trail of the park , then the same shouting as before, and finally a resounding ‘smack’, all before the rhythm repeats.

There’s no fucking way, he thinks. His normal seething anger that he’s had since you joined the job returning full throttle. He knew the sounds he was hearing could be none other than you playing ddakji with some down on their luck civilian. His head is whipping around the park. He needs to find you.

He tells himself that he needs to see you work so he knows you’re not making a fool out of the games and their integrity. He needs to know you’re actually doing what you’re supposed to be doing- you’re a new employee, of course he needs to shadow you and scrutinize every movement you make, it’s what a good senior employee would do.

He’s following the sounds with a fury, quickly coming upon you and the lowlife gambling with you down a hill at the edge of the park. He calmly walks behind a tree, shielding himself from view. His eyes are trained on you like a hawk about to kill its prey.

He wants to say you’re weak, that you’re an excuse of a recruiter but when he sees the civilian lose, failing to flip your paper square, you don’t hold back. The corner or your lip curls up ever so slightly, the movement unnoticeable to anyone else but him. It was simply because he was so observant to the world around him as a whole.

Not because he would spend every moment he got to stare at you, memorizing every feature of your face and how it naturally rests.

Then your arm winds back, your palm connecting in an open handed slap that echos throughout the part. It was hard enough to knock the baseball cap off of the poor mans head, his face forced sideways with the intensity of the slap.

And then you settle back into a resting position. Almost like you never slapped the man at all. You just stood there, the same grin on your face that he despises and nod towards the man. “Would you like to play again.” To be honest, this was the most he has heard you speak, the job didn’t require you two to interact much- in fact there was rules in place to make sure you and him didn’t get close.

He was strangely fascinated by your voice. It was light, had a specific cadence to particular syllables that made your voice a temptation in itself. No wonder the man you were playing with was quick to agree to go again- like the man was under some sort of trance. And that pissed him off more.

He watched on from behind the tree, eyes narrowing visualizing the idea of you struggling under his grasp, hands holding your throat. He quickly shook his head from the idea- finding that it made heat rush to his cock.

He turns quickly on his heels, not wanting to look at you further. He was mad that you made him feel this way. It made him hate you more. You were a twisted little witch who was casting spells to make his dick hard- at least that’s what he told himself.

He also remembers a time when you had gotten off a train at his stop, catching him right as he handed the signature brown paper card to another unsuspecting victim. You’re walking tall, your eyes rimmed by smokey eyeshadow, and when you notice him- your brow quirked up.

He keeps his composure, the same smile he always has when interacting with ‘clients’ on his face though you can see the corner of his lip twitching, like he’s fighting himself not to scowl.

You hold up one of your hands in a move of mock defense, “No need for theatrics, just passing by to go to my station.” You hum with a grin that makes him want to choke you. Again, it’s the most he’s heard out of you in three years. You and your witch tactics. And then suddenly, all he can think about is fucking you until the cocky lilt to your voice is replaced by broken sobs.

To suppress these thoughts, he just becomes enraged. You can see the way his eye twitches, the way his smile that’s always plastered on his face falters into a scowl. And before he can even speak, you’re walking past him and down the subway-practically disappearing into the crowd.

The whole interaction pisses him off more when he manages to get a hold of your work itinerary, finding that your station for that day was no where near the stop you got off at. In fact, it was on the total opposite side of town. You genuinely just wanted to piss him off.

And it was working.

Every day he woke up his thoughts were plauged by his hatred of you. The way you smiled, the way you’d tilt your head when someone would talk to you- he knew you only did it to make people think like you cared to listen to their troubles. He knew you didn’t, you didn’t care at all- you just wanted to slip that card into their hands and have them call. Securing you another point in the imaginary game he was playing against you.

What made it even worse- the job you both had didn’t ride on how many people you called in. The people above you two simply kept track to make sure you were doing a decent enough job to stay working for them, there was no prize for getting more people and there was no punishment.

Yet he felt like he was being punished. Every day he would have to pass by you somehow. It was like the higher ups wanted to fuck with him. He would see you walking through the park on your way to the next subway station, catching you just as you board a subway car, you pass by him even when he wasn’t working somehow.

One day when you were both at an abandoned warehouse waiting for the days orders, he figured he’d finally say something. “I find you annoying.” He’d grumble out, fingers tapping against the handle of his brief case. “I’m aware.” You responded, it was such a simple answer yet the corner of your lip curled up ever so slightly.

In a second he’s dropping his briefcase and lunging forward. His hand is on your neck, squeezing relentlessly as he shoves you back against the concrete wall. Your hands instinctively reach up to grasp at his wrist, he’s surprised that your grip hurts him. Maybe you weren’t as weak as he first thought.

He expects you to be scared, to be begging for your life-but you’re not. Despite your face begging to turn red and your lips beginning to turn a light hue of blue- you just look at him with that same shit-eating smirk you always wore. “I could kill you right fucking now.” He growls, shoving you harder into the wall for emphasis.

You laugh, the sound only fueling his anger, his fingers tightening. “You won’t.” You answer, your eyebrow raised mockingly, “You kill me. They kill you.” You choke out, your grin still wide as ever even as the breath is beginning to be squeezed out of you. “‘N you’re too much of a good lap dog to go against the wishes of your owner.”

You spit the words out with a weak and breathless laugh. He’s seething, his jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth. But you’re right- he kills you, he’s dead. One of the first things he was told when you were hired was under no circumstances was he to harm his co-worker, or as they labeled it ‘partner’.

However, he would rather shove the barrel of a gun into the back of his mouth before he referred to you as his partner. He is also a model employee so just when you think you’re about to pass out, he releases his grip from your throat.

You gasp for air a couple times before you settle again, simply looking back over to him with your normal wicked grin. Your neck is already beginning to turn red, and in places purple- the outline of his fingers now bruised into your skin.

He would never admit it but the image does things to him that he can’t describe. “A little over kill don’t you think?” You ask in a monotone voice. And the feeling is gone, you ruined it. That fucking smart mouth of yours.

“Far from it.” He growls out, leaning down to grab his briefcase from the dusty floor. And then both your watches are buzzing. You check them in an eerily similar manner, looking down to check the orders received at the exact same time.

And you’re both departing, going to the assigned location that was sent to you. Your steps echo on the gravel of the abandoned warehouse his eyes twitching as he can tell your skipping. You never cease to add to his deep loathing of you.

Yet he can’t stop trying to investigate you. Somehow he managed to intercept your itinerary. It was a tedious task that he’s sure he could never do again unless he wanted to risk getting fired (executed). One of the big rules that was put in place when you were hired was the two of you were to never share schedules or orders you were given.

But he managed to snatch a paper that looked to be your schedule for the day. He kept it tucked into his suit pocket until he was finished with business for the day. His eyes dart to the time block of the time it was. Between the normal locations for recruiting, you had a large ‘meeting’ blocked out.

He quirks his eyebrow up, this wasn’t normal. He looks closer at the paper and scoffs, you must be getting sloppy. You’re not hiding from his as well. He can make out the indentations of writing that was on written on a piece of paper that previously laid atop the paper he stole.

In the shadow of your handwriting- even your handwriting was perfect, fuck he hated you- was a the time it was now and an address. He knew the place, an apartment building that was currently being constructed.

He’s making his way down there quickly, hoping he would be able to catch you doing whatever you were doing. And when he makes it to the address and begins to hear humming he’s ducking into the construction site, beginning to weave between concrete following the sound.

He comes to a large opening, it’s lit by candles and lanterns, there’s a round table with three chairs set up. In one chair was you, the other two were occupied by two men, tied up and gagged. You’re giggling to yourself, waving a revolver around as you speak.

“You two really are something, cryin’ and acting all scared.” You hiss, leaning over the table and pressing the gun to one of the males head, only laughing louder when the male flinches and cries harder. “I haven’t even done anything to you two! If anything I should be the one crying!” You say pointing to yourself with the gun. “You two were the ones who spiked my drink the other week. You guys were much more fun then- talked back more, acted all big and bad, made me think I might have a challenge.” You pout, quickly sitting up from the chair and beginning to circle the table.

Now your black haired co-worker that hates you but can’t stay away from you is watching on from the shadows. He’s captivated by what he sees, you were fucking insane it seemed- much like him. You had a crazed look in your eyes, a drastic difference from the usual stoic smirk you wore.

“You guys ever play Russian roulette?” You chirp out, circling the table and dragging the end of the revolver on the wood. He watches from behind a pillar as you load a bullet into the chamber.

He tells himself he has to leave, not because he can’t watch- no he wants nothing more than to watch, but all he can think about is how delicious you looked in your crazed murderous frenzy. The twisted smile, the oddly innocent voice despite having two grown men bound and gagged, the evil game he could hear going on in the room- it all made him want you.

And he can’t have that. He’s supposed to hate you. He closes his eyes and runs both his hands through his hair, trying to collect himself. He guesses he spaced out because two loud gun shots sound off. His eyes are snapping open. He’s moving to turn around but he’s caught off guard by you walking past him.

“You missed the best part.” You hum out as you continue to walk, briefcase in one hand and the other straightening out your blazer. “Thought you may have joined, what a shame.” You say, turning around and looking at him over your shoulder.

His eyes widen ever so slightly as you turn and begin to walk off- you knew he would follow you, you knew he’d find the indentations of your writing and you allowed him to get a hold of your schedule.

You were always one step ahead of you and he needed to change that. He needed to be the one in charge. Not you.

Heyyyy pookies !! Ty for reading 🫶 I took a break from requests to finish this up because I’m literally vibrating thinking about this man. This is going to be a 4 part series that will eventually have full length smut at the last chapter.

These chapters will come slowly between requests. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you’d want to be added to the tag list for future parts of the fic- all love <3 kiwi

[iamquiantrelle]

GOLDEN BOY (chapter 3)────── iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : trent alexander arnold x black oc

⌗ summary : trent is having a quarter life crisis but will a smart-mouthed girl whip him into shape?

⌗ warnings : 18+ only!! (☁️☔️💕)

⌗taglist: @trentswrld, @trentpov @judesvirtual @sailurmewn @football-and-fanfics @eriks-girl @preetykookie @4ngryssgf @endlessmuse @noturbabe22, @sucredreamer @bbgkoo @hollablkgrl @notzara @chrisoppar

Losing to Spurs was one thing. Getting subbed on at half-time just to watch Son curl one into the top corner? That was another level of violation. The gaffer's words still rang in his ears - "need more energy," "push the line higher," all that chat.

Trent slouched in his seat on the team bus, hood pulled up, trying to ignore the quiet murmur of conversations around him. Virgil was giving some interview over the phone about "maintaining perspective" and "focusing on the next match." Easy to say when you'd played the full ninety, wasn't it?

His phone buzzed - probably his mum again, ready with another "head up love" message. Or Tyler wanting to dissect his minutes like they did after every match these days. Or maybe-

April: Nice cameo. At least your legs looked good in those shorts.

His stomach did that weird flip thing again. They hadn't properly talked since that night at Baltic Market, just the occasional message taking the piss out of each other. But every notification from her had him feeling like a kid checking if his crush had texted back.

Trent: Watching me play now are you?

April: Had to see what I'm working with for the shoot next week. April: Though after that performance… might need to rethink the concept. April: Maybe we focus on your face instead 😘

Cheeky. Even after a loss, she was out here trying to wind him up. And the worst part? It was working.

Trent: Getting brave behind that phone aren't you?

April: Always brave baby. You're the one who bottled it at Baltic.

His cheeks heated at the memory. The way she'd mugged him off, leaving him standing there like a sap after he'd suggested going home together. Those curls bouncing as she walked away, that jumpsuit doing criminal things to his imagination. He'd barely slept that night, replaying every moment in his head like some lovesick teenager.

Trent: Didn't bottle anything. You're the one who ran away.

April: That what you think? April: Interesting theory. April: Still thinking about those curls though?

Fuck. Am I that obvious?

The bus hit a pothole, jolting him out of his April-induced trance. Robbo was giving him a weird look from across the aisle, probably wondering why he was grinning at his phone after a loss like that.

"You alright mate? Looking flushed."

"Just tired," Trent muttered, turning back to his phone. But his mind was racing. Had she been playing him this whole time? Testing him maybe? That night at Baltic, the way she'd challenged him about everything - his accent, his image, his career. Like she was trying to see what he was made of.

April: Maker's Studio. Tuesday. 2pm. April: Don't be late.

His brain immediately went places it shouldn't. Especially not on a team bus after a loss, with Robbo's suspicious eyes still on him.

Trent: Still trying to get me naked?

April: Please. April: When I want you naked, you'll know. April: Besides, thought you were scared of my camera?

Christ. The way she could switch from professional to pure trouble in the space of one message. Had him twisted up inside.

The rest of the journey passed in a blur of April's messages and his increasingly frustrated attempts to keep his mind out of the gutter. By the time they pulled into Melwood, he was wound up, thinking about Tuesday and whatever she had planned.

"Trent!" Robbo's voice cut through his thoughts. "You coming or what? Some of us have families to get home to."

"Yeah yeah, give me a minute."

Around him, the lads were gathering their bags, some already heading for their cars. Virgil had finished his interview and was now deep in conversation with Joe about some tactical thing Trent should probably be paying attention to, but his eyes were glued to his screen as three dots appeared.

April: Sweet dreams pretty boy. Try not to think about me too much. April: Though those marks have probably faded by now… April: Shame. Might need to refresh them soon.

His collar suddenly felt too tight. Those hickeys had finally disappeared, but he swore he could still feel where they'd been, like she'd marked him.

"Trent!" Robbo again, now standing over him. "What's got you so distracted? Better not be that OnlyFans girl Ty was warning us about–"

"Shut up," Trent laughed, finally standing up. But his mind was racing. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough.

Back in his car, he sat for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Fuck it.

Trent: Only if you promise to aim lower this time.

April: Is that a challenge, Alexander-Arnold? April: Because you should know by now… April: I never back down from those.

Too late for that whole 'not thinking about her' thing, wasn't it?

The drive home was a blur of streetlights and his mind wandering to dangerous places. Whatever she had planned, whatever game she was playing… he was all in.

His phone buzzed one last time as he pulled into his driveway.

April: PS - Wear pants that fit you well. April: Since that's all I'm letting you keep on.

Fucking hell.

Even the loss to Spurs didn't sting as much anymore. How could it, when all he could think about was Tuesday and whatever chaos April had in store for him?

He was starting to live for that chaos. Starting to crave it, even. The way she kept him on his toes, never knowing if she was going to build him up or tear him down.

Maybe Tyler had been right. Maybe he did need someone who didn't treat him like TAA, Liverpool's golden boy. Someone who saw past all that and still wanted to take the piss.

Or maybe he was just twisted. Either way, Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.

Nothing like a 4-0 against Accrington Stanley to get your head right. Trent's goal was still playing on repeat in his mind - caught it sweet from outside the box, right into the top bins. Even had the Kop singing his name again.

The rental space April had found was fancy, all modern art on exposed brick walls and windows bigger than his first flat. Tyler had been in his ear all week about their "creative direction" or whatever, but Trent wasn't worried about all that. He was more focused on April's texts that had been driving him insane - little digs about oiling him up for the camera, asking if he'd been doing his crunches.

When he walked in, she was bent over her camera setup, wearing ripped jeans that should've been illegal and some massive Rolling Stones jumper that kept slipping off one shoulder. Her hair was trying to escape its bun, curls going everywhere like they had a mind of their own.

"Look who finally showed up," she said without looking up. "Heard you had yourself a game yesterday."

"Scored an absolute worldie, didn't I?"

"Against Accrington Stanley." Now she did look up, that smirk playing at her lips. "My nan could score against them."

There was a clothes rack in the corner - nothing fancy, just basic stuff. No designer labels or statement pieces. Dead simple, like she was trying to strip away all the flash.

"Strip," she said, still fiddling with her camera.

"What?"

"Just your shirt, you idiot. Unless…" She looked up now, those eyes dancing with mischief. "You still bricking it?"

"Not scared of anything, me." He pulled his shirt off, trying to act casual while her eyes did a slow crawl over his chest that had his skin burning.

"Shame about the locs though," she said suddenly, tilting her head. "Why'd you cut them?"

The question caught him off guard. No one ever asked that - they just assumed he was "cleaning up his image" or whatever other bullshit the papers came up with.

"Just fancied a change," he shrugged, but April's eyes narrowed.

"Nah, there's more to it. The way your jaw just tensed? Dead giveaway."

He sighed, running a hand over his shorter hair. "Just got tired of the comments. 'Bit urban for Liverpool's golden boy' and all that shit."

"Ah." Her face softened slightly. "The classic microaggressions. Get that a lot myself in this industry. 'You're so well-spoken' and all that."

"Yeah well… get enough of that without the locs. Too black for some, not black enough for others. Proper mad how everyone's got an opinion on what you should be when you're mixed."

"'Are you black or like… black black?'" April mimicked, rolling her eyes. "Or my personal favorite - 'you must get your creativity from your white side.'"

Trent snorted. "Mad how they think being mixed means you can't be fully anything. Like my mum being white somehow cancels out everything else."

"Society's fucked, isn't it?" April picked up her camera. "But at least you've got good bone structure. Now turn left a bit - need to catch that jawline properly."

Just like that, she was back to business. But something had shifted slightly. Like they'd recognized something in each other, some shared experience that went beyond the flirting and banter.

"These aren't going to be too artistic, are they?" he asked as she adjusted his pose. "Don't fancy seeing my face in some gallery."

"Nah, just clean shots. Show the real you, not what everyone expects Liverpool's golden boy to be."

The way she said it - mocking but understanding at the same time. Like she got it. Got him.

Maybe that's why it was so easy to relax around her, even half-naked in front of her camera. She saw past all the labels, all the expectations. Saw him as just… Trent.

"Hold that pose," April said, then paused. "Isn't your dad's Jamaican?"

"Yeah, family's in Kingston. Why?"

Her grin widened. "Wag wan then, bredrin?"

"Yuh dun know," Trent laughed, genuinely surprised. "Your people yard too?"

"Mum's family's from Portmore. Small world, huh?" She snapped a few more shots. "No wonder you can handle the spice. Though that accent's proper scouse."

The shoot wrapped quicker than he expected, April's efficiency matching her chat. She gestured him over to her laptop, flicking through the raw shots.

"Need some editing obviously, but…"

"Nah these are sick." And they were - nothing pretentious or artsy, just him looking… real. Natural.

"Could be better if you'd gotten naked though."

Trent's head snapped up, but she was already packing away her gear, that mischievous smirk playing at her lips.

"Still on about that?"

"Always." She turned, properly looking at him now. "You trying to get in my pants too, Alexander-Arnold?"

"Maybe."

"Bold. I'm a wild girl though." Her voice dropped lower, all that playful energy suddenly gone. This wasn't April the photographer anymore, or even April taking the piss. This was something else entirely - a warning and an invitation all at once.

"I'm a wild boy."

She actually laughed at that, but it wasn't her usual take-the-piss laugh. This was darker, like she knew something he didn't. "Please. You couldn't handle me."

"Try me."

The words came out more confident than he felt, but fuck it. Something about the way she was looking at him - like a cat that had cornered its prey but was deciding whether to play with it first.

"Okay," she shrugged, but those eyes were pure danger now. "I warned you though. Free this weekend?"

His heart actually skipped. Proper teenage behavior. "Yeah."

"I'll text you then." She shouldered her bag, that predatory smile still playing at her lips. Every movement calculated, like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head. "Try not to think about me too much until then."

Too late for that, wasn't it?

He watched her walk away, remembering how she'd left him hanging at Baltic Market. But this time felt different. This time she wasn't testing him - she was hunting him.

And fuck him if he didn't want to be caught.

The address April sent him was in some dodgy part of London he'd never been to before. Like proper sketch - the kind of place his Range Rover looked well out of place. No restaurants nearby, no posh shops, just warehouses and old buildings with blacked-out windows.

23B Blackwall Lane.

No sign. No queue. Just a massive guy in black standing outside a door that looked like it hadn't been opened since the 80s.

"ID," the guard grunted. Then, after checking it: "Arms up."

"You taking the piss?"

But no, man actually started patting him down like he was going through customs. Christ. What had April gotten him into?

"Miss Goodplenty's guest?" A woman appeared, all long hair and red lipstick. Looked out of place against the grimy walls.

"Yeah."

She handed him a tablet. "Sign these."

"What am I signing?"

"Non-disclosure agreement. And a waiver stating the club isn't responsible for any... injuries."

Any what now?

His eyes scanned the document. Words like "consensual" and "physical activity" and "binding agreement" jumped out at him.

Fucking hell.

But he'd already come this far, hadn't he? And something about the way April had added cheeky emojis when she sent the address... like she knew exactly what she was doing to his head.

He signed.

The door opened to darkness and bass so heavy he could feel it in his chest. As his eyes adjusted, he realized where he was.

Oh.

OH.

Real sus that April hadn't mentioned this was a sex club.

Bodies everywhere - some clothed, some... definitely not. Red lights casting shadows that left just enough to the imagination. Private rooms with heavy curtains. A dance floor that looked more like an orgy waiting to happen.

His phone buzzed.

April: Third floor. Room 7.

April: Don't keep me waiting.

April: And don't look so scared, pretty boy. Nobody bites.

April: Unless you ask nicely 😘

Christ.

Trent's designer shirt and jeans felt about as subtle as a police siren in this place. Everyone else was either half-naked or dressed in leather. Some woman walked past in what looked like actual diamonds and not much else. Just walking around tits and pussy out like this was just another Saturday.

A waitress appeared at his elbow - a pin-up model type in lingerie and a garter belt that left nothing to the imagination. "Drink?"

"Uh..." Real smooth, that.

"First time?" She smiled knowingly, adjusting stockings. "Don't worry love, everyone's nervous their first night."

Another waitress drifted past balancing a tray of champagne, wearing what had to be vintage Agent Provocateur and heels that could probably kill a man. The whole place was like some mad fever dream - all red velvet and gold accents and women who looked like they'd stepped out of a 1950s Playboy.

His phone buzzed again.

April: You look proper lost down there 😂

April: Still waiting...

April: Unless you're too scared?

Cheeky girl was watching him. He looked up, trying to spot her, but the upper floors were all shadows and private booths.

A couple stumbled past him, giggling, clothes disheveled. What was April playing at, bringing him here?

His phone lit up one more time.

April: Tick tock, Alexander-Arnold.

April: Or should I find someone else to play with?

That got his feet moving. Third floor. Room 7.

What kind of posh sex club didn't have lifts? The staircase was all Victorian gothic, wrought iron railings and dim lighting that cast weird shadows on the walls. Some couple was going at it against the wall between the first and second floor, and Trent had to squeeze past them like it was normal. Could hear all sorts through the doors he passed - moans and music and what sounded like... was that a whip?

His legs were burning by the second floor. Each step revealed more sounds he'd rather not think about. Weird how normal everyone seemed about it all - like they were at some dinner party instead of... whatever this was.

Room 7 had a fancy door, all dark wood and gold numbers. His knuckles had barely touched it when it swung open.

"Wow- I- April..." His brain short-circuited completely.

The leather outfit she wore gave him a clear view of the tops of her breasts and had various cutouts throughout that showed glimpses of her skin. Her curls were wilder than usual, framing her face like some kind of dark halo.

"It's Madam here," she said curtly, stepping aside to let him in.

Madam?

The room was nothing like he'd expected. Luxe with some BDSM type stuff hanging on the wall, a chaise in a corner, and massive windows overlooking the club below. A small dining table was set up in one corner, complete with fancy china and champagne on ice.

"Sit," she gestured to the chair near the window. "How are you feeling?"

"Bit shocked if I'm honest." He could see the dance floor below, bodies moving in the dim light.

That laugh again - the same one from their first meeting, breaking through her stern façade. "Told you I was a wild girl, didn't I?" She moved closer, her voice dropping low enough to make his skin tingle. "Still think you're a wild boy?"

For once in his life, Trent Alexander-Arnold was speechless.

"You're just green," she smiled, something softer in her eyes now. "When we get started on some things, you'll be fine." His eyes must've gone wide because she laughed again. "Not tonight obviously." She settled into the chair opposite him. "Tonight we talk, have dinner. Very vanilla. I'll tell you all the dirty things I like, you tell me yours. And then if you want to keep it going, we can."

"And if I don't?" His voice came out steadier than he felt.

"Then you leave," she shrugged. "We never have to bring it up again. Just continue on with our work relationship."

Simple as that. Except nothing about April had ever been simple, had it?

"So how'd you get into all this?" Trent asked, watching as April poured them both some champagne.

"Photography or the other stuff?" Her eyes glinted mischievously.

"You know which one."

"Same way anyone finds their thing, I suppose." She settled in her chair. "Tried it, loved it, kept going. Speaking of..." She tilted her head, studying him. "Those marks I left on you. How'd that make you feel?"

The champagne suddenly felt thick in his throat. "I... liked them."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Proper liked them actually."

"Mmm." She took a slow sip of champagne. "Tell me how you usually are then. In bed."

"I take charge mostly," he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Do the leading and that."

"So you do the bending?" She smirked over her glass.

"Yeah."

"But does that satisfy you? Like for real?" Her foot found his leg under the table, sliding up slowly. "Does it feel amazing you taking all of the control or..." she paused, watching his reaction, "do you need someone to be in charge sometimes?"

He laughed nervously, hand tightening around his glass. "Never thought about it before. I mean I do like little choke while I stroke but nothing like..." he gestured around the room.

"Okay so this can be your last visit here."

"You'll do that?" The words came out before he could stop them.

"Yeah," she said softly, something genuine breaking through her dominant persona. "It's about your pleasure too, Trent."

Mother of Christ.

"I should probably tell you what I'm into," April continued, leaning forward slightly. "I'm a dom - that means I like control. All of it."

"Like what you did with the..." Trent gestured to his neck.

"Marking you up? That's just the start. I like restraints, commands, proper domination." She studied his face. "You said you like choking?"

"Yeah," he admitted, feeling his face heat. "Gets me proper going."

"What else?"

"I dunno... never really explored much. Been curious though."

"About?"

"Just... different things. Being told what to do maybe." He couldn't believe he was saying this out loud.

"Good," she smiled. "Because I'm not a switch."

"A what?"

"Someone who goes back and forth between dom and sub. When we're in the bedroom, I'm in charge. Simple as that."

His mouth felt dry. "And if I wanted to try..."

"We start slow. Build trust. But first," she leaned back, "you need to get checked."

"What?"

"Full panel. I don't do condoms."

His eyes went wide. "Raw? That's..." Risky. Mental. Completely hot. "Actually one of my fantasies."

"Of course it is," she laughed. "You're such a boy. But yes - once we're both cleared, no barriers between us."

His brain was already going places it shouldn't.

"You're thinking about it now, aren't you?" That predatory smile was back.

"Maybe."

"Good. Keep thinking about it. But remember..." she stood up, moving behind his chair. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

A knock at the door made Trent jump slightly. April just smirked, crossing the room with that confident stride that had his eyes following her every move.

The same pin-up waitress from downstairs wheeled in a proper feast - some posh looking steak for him, seafood linguine for April.

"You ordered for me?"

"I do that sometimes." She settled back in her chair. "Part of the whole control thing. Problem?"

He cut into the steak - perfectly medium rare, exactly how he liked it. "Nah, this is actually mad good."

"Course it is. Already figured out what you like, haven't I?"

Something about the way she said it made his stomach flip. She had been watching him, hadn't she? Learning his habits, his preferences. Even that first night at the party, she'd known exactly how to push his buttons.

"So what else you got figured out about me then?"

"Plenty." She twirled pasta around her fork. "Like how you pretend to be this proper confident footballer, but really..." her foot found his leg again, "you're curious about giving up that control."

His breath caught. Mad how she could read him like that.

"Tell me more about what you're into," he said, trying to regain some composure. "Like, what should I expect?"

"Already thinking ahead?" That devilish smile was back. "Well, I told you - I'm a dom. I like control, discipline, watching someone submit to me completely."

The way she said it - like she was discussing the weather - had his head spinning.

"But it's not just about the physical stuff," she continued. "It's about trust. Power exchange. Like how you trusted me to order your food. Small things building up to bigger ones."

"What kind of bigger ones?"

"Patience," she smirked. "We'll get there. But first..." She leaned forward, those eyes locked on his. "Tell me more about these fantasies of yours. The raw thing got you excited."

"Just... yeah." He felt his face heat up. "Something about it being bare. More intimate like."

"Mmm. And the choking? You said you've done that before?"

"Bit of it, yeah. Nothing major though."

"And how'd that make you feel?"

"Good, I guess?" He paused, thinking. "But sometimes... sometimes I wonder what it'd be like–"

"Having someone control you?" Her voice dropped lower. "Tell you what to do? When you can move, when you can speak... when you can cum?"

Fucking hell.

"We'd start slow," she added, watching his reaction. "Build up to things. I'm not about to throw you in the deep end."

"What would we start with then?"

"Simple commands. Teaching you how to follow orders. Maybe some light bondage if you're good." She said it so casual, like she was planning a training session instead of... whatever this was.

"And if I'm not good?"

That predatory smile was back. "Then you get punished."

My Lord in heaven.

"You're thinking about it again," she observed, sliding her foot higher up his leg. "I can see it in your eyes. The way you're gripping that fork."

He hadn't even realized how tense he was.

"Finish your food," she commanded softly. "We've got more to discuss."

And fuck him if his body didn't respond immediately to that tone. Like it already knew who was in charge.

"Yes..." he hesitated.

"Madam," she supplied, eyes glinting. "Better get used to saying that."

"Yes, Madam."

Something in her expression shifted - pleased, almost proud. Made his chest do weird things.

"Good boy."

Those two words shouldn't have affected him like that. But here he was, squirming in his chair from just her voice and praise. Did he also have a thing for that too?

"I think," she said, watching him eat, "we're going to have a lot of fun together. Once you're checked and cleared, of course."

"How long's that usually take?"

"Eager, are we?" She laughed. "Few days for the results. Then..." her foot reached his thigh and his dick hardened, "we can properly begin."

The rest of dinner passed in a haze of loaded looks and subtle touches. April kept dropping little hints about what she had planned, each one making his head spin more than the last.

By the time they finished eating, Trent felt like he was burning up from the inside. Everything felt heightened - the brush of her hand as she reached for the champagne, the way her lips curved around each word, how her eyes never left him even when the waitress came to clear their plates.

"Time for you to go," she said finally, standing up. "Got an early meeting tomorrow."

"That's it?"

"For now." She moved closer, close enough that he could smell that spiced vanilla again. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No," he said quickly. Maybe too quickly, based on her knowing smile.

"Good. I'll text you the details for getting checked. And Trent?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear: "Don't touch yourself tonight. That's your first command."

His whole body went hot. "And if I do?"

"Then I'll know." She pulled back, those eyes dancing with mischief. "And the punishment will be... memorable."

Fucking hell.

What had he gotten himself into?

But as he made his way back down those stairs, past all the sounds and sights that had shocked him earlier, Trent couldn't stop grinning.

Whatever this was - whatever April had planned for him - he was all in.

Even if it ruined him in the end.

…………..tbd

[brookediamonds]

I love you, I'm sorry | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: After years of tense, banter-filled rivalry between you and Axel, things begin to spiral when you start dating someone new leading to jealousy and bitterness and even some overprotectiveness

Word Count: 3k Warnings: None, allusions to sex, no smut though

gif is not mine

You skipped into the back of your home dojo, completely blinded by the new relationship that has begun in your life.

It was the happiness that made your head spin in a million directions, a buzzing feeling running through your body from excitement.

"Sam!" You shrieked as you spotted your curly haired friend standing along with Tory.

"Someone's happy," Tory takes notice to your wide grin and preppy attitude.

"He did it!" You yelped running up to your two best friends. "Ian asked me to be his girlfriend!"

"Oh!" Sam’s smile froze, just for a second. Her lips parted in surprise before she quickly adjusted, forcing a brighter grin. "That's great!"

"Wait, Ian Matthews?" Tory interjects. "The guy from the baseball team?"

"Yeah!" You confirm for her rocking back and forth on your feet. "We had been talking for a month now, and yesterday we watched a movie at his house last night and he asked me then!"

Sam and Tory glanced side ways at each other, both of your friends sharing the same thoughts and worries.

"Nothing happened," you disrupted their thoughts a small laugh escaping you. The girls relaxed at your statement. "He kind of tried but I told him that's not something I'd do for a while."

"Good, I'm glad he respects you," Sam gives you a half smile trying not to linger on the fact that he in fact still tried to do something with you.

"If he doesn't I'll kick his ass," Tory responds bluntly making you laugh.

"Don't worry about me, I can handle my own," you assure your overprotective friends. Squeezing Sam's elbow, you turn to walk away towards Sensei Lawerence, leaving the two girls to grumble.

"Why him?" Sam mutters under her breath as she crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance.

"He's the biggest dick," the blonde agreed. "Can't believe he pulled her."

"I'm keeping an eye on this dude, I don't trust him," Sam says watching you talk with the older sensei about a move she was having trouble with.

"Trust who?" Miguel comes up to his girlfriend's side catching the end of her comment.

"Ian Matthews," Tory answers, her voice dripping with bitterness. "He's got our girl."

"Nooo," Miguel drags out the 'o' dramatically looking over at you with remorseful eyes. "He ended up asking (Y/n) out?"

Sam nods responding with a low "mhm."

"He's such a-"

"Dick," they all say in unison.

As the three talked about how they could plot steering you away from the danger, Axel stood behind them listening to every word of the conversation having heard everything from the minute you arrived.

A scowl was creeping across his face, his jaw clenched as he thought about you and Ian together. It made him fume. His sharp eyes tracked you as you laughed and grinned, a strange, uncomfortable feeling twisting in his chest.

As class begun, you fall into line, Axel moving to stand behind you.

"So," you hear Axel whisper from behind you. "Ian Matthews, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let him put a damper in your current mood.

"What about him?" You ask not sparing him a glance.

"Nothing," he says rather quickly. "Just surprised you'd fall for a guy like him. Thought you had higher standards than the baseball jock stereotype." 

You could practically see the smirk in his voice.

Exhaling sharply, you glance over your shoulder to give Axel a pointed look. "Not that it's any of your business, but Ian is actually a really nice guy."

"Right, nice," he snorts. "That's definitely the word I'd use for someone like him."

You clenched your fists, refusing to rise to his bait. "Why do you even care?" you shot back under your breath, your tone sharp.

"Trust me, I don't," Axel scoffed. You shook your head putting your focus back on Sensei LaRusso.

Sure he didn't care for you (at least he pretends not to), but that guy? Seriously? You could do better.

And while he wouldn't admit it, Axel too would watch out for you.

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

It's been a few weeks and things had gone smoothly so far with Ian, he was always paying you compliments and gifting you flowers, it made you feel special.

But what you hadn't noticed was the way his eyes would trail to the girl behind you or how his crude remarks went over your head. All things your friends caught on to.

You were blinded by the honeymoon phase. However things begin to take a turn when Axel catches wind of something he didn't want to hear.

Axel was in the boys locker room changing into his normal clothes when he hears your name.

"She's only been letting me feel her up when we make out, but I think she's gonna let me hit it by the end of the week," Axel recognizes that douche voice from anywhere.

Peeking around the corner of the row of lockers, Axel confirms his suspicions when he sees your boyfriend Ian sitting on a bench talking a with a few guys from his team.

"Dude you got till the end of the month to complete that bet," one of his teammates says. "Don't rush that $100."

What bet?

"I know I just feel like every time I think she's gonna let me, she backs out," Ian complains.

'They better not be talking about Y/n' Axel thinks already beginning to feel his blood boil.

"Y/n is a tough one to crack when it comes to shit like that, that's what makes her a fun challenge," another guy pipes in.

Axel could feel his hands start shake from the fury he was feeling, to talk about a woman like that is disgusting, but to talk about you like that?

It was enraging.

Does he confront them and beat the shit out them like he wants to? Does pull Ian specially aside and knock his lights out? Does he do both?

As the boys left the locker room, Axel can only think about one thing: You.

He ponders how to approach you with what he heard, having not the best history with you.

As Axel made his way out of the locker room, he sees Ian at your locker holding you close to him.

He felt a pang in his heart as he watched you smile so tenderly, pressing a quick peck to Ian's lips.

"He's wrong for her."

Axel startled slightly, turning to see Sam standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and a knowing look in her eyes.

"What?" Axel asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended.

Sam raised an eyebrow, tilting her head toward you and Ian. "You’re staring," she said simply.

Axel scoffed, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. "I’m not staring. I’m just… keeping an eye on things."

"Right," Sam said, a small smile tugging at her lips. :You know, for someone who acts like Y/n is the most annoying person on the planet, you sure spend a lot of time watching out for her."

Axel glared at the short girl next to him. "I’m not— I just don't trust this guy."

He paused, his jaw tightening as he debated whether to tell her what he had overheard in the locker room. Something like this isn't something that needs to be spread or heard from another source.

Sam nodded in agreement. "We don't either... That should be you."

"Come again?" Axel whips his head around.

"Oh come on, before this little rivalry started, you two had a thing going," Sam reminds him with a slight eyeball.

Axel frowned, crossing his arms. "We did not have 'thing' going."

Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? Because I remember you two were pretty much inseparable when she first joined the dojo."

"Before your father put us together for that competition," Axel huffs remembering the event that ended up sparking your rivalry. He adored your bright smile and outgoing personality.

Your opposite personalities made things fun between you two, until Sensei LaRusso decided to partner you up for a karate partner competition.

Your approaches had clashed, egos had flared, and the loss had cemented the wedge between you. Now, instead of sharing inside jokes and camaraderie, all you shared were sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls.

"I know," Sam winces the flashback of you two arguing on the mat coming back to mind. "I'm sorry. But that doesn’t mean it has to stay this way, Axel. You still care about her, I can see it, even if you won’t admit it. And I know she cares about you, too, even if she’s too stubborn to show it."

Sam gave him a pointed look before walking away, leaving Axel alone with his thoughts. He feels a pang in his chest as he watched Ian slide his arm over you shoulder, you had no idea what this guy was intending to do.

Axel exhaled sharply, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He had to approach this carefully. If he came at you too aggressively, you’d probably just brush him off or accuse him of being jealous.

He couldn’t risk that—not with something this important.

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

You're texting back one of your siblings about dinner plans when you hear your name being called. Glancing back, you see Axel jogging up to you.

Unphased, you spare him a quick glance continuing to type back. "What? Come to critique my footwork again?" You tease him.

Axel didn't give you his playful smirk like he usually does when you two banter.

"I need to tell you something," he says, his tone unusually serious.

"What's up?" You frown giving him your undivided attention.

Axel hesitated, running a hand through his hair as if trying to figure out how to say it.

"It’s about Ian," he says lowly.

"What about him?" You stood up straight, eyebrows furrowed.

The tall boy sighed, his gaze flicking to the floor for a moment before meeting yours. "I overheard him and his friends talking about you."

You felt the heat rise to you cheeks, a million things swirling through your mind.

"Saying what?" Your throat feels tight when you speak.

Axel shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence faltering. "He made a bet. With his friends. That he could… you know… get you into bed by the end of the month."

The words hung in the air, heavy and cutting. You could feel your heart fall to the pit of your stomach, embarrassment coming over you.

Of course the one guy that shows interest in you is from a bet, and you had to hear from someone that despises you. Great.

The worst part of this was, Axel wasn't your enemy, he was someone you actually really liked. So when you two fell off, you thought Ian would be a good distraction.

You blinked, stepping back as if he’d physically hit you. "That’s not funny, Axel."

"Y/n, I wouldn't lie to you about something like this," he said urgently. "I know we've had our differences, but I would never tell you this if I didn't know it was 100% true."

You shook your head, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and disbelief. 

"You can't expect me to just believe you, you've never liked him, hell you don't even like me most days! How do I know this isn't some diversion to mess with me?" Your words dripped with anger.

Axel took a step closer to you, his expression earnest and almost pleading.

"I feel anything but dislike you for you, trust me," he said firmly, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "This isn't a joke to me, the dude is lucky I didn't knock his lights out."

Your breath caught at his words, but the anger and humiliation still bubbled in your chest, clouding your thoughts. "Why do you even care?"

"You deserve better than that," Axel says softly. "Better than him. I care about you more than you think I do."

"Axel..." you started, but your voice faltered. You didn’t know what to say, how to process the sudden shift in his tone, in his words.

You're unsure if he's saying what you think he's saying, but too much has been said and you needed a minute to think.

"Think about it, I know I'm not the best source but it would've killed me to keep that to myself, you deserve respect," he assures you.

Respect.

He turned and walked away before you could respond, leaving you standing there, heart racing and thoughts swirling in chaos.

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

You spend the rest of the evening going over the last few week in your end, cringing at the moments you should've picked up on Ian being insincere with you and your friends.

The Saturday nights you had spend with Ian at his house, he had attempted to go further than just making out on his couch. You didn't realize how frustrated he was when you pushed him away or got up to use the bathroom.

You had chosen to ignore all the warning signs, the looks of annoyance, the backhanded compliments, it all made sense to you now.

Axel was right.

The next morning you take your time getting ready, making sure you looked your best and headed to school.

When you walk into the school, you immediately spot Ian upstairs by his locker surrounded by his group of good from the baseball team.

"Y/n!" Tory and Sam greet you, the brunette beaming a smile.

"Good morning," you chirp, your gaze going back to the boys upstairs. The girls notice your eyes trailing upstairs making them frown.

"Oh, we'll let you go be with Ian," Sam feigns a small smile attempting to sounds sincere was possiblele.

"Actually wait for me," you spoke making them perk up. " This will only take a second."

Tory and Sam look over at each other sharing the same confused look before you turn to walk up the stairs.

As you approached the dark haired boy, Ian's friends nod their head at you, making your boyfriend turn to face you.

"Hey, Ian," you greet him, giving him your flashing smile.

"Hey babe," he grins walking up to you pecking your lips lightly. He slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close to him.

"Hi, guys!" You peek over his shoulder giving them your million-dollar smile.

"Sup," they all say back returning your upbeat energy.

"So, how was practice yesterday?" You ask innocently.

"It was great," Ian responds nonchalantly, the guys behind him nodding in agreement.

"Make any good bets lately?"

The boys stood frozen in their spots when the question leaves your mouth, a red tint coming across Ian's face. He glances at his team, all of them shaking their heads.

He looks down at you.

"W-What?" He stutters, his lips tugging up into a smile.

Ian stiffened. It was subtle, but you caught it—the way his grip on your shoulder tightened for just a second before he quickly masked it with a laugh. "What are you talking about?"

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head as you gently shrugged his arm off you. "You know exactly what I’m talking about."

Ian glanced around, clearly realizing that some of his teammates were watching. "Look, Y/n, whatever you heard, it’s not—"

It was true.

"You didn't make a bet that you could get me in bed by the end of the month?" You raised your eyebrows. Ian's mouth falls open at a lost for words, his eyes going back and forth between you and his friends.

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

"You're an asshole, incase you haven't heard it already from the rest of the school," you scoffed. "We're done."

When you go to walk away, you see Axel standing just a few feet away from you, his expression soft.

You met his gaze for a moment, your heart pounding from the adrenaline of what just happened. Ian was already stammering behind you, trying to save face in front of his friends, but you didn’t care.

You held Axel’s stare, your breath still a little shaky. Meeting each other in the middle, he sighs giving you an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," he says lowly.

"Not your fault he's a jackass," you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

There's a silence between you as the hallway buzzes from the people around you. You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling the weight of everything settle in.

The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

Axel seemed to notice because, for once, he didn’t push, didn’t tease. He just stood there, watching you carefully.

"I should—" you motion behind you with your thumb.

"Yeah, right," Axel nods seeing Sam and Tory staring up at you from the first level sharing words with each other.

For a second, you wanted to say more but didn't know where to start. Your relationship with Axel was complicated, while you two bickered and fought over everything, you still felt a drawn connection to him.

And unbeknownst to you, he still held a soft for you. But with last year's disastrous competition that was supposed to bring you two closer, did the exact opposite.

You gave Axel one last glance before turning on your heel and heading toward your friends.

"You okay?" Sam asks worryingly reaching out for your hand.

"I'm good," you reassure her with a soft smile, laying your other hand on top of hers.

"What did he do? Do I need to handle him?" Tory threatens already glaring up in Ian's direction whom was still throwing a hissy fit.

"No need," you smirk at her. "I already did."

Sam and Tory nodding holding an impressed expression.

"As for what he did..." you trailed off a slight frown raising to your face. "I'll have to explain at lunch."

The girls nodded in understanding, Tory walking over to stand by your side as she hooked her arm around your shoulder to give you a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, whatever it was, he’s an idiot. And trust me, you can do way better."

Sam nodded, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. "Agreed. And just so you know, we’ve got your back, always."

You felt warmth spread through you at their support. No matter what happened, you weren’t alone.

"I know," you respond softly, someone else popping up in the back of your mind.

Axel watched from the upper level as your friends engulfed you with love and support, his heart aching in his chest for you.

He didn't know where you two stood after this encounter, but there's a lingering feeling that you two could start over and maybe—just maybe, you can give him a chance to show you how you deserve to be treated.

Kindly, and respectfully.

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

Part 2 (coming soon) 😉

(a/n: I love me some frenemy chaos, I think I might make this 3 parts but not sure. Like, reblog, comment, I love everyone whose been loving comments, thank you all for the love!!)

[raghhhhhyperfixations]

Cuteness overload

Peter had braces.

Or, he used too when he was in his early teens (12-15s), the pictures are cute and awkward, curly haired peter parker smiling with a face full of braces, freckles here and there and a few acne.

Tony gets his hands on these pictures.

He frames them like a dad, he has one in the lab, one in the office and one in an extra room.

(Peter walks in to the lab and spots the photo, he goes red.)

Pepper has a photo too and in good motherly style, she’s done and gone framed it in her office so it’s the first thing people sees when they walk in.

(Peter goes : “Not you too!” when he walks in and sees it.)

When people ask.

The two say in unison.

“Oh that’s our son, he was so cute.”

Tony then proceeds to bombard said person with pictures of Peter all grown up now, he’s still in his teens, albeit entering the stage of adulthood.

Some photos are taken of Peter when he’s fallen asleep in the lab, others are him with the brightest grin ever.

Sure Peter is all grown up, his hair isn’t as Curly anymore and he’s not got as many freckles maybe he even has a few scars, he’s lanky and growing into his height, but Tony waves them off with the.

“He’s still my baby.”

As if he had birthed and raised Peter himself.

—

(Swooping in)

When the Avengers finally meet Peter, they assume he’s Tony’s biological son, with the stash of photos around and the way Tony can ramble for hours about Peter if you’ll let him.

Pepper is no better, she’s a mother bear.

So it’s the only logical conclusion right?

Then clint has to run his mouth and ask: “Hey, where are the baby photos?”

Tony tweaks. (Because he doesn’t have them.) He’s rushing to call may.

Avengers: huh, strange. anyway-

Natasha somehow gets her hands on peter’s baby photos because who else besides Natasha would figure out Peter isn’t actually Tony’s and is Spiderman? She would, she just wouldn’t tell the others.

Before Tony can get his hands on them.

May wasn’t that hard to convince either (A glass of wine, a few compliments and she was cooing about Peter before he grew up.)

Peter was a really chubby baby, turns out, (he thins out as he gets older) wearing captain america pajamas and somehow gotten into the flour.

The team watch in chaos as when Tony finds out Natasha has these

It becomes utter war.

They don’t know why the sudden two are leaping over couches chasing one another, or suddenly asking to ‘hand it over.’ But they can only presume it’s something super important and confidential.

It’s not.

(Watch Pepper jump in as well, telling Natasha she has every right to see these photos, Natasha relents to Pepper but not to Tony who’s still out the loop and growing more frustrated.)

Peter meanwhile is on the sideline’s mortified yelling at everybody.

May in the meantime has actually gotten use to Natasha’s company and started to like the assassin.

Tony: “This is my son, i’m very proud of my son.”

The avengers watching as Peter lifts a bridge about 5,000 lbs or 18,000.

-

Pepper: “This is my baby, i won’t let anyone ever hurt him.”

Avengers: Uhm???

As Peter climbs the scaffolding to a new skyscraper with his bare hands.

-

Natasha: “but if anything happened to him, i’d kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

Avengers: ???

Peter who, most definitely did not just stop Bucky’s metal, Vibranium arm with his own hand AND THEN PROCEED TO TWIST IT??

-

May: “Oh and this is peter when he was-“

Avengers finally understanding the ‘Peter charm’ after seeing the photos and having a moment with Peter. : “Ah”

Needless to say, Peter is still mortified, Tony is still fighting custody for those baby photos and Natasha is cackling at the chaos.

(May and pepper: “Girls night when?”)

So what happens to Tony’s lab in the end? When he finally gets his hands on May’s ‘Baby pete’ album, he copies, prints and frames each photo in that book in every room he has.

Peter avoids the tower for two weeks to come and MJ is just laughing at his misery.

-

(it’s sad that when Tony believes Peter is dead, he removes and boxes most of these photos except a particular one in his office.)

He doesn’t get to see Happy’s face upon seeing the photo and struggling to remember the curly haired boy who Tony loved so much.

Only placing Tony’s helmet over the photo because it gives him a headache and he can’t look at the kids face any longer.

Tony doesn’t get to see the boxes of photos decay and rot where he hid them, Peters face truly forgotten to the world.

Happy: “Hey when was this?”

Gesturing to the photo, Tony’s arm wrapped around Peter, who was smiling so brightly.

Pepper: “I’m, not sure..?”

Needless to say Happy keeps it only because it’s got Tony in it and Tony seems to be genuinely happy in the photo but he takes to covering one side of the photo at all times.

Not staring at it longer than he has too.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Worth More Than Their Words

Marshall had seen the headlines before you did.

He always tried to shield you from them—turn off notifications, avoid social media when things got bad. But somehow, they always found their way to you.

"Not Good Enough for Slim Shady?"

"What Does She Even Bring to the Table?"

"Eminem's Latest Fling: A Nobody Among Stars?"

You weren’t famous, and the press never let you forget it.

At first, you brushed it off. “They don’t know me,” you had said with a shrug, but Marshall had seen the way your grip tightened on your phone, the way you blinked a little too fast like you were trying not to let it sink in.

“People are assholes,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t let ‘em get in your head.”

You had smiled at him then, leaning into his touch, and for a while, it seemed like you really could ignore it.

But the thing about words is that they wear you down.

It started small. You got quieter. Your usual snarky remarks, the ones he loved, started to fade. You stopped taking pictures with him when you were out, just in case they ended up on some blog dissecting everything from your outfit to the way you stood next to him.

Then, one night, you didn’t come over.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. You had your own life, your own space. But then it happened again. And again.

Finally, after a week of waking up to a cold bed, he called you.

“You avoidin’ me?” His voice was light, like he was joking, but the edge was there.

You hesitated. “No, I just… I figured you’d want some space.”

His stomach twisted. “Space from what?”

“From all this,” you said, voice quiet. “From me. From the drama.”

His jaw clenched. “You think I give a fuck about that?”

“Marshall—”

“No. Don’t do that.” He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Don’t act like this is just some casual thing to me. Like I’d let some bullshit articles decide how I feel about you.”

You were silent.

He swallowed hard. “Are you leaving me?”

“No,” you whispered, and he could hear the emotion in your voice. “But I don’t know how to be in your world, Marshall. I don’t know how to… handle all of this.”

His chest ached. He had been so focused on keeping the outside noise away that he hadn’t realized it had already seeped into you, poisoning the way you saw yourself in his life.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t give a shit what they say. You matter. And if you don’t see that, then I haven’t been doing my job right.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“Come home,” he said softly. “Please.”

There was another pause, then finally—“Okay.”

When you walked through his door later that night, he pulled you in, holding you tighter than he ever had before.

And this time, he made damn sure you knew just how much you belonged there.