#every entrance he makes and every time a scene cuts to him he's just in slow mo fanning

[pacofprunes]

don’t be so boring.

billy loomis x reader

warnings — noncon, choking, mentions of murder, blood, cuts, scratches

by clicking read more, you consent to reading 18+ content

at first you had struggled, really. but after his hips kept slamming against yours and never slowed despite your hits against him, you just gave up and let your hands drop to your sides. after that, his grip on your hips tightened, his slams against you got more painful, the knife he had laid right next to your ass seemed to be a little more threatening. but you just laid still, hoping that if you just took it all then he’d let you live and leave you alone. but after awhile, he finally spoke to you.

“come on…hit me or something. i promise i won’t kill ya’ for it.”

you stay still. the more he wanted you to do it, the less that you wanted to. it just felt like a trap. if you hit him or pissed him off, you knew he’d do something worse. not an eye for an eye, nah, he’d probably go by “an eye for two legs and an arm”. the only thing you did was squirm slightly and move your legs, but you were too scared to touch him. it pissed him off and at this rate? he was gonna kill you, but then he got an idea.

your eyes meet his as he relentlessly rams into you, merciless, and he sends a smirk your way before throwing his hands around your neck. his grip was tight as hell, and your vision was growing spotty. you couldn’t even let the smallest breath in. you finally reach your hands up and start scratching at his arms, trying to get his grip to loosen. blood was drawing, a lot of blood actually, and it was slowing dripping onto your cheeks. his eyes get more crazed and he throws his head back, mumbling a few yes’s. he squeezes tighter, pulsing his hands every few seconds to tease you and after some time, you couldn’t even see what was happening to you, in fact, you could barely even feel it, your body going numb. for a split second you think you go out of consciousness, but then he lets go and the first thing you see when your vision clears is his face right up close to yours. he grabs your face tightly with both of his hands and you shoot one hand up onto his wrist.

“thanks for helpin’ me out. you finally gonna give me what i want?”

he looks down at your hand on his wrist before looking back up to you, that stupid smile still on his face and you slowly let your grip loosen and let your hand start to drop but then he grabs your wrist, his hand covering the whole thing and he grabs the knife that was right next to your bare ass and presses it on your arm, right below his hand. if you moved, you’d be dead. the knife with slide right across your skin, the blood wouldn’t stop. you’d die right there. naked, fucked dumb, and bloody. tears slip out of your eyes and you look up at him and go to open your mouth but nothing comes out except a very hoarse and broken up “please don’t..”.

“put on a show for me and i won’t kill you.”

you still.

“hit me, scratch me, i don’t care. make a scene.”

he leans into your ear now.

“but don’t think i’m not gonna do it right back.”

he pulls away and presses the knife just a little deeper into your arm and you immediately throw your other hand back up to grab his wrist. if he wanted to pull back and cut you, you wouldn’t have been able to stop him, but knowing that excited him, knowing that made him harder.

“there you go, keep that up. gotta prove to stu we shouldn’t kill you, right? gonna be our final girl.”

he pulls the knife away and drops it to the floor and waves his arm in front of your face, showing off the scratches you’d left him moments before. he pushes himself away from your face by using your neck as leverage and he goes to line himself back up with your entrance.

“or you could always be the helpless victim. i’m having fun either way.”

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

What do I think? That the universe, in all its cruel humor, has sent this as a sign. A neon-lit omen, electric and undeniable, pressing into the softest, most vulnerable parts of me. And you—by the gods, you and OP—are astronomically brilliant. Bright-burning brilliance that makes me envious in a way that aches. Hand it over. Just a fraction. Just a sliver of that impossible, gut-wrenching talent. Please and thank you./j/lh

But in all seriousness, I am caught by this idea. Snared in it like a bird tangled in silk, equal parts suffocated and entranced. Because I, being the dramatic tangle of nerve endings that I am, immediately conjure scenes dripping in anguish—confessions swallowed by the rain, words falling apart before they can be fully spoken. A tub of ice cream abandoned, half-melted, next to an untouched spoon. Maybe even monologues that stretch too long, bloated with all the things that should have been said earlier, and all the things that should never have been said at all.

But Wangxian—Wangxian does nothing by halves. Love, pain, devotion, ruin. It is all or nothing, a knife’s edge that they willingly walk, over and over, even when it cuts deep. And so I let go of the easy angst, the cinematic suffering, and instead, I think of them. The way they ache. The way they yearn. The way they are two people who have always, always had too much love to give and nowhere safe to place it.

And then—this line. This one line, sharp and devastating in its simplicity:

Lan Wangji had expected coldness. An insult, perhaps. Maybe even a warm beverage thrown in his face, though he can’t imagine Wei Ying doing so.

Because that’s not who Wei Wuxian is, is it? No matter how much his heart splinters, no matter how much his chest is a hollowed-out, aching thing, he is kind. And he believes, deep in his marrow, that no matter how much he longs for it, Lan Wangji’s heart is not his to claim.

But Wei Wuxian has always been resourceful. He survives on scraps, on the barest offerings, on things that were never meant to be enough but that he makes enough through sheer force of will. He will not ask for more, will not reach out and take, no matter how much his fingers tremble with the want of it.

And that—that—is what shatters me. That Wei Wuxian will keep Lan Wangji at arm’s length because once upon a time, Lan Wangji asked him to. Because every version of Lan Wangji matters to him, past and present, and he will honor all of them, even if it means swallowing his own pain like glass.

And Lan Wangji—Lan Wangji, who is left with only fragments. The soft tap of knuckles against a glass door. A gentle smile paired with sparkling (tired) eyes. Laughter that is bright and beaming but stretches thin sometimes. Lan Wangji has his heart, too—has had it in his hands for longer than he realizes. But Wei Wuxian does not want it back.

And god, the scars. The way Lan Wangji traces them, as if by mapping their shapes, he can rewrite the past. As if his fingertips against ink and skin could change the story. Could undo the pain that came before. And Wei Wuxian, looking down at his own arms, does what he has always done. Accepts. Bears it. Wishes the universe had been kinder but does not expect it to be.

(And sometimes—sometimes, in the depths of his own sleepless nights, he wonders if he could carve out the piece of the universe that tied them together. If he could cut it away, bleed it out, just to make things easier for Lan Wangji. Because he catches the way Lan Wangji looks at him sometimes, like something breaking apart, like something unraveling, and by the stars, it would be better if he could spare him that.)

But the worst hurt—the one that lingers sharpest—is not the grief of loss or the agony of distance. It is the quiet, tenuous thing. The hurt that stretches between them like a thread, fragile but unbroken. The hurt that comes from knowing where the line is drawn in the sand, knowing that at any moment, the tide could come in and swallow it whole. And still—they hold it. Still—they balance on either side of it, waiting.

Wanting.

For the universe has never been kind to them, only relentless, only unyielding, only watching.

(And yet, it is the same universe that has linked them together so gently, wrenching them into being with all the feverish, desperate love they deserve. And it will be the universe that will shatter at their feet and remake itself – just once – into something softer, something kinder, something which they do not have to lose to love.)

I’m just realizing how incoherent this sounds, oof.

@undercover-stories and @xiaokuer-schmetterling (because you're just simply too amazing not to include).

Soulmates AU wangxian where their skins reflect. So Lwj has all of Wwx' scars (bite marks from dogs, belt scars from Madam Yu, a surgery from when JC needed a kidney, a burn mark on his chest, etc) and Wwx has... Nothing. Because they have the same callouses from sports and bruises from training but Lwj has no scars nor does he write on himself or accidentally gets ink on his hands. So Wwx thinks he has no soulmate, because even when he writes things to him (Hi! How are you?? WHO are you?? Are you well??? Are you there????) he gets no reply. Lwj does see it, he just knows his parents were soulmates and their relationship was fucked up, and that his uncle's soulmate didn't want him, and that his brother's relationship with his soulmate is stranged because he likes someone else. So he doesn't want a soulmate at all.

Anyways. Shit happens in Wwx's life, he hits rock bottom and starts getting tattoos. Why not? It's not like he's saddling anyone with them.

Cue Lwj watching ink accumulate on his skin while he's working a CORPORATE JOB. His uncle thinks it unprofessional and they are creeping towards the neck and hands.

So he writes to his soulmate to please stop.

His soulmate: so you DO exist uh.

Lwj: I do not want a soulmate. Or tattoos. Please refrain from getting any more and from trying to contact me.

Wwx: ...

Wwx: okay.

Thirteen years later Lan Wanji falls in love with the gorgeous Biomedical Engineer working at his company, Wei Wuxian, and is doing his best to approach this man who has been so very obviously mistreated (Wwx is on his YLZ era with others). They get closer little by little. And then one day they are on a date and Wwx rolls up his sleeves and Lwj comes face to face with a lotus flower sleeve he knows intimately well.

Cue angst.

[xinyuehui]

*dramatic slow-mo entrance while fanning*

[littlelamy]

Omg smut request……Shy reader x Rafe with inspo from a scene from Queer with the eye contact. He’s had it with her being insecure how she looks when they are having sex or not letting him see her face (to him she’s the most beautiful woman to exist). She always some what hides it in sneaky ways…say laying her head by his shoulder or whatever. Not this time! Rafe holding her face to his and lots of eye contact and praise…..PLZZZ

parings: rafe cameron x shy!reader

warnings: 18+, smut

you lay next to rafe, heart pounding, nerves on edge as his fingers traced gentle patterns along your bare shoulder. he had this way of making you feel safe, even when your insecurities whispered their usual doubts.

tonight, though, rafe wasn’t going to let those whispers win.

his hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward him. "look at me," he said softly, his voice low but firm. you hesitated, eyes flickering away for a second, but he didn’t let you go. his thumb brushed over your cheek, a touch so tender it made your chest tighten.

"baby, please. i want to see you."

the weight of his gaze felt like a warm blanket, comforting yet intense. you swallowed hard, your instinct to shy away creeping in. whenever you fucked, you’d find ways to hide, pressing your face into his shoulder, burying your head in the pillow—anything to avoid being fully seen. it wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, it was that the voice in your head was louder, telling you not to be too much, not to show too much.

rafe’s other hand slid along your waist, pulling you closer. "why do you always hide from me?" he asked, his tone gentle but filled with a quiet resolve. "you know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, right?"

your breath hitched, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. you wanted to believe him, but the years of self-doubt were hard to shake. "i just…" you started, your voice trailing off as you tried to find the words.

"no," rafe cut in softly, shaking his head. "not this time." his thumb brushed over your lips, the pad of it lingering there. "i want you to see what I see. feel what I feel when I look at you."

slowly, reluctantly, you let your eyes meet his. the intensity in his gaze made your stomach flip. it was like he was looking straight into your soul, stripping away every layer of doubt and fear.

"there she is," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "my gorgeous girl."

your cheeks flushed, but rafe didn’t let you look away. his fingers threaded through your hair, holding you in place as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "you have no idea how crazy you make me," he whispered. "i love every part of you. every curve, every freckle. everything."

his words washed over you, a soothing balm to the raw vulnerability you felt. his hands slid down to your hips, guiding you onto your back as he hovered above you. his eyes never left yours, their blue depths filled with a mixture of love and desire that made your pulse race.

"keep looking at me," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

your body responded before your mind could catch up, your thighs parting to welcome him as his hand caressed up your side, his thumb brushing the swell of your breast. you bit your lip, the instinct to look away creeping back in, but rafe’s hand was quick, cupping your face, guiding your gaze back to his.

"don’t hide from me, baby," he whispered. "i want all of you. i need all of you."

his cock, thick and hard, pressed against your slick entrance, the heat of him making your breath hitch. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in a rhythm that was slow, deliberate. each thrust was a conversation, each moan a promise.

rafe's lips found yours again, softer this time, a kiss that spoke of reverence and worship. his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes locked with yours as he slid deeper, his breath mingling with yours.

"fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. "you’re so perfect. God, i love you."

the way he said it, like a prayer, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, made your heart swell. the insecurities that had loomed over you began to melt away, replaced by the warmth of his love, his unwavering gaze that held you captive in the best way.

as the tension built, his hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding that sweet spot that made you arch beneath him, your cries filling the room. rafe’s eyes never left yours, even as you both tumbled over the edge together, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you.

when it was over, he stayed close, his hand gently stroking your hair, his lips brushing against your temple. "you’re everything to me," he murmured. "don’t ever forget that."

you nestled into his chest, your heart full, your body spent, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @heywardsdoll

[evilminji]

"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy

He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.

Paulie's parents were PISSED.

Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.

And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.

So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.

But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?

Entranced.

In AWE.

Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.

But still, he's about to say "no", when?

Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.

SOLD!

It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?

Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?

Not even as Ghosts, man.

They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.

Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!

So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!

The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!

What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?

Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!

DO BETTER!

And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.

And it's one hell of Fake Hero!

A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!

Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...

The Town website?

Weirdly? Sanitized.

Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....

Wait...

Hey, guuuuys?

Are you finding ANYTHING?

And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.

All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.

But how about thousands?

Hundreds of thousands?

From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.

Not a meme.

Very real.

Not a joke.

The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!

Phantom is REAL!

And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.

Here to help.

A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.

A... a once living star.

And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.

And now? The weather!

@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[rafecameronssl4t]

First Impressions || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: the meeting in which your parents announce your arranged marriage to Rafe.

Warnings: mention of smoking, not much else ???

Word count: 1,724

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

Your black Porsche roars down the gravel drive, tires screeching as they skid to a halt just in front of the grand entrance to your family estate. The car’s abrupt stop sends a shower of tiny stones in every direction, the sound cutting through the quiet morning.

With a sigh, you push open the door and step out, the morning air crisp against your skin. Taking one last drag from your cigarette, you savour the moment before dropping it to the ground, the glowing ember snuffed out beneath the heel of your designer shoe.

A quick glance at your watch—10:20am. Twenty minutes late. You were supposed to be here on time, but the delay feels inevitable. With a flicker of annoyance, you brush a strand of hair from your face and stride toward the front door, where the familiar figure of your family’s butler awaits.

“Miss Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” he greets you with a warm smile, the lines of age deepening around his eyes. “Likewise,” you respond, managing a small smile in return. The butler steps aside and opens the door, allowing you to enter the cool, polished interior.

Your heels click sharply against the marble floor as you make your way toward the formal dining room, each step echoing in the vast, silent hall. As you approach the double doors, two servants stand ready, pulling them open to reveal the scene inside.

Your parents sit at the table, their expressions betraying nothing as they notice your arrival. Alongside them are three unfamiliar figures, their backs turned to you, leaving you momentarily confused as to who they were. You exhale softly, bracing yourself, and walk into the room.

“Pleasure to have you finally arrive,” your mother remarks, her voice edged with a tight-lipped grin. Your father doesn’t even glance your way, his attention fixed elsewhere. With a deliberate movement, you stride to the table, tossing your Lady Dior bag onto the polished surface with a loud clatter.

“The pleasure is all mine, mother,” you reply, your voice thick with restrained anger as you take your seat. Finally, your gaze falls on the three guests seated before you—the Camerons. Your eyes land on Rafe, and for a moment, you’re taken aback.

He looks different, more rugged, with his hair shaved off, giving him a harder, more defined look. His eyes, however, remain downcast, focused on the table as if he’s avoiding meeting your gaze. “My, how beautiful you have gotten, my dear,” Ward Cameron’s voice breaks through the tension, drawing your attention to him as he regards you with a smile.

You force a smile in response to Ward’s compliment, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Cameron,” you reply, keeping your tone polite but distant. The tension in the room is palpable, every gesture, every word carefully measured. Your mother’s gaze flickers between you and Rafe, a subtle hint of expectation in her eyes, while your father remains silent, his face a mask of indifference.

As you settle into your seat, the silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the unspoken purpose of this meeting hanging in the air like a storm cloud. The Camerons, your parents, Rafe—all of them waiting for something, though none are willing to break the silence.

Finally, your mother clears her throat, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We thought it was time for you to meet again,” she begins, her tone carefully neutral. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, and given the circumstances, we felt it was appropriate to… reconnect.”

You glance at Rafe, his eyes still fixed on the table. The last time you saw him, things were different—less complicated, less strained. But now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, impossible to bridge. You wonder if he feels it too, this cold, empty space that has grown between you.

“I suppose it’s been a long time,” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else. The words hang in the air, unanswered, as you try to find something—anything—to say that might ease the tension. Ward shifts in his seat, his gaze settling on you with a calculating intensity.

“Rafe has been doing well,” he says, as if the words are meant to reassure you, though they have the opposite effect. “He’s matured a great deal since you last saw him.” At this, Rafe finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since you walked into the room. There’s something in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or maybe just regret—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same distant, unreadable look he’s worn since you arrived.

“And you, Miss Y/n,” Ward continues, his tone smooth, almost too smooth. “I trust you’ve been well?” You nod, forcing another smile. “Yes, quite well, thank you.” The words feel hollow, a formality that barely covers the unease simmering beneath the surface.

Your mother, sensing the need to steer the conversation, jumps in. “We’ve been discussing some… arrangements,” she says, her voice careful, as if she’s choosing each word with precision. “Given the history between our families, we thought it best to ensure that both sides are… satisfied with the outcome.”

Your heart sinks as the true purpose of this meeting becomes clear. This isn’t just a casual reunion or an attempt to reconnect old acquaintances. This is a negotiation, a transaction between two powerful families, and you and Rafe are the bargaining chips.

You glance at Rafe again, searching his face for any sign of how he feels about this, but his expression remains guarded. Whatever thoughts are running through his mind, he’s keeping them well hidden. Your father finally speaks, his voice low and authoritative.

“This is an important moment for both of our families. I trust you both understand the gravity of the situation.” The weight of his words settles over you, a cold, heavy pressure that makes it hard to breathe. You want to protest, to argue that this isn’t what you want, that it isn’t fair to either of you—but you know it would be pointless. In this world, duty and obligation come before personal desires.

Rafe’s voice cuts through your thoughts, quiet but steady. “We understand,” he says, his tone betraying nothing of what he might actually be feeling. Your mother smiles, a thin, satisfied smile. The silence in the room grows heavier as your father's words sink in, confirming what you’ve both known was coming.

This is more than just a meeting; it’s the formal beginning of the arrangement that has been hanging over you for months. The marriage. The merging of your two families. You glance at Rafe, catching the flicker of frustration in his eyes before he looks away, jaw tightening in silent protest. It’s clear he’s not happy about this, and a part of you understands his reluctance.

But for you, there’s no surprise, no anger—just a deep, overwhelming numbness. This is what your life was always meant to be: a marriage arranged for the benefit of your family, a union to produce heirs, to continue the legacy. There was never any illusion of choice.

As your mother and Ward exchange pleasantries, discussing the finer details of the arrangement, you find yourself tuning out, your gaze drifting to the large windows that overlook the manicured gardens outside. The sunlight streaming in feels distant, cold.

Rafe shifts in his seat beside you, the movement drawing your attention back to the table. His expression is tense, a mixture of resignation and barely concealed resentment. He doesn’t want this—at least, not like this—but he’s trapped in the same web of expectations that binds you.

Your father’s voice breaks through your thoughts, stern and final. “The wedding will take place in two months. The arrangements have already begun.” Two months. The words hang in the air, sealing your fate. You glance at Rafe again, hoping for some sign of how he’s processing this, but his face is unreadable, the brief glimpse of frustration now replaced by a mask of indifference.

For a moment, you wonder what he’s thinking—whether he’s angry, scared, or just as numb as you are. But you quickly push the thought aside. It doesn’t matter how either of you feel. This is what you were born for, raised for. This is your duty.

“We’ll be ready,” Rafe finally says, his voice clipped and devoid of emotion. It’s a statement of fact, not a promise, and you feel the weight of it settle over you like a shroud. Your mother nods approvingly, while Ward offers a pleased smile. “I’m sure you will be,” he replies, as if Rafe’s compliance is exactly what he expected.

The conversation shifts to practicalities—guest lists, venues, and dates—but it all feels distant to you, like watching a play from behind thick glass. You nod and smile at the appropriate moments, playing the part you’ve been trained for your entire life, but inside, there’s only emptiness. This marriage, this life, was decided long before you had a say in it.

When the meeting finally ends, and the Camerons prepare to leave, Rafe stands, his movements slow and deliberate. For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and in them, you see a flicker of something—anger, perhaps, or maybe just resignation. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the same cold detachment you’ve come to expect.

Ward clasps your father’s hand in a firm handshake. “We look forward to the wedding,” he says, his tone full of false warmth. “Likewise,” your father replies, though his eyes remain hard. As the Camerons depart, leaving you and your parents alone in the dining room, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

The future, once a distant inevitability, now looms as a stark reality—a reality you must face with Rafe by your side, whether you want to or not. The weight of it settles over you like a suffocating blanket, each breath growing heavier as the room seems to close in around you.

Your mother’s voice slices through the thick silence, her tone sharp and unforgiving. "How many times must I remind you to break that wretched habit of smoking?" Her eyes narrow in disapproval, her gaze like a blade that cuts through any pretense of warmth. You feel the familiar irritation rise within you, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her constant nagging.

"I could smell it the moment you walked in, and I’m certain the Camerons did as well," she continues, her words dripping with disdain as she takes a deliberate sip of her drink. The crystal glass clinks against her teeth, a harsh sound that echoes in the tense air. You lower your gaze to your lap, your fingers twisting together in a futile attempt to keep your composure.

The reprimand feels like a ritual by now, one you’ve endured countless times, yet it never fails to sting. Your father’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and unyielding. "Such behavior will not be tolerated once you're married," he declares, his tone cold and final. "Respectable young women preparing to have a family do not indulge in such habits."

His words hit you like a slap, a stark reminder of the life being imposed upon you—one where even your small rebellions are to be eradicated. Your father stands, his movements deliberate and composed as he smooths down his blazer. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his tone firm and unyielding. "Yes, Father," you reply quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper as you sit there, trying to disappear into the chair.

Your parents leave without another word, their footsteps echoing in the empty room, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The echo of their disapproval lingers, mixing with the cold reality of your future, a future where even your small, defiant pleasures are not your own.

You sit there for a long moment, the weight of it all pressing down on you until it feels as though you might break under the strain. But you don’t. Instead, you swallow the bitterness, pushing it deep down where it festers quietly. This is your life now, the one you were born into, the one you must live whether you want to or not.

[pixiefelixie]

menace!boyfriend k.sm. (a much needed headcanon)

: ̗̀➛ pairing — seungmin x gn!reader : ̗̀➛ word count — 530 : ̗̀➛ content — fluff, seungmin acting like everyone's annoying little brother

a/n — these pictures of kim seungmin killed me. who told him to look this good with a bowl cut???? i hope you guys enjoyed this!!

menace!seungmin who was definitely your friend before becoming your boyfriend.

menace!seungmin who suddenly yells "boo!" and grabs your shoulders to scare you during the quietest scene of a horror movie. if you screamed, he would laugh his heart out and you promise yourself to never watch a horror movie with him ever again.

menace!seungmin who would definitely act the silliest while you're drinking water to purposefully make you laugh while your mouth is FULL and dodge when you spray it out of your mouth and nose

menace!seungmin who brings food to your mouth like a gentlemen but then shoves it into his own mouth

menace!seungmin who throws a snowball at you in the winter and has it go down your back. but then on that same evening, he would hug you in bed with the heat of his body warming you up as if he didn't just freeze your butt off earlier.

menace!seungmin who refuses to ask you directly when he wants to see you so he "forgets" stuff at your house so he can go over to get it

menace!seungmin who walks in on you in the bathroom and starts a casual conversation like you aren't sitting on the toilet.

menace!seungmin who will never make a normal entrance whenever you've got a date planned. he told you to meet him in front of the movie theatre? he'll jump out of the corner to surprise attack you when you're there. he told you he'd pick you up? he's hiding beside the door when you open it, waiting to jump at you. if you dated him in high school, he'd definitely be the type of guy to cover your eyes and say "guess who?"

when you two are at dinner alone or with a group of people like your family, menace!seungmin will always put his foot on yours under the table and not let you go

menace!seungmin who will flick his wet hands at you while walking out of the bathroom to annoy you and he got you to do it to him every time as well

menace!seungmin who has you becoming a mini-version of him. you'd adopt his vocabulary and attitude so you joke about how he's being a bad influence on you.

menace!seungmin who is obsessed with kissing your hands. if you have your hand in his, he'll bring it up to his lips with any chance he gets. before crossing the road, waiting for the street food to be ready, going up in the elevator, you name it. sometimes if he's feeling silly he'll bite your hand while he's at it.

menace!seungmin who can't look into your eyes for too long or else he'll fold so he always ruffles your hair or gently pushes your head away if he ever feels like the eye contact is becoming too much. you don't know this so you just assume he likes to make your hair messy.

menace!seungmin who's love language is being annoying but if he ever catches anyone else doing it to you, he'll fight their ass

menace!seungmin who loves you to the ends of the earth and will never fail to show you in his own ways

[shojizbae]

Yeehaw!

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: This is spicy! Use of alcohol, behind drunk/drunk sex, Oral fem! receiving, cowgirl position

Everyone could tell with just one look at you that you were Southern. That being said, anytime there was a case in the South, everyone knew to take a step back and let you lead. This time, there was a string of murders in Aiken, South Carolina, and the team knew that you were all over it.

"Weren't you from a Carolina?" Derek chuckles as we board the jet.

"Yeah, I spent most of my time on Camp Lejeune with my daddy, then I went south for college in Charleston."

"So that means Hotch has been demoted for this." Emily snickers

"No, I just know the South, and I'll get a little gun-happy when I'm back home. It wouldn't be no different had we gone to Chicago, Derek."

"Wow, mama's go home heat today." We settle on the jet, and Hotch and Rossi debrief us. I take a nap as we head south, and unfortunately, the power of the state takes me over. I march up to the sheriff and flash my credentials.

"So, how's it happen?" The sheriff speaks in an accent so thick it makes grits look like juice. I glance at the team, and they seem to sigh in relief when they realize I can understand him. Tirelessly, we worked the case for 73 hours. We met at a fresh crime scene every morning. The unsub seemed to be in a frenzy. He was dangerous and mixed with a high concentration of amphetamine addiction in this area. It was likely he had no clue he was killing.

But, due to the trace amounts of meth, we knew that he was unstable and would trip up eventually. We got some sleep after the fourth body, and there was a trip up in the morning. A fifth, but he had left some of his powdered sugar at the crime scene.

I put a glove on and lifted the little baggie, showing it off to Reid.

"Hey, Spencer, check this out."

"Hey, I've been clean for years," He mopes

"Aw, I'm sorry, sugar," A detective approaches me with an evidence bag. "Here, swab it and run this through CODIS." Spencer and I kept sweeping the crime scene for any molecule of evidence. Nothing all that exciting. The killer left the knife in her this time. Indicative of the fact that they were out of control. I squat next to the body and ghost my fingers over the entrance wound.

"Hey Spencer," He perks up like a gopher, "If you were going to kill someone and you were going to stab them to death, how'd you do it?"

"Are you sure that's an appropriate question?"

"I'm just curious."

"I'd probably use something with a curved blade. It would do the most damage and be the hardest to remove." His eyes go kind of dead, as he explains. An awkward air hangs between the two of us as we survey the wound.

"Damn, Spence, that's messed up."

"You asked." He sasses

Not later that evening, a woman called to suspect a strange man was in her house. We move in immediately and find a man pacing in circles in the bathroom. He's violent and angry, and his nose is bleeding. He tried to swing a knife at Morgan, but I grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his head into the wall. I use my hips to push him forward and cuff him while Emily helps the woman safely out of her house.

I march him to the car while he screams that I'm a bastard whore. Finally, I shoved him into the police car and muttered a good riddance. I even patted my hands like a baker getting flour off.

"I need a drink." I put my hands on my hips

"I could use something to cool off, too. This southern heat can be beat." Derek wipes his brow

"Hotch you think we have the leeway to spend the night here?" Emily asks

"That's all up to JJ, anything pressing enough that we need to get back to Quantico?"

"Well, nothing too scary that we couldn't cut loose after working for six days straight." She smiles at the team

Hours later, we showered, ate a full meal at a steakhouse, and put on the nicest clothes in our go-bags. The team was shocked to discover I had a cowboy hat in my bag. We moseyed our way to the bar, a small dive bar with a pool table. A mechanical bull is in the center of the room, and my eyes light up at the memories. Rossie buys us a pitcher of beer, and we all unwind from the stressful week.

As we knock 'em back slowly and let college stories fly, the team starts to forget what we had seen. Rossi tells us some funny stories about going to college during the summer of love, and Reid accidentally brags about going to Cal Tech.

"Well, what about you? Didn't you go to school nearby?" Emily says as she refills her glass.

"Uh yeah, in Charleston, South Carolina." I clarify

"So you must have spent most of your nights like this." Derek motions around the bar, playing honky-tonk music. Pool balls clack around us, and there's a thin layer of dirt around the edge of the bar.

"Well, most nights I spent in my dorm or the library. Every other Saturday, my roommate and neighbors would go to a dive named Fat Daddy's. We would make bets with the alcoholic dads about being able to ride the bull, and if we stayed on longer than they said so, they'd buy us all a drink. I didn't pay for my own liquor for three semesters." The team stood in shock. Hotch's jaw was agape and Rossi just nodded his chin in acknowledgement.

"Well, now, baby girl, I have to see you in action." Derek almost commands

"No, I ain't dressed right. And ain't nobody betted me."

"I bet you won't last seven seconds on the mechanical bull," Spencer interjects "If you do, I'll buy you that coconut margarita that you've been eyeing."

"Alrght, there's my bet." I march up to the bartender "I'm'onna ride that bull." I point at it and he looks me hat to boot.

"Alright," The bartender seems disinterested. He hits a button, and lights around the bull flash like a carnival. I draw the attention of the whole bar as a pre-recorded announcer calls me a brave challenger.

Big men with fat beer bellies gather around, and I readjust my top. If I play my cards right, I might get more than a coconut margarita out of this. I'm not wearing anything too special—just one of my combat scoop-neck tees and low-rise daisy dukes. The bartender offers his hand, and I use it to mount the big plastic bull.

"You ready, little girl?" He asks

"Yes sir." I grip onto the handle at the 'bull's nape and a bell rings. Slowly the bull starts lurching forward and back while exciting music bounces around the bar.

one Mississippi

The bull speeds up

'ride it, cowgirl!" Derek yells from the edge of the bull enclosure

two Mississippi

It starts going sideways

three Mississippi

I fake with my appearance that I'm struggling and readjust my grip

four Mississippi

I use my hips to grind with the rhythm of the bull as men whoop and cheer

five Mississippi, six Mississippi

My heart starts to thump against my ribs

Seven Mississippi, I win.

The team cheers for me. I keep going, getting bold enough to grind more dramatically. I hear more whoops and hollers as I lift my arms and squee. Someone yells, and another man whistles. I hold onto my hat as the bull speeds up, and I feel my shirt lift.

'Yeehaw!' I hear, and the bar just erupts. I feel so full of life, and I jump up on the bull, riding it like a surfboard. I drop down and sit backward on the bull. I twist around and ride the bull until the bartender slows it down.

"You done broke our record. 39 seconds on the highest speed." The bar screams in glee, and the team closes in on me, handing out high fives. Reid hangs behind the group, and I see him ask Derek a question

"Did you know that (Y/n) has a stomach tattoo?"

"Wow (Y/n), that was incredible." Emily looks starstruck

"I told you I didn't pay for a drink for 18 months." I give JJ a hug, and Reid emerges from the crowd

"I guess I owe you a drink." He smiles, and I fidget with the hem of my shirt

"One coconut margarita, please, sir." He leads me to the bar, where the bartender makes one for me. I hold the glass up to his face, and Reid takes the first sip.

"No, that's fine," He pushes the glass from his cheek

"C'mon, you paid for it."

"Listen, you know that coercion isn't a great thing to do. Most serial killers are more coercive than a skeezy lawyer."

"Aw, you're using my metaphors." I coo and step closer to his chest

"When did you become so flirty?" he braces me on the hip

"All that shaking around must have got the beer movin' in me." I giggle and sip on my glass. "I saw you askin' Derek 'bout my tattoo. y' wanna see it?" I start to roll up my shirt

"No, no, that's fine," He holds my wrist to stop me. "Why don't we get you some water."

"No, this is yummy." I smile and down the cup. He grimaces at the action and tries to walk me over to our table

"Hey, Spencer, you wanna know why I'm so good at riding that thing?" I halt to play with the button of his shirt, and he stops, too.

"Uh sure," He swallows

"Ever the curious doctor," I slur. I'm good with the bull because I love riding," I whisper drunkenly in his ear. He swallows hard and tries to shimmy us back to our table. His hands shake as he grips my tricep.

"Why're you so nervous?" I ask the side of his jaw. My voice swings up an octave, but I snort as I survey the team.

"The liquor got to her quick. I'm gonna get her back to the hotel."

"Oooh, why don't you take me someplace fancy," I tease

"Well, make sure you use protection." Derek snorts as he lifts a brown bottle to his lips

"Aw, you ain't gotta worry. I've got an IUD." Spencer soothes my sentence with a pat on my shoulder, and I slide a hand down his back

"That won't be a problem. I'm just going to ensure she has water, Advil, and comfortable clothes." He jumps away as I make an attempt to grab his butt.

"You sure you don't want either of us to take her?" JJ offers and points between Emily and herself. I rest my head on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding against my temple.

"You gonna take good care of me, Doctor?" I smile up at his concerned face

"I'm not that kind of doctor." He scolds. He helps seatbelt me into one of two FBI SUVs. Slowly and carefully, he drives me to the highway motel we were placed in, and he marches me into my room.

"Alright, are you sober enough to shower?" He sits me on the bed, and the mattress shrieks beneath me

"Yeah, so long as you help me get my shirt off."

"No, I won't be doing that," He finds a glass and fills it with water. He digs in my go-bag and finds the bottle of Advil. He drops two in his hand and gives them to me as well as the cup. "Drink this," he tucks some hair behind his ears.

"My feet hurt," I whine and put the pills in my mouth.

"Well, you're wearing those ridiculous boots," He stressfully tucks some hair behind his ears

"They ain't ridiculous." Stick out a foot and twist it to see the whole design, "Maybe a little flashy." I tuck my foot in and look up at him. "Will you calm down if you held me out of these sugar?"

"Yeah, sure." He kneels down and tugs each of my boots off, and lines them up with the rest of my shoes.

"Aww, you're so caring. C'mere sugar." Reluctantly, he finds me on the mattress, and I pat it next to me. He's hesitant, but he sits, and I lean against him. "Hey, Spencer?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"You wanna ask about my tattoo?"

"No,"

"Really, because you keep glancing down at my stomach. I may be a drunk one, but I am a profiler. What about it? Gets you going so much?"

"What?" He scoffs in shock "It doesn't 'get me going'." I hold onto his arm

"Really? Because I'm pushin' my tits against you, and you're still lookin' at my stomach."

"I uh I'm not." He's distracted enough that I can swing my legs across his lap "(Y/n), this is really inappropriate conduct for coworkers."

"I ain't on the clock," I slowly drag my shirt up to reveal the design. Two big blossoms of overlapping lavender and olive flowers. Any protests he tries to make are halted as he studies the image.

"These ones, "I guide his apprehensive hand as hi pointer finger traces my stomach "Are olive blossoms, they stand for peace. and these are lavenders."

"They mean feminity and grace." He clears his throat

"I've got more," I whisper playfully

"C-can I see them?" He swallows. I cross my arms at the hem of my shirt and pull it off, lifting the hem of my bralette.

"There's some text under my boobs."

"te amo para siempre." He reads without an accent, so it sounds stilted. "Did you get that for a boyfriend?"

"No, it's something my grandpa used to tell me." he runs his thumb over the cursive, "And on my collarbones." I guide his wrist to my right clavicle.

"'An eye for an eye,' I guided him across my chest, and he traced like he was reading braille.' leaves the whole world blind.' He connected his eyes with mine. His pupils were real big.

"Aw gee, I just realized I'm a little underdressed."

"Of course," he shifts around to encourage me to get off

"Uh uh, it could be you're just overdressed," I hold onto the knot in his tie

"No (Y/n),"

"You know, darling, your mouth is saying no, but your body is saying yes." I slide my hips forward and feel him suppress a shudder. I direct his head to look at me with blown-wide puppy dog eyes. "Maybe we should tell your mouth to let your body take over." I sink my lips against him, and he melts into me. Our lips smack as he pulls away

"(y/n), no, this isn't professional," he tries to disable my arms as I slide his tie knot apart

"Well, that's good. If I were professional, you get a hotel in a local jail for soliciting a prostitute." I get the knot loose and free his neck, making headway on the buttons. He shiftsbutI kiss his complaints away. Soon, sounds of complaint turn to moans as he succumbs to his body.

"Hey, Spencer," I pull away briefly and chew on my lip at the view. His hair is fluffed, and the top half of his shirt is flipped open. "I've got one more tattoo, and I think you'd really like it."

"I would?" he pushes his hair back "Why." I give him a peck as I reach for the button on my shorts. He grabs my hand and undoes the button himself. I guide his hand to the zipper, and he tugs it down. Instead of shimmying out of the shorts, I hook his finger in the elastic of my underwear. He pulls it down just enough to read the black text that slowly faded to show green.

"C6H12O6?"

"Yeah, you remember what that means?"

"It's the chemical formula for sugar." He snaps the underwear back into place, and I jump at the sensation, "Why?"

"Because I'm so sweet." I dive back in and kiss him. Heated aggressively like he's got the last cup of water on his tongue. He reaches into my hair to steady me, and with his second hand, he grabs my hip. I continue to unbutton his shirt until he shores it off into the distance.

"Well, look how handsome you are," I watch him blush, but I run my hands up his chest and over his collarbones. He blushes but guides my hand to his belt buckle. I love the sound a belt buckle makes. Before I can get his pants off him, Spencer surprises me. He picks us up and twists us, so my back slaps against the squeaky mattress.

He slithers down my body, kissing down the various tattoos. Gently, he slides his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. He slides them down and separates each of my knees. Almost entranced he licks up the gray cotton panties I wore.

"Spencer!' I moan in shock

"Please, this is my favorite part." He pulls the underwear off and tosses it to the side. I don't protest any further. It's rare to find a guy willing to go down on me, much less one that initiates. He wraps his arms around my thighs and places my knees at his shoulders. He wastes no time diving in.

With every man I've slept with, I've never felt someone go down on me with such fervor and skill. I'm taken down. He clings onto my clit with desperation. He drops my right leg so that he can trace gentle circles around my pussy.

"Spenc- Uh"

"Sh-sh -shh, just relax." He soothes me and rubs my inner thigh. I try to look down at him, but as he continues his ministrations, I lose my strength and flop my head back. Slowly, he sinks his pointer finger in, and I take a sharp inhale.

"Spe-EUUh!" His skill is shocking as he slowly moves his finger in and out. Once I was acclimated, he pulled out and put both his pointer and middle in. I do my best to suppress it for the comfort of the surrounding guests.

"Don't hide from me." He comes up and looks my face over

"There's other people around, Spencer."

"Then let them hear." He places a kiss on my forehead and sinks down to continue devouring me. I don't hold back as much as I'm embarrassed. He starts a 'come hither' motion and I roll my hips up into his face. He braces a hand on my hip.

"Sit still." He commands

Steadily, I felt a climax rising in me. I felt the muscles in my stomach clenching and tensing. I feel like yellow waves of pleasure ripple through my body.

"SPE—Spencerr, I'm gonna!" I desperately reached around and threaded my fingers into his hair. With my other hand, I felt around for the disheveled comforter. I balled my hands into a fist around what I held: his hair and the blanket. I climaxed faster than I had expected. Accidentally, I locked Spencer in with my legs. Desperate to keep the pleasure close to me.

It took me a moment to catch my breath. When I came to, I released my legs, and he resurfaced, wiping his mouth as he checked on me.

"How are you doing? Was that any good?"

"Good?" I gaped, and I saw him crumble a little in insecurity. Spencer, that was the best head I've ever had." He chuckled boyishly as I held his pants so he lay on top of me.

"Spencer?" I ask slowly

"Yeah," He kisses me on the side of the mouth

"I'm gonna fuck you now,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I sit him up and unzip his pants and pull them down. His legs are ridiculously long, and it feels like an eternity to get him naked. I geek at his boxers. His cock is jumping against the fabric, and there is a small precum stain. I rub over the fabric, and he keens into my touch.

"Aww, so you're all talk," I tease

"S-shut up, you were just writhing under me." He leans back on his arms. The veins in his forearms are bulging, and I can see his stomach shift as he shifts under my pawing.

"Yeah, and now you will be."

I slide my fingers under the elastic, and he lifts his hips to help me free him. Gently, I stroke him, and he gulps back and moans. I mount him, letting Spencer guide himself into me. I sigh as I feel him slide in, and his hands gravitate to my hips.

"Woah," he grunts. It's probably the strangest reaction I've gotten, but I appreciate being such a stunner.

"How are you doing, Reid?"

"I-I'm sublime. How are you?" I shift my hips in contemplation, feeling my eyes pool in the back of my head.

"Oh, I'm doing-g just-" My sentence cuts itself off as the head of his dick kisses a sweet spot inside me. "Can you just give me a little boost?" He holds each of my hips and drags me across my lap.

"Oh fuck," I sigh, and I pick my hips up. We fall into a sensual rhythm as the world disappears around us. "Spencer, that feels so..." My forehead collapses against his collarbone. There's something about his dick that itches a scratch I didn't know I was feeling. Similarly, he mews below me.

"(Y/n)," he groans out below me "Don't stop." and I don't. Instead, I pick up the pace. I brace myself on his shoulders and slam my hips back and forth until my thighs burn. And when the sensation becomes overwhelming I keep fighting.

"Oh my- uh," He groans beneath me "(Y/n), (Y/n), I'm gonna cum." He sounds desperate. "(Y/n) you have to get off." He whimpers

"No, I'm gonna cum too. I won't-" I keep my hips galloping against his thighs, "PLEase- fuck, I'm gonna." I feel his cock twitch inside me, and warmth spreads through my thighs.

"Uh, nice and deep." I halt myself for a second," Spencer I gotta keep going."

"M'kay." I ride with such speed that I'm scared the legs on the bed will snap. Finally, I feel the point of no return—like watching a slow vase fall over, knowing you're too far away to stop it. I came. My knees buckled, and I fell chest-first onto Reid.

"Are you okay?" He holds my back steady and gently rubs my spine, and I catch my breath.

"Yeah, I'm okay." I sit myself up, and Spencer tucks some frizzy hair behind my ear. "Probably some of the sex I've had in... ever." His face lights up. I use his shoulder to stand up, and I feel it slide down my thigh.

"I'm gonna need a shower, but there's always room for two." I smile and trot off to the ensuite. It's not long before Spencer is chasing me behind the vinyl curtain to wet his hair and press a kiss to the back of my shoulder.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i would stay forever

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — watched 27 dresses and thought reo needed a wedding fic :)

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, reo and reader are childhood friends, reader came from a lower-income family, kinda AU where reo didn't go pro in soccer, reo is still heavily involved in the mikage corporation, nagi as the best man

♡ synopsis — you've loved reo mikage for a long time, so seeing him in a tux and teary eyed down the isle makes your heart ache.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i've known it from the very start ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

The smell of fresh roses fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of polished wood and candle wax. It’s a scene out of a movie. Really, it's everything you could've wanted—rows of pristine white chairs, each draped with soft lilac ribbons, leading to an altar bathed in sunlight. Everything about this day screams perfection, wealth, and power. And there, standing at the end of the aisle, is Reo Mikage.

In a black tuxedo tailored to fit him like a second skin, he looks as flawless as the ceremony surrounding him. His violet hair is neatly styled, a far cry from the messy locks you used to tug at when you were kids.

He stands tall, confident, and composed, yet there’s something in his expression—something soft, almost wistful—that tugs at your chest.

Reo Mikage has always had that effect on you. Ever since you were kids, he’s been this radiant force in your life. Where your days felt dull and repetitive, his were bursting with color and excitement.

He was the boy who dragged you out of your tiny, empty house, where the hum of your parents’ exhaustion filled the silence. The boy who turned after-school walks into grand adventures and rainy afternoons into moments that felt infinite. With Reo, you weren’t the forgotten kid from a lower-income family.

With him, you mattered.

Now, watching him at the altar, standing tall and perfect, you feel like you’re seeing a piece of that boy again. It’s in the way he holds himself, as though even in this grand moment, he’s thinking about something else.

Maybe soccer, you think.

Maybe you, you hope.

The music begins, soft and delicate, and the guests turn to look down the aisle. The bride’s entrance is starting. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest, every emotion you've buried clawing its way to the surface.

Your gaze flickers back to Reo. He looks calm, serene even, but you know him well enough to spot the subtle tension in his shoulders. You wonder what’s going through his mind right now.

Could he possibly be thinking about all the moments you’ve shared? Sneaking out to eat ice cream under the stars, him laughing as he wiped a smudge of chocolate off your face. Whispered conversations about your dreams for the future, his voice steady as he promised he’d never leave you behind.

The aisle feels impossibly long, time stretching slowly and seemingly forever. It couldn't happen faster, you thought.

You imagine Reo looking at you like he used to—with that rare vulnerability, that quiet intensity that made you feel like the only person in his world. You picture him smiling just for you.

And then the officiant begins to speak.

You’re jolted back to the present, to the weight of the moment, as the words cut through the haze. Your breath catches as Reo turns to face the woman standing beside him. She’s stunning, poised, everything you’re not.

The weight of reality crashes down on you.

This isn’t your wedding. It never was.

The vows are exchanged, the applause loud. Your hands fall to your lap, too heavy to clap. Reo glances out at the crowd, his eyes scanning the rows of faces. For a fleeting moment, you think his gaze might stop on you, but it doesn’t. Why would it? You’re just a memory to him now, a fragment of his past that has no place in his future.

You remind yourself, his parents invited you. Not Reo. Why would your best friend exclude you from his wedding? Even you couldn't find the answer.

Nagi was the best man, were you really that different? Were you so unimportant that Reo, your friend...the man you're hopelessly in love with, would just forget about you?

When they kiss, you force yourself to look away. Not because it hurts—though it does—but because you need to hold on to the version of him who once belonged to you. The boy who promised you the world before the weight of his name took it from him.

The guests rise and begin to mingle, voices buzzing around you like static. You stay seated, rooted in place, as the realization settles like a stone in your chest.

Reo Mikage was always meant for greatness. He’s stepping into the life his family has carved out for him, and you…you were never part of that plan.

You only wish he hadn’t made you believe you could be.

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' we're a shot in the darkest dark ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

as a little breather from my spotify wrapped event :)))

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[primofate]

Time: 3:00 am

Status: can't sleep. Sudden urge to write something. Here goes.

Timer: 10 minutes

Actual time: 28 minutes

Warning: might be messy and rushed

Characters: Wriothesley x gn!reader

"Do you remember when I first met you?"

"...bits and pieces. It isn't very clear in my mind anymore," you reply rather curtly.

There's a short pause of silence at the dinner table, your cutlery and his cease to move as the two of you try to piece the event together.

Wriothesley chuckles and recounts the events with detail "It was one of those spring nights. Breezy, nice weather, sun wasn't up too high in the morning so the night was cool," as you continue to eat, he has stopped for the moment. "I was cut up from head to toe, small scratches everywhere. Some trouble with the meka that day,"

You raise your eyes up from the food, suddenly getting a wave of nostalgia as you recognize the moment all too clearly.

"On my way back to the Fortress I ran into you. All tidy and clean, box in your hands, looking up at me blankly. Do you remember what you said?"

You stifle a smile, because this part, you remember all too well.

"Here's your tea," the two of you say in unison, followed by a small laugh from you.

"...you left it in my hands, and then walked away as if it was the most normal day in your life. Like you never even saw me injured,"

"In my defense, you didn't look like you were in pain at all,"

He raises an eyebrow, meeting your gaze and ignoring your comment altogether. "I was suddenly obsessed with who you were. It wasn't as if you were trying to be mysterious, but who was this uncaring person standing at the Fortress entrance with my box of tea? I had to know,"

"Uncaring isn't quite the word for it. I was tired," you gently explained.

Yet again he continues as if not hearing you, "Only to find out the following week that my exotic tea dealer carefully hand picked herbs and mixed them, then personally delivers them to their customer's door. Lovely service. You remember what happened after that?"

Wriothesley's gaze on you is soft, with a hint of mischief on it, one that you returned. "I got orders. Tons of it. All to the Fortress of Meropide. I was there nearly every day doing deliveries,"

"Mmhmm. And then?" There's a chuckle on his lips, amused that you had taken over telling the story.

"And then one day I got fed up, asked to see the duke, burst into his office and said "Why don't you make your orders all in one go?!""

The scene in your mind is vivid now. The anger you felt at that moment whiplashed into your memory. It had been tiring, to go there everyday, only to deliver a miniscule amount of tea.

"And I said...?" Wriothesley has opted to lay his head on his fist, smile playing on his lips as you close the story.

You roll your eyes, "Here's your tea," but couldn't help the laughter that escaped your lips. "Poured me a cup as if you've never seen an angry person before. I was fuming!"

"It worked didn't it?" He had gone back to his food, hands now busy with cutting, smile still on his face. "I wasn't sure how to meet you again so I had ordered a box of tea for every day...that day you burst into my office? I just happened to be there at the right time, it was the first time in days I'd been able to sit and prep tea for myself. It was busy,"

"Or so you say,"

He chuckles at your suspicious look. "I made up for it, didn't I? The rest of the orders I placed, I personally picked them up from your store,"

"Everyday," you recall fondly.

"Every single day, I found time. And I'd do it all over again, in that same way, same words," he sounded like he was done talking, but him being the charmer that he is, added "except maybe I would've kissed you earlier. By the 24th order, maybe?"

You kick his leg from under the table. He hides his amusement with a short bark of laughter.

[kaivenom]

Hi :) could you please do some benn beckman headcanons (nsfw and sfw) that man is too overlooked 😔

Dating Benn Beckman would include...

A/N: this IS the first time i write for this man so i hope i did It right. NSFW under the cut

Masterlist

SFW

Like the rest of his crew, he is a womanizer and likes drinking and parties but he is the calm one among that storm of people.

He prefers to be a little distanced from all the noise that his mates are doing, just like you, and that's what make you two coincide that night.

He was trying to light Up his cigarrette, failling, and you offered your lighter. Of course you've been observing this fine men for a couple of minutes but this was the time that he noticed you.

That led to a nice and fine conversation until the sunset (which is a lot), and then his crew mates went out and took him with them.

"I hope we meet again lady." He simply said with a grin while his captain pinched his ear.

From that day, he was thinking about you, it's difficult for him to have such a nice, calm and genuine conversation like he had with you.

So, he tried to subtly convince Shanks to come back to the island, once, and then twice and third times....

Not that the crew were annoyed at him, they loved the party, so they accepted everytime and everytime he spent all night outside the club with you.

He didn't quite realize he liked you, he just thought that you were the best company he has and since you aren't from the crew, he just has to get to your island... But nobody takes that way if it's not because It likes someone.

You on the other hand, liked him and your know It but you were waiting for him to ask you out or something because he is the one with the difficulties.

But he went oblivious for several months, the moment when he realized that he liked you was the most innapropiate moment.

Shanks invited everyone to a brothel and of course he won't say no to his captains orders, but when he was with the hooker, he couldn't stop thinking about you....wishing It was you, moaning like a teenager just at the thought of you, wanting you to be there and be real, to say "I love you" to him.

He didn't even finished and ordered the girl to go out, he sat on the bed, naked and with an existencial crisis. He did in fact imagined that type of situation with you but he thought It was his usual men thought of fucking every one but seeing It so vividly and wanting It so badly WITH YOU, not anyone else but you.

He sat there the whole night, remembering all the times he was with you and seeing that scenes with a different point of view now.

That morning he said to Shanks that he needed to go to the island, Shanks simply said "Finally". It's clear that everyone but Benn noticed the truth.

You were on your house and this big appeared with a sweaty look, flowers, chocolate, a card and a plushie of you favourite animal... Like he has been running for the last hour getting all that stuff.

"I am not too late, right?"

"Late for what?"

"For you." And he left everything on the entrance and kiss you.

Now you are offically dating which means you now have to get along with the crew and that makes him jelaous, cause he is, a lot (he says that he is a man and know what men thought when they see a pretty girl, and you are one of those).

He is also a really oblivious men at the emotional side, he hada rough time starting to understand your mood and your subtle messages but he compensates It with his memory for special dates and good gifts (cause he showers you in them).

You are sometimes insecure of him being a pirate and experienced men and you just being you, but he says that that thoughts are stupid and that he loves you no Matter what.

Temple and forehead kisses almost everytime, kissing you in the mouth IS something private cause he can't keep It pg, if he tastes your mouth he becomes an animal.

The type of men that obliges you to sit on his lap on social events.

You somehow becomes the mom and dad of the crew, and they joke about that a lot.

He has had a lot of relationships previously but nothing serious, so he is a little insecure about doing things well, so he tries to put all his efforts for you to see that he loves you.

At some point he wants to live with you and maybe form a family and two things can happen, he leaves the Red haired pirates (difficult but if he is really sure he can do It) or you join the crew (which IS more likely).

This can sound crazy but i just picture you both on one of the crew's parties but you two are laying far from the people, on a corner. And you are lazily sat on his lap, chatting and drinking and he just starts smoking and at some point he takes your mouth and pushed the smoke into your mouth... Probably with weed and not tabaco.

Less to say, his lips are sweet cause he tries to always eat gum before you both kiss (especially if you dont like tabaco)

NSFW

He is experienced, a lot, so you are always on a rollercoaster of orgasms.

That sometimes makes you insecure but he is such a calming pressence and has a special, really sexy, way to explain things that justs turns you on and relaxs you.

The first time he almost looked like he was afraid to hurt, like his mind was somewhere else and you were a little worried about It but he was reliving the moment at the brothel and was trying to recompose himself cause you are not a hook Up you are his dreamed one, he wants to love you and to make you feel loved, to treat you with love not lust.

You kissed him slowly and he Finally started to do something. Your first time was filled with love and pure adoration.

But then you started to feel like he was repressing himself and of course you aproached him, and he explained everything and you understand It obviously but you wanted him to be more rude with you so you make sure to make him saw that.

"If you love me so much, fuck me like you mean It"

And with that, with that confirmation, he transformed into a beast. Daddy/sir kink, a little choke play, biting, a little bondage, doggystle, creampie and even anal.

You loved every minute of It, how he grabbed your hair and pulled you to meet his chest while he groaned on your ear and slamed his hips onto yours with a slap, how he cums inside you and pushes his sperm back into your cunt if it's driping.

Once he got the aproval expect a lot of that, cause he is a little kinky bastard and even loving you the most, he also loves the idea of having you under him whimpering and squirming, asking for his cock.

One of the things he likes the most is having contact with you, so his hands are everywhere on your body, pressing and squeezing, roaming all over your body.

When he is lazy or tired or even a little mean, he lets you ride him. He is still on charge and you know It but you love to be on top... The way his eyes look at you with adoration, how he helps you sink on his cock, how he sucks your tits with every thrust.

Speaking of sucking, he really likes to eat your pussy like a starved men but he loves when you suck his cock, it's like his stress reliever, he just lays there and all his problems go away.

Aftercare Its really important to him, specially if you two have been on a specially rough sex session. He never had to worry about these things but now he has to hold someone, he has to cuddle after.... And he is grateful for that.

[outofconcheol]

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach. 

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise. 

But he was Lee Minho –  a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune. 

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again. 

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music. 

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them. 

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city. 

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure. 

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out. 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt. 

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment. 

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster. 

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin. 

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved. 

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones. 

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip. 

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.” 

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements  were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched. 

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background. 

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied. 

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind. 

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars.  For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice. 

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you. 

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . . 

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand. 

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.” 

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine. 

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon. 

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your  stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches. 

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…” 

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over. 

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named  “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person. 

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down. 

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend. 

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking. 

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…” 

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both. 

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two. 

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin. 

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest  filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[rowanmutt-afterdark]

Kinktober Day 4 Sounding (TFO Orion and D16)

Word Count: 1,511

TFO Orion and D16 X Cybertronian GN Reader

18+ tags: Rough sex, teasing, sounding, and light voyeurism.

(Yes I am planning a second part, the original plan was to make it 3,000 words. That backfired so expect a part 2!!)

Read more below the cut!

During the day, you were all miners working hard in the mines to keep Iacon running. At night, you and your two mechs were lovers who couldn't get enough of one another. The three of you retreated to your respective stations and waited until every bot was in recharge when you all snuck off to enjoy each other's company.

Which brings you to now.

The muffled sounds of Orion were erotic, his hip struts bucked as the vibrating rod within his spike made him a complete mess for D16. You watched the arousing scene before you unfolded as D moved behind your shared lover and grabbed his neck cables with a rough yet calculated gentle hold. It was firm, pulling his helm back so he could kiss the whimpering mech's cheeks as he sobbed behind the gag and blindfold.

“You are doing so well Orion, you have no idea how beautiful you look right now. The way you squirm, begging for release. It's intoxicating, I feel so lucky to see you like this.” D16 purrs in the sinfully deep voice of his he used when he was aroused. It sent shivers down your spinal strut.

To bear witness to such an intimate display, your partners taking part in this little fantasy you thought up was such an honor to you. Your spike was pressing hard against its housing. It was becoming unbearable, but you stayed closed while D took care of Orion.

His servos traced down his front, focusing on the sensitive cables lining just under the edge of his bulky chassis. His digits explore Orion's heated frame, feeling up every inch with eager optics. Hungering for any reaction he could get out of your shared partner, his golden yellow optics were dark with desire, and his intake was drawn back in a smirk that showed just how much he was enjoying being in charge of the both of you.

His optics focused back on you, and your frame stiffened under the heated stare. His frame rumbled as his servo moved to the blindfold and removed it to allow him sight once again. Orion's optics flickered and adjusted to the light before he focused on the two of you. D16 leaned down to kiss Orion's helm before he stalked over to your kneeled position.

He looked over to Orion and barked an order. “Don't look away and don't overload. You must keep your optics on us at all times.” He slowly walked around your form, his servo grabbing a hold of your helm with a low, dark chuckle as he pushed you down.

Faceplate on the ground, aft up. His servo pinned you down with ease while the other rubbed along your panel, feeling for the sensitive wires to trigger that would open your valve. His thick digits ardently sought for that wire until it was pressed upon and the covering of your valve popped open. D rumbled his growl, not quite a chuckle. No, this was primal. It was low and vibrated through your chassis as the mech mounted you without hesitance.

His larger frame slotted against your own, fitting together like two pieces to a puzzle. Your frame shuddered at the impending thrill, his digits teasing your valve entrance. Smearing the lubricant around, testing your eager hole for the next step. His knees dropped one after the other as he pressed your frame into the floor, his hips pressed flush to your aft while one arm wrapped around your middle and the other went to your intake. His digits covered in your fluids pushed past your dermas, and you whined against the blunt object as he urged your glossa to clean it off.

Solvent soaked his digit, the writhing mass in your intake covered it until it was cleaned to his liking, and without warning, his digit was joined by another before the third was shoved inside. Your intake stretched wide and and the three large intrusions thrust inside to cover them in your solvent.

“Get them all nice and wet for me. Make sure they are throughly lubricated.” He purred, admiring the way your optics flickered as your frame started to whirr with the fans trying to cool your heated frame. His digits pushed further into your open intake, coating them with the fluids pooling as you drooled from the intrusion. Your glossa dragged along them to soak them as requested. He hummed approvingly as his hips grind against your rear excitedly at the feeling of your moist orifice preparing them for whatever he had planned.

He pulls his servo away, his digits throughly coated in solvent, he reaches down between your frames, and you hear a hiss, then something hard pressed against you. The slick sounds of something moist is heard from just behind you, curious, you lean your helm down and look under your frame to see that D is stroking his erect spike. It's absolutely weeping with trans fluids. His servo that was in your intake is stroking it. A chuckle vibrates youcatxck, you pull your helm back up to see that D is watching you.

You flush at the fact you got caught watching him lube his spike up. He doesn't push the subject. Instead, he pushes your helm down against the ground once again as he aligns himself with your valve and pushes inside your hole with little resistance. You gasp as he bottoms out with ease inside of you, his servo runs down your front until he reaches the buldge where his spike rests within your clenching walls. A low moan leaves him, a playful nip to your audial with a low rumble of his chassis as a growl passes through him

A whine from Orion has you glancing at him, but D quickly snatches your chin up and makes you look away from the needy bot.

“Eyes forward, he has to watch as I ravage your body all night long~” He purrs before his hips start moving. His spike is thrusting slowly at first, building to a speed that is carnal and rough. The speed takes you by surprise as each thrust leaves you breathless as he rearranges your insides with a pace so fast and hard you can't think. The noises you are making are lewd, solvent drools past your dermas, knees weak, and a valve pulsing with a building charge that has you begging for him to finish inside of you.

Orion is watching from his spot. His spike is aching with the need to release. His transfluids chamber aches to purge the building fluid, but the obstruction inside his spikes channel prevents him from doing so. He watches D ravage your frame, fragging you with a relentless pace. He's jealous that he isn't the one pulling the noises from you. He wants nothing more than to break from his binds and sample that tight valve he knew would suck him inside without hesitance.

Orion shifts his leg struts to sit just under him and starts to grind himself against his metal, groaning in relief as the aching need to be touched is achieved. It wasn't the touch he wanted, but it would do. He watched as D chased his building charge. The snarls and growls of his pleasure were hot. Fueling his grinding to get faster, his valve clenching around nothing as his node drags along his leg and with a roll of his hips he starts to grind roughly at a pace that starts to push him to the edge of his building overload. His hips rock desperately, humping with huffs of pleasure leaving him as he feels his charge building tight within his frame. It hurts so bad. He just wants to let go!

Your towards your own end, the savage rocking of his hips against your own is mind numbing. You are lost to the world around you as the rolling heat is close to snapping. A servo is between your spread thighs and rubs at your node as a low, sultry voice whispers a command.

“Overload for me.” D whispers, and you listen.

Your frame stiffened and shook as the hot flash of pleasure spreads through your body and shakes you to your very core. You cry out as your valve snaps down and D follows suit. His spike pumps you full with his transfluids as he fills your chamber with his hot fluids. You feel your body go limp, falling back against his as the euphoria floods your system, and D holds you close to his body to kiss your face and helm with his own exhaustion curling around his processor. He does pause to see that Orion is heaving, he grows worried that something happened until his optics land in the sounding rod on the floor,a limp spike, and transfluids covering the front of his frame.

He clicks his glossa with a hum of disappointment “That wasn't very smart of you, Orion. I have to punish you now. Only good boys get to overload. And you are far from being a good boy~”

[space-blue]

Feyd thoughts from Fenring scene

I was sharing thoughts to a friend while rewatching the Feyd and Fenring scene and figured I'd share it here too, it's my blog innit.

He's walking on his own in a completely empty corridor. Upon being followed he ambushes and pulls a knife, meaning he immediately assumes he's in danger. Calm and collected attitude at this prospect, clearly not his first time.

But he also doesn't toy with her, doesn't threaten her beyond asking about her presence, he's not showing any sadistic traits.

He openly asks if they've met because he recognises her, isn't being coy.

Instead of being violent, he tells her the rules: 'You're not allowed in this section', meaning at least he knows not to be openly hostile to guests.

He's suspicious she got past the guards. He asks about that in a higher pitch, but extremely bland face. He doesn't sound upset or happy or angry. More like low key worried.

From there Margot uses the voice.

She reveals he's shunning his own celebrations, AND he refuses to say why despite being asked with suggestive voice.

He immediately recognises the use of the voice on him and calls her a Bene Gesserit. How? He doesn't answer when she asks what makes him say that. We have to keep in mind that his mother (who he killed) was BG, and since we don't know when she died, it's possible he received some training from her.

He instead says he dreamt about Margot, harkening back to Chani dreams from Paul. Meaning we can safely assume he's just as plagued with semi-visions as Paul was in Dune 1 before going to Arrakis, and we can safely assume that's not common knowledge.

Immediately goes 'Don't mock me woman' when she teases him. BUT crucially, she says "a pleasant dream I hope?" which is not mockery but closer to flirting? It's like he genuinely takes that as a literal tease, when the actual teasing is when she says "I wouldn't dare!" which he doesn't comment on, maybe because he's used to many forms of grovelling.

He also reacts as if the voice is a physical pressure, like when you come down on a plane and your ears get blocked, and tries to shake it off:

Again with 'I know your BG tricks'

Margot asks, again, and gets no reply, again. She even says "tell me" in a normal voice. There is no cut or weird editing afterwards, so we can assume that Feyd didn't answer either time he was asked.

Instead he takes his bearing and looks around. He is not aggressive or panicked when he admits to not recognising the place.

Dude is designed to blend into his surroundings. Bonkers he doesn't wear gloves at this stage.

Risk taking : he steps unprompted in the door entrance, and she then says "come to me, kneel," etc. BUT we know he KNOWS about the BG tricks, so we can suppose that he's actually making the decision to go in despite knowing full well she can and will control him.

There's plenty of hints that he may still be heavily under her charm, but there's also evidence he can resist the voice she uses on him (he never answers her repeated questions, tries to fight it off).

He never reacts agressively. He says "where are you going?" with some heat when she leaves though, which to me hints at loneliness. He was all alone avoiding every harkonnen under the moon on his birthday despite being the king of the night, meets a random chick he dreamt about, and now she leaves? Spiced suggested though he may ask because he's not used to people leaving without being dismissed. But imo these can blend.

I lean towards Feyd being quite resistant to the voice because they sent Margot in the first place. Yes, Mohiam wants a child made, but in her excuses, she does't say "I want him bred". Instead she says she's a motherly figure and he might have killed her because he killed his mom. If the voice was such a perfect tool of control, that wouldn't really be an issue, especially once you have him under the Gom Jabar.

There may be an element of "These men [Paul and Feyd] are one generation away from the KH and can't be toyed with carelessly".

He also killed his BG mother, which means he's capable of killing a sister and not any small fry.

So they send a sexy woman to woo him and yet she still has to ask multiple times about what he knows of the BG.

Regarding his dreams, it's also possible Feyd is so compliant and keen to follow Margot because he might have foreseen a freaky good time with her.

One is left to wonder if he looks at Mwaddib walking into the throne room with such intensity not because he's hot for him (he doesn't yet know it's Paul), but because he may have SEEN this scene in dreams. We know Paul was very affected by the spice in the air and food on Arrakis. We also know he made frequent false visions (Jamis helps but it ends up being Chani. Chani and him cut ambiguously in the killing scene. Seeing himself in Chani's place in the final combat scene...) So we can also imagine Feyd may be overconfident in taking in the Emperor's challenge because he's dreamt of this too. Just spitballing.

The BG call him a sociopath with a side of hollywood competency. He has a bit of the BBC Sherlock and Hannibal Lecter disease. He should not be as tame or as competent as he's described and shown if he had the full disorder.

It's very interesting to look at the Fenring scene with sociopathic traits in mind and see how they apply or don't.

He's not getting his need for validation avoiding the party, but he just survived an attempt on his life by his Dear Uncle before getting his freedom dangled in front of him. Lots on his mind.

He's not prone to anger outburst in general. His behaviour isn't very erratic either. Both of these classic traits were probably curb-stomped by the need to fit the mold imposed by the Na-Baron position.

But he definitely has a high sense of his superiority and is opinionated. He speaks up unprompted during the Baron's interview, and again behind the Emperor with 'he's bluffing'

High propensity for violence: check. Whole film, basically. He can be prompted by anger (against Rabban), perceived threat (arena), reactive/defensive (against Margot trailing him). Violence in reaction to fear isn't shown.

Difficulty maintaining relationships : the only people he seems fond of are his once shown, once mentioned pets he brings with him. His family relationships are what they are, and he has no friend to go to on his Birthday.

Generally fearful, vulnerable to anxiety and rejection, easy to humiliate : what a cincher. This is him reacting defensively to Margot's flirting. The BG say fear of humiliation is one of his levers, and if you give him a strong attachment to an honour code, it's very easy to manipulate.

IMO this feeds into his displays of vanity (black teeth, tailor made pretty pets). Also since black is seen as a rich and beautiful colour on their world, his all black outfits with clean cuts may not be as muted as we think they are.

the end... for now.

[beauiestars]

Logan Howlett x Reader

(Part One/Part Two)

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x Fem!Reader

PROMPT: "You've been alive for over a century, but you still don't know how to ask someone out?"

SUMMARY: You're a new teacher at Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and the school's resident grumpy teacher has fallen head over heels for you. Unfortunately, has no idea how to show it.

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

The sound of Logan's heavy footsteps echoed in the quiet hallway, accompanied by the faint chatter from nearby classrooms. He had dismissed his class early under the guise of a bad hangover, which led him to take a stroll on the second floor. Coincidentally—though everyone knew the real reason, they allowed him to believe he was being slick—the second floor just happened to be where your classroom was.

As he neared the door, his steps slowed, anticipation stirring within him.

He peeked inside, and his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were in your element, perched cross-legged on your desk, your hands moving expressively as you spoke. Your words and body language held your class spellbound. They hung on your every word, soaking up everything you said like sponges.

Logan found himself equally entranced.

Before he knew it, he was leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you. You were so absorbed in your lesson that you didn't even notice him standing there. But that allowed him more time to take you in, uninterrupted.

You were breathtaking.

Though you'd only been teaching at the school for a few months, you had already captured the hearts of students and staff alike. And Logan? He was a goner. There was something magnetic about you, something that drew him in and left him aching for more.

At first, it was your looks that caught his attention. The moment you'd stepped into view, he'd been stunned. Your face was a work of art—astoundingly beautiful. Your figure left him breathless, igniting thoughts he couldn't suppress, no matter how hard he tried.

But then you spoke, and you had him whipped. You were intelligent, witty, and undeniably funny—a combination that left him trembling.

Even when he'd been brusque and dismissive toward you at first—a bad habit—you had held your ground. You'd called him out without hesitation, putting him firmly in his place. You challenged him like very few others had, and Logan loved a challenge.

Now, watching you command the room with such ease, he couldn't help but marvel at you. You had him wrapped around your delicate, manicured finger—and Logan wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Alright, class," you said, drawing your rant to a close. You placed your palms on your thighs in a casual movement, but Logan's sharp eyes tracked them as they slid down to the fabric of your trousers. The way they clung to you had him swallowing hard, an intrusive thought flashing through his mind about cutting them off you entirely.

"That's all for today, I think," you continued, oblivious to his wandering gaze. "Just make sure you read those chapters I assigned, and I'll see you all in the morning."

Logan had never seen a group of students so reluctant to leave. They dawdled, taking their time packing up, and several made their way to your desk—peppering you with questions. Some were about the lesson, but others were shamelessly trivial: questions about your weekend plans or your favourite coffee.

You answered each one with genuine interest, your smile never faltering as you indulged their curiosity before gently ushering them out.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused at the scene unfolding in front of him. He soaked up the final moments of being able to admire you—some of your students giving him odd looks as they passed by. Finally, as the last student exited, he crossed the threshold into your classroom.

"Some talent with the kids you've got there, bub," he remarked with an amused scoff, his deep voice cutting through the quiet room.

You turned to him, startled at first, before a smile spread across your face, softening your features. "Maybe not being grumpy and unapproachable all the time does wonders for teacher-student relations," you teased, a playful lilt in your voice.

Your jab hit him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of his carefully crafted composure. If he weren't so determined to keep up his rugged act, he might have blushed. There was nothing like an attractive woman with a razor-sharp wit to get Logan on his knees.

"Haha, very funny," he said, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance, though the grin tugging at his lips was impossible to hide. "Seriously, though—you've got a real gift with them."

You gasped theatrically, placing a hand over your chest as if he'd just said something scandalous. Logan's gaze followed the movement shamelessly, the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone practically hypnotic.

"Was that a real compliment from Mister Howlett?" you asked, voice dripping with mock disbelief. "Raven, is that you?"

Your laughter bubbled out of you, light and infectious, like you couldn't contain it. Logan stood no chance; his grin broke free, and he let himself enjoy the moment. You had him, and he didn't even mind.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got jokes, huh? Don't get used to the compliments, sweetheart. They're in short supply."

"That's a shame," you quipped, tilting your head at him with a sly smile. "I think I could get used to hearing them from you."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. The playful banter between the two of you was something he found he couldn't go without after having a taste of it. "Careful, darlin'. Keep talking like that, and people might think you've got a soft spot for me."

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against your desk. "A soft spot for you? Please. You've spent half the semester pretending I don't exist, and the other half grumbling at me in the teachers' lounge."

"Grumbling?" he repeated with mock offense, taking a step closer. "I don't grumble."

"Oh, you do," you teased, mimicking his low, gravelly tone. "'Mornin'. Coffee tastes like ass again.' 'Kids these days don't know respect.' 'Who the hell called this faculty meeting?' Classic Logan Howlett." You placed your hand over your mouth to suppress a fit of giggles escaping you.

His laugh rumbled deep in his chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish despite himself. "Alright, fine. Maybe I'm a little grumbly. But you're not exactly innocent, you know. Always throwing those big words around like you're trying to confuse me."

You smirked. "I think you're confusing yourself, Mister Howlett. I'm just speaking plain English."

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Plain English, huh? Then why do I feel like every word outta your mouth is some kinda challenge?"

Your breath hitched, but you didn't let him see you falter. Instead, you raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze head-on. "Maybe you just like a challenge."

Logan's lips curved into a slow, knowing grin, and for a moment, the tension hung thick in the air, electric and undeniable.

Logan cleared his throat, his eyes flicking to the floor before quickly snapping back to you. The easy smirk he usually wore faltered, replaced by a shift in posture that screamed unease.

"Anyway," he started, his voice a bit rougher than normal, "I, uh... I was thinkin'..."

You raised an eyebrow, stifling a grin. "Dangerous," you teased, watching him squirm.

He shot you a quick look, lips pressing into a thin line, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Right, well—" He fumbled with his words, clearly struggling to keep his usual tough demeanor. "So, you wanna... grab a beer sometime? Or... dinner. If you're into that."

You tilted your head, genuinely entertained by his discomfort. "Oh, I see." You smirked, crossing your arms, letting the silence stretch on a beat too long. You loved to keep a man—especially one so strong and self-assured as Logan—on his toes. "You're trying to ask me out, aren't you?"

Logan's eyes widened just slightly, the colour rising in his cheeks as he muttered, "No. I mean—yeah. I guess." He huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not... well, I'm usually better at this."

You chuckled softly, leaning back against your desk as you watched him fumble. You found it quite adorable, really. "Logan," you began, your tone light and teasing, "you've been alive for over a century, but you still don't know how to ask someone out?"

His face twisted in annoyance, but the blush still lingered, making him look even more endearing in his discomfort. "Yeah, yeah. Real funny," he grumbled, voice low. "Look, it's not like I've had time to work on my dating skills, alright?"

"Oh, I'm sure," you replied, still holding back a smile. "The whole brooding, grumpy loner thing must've really worked in your favour, huh?"

"Shut up," he muttered, though there was no heat behind it. He tried to look away, but his gaze flickered back to you, as if he couldn't help himself. "So... what's it gonna be? You in for that beer or what?"

You tilted your head, letting the silence hang a little longer just to make him sweat. Then, finally, you leaned forward with a grin. "Alright, Logan," you said, voice almost too sweet. "I'll grab that beer with you."

His shoulders visibly relaxed, and the slight smirk returned to his lips. "Good. I wasn't gonna stop askin' till you said yes."

You shook your head, unable to suppress your amusement. "Persistent and charming. Who knew?"

He shot you a sideways glance, a playful glint in his eye. "You're lucky you're cute when you're mocking me, or I might've just left you hanging."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you teased, crossing your arms. "You still don't know how to ask someone out."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head, and went about the rest of his day itching to take you on that date.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆

TAGS:

[rafecameronssl4t]

Distractions || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

Summary: just Rafe distracting you while practicing 👀

Warnings: none

Word count: 986

A/n: slightly inspired by that one scene in one tree hill!! Also I’m rewatching the dcc documentary so expect some more dcc!reader content bc they’re so fun to write 😭

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

“Is Y/n here?” Kelli’s voice echoes from the entrance of the locker room, her authoritative tone cutting through the low hum of conversation. Her no-nonsense tone makes heads turn, and the girls quickly quiet down. “Yes, ma’am,” you call back, straightening up from your stretches on the floor. Your muscles felt loose, but the nervous energy buzzing through you was hard to shake.

Kelli steps inside, clipboard in hand and an air of brisk efficiency about her. “Coach Johnson just let me know they’re doing maintenance in the stadium, so the Cowboys are gonna have to practice out on the field with us.” Your brow furrows slightly as you process her words.

“Oh,” you reply, forcing a neutral expression even though the thought of seeing him—Rafe—makes your heart skip. “Well, I guess that’ll be good practice for the rookies,” you add with a small smile, brushing off the flicker of anxiety. “That’s exactly what Judy and I were thinking,” Kelli says with a chuckle, glancing at her watch.

As she walks off, you take a deep breath and stand, mentally running through the routine. As you lead the girls out to the practice field, the sound of whistles and shouted commands grows louder. The Cowboys are already there, scattered across the field, stretching and warming up. The mingling energy of both teams fills the air, creating a palpable buzz.

You tell yourself not to look, to focus on your job. But your resolve falters, and your gaze flickers across the field. Almost as if on cue, your eyes find him—Rafe Cameron. He’s mid-stretch, one knee bent, his arm casually draped over it. His sharp blue eyes meet yours instantly, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s like he knew you’d look.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you snap your attention back to the task at hand. “Alright, listen up!” you call out, clapping your hands to gather the girls around you. “The Cowboys are running their drills, so we’ll stick to our side and stay out of their way. We’ll run through Thunder once or twice for warm-ups, then jump into the routines. Rookies, pay attention—we’ll do formations after.”

You glance around to make sure they’re focused, then step into place. “Hairflip on one, tap on two. Rookies, you’ll wait for the third count. Vets, arms on three. Let’s go from the top.” As the music starts, you lead the group, counting them in with precision. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rafe standing off to the side during a water break, his gaze lingering on you.

You grit your teeth and force yourself to stay in the moment, reminding yourself this wasn’t the time—or place—to get distracted. But no matter how much you try to ignore it, his presence is impossible to shake. You keep your focus on the routine, calling out cues as the music plays, but every so often, you feel it—his gaze, burning through the distance like a magnet pulling you in.

When you steal a glance in his direction, Rafe is watching again, leaning casually on his knees, helmet tucked under one arm. His smirk is slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. You roll your eyes and turn back to your group, ignoring the flutter in your chest.

“From the top,” you announce, clapping your hands to refocus the girls. “Girls in this file, try and stay in line with Claire." You’re halfway through the routine, demonstrating the next sequence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Rafe jogs over, cutting across the field toward you. He stops just outside your group, resting his hands on his hips, his shirt damp with sweat.

“Coach said I should work on my footwork,” he quips, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “Thought I’d watch the pros.” The girls suppress giggles, their wide-eyed glances bouncing between you and Rafe. You tilt your head, shooting him a pointed look. “You’re distracting the girls, Cameron,” you say, feigning annoyance.

“Wouldn’t want to get in the way,” he replies smoothly, backing up a step but never breaking eye contact. “Okay, just ignore him,” you announce, turning back to your group. “Focus, everyone. Eyes on me.” You shoo him away with a dismissive gesture, earning a few quiet laughs from the girls. They fall back into position, and you lead them through the routine again, counting the beats aloud.

You’re so caught up in counting the beats that you don’t notice Rafe chasing a stray ball until it’s too late. “Look out!” Claire yelps as Rafe stumbles into your path, nearly knocking you off balance. His hands catch your arm to steady you, but the routine screeches to a halt. “Nice hands,” you say dryly, brushing him off as you step back, crossing your arms.

Rafe smirks, his gaze flickering down your frame and back up again. “Nice legs,” he counters, his voice low and teasing, eyes lingering a second too long. Your cheeks flush as you narrow your eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be practicing instead of flirting?” “Who says I can’t do both?” he shoots back, his grin widening. Cameron!” Coach Johnson shouts from across the field, and Rafe gives you a little salute before jogging off, throwing one last look over his shoulder.

You shake your head, suppressing the smile tugging at your lips as you turn back to the group. “Alright, let’s try that again. No more interruptions!” But even as you say it, you can’t help but glance toward him one more time.