#every goddamn day. life could be a dream.

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

steamed chicken & brocolli is literally so fucking good and easy and the best thing ever soy sauce hot sauce maybe even some oyster sauce life could be a fucking dream

[kittlyns]

It turns out that when you were a kid and you felt like the odd man out literally everywhere you went and you thought it would never change - even when the adults around you tell you that someday the right people will come along and fix that - you were actually right all along. It doesn't ever change and no one fixes it. You're out of place everywhere you go and being kind and vulnerable will not make them welcome you.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

i would LOVE to stop having dreams forever actually

[sidras-tak]

Accessibility takes too goddamn fucking long.

My brother was paralyzed in October 2023. We got him home from the hospital (in Texas, when we live in Iowa) in a clunky old hospital chair. He hated it. He was scared and angry and in pain and his life had just changed forever and he couldn’t do anything for himself in that wheelchair. His first goal (aside from learning how to transfer) was to get a wheelchair. My family was lucky enough to afford one so we thought it would be easy enough. Nope.

We couldn’t buy him a wheelchair. He needed a prescription. For a wheelchair. A doctor had to examine him and declare him in need of a wheelchair. It wasn’t good enough that he had scans and tests showing tumors cutting off his spinal cord. He needed his primary care doctor to examine him during a physical and write a prescription. He was making 2-4 transfers a day, tops. He had no energy to get to a doctor. Home health was in and out every day. He had no time to get to a doctor. He didn’t get a prescription for almost a month. Then it had to go through insurance.

We asked if we could skip insurance and just buy a wheelchair for him. Nope. They wouldn’t sell us one, not even at full sticker price. It needed to be approved by Medicare. We ordered a wheelchair, a nice one, a good shade of green, sporty, small. It would let him move around the house. He would be able to cook, to reach drawers and get stuff from the fridge and brush his teeth and put his contacts in at a sink. We were told it would take awhile, maybe two months. Silently we all hoped he would be around to see two more months.

He went on hospice care on a Saturday in March. On Monday, I was calling his friends to come see him before he died. I got a call on his phone. It was the wheelchair company. They were about to order his wheelchair, she said, but there was an issue with insurance— had he stopped being covered by Medicare? Well, yes. When he started hospice care, he got kicked off Medicare. The very nice woman I talked to told me to call her if he resumed Medicare coverage so she could order his wheelchair. He died less than 12 hours later.

We ordered that chair for him in early December. Medicare didn’t approve the order until March. He was dead before they got around to it. He wanted that fucking wheelchair so badly. The only reason he had any semblance of independence and any quality of life for the last five months of his life was because the wheelchair company lent him an old beater chair, a very used model of the chair he ordered. If I could go back and change one thing about his end-of-life, I would get him his dream wheelchair. He told me again and again he couldn’t wait to get it, so that he could feel like a person again. He made the best of what he had with that old beater chair, but it still makes me mad to this day. He was paralyzed. He needed a chair that afforded him dignity. We had the money for it. And yet, we were left waiting for five months, for a chair that wouldn’t even get ordered until the day he died.

[nomairuins]

and also it doesnt even matter if i miraculously get a job tmrw bc we don't have a car . and im too out of shape to walk anywhere bc everything is far away . so i genuinely dont jnow what to do

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

Best friend!Sunghoon had easily convinced you to move in with him. His reasoning sat well with you—low cost and splitting of the rent. As a university student, you would do anything to save up some extra cash and this deal was spot on as it saved you half the amount of your usual living expenses.

However, the provided reason wasn’t even close to what Sunghoon had actually wanted. He knew you had a crush on him, yet you never acted upon it due to your experiences regarding sex and love were limited, which made him want to ruin you beyond words. He was more on the possessive side of the spectrum, which was also laced with jealousy as he hated the idea of anyone else touching his little angel, his kitten.

So he took the matter in his own hands, pulling you even closer to him now that you shared an apartment with each other. He stared at you a little longer, walked around shirtless, his touch on your bare skin lingered for a second too long and you loved it. Your body always reacted to him in such a manner which made him lose his patience each fucking day, until he finally decided to cage you between him and the wall when you had freshly came out of the shower, clad in just your tiny towel.

“You like showing your pretty little body, don’t you, kitten?” He’d whisper in a deep tone, eyes dark as he stared right in your eyes. He could see you biting your lip, your thighs pressing close to each other as you tried to formulate a reply. “What are you talking about Hoonie—” you were shushed with his slender finger, which was now pressed against your lips. “I know you want me, baby. You just have to say it, yeah?” He assured you slow but serious.

You couldn’t wait any longer, not when you dreamed the filthiest of your fantasies with him, not when you touched yourself desperately hoping that it was him instead, even more so when he simply sat in the room next door. You nodded fervently, “want you so much, Hoonie,” you almost whimpered, feeling smaller than ever under his intense gaze.

“Oh baby, I’ll ruin your cunt and fuck you in every corner of this goddamn apartment,” he growled.

He was gentle with you for your very first time, he knew exactly how you’d like it, he was your best friend after all. But you didn’t bother thinking that he’d actually fuck you everywhere. It started from your bedroom, where he took care of your all night, trying his best not to go overboard with you. The next time, he took you to his bedroom. The task was simple, you’ll have to suck his dick and he’d make a mess on your pretty face.

It then progressed to you crying out his name in pleasure as he fucks you from behind on your couch which barely fit two people. He didn’t even leave the kitchen out of the deal as he fucked you on the marble counter, his cock hitting just the right spots as you dug your nails into his shoulders for support. Then he proceeded to take you to the bathroom, the reason was simple again—to save the water.

It didn’t matter if it was your study table or the wall next to the front door, it never mattered if you were on the carpet or his gaming chair, he had to fuck you. As for you, you loved every second of it, he made sure to get your wildest fantasies out of you, only to make them come true.

When you finally crawled up to him, giving him your sweetest smile as you asked him to fuck you, he knew he had won in life.

He had ruined you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[amywritesthings]

press four for more options. | part four.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part three. / return to part one. | masterlist

Night comes around.

You do not call.

In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.

As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.

Don't call.

Just don't call.

It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.

Going out is an option.

Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.

Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.

It was him.

Right there.

Right in front of you.

Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.

No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise. 

He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—

Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.

Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.

(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)

So you make a final decision:

You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.

(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)

Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too. 

Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.

Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.

He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.

The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.

Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.

He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.

They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.

Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.

Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.

Would he know?

That you’re Scarlet.

His, in some made-up world.

(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)

The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.

Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.

(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)

As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.

He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.

This is torture.

You miss him.

But you still refuse to call.

Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.

Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.

The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.

If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.

You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.

Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath. 

A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.

(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)

In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.

“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.

(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)

You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.

Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.

“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”

“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”

You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.

“And Connie?”

“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”

“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”

Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”

“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”

“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.

You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days. 

Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.

Damn it.

Enough wallowing.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”

From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.

Armin and Jean.

Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“Nope, I’m solid.”

“Good here.”

“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”

“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”

You don’t stick around for that aftermath.

Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.

You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.

Success.

You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface. 

Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.

Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself. 

It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.

An hour.

All you need to do is last one whole hour.

Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—

“Is this seat taken?”

A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.

The seat.

The one next to you, where your purse lay.

Way to go, dumbass.

You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.

“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”

As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.

“Hold on, let me just move—”

Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.

Wait.

Levi?!

His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.

The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.

The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.

Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.

“...my stuff.”

Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now. 

Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out. 

Maybe your drink will be poisoned. 

You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.

Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.

Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.

Silence.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.

Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own. 

It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.

You need to get up.

Excuse yourself out. 

Leave.

You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.

“How’s your phone?”

Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t. 

The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.

“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.

“Good.”

Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.

Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.

His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.

You have to apologize.

This is crossing a line.

You need to—

“So—”

“I’m canceling my subscription.”

You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.

When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.

From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.

“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.

“I— how come?”

You repeat his question in surprise.

Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.

“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”

He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.

“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

“I’m actually here with friends—”

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling. 

“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”

Why isn’t he freaking out?

Shouldn’t he be freaking out?

Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.

“What can I get you?”

You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks. 

“I—”

“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”

Then he has the audacity to glance your way.

“Pineapple, right?”

Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?

Is this a flex?

(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)

“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.

The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.

For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.

He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.

You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.

This is real life.

The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.

If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.

Why didn’t you say something?

“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.” 

When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.

“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”

His brows pinch with amusement. 

“On Mars, or…?”

Oh.

He’s joking.

He’s actually joking about this.

You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.

“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”

No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.

“So you’re not…”

“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”

Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.

Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.

“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”

You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.

He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.

“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.

“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.” 

Levi shrugs, sipping his drink. 

“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”

“I just…”

You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.

“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.” 

Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.

“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”

Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.

“Not like that!”

“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”

He’s not angry.

Hell, he’s conversational.

Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.

Might as well be honest.

“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”

The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.

The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.

“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”

At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.

“You don’t… want me to leave?”

Levi shakes his head.

You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.

Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.

It feels intimate.

Too intimate.

“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”

“Right.”

“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”

You blink, not following. “Huh?”

“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”

Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.

“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Levi… was sorry?

The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”

His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.

“I… just said I crossed the line?”

“When?”

“On the phone?”

“Okay, duh, but when?”

“Our last session.”

“So that was real.”

Levi actually got off to your voice.

If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.

He considers his next words very carefully. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

Then he sips more before shaking his head.

“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”

You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”

He makes a noncommittal face.

“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”

“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.

“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."

Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.

“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."

He takes a pause.

"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”

You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.

"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."

Ten minutes.

That length of time strikes something in you.

“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.

Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder. 

“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”

Ten minutes away, is your implication.

His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.

His eyes narrow. 

“The complex on Junction Ave?”

“Yeah," you say.

“Right across from—”

“The Reiss deli.”

That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”

“You say the word shit a lot.”

“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.

“Wait, what?”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.

(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)

He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.

“You gotta be fucking with me.”

“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”

“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”

Holy shit.

Oh, holy shit.

You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”

Have been right above me this entire time.

Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought. 

Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.

[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?

Right.

You’re here with friends.

“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

You swipe the screen north and type a reply.

[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.

Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.

[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆

[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????

[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!

[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted

[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar

“Looks urgent.”

“Huh?” 

You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top. 

“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.

Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave. 

“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”

Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself. 

“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”

He nods once, setting his drink down. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”

Levi trails off, sighing heavily.

“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”

Something nestles itself between the lines of his words. 

Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.

“Do you really mean that, Levi?”

That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies. 

“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.

“So Levi’s your real name?”

He nods.

“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."

Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.

"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”

Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?

Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?

Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one: 

“Are you single?”

That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.

(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)

“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”

“Very,” you promise back.

“And my job doesn’t bother you?”

You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.

He isn't asking to marry you.

Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.

“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”

Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over. 

You smile in return, sipping your drink.

It's the truth.

He may not really know you, but he knows you.

Just as you're beginning to think you know him.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.

Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.

Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”

Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top. 

His skin is smooth. 

Heated. 

Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.

One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.

“—give me a call.”

Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.

You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.

A call.

Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.

Not the Scout Services Hotline.

No — his number.

Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.

Annie knows.

She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.

On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.

Zero through nine appear.

Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.

One ring.

Two.

By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

Levi Ackerman.

Knowing his full name warms your heart.

Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.

Searching for you.

You smile to yourself.

"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."

Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.

Be selfish.

"Are you free for some tea now?”

.

FIN

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.

In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)

The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l ❞ iii

part two - part four

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ the attention is nice even if it's not from Charles.

➪ established relationship mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ let's add some spice ☺ again, thanks for the love, love reading your guys thoughts and talk about it 🥰 google translate is my bestest friend

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y/nusername

📍 Baku, Azerbaijan

liked by landonorris, noellepicard and 561,999 others

y/nusername day 'n night ☀️🌛

tagged: charles_leclerc, manon_roux

view all 1,672 comments

charliecharlie mother being back on the grid and serving cunt again made my day <3

leclerc_16 CHARLES POLE WHOOP WHOOOP 🤩

norrizz will you be at the race tomorrow?

↳ y/nusername yes ☺

charloslesainz I'm seeing a camera..vlogging, did lando influence you for a jpg account? 👀

noellepicard bring my baby girl back, I miss her

↳ y/nusername she's packing her bags as we speak, putting her on the first flight back

noellepicard will be waiting for her

y/ncharles they grow up so fast 😫

lestappen116 hoping for a charles win tomorrow!

carlandooo zoë being the cutest once again ❤️

julieeeexo girl you have to tell us mamma's how you manage traveling with a baby, already dreading my 4 hours flight in 1 months 😭

↳ y/nusername what do you think the camera is for babes? 👀

yukisan I'm not a mom but I'll be watching these videos religiously

landonorris upsetting

↳ y/nusername I will not put my daughter in mclaren merch

landonorris the betrayal is unreal

norry4 lando trying to make zoë a mclaren baby is such a lando thing to do 💀

➽────────────────────────❥

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by landonorris, noellepicard and 316,678 comments

y/nusername 🛀

view all 1,816 comments

charliecharlie MOM?!?!

bott_ass now THAT is a milf 👀

noellepicard oh my god, zoë her mom got it going on 🥵

↳ y/nusername so does her aunt 😍

noellepicard stop it, you're going to make me blush

leonardb Charles is one lucky man

norrizz mommy? no. mommy? sorry. mommy? no– 😫

stephan00 gaddamn I love milfs

tommyf Charles could you do us a favor and fumble this one and give us lads a chance?

↳ norry4 nah all these men in the comments have me crying tears lmfao

yukisan just saw a guy comment 'I'm 18 but real mature for my age' 💀

norry4 like did they not notice y/n being fine as hell on TV? 💀

yukisan she ain't showing so much skin during interviews though 😂

francisca.cgomes stunning 😍

↳ y/nusername you are 😍

manon_roux man I love milfs

↳ noellepicard we've been known babes, it's the hitting on every single mom you meet that gave it away

manon_roux imagine being attracted to men

noellepicard not by choice unfortunately

hamilt44n everyday I learn a bit more about this group of friends and they come out more unhinged everytime

robyn_diaz what a hottie 🔥

↳ landoscar babe are you blind, your man is hiding in the likes

➽────────────────────────❥

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes and 324,567 likes

y/nusername the homebody club 🍼🍷

view all 1,672 comments

julieeeexo nothing better than being at home 🥰

norrizz you and me bestie, can I join the club?

leclerc_16 I'd love for you to give us some book recommendations because goddamn, that's the book collection of my dreams 😭

↳ carlito55 I second that and cooking videos!

ricric yeah why don't we make her a boring ass influencer mom? I mean she's well on her way, she's become so boring 💀

carlito55 why are you still here then if it bothers you so much..I rather be a boring loving mom than be like you 🤮

leclerc_16 sorry that your life is so miserable that you feel the need to drag others down.

manon_roux now that's a club I want to be at 🕺

↳ y/nusername we only serve the good milk, cold coffee and luke warm wines

landonorris turn up in the club 🍼

norry4 I am so confused lmfao, they really became besties huh?

lewisham I want you to adopt me like right now 😔

sainzcarlos her recent content is giving ✨ single mom ✨ not one mention of charles or anything..

↳ yukisan the season is not over yet, Charles is still racing..I'm sure they'll be spending plenty of time together during the winter break

arthuuuur fr and the fact that lando is in her comments and liking every single post isn't helping either 💀

charlesgirlies so you guys know when they are together or not? So you know when they call each other or not? pretty sure she mentioned 'facetiming daddy' in her last vlog but okay

landonorris still no papaya

↳ y/nusername thank god no ☺

robyn_diaz stop turning this cutie into a mclaren fan 😂

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 419,782 others

y/nusername pjs kinda day 💤

view all 1,190 comments

charlesgirlies can I join, love me a pjs kinda day!

noellepicard okay but like..where was my invite? 😔

charliecharlie where'd you get your pjs from?

↳ leclerc_16 you should follow this account that steals y/n her outfits!

charles_leclerc ❤️

↳ hamilt44n oh look he's still alive

norry4 haven't seen you here in a while

y/nusername ❤️

sharl16 cuties 😍

bott_ass the best kind of days!

manon_roux matching with the babe again

↳ y/nusername always 🥰

charloslesainz just y/n and her mini me 🥰

➽────────────────────────❥

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon

Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader @champagneproblems17 @norwayxo @sunny44

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter two)

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. chapter 2/8. AO3.

You’ve been hand-chosen by a god; plucked out of your meager, mundane existence and set delicately into the lap of luxury. Your every need will be met, your every whim and wish made real. By any measure, it’s a dream come true. A life safe from pain, from toil, and from the crushing weight of choice. In exchange, all he asks is that you devote yourself wholly to him.

“What happened?” You ask, voice frayed. Your movements are sluggish, hands rubbing the disorientation from your eyes one at a time.

Homelander catches his own reflection briefly in the mirror across from the bed–making sure he doesn’t have a hair out of place for this crucial meeting–before his gaze moves back to you. “Only the most important day of your life,” he says, feeling as though he’s about to tell someone they just won the goddamn lottery. He watches you rise slowly up into a sitting position, never taking your eyes off of him. He knows that you’re nervous–can smell it on you–but he doesn’t worry himself with that. It’s to be expected initially. 

“You just so happen to be the luckiest lady in America,” he tells you, putting on his most charming smile.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your confusion deepening. He can see the tension in your body rising as well, the pace of your heart lifting to a rabbit-like thrum despite the molasses thick haze of the anesthesia in your system.

He laughs softly, lifting his hands in an encompassing gesture. “I saved you.”

Almost instantaneously, the tense line of your shoulders droops and your eyes soften in a way that erupts a wave of butterflies in his gut. You look nearly ready to fall back into bed with the weight of relief that moves through you, causing you to sway slightly. He feels nearly delirious with the giddiness of the moment, his fingers twitching, itching to touch. 

“What do you remember?” He asks, daring to inch closer to you. His hand settles on the bed, fingertips nearly brushing your blanketed knee.

“I remember someone grabbing me. A man. He put a rag over my mouth,” you say, lifting a hand to touch your lips. His gaze drops to follow the movement. He subconsciously licks his own. He’d been such a gentleman while you slept, but that hadn’t stopped him fantasizing. He cannot wait to taste you again. “It smelled like grass or something. I fought, but he was so strong,” you say, a tremble like reverence or fear in your voice. Maybe both.

When you realize that his strength is yours, you’ll never need to fear it–or anything else–ever again.

“And then I blacked out. You saved me from him?” You look up at him with wide, watery eyes and he could almost laugh at how cute you look, cluelessly putting together mismatched pieces of the little puzzle going on in your brain. The breathless wonder in your voice–the way you’re looking at him with such hope–makes his chest swell with pride.

You’re in for a real treat.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, lifting his hand to give your knee a gentle squeeze through the blanket. “That was me,” he says, his smile broad and proud. “What I saved you from was ever stepping foot back in that dingy little apartment of yours again. From that mind numbing mediocrity and the tedium of your mundane little life. I brought you home,” he says, gesturing out to his penthouse with a grand sweep of his arm.

A pregnant pause follows.

He waits, but you still don’t seem to get it. Your heart is thumping wildly with no sign of slowing, and that brief flicker of relief has disappeared entirely, the line of your shoulders drawing back up tight. A twinge of apprehension nestles in his chest.

“Well?” He prompts, his smile faltering. “Say something.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you say, gripping the bedding in tight fists. “You kidnapped me?”

“I didn’t kidnap you, you silly goose,” he half scoffs, half laughs. “I brought you home!” He says again, emphasizing the word ‘home’ as if it will speed along your comprehension. Instead, you look more confused and afraid than ever. 

He sighs, dropping his hands down into his lap. “C’mon, you could show a little excitement, yeah? I mean, out of the three hundred and thirty million people in America, I picked you. Those are some fucking insane lottery odds.”

“Picked me for what?” You ask quietly, a rasp in your voice that itches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. You sound ready to cry, which won’t do at all. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“To be mine,” he says, and while he’s still smiling, there’s an incredulous furrow to his brow. 

“Be your what?”

His smile thins alongside his patience. “My–mine, my girlfriend, lover, sweetheart, my-my fucking paramor, whatever you want to call it,” he says, that charming facade slipping as his mounting aggravation with your incomprehension creeps further up his spine. 

Where’s your excitement? Where’s your fucking gratitude?

“I don’t even know you,” you say, moving away from him to the opposite side of the bed, sliding onto your feet without ever taking your eyes off of him. You brace your hand on his headboard, steadying yourself.

Homelander stands, taken aback. “Of course you know me. You recognized me instantly!” He says, circling the bed. 

For every step he takes forward, you take two back. 

He’s bewildered by your response: he’s a goddamn hero, the shining light of providence beaming down on America, and you’re cowering from his approach like he’s some kind of fucking pariah, shrinking back against the mirror when you hit it, cornering yourself.

“You know exactly who I am, and I know you,” he says, uninvited irritation slipping into his voice. 

“I know that you like to cook, that you can’t hold your alcohol, and that the best part of your day is the little sweet treat you get yourself after work. You laugh at bad jokes and you watch worse television. Videos about sad animals make you cry, even when they end happy. When you’re depressed you shop online and look at house listings you’ll never be able to afford. I know you, alright? Down to your goddamn skincare routine. So just calm down already.”

Fuck, he needs to reign himself in. He’s gotten too worked up, and you’re stubbornly not calming down at all.

“You’ve been stalking me?” You ask, gaze darting from corner to corner like an animal seeking an avenue for escape. The horror in your voice, in your expression, churns his stomach terribly.

Relax. Relax. Give her a sec. She’ll figure it out, coos a much more confident voice in the back of his mind. He closes his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath, inhabiting that same confidence. 

Everything’s going to be fine.

There’s no other option now.

“It’s–heh–it’s a funny story, actually,” he says, forcefully lightening his tone. He wants you to enjoy this story. Hear the romanticism in it. “I was on patrol, you know, watching for crime, or danger, people in need of saving–I do that a lot–and that’s when I saw you,” he says with a slowly broadening smile, hands lifted towards you like you’re on display. “You were on your way to work, and you handed some homeless guy a box of–”

“John,” you interrupt, staring at him with apprehension.

Homelander’s expression turns stricken, not knowing why you would possibly call him that. In his underlying agitation, he sees flashes of a cramped room behind an enormous door the color of fresh blood. His hands felt so small beating on that terrible door. His throat constricts, and he barely chokes out, “What?”

“John,” you say again, visibly concerned by his reaction. “The man I give food to, his name is John.” Of course it is. As common a gutter name as any.

“Oh,” he says, the muscles in his face tight. It takes him several seconds to recover, blinking rapidly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay. So, you… Well, I saw you, and you were rushing, working, and you’d come home, rush and work again, and the food, you’d–” Fuck, he’s lost the thread. He feels like he’s coming unspooled, an awkward mess spilled out on the floor. This is not how he wants you to see him.

If only you hadn’t said that fucking name.

He brings his hands up, covering his mouth and nose as he takes in a deep breath, eyes closed. He drops his hands in front of his chest, palms clasped together. He smiles tensely as his eyes open back up. “I’m gonna start over. Hey, hi, I’m Homelander,” he says, slipping into his stage voice without realizing it, speaking the way he would if he was addressing a crowd. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”

He splays his hands at that, as if waiting for an applause for his performance. You don’t appear to be of the mind to offer him one.

“Okay… so you have been stalking me,” you say, pressed so tightly against the mirror you might actually crack it. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. You’re just working yourself up now, focusing on the wrong parts entirely. He assumes you’ll be more reasonable when all the adrenaline in your blood wears off. The smell of it on you is terribly sour. “And now you’ve drugged and kidnapped me.”

He lets out a terse breath. “I–mm, I feel like you’re missing the point just a little bit here,” he says through his teeth, heat prickling his neck where his collar touches it, the fabric suddenly growing irritating against his skin. “I was not stalking you. I saw you a few times, and I wanted to meet you. And again, you’re not kidnapped!”

“I’m free to go, then?” You ask, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Yes, obviously,” he laughs, though there’s tension in it. It takes everything in him not to forcibly uncross your arms himself. He much prefers how you looked in sleep, or when he observed you from a distance. This harsh, closed off version of you is making his skin itch. He wishes he could start the take over, the way they do when he’s filming. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Ever seen Paris? Hell, summer in Italy is–”

“Home,” you say. “I’d like to go home, please.”

“Would you-!” His tone is too sharp, too loud, and he cuts himself off, but not before his volume makes you flinch. 

He sucks in a breath, bobbing his pointer finger at you. “You-mmm,” he hums, clicking his tongue as he continues to force calm into his voice. “You are home,” he says, giving into his impulse and taking hold of your wrist, tugging your arms out of that tight cross with ease. He pulls you behind him, deciding that if telling won’t work, showing will have to. 

Once you see it, you’ll understand. You’ll understand that all of this has been for you.

“Here, look,” he says, throwing open the door to the closet. Your closet. It’s lined with outfits he’s spent the last several weeks choosing for you. Weeks spent finding a balance between your aesthetic and his. You’ll have to match him, of course. He made sure that they compliment his suit while also carrying similarities to the color palettes you’re drawn to.

He spreads his arm towards the display, fingers twitching. “See? Yours. All of it–and whatever else you want,” he says, hyper aware of how delicate your wrist feels in his grasp. You may as well be a bird in his hands, hollow-boned and fragile. “The kitchen, too, it’s yours,” he says, gesturing vaguely off in the direction of it. His attention snaps back to you, laser focused. He gives your wrist a reflexive tug, fighting with himself to keep his own strength at bay.

“I did all of this for you,” he says in a low voice, pinning you with his stare. “Tell me you understand that.”

If there’s an undercurrent of desperation in his tone, he ignores it.

Your eyes are wide and watery, a deer caught in the golden headlights of all that he is. Your breaths come in shallow waves, and the terrible fear that radiates from you makes him want to shake you. Your gaze slides from him to the closet, flitting between the myriad of garments that hang in the closet. All in your size. Some of them are nearly identical to pieces you own, but manufactured by the original designer instead of a cheap knock-off plucked from a department store rack.

And still he can give you so much more. All he asks is that you love him for it.

There’s a tremble running through you. Your throat clicks on a dry swallow, and slowly your attention drifts back to him, sweeping him from head to toe, taking account of him in his entirety for the first time. He tenses. It’s a little strange to be so seen by you, but it feels good, too. He squares his shoulders, wanting you to see the best in him.

“Why me?” You ask quietly, your eyes meeting his. You still look lost, but what he finds endearing is the underlying conviction he sees. You’re always quick to move towards a solution. He likes that about you. He’s not sure what it is that you’ve decided, but it’s clear you’ve made a choice somewhere in your mind.

Because you’re like me.

“Because you deserve it,” he says, drawing you in at the same time he turns his body towards yours. “You’re underappreciated. Undervalued. You’re capable of so much more than the world gives you credit for,” he says, his grip on your wrist flexing. Every one of those glorified pen-pushers at Vought should choke for the way they ignore him, hoisting their agendas onto him while dismissing his ideas. “And you’re lonely.”

Your eyes widen a fraction. Bullseye.

Sensing vulnerability, he moves a step closer, taking hold of your other wrist. He offers both a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to be.”

Neither of us do.

“This is insane,” you whisper, but the inflection of your voice makes it sound like a question. Like you’re considering it. “You’re… You’re Homelander,” you say, as if that should explain everything you hold in your gaze. 

And I’m nobody, you must be thinking. Maybe you were once, but no longer. You’ve been elevated in the way only someone chosen by God can be.

“And you’re here. With me,” he counters, his own voice lower now, quieter in the intimately narrow space between your bodies, both hands wrapped around your wrists. There’s a flush crawling up your throat, warming you all the way to your ears. His thumb absently strokes your pulse-point. “Safe. I’m a hero, remember?”

“So, you’re not… going to wear my skin, or eat me?” You ask, voice filled with such dread at the notion he thinks you might have actually believed that was his intention.

He barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, first of all, no more Silence of the Lambs for you,” he says, relinquishing his hold on your wrists to slide his hands up your arms, squeezing your shoulders. “Second, no. I’m not going to wear your skin. Or eat you.”

Well… Not like that. He can’t promise he won’t devour you, though. Pin you beneath the weight of his strength–he could keep you down with nothing more than his pinky–put his head between your thighs and trace his name with his tongue until you’re screaming it. The thought makes his cock throb, stiffen. He licks his lips subconsciously, glad for the cover of his cup.

“Okay,” you say, snapping him out of his daydream. “Then you want me to…?” 

It seems ridiculous to him that he would still have to explain it. He’ll blame it on the anesthesia.

“Do whatever you want,” he says, taking his hands from your shoulders to motion to the rest of his penthouse. “Cook, don’t cook. Read books, shop, get in arguments on the internet over fictional characters,” he says, swirling his hand in a vague gesture. “Whatever makes you happy,” he says, gaze drifting back to you. All you have to do is do it with me. “Pretty sweet deal if you ask me.” He offers you the sharp edge of a smile, leaving little room for discussion.

You stare at him for a moment that’s too long and too quiet for his liking before your eyes wander, taking in the rest of his room. The balcony beyond the threshold. The mirrors and paintings on the walls, the statues in the corners, the rich dark colors. Everything has been decorated to make the space feel grander, more open. No blank walls. No doors that lock. It’s his home.

And now it’s your home.

“Okay,” you say eventually.

His brows shoot up. “Okay?”

You look back to him, your expression difficult for him to parse. Despite years spent practicing and learning facial expressions–all part of his camera training–he cannot read yours right now. He would be more bothered if he weren’t so distracted by the spark of hope that flares in his chest. “Okay,” you say again, adding a small nod this time.

He exhales a breathy laugh. “Yeah? Yeah! Okay. Alright. Wow, that’s… that’s great,” he says, his grin wide and a touch incredulous. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, a sense of suspicion, but his elation smothers it. He had dreaded that you might face an adjustment period, be confused, that there would be tears or anger. You were really starting to get under his skin with all that talk of kidnapping.

As if he were some sort of common thug or criminal, and not a savior.

In his exhilaration, he cups your face suddenly. He feels your pulse spike in his hands, but his focus is solely on your eyes.

“I’m going to make you the happiest woman alive,” he vows with a soft gaze and an eager smile. He leans in close enough to feel your breaths on his lips, tempted to kiss you, but he stops himself. There will be plenty of time for that, and he doesn’t want to remember your first kiss alongside the acrid tinge of your fading fear. His thumbs brush your cheeks, learning the shape of them under his touch.

He’d been wrong when he first took notice of you. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he draws away, placing his hands on his hips. “Now… How about we get you a little more comfortable for bed?”

( chapter three )

[thesturniolos]

guilty pleasures (part 1 )

m. sturniolo x reader

authors note: this picture is actually sickening, need him too bad 🤞

this is all creds to my bae @iheartchrissturniolo thanks for the idea hun < 3 (part 2 including your idea yet to come)

summary: matt has a bit of a crush on his best friend, he’s fantasising ;)

warnings: smut, swearing !!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

she looked heavenly by the pool today, irresistible to the point where my heart ached. i knew i couldn’t have her, i’ve only been reminding myself everyday for the past 6 years and it’s agonising.

the way the droplets of water fell off her golden skin, the bikini that accentuated her curves, oh so perfectly. and knowing i chose it for her was like the cherry on top of the cake. blue- my favourite colour - and hell she knew it when she bought it, she even told me. “i wonder why you picked this one” i remember her slight giggle after she said it, voice like silk, one that plays in my head at night.

she drags her hand through her hair, shaking it a little to get rid of the water, and boy do i wish it was me doing that. for me to be the one to look after her, to do the small things that weren’t so small to me. her eyes are closed and even though she’s been in the water, her makeup remained flawless - not that she needed it, she was absolutely gorgeous with and without.

she didn’t think this however, always telling me how she wishes she looked like anybody else. if she could only see what i see, just for a second, she’d never think that again. she’s better than any supermodel, the ‘prettiest of girls’ according to society weren’t a touch on her. plus, they didn’t come with her personality- she’s a real life angel and i’ve been blessed with even being in her presence.

i would spend every minute and every hour of my day telling her every little thing i love about her from the colour of her nails to the shape of her lips, i don’t care about the dents in her thighs or the stretch marks on her stomach, she’s perfect.

she’s walking closer to me with an arm outstretched, my eyes landing on the matching tattoo she has with me and i smile. i sometimes forget we had that done, which almost instantly brings me back to reality that she is and always will just be my best friend. i cannot afford to lose someone as special as her which is why i have to push those feelings to the side, as much as we want to be free.

her being so close to me and looking at me with those eyes, dark eyes that could mean so many things, made my cheeks blush the slightest red and i become desperate to hide this. what kind of friend blushes like a crazed guy in love when they look at them? it’s just a look, god.

“you got a towel?” there was that voice again, a voice i wish was in my ear forever. it wasn’t high - pitched nor was it deep, it was just in the middle, soothing. reminds me of the times where she held me whilst i cried, the bestest friend there is. reminds me of when she was so utterly drunk and slurring over her words, what was it again?

 ╭┈┈┈┈╮

“matt” she prods at my arm, waking me up.

“wassup” she frowns looking at my tired state, moving her hand to push hair out of my eyes.

“i’ve got a secret” i frown now, it’s 3am goddamn.

“what’s that”

“you promise you won’t tell anyone?” those little doe eyes drive me crazy, keep looking at me like that and i’ll have an accident.

“i promise” she leans in closer to my ear, her hot breath on my skin.

“i had a dream about you the other day” now i’ve piped up. i don’t care about the time or the sleep in my eyes, she fucking dreamt about me, i’m wide awake.

“oh yeah? good or bad?”

“depends”

“what’d you mean, depends?” once again, driving me crazy. she just knows how to do it.

“well, it depends how you take it.”

“go on.” i’m begging for this now, i need to know what the fuck happened, it’s killing me.

“well, we were doing something,” she twirls my hair in her hand, not looking me in the eyes yet all i can focus on is her and her words. “something best friends don’t do.”

“like what?”

“fucking.”

╰┈┈┈┈╯

held a chokehold over me. every night when i got in to bed i imagined her sleepy self, squirming about in her sheets to the idea of me pounding into her. suddenly i didn’t feel so bad about the hundreds of wet dreams i’ve had ‘bout her, we’re even.

but it only made me more delusional that we could actually be something. she was drunk and it was a dream, i was being dramatic if i thought it was actually something.

“yeah, it’s just there.” i say, pointing to the floor. she bends down to pick it up and i get the best sight of her boobs, pressed against the fabric of her bikini, pushed together ever so slightly. they looked so smooth, so pretty. something i just couldn’t take my eyes off..

“hello? matt?” she swipes her hand in front of my face and i’m so utterly embarrassed, knowing i’d been fixated on her tits. what an assy thing to do, how do i even begin to explain something like that?

“i- uh- i’m sorry! i wasn’t-“ she smiles at me and reaches out to scruff my hair, once again her boobs being directly in my face. is she doing this on purpose? because i’m about to cum in my pants.

“i take it you just really like your choice of bikini, hm?” she laughs, moving the towel to rest it on her hip as she turns around and struts off towards our house. she fucking knows what she does, not just to me but everyone.

i’ve been ignoring the poking in my pants for a while but it’s more prominent then ever now and i need to do something about it or i’m gonna come undone right here right now. it might be pervy but i quite literally cannot be around her when she’s close to naked, my mind travels to the dirtiest of places and to be honest, i’m careless.

if she’s going to act so calm about riling me up like that, then i’m gonna embrace the way she makes me feel. how she makes my cheeks hot and the wet patch that forms in my boxers when she whispers in my ear or now, shoving her boobs in my face.

praying that my jeans cover my painfully obvious hard-on, i quickly walk into the house, making a bee line for my bedroom, desperate to do something about what was happening in my pants.

“you okay, matt?” shes looking at me with a frown, the towel in her hair now as she begins to dry it, still wearing that flattering bikini that is just about to tip me over the edge.

“mhm, i- um, just need to do something.” i look around to see if my brothers are anywhere to be seen, something to distract me from this conversation, i so desperately need to get to that bedroom.

“oh? why’d you look so flustered?” she says with a smug, little smile.

“no reason. i just- i just need a second.” i go to walk away. as much as i would love to stay and talk, right now that is not what i need.

“need my help?”

tags: @strniohoeee @sturnsbaby @sturniolopepsi @malsturns @mattslolita @mattitties @mattsbratt @mattsturniolos @mattsturniolosgf @chrisdevora @christinarowie332 @chrisolivia4l @ilovemattsturn @sturniolossmut @sturnioloswife @sturniolosstar @freshlovehacker @kirby0strombolli @recklesssturniolo @lovingmattysposts @oversturn @ilovemattsturn @urfavstromboli @estelleswrld @strawberrysturniolo @dailysturniolo @deatthmatch @hoesformatt @justangelheree @klarasmith @kvtie444 @cabincorematt @caitifilms @bluesturniolo333 @mattsturnioloswattpad

[wannaeatramyeon]

DG x Reader: Manager and their Idol

8.5k. G/N. Soft, colleagues to lover (guess I love this trope). Masterlists

You had imagined life as a K-Pop idol manager to be much more glamorous.

You pity your young naive self. The one that envisaged schmoozing with stars and rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers, and instead set you on this horrid, lacklustre path.

What you didn't expect was the amount of time playing driver. Carting that stupid pink haired brat around. Waiting on him hand and foot during shoots and interviews, and being at his beck and call.

You have saved his ass more times than you can recall, ran through scripts with him, practised his stupid dances and moves alongside, protected him from unhinged fans and reporters and scavengers.

And yet you can count on one hand the amount of times he has thanked you.

Actually no, it didn't require any hands because he has thanked you exactly zero times for all your early mornings and late nights and for going above and beyond your duty.

Out of desperation, you had asked your boss if you could manage someone else and the request was declined.

"DG has taken a liking to you," she said, tone impressed as if that was something you should be proud of.

"Great," your smile comes out as more of a grimace.

And goddamn, this agency was so stupidly prestigious and the benefits and perks here really are second to none. Just why did Diego fucking Kang have to be their top idol.

.

.

The first time you crossed the threshold into his building, greeting the reception security guard and entering his penthouse keycode like you had been let in on the world's greatest secret, you had tiptoed around like a child in a museum. After all, this was DG's residence. The DG!

You had ooh-ed and aah-ed at every little thing. 

Taking delight in seeing his interior design of choice, the type of candy that he snacks on, the shampoo and conditioner he uses, the way he organises his desk. This is the chair DG sits on to eat. This is the sofa DG lounges on to watch TV. This is the bed he sleeps in, the bath he uses, the toilet he-

Any wide eyed innocence and awe evaporated after your first week working together.

Today, you stab in the entry code and let the door shut with a bang. 

You set his now cold coffee order on the kitchen counter and rifle with practised fingers through his unopened mail to see if there is anything you should draw his immediate attention to. You pick up his discarded clothes from the floor (and for fuck's sake, this suit jacket was on loan) and make your way to his bedroom where tufts of pink hair peeks out from under the cover.

"Good morning," you announce, locating the remote to open the blinds and letting in some sunlight.

Bedsheets rustle behind you.

"Good morning Diego," you repeat and give one warning, "I hope you're decent." With that, you throw the covers back to find the scantily dressed idol glaring up at you.

You remember the days when this sight would have made you weak at the knees. Seeing him half naked, in the flesh, freshly woken up with bedhead and half lidded eyes. It's what most of Korea dreams of, including yourself once upon a time.

Now all you feel is extreme irritation.

"Good morning," you say for the third time, plastering on a saccharine smile that you know DG sees clearly through because it is insincere as hell to anyone with half a brain cell. You let the fakeness shine through anyway.

For a split second, DG frowns as his eyes drop to your lips and then he pretends everything is good. Smiling back prettily, sharp canines on show and stretching. Lifting his arms overhead, showing a good stretch of pecs and abs and the line of muscle in a V pointing like an arrow straight down to his-

You roll your eyes.

"You're late." You throw the covers back over him and stride back towards the door. "We should have left half an hour ago." You leave out the part where you had been waiting downstairs in the car and after an hour of no show and no anything, you stomped your way up to his home.

DG, sensing your mood, adds oil to the fire with a smirk, "Why didn't you wake me then?"

If that idiot bothered to look at his phone, he would see a number of missed calls and unread messages from you.

Whatever.

"Hurry up."

.

.

DG has come across many people like yourself over the years. All cute and bright eyed, way too soft.

He never gave you any special treatment, for better or worse, and assumed that you would eventually burn out or give up and move on to something more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, in a rare turn of events, he had miscalculated.

Of course most people would be starstruck, it's only natural. But he mistook your sincerity and kind smile for ignorance and missed your sharp, observing gaze, and astute mind.

He's impressed, and he really can't remember the last time he was impressed.

In a matter of days of working together, you had managed to cut through the bullshit and within the month got him more compliant and docile than anyone else ever has.

Which should be a huge fucking problem, and raising red flags all over DG's mind.

...Except-

What's really troubling him right now, as he sulks in the passenger seat and you in the driver's, is that you have developed some sort of resistance to his charms.

Maybe a part of him does actually miss the you who he formed the first impression of. Who looked at him in wonder, with the same admiration that everyone else did.

Now that he knows you, he hates that he had thought that initial admiration was insignificant and worthless.

.

.

DG has a stash of candy in the car.

Or more accurately, you keep a stash of candy next to him to a) Shut him up and b) Keep him tolerable.

If DG wasn't so aloof, the fact that he has an incurable sweet tooth (and probably cavities to prove it) would have made headlines as a cute K-Pop fact and likely garnered sponsorship and advertising deals with all sorts of confectionary brands.

You had only found out during your adventures as his manager, rifling through his kitchen drawers trying to find his goddamn phone that he misplaced and you stumbled upon his stash of candy.

It really was a disgusting amount, something you'd expect a gaggle of grade schoolers at Halloween to hoard, not Diego goddamn Kang.

And then you also found out if he's not quiet and haughty in the car, making the atmosphere awkward, he likes to comment on your driving.

Who even sits in the passenger seat next to their 'chauffeur' anyway? He complains about you braking too suddenly and not accelerating fast enough. How you drive like an 80 year old with cataracts, and you're too slow when the light changes to green.

The turn in your relationship happened when you snapped at him to shut the fuck up after losing the final shred of your sanity on a three hour drive.

DG, to your dismay, didn’t miraculously lose his hearing and turns to you as you silently berate yourself for voicing the quiet thoughts out loud.

Although, you're in the deep end now. You're gonna get fired anyway, so if he says anything else you might as well give him a flick on the forehead or a pinch or maybe a punch to the face-

Instead, he laughs.

It's nothing like the laugh you have heard on TV and in interviews. The rehearsed and manicured 'haha' or cool chuckle that suits his shiny persona. It's kinda goofy and a lot endearing.

What's even more endearing is the way he does actually shut the fuck up for the rest of the journey. You like him a lot more after that.

So. You digress.

The candy is a way to keep the sweet toothed maniac quiet. Even if it doesn't work, at least it's harder to make out what insults he's slinging with a lollipop rattling around his mouth.

However, he has never ever shared any with you. Any of the candy that you stock, and pay for.

(That you technically claim back on company expenses, but you're trying to be self righteous here.)

Ever.

In all the months of working with him, he gobbles away happily even if your stomach is growling and you refuse to take any yourself out of principle.

Until-

"Here."

"Huh?"

Taking advantage of your response and open mouth, DG leans into your personal space and feeds you some chewy strawberry something or another (which coincidentally are his least favourite), fingers lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second.

Three things happen in quick succession.

The burst of sugar hits your tongue.

You nearly choke.

You narrowly avoid swerving.

"Careful now," DG grins when you get the car and yourself under control, and glance at him with a scowl.

Good. That proves you're not completely immune to his charms.

.

.

That bastard has now taken it upon himself to feed you candy at every opportunity.

You wonder if he's doing some sort of Pavlov experiment. The sweetness trying to erase any sourness you feel towards him.

It sort of works, and you consider biting his fingers off one of these days.

You hear the crinkling of wrappers, one for him that he pops into his mouth, and one for you that he gives without asking.

You angle your head towards him, and his fingers graze your lips every time.

Neither of you comment on the change but the intimacy drives you a little crazy.

.

.

And DG too.

Because intimacy works both ways and damnit his little gesture to keep the pretty blush on your face has backfired.

The only form of intimacy he knows comes from discreet hookups and low key links. Not someone who is around day in, day out. Or anyone that goes deeper than one night stands and booty calls.

You're there, you're always there. Of course you are, you're his manager.

But today, he feels under the microscope with you standing a couple metres away and keen eyes watching the camera monitor.

It's a no nothing day. Standard schedule where he shoots a fragrance commercial and he exits a pool all wet and sultry, white t-shirt clinging to his muscled body.

Then another scene where he writhes around slightly on a sunbed and eye-fucks the camera.

How it sells a fragrance, he never knows. The mystery of showbiz.

"Cut! More powder!" The director shouts out, the crew springing into action and DG knows exactly why.

He feels strangely embarrassed and flustered, which has manifested into his cheeks being flushed, and god he can't even remember the last time he has been like this.

It’s out of character and he needs to get his head together.

As the make up artist hurriedly dabs on some foundation, you make your way over to him.

"Are you sick?" you ask, concerned and reaching out to feel his forehead with the back of your hand.

"I'm fine," He says, turning away from your attentiveness and staring at a point in the distance.

.

.

With most people, if DG wants them out of sight, they stay out of sight.

But as his manager, and a very competent one at that, it’s harder to get you to leave.

Not that DG wants you to either, don’t get him wrong. 

The only constants he has around him are people who want something from him. And yes, he knows you’re only in his company because you work with him. However, he really can’t doubt the concern he always sees in your eyes. The compassion and empathy even when he makes you want to scream and tear your hair out.

His standoffish demeanour is not new to anyone. It’s part of his appeal to be quite honest. 

Yet he feels bad over the next couple weeks as he turns it up to eleven and tries to create some distance. He registers the hurt on your face as he is extra short with his answers and behaviour.

.

.

Pandering to overinflated celebrity egos and the insane Korean work ethic often leads to after hour shoots and dinner delayed until past midnight.

Honestly, this wreaks havoc on your sleep schedule and your skin.

"Here." You retrieve DG's takeout from the paper bag.

A double portion of delicious fried chicken with a side of kimchi and pickles. It's a change of pace from what most idols order, yet he doesn't give two shits about calories or sodium intake and to add insult to injury, somehow manages to keep his trim figure.

You lament your soggy salad sitting at the bottom. As if it’s not sad enough right now - once you arrive home, the lettuce will be wilting and room temperature and you will eat it in your dimly lit apartment with nothing to keep you company except the sound of the TV.

DG notices you turning to leave his penthouse, and his mouth moves before his brain can.

"Aren't you staying?"

"What?" You double take at the question.

DG's company is usually worse than your lonely meal for one. 

He’s annoying and you frequently want to slap him, but how he has been with you lately has been troubling and you actually feel a sense of relief at his offer.

(You had wondered if you might have been getting sacked up until this moment.)

Nevertheless, in all your time working alongside, you have never had a proper meal one on one together. Nothing more than you driving with one hand and the other hastily shoving a burger into your mouth as he looks on in disgust.

You would have dwelled on this more, wondering what's changed, what’s happened, but then-

"I'll share." DG nudges the box towards you, and the delicious scent of deep fried, battered goodness wafts along with it it

All your misgivings and your salad is forgotten.

.

.

Almost.

No, you were wrong.

Eating with DG, without any distractions such as traffic to navigate or other boisterous colleagues around, is unnerving. Disarming.

His haughtiness remains, but how haughty can someone be when munching on a drumstick.

All frostiness from the past weeks melts away as you both eat your way through his chicken.

He’s talking more tonight than you have heard in a while.

You find him funny, and really quite bitchy. Which you did know all along except it's much funnier now his slanderous comments aren't directed at you.

And has he always looked at you with such a piercing gaze? So intensely focused on what you have to say. Even if you're just complaining about your boss, blurring your lines of professionalism, he gives you his full attention.

You really can't remember the last time you have been in each other's company like this. 

You loathe to admit that even with what an asshole he is, DG's shine hasn’t dulled enough for you that you don't understand the appeal.

.

.

Leaning forward, DG whispers into your ear.

To anyone else, it looks like an over-affectionate idol with their manager. If they could hear his words, "I'm going to kill you," they would think otherwise.

Ok, so this one is your fault.

The good times have to come to an end and maybe you should have been more careful with his pride and joy - some ridiculously overpriced and over-specced vehicle.

Taking advantage of the clear blue Seoul skies, the pink haired menace was the one who drove you today in his fancy imported sports car, but the speed limits and the rest of the traffic was not on his side.

Already running late, even for him, he parked somewhere convenient and illegal then passed you the keys, leaving you stranded on the sidewalk, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, as he strode off to meet his music producer and choreographer and left you to park his baby elsewhere.

Why he entrusted you with it, you're not sure.

You would have done it anyway though, because when else are you going to have an opportunity to drive a supercar, if your boss didn't call at that moment. Questioning your expenses and DG's schedule and confusing you about the fitting at a fashion house and hair styling appointment that you knew like the back of your hand but when someone is so confidently incorrect, you start to doubt yourself.

By the time you got off the phone after pacing up and down the street and checking and double checking DG's timetable, you finally make your way back to the car-

And see it in the middle of being compounded.

You had begged and pleaded with the two men who were having none of it and you left, tail between your legs, to beg and plead with the other man who you knew would also have none of it.

Damn, you hate it when you prove yourself right in these instances.

You know DG won't really kill you, but he will likely make your life hell for the next couple weeks.

.

.

A normal person being pissed off at you would probably result in the silent treatment until tempers cool down.

DG does the opposite. Sort of.

He takes pleasure in making things as awkward for you as possible, until you're squirming in your seat trying to stay professional, thinking about your job and your rent and your bills; or torn between wanting the ground to swallow you up.

Around other people, your boss, your colleagues, his colleagues, he sidles up to you all smiles and soft looks. Slips purposely into banmal, and then oopsy, pretends that he didn't mean to be so informal with you around others.

Gossip soon stirs about your and DG's close relationship, if there's something else going on. Only you can see the mischief in his eyes and the malice in his smile and you think about yanking him by the ear and demanding to know what he is playing at.

Alone, he denies any sort of miscreant behaviour. Barely listening to you complaining and snapping at him. Ending with him outright ignoring you and you fume even harder.

This time, you're not sure the punishment even fits the crime. 

Any guilt soon dissipates when his car is returned in perfect condition within a couple days but his performance lasts for weeks.

.

.

Teasing you has always been fun for DG - when your cheeks dust angrily with pink and your eyes burn with fire.

The equivalent of a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails in the school yard.

.

.

Meetings with HNH Group usually do not involve you. If it does, at most you are waiting in the car.

Luckily, there are also an assortment of cafes and restaurants within a stone's throw and it gives you some time to debrief and catch a breather from following DG's hectic schedule.

The downside is you're never sure if a two hour meeting will be condensed to fifteen minutes or if a quick catch up with Charles Choi and other Executives turns into an all nighter.

There's been days where you have ordered a meal, then had to abandon it with a sigh and a longing look as you spot DG striding out of the building looking pissed off that you're not already there, or stayed in the vehicle with the engine running and your stomach rumbling as short appointments overshoot.

Maybe this is another consequence from DG being petty and irate with you for getting his car towed - you're left snoozing at the steering wheel of your runaround, the idol standard-issue luxury minivan, waiting for his return.

It's far too late in the evening for anywhere to be open, only the fluorescent lights of convenience stores and glare of the HNH logo illuminates the streets.

DG opens the sliding door, climbs into the back and slams it hard enough to jerk you awake and rattle the entire van.

He’s sitting by himself in the back, which is odd enough in itself.

As you blink away the dregs of sleep, in the rearview mirror, you notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. His eyes stare vacantly out the window. DG is clearly upset about something, enough to crack through his aloof veneer.

"Are you ok?" You don't get a response, not even a passing glance.

Obviously something has gone wrong with the HNH Group meeting and the stress has manifested.

You wrack your brains thinking of something that might cheer up this asshole and you think of the only thing that improves your mood when you're on the verge of a breakdown.

(Usually due to the aforementioned asshole in your current presence). 

"Tteokbokki and beer?" You offer. It’s past your bedtime but a sulky DG for the rest of the week will also ruin your week too.

DG briefly looks at you before going back to staring at the window. It’s not a no.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night. 

At your favourite late night hole-in-the-wall, you eat far more tteokbokki than DG. On second thoughts, you don’t remember him eating any at all. You’re talking and downing beers to fill the silence, trying to perk up this silly celebrity. Loose lipped and spilling far more details than you would if you were sober, with him seated opposite and sipping on a soda. 

As the night ticks along, he thaws and a small smile settles on his face watching you gesticulate and ramble about your life.

You don’t get home until past 4am that night-

With DG driving, piggybacking you up to your apartment, and tucking you into bed.

.

.

DG can’t stop thinking of the weight of you on his back, arms slung over his shoulders, legs at his waist and his hands gripping your thighs.

You slurring drunkenly into his ear as he climbs the stairs in your building. It’s mostly nonsense. He can’t make out your words but remembers your breath tickling his skin.

And when he wraps your duvet around you, the brief moment of lucidity in your eyes as you look at him, softer than you ever have, you tell him, “Thanks Diego.”

Diego.

.

.

Nothing changes between the two of you after this. Not really.

You still find him an enormous thorn in your side. Incredibly stuck up and haughty and you continue to want to throttle him on a weekly basis but you are immensely grateful for him not leaving you a passed out heap on the sidewalk.

You’re in the middle of chastising him once again, dragging him out of bed as he is running late and being an absolute dick about it. Taking it easy as if he has all the time in the world. 

Well of course he does. He’s not the one that will be getting an earful from your boss or on the receiving end of the production crew’s complaints, as if trying to manhandle and cart this manchild around is easy.

“Diego Kang, I swear to fucking god-”

"James." He says, interrupting you as he picks out and pulls an eye-wateringly expensive jumper over his head.

"What?"

"Call me James when it's just us.” He checks out his outfit in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with it, before moving onto his hair. “James Lee. That's my real name."

DG, or James Lee, keeps his eyes on his reflection. Inspecting his non-existent roots, styling his fringe to make it fall just so and applying a liberal amount of hair product.

Nonchalant and casual even as he offers something desperately personal about himself.

"James," you say, trying out the sound for yourself. A name that seems at odds with his loud K-Pop shell but you imagine a time before the fame and the celebrity and the pink hair and it somehow fits.

"James," you repeat, and receive a small smile in return. Then it drops as you add, “If you don’t get your ass in the car in the next five minutes I will kill you.”

.

.

“James,” you think to yourself before you drift off to sleep that night. 

How peculiar.

“James, James, James.”

.

.

Celebrities these days are multi-hyphenates.

DG is an Idol-CEO-Actor, or at least trying to add the last one onto his resume. On looks alone, he would have already gotten his foot through the door. Add on his reputation and popularity, he is drowning in offers.

What you personally dislike more with K-dramas scenes though, is how long things take. How much it revolves around other actors and their managers whereas DG being in the studio or filming a music video is pretty much all him.

This K-drama is supposed to be the next big thing. 

With the biggest names attached, including DG who is making a cameo. The cameo that was also scheduled to be filmed five hours ago but you have both just been lurking in his dressing room since.

Along with some measly snacks and refreshments, which the crew has been kind enough to provide. 

However, the snacks are all but gone (thanks to you) and the refreshments are dwindling and there is no end in sight.

DG, or James, as you have started to call him in your head, is on his phone. He’s always on his phone. Scrolling through news articles, responding to important emails and messages.

There’s only so much news or celebrity gossip you can take. You have exhausted your own social media feeds and you have spent far too much money on your gacha games and the guilt has set in.

You twiddle your thumbs on the sofa next to him as he takes no notice of your presence and you decide to rest your eyes. 

Why not anyway? DG doesn’t need anything right now, work won’t be interrupting you, and there’s nothing for you to do. Just for a minute or five. Until someone from the production team knocks on the door and announces that it’s time for his scene.

DG side-eyes you when he notices your breath start to slow and deepen. Falling asleep on the job, really?

Then you let out a snore before smacking your lips together a couple times and he holds back a snort. He reasons that he should let you have some time to rest. After all, you’re the one that drives him around, his life is in your hands everyday and tiredness kills.

He’s on his phone for a few more minutes, reading through more emails on PTJ Entertainment and out of the corner of his eye he notices you drooping.

Body slowly slumping to slouch over him, until your head makes contact with his shoulder and you’re snoozing happily on your newfound pillow.

It’s equal parts inappropriate and cute.

Ugh, DG is 99% sure you’re drooling on him and the wardrobe department isn’t going to be happy when he returns the outfit.

Either way, that’s not going to be his problem. He adjusts minutely, makes it just a touch more comfortable for you and continues to scroll.

.

.

You wake up to a wetness by your mouth, and to your horror, DG smirking down at you.

.

.

Despite none of this being your fault, you apologise to everyone about having to reschedule DG’s music video shoot due to the previous day’s K-drama delays.

To your relief, the music video goes swimmingly and without a hitch, and the production is wrapped up on time. 

You’ll happily bet that his new song will go straight to No.1. If not, then at least the sensual music video will guarantee DG remains top of mind for weeks. 

You’re updating your boss and even she seems to be pleased.

"This is just work." DG interrupts as you're mid call.

You look up at him, brows furrowed.

Holding your hand to your phone to mute the speaker, you whisper, "I know."

"Good," and he walks away leaving you as confused as ever.

It's not the first time you have seen him shoot an MV, which thank the heavens is so much more efficient than bloody k-dramas, and also not the first time that there's been scenes that emulate an intimate moment. Lips nearly brushing together. Hands roaming bodies under fake rain.

Even if DG notices that you're watching the scene, eyes glazed over and bored, he still felt the urge to explain to you that there's nothing between you and the leading lady in the video.

Once out of sight of everyone, he facepalms himself for his ridiculousness.

.

.

You’re right, and you absolutely love it when you’re right.

The song goes straight to No.1 and holds that position for weeks, fending off competition from boy bands and girl groups and other solo artists. Apparently it’s going to be the song of the summer.

The music video also breaks records for being the most watched within 24 hours.

DG only reviews it once for post-production checks and finds it just fine.

There’s something he can’t quite put his finger on that seems off with it.

He wonders what it would look like if it was you starring opposite him.

.

.

“Where on earth is he?” You grit your teeth and grip harder onto the umbrella that is threatening to be swept away by the wind.

And another thing with being DG’s manager: it’s fine if he’s late but not if it’s you.

(Although to be fair, this instance of him being late is likely due to this particular music producer he’s meeting with enjoying the sound of his own voice.)

You were running late exactly one time in the past, during the first couple days of managing him, when the skies opened and drenched the earth. 

Heavens forbid DG’s perfect, beautiful, flawless hair is ruined by the rain. 

It’s not like he looked like a drowned rat. The paparazzi caught him in a wet t-shirt, fabric clinging to his abs and his pink hair slicked back stylishly. Even the goddamn raindrops were running fashionably down his high cheekbones and dripping off his pout.

For the next week, the tabloids and internet forums went wild with how hot he looked. 

(Who knows, maybe that was the inspiration for his fragrance commercial.)

Nevertheless, DG was displeased and it made its way back to your boss how displeased he was.

Ever since, you have been the unfortunate soul waiting in all manners of weather for him. Rain storms, blistering sun, freezing snow.

Today, it’s your favourite. Rain. You shiver against the elements trying to take shelter under the building entrance canopy, the wind whipping the downpour every which way and you’re getting soaked regardless of how you angle your umbrella.

“Hurry up, DG.”

You check the time over and over. He would be early to his next appointment if he exited the building now. 

…On time.

…On time if the traffic was in your favour.

…Late, but not terribly so.

…Fashionably late.

… Late enough to piss everyone off in the room.

Shit. Just as you begin to fret, wondering if something has happened to him-

Clicks and flashes from cameras alert you to his royal highness finally making an appearance, ready to exit the studio and making his way over to the car.

He materialises by your side, and you mutter a familiar phrase to him. 

“You’re late.” 

It’s a mantra you’re tired of repeating, but he relishes if the amused grin is any indication.

Without a word, he takes off his trench coat and drapes it around your shoulders. His right hand covers yours over the umbrella handle, left wrapping around your waist as he guides you through the throng of reporters and fans.

“What are you doing?” You hiss under your breath. 

You can imagine the optics now from the papers and your boss. It looks… Well. Not terrible but not the best.

“You’re soaked,” is all DG provides, accompanied with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. 

He opens the driver’s door for you before he climbs into the passenger’s side.

.

.

Thank goodness for your gift of the gab.

He’s being a gentleman, you tell everyone that would listen. Isn’t this what Korea wants? An idol with manners and who looks after everyone? Is empathetic and caring?

Think how well it would resonate with the female demographic, who wants a boyfriend like this! The older boomer demographic, who thinks none of the young ‘uns have any manners anymore!

Your boss isn’t convinced until the advertising offers for umbrella companies roll in.

.

.

Truth be told, DG doesn’t know what possessed him to do that. Especially in front of cameras.

Though, it’s not like he could just let you get even more drenched could he? You’re standing there, looking pitiful and he was just going to let you hold the umbrella over him when he should be the one taking care of you-

Hold on.

DG frowns at himself.

Damn.

.

.

James Lee has never looked after anyone besides himself. You need to look after yourself if you are to survive this dog eat dog world. To make it atop the Pre-Generation, the First Generation and now the Second.

He had unfathomably high expectations of himself (that he managed to achieve) and low expectations for relationships (that hadn’t been proven wrong yet).

People have flitted in and out of the chapters of his life, no-one staying around for long. Definitely no-one staying around long enough to know him, for him to grow comfortable with. 

Perhaps it has been the forced closeness that has caused him to let his guard down. Cabin fever, in a sense.

But James Lee, Diego Kang, has himself also been around long enough to know there’s more to you and he wants more of you.

.

.

Finding reasons to spend time together isn’t difficult. Actually, finding reasons to spend time apart would be much harder.

You both get on with your jobs and your duties, even as the closeness grows day by day.

And every time when you’re alone and you call him James, his heart grows fonder.

.

.

Out of all the seats available in his apartment, James lounges next to you, long legs draping over yours.

It's another night in together.

These seem to be happening with increasing frequency. DG at least used to keep up appearances, networking with his fellow celebrities.

Parties where you used to look at him with distaste as starlets surrounded him, award shows that he couldn't care less about as you hung around in the background.

Now he prefers to stay in with you, using work as a thin excuse. Studying lyrics that he has already memorised, going over dances that are long ingrained in him.

"You're not going to her party?" You ask, you were sure this fan-favourite and DG were an item or had history. At the very least, the who's who of the industry always attended her gatherings.

"No," his eyes continue roving over the lines.

Then when you thought the conversation was done, he looks over the top of his paper, eyes sparkling with playfulness, "I prefer being here with you."

Oh. Your breath catches in your throat.

You think you might never breathe normally again.

.

.

No, that’s a lie. Any opportunities for rose-tinted glasses has long passed by. You both know each other too well for that.

You breathe perfectly fine. Actually, this morning you are taking deep breaths to try and centre yourself. 

It’s not working. 

“You’re always fucking late,” you snap, giving in to your anger.

Sometimes you think it is your fault for not watching over DG 24/7. That instead of going back home, you should just live with him so you can shake him awake when he is supposed to get up instead of when he wants to.

And does it hurt him to look the least bit contrite at making your life a misery? 

Why does he have to look so smug with a lollipop stick hanging out his mouth? Seriously, between all the rushing around this morning, when did he find time to look for goddamn candy?

“For fuck’s sake, James.” You’re speed walking towards his front door, looking at the Maps app on your phone and miss his smile at you snarling his name. 

You’re already running behind and every route to the recording studio is red due to roadworks or an accident or just plain ol’ congestion. “Shit!”

Your finger jabs at the elevator button multiple times.

“It’s not going to get there any quicker if you do that,” DG speaks lowly into your ear and you get the urge to pinch him.

Instead of prodding some more at the button, you turn around and prod him in the chest.

“You’re going to get me fired one of these days,” You growl. “It’s fine for you, Diego goddamn Kang, the star who is pretty much untouchable. I’m not. I’m replaceable. There’s a million people who would take my job-”

DG snatches your hand, holds it still. “You’re not replaceable.” Then adds with an infuriating grin, “So what if we’re late.”

The minivan is skipped, and his answer to your problem is his other pride and joy. A motorbike that looks far too aggressive and a complete death trap.

“I’m not getting on that,” you say as DG hands you leathers that materialised from god-knows-where and a spare helmet.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging and throwing a leg over. “I don’t think your boss will be happy.”

“Fuck!”

.

.

If this was any other situation, you would be acutely aware of yourself pressed up against DG’s back. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Except all you can focus on is that you’re going to fucking die. You think you might be screaming.

“Stop screaming!” His disembodied voice calls out. Oh. Turns out you are.

For some reason, DG had thought the helmets with built in speakers and mic would be better for communication. Fun, even. Frankly, you’re just giving him a headache.

(Not to mention the fact that he bought a spare helmet at all. And leathers that he thought would be exactly your size.

He had never rode with anyone before and you certainly had never expressed any interest. Yet he passed by a motorcycle store when he had rare time to spare, and visited on a whim.

If he dwelled on this anymore, DG is sure his headache would turn into a full blown migraine.)

Later that night, when the ringing in his ears finally subside, he will still think about the way you held him.

.

.

When public opinion is on your side, then that’s fantastic. Amazing. You tend to get away with all sorts of things.

When it’s not, the truth can become muddied and there’s mental gymnastics from all sides painting you as the villain.

Fortunately, public opinion generally works in DG’s favour, especially in the case of his stalker who got sentenced for more jail time than if she was harassing a normal person, but not long enough to account for all the distress she has caused.

Such is the criminal justice system.

Her date of release looms large and near. DG, despite his talent and fighting prowess, realises certain traumas can’t be erased.

He grows on edge. Skittish. Snaps at any and everything. It’s noted by journalists. Other managers gives you questioning looks

You don’t miss his change in demeanour. To you, the reason behind it is obvious. 

You’ve heard about this case, everyone has. It dominated headlines for almost a month: the crazy sasaeng fan who believed herself to be DG’s girlfriend before moving onto another poor soul and was finally arrested.

As he spirals, nothing you do or say to him manages to get more than a nod or a frown. You try to offer that she had fixated on someone else before she was arrested, hoping that was a small consolation to him. And though he managed a weak smile, the black cloud still hangs over him.

In the end, you pack your bags and arrive at DG’s one evening. Instead of letting yourself in like you usually would, you ring the buzzer, smile into the door camera and tell him “It’s me!”

The door swings open to reveal DG looking perplexed (and worse for wear). Head tilting, curious and inquisitive when he sees your suitcase and carrier bags full of snacks.

“I’m staying for a while.”

“According to who?”

You barge past him anyway with a grin.

.

.

The date of his stalker’s release arrives and passes without drama.

You miss your home comforts but it makes you happy to see DG’s mood genuinely improve as the days go on.

The luxurious oversized mattress, fancy spa shower, and jacuzzi bathtub also helps to make your stay a bit more bearable.

Not to mention each morning DG actually cooks breakfast for you. Turns out he’s not bad at all at playing a househusband, and it’s also maddening how he manages to get up each day before you when he hasn’t got any place to be.

“Thanks James,” you say, when he presents you with a home cooked meal and his smile grows a bit more each day.

.

.

Peace doesn’t last.

Blurry photos of you both leaving and entering DG’s apartment at all hours of the day and night make the front page of certain news sites.

Headlines scream with leading questions. 

“Relationship beyond Manager and Idol?”

“How a Manager seduced their Idol.” 

“Who is this mystery person that has tamed DG?”

Why anyone deemed it newsworthy is beyond you. You’ve been to his apartment a million times. 

Yes, you suppose the closeness of DG and yourself in the photos can look a little suspect. 

In this particular one, it looks like you have your hand caressing his chest when in actual fact you were shoving him away for a dismissive comment he made.

And the other photo, of his hand on your wrist, was actually him dragging you away when he spotted a herd of fans in the distance.

More pictures unveil themselves.

A snapshot of you driving and DG feeding you candy.

You and DG, whispering intimately in your ear as his supercar is being towed away in the background.

You red faced and drunk as DG piggybacks you outside your building.

His jacket wrapped around you, hand on your waist and angling the umbrella over you.

Him smiling down at you (ok, you admit that you didn’t realise how soft that looks to other people.)

Finally an exceptionally pixelated image of you both on his bike, that could be anyone really.

Unfortunately, your opinion is in the minority as the articles are inundated with comments and furious, tearful fans shrieking that their idol is betraying them. 

Simply unhinged.

.

.

The speculation grows. You’re damned if you do deny anything, damned if you don’t. Your talent agency puts out an official statement.

To your ire, the statement is ‘no comment’ rather than anything more definitive. You glare at James when you find out, suspecting he has something to do with this.

He gives you a shrug, and a familiar look of mischief.

To his credit, he doesn’t leave you completely to fend for yourself. You stay off social media for your sanity, and when the paparazzi hounds you, he's the one with his arm around you, cutting a path through the crowd and shielding you.

It adds fuel to the fire. Does nothing to help your case. 

Still, you can’t help feeling safe and secure with his hand guiding you - holding onto your waist, round your shoulder, or simply - 

Your hand in his.

.

.

Outside of the conference room, where DG is wrapping up a press release for his newest album and nothing else, a reporter slinks out and approaches you.

You’re used to being on the other side of the conversation. Part of the staff, herding DG through camera flashes and questions being thrown at him though there was always some sort of camaraderie. Both parties just trying to do their job with deadlines and targets to hit.

This time you just feel a weariness as you see this person making a beeline towards you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” They say, holding out their hand for a shake which you take with reluctance.

“Hi.”

A voice recorder is thrusted into your face, and you automatically take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, but I just have a couple questions for you.”

“Um...”

“There’s been lots of sightings of you and DG together-”

You open your mouth to argue-

“Can you confirm your relationship with him?”

A vacant smile settles onto your face. It’s a practised expression where you follow all the cues to be polite and professional even as internally you wish to be anywhere but here. “I’m his manager.”

“Are you two together? Romantically?”

“I’m his manager.” You repeat through gritted teeth, and you’re surprised to hear your voice calm and collected.

“Is that a no? Or-”

“What even is this question?” You scoff, ignoring the way your cheeks heat, and refusing to partake in this circus a moment longer. “This is over.”

You manage to at least catch them looking apologetic, before you stride off into a corner to take a deep breath.

.

.

DG, much more adept and experienced at fending off questions, had finished the conference early and caught the entire exchange, watching you both with a bemused look.

Walking towards you with quiet, measured footsteps, his hand settles onto your lower back as he murmurs your name.

He bites back a laugh at your small, startled jolt.

DG tilts his head to signal ‘this way’. You give him a look but follow him regardless. Trailing behind, moving far away from other prying eyes. 

Up a flight of stairs, through multiple fire doors, turning left then right then another right then maybe a left. It doesn’t matter. You’re hopefully lost and decide to just put your faith in this wretched idol.

He finally seems to find what he’s looking for as he reaches an empty corridor; stopping mid-step and you collide into his back.

“Ack!” You exclaim, hitting the solid wall of muscle.

He lets out a huff of laughter and whirls around to face you, noting how cute your look of surprise is.

How strange though, that this is his current position. But is it really unexpected that the person that has been by his side for months has finally worked their way into his heart and has somehow learned to read him when no-one else could?

If he really thinks about it, yes actually, it is unexpected. No-one else has managed to grow close to him before. As James Lee, as Diego Kang. Birds of a feather or opposites attract or everything in between, no-one has got him like you do. 

There’s still so much more to tell and show you but… First things first.

Fidgeting, you shift your weight from one foot to another, growing self-conscious waiting for DG to talk, only to find him staring intently at your face. Impatient, you give in and speak first.

“What is it?”

“...”

“Diego-”

“James.” He cuts in abruptly, “It’s just us right now. Please.”

You blink in shock at the please and correct yourself at his insistence, lowering your voice so it doesn’t echo down the empty hallway. “James, are you ok?”

“Better than ever,” he says, a smirk now pulling at his lips.

You register his change in mood and narrow your eyes, wondering where this is going. “Why are we here?”

“When the reporter asked if we were together, you said you’re my manager.”

“I am your manager.”

“But you are interested in me.”

It’s not a question. DG, no James, says it like a fact and there’s no doubt in your mind or his. You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Open it once more-

What.

You feel some cogs in your brain misfiring and all you can manage is a feeble, “Huh?”

“You told them you’re my manager, but didn’t say no to being with me.”

“...”

“So. What do you think?”

“Of what?”

“Us.”

“You like me. Tell me that I’m wrong.”

You take a step back. “...”

Another step. “...”

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

And your back hits the wall with an oomph.

DG slaps his hand on the wall beside your head, bends at the waist and leans his weight forward until he’s eye level with you. “Tell me and I promise I’ll stop.”

“...”

You’re cornered and he searches your face for a response.“Y/N?”

“...”

Fuck. Fuck!

How on earth are you supposed to respond when he looks at you like this. When his face is millimetres from yours and his breath is on your skin and his dark eyes pierces into your soul, pupils blown deliciously wide.

With his stupid pink hair and his fringe flopping, framing his face and his high cheekbones.

The stupid canines of his poking out that gives him so much character and is so hot it hurts when he flashes it accompanied with an arched brow and an arrogant smile.

His stupid pout and his stupid lips, that you know is constantly moisturised with a fancy overpriced lip balm to make it look kissable for the cameras.

And Jesus Christ, you hate to admit it but they do. They 100% do because somewhere in the back of your brain you always knew they look kissable but it has been often clouded by just simply how annoying and bratty you found him.

Except right now you don’t find him annoying or bratty at all.

Even as he’s confessing his feelings with complete confidence, no unease, no anxiety or doubts, because he always had a way of worming under your skin and he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

Damn it all.

“Kiss me,” you tell James, and he isn’t surprised at all by your reaction, face lighting up at your confirmation.

He shifts. 

Hand coming up to cup your cheek. He rubs his thumb twice over your skin, savouring you any way he can before tilting your face towards his. His lips at first brushes against your forehead. Leaves a trail down your nose, peppers both cheeks and then your chin. 

He draws back once, takes in your sweet face and gives you a smile so soft it makes your heart hurt.

Then finally, after wanting this for so long, presses his lips against yours.

Diego Kang, James Lee, tastes like candy and sugar.

[junkissed]

drenched

member — junhui x f reader  genre — smut word count — 2.4k  synopsis — the pool isn't the only thing that gets jun all wet. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, oral (reader receiving), squirting, body worship, pussy drunk jun, mentioned that reader wears a bikini (+ other clothes), they're so horny for each other it's actually just gross notes — requested by anon for my 🐈 1k event — thanks to @onlymingyus for looking over this for me <3 sorry the synopsis is boring asdhgsj i couldnt think of a cooler one. also very very sorry again that it's taken me so long to get to these old requests but i hope you enjoy! please be sure to reblog with comments or send an ask if you liked this :)

if there's only one thing in this world that jun is obsessed with, it's your pussy.

practically every night he comes home, throwing his bag on the chair and pulling you onto the couch, begging you to let him eat you out, just really quick before dinner, please? i'll make you cum so fast, promise, just let me have ten minutes with you.

most of the time he slides your pants down and finds you already wet, knowing the kind of mood he'll be in when he gets home. it's almost impossible to force your mind out of the gutter when you can't stop picturing him kneeling between your legs, his dark brown eyes turned even darker with lust as he watches your face and every single tiny little reaction you have to him.

it's not your fault that you really can't help it if your mind wanders during the day, sending a shiver down your spine every time you think about how desperate he is for you. he'll never pass up the opportunity to bury his fingers inside you, moaning about how good it feels to have your cunt clenching him so tight and how pretty your legs look as they tremble around him.

jun loves nothing more than how wet you get and he'll clean you up with his tongue, his cock throbbing because he knows you're like this for him and him only. he'll gladly spend hours between your legs, groaning about how you're straight out of his dreams; what other explanation could there possibly be for the fact that he gets to come home to the prettiest girl he's ever seen every single day? not only that, but that you let him play with you whenever you want? he feels like he's died and gone to heaven every time you spread your legs apart and let him spend as much time as he wants in that spot.

of course, he has other favorite things, too. he loves fucking you from behind so he can see your gorgeous ass bouncing in front of him. he loves laying back and letting you do whatever you want to him, pushing his shaft between your breasts and grinning when he covers your face in his cum. but nothing compares to having his face smushed in your pussy, his skilled tongue and long fingers reaching places inside you that you didn't even know existed before you met him.

tonight is no different than every other night that he comes home and begs for your pussy. except this time he's got one thing and one thing only on his mind, and it's going to drive him insane if he doesn't have you right this second.

the first time it happened it caught you off guard. your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment as the drops rolled down his abs coating the both of you in liquid, your legs still wrapped around his waist when he stops thrusting. you started to apologize, until jun lets out a long, low groan and tells you don't you fucking dare apologize for the hottest thing he's ever witnessed in his whole goddamn life and now he's made it his life's mission to making you squirt as much as is physically possible.

you didn't even know you could squirt at all before jun, but he brings a side out of you that you didn't know was there. a side of you so absolutely insatiable, like an unquenchable thirst, and now that it's been unlocked you're addicted to it.

with the rising temperatures and clear, sunny skies that have come after the rain and cold, it's obvious that summer is quickly closing in. it's one of his favorite seasons for many reasons, but the main one is that hotter weather means seeing you in more revealing clothes.

he had never been the type of guy to go feral at the sight of an ankle or an exposed shoulder, but around you it's like he loses all control. the way your shorts hug your ass—jean shorts, pajama shorts, bike shorts, any and all of them. his mind goes blank and all he can imagine is your perfect pussy hidden so teasingly from his view, and he'll do anything to get a taste. teasingly, because you know exactly how he gets and you love to play into it just to make him even more riled up.

you've started buying shorts that are just a little bit too small, just a little bit tighter that show another extra inch of skin. and you grin in satisfaction every single time he tears them off of you and pushes his hand down past the waistband to feel how soaked you are… until he wipes that smile right off your face with just a simple brush of his fingers.

the same goes for your shirts, too. the crop tops that expose your tummy; he loves to run his fingers over your skin, and the short length makes it so much easier for him to slide his hands up to feel your breasts. and don't even get him started on the tank tops; he feels like a virgin all over again, unable to stop his cock from twitching in his pants. when he sees that little extra bit of cleavage sitting so perfectly.

god, he loves every fucking thing about your body. but there is, however, one downside to the summer season.

okay, so it's not exactly like they banned him from the public pool, but they did tell him (in not so nice words) to stop feeling up his girlfriend in the locker rooms, and now he's too embarrassed to ever show his face there again. which honestly is more than fine by you, because if your hand wasn't down his swim shorts jerking him off as you lazily sat beside him in a chaise lounge, then was it really even a good day?

but besides that, the problem is that he can't see you near water without thinking about making you squirt. there hasn't been a single time when you've been out on the backyard patio, drops of sweat glistening on your skin from the summer heat as you hold a garden hose in your hand watering the tomato plants, that he hasn't wanted to push you against the side of the house and take you right then and there. to curl his fingers in your pussy until his hand is more soaked than the vegetables.

or like the time you both stayed at your parents’ house for a weekend while they were on vacation. he'd found you sitting out by the pool reading your book after you've just finished swimming, and the drops of water on your thighs that hadn't yet dried from the sun had reminded him too vividly of how you looked after he made you squirt with his cock. that day you'd needed a second shower, and it wasn't from the chlorine in the pool.

if your mind is in the gutter when you think about him, then his mind is in a place further than hell when he thinks about you. 

so really, you can't blame him for tonight. you can't get mad at him after you sent him pictures of the pretty new bikini you'd bought for the upcoming cruise you were going on next month. but not just pictures of the bikini; pictures of you wearing it, your knees spread temptingly in a way that you knew for a fact would get him hard as a rock in seconds.

he's pissed, but more than that he's needy, because he already had to jerk off in the bathroom at work because he couldn't get his hard-on to go down any other way. his own fist will never compare to how good your pussy feels against his face, so it seems as good a place as any for you to start making it up to him for your bad behavior.

he barely gets the front door closed behind him before he's pushing you against the wall, his fingers clawing desperately at your sides as his lips capture yours. it's hot, he’s hot, and the temperature outside has nothing to do with it.

even the air conditioning in your house can't cool you down as he drags you by the waist to your shared bedroom, telling you it would be in your best interests to be waiting naked by the time he comes back with towels because he's not feeling very patient tonight.

you love it when he gets like this, and you grin triumphantly as you pull your panties off and leave them hanging off the edge of the bed, the glistening wet spot on them purposefully noticeable. you already know that you won't be leaving this room until the towels and sheets beneath you are equally soaked, and just the thought alone makes you dizzy. 

the grin on jun's face is wide enough to rival yours when he comes back to find you laid out so prettily on the bed, on display for him like a gourmet fucking meal.

you lift your hips for him as he spreads out a towel beneath you, kneeling at the foot of the bed with your thighs on either side of his head. just one look at your dripping folds and he's already gone, throwing your legs over his shoulders and digging his fingers into your thighs to spread you apart even more for his eager mouth.

you've had jun's mouth on you more times than you can keep track of, but every single time still feels like the first. no matter how often he does it, you don't think you'll ever be prepared for the first lick, when he flattens his tongue to cover as much of you as possible at once before he begins.

the way he immediately and easily finds your clit, sucking messily before moving lower to slide through your folds, is always enough to bring you right up to the edge, but it doesn't last. it's a constant battle between making you cum as fast as possible, or prolonging it and moving around until you can't take it even for one more second and your orgasm is ten times stronger. 

this time he chooses the latter, but you already had a feeling that that's how things would go. he's focused, honed in on your pussy; he is going to make you squirt all over his face, and if you don't think that's a guarantee, then you'd be sorely mistaken.

it's not the first time you've played this little game with him: sending suggestive photos and texting flirty messages, until you inevitably end up under him with enough orgasms to last you a week. but it's never enough to last, of course, and it's not long before you do it all over again.

he likes to act like he's teaching you a lesson, but you both have been through this routine enough times to know it's the thrill that keeps you coming back more than the need for punishment. you could always just ask him, but where's the fun in that? it's much more exciting to push his buttons and let him take over. it would almost be funny how his reaction is exactly the same every single time, if your reaction weren't also exactly the same. it's a habit you fall into together, but you wouldn't trade it for anything.

jun's fingers slide up your body, stopping at your waist to grab you and pull you harder against his nose. it's impossible not to let yourself get lost in it, moaning and threading your fingers in his hair as your pussy throbs in his mouth.

he points his tongue at your clit once more and he doesn't let up until your thighs start to shake, your breath coming out in shallow gasps. you're close and he knows it, almost even better than you know it yourself because he's spent so much time between your legs that he knows how to read your body like an open book. 

your fingers in his scalp squeeze tighter, pushing his head further into you, and he groans at the feeling. he loves how quickly you get fucked out from his mouth alone, that you’re barely even processing how roughly you're moving his head because your body is on fire from the stimulation.

he'd live and die in your pussy if he could, and that's exactly what he plans to do tonight as his tongue flicks faster and harder. he can feel the wetness already gushing out of you and he knows you're right there, ready to give him what he so desperately wants.

with one final suck to your clit you go rigid and your muscles release, whimpers and whines flowing from your lips like liquid as you cum. it drenches his face, running down his cheeks and his chin and soaking his hair.

he drinks you up like a starved man, like he's been wandering alone in the desert and finally found his oasis. your head rolls back and your body writhes under his hands, but his grip is too tight and he is far too committed on getting every last drop from you to allow you to squirm out of his grasp.

it's overwhelming nearly to the point of pain but you don't want him to stop, you desperately need him to keep going until you're drained. and that’s one of the best things about jun, is that by now he can practically read your mind and he can tell when you need more and when you don’t.

he can tell what you want without even having to ask, so he reaches up and squeezes your hand in his as he looks up from between your legs, meeting your eyes and giving you that look that makes you shiver because you couldn’t imagine anyone else but him in this position. you don’t want to stop, not yet, and he nods at you knowingly with a hazy little grin and slides his tongue right back where you want it.

he’s more than willing to spend the rest of the night kneeling in front of you until you’re spent, if that’s what you want. honestly, he’s willing to spend the rest of his life there, too.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Chapter Nineteen

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 16k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

HI!!!! Dana loves loves loves you all and I'm kissing every single one of you on the forehead for waiting for this chapter 🥺 most of you know that I caught a lovely plague, but on a more positive note, I got to spend more time writing hehe. WELL that aside, get ready for some ANGST babes!!!! No smut in this chapter (Y/N needs a break!) but there is some goooood fluff and a LITTLE bit of a spicy moment in there. Forgive me for another cliffhanger. I love you, thank you, and I can't wait to hear from you (and respond when I can feel my legs again!) 💜

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Orange embers floated up into the darkened sky, mingling with the deep blue of the moonless night. Taehyung found the contrast of these two colors, fiery orange and velvet blue, striking. Something he wanted to capture in a still frame and hold onto forever, to revisit when everything felt hopeless and without purpose. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed the chatter around him, nor the chill Alaskan-July mist clinging to the material of his flannel. There was a deep ache starting in the muscles of his upper back and spider-crawling down through his shoulders and biceps, and when he used his hands to prod at the muscles in his arms, he realized he couldn’t recall the last time he wasn’t sore. 

“Taehyung, brother. What do you think?” Taehyung was pulled out of his trance of staring at the roaring bonfire in front of him, turning his attention to one of the other Kodiak hybrids he worked with sitting on the log beside him, Andy. 

“About what?” Taehyung’s voice was scratchy after not speaking for so long. He wasn’t a fan of talking when there was nothing to say. 

“You’re a goddamn space cadet. We were talking about ghost stories, do you have any?” Caleb, Taehyung’s least favorite co-worker, rolled his eyes at him from across the bonfire. 

“No. I don’t have any ghost stories,” Taehyung replied, a frown tugging on the corners of his mouth. “This is what we choose to talk about after a double?”

“What else are we going to talk about? It’s not like we have lives,” Andy pointed out, Taehyung snorting humorlessly and taking a swig from the lukewarm beer someone managed to smuggle into the plant. “Okay, I’ve got one. When I was working in the western plot for an overnight, I could have sworn I saw a woman in a nightgown by the lake…”

Taehyung zoned out again, the aftertaste of the beer turning sour on his tongue. He had heard Andy’s ghost stories a hundred times, and they lost all their luster over the years. Instead, he focused on finishing his beer and losing himself in the flames licking the sky, the scent of pine stuck in his nostrils. 

He wondered if there ever would be anything else at all for him and the hybrids he was destined to work with to discuss. All there was to speak of was the day’s work, the woods, and after a few cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon– ghosts and things that go bump in the night. For once, Taehyung wanted to dig deeper. Was he really such a shell of a being? Was there nothing more than work? He dreamed of expression, though he was not a hybrid of many words. 

“Was the ghost lady hot at least?” Someone drunkenly asked Andy, Taehyung furrowing his eyebrows. “Maybe she fell in love with you, Andy.”

The other Kodiak hybrids dissolved into tipsy laughter, Taehyung pulling his threadbare beanie further over his forehead, the fabric muffling sound from both sets of his ears. 

“I think that would be nice,” Andy sobered up once the chuckles died down, Taehyung peering at him curiously. “Though in this life, none of us have time.”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung spoke up, apparently the only one confused as everyone else nodded seriously. 

“Falling in love. It was never for us, Taehyung. You know that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taehyung bristled, staring down his nose at the leopard hybrid, the feline hissing at him.

“It’s too early for this bullshit. You wanna live in denial? Be my guest. But stop with the shifty behavior. It’s hurting Y/N,” Yoongi narrowed his eyes at Taehyung’s gritted teeth, not intimidated in the slightest that Taehyung had an inch or two of height on him. 

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, the color draining from his face, unable to come up with a response. As soon as Yoongi mentioned Y/N’s feelings being hurt because of him, a shard of ice wedged itself in his heart. Shaking his head, Yoongi ran a hand through his long, inky locks, pushing past the frozen hybrid. All Taehyung could do was follow the movement of Yoongi’s spotted tail curling behind him with his vision slightly fuzzy. 

“Wha– Why would you say that I’m in love with her? Isn’t she with you and Seokjin?”

Yoongi stopped by the door, taking a deep breath. After that conversation, he’d need thirty minutes of Y/N holding him on the couch to calm him down. 

“Bro, it’s fucking obvious. You’ve been a jealous prick since you found out about us, which I can understand. Stop fucking growling at me, I’m answering your question,” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest, one of his ears twitching in agitation. “Before that, it was written all over your face. Following her around like a shadow. You had a fist-fight with the wolf over her, when he flew off the handle last summer. And it’s all in your scent. Are you really in denial or just out-of-touch with your emotions, Taehyung?”

Shocked, Taehyung leaned against the wallpapered alcove across from the piano, his skin flashing with heat. Falling in love wasn’t something Taehyung thought about much. Sure, he listened to countless songs about the sensation of falling for another, but he was a hybrid, not a human. A hybrid who was designed to be a workhorse, nothing more than that. Apparently, stuffed beneath his baser instincts, feelings he had never experienced before started to bloom when Y/N swept into his life. 

“For what it’s worth, she really cares about you, too. Way more than you think. She goes to every single one of your expos, finds rare records for you online, lets you take pictures of her when you think she isn’t paying attention. She couldn’t give a shit about your past. For fucks sake, she turned a linen closet into a dark room for you. Is that what this is about? You don’t think there’s a possibility that she could love you back?”

Taehyung flinched like he was slapped across the face. Yoongi sighed, thinking he had said enough. It wasn’t his place to tell Taehyung how Y/N felt about him and the rest of the hybrids, but it would make things a hell of a lot easier. All he could do was nudge the Kodiak hybrid in the right direction so Y/N wouldn’t look so sad whenever Taehyung would flee from her sight. 

“Just– think about it, okay? I’m gonna get the coffee started before Hoseok complains,” Yoongi shoved his sheet music under his armpit, suddenly feeling sort of bad that he was the reason Taehyung looked like he was having a nervous breakdown. Mouth pressed into a line, Yoongi left the Kodiak hybrid in the music room, Taehyung gaping after him. 

Perhaps he had been a little too harsh on the younger hybrid, but all of Yoongi’s instincts were screaming at him to protect Y/N. The instinct had only grown stronger since he claimed her as his mate, and sensing her gloom towards the odd situation between her and Taehyung had become unbearable. If he had to shove a few cold, hard truths down Taehyung’s throat for Y/N’s sake, he’d do it time and time again. As he slouched down the stairs, his nose twitched, picking up the rich smell of roasted coffee beans, and brightening up, he caught a whiff of Y/N’s jasmine lotion mingling with her natural scent. She must have beaten him to the kitchen that morning, and he was thankful that both the music room was soundproofed and Y/N had only human hearing. 

She was by the island, an arm curled around Seokjin’s waist as he cut up some fruit in his pajamas. Yoongi snorted at the goofy print on the set, the pink pajamas stamped with cartoon puppies, one of Seokjin’s black ears twisting back at the sound. Cheek smushed against the side of Seokjin’s arm, Y/N looked back, catching Yoongi’s gaze and smiling sleepily. Even first thing in the morning, she was lovely, despite the fact that her hair was sticking up in several directions. 

“Morning, angel! We’re gonna make banana pancakes, wanna help?” Y/N asked, watching her leopard hybrid stroll into the kitchen, grinning when he booped her nose as he passed by. 

“No, I think you two have it covered. I wanted to start writing something for your next lesson,” Yoongi tapped the book of sheet music, Y/N’s eyes sparkling with excitement. 

“You’re composing something new?” Y/N squeezed Seokjin’s waist, lips automatically parting as the jaguar hybrid fed her a slice of banana. 

“I’m going to attempt to. We’ll see how it goes,” Yoongi settled on a barstool across from the other two, pausing when Y/N pushed something in front of him. 

“Here, your coffee,” Y/N said proudly, butterflies soaring in his stomach when he glanced at the glass. “Iced Americano, your favorite! I finally figured out the espresso machine!”

“Are you sure you figured it out on your own? That smirk on Seokjin’s face is sort of giving you away, silly girl.”

“Ugh. Seokjinnie, you need to learn how to school your features,” Y/N complained, reaching up to tug on the dangling earrings hanging from the jaguar hybrid’s lobe, his thick lower lip jutting out into a pout. 

“Sorry, pretty,” Seokjin replied, stooping so he could kiss the apple of her cheek. 

“It’s fine, honey, I’m only teasing. I like that you display your emotions so clearly. You’re like Jimin in that way,” Y/N pulled away from Seokjin, Seokjin making a sad little purr when she disappeared into the pantry. Yoongi watched Seokjin’s neck blush furiously at the compliment with a chuckle. 

Y/N definitely wasn’t aware that her constant kind words meant the world to all of them. The hybrids she adopted were used to a world that was against them, treating them like commodities or prey. Compliments were far and few in between, and kindness was rare and usually met with suspicion. To be so accepted, to be allowed to pursue their interests, and to have a safe and loving home was sometimes unbelievable. Clearing his throat, Seokjin made meaningful eye-contact with Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. 

“My loves? Do either of you know where the new jug of maple syrup ended up?” Y/N called from the pantry, Seokjin’s blush reddening even further with the way she addressed the two of them. 

“Behind the wolf’s sugar cereal,” Yoongi answered, using a pencil to draw the treble clef on the staff paper.

Y/N made a satisfied hum from the closet, emerging with a gallon jug of syrup, nearly knocking into Jeongguk who was trudging into the kitchen. Hand shooting out to steady her by her shoulder, Jeongguk grunted, taking the jug from her swiftly. 

“Watch it, you were about to take me out with this thing,” Jeongguk scolded, flicking Y/N’s forehead. Y/N scrunched up her nose at the elk hybrid, flicking him right back and returning to Seokjin’s side. “Why do we even need this much syrup?”

“Namjoon,” Y/N, Seokjin, and Yoongi spoke all at once, Jeongguk’s eyes going round at the chorused answer. 

“That tracks,” Jeongguk admitted, scratching above the barbell threaded through his eyebrow. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have a cavity. Y/N, you spoil him with too many sweets.”

Seokjin glared at the elk hybrid, while Yoongi simply shook his head, definitely not taking him seriously considering he looked like a doe without his bony antlers. 

“Well, we’ll find out. You guys are going to the dentist next week,” Y/N reminded them, Jeongguk sending her a grimace. 

“Do I have to take these out?” Jeongguk asked, pointing at his lip ring and then sticking out his tongue, Y/N’s eyes glazing over as she stared at the barbell so close to her face.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you had that in your mouth,” Yoongi lifted an eyebrow, Y/N mumbling something under her breath as heat rose to her cheeks. If only Yoongi knew what was under the elk hybrid’s shirt– thinking about Jeongguk’s chest had her hiding her expression by hiding around in the fridge. 

“Yeah, you’ll probably have to take them out, sweets,” Y/N’s voice came out feathery, hoping that the three hybrids didn’t notice her spontaneous fluster. “Uh, what should we do today? It’s Saturday, so we could go into the city for dinner or something.” “You three aren’t going on a date or something tonight?” Jeongguk snarked, but there was no real bite to it. 

“No, not that I’ve planned. Yoongi, Seokjin? Have you? Shall we invite Jeongguk so he isn’t lonely?” Y/N teased right back, pure shock and embarrassment washing over the elk hybrid’s face as he tripped his way to the breakfast nook. 

“Stupid,” was all Jeongguk could mutter, Yoongi and Y/N sharing an amused snicker at his shock. Jeongguk supposed he walked into that. “What you do on dates is none of my fuckin’ business.”

It had only been two days since Yoongi’s birthday, and thankfully, no one teased her when she snuck out of Yoongi’s room in his tee shirt and boxers, smelling like his vanilla body wash. Though truthfully, she didn’t run into anyone as she scampered to her bedroom to change into her own clothes. By the time she bumped into Hoseok on the way to the kitchen, all the fox hybrid did was tickle her sides teasingly when he greeted her. 

She supposed that her hybrids would likely not even acknowledge her tryst with Yoongi; after all, they knew that the two of them had been intimate. Suspecting that they didn’t want to embarrass her, that slight comment from Jeongguk was the only minor implication that he had at least thought about what Y/N was doing with Yoongi and Seokjin once or twice. Surprisingly, Y/N couldn’t find it in her to feel ashamed, only continuing to slice bananas beside Seokjin. 

“I think there’s an early farmer’s market near Faneuil Hall. We can stock up on some produce and then get some drinks and good food around there,” Y/N continued, trying to ignore the intriguing heat rising in her cheeks when she pictured Jeongguk listening in and imagining what her and Yoongi were doing the night of the leopard hybrid’s birthday, just down the hall in his own bedroom. She shivered, turning to the stove and greasing up the skillet for the pancakes in order to compose her expression. 

“Let’s do it! We have to pick a designated driver,” Hoseok made an appearance, his usual disdain for the morning time patched up by the potential opportunity to explore the city later. “Not it!”

“I got it,” Yoongi volunteered, predicting that Taehyung would be the only other option, and Yoongi guessed that Taehyung wouldn’t be showing his face the rest of the day. “When do you want to leave?”

“Uh, not sure. I’ll have to talk to Joon, Jimin, and Tae, before making a solid plan,” Y/N stepped to the side so Seokjin could sprinkle chopped banana into the dollop of batter she ladled onto the pan. 

Internally, Yoongi cringed. He had no idea if Taehyung would even talk to Y/N after Yoongi confronted him like he had, much less be willing to hang out with the rest of them in the city. With his human side regretting saying anything at all to the Kodiak hybrid, the animalistic side regretted not tearing into him further. It was all very confusing, and part of the reason Yoongi decided to opt out of drinking that evening. Booze and moodiness was a hell of a mixture. 

Jimin came in from outside shortly after that, a basket full of eggs swinging from his elbow, and when the house began to fill up with the buttery, sweet smell of pancakes, Namjoon was summoned from his bedroom with a wagging tail. Everyone helped themselves like normal– it wasn’t unusual for members of the household to eat at different times, but Y/N still caught herself glancing towards the foyer every few minutes, waiting for Taehyung to silently enter the room and make his coffee. 

Even when she was washing dishes besides Jimin when breakfast was picked over, a cellophane-wrapped plate of pancakes left for the Kodiak hybrid sitting on the stove, she waited for him. Chewing her lip, she entertained the idea that perhaps he was just sleeping in or not very hungry, but Y/N still couldn’t help that wounded section of her heart from throbbing painfully. When her hands were dry and almost everyone had cleared the room, she pulled out her phone to text him. 

Y/N: Morning, Tae! Left some breakfast out for you if you’re hungry

Y/N: We’re all planning on going into Boston for dinner tonight, and to walk around the farmer’s market! 

Tae 🐻: Thx

Tae 🐻: Have to work on expo pics tonight…

Y/N: oh, okay! You don’t have to come if you have too much work

Tae 🐻: yeah, I’ll stay here if that’s alright

Y/N: totally fine, want me to bring you some food home?

Y/N was picking her nails nervously when Taehyung offered no response, starting to fret over him. It was typical, when nearing a photography expo, that Taehyung would hole up in his room or the dark room to work, but Y/N couldn’t help but think that he was perhaps still distancing himself from her, even after their last talk– her almost-confession. Limbs stiffening with dread, a dish slipped from her grasp when she considered how horrifyingly embarrassing it would have been for her had she managed to confess, the phone call from Diana following directly after. Thankfully, with Jimin beside her, he managed to catch the dish before it shattered on the floor, a canine noise of surprise ripping from his throat. 

“Are you alright?” Jimin placed a palm over her shoulder blade, a pout on his full lips. 

“O-oh. Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart, just clumsy!” Y/N assured him, the warmth of Jimin’s palm immediately soothing her. Chuckling to herself, she pushed some golden hair off of Jimin’s forehead, poking his cheek when his pout didn’t let up. 

“Hey, can I help you put the herbs into the planters today? Before we leave? It’s nice and sunny out,” Y/N shook off her worry, thinking that some time spent outside would do her some good, Jimin’s pout transforming into a brilliant grin as he nodded.

“You still need to wear a sweater, pretty,” Seokjin called from the hallway, where he had dashed away moments ago to rummage around in the coat closet. 

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without letting you bundle me up, Seokjin,” Y/N snickered, waiting patiently by the slider into the backyard while her jaguar hybrid approached her, one of his soft felt coats in his hand. 

Humming as he puffed out his chest dutifully, Y/N went lax as Seokjin maneuvered her limbs through his coat, a happy purr leaving her lips as his eucalyptus scent swallowed her whole. If Y/N had her way, she’d throw away every single one of her coats just so she could wear one of her boy’s every time she’d have to go outside, so she could drown in the scent and comfort of them. As Seokjin slid the last button in place, he ducked low, brushing his lips against her temple softly. Seokjin wasn’t as bold as Yoongi when it came to kissing her in front of the others– though hugs and words of affection he doled out generously regardless of the audience– so the gentle kiss had her skin tingling. 

“Have fun,” Seokjin’s cheeks rounded out cutely when he smiled at the dazed look on Y/N’s face, a hand on her lower back as he guided her towards the door. 

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N waved him away, embarrassed. She scurried off, following the swish of Jimin’s sandy tail off in the distance. 

The grass was starting to become green again, with the nearing arrival of spring, and small sparrows swooped overhead as they scouted for spots to build their nests. Tiny red bulbs were just beginning to swell on the branches of the willow trees, and while the temperature was still rather raw, Y/N couldn’t feel it with the way she was wrapped up in Seokjin-scented warmth. The anticipation of spring was making her giddy, and when she caught sight of Jimin patiently waiting for her by the newly refurbished greenhouse with a pot of mint sprigs, she skipped her way to meet him with a smile. 

Y/N placed the stir-fried noodles she brought back for Taehyung on the stove, next to the untouched wrapped stack of pancakes that were looking really sad. Apparently, the Kodiak hadn’t bothered to come downstairs the entire day, and even with the merry tipsiness flooding through her bloodstream from the Mai Tais she ordered at the bar with Hoseok, the sight of the food sitting there had her mood souring quickly. 

“He could have at least put these away,” Yoongi muttered from her side, scooping up the plate and promptly dumping the pancakes into the garbage. Seokjin made a low hiss in agreement, upset that his and Y/N’s hard work was ignored by Taehyung and was now sitting in the trash.

“I should check on him. I don’t want him to pull an all-nighter, and he should eat something, at least,” Y/N sighed, resting her chin on Yoongi’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering at the sensation of his tail curling around the back of her knee. “Jeongguk, it’s your turn to pick a movie tonight, just make sure it isn't something too horrifying. I don’t think Hoseok can handle a film like Hereditary again, no matter how much rum he’s had.”

“Sucks the fun out of it,” Jeongguk complained, sending Hoseok an evil eye, the fox hybrid offering him the middle finger right back as he very tipsily filled a glass with water for himself. “Should I put on Aladdin, or is the Genie too intimidating?”

“Pfft. It’s not the Genie that’s scary, asshole, it’s that big talking lion cave,” Hoseok cleverly replied, his cheeks flushed and eyes slightly squinting. Jeongguk snorted, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. 

“Heart of a lion, you have, Foxy,” Yoongi teased, narrowly dodging his ear from being pinched by Hoseok, Yoongi ducking behind Y/N and hiding his face in the back of her neck. 

“Okay, enough,” Y/N giggled, Yoongi’s fingertips pressing into the soft of her tummy. “Go get comfy while I check in on Tae. Anyone see Joonie or Jimin, by the way?”

“Jimin’s half-asleep on the couch already. I think Namjoon went to shower the bar off of him,” Jeongguk helpfully informed her, scratching at the bony spots where his antlers once were. Y/N had said antlers sitting prettily on display on her altar in her bedroom on a strip of velvet– something Jeongguk didn’t know. 

“Alright, queue up the movie. No Aladdin or Sinister, please,” Y/N gently requested, able to wiggle her way out of Yoongi’s grasp. Scooping up the carton of noodles on the stove, she cupped Hoseok’s warm cheek tenderly as she passed by him, his worried grimace at the thought of a horror movie dissolving into nothing at the touch, his sunny grin replacing the storminess. “Be back soon!”

Sobered now that she had an important task to complete, Y/N soldiered up the stairs, stopping right in front of the dark room, the door open and lights off. Frowning, considering Taehyung told her that he was busy working that night, she spun around, glaring at his bedroom door across the hall. 

“Tae? Are you alright? Not working too hard, I hope?” Y/N knocked on his door, the only indication that he was inside being the lamplight that spilled out underneath the door. “I brought you some dinner. Shrimp stir-fry, your favorite!”

No response. 

“Um, Taehyung? You’re worrying me, is something wrong?” Y/N felt her heart begin to race, picturing Taehyung sick and unable to reply, much like how Seokjin was many months ago when he had to scent her. 

“N-no, nothing’s wrong, I’m fine!” Taehyung’s voice abruptly cut through her spiraling thoughts, right when Y/N was about to turn the doorknob and enter the room. “Thanks for the food, you can leave it there. I– I’m just getting out of the shower.”

Taehyung’s normally smooth voice was strained, making Y/N furrow her eyebrows. If she didn’t know any better, she almost detected a fib based on his tone. Considering the odd distance between the two of them, Y/N decided not to push it, and instead left the carton of noodles on the floor with a sigh. 

“Jeongguk is picking out a movie if you’re interested in taking a break from editing,” Y/N offered, hopeful that he’d make an appearance. She hadn’t seen him once the entire day, which was far too long for her to go without him. 

“Uh– I,” Taehyung cleared his throat, pausing. “Maybe. I still have a lot to do.”

So that was as good as a no, Y/N knew. Nodding at the closed door, she tried to imagine his face, as if it had been days rather than hours since she last saw the graceful lines of it. 

“Okay, well, let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, goodnight, Tae,” Y/N kept the disappointment out of her reply as much as she could, but she wasn’t as good at masking her emotions at Taehyung. The melancholia was plain as day and she knew it. 

Returning back to the stairs, Y/N found it impossible to perk up, even when she heard Hoseok’s pitiful, playful whines when the introductory music to Friday the 13th began to echo through the house thanks to the surround sound in the parlor. When she got to the parlor, all she could do was curl up on Seokjin’s lap on the leather recliner, wrapping a blanket around the two of them without a word. 

Y/N was eternally grateful that Seokjin didn’t ask her what was wrong. He knew already, she was well aware. He simply snaked his arms around her middle to hold her close, the purrs vibrating from his chest soothing her a few degrees. Relaxing, she rested her head on his bony collarbone, whispering quietly into his skin. 

“Love you, Seokjin.”

The jaguar hybrid tightened his hold on her, brushing his lips over the crown of her head. 

Sleep evaded her. It wasn’t just because of the slasher film before bed. She thought about going upstairs and slipping into Yoongi’s bed, but she didn’t want to disturb his sleep by tossing and turning. Grumbling at her darkened ceiling, she tossed the quilt off of her body, shoving her feet into some slides. Since the weather was mild, Y/N decided maybe a lap around the backyard would tucker her out. Blindly, she felt along the walls in the hallway, not wanting to turn on a light and wake anyone up. Kitchen completely dark, Y/N fumbled for the coat rack by the slider door, pulling a garment on at random. Gasping quietly, she noticed that the lock on the door was loose, which was seriously abnormal– Namjoon was militant about locking up. Figuring he might have just forgotten that evening, Y/N shrugged, easing the door open and trudging outside. 

It was colder than she thought, and the coat she selected– Jeongguk’s leather jacket, as it turned out– didn’t do much to block out the chilly wind. Burying her nose into the collar of the jacket, she breathed in the elk hybrid’s scent; mahogany wood, leather, and smoke. Slowly, as she began her walk around the property, Y/N’s vision began to adjust to the dim outdoor lights that lined the trails. Somehow, being outside, even more alone with her thoughts, Y/N felt her throat growing thick. Pausing, she plopped down on a boulder by the pond towards the rear of the property, rubbing her eyes. With a sniffle, she managed to choke back tears, at her wits end trying to figure out how to fix things with Taehyung. 

The moon, half-full, shined down on her indifferently. Wishing that the moon could give her answers, solutions, she cursed her weak heart and inability to tell Taehyung how she felt. It was sucking the life out of her, not being able to tell him, to not even be able to see him, and Y/N had no idea what to do. What she needed was someone to confide in, but she didn’t want to worry Seokjin or provoke Yoongi into saying something to Taehyung. She knew what Ben and Alice would say. Laura would probably agree with them, too. So really, Y/N had to work things out on her own, and that made her utterly miserable. 

Unable to stop frustrated tears from gathering in the corners of her eyes, she shoved her hands in the pockets of Jeongguk’s jacket, attempting to stop the tears gathering further by staring at the placid pond. Sniffling again, she froze when a twig snapped off to the side, Y/N searching for the source of the noise– it was probably a squirrel or a rabbit. Her ears strained as her heart leapt into her throat at the sound of heavy footsteps, far too heavy to be some kind of tiny critter. Uneasy, she squinted at the bushes beside her, a startled noise leaving her when something squinted right back at her. 

Instant horror flooded through her, the golden orange eyes narrowing further as she stared back. The eyes resembled the ones belonging to the creature she had nightmares about, the creature that would chase her through the woods. Body locked up and unable to move, her heart was hammering around in her chest, Y/N whimpered in fright. Could it be that the entity banished many months ago was back, and this time manifested as the creature Y/N was terrified of for years? Helplessly, she scraped her nails against the boulder she was glued to as the creature emerged from the bushes, and even in the darkness, Y/N could make out how big it was. As it got closer, Y/N breathing heavily, her heart suddenly stilled; the creature’s left ear was jagged and scarred over. 

“Jesus C-christ, Joonie? Is that you?” Y/N gasped, her fear slightly slipping away, realizing that it wasn’t a creature in front of her at all, it was a wolf. 

Limbs unfreezing, she leaned forward, getting a better look at him. Indeed, it was her Namjoon, Y/N recalled exactly how he looked back when she first saw him at the shelter. He gazed at her analytically, still several feet away, his head cocked at the sound of her voice. 

“What are you doing out here? It’s so late!” Y/N recovered, not wanting Namjoon to think she was afraid of him. With shaky knees, she stood, slowly approaching the hybrid. Namjoon glared at her, as if to say and you? “Um. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a walk…”

Namjoon sat on his haunches, Y/N hardly able to believe how big his wolf form was– it was almost as intimidating as his tall, muscled human form. Hesitantly, she moved in front of him, the top of his head reaching just under her chin. Her earlier fright was a distant memory, and all she wanted in that moment was to pet him. Unfortunately, she didn’t know if Namjoon would be okay with that. 

Namjoon blew a puff of air out of his nose, Y/N wondering if he could read her thoughts, and to her surprise, he pressed his face against her chest, a quiet whine coming from the back of his throat. 

“Whoa, am I dreaming?” Y/N blurted, Namjoon nuzzling his face further into the jacket she was wearing. Automatically, Y/N’s hands dove into the shaggy fur around Namjoon’s neck, effectively holding him as he melted into her. “Didn’t know you were such a love bug. Looks are really deceiving, huh?”

Giddy, Y/N scratched behind Namjoon’s damaged left ear gently, earning another whine from the wolf hybrid, his tail beating the grass behind him. Y/N, stunned, wondered if Namjoon was actually trying to comfort her– after all, not only had he scared the shit out of her, he had caught her pathetically weeping by herself, on a rock, in the middle of the night. Namjoon was perceptive, so the idea was fairly feasible to her. 

All too soon, Namjoon was pulling away, looking over his shoulder expectantly when he began to walk back towards the house. Apparently wanting her to follow, Y/N obeyed, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline when the wolf hybrid led her to the drive in front of the garage, where his van was parked. The vehicle was running and lit up, apparently Namjoon had been hanging out in there after she bid him goodnight. Y/N’s face grew hot when she spotted the pile of clothes Namjoon left outside, the wolf hybrid growling, Y/N getting the hint. She turned, facing the house, cheeks still aflame as she heard the sound of fabric rustling against skin. 

“Y/N, you can turn around,” Namjoon spoke after several seconds, Y/N not proud that she almost broke her neck while spinning around to look at him. He appeared just as startled by her sudden movement, still yanking his sweater down over his lower stomach, the strip of golden skin hidden from her greedy view in a flash. “Uh, want to tell me why you were crying?”

“Oh. I forgot how forward you can be,” Y/N quickly swiped under her eyes, the skin still a tad tacky from the few tears that escaped. 

“Did I scare you that badly?” Namjoon’s mouth flattened into a line, a rare look of vulnerability flashing over his face. 

“N-no! No, it wasn’t you that made me cry, Joonie,” Y/N exclaimed, hurrying over to his side. “So why were you out here?”

Y/N dodged his original question, something that did not escape Namjoon’s attention. Expecting him to press her, Namjoon soaked in her appearance thoroughly, like he was trying to figure out how she was feeling without her speaking a single word. She fidgeted under the weight of his gaze, especially when something in his eyes shifted when he realized who’s jacket she was wearing. 

“Come on, let’s go in. It’s cold,” Namjoon opened up the van door, gesturing for her to hop inside. Secretly, she was thankful that he wasn’t making her go back into the house quite yet. 

Hovering by the kitchenette, she wasn’t really sure where to go with the conversation since they were both avoiding each other’s questions. Namjoon’s Walkman was playing quiet folk music on the counter, and there was a package of Oreos open beside it. He had put on the fairy lights Y/N taped around the ceiling months ago, something that had her heart squeezing in her chest. 

“I… take a walk around the house every night,” Namjoon admitted after pulling the van door shut, his bitten ear fluttering. 

“Huh? Like… that? In your wolf form?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Y/N asked, Namjoon shrugging nonchalantly, leaning against the van door. 

“I want to make sure we’re safe,” he finally answered, vulnerability all over him again. 

“Oh?” Y/N blinked, not exactly expecting such raw honesty from Namjoon. He had really come a long way when it came to trust, so for him to answer so earnestly, Y/N was taken aback. 

“When you live most of your life without security, once you get it, you’ll do anything to keep it,” Namjoon clarified, and contrary to the heaviness of his words, a faint dimple appeared in his cheek. “It’s instinct. Protect myself, protect you.”

“Just me? Not the others?” Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, knowing that she was toeing the line of provoking Namjoon into laughter or provoking him into agitation. 

“Well. Mostly just us two…” Namjoon muttered, toying with the silver ring in his earlobe. Loving this version of Namjoon, Y/N could hardly remember that she was miserable only fifteen minutes ago. 

“What about Jeongguk, you aren’t worried about him? He’s our teammate, right?” She continued to jest, Namjoon shaking his head.

“Y/N, I know you’re just trying to tease me to get out of telling me why you were crying. I hope you know by now I’m not going to force it out of you,” Namjoon’s ears went sideways, pointing to the loft above the cab. “Can I show you something?”

“What?” 

“Climb up, I wanna show you something, Y/N,” Namjoon moved towards her, Y/N all but herded to the ladder with his mass behind her. There was no reason for her to refuse, so she hauled herself up to the cushy space, astonished that Namjoon was close behind her. 

“Ah, thankfully I’m not claustrophobic,” Y/N cringed at her inability to stop jokes from spilling out, cramming herself against the wall in the bunk. Apparently, Namjoon had cleared all of the books he had stuffed up there, transferring them to the bookshelves in his room where his and Y/N’s shared library was, and it was a comfortable place to sleep again. “It’s cozy up here! You used to sleep in this bunk?”

“Mm-hmm, but it’s been a while,” Namjoon carefully swung his large frame onto the bunk beside her, the space wide enough for the two of them to lay there without touching. “Seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Shit’s been crazy, hasn’t it?” Y/N said, snorting. Namjoon was right, it did seem like a lifetime since she adopted the seven hybrids, and between getting to know them, dealing with ghosts, and falling in love, any normal person’s head would be spinning constantly. “I think we’re taking it in stride, though.”

“You have a pretty good ability to bounce back,” Namjoon hummed, reaching up to the ceiling, Y/N following the movement and glowing under his praise. 

“Oh! There’s a sky light up here!” Y/N’s eyes widened, Namjoon grunting, pushing the moss-covered window upwards and revealing the night sky. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t think you or Jeongguk knew it was up here, since the glass is covered. Thought you’d like it, I remember you telling me you wanted to learn more about constellations.”

Y/N’s focus on the sky was effectively stolen, gawking at Namjoon’s side profile as she laid beside him. Suddenly she was falling in love with the wolf hybrid all over again, with his perception, the way he listened, the slope of his nose, even. 

“That’s right,” Y/N whispered, the fairy lights making his starlight hair appear lilac. 

“There’s only a few in the sky this time of year, in this hemisphere. Since we’re outside of Boston, it’s a little easier to see the stars, which is good,” Namjoon didn’t seem to notice that she was staring at him, extending a digit up to the sky. “If you look closely, you can see the constellation Lynx over there. Cancer is right underneath.”

“You really know everything, don’t you, Joon Bug?” Y/N commented softly, Namjoon finally turning his head to look at her. He cocked an eyebrow, watching her shiver at the gust of wind brought in by the open window. 

“Of course not. Nobody knows everything,” Namjoon pointed out, making Y/N giggle at the reproach in his tone. “Not much else to do in the wild but look at the stars.”

“Do you know the stories of the constellations, too?” Y/N asked eagerly, scooching closer to him subconsciously for warmth. 

“Some of them,” Namjoon replied, reaching towards the foot of the bunk, dragging an old knitted blanket up and offering it to Y/N. “Want me to tell you what I know?”

“Please, can you?” Y/N accepted the blanket, the smell of it reminding her of the woods. There was a beat, one filled with tinny folk music and rumbling coming from Namjoon’s chest. 

“Lynx, right there. See it?” Namjoon waited for Y/N to nod, adjusting his body so he could face her on his side, Y/N finding it hard to believe he was willing to be so close to her. “The reason it was named that is because the stars are so faint, people believed only those with eyes of a lynx could see it. Cancer, below it, has to do with a story involving the Greek gods.”

“I used to love Greek mythology,” Y/N grinned, Namjoon’s expression turning sly. 

“Oh, I believe that,” he chuckled, Y/N wondering if he knew how flirty he sounded. “Hercules was trying to slay a creature called a hydra. Goddess Hera sent Cancer– the crab, to distract Hercules from accomplishing that.”

Y/N watched Namjoon trace the constellations in the sky with his finger, swallowing thickly. Namjoon had done so much to open up to her, and she hardly ever confided in him herself. Clearing her throat, she got his attention, his mouth twisting up quizzically. 

“I was crying because I was frustrated,” Y/N confessed, Namjoon blinking in surprise. 

“Okay…” Namjoon drew out the syllables to the word pointedly, shifting closer to her. 

“Joonie, you’re observant. Have you noticed Taehyung acting strange?” Namjoon stiffened at the mention of the Kodiak hybrid, so Y/N gave his arm a gentle pat. “I know you don’t. Uh, like him. But I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen how weird he’s been.”

Namjoon paused, throat bobbing, turning the words over in his head.

“He has been acting odd, I agree,” Namjoon answered honestly, with a soft exhalation. “His behavior is frustrating you?”

“Well, yes and no. I’ve tried talking to him a couple of times, but we never get anywhere. I don’t know how to fix things,” Y/N frowned, eyes on the sky again. Thankfully, though, with Namjoon at her side, she didn’t feel like crying again. “I just… if I did something to hurt him, I want him to tell me. I don’t want him to feel like a prisoner in his own home.”

“I doubt he feels that way,” Namjoon said, the note of firmness in his tone. “As much as I hate to admit this, Y/N, Taehyung is similar to me in a lot of ways. He takes a while to adjust to things. Maybe he’s simply getting used to newfound freedoms he has never had before. Or he’s got that moodiness lots of artists get. You haven’t done anything to hurt him, Y/N. You shouldn’t think so badly of yourself.”

“Yeah?” Y/N’s voice was small, Namjoon’s insight bringing her swift comfort. “You think he’ll come around?”

“In time, yes,” Namjoon assured her, realizing how tired Y/N looked– it made something in his chest pinch uncomfortably. “Y/N, you’ve made us feel safe here. We’re not prisoners, we’re home.”

“Oh,” Y/N breathed, and just like that, she was almost moved to tears again. Struck by the heaviness of the conversation, she yearned for something to distract her. “Can you… tell me more about the stars?”

Namjoon gave her a closed-mouth smile, turning his attention back to the sky. 

“That one there. Constellation Draco. It represents the dragon who protected golden apples in the garden of Hesperides, Ladon. See it? The golden apples would grant immortality to those who would eat them…”

Y/N listened to Namjoon as best as she could. After confiding in him, she felt like a weight was lifted off of her chest, and his silky, deep voice instilled a sense of calm in her. Namjoon dove into stories of Greek myths, probably trying to make her feel better, and Y/N would ask an occasional question. Some stories he had more details on, others, he’d simply name the constellation and point out where it was. At some point, while he was relaying the tale of Virgo, Namjoon noticed Y/N’s lack of response. Curiously, he glanced at her, eyes widening when he realized she had fallen asleep beside him. 

Not knowing what to do, considering carrying her to her bedroom would be impossible to do without waking her (not to mention, he worried about dropping her when climbing down the loft’s ladder), Namjoon could only stare at her serene expression. Gritting his teeth, he closed the window above them as quietly as he could, trying to inch his way towards the ladder. He’d let her sleep up there, and he’d curl up in the booth for the night– he didn’t feel right staying next to her, for some reason. 

He froze like a statue when he heard an unintelligible mumble, turning to Y/N, a pout pulling at her lower lip as she slept, squirming in her spot. Namjoon could only compare the sensation in his chest to something that was melting, his ears pressing against his skull in alarm. And before he could escape and unpack all of that, the muscles of his abdomen contracted when Y/N moved again, slinging her forearm around his middle, this time in an embrace. Utterly paralyzed, Namjoon didn’t dare breathe, Y/N mumbling again and cozying up to his side, resting her cheek against his bicep. 

Namjoon tried, as best as he could, to relax. Clearly, he wasn’t going anywhere without waking her up. He was surrounded by the floral, vibrant scent of her, and shamefully, it made his mouth water. He inwardly cursed himself– he hadn’t scented Y/N in months, and judging by the volume of saliva gathering in his mouth, he would probably have to do it again in the near future. Even with Jeongguk’s musky scent coming off of the jacket she was wearing, he was nearly choking on the unique smell of her. 

Now, Namjoon was the one who couldn’t sleep. Not when Y/N was burrowing against his side like a newborn cub. Every instinct within him was screaming, and it was all he could do to just remain still and focus on his breath. After a few moments, the weight of her arm curled around his center, Namjoon was able to loosen up a bit. Before she’d wake in the morning, he’d be able to move and not make her uncomfortable. In that moment, however, all he could do was let her hold him, and surprisingly, he was able to fall asleep, contrary to his initial hypothesis. He did, after all, remind Y/N that he didn’t know everything. 

Y/N was disoriented when she woke up hours later, curled onto her side and blinking at the indented spot where Namjoon was previously occupied, a frown on her face wondering if he had left her alone. Peeking over the edge of the loft, she gasped quietly, the wolf hybrid barely fitting in the booth in the back of the vehicle, asleep. Even though he was unconscious, his triangular ears twitched at the sound of her movement. Climbing down quietly, Y/N felt guilty that Namjoon had slept in such a cramped spot, his body twisted in an odd position. After glancing at her watch, Y/N hissed at the late hour of the mid-morning. She hadn’t slept that late in months, let alone so well, so she definitely owed Namjoon some gratitude for that. 

“Joon? Joonie, that can’t be comfortable. I’m awake now, so if you want to keep sleeping you can move up to the bunk,” Y/N slid her palm up and down his back to wake him up as gently as she could. He mumbled, one of his golden eyes cracking open, and immediately the tips of his ears turned scarlet. “I feel bad you had to sleep like this. You could have just stayed next to me!”

The flush on Namjoon’s face deepened, clumsily sitting up, Y/N’s hand falling from his back. Wanting to tease him, she quickly stopped herself, remembering how sweetly he treated her the previous night. 

“Thanks for last night, Joonie,” Y/N watched him stand, and before she could think against it, she looped her arms around his middle, squeezing him into a fond hug. “Next month, can you tell me about the constellations you can see in April?”

“S-sure,” Namjoon answered, bewildered, placing his hands over her shoulder blades tentatively, Y/N able to feel his pounding heartbeat through his sweater. That, and she could hear his stomach growling, Y/N giggling and letting him go. 

“Should we get some breakfast?”

“Uh-huh,” Namjoon averted his eyes from her, ears drooping in embarrassment. Stumbling his way to the driver’s seat, he turned off the engine, following Y/N back to the house. 

“What, did you two fall asleep reading each other’s Tarot cards?” Jeongguk was in the breakfast nook with his feet kicked up, chewing on an apple, his eyebrows pulling together when he spotted Y/N. “Is that my jacket?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I grabbed it by accident last night,” Y/N shucked off the garment, hanging it back up on the coat rack. 

“Whatever,” Jeongguk shrugged, still looking at her kind of funny. Using his half-eaten apple, he gestured to the kitchen island. “Toast and eggs over there. Your phone, too, Y/N. It was going off every five minutes this morning in your room so Yoongi brought it out here and turned it off, some spam risk calls, I think. Woke me the fuck up.”

“That’s weird. It’s probably just an over zealous telemarketer,” Y/N reached for the device, turning it back on without too much thought. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.”

“Whatever,” Jeongguk repeated, this time looking out the window, feigning annoyance and continuing to munch on his apple. 

Taehyung removed the clothespin from between his teeth, shaking excess fluid from the photo paper poised between the tongs he was holding, clipping the image up on the wire above him to dry. The picture was one he took of the swan boats in the Boston Common weeks ago with one of the vintage cameras Y/N dug out of the basement for him. 

Y/N. Even just thinking her name had him biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Shaking his head, Taehyung pushed a hand through his unruly curls, trying to put her out of his mind by focusing on straightening out spare rolls of film on the shelf. He had left the house that morning before the sun was even up, just so he could spend more time at the rec center and clear his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to put Yoongi’s words out of his mind. 

At first, Taehyung wanted to knock the leopard hybrid down a few pegs. Every word out of Yoongi’s mouth infuriated him; Taehyung wasn’t used to others trying to psychoanalyze him. Usually, if Taehyung stuck to the wall, he wouldn’t have people trying to pry into what he preferred to keep to himself. Particularly, his emotions. However, what Yoongi said to him sunk in like a heavy stone thrown into a pond. He could no longer deny it: he had feelings for Y/N. 

The heavy door to the photography door was pulled open, making him flinch, swear, and topple over the canisters of film he had just organized. Taehyung must have lost track of time, because it was mid-morning, and several other club members would be arriving shortly. Catching the scent of who it was, Taehyung internally groaned. He wasn’t ready to deal with that issue yet.

“Taehyungie, you’re here early!” A raspy female voice, delighted, trilled in his ears. “Thought you would be. Miss me already?’

Taehyung adjusted the collar of his flannel, gazing at the sky for bravery before he turned around. The bobcat hybrid was pretty, for sure, with feline upturned greenish eyes, and gray-blonde hair. At the sight of her, Taehyung had guilt boiling in his stomach he had to squash down, painting a neutral expression on his face. 

“You’re here early, too, Diana,” Taehyung answered nonchalantly, watching a pout tug at her lips. 

“Jeez. Full name today?” Diana set her camera bag down on one of the benches, sniffing the air delicately. “Is something up?”

“No. Nothing,” Taehyung shook his head, fixing the film rolls again. 

“Liar,” Diana narrowed her eyes, methodically placing the items of her camera bag on the table. “Tell me.”

There was a stark difference between Diana and Y/N. Well, there were several, which caught Taehyung’s attention in the first place. The major one, however, was how Diana liked to press Taehyung for information, and Y/N let him come around and tell her his thoughts when he was ready. Yoongi was in his head again, taunting him. Calling him out for using Diana as a distraction. 

“I’m fine, Diana,” Taehyung sighed, hoping someone else would arrive momentarily so he would have a better excuse to talk about something else. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I bet it’s something at home. The other hybrids you live with must be causing you trouble. That has to be rough, living with so many others. Poor Taehyungie,” Diana cooed, making Taehyung’s hair stand on end. “Sort of selfish for a human to adopt that many hybrids. She should know how stressful that is for us.”

“She’s the least selfish human I’ve ever met,” Taehyung reacted as if someone struck him with a fire poker. A light, surprised hiss came from behind him, Taehyung cringing that he wasn’t able to keep the anger out of his response. To boot, he bumped into a basin filled with developing fluid, the liquid spilling everywhere. “Uh. Shit. I’m going to get more paper towels from the supply closet.”

“Wow. I get it now,” Diana breathed, Taehyung hardly able to look at the insecurity shadowing her features. 

“There’s nothing to get. I said nothing was wrong,” even Taehyung didn’t believe himself. Before he could brush by the bobcat hybrid, she caught his sleeve. Throat bobbing, he waited for her to speak. 

“This isn’t going to last, isn’t it?” Diana asked quietly, making Taehyung’s heart pound. “You love her too much.”

Taehyung didn’t answer. She was the second individual in less than 24 hours that brought that to his attention. When he had no reply, Diana sighed. 

“I hope you can figure it out, Taehyung. It’s not just you that you’re hurting,” Diana let him go, Taehyung fleeing from the room as swiftly as he could. 

He hated himself. Always running, running, running. From himself, from his problems, from those who grew to care about him. It made him sick, and instead of finding himself in the supply closet, he found himself in the bathroom, hurling up the hasty breakfast he had into a toilet bowl. Heaving, he thought about everyone he hurt. The man he killed– even if it was in self-defense. Diana. Y/N. Another dry heave had his body locking up, never feeling more miserable in his entire life. It was like every emotion he desperately locked away had unleashed themselves with a vengeance.

“Fuck,” Taehyung rinsed his mouth out at the sink, wiping away tears that tracked down his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. He had to get out of there.

Out in the parking lot before he could bump into any other members of the club, Taehyung pulled the keys to the station wagon out of his pocket, and like the tires were on fire he was leaving the rec center, Yoongi and Hoseok be damned. A problem for later, and to his misery, a problem that would probably have to be solved by Y/N. Slamming his palms against the steering wheel in frustration, he wondered if he’d ever stop making her life more difficult than it had to be. 

After half an hour of him driving catatonically, Taehyung was parked by the Boston Common. He decided to do the only thing that could potentially calm him down; walk around the park and take pictures until his fingers and mind was numb. Shoving a beanie over his head, simply so he wouldn’t have to deal with people staring at his ears, he grabbed his camera and hauled himself outside. 

The anonymity brought him a semblance of comfort. With the beanie on, he looked like any other human, so he passed by groups of children without them pointing at his ears peacefully. Taehyung spent the better part of two hours taking pictures of early blooming flowers, the task controlling his newfound raging emotions. Zooming in on a pink tulip, Taehyung’s ears picked up a sweet giggle even with his hearing muffled by the beanie. He went pale, the giggle sound very close to Y/N’s, Taehyung fell backwards on his ass from his crouch, searching for her face amongst the throngs of people. How would she even know he was there?

Suddenly, the laughter was closer, Taehyung whipping his head around to spot a young woman who wasn’t Y/N at all. She wasn’t by herself, she was pointing at flowers, her arm linked with a tall man beside her. The wind carried their scents, the woman just a human, but the man was a hybrid, some kind of feline. Frozen, Taehyung gawked at them, the pair totally wrapped up in their own little world. His fingertips twitched, a certain part of him wanting to snap a photograph of the two, but he couldn’t move. It was the look in their eyes. 

Taehyung had seen the expression on the male hybrid’s face before. He’d seen it on Yoongi when Y/N would determinedly practice his compositions beside him on the piano. Seokjin often wore the same look whenever Y/N would enter a room. Once or twice, he swore he saw it on Jimin whenever the two of them would work on the garden beds. 

And the one the woman was wearing? As she glanced at her hybrid companion picking a flower from the dirt for her? It was pure adoration, easy and sweet. One that Y/N offered him, all of them, endlessly. Taehyung then knew.

“Who’s that?” Jimin asked when Y/N’s phone went off for the third time, the two of them covered in soil as they transferred flowers into one of the garden beds. 

“Spam risk. I keep trying to block the number but then another one will replace it. I think some newspaper peddlers got a hold of my cell,” Y/N grimaced, switching her phone off. “So annoying…”

Jimin grunted, packing soil loosely around one of the plants. Spring was fast approaching, so whenever she had a moment to spare, she was out with the coyote hybrid setting up the garden. Judy hadn’t forwarded any new consultation cases for her, Namjoon, and Jeongguk, so the three of them would sit in the shop during her shifts and basically stock inventory. On the bright side, with the two of them there, she’d get to tell them what certain herbs were for witchcraft, sometimes Jeongguk would explain who was on the saint medallions, and what they represented. 

“Maybe you should change your number,” Jimin pointed out, concerned. Nudging her elbow into his ribs, Y/N shook her head. 

“Nah, that would be a total pain in the ass. They’ll give up eventually,” Y/N brushed it off, turning her head to survey the completed garden bed beside her, filled with culinary and witchy herbs. “I’m so excited to start using these herbs. But even more excited to see what we can grow and cook!”

“Me too. Maybe you can teach me how to make something besides pancakes. I was never much of a cook,” Jimin admitted, admiring the glow on her face. 

“You could always go to a cooking class with Seokjin and I. He’d love that, it gives him a chance to show off,” Y/N replied, running her fingers over the rosemary plant in the herb box. “Oh, yeah. Speaking of classes, I know you were interested in maybe taking one once the universities started offering them.”

“I… yeah. If it’s okay, I mean,” Jimin paused, setting down the rake he was holding, Y/N groaning. “Huh?”

“Jimin, of course it’s okay. You guys need to get it through your pretty, thick, skulls that it’s alright to ask for things,” Y/N grasped onto Jimin’s arm, playfully shaking him. The alarm in his eyes changed to surprise, his cheeks hot. “What kind of classes interest you?”

Jimin, contrary to his usual impeccable self-control, had a whine leaving his throat, brushing dirt off of his jeans bashfully. Y/N shook him again with a coo, trying to coax it out of him.

“W-writing. I like reading, but I want to learn how to write down things I’ve seen,” Jimin mumbled, now picking dirt out from beneath his fingernails. “We had basic education on the ranch, but we never really learned how to write creatively. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Creative writing! Sounds like fun, have you looked into any local universities, if they’ll offer that?”

“Yeah, Boston College is going to,” Jimin was completely pink, Y/N finding his shyness adorable. “In the fall.”

“So, are we signing you up?” Y/N cocked her head, Jimin growing redder by the second. “C’mon, Jimin. You should! It’ll be fun for you to meet some new people, write together.”

“If it’s okay–” Y/N shot Jimin a glare, making him cut himself off, chuckling nervously. “I’d like to try it out.”

“Great! As soon as there’s information about applications, let me know, I’ll help fill them out if you need me to,” Y/N cheered, pumped for the coyote hybrid. “Oh! If the classes are in the fall, it’ll be after our trip to Montana to visit your family. We can tell them about it too!”

Jimin stuttered, apparently haven forgotten about Y/N’s promise to take him out west. Blonde hair falling into his eyes, Jimin flashed her a shaky smile, nodding. She opened her mouth to continue, when her phone went off again. Agitated, this time she actually picked up, murmuring an apology to Jimin. 

“Hello? Please stop calling. I’m not interested in anything you’re selling,” Y/N spoke firmly, Jimin watching her with rapt interest. 

“Actually, I’m interested in something you could sell me,” A slimy, smug male voice answered. Wrinkling her nose, she exchanged a puzzled look with Jimin. 

“I think you have the wrong number. I’m not selling anything. Please stop calling,” Y/N was about to hang up, when the man scoffed. 

“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” The man’s tone turned condescending, Jimin’s ears perking up protectively as he listened in on the conversation. “You’ll want to sell when you find out what I’m offering.”

“Fuck off,” Y/N barked, an icky sensation filling her. She hung up, blocked the number, and turned off her phone with jerky movements. “Ew. Telemarketers are getting creepier and creepier.”

“That was… worrisome,” Jimin’s eyes softened when Y/N appeared slightly disturbed, offering him a half-smile. 

“No, it’s fine. Just trying to intimidate me into giving my credit card number, probably,” Y/N shook off her nerves, blindly searching behind her for another pot of flowers to plant. 

“We’ve planted them all, Y/N. Yoongi will probably want your help with dinner, you want to head in and wash up before then?” Jimin changed the subject. Instinct told him to look further into what he perceived to be a threat, but if Y/N wasn’t too concerned, he decided to let it go. For now. 

“Good idea. It’ll be a while before we plant the vegetables, anyways,” Y/N agreed absently, letting Jimin help her up with an arm around her waist. “We’ll start planning our trip to Montana in a couple of weeks! Right after we come back from New York to visit Hannah.”

“Sounds good,” Jimin agreed, reluctant to let her go once she was back on her feet. “I’ll help any way that I can.”

“You know how to book airline tickets?” Y/N teased, both of them making their way back to the house. However, when they entered the kitchen, the lack of Yoongi occupying the room had them both stopping in their tracks. “Weird. He should be home by now. Maybe Hoseok convinced him and Taehyung to stop for pizza?”

“Seems like the most likely possibility,” Jimin nodded, switching on the lights. “Maybe ask Seokjin?”

“Yeah, I think I will. See you in a bit, okay, sweetheart?” 

Y/N left Jimin in the foyer, the coyote hybrid off to take his shower, Y/N deciding to do the same before she sought out Seokjin for any information. 

Meanwhile, Yoongi was incessantly trying to call Y/N, getting sent directly to voicemail each time. Cursing, he wondered if it was karma for jumping down Taehyung’s throat that he was now stuck at the rec center with Hoseok, without a way to get home. 

“Why the fuck would he leave us here? I get why the wolf hates him hour by hour,” Hoseok complained, leaning against a cement pillar in the lobby of the rec center. His gym bag was by his feet, exhausted from a day of both coaching and practicing with his own team. The fox hybrid was ready to throttle Taehyung. “I’m gonna hide all of his cameras if we ever get back. Y/N still not picking up?”

“No. I think she turned off her phone, the spam callers were probably bothering her,” Yoongi mumbled, tucking his freshly-showered hair behind his ear. “This is fucked. Should we call a cab?”

“I don’t think we can,” Hoseok whistled his three-tone tune, mouth set in a sardonic smirk. “Call someone else. Call Jinnie, maybe he’ll pick up.”

Yoongi, hissing, did just that, ready to blow his brains out when the jaguar hybrid didn’t answer the call either. It was just his luck, getting stuck with Hoseok at the rec center with no one coming to get them, when all he wanted to do was have a beer and rot on the couch the rest of the evening. Hoseok was annoying the shit out of him, pacing around the lobby, ordering him around. In a last-ditch effort, he called the next number on his phone.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” Jeongguk picked up on the third ring, his voice a sarcastic drawl. 

“Taehyung ditched Foxy and I at the rec center. Y/N’s phone is off. We’re stuck here,” Yoongi snarled, fed up with the three hybrids pushing his buttons at the moment. 

“And what would you like me to do about that? You know I don’t drive,” Jeongguk sounded like he was rolling his eyes, Yoongi pressing his forehead to the cinderblock wall and praying for patience. 

“Well, first, you can remove the stick from your ass. Then, you can put me on the phone with someone who can come and fucking pick us up before the janitors lock us in here.”

“Nice,” Hoseok commented from across the room, giving Yoongi a thumbs-up of approval, his russet tail swishing merrily. 

There was a sound of rustling, before Namjoon’s confused voice filled Yoongi’s ears.

“I can come get you,” Namjoon said through the receiver, Yoongi muttering hallelujah. “What about Taehyung? What do I say to Y/N?” 

“Let me handle that when I get back. If you say something now, she’ll freak,” Yoongi ordered, Namjoon making a noise of agreement. “He’s probably just fucking around with his cameras in the park and forgot about us.”

“Asshole. Alright, I’ll be there in twenty,” Namjoon hung up, Yoongi putting his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong? He’ll be here soon,” Hoseok approached the leopard hybrid, hands on his hips.

“Y/N is going to be pissed,” Yoongi leaned his head back against the wall, rubbing his temples.

“Well, yeah. Not at us, though, don’t sweat the shit,” Hoseok bumped his hip against Yoongi’s. “It’s Taehyung that’s going to be in the doghouse.”

“Yeah I know. I think it’s my fault he’s lost his fucking mind, though.”

“What are you talking about? Did you say something to him?” Hoseok exclaimed, surprised.

“I told him something he didn’t wanna hear, but had to know.”

“Oh, you’re so fucked, dude,” Hoseok tsked, walking to the doors and peering outside. “Guess we’ll see.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?” Y/N got out of the shower and walked into a whole new pile of shit. “He left you there? Where is he now, is he back yet?”

Y/N was livid. Every hybrid in the room, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hoseok, all had their ears pressed to their skulls, like they were going to be punished. The only one she cared to scold was Taehyung, more worried about him than she ever had been. 

“No,” Namjoon broke the silence bravely, Y/N ready to tear her hair out. 

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Let me call him,” Y/N turned her phone back on, glancing at everyone in the room, tails between their legs. “I’m not mad at you guys, it’s not your fault. He’s been a pain in my ass for like three weeks now. He’s lashing out, for whatever reason… I gotta get Laura over here, do some conflict resolution…”

Hoseok gave Yoongi an encouraging eyebrow raise, the fox hybrid slyly spiriting himself down in the basement to change. Meanwhile, Namjoon went back outside to check the driveway for any sign of the station wagon Taehyung hijacked. Only Yoongi remained, Y/N wondering why he looked so suspicious, shifting from one foot to another. Tabling that for a moment, she dialed Taehyung’s number, ready to chew him out. To Yoongi’s astonishment, the Kodiak hybrid answered right away. 

“I’m on my way back to the rec center now, I just lost track of time in the park, now there’s rush hour traffic–”

“Don’t bother,” Y/N cut him off, seething. Yoongi had never seen Y/N so pissed off at someone (other than himself, when he was being elusive about their first meeting). “Namjoon picked them up a half hour ago. They were waiting for two hours for you, Taehyung. How could you take off like that?”

“I–I…”

“We’ll talk when you’re home. I told you that it was fine for you to go wherever you please, Taehyung, but to take off without a word? Leaving the other two behind?”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung’s voice was thick, the sounds of Boston traffic coming through the receiver. The pain in his voice had her heart breaking.

“Just get back here, okay? Drive carefully, Taehyung.”

Y/N hung up, arms limp by her side, Yoongi eyeing her carefully. 

“Can I have a hug?” Y/N asked hollowly, Yoongi springing into action promptly by gathering her in his arms, ashamed that he likely set that whole thing in motion. Y/N was too exhausted to even cry, simply hiding her face into Yoongi’s hoodie, bathing in his comfort. 

“Y/N… I think this might be my fault,” Yoongi cradled the back of her head, Y/N snorting humorlessly. 

“How? You were the one that was ditched,” Y/N pulled away, tucking hair behind Yoongi’s ear. 

“Yesterday morning. I confronted Taehyung about his behavior. Maybe this is karma kicking my ass,” Yoongi confessed, Y/N’s eyebrows pulling together.  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything to him.”

“Well, that depends on what you said,” Y/N replied slowly, fear creeping into her gut. Surely, Yoongi wouldn’t tell Taehyung how she felt about him?

“I didn’t tell him how you feel. That’s up to you,” Yoongi said quickly, Y/N breathing out in relief. “I just– I was pretty harsh. Told him to stop acting shifty. I was just trying to protect you.”

“I appreciate that,” Y/N squeezed his shoulder, his ears perking back up at the touch. “I should fight my own fights though, angel. Talking to Tae about matters of the heart… is tricky. Delicate.” 

“You’re not upset with me?” Yoongi purred, secretly pleased. 

“Not that much. You’ll have to make it up to me in the future, though,” Y/N flicked his hoop earring, not having the energy to get upset with Taehyung and Yoongi. Yoongi, relieved, ducked and stamped a kiss on her forehead. 

“With pleasure,” Yoongi placed another kiss on the tip of her nose, grasping for her hand. “Come. Let’s start on dinner, take your mind off things until he gets back.”

Minutes crawled as she and Yoongi began chopping vegetables for a quick curry recipe, Seokjin joining them after a while, the jaguar hybrid helpfully making the rice to go with the main dish. She dropped the knife she was holding when the front door creaked open solemnly, the two feline hybrids in the room with her exchanging uneasy side-eyes. After she hung up from Taehyung, Y/N cooled down somewhat, and was mostly just relieved he had made it home. Yoongi and Seokjin remained behind in the kitchen, and Y/N went into the foyer to meet Taehyung. She hadn’t seen him, physically, in over 24 hours. He looked like a mess. 

Normally golden skin ashen and a touch green, eyes tired and lacking their usual sparkle, Taehyung stood in front of her with his shoulders slumped. 

“You’re back,” was all Y/N said, a lump in her throat. “What happened?”

“I just– I went into the city to take photos. Forgot that they’d be without a car,” Taehyung pulled at the hem of his sweater, avoiding her eyes. “I’m so sorry, I won’t do that again. I didn’t mean to.”

“Um, okay. I accept the apology, but it’s Yoongi and Hoseok you should probably apologize to. Namjoon as well, he picked up the slack,” Y/N’s chest throbbed painfully. She didn’t know how much more she could take of seeing Taehyung in such distress. “Tae, have you been sleeping? You look like you don’t feel well.”

Y/N took a step forward, panic flashing over Taehyung’s face. Did he think she was going to hurt him? He glanced at the stairs, towards his bedroom, and shook curls out of his eyes. 

“I think I caught a bug from the rec center. I don’t want to get you or the others sick. I’ll… apologize in the morning,” Taehyung breathed, his voice cracking on the last word he uttered. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I am.”

With that, Taehyung left. Y/N had not a drop of energy to chase after him. She was tired of waiting for him to be honest with her. Y/N decided then and there that she would listen to Namjoon, who swore to her that Taehyung would eventually come around. Putting her faith in her wolf hybrid, she swallowed down her agony and returned to the kitchen to finish making dinner. 

“How you doin’?” Hoseok stared down at Y/N, who was standing below him while he sat on the metal bleachers. Y/N snorted at his silly accent, his attempt to make her laugh. 

“Oh, you know. Another day in the life,” Y/N sang, pulling her jacket around her tightly. “First outdoor meet of the season. You excited?”

“A bit,” Hoseok swung his feet in front of her face, his expression turning contemplative. “Too bad all the other lumps I live with didn’t want to watch it.”

“What, am I not enough?” Y/N teased, catching the loose shoelaces dangling before her. With a hum, she grasped his ankle, gingerly tying the laces so he wouldn’t trip on the track. 

“You’ll suffice,” Hoseok relented dramatically, wiggling his foot in her hold playfully. “Hope you’re not as upset as you were the other night. We’re worried about you.”

“Ah, Ho-seok,” Y/N complained, considering she had put the drama at home aside to watch his meet peacefully. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl, if I can’t handle road bumps from time to time, I might as well be a princess.”

“You know… there’s a French saying. ‘Après la pluie, le beau temps’. That basically means after wading through the shit, something good will happen,” Hoseok sobered, reaching up to the bar above him and swinging his body through the slats of the bleachers so he could stand in front of her. 

“Is that a literal translation?” Y/N drawled sarcastically, Hoseok smirking at her and pinching her nose.

“No. The literal translation is ‘after the rain, good weather.’ The sentiment is the same, though. Things will blow over.”

“Wait a second, you speak French?” Y/N blinked, even when his coach’s whistle blew to call the team members to the track. She never even considered that he could, even though he was born in Paris. That made her feel quite silly.

“Pensez-vous que l'hiver sera rude, darling?” Hoseok called, jogging backwards with a wink. He was off, quick as lightning, Y/N pulling out a translation app while repeating the words he shot at her. 

“‘Do you think winter will be hard’? It’s the end of fucking March, you goober,” Y/N scoffed to herself, though despite the ridiculousness, a grin tugged at her lips. 

A while later, back at home once Hoseok won first place in the mile run again, Y/N decided to tidy up her room. Full of energy somehow, she started at her altar by organizing items on the vanity. She had the moonstone Namjoon once gave her front and center, and against the mirror were Jeongguk’s antlers. Recently, Jimin had dried a bunch of lavender and sage for her to use in her practice, so Y/N used natural string to bind the leaves into a bundle for smoke cleansing. Enjoying a few moments to herself, Y/N lit a candle on her altar, burning some calming sandalwood incense to really let loose. It was only a matter of time before one of her boys sought her out, which didn’t bother her in the slightest, but the rare solitude was refreshing as she wrapped the bundle up tightly. 

Almost as soon as she tied the last knot, there was a knock on her bedroom door. 

“Come in!”

“Hi, pretty!” Seokjin slunk into the room, shutting the door behind him. In his arms was her laptop and a fuzzy blanket from his bedroom, and he was dressed in sweats and a slouchy white tee shirt. “Wanna watch a movie with me? I miss you!”

“Of course,” Y/N melted on the vanity stool she was seated on, Seokjin placing her laptop and the blanket on her bed. Before she could get up, Seokjin was behind her, a closed-lipped smile on his face reflected in the mirror. “I miss you too! I’m all yours this afternoon.”

“We could watch Emma. I just finished reading it and waited, like you suggested. What do you think?” Seokjin began to make a nest on the bed for the two of them to curl up into, Y/N watching him through the mirror and setting the herb bundle she made down. 

“Yes, please! I haven’t seen it yet, surprisingly. I wonder how it’ll compare to the book.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Seokjin mused, straightening up and shutting her curtains, attempting to create the perfect environment to watch a movie. Again, Y/N adored that trait Seokjin possessed, the ability to figure out exactly what she needed to decompress. Once he was satisfied with how everything looked, he turned his attention to her, trudging over cutely. 

Seokjin leaned down to kiss the top of her head, his entire body suddenly locking up as soon as his nose was buried in her hair, a growl low in his throat. Suddenly, he wasn’t so cute. “Oh.”

“What? Do I smell? Is it the incense smoke?” Y/N frowned in the mirror, Seokjin’s palms curling around her shoulders heavily. 

“No, you smell…” Seokjin pulled her up to a stance, spinning her around and shoving his face in her neck. “So good.”

“You always s-say that,” Y/N mumbled, embarrassed and slightly turned on. It had been at least a couple of weeks since someone touched her in a more heated way. Part of her brain– distantly– wondered if he had to scent her or something, with the way he was backing her against a wall. The sudden change in the mood had her reeling. 

“Mm, but something’s different,” Seokjin’s words took on that siren-like quality he usually reserved when he was alone with her, Y/N’s lips dropping open to reply. However, her words were choked from her as Seokjin dragged his tongue from her collar bone up to just below her ear, shuddering against her. “Sweeter. Stronger.”

“W-well, I haven’t done anything different,” Y/N clutched the front of his tee shirt desperately, eyes going wide when he shoved a knee between her legs. “Seokjin. Baby. Are we really…?”

“Mmmph,” Seokjin’s speech was muffled, considering he was frantically dragging his face and lips across every exposed patch of skin around her neck and upper chest. “Just wanna. Mm. Kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” Y/N egged him on, Seokjin nibbling along her jugular. 

“Not… n-not while they’re here,” Seokjin sounded strained, regretful. “I don’t want them to hear you with me.”

“I didn’t say fuck me, Seokjin,” Y/N protested, a strangled noise coming from the jaguar hybrid. “You can still kiss me.”

“Fuck, okay,” Seokjin relented, sliding his lips from her throat to her jaw, littering kisses all over the sharp angle. “God, you’re irresistible. What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” Y/N whined, wrapping her arms around his neck urgently, pressing her chest to his and getting on her tip-toes. Absently, Seokjin pressed a palm against her lower abdomen, which had her stomach flipping over unexpectedly. 

“You have no idea how good you smell right now. You must be ov– I… makes me wanna–”

“Wanna what?” Y/N breathed “What am I?”

Seokjin pulled away a degree, his face flushed and eyes wild, predatory. Lust and thrill pulsed through her, but she wasn’t about to escalate things when Seokjin expressed he didn’t want to take things further while the other hybrids were still in the house. His hand still pressed against her abdomen, she looked down, confused. Ov… ovulating. The realization had heat flashing though her violently. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin read the sudden understanding blossoming across her face, restraint in his posture. Swooping down, his lips landed on hers in a heavy kiss, but it was short and sweet. “Remember what you asked me about a couple of weeks ago?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N nodded, trying not to whimper when he removed his knee from between her legs, stepping aside. When she asked him about ruts. 

“I think next month might be my time,” Seokjin was scarlet red, adjusting his sweatpants awkwardly. “Judging by my reaction to your scent at this point in your, um. Cycle.” 

“D-damn. I thought I was the one famous for dropping bombshells,” Y/N attempted to recover from the sudden attack on her neck and chest, though cutting through her lust was also a concern. “Next month? You’ll tell me how to prepare for that, right?”

Seokjin nodded eagerly, despite his clear embarrassment. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ambush you like that.”

“It’s okay, it’s natural for you, honey,” Y/N grabbed his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing his knuckles reassuringly. “You still want to watch the movie with me? I don’t want the scent torturing you.”

“I still want to spend time with you,” Seokjin quickly shot her doubts down, urging her towards the bed. “The scent just caught me off guard. I swear, I can control myself.”

“Too bad,” Y/N quipped, Seokjin clicking his tongue at her but snorting softly at her jest nonetheless. 

“You’re so easy to rile up, Y/N. It might get you in trouble with me in the future,” Seokjin warned, pushing on her shoulders slightly so she’d flop onto the bed bonelessly. “Scoot over and play the movie, hmm?”

The teasing threat had sparks shooting through her veins, and she obeyed him completely by making space for him, waiting until he was comfortable and pulling her into his side before playing the film on her laptop. Y/N let Seokjin nuzzle into the crook of her neck for pretty much the entire movie, positively amazed by his self-restraint. 

“The book was better, so far,” Seokjin commented halfway through, tail curling around Y/N’s waist. 

“I agree, but it’s still nice to watch this with you,” Y/N stroked her hand through Seokjin’s silky waves, content. “Let’s watch Pride and Prejudice next.”

“Again?” Seokjin exclaimed, finally retreating from the crook of her neck with amusement all over his handsome face. 

“Come on, Seokjinnie. I thought you liked spoiling me,” Y/N jutted out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes, trying to lay it on thick just so she could spend more time with him. 

“A little bit too much,” Seokjin leaned his head back, relenting. “Queue it up.”

That evening ended with her and Seokjin falling asleep with movies still playing in the background. The following morning involved Y/N doing menial chores once untangling herself from a very clingy Seokjin, wiping sweat from her brow as she vacuumed the entire first floor. The task distracted her from thinking about the sticky situation with Taehyung and the fact that Seokjin told her to expect his rut to hit the following month, lining up pretty closely with their trip to New York. Talk about timing. 

Her phone had been going off all morning with more spam calls. She ignored every single one, starting to agree with Jimin that she’d have to change her phone number in the near future. Taking a break, she sat down on the staircase, an email notification popping up on the screen from her boss, Judy. Curiosity and excitement stuck through her, hoping for a new case so Jeongguk would stop suggesting the three of them investigate local haunted churches as she tapped on the message. 

Judy@sacredcuriosities.com: 

Y/N, Jeongguk, and Namjoon, 

I hope you are all doing well. I would first like to congratulate and thank you for your success at the Sanders’ home. Ms. Sanders has reached out to me and raved about your professionality and dedication to helping them. 

I’ve received information about a new consultation I’d like to hand over to you three. There’s a bed and breakfast inside of Boston city that has changed hands many times. The rumors that it is dangerously haunted drives customers away, aside from amateur paranormal investigative crews. The newest manager stated that these amateur crews have increased the activity tenfold. 

Considering the business may be shut down due to lack of revenue, the manager has reached out to me for a potential cleansing and banishment. Would this be something the three of you would consider handling? Let me know when you come into work tomorrow, and I’ll email the manager for more information. 

Blessed be, 

Judy

Screenshotting the email, she sent it to Namjoon and Jeongguk in their group chat titled Dream Team. She wasn’t expecting an immediate response, considering the two of them were out in the van picking up a short list of necessities from the drugstore in town. Her phone started to buzz in her palm, and her reflex was to throw it considering the amount of spam calls she had been getting lately. However, she relaxed once she saw that it was Laura calling, to her happy shock. 

“Hi Laura! Long time no chat! How are you, Kai and Tyler?” 

“Hey baby, sorry to keep you in the lurch. Ty and I have been looking all around the area for a good preschool to enroll Kai in next fall. You wouldn’t believe the loops you have to jump through to get a nearly four-year-old into preschool!” Laura sounded exasperated, but still retained her sunny sound. 

“Oh, no worries! Adult life really takes the wind out of you, huh? I sometimes feel like I’m chasing my tail.”

“Was that a pun? Y/N, last time you started making puns all the time, you were writing your thesis and living off of caffeine,” Laura accused, making her crack up. After so long, she missed her girlfriends making wise cracks at her expense. 

“It wasn’t, but thanks for the laugh. I needed it.”

“What’s up? You sound high-strung, baby.”

“The usual. I could use your conflict resolution skills right about now. Any chance you’re free in the next eight months?” Y/N joked, even though she was half-serious as well. 

“I’m free on Saturday. Want me to swing by? Fresh perspective might be useful. You’re all by yourself over there, diffusing situations.”

“Can I text you about it before you come? You’re sure you’re willing?” 

“Am I sure? Y/N, we’ve been like sisters for years. I’d do anything for you, just like you would for me. I’ll help you out!”

“Do you want me to babysit Kai on Saturday night? Date night?” Y/N offered, a smile on her face. 

“Y/N, I could kiss you. I need a date night so bad, you have no idea. I’ll bring him by when I come for the little meeting. Text me the details so I’m prepared, alright? Love you, baby.”

“Bye Laura, love you,” Y/N massaged her sore lower back, strained from dragging the ancient vacuum around all day. Grunting, she stood, resuming her task so she would be done by midday and perhaps take a nice, long shower.

Just after shoving the vacuum back into the coat closet, the front door banged open, Y/N flinching and shouting a colorful swear. Poking her head around the staircase, she stared daggers at the figure clad in black waltzing through the door. 

“Jeongguk! I’ve told you at least three times to be careful with the door. If you break the stained glass, I’m dragging your candy ass to the auctions to find exact replacements. And that could take months,” Y/N threatened, marching up to him and taking the bulk-sized package of toilet paper from him with her tongue sticking out. 

“Judas priest. That’s like the first time a threat of yours has actually frightened me,” Jeongguk scoffed incredulously, Namjoon gently locking up the door behind him with several bags of his own. 

“Quiet and bring everything down to the basement,” Namjoon requested, Y/N able to tell that he was sick to the back teeth of hanging out with Jeongguk for the afternoon based on the agitated swish to his fluffy silver tail. 

Y/N assisted them in putting everything under the basement stairs, Jeongguk able to duck under the tight space now that he didn’t have his antlers taking up so much headroom. 

“You guys get my text?”

Both of them appeared confused, Y/N watching with a snicker as they fumbled for their pockets on the way back up to the ground floor. Waiting as they read the screenshotted image Y/N bounced on her toes, their eager expressions having a warm, fond sensation filling her entire body. Jeongguk’s mouth opened, no doubt ready to ask one hundred questions, but he was interrupted by some rapt knocking on the front door. Namjoon recoiled, since he knew that with his and Jeongguk’s return back home, everyone should be accounted for. 

“Ah, it’s probably a Girl Scout or something. Hold on,” Y/N gave Namjoon a soft arm pat as she passed by him, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Instead of a little girl she was ready to fork over significant cash to in order for a large shipment of Thin Mints, there was a middle-aged man standing on her porch. 

“Um, hello, sir. Can I help you?” Y/N assessed the person in front of her. He didn’t appear to be holding onto any pamphlets like a Jehovah Witness, and the expensive, well-tailored suit he was wearing didn’t make him seem like a robber of any kind. However, his greasy, expectant face had her a little on edge. 

“Y/N L/N. You’ve been dodging my calls,” the same slick voice from the phone call she had in front of Jimin days ago was now several feet away, pure horror flooding through her system. “Figured I should swing by.”

“Who the fuck are you? How did you find my house?” Y/N raised her voice, and in less than a second flat, Namjoon was on her right, growling darkly, and Jeongguk was on her left, a firm grip on her elbow that felt protective. Instead of backing away in fright, the man smiled slimily, a gold tooth replacing one of his normal incisors, looking from Namjoon to Jeongguk like they were prime plots of real estate. 

“Real nice animals you’ve got there. Gerry’s Hybrids is where you got them, am I correct?”

“You have about five seconds to get the fuck off this porch,” Namjoon’s tone had never been more deadly, the man simply barking out a laugh. 

“Oh, he’s a pill. Just what I was looking for.”

“What do you want? Jeongguk, call the cops,” Y/N placed a hand over his, but the elk hybrid wouldn’t budge. 

“Ms. L/N. The name’s Harold Bass, from Manhattan. Those hybrids next to you, and the other five no doubt lurking around in this dump of yours, were supposed to belong to me.”

“That’s too bad. They’re mine, now get the fuck off my property,” Y/N was about to slam the door in his face, unable to believe the guy’s audacity. It had been so many months since Y/N had adopted her boys, she never even considered that this guy would try and find her. 

“Before you close this piece of plywood on me, you should know something. I’m giving you an ultimatum.” 

“What the fuck?” She breathed, Harold’s nose curling at her continued use of profanity. He reached into his suit jacket, Namjoon grabbing Y/N’s other arm and pulling her partially behind him. 

“Here’s the deal. You either take my generous offer for the animals, or I take you to court for stolen property. This is an agreement I signed with Gerry stating I had them on hold. I put a deposit down before you ‘adopted’ them.”

“What?” Y/N squeaked, bile rising in her throat. 

“Simple, simple girl. Gerry mentioned you weren’t the sharpest tool in the shed,” Harold sneered, all venom and acid. “Are you hard of hearing?”

“Namjoon, please,” begged, grasping a fistful of the back of his sweatshirt to stop him from lunging at Harold. “I don’t understand, Mr. Bass. I’ve legally adopted them. You can’t take my boys away.”

“No? You haven’t heard my offer?”

“There is absolutely nothing you can offer me.”

“Not even one million dollars for the seven of them?”

Jeongguk swore from beside her, his grasp on her elbow loosening. Even Namjoon went statue still, all of the color draining from his face. Y/N was really going to be sick, her two hybrids evidently already concluding she’d take that offer. 

“Fuck. That. And fuck you. Get off my property,” Y/N spat, finally managing to slam the door shut and lock the deadbolt in place. Breathing raggedly, she saw the shadow of Harold Bass behind the stained glass beside the front door. He was laughing, Y/N could hear it even with the barrier of the locked door. 

“Well then. You’d best get a good lawyer, Ms. L/N. You’ll be hearing from mine soon– and it’s a call you cannot ignore.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @gooooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @missyoueverysingleday @cathy-1997 @prybts @doublebunv @milopenne @steadycreationangel @rinkud @breadcheeksseokjin @nikkiordonez12 @actualz0mbie @tinybasementmaker-blog @hufflepuffwriter1995

Please do not repost or translate my work. Thank you!

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve just wanted to cure his loneliness and Eddie might have the right remedy for him after all.

Steve knew he shouldn't use drugs to numb his loneliness. Good omegas weren't supposed to do that.

Then again, good omegas wouldn't be left alone in a big empty house by their parents.

So there was no reason why he shouldn't sit at the infamous picnic table and wait for the town's drug dealer.

Somehow, he had underestimated Eddie Munson's bargaining skill greatly. After fifteen minutes of negotiation, he had ended up letting the alpha eat him out as an exchange for drugs.

And goddamn did Eddie Munson have a way with his mouth.

That was why Steve had ignored his parents' lessons about being a respectable omega and allowed Eddie to taste his virgin pussy every time he sought the alpha out.

It escalated when Eddie asked to finger him one day. Steve had been reluctant at first, because ew who knew what those hands had touched.

But he conceded eventually since Eddie was the only dealer in town (that he trusted).

Turned out, the combination of Eddie's tongue and fingers could make Steve squirt.

To think he used to live a life where he wasn't given such mind-blowing orgasms before was unbelievable. Because he knew he couldn't return to those dull days where he only had his dildos anymore.

Since the first time Steve gushed on Eddie's bed, he started going to the alpha's place more often.

And gradually, instead of slipping him those baggies, Eddie began slipping more fingers inside him.

"Are you insane?" Steve whined as the alpha's thumb nudged at his entrance.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," Eddie lapped at his cocklet to get him relaxed. "It's gonna feel good when I'm inside you."

Steve bit back his moan as he writhed beneath the alpha's firm hands.

He always got worked up with how casual Eddie talked about fucking him. Like those fingers were somehow a substitute for the alpha's cock.

It did weird things to Steve's poor horny brain and he had to stop himself from begging for the alpha's knot every time they met.

He knew Eddie would fuck him good, but he had to keep his virginity intact.

All of his thoughts evaporated when Eddie's entire hand finally slid inside him.

"Oh my god," Steve gasped and arched his back. His body shook minutely while his cunt leaked a puddle on the sheet beneath.

It was too much, having an entire hand inside him. He was stretched to the seams, breathless and lightheaded in a way that no drugs had ever made him feel before.

"Good?" Eddie twisted his fist slowly, dark eyes tracing Steve's face like a hawk's.

"I–" He inhaled sharply when Eddie grazed his sweet spot. "I wouldn't s– say that."

"Better than your dildos?" Eddie chuckled at Steve's teary glare. "It's pretty obvious to me, Princess."

"What obvious?" Steve couldn't help but bite the bait. Knowing Eddie, it must be something ridiculous again.

Instead of answering, the alpha scratched lightly at that spot on his inner wall, making him mewl and tremble in pleasure.

But the friction wasn't enough for him to come. It was frustrating.

Eddie continued tormenting him like that until he was loose enough for the fist to move faster.

Even in his wildest dream, Steve would never expect to be fucked by someone's hand.

But there he was, drooling and shaking as Eddie fisted his pussy.

It was when Steve was cross-eyed and on the edge of crashing that Eddie finally leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"You're such a slut, baby.”

And Steve was done for.

He rolled his eyes back and let out a high-pitched moan as he spasmed and gushed messily on the already stained sheet.

His cocklet joined in and squirted, coating his belly with watery opalescent fluid.

"That's it, Babydoll," Eddie nipped the tip of his ear, sounding just as wrecked as he felt. "Be a good girl and come for your alpha's knot."

Steve whined at that.

He had been craving for the alpha's cock since they started messing around. But he had to preserve his purity for his future mate.

And it wasn't like Eddie would want to be involved with him outside of their make-shift game anyway.

Steve was aware of the hard truth: he was good to play with, but never good enough to be kept around.

Those people who had left him made it clear how unlovable he was.

He whimpered when Eddie pulled out carefully and glanced away shyly when the alpha placed a soft kiss on his hipbone.

Steve never questioned that gesture. Never asked aloud why Eddie would always do it every time they finished.

Because he feared Eddie would stop doing so if he pried too much.

It didn't matter what Steve wanted to know, he just kept his mouth shut and tried to ignore his flustering heart, tried to swallow all those chirps and trills that always threatened to slip out of him.

But Steve found it hard to maintain his cool when every time without fail, a hand would come up to stroke the side of his face gently.

"Look at me, Sweetheart."

Right, Eddie had a habit of checking in once the alpha was done liquifying Steve's brain with those deft fingers and that clever tongue.

Eddie would insist on helping clean him up and then wrapping him in a soft quilt that smelled of sunlight and apples.

Steve would be given a mug of warm milk and allowed to hang around until he decided to go home.

Much to his embarrassment, he had cried the first time Eddie took care of him.

Although he had gotten better at accepting the alpha's gratuitous kindness these days, he wasn't exactly immune to it.

When Steve complied, he was met with warm brown eyes that always gazed at him with things he wasn't allowed to hope for. Warmth, kindness, and adoration.

He suddenly didn't want this to end.

So he wasn't one to be blamed for what he blurted out, "Do you want to fuck me?"

Eddie only gave him an amused look, "I thought that ship had sailed a long time ago when I asked to eat you out, Bambi."

Steve blushed at that. Yeah, he realized how stupid his question was. But still, he had to make sure.

"My heat will arrive next week," he licked his lips nervously. "So do you wanna–"

Before he could finish, Eddie was on him and crowded him against the headboard.

"You said your little virgin pussy is exclusive to your future mate," the alpha narrowed his eyes at him, wild and dangerous. "What changed your heart?"

"You," Steve hissed. "It's you, Munson. I want you to be my alpha."

Eddie grasped his jaw and murmured hoarsely. "Say that again."

"I want you to be my alpha," Steve bit out.

"Again."

"I want you to be my alpha."

"Again."

"I want you to be my alpha."

"Again."

"I love you!" Steve shouted at that stupidly handsome face. "Fuck you, Munson!"

"Attagirl," Eddie finally smiled at him, pleased and smug before capturing him in a fervent kiss.

When they parted, the alpha pulled Steve into his lap and peppered him with small kisses.

"Love you too, sweet baby," Eddie pecked at the tip of his nose. "Been crazy about you for years."

Bracing his hands on broad shoulders, Steve raised his brow hopefully, "So my heat..?"

Eddie's finger came up to tap lightly at his mating gland. "Let me dine and wine you first, Angel. And then, when your heat passes, I'm gonna court you and we'll talk about our future together."

"Didn't know you'd be the old-fashioned type," Steve said teasingly.

"I'm not," Eddie shook his head and looked at him fondly. "But you deserve all the good things in the world, pretty baby. And if it means I have to spend months courting you, then so be it."

Steve let out a chirp at that.

It was so sudden and unexpected that he didn't have time to react.

But Eddie's pleased grumble had stopped him from overthinking.

"I think I'd like you to court me," Steve met those loving eyes and smiled softly. "Alpha."

In response, Eddie only pulled him into a tender kiss.

It seemed Steve had become addicted, not to the drugs, but to something better.

He had become addicted to Eddie Munson.

And it might be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

[lvnleah]

Moving Day | Alessia Russo

Based on this request!

Summary: it’s moving day and your wife, Alessia, gets protective over you due to you being pregnant.

Notes: a bit of a short one but it’s cute!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You loved your wife, Alessia, you really did, but ever since you’d become pregnant with your first child she felt overwhelming. Since the moment you started the ivf process, Alessia treated you like fragile glass.

It was like you were going to break at any given moment and she needed to wrap you up in bubble wrap. It was at the point that you wouldn’t be surprised if she did.

When you became pregnant, you and Alessia decided it was time to leave your apartment and move into a house. Your apartment was only ever supposed to be temporary until you and Alessia found a permanent place in London. You had a house in Manchester but when Alessia moved to Arsenal, you decided that an apartment was better for you both for the time being.

When you started to look for houses, Alessia took it more seriously than you. You weren’t in any rush to find a dream house but Alessia was. She wanted a house that you could raise you baby and any future children in.

You viewed six houses before you found ‘the one’ that was perfect. You were convinced that your estate agent thought Alessia was crazy. Every house that you viewed had to pass Alessia’s check list. It had to have at least three bedrooms, a large kitchen and living room and a good sized garden.

You and Alessia stood in the doorway of your new house, the sun casting a glow on the freshly painted walls. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air, something that was stressing Alessia out. It was moving day and you were 28 weeks pregnant.

The boxes were stacked high, and your friends Beth, Viv, Leah, and Vic were bustling around, carrying furniture and unpacking kitchenware.

“Lessi, please just let me unpack one box!” You pleaded with the blonde, a small pout resting on your face.

Alessia sighed, “Love, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Me and the girls have it under control.” She said, pecking your lips as she walked past you with a box.

You wanted to help. You wanted to be part of this exciting transition into your new home. Once Alessia was out of sight, you picked up a small box labelled ‘Books’ and attempted to carry it to the bookshelf. Alessia swooped in like a hawk, her protective instincts on high alert.

"No, love," she said gently, taking the box from your hands. "You shouldn't be lifting anything heavy. Let the others handle it."

You huffed, frustration bubbling up. "Alessia, I'm not made of glass! I can carry a box or two."

You felt useless. You wanted to scream, to tell Alessia that you weren't fragile, that you could help but instead, you bit your lip and nodded.

As the day wore on, Alessia continued to shield you from any physical exertion. You watched as your friends laughed and chatted. Alessia was in her element, directing where things were to go and ensuring everything was in its rightful place. You felt like an outsider, a spectator of your own life.

When Alessia was outside, you picked up a small box of your clothes. You were halfway up the stairs when Alessia swooped in and took the box from your hands.

“Less!” You groaned in frustration, “just let me carry the goddamn box! I’m not glass, I’m pregnant. It’s just a box of clothes.”

“Babe, it’s okay.” She said, walking away from you. “I can do it.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, trying your best not to scream and Alessia and get pissed off. Leah joined you on the stairs.

“You alright?” She asked, placing a comforting hand on your back.

“I’d be alright if Lessi let me carry a box and stopped treating me like fucking glass!” You murmured, making your way up the stairs.

Alessia left the room once again and this time you decided to unpack a box downstairs in the kitchen. Just as you began to lift the glasses out of the box and into the cupboard, Alessia swooped in once again.

“Please be careful,” Alessia pleaded, taking the glass from your hands, “One of the girls can do this.”

Finally, you snapped. “Alessia, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not made of glass. I can carry a box or two and help unpack!”

She turned to face you, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “You’re pregnant! You should be resting, not lifting heavy things.”

“But I’m not helpless!” You said, your voice raised a little. “I can still do stuff!”

Your argument escalated quickly and you found yourself going back and forth. Your voices rose until your friends paused in their tracks, watching you with wide eyes. Alessia’s cheeks flushed, and you knew I’d hit a nerve when she stormed off and left you alone in the kitchen.

By late afternoon, exhaustion settled in and your friends had left your house. Alessia and you hadn't exchanged more than a few words since that initial clash. You sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing some lotion into your bump. Alessia joined you, her expression softer now.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely audible. "I only want what’s best for you and our baby, love.”

"I know," you replied, tears welling up. "But I need to feel useful too. I'm not just an incubator. I wanted to help today Lessi, I did, but I felt like you were stopping me."

She kissed your forehead as she pulled you into her side, "I love you, and I want to protect you both. I went overboard and I’m sorry."

"You did," you said, your voice trembling. "But I also need you to trust me, I know my own body, and that you won't smother me."

You sat there, your emotions swirling like leaves caught in a storm for a short moment. Alessia placed a delicate kiss on your temple.

"I don't want to control you," she whispered. "I just want us to be safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you or our baby, you're my whole world.”

"I know," you murmured. "But sometimes it feels like a cage."

“I’m sorry,” Alessia sighed, “Tomorrow I’ll let you help but just nothing heavy, alright?”

You laughed and tilted your head to be in line with Alessia’s. You kissed Alessia’s soft lips before you both crawled into bed together. The next day, you found a good balance between helping and not going overboard. Alessia let you carry the light boxes but also helped you unpack the heavy ones.

The next night, you laid down together in your bed, exhaustion overtaking the both of you. In each other's arms, you drifted off to sleep. Alessia’s hand rested on your growing bump as your baby kicked away. Despite all the stress of moving, you absolutely loved your new house and couldn’t wait to fill it with memories that you and Alessia were soon going to create together. The first starting with welcoming your baby into the world.