#everything except chapters 1 and 2

[sumbei]

Thinking of the one multi chapter fanfic I have on ao3 and how it's been a while since I updated cuz I don't have a plot planned out.

Now I get why they made us write drafts in school for these things. I got some serious reworking to do😭

[stormyrainyday]

gingka and hyoma fic already hit 10k. oops. update coming tuesday

[spatio-rift]

a weird irrelevant issue i have w people talking about saiko is like. the attitude towards reawakened and the anime only line of saiko asking his bodyguards to "save his friends" (emphasis on "friends") because like... he did not say that. im sorry to say this but it was more of a "what about them" or "take them too" (emphasis on "them").

like its a weird issue to have cuz ultimately thats the same thing being expressed it just shows that he cares about them but like. "friends" is a VERY loaded word w him. thats literally like half of what his character is about. even when theres entire chapters focused on him experiencing his first real friendships he still adamantly refuses to call it that... like its a major thing about him.

personally i think theres no point to it since we already have that chapter w nendou so it would just be redundant and not even funny (unforgivable crimes for a gag manga)* but him actually admitting that he has friends now, if it ever happened, should have been the focus of an entire chapter (if not several) cuz it requires major growth. like hes not dropping the F bomb in a throwaway line in anime-only content. come on

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker— then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez— Huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This– this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

-

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[girlygguk]

CRAZY | JJK (Part 2)

summary you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook.

pairing ceo!jk x employee!(f)reader

rating 18+ minors dni; smut, fluff, angst

genre coworkers to lovers au, established relationship

word count 13.2k

chapter content [read part one for full character & story warnings pls.] jk & oc first encounter, jungkook lowkey goes a bit yandere in one two of the scenes 😭, jk punches another guy, love at first fuck lets b real, mention of oc's superior abusing their power (not jk), hyungwon appearance 🙄, heejin appearance 🙄, hobi appearance 🎉, bff jiminie appearance 🎉, time skips, jealous mcs, heated argument, jk lies but like... for the greater good? god idk

warnings dom jk, sub oc, pre established traffic light sw system and degradation consent, doggy, dirty talk, protected p in v sex, praise kink, um slight exhibition kink, rough sex, squirting...(on their first fucking encounter yeeeppp help me god)

a/n this is only 75% edited bc i honestly wasn't going to post it for a whilee as i'm working on some other things atm but i felt bad just watching her sit in my drafts all sad n semi finished 😢 alsoo if a bit of the smut dialogue looks a lil familiar... cough salsa.. its bc i was gonna completelyy change up the sexy scene 🥺 and so i used the smut as inspo for the salsa drabble so it didnt go to waste... bye im such a clown. okay thank u, enjoy, and pls lemme know what u think <3 mwah

crazy pt 1 | masterlist | join my taglist | banner credit

801 DAYS AGO

Your twelve-month contract as a temp Administrative Assistant at Jeon Corp was creeping to an end, and it was safe to say that you were fucking pissed.

You had put everything into this place—countless overtime shifts, moved into an overpriced house in the city near the firm so you were never late. You eat, sleep and breathe this fucking company. And what did you get for it? An almost certain rejection, apparently.

You were more than sure they'd offer you a permanent position. Your stats spoke for themselves. They were flawless. You’d single-handedly cleaned up the absolute fucking disaster left behind by the previous administrative assistant who bailed after Jeon Jun-seo’s passing—and that was not light work.

And by "bailed," you meant that they were part of the bloodbath that ensued when Jungkook took over and wiped out almost half the staff for incompetence.

The staff who remained still grumbled about it—loyalists, maybe, or just people too comfortable with the way things used to be. They hated him for it. He was ruthless, sure, but effective. Jeon Corp wasn't just successful; it was dominating. They went from merely hitting targets to blowing right past them. And that shift started with him.

Jungkook was good. Really fucking good.

He was young, driven, passionate, and not to mention—a sight for sore eyes. Even as someone who didn't like to openly praise men, you couldn't help but be impressed.

Still, you knew your fate wasn't in his hands directly. He wasn't going to be the one deciding whether your temp position would become permanent. He was the CEO—too high up to care about such things. And besides, you'd never even spoken to the guy. You spent most of your time on the twelfth floor, and he was always buried in work on the nineteenth.

Except for that one time.

Maybe three months ago? You had shared an elevator with him when you both arrived at work around the same time. For eleven floors, you stood silently beside him. Well, you were silent. He was on the phone, speaking in that low, gravelly tone that had a way of crawling under your skin. Being so close, you could hear the slight slip of a Busan accent when he spoke. He wasn't rude, just... intense.

Even while curses slipped from his lips to whoever was on the other end of the line, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was just his usual tone—whether he was speaking to a business partner, an enemy, a lover. Either way, you didn't think it was negative. It was just him.

You knew bits and pieces about the guy from what Jimin had shared—him being Jungkook’s assistant and all—but nothing too personal. Not that you needed to know. Though, admittedly, he had piqued your interest.

A month prior to that elevator ride, you’d caught a glimpse of something that had you squirming in your seat. From your office, you had glanced over to see him leading a meeting on your floor. His suit jacket had been tossed over the back of his chair, revealing the dirtiest, prettiest fucking sleeve you’d ever laid eyes on. His big, tattooed bicep flexed with each movement as he pointed at the projector screen.

The sight had you groaning, pushing your unfinished lunch aside and retreating to the bathroom.

You’d tried calling your boyfriend, hoping to pull him into some filthy phone sex, but he was too nervous to go through with it. In the end, you hung up frustrated, finishing yourself off in the stall, biting your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

The elevator ride felt quicker than usual. You kept your eyes fixed on the LED screen, watching the numbers tick up, though you were more focused on the way his cologne filled the space, light but somehow intoxicating. By the time the doors slid open on your floor, his call had ended. You adjusted your bag, turning to him with a polite bow.

"Have a good day, seonsaengnim," you'd said, your voice soft as you smiled.

He didn’t say anything back, just looked at you for a second, his dark eyes sweeping over your face. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he gave you a subtle nod, and you walked off, feeling his gaze linger as you left.

And that was it.

You didn't see him again. Not in the lobby, not passing by in meetings, not even when your car and his were the last ones left in the parking lot after late shifts. It wasn't unusual; he was literally the CEO, always busy, always somewhere else. He didn't have time to notice you.

But you couldn’t help but think about it more than you’d like to admit.

If you'd known that you'd never cross paths with him again, never ride the same elevator, never exchange more than those few words before your temp contract ended—would you have done something different? Said something more?

Maybe you would've clicked a higher floor.

But here you were. No offer. No permanence. Just three job offers from other firms sitting in your inbox, waiting for your reply. Of course, you had a backup plan—you weren't that naive. But something about it stung anyway. You'd take one of those offers at the end of the week, move on, and maybe one day, you'd forget about Jeon Corp entirely.

Sigh.

You were really going to miss Jiminie, though.

“So... how's your shift going?”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh escaping as you twisted the cap off your water bottle, taking a sip before tearing the lid off your salad. Your phone sat on your desk, Hyungwon's voice crackling through the speaker.

"It's going good, Hyungwon," you replied, voice tinged with sarcasm. "Same as every day."

A sad chuckle echoed through the receiver. "Oh, yeah? Well, we just got new printers at the firm, you know, the Lexmark MX8s? What about y—"

The forkful of salad that was halfway to your mouth dropped back into the bowl. "Hyungwon," you interrupted, incredulity dripping from your tone. "Did you really call me to talk about printers?"

"Well, I—no, I just—"

You sighed, reaching for your water again and setting your untouched lunch down. "Hyungwon, I hope you're okay, I really do. And I'm happy for you and your fancy printers," yours were two seasons ahead, "but this isn't helping. You're not going to feel better if—"

"I just miss you, Y/N," his voice cracked, and instantly, your appetite evaporated. You let out another deep sigh, rubbing your temples, as Hyungwon's next words came out shaky. "And I just want to know what I did wrong. We were doing so well. W-what did I do?"

"Hyungwon…" You picked up the phone, taking it off speaker as you leaned back in your chair, eyes focused on the ceiling. "You didn't do anything. You're a great guy, okay?"

"Yeah," he scoffed, his voice bitter and teary. "Girls don't break up with 'great guys' after an amazing year together out of the blue, Y/N."

Was it out of the blue? Had it been amazing?

"We've been over this," you sighed, adjusting the phone in your hand. "A hundred times in the last month. It's not about what you did. We just—"

"Weren't right for each other," he finished, his voice robotic, like he was reciting a script he'd memorized against his will. A sniffle followed as you heard him reach for tissues. "Just… wanted you to know I miss you. And… could I come by next week? Pick up my clothes?"

You took a long drink from your water bottle, feeling a headache forming. "I’ll leave it with reception. You can pick it up from the office—"

"No," he cut in, his voice tight with desperation. "Please, from your place. I just… I need to see you one more time."

You exhaled deeply, eyes unfocused as you stared out your floor-to-ceiling window. It had been a month since you ended things with Park Hyungwon—a month since you stuffed his clothes into a box and offered to drop them off. A month of excuses, a month of him putting it off, dragging out these unbearable phone calls, asking to see you in person, to talk.

You knew why he wanted to make the exchange in person. You weren't stupid. But lately, something about his calls had been giving you a bad feeling—a taste in your mouth that lingered long after you hung up. Hyungwon wasn't dangerous. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But he was... off. These calls always followed a pattern.

First, 1:15pm, right when you started your break, your phone would buzz. You'd glance down, see an incoming call from P.H, and immediately regret ever sharing your lunch schedule with him.

Then, he'd be kind. Sweet. Boring. Asking about your shift, your day, until something—something trivial—would break his composure. He'd start to crack, voice shaking, or worse, he'd burst into tears over something like… printers.

By the end of the call, there was always that weird shift. Not angry, not sad… something in between. A mix of emotions that left you unsettled, and you couldn't quite put your finger on why. You could feel the resentment beneath it all, though—like he definitely blamed you for the breakup, no matter how many times he asked what he could've done to keep you.

That was fine. You were used to people resenting you. You were top of your major, gorgeous, and a bit of a bitch. But hearing that tone in Hyungwon's voice? A human puppy dog you'd spent a year of your life with? It made your skin crawl in a way you couldn't shake.

And now, here he was, asking to see you again. For what? Closure? An emotional showdown? You didn't care. You just knew you had to end this, fast. Another call filled with sniffles and pleas, eating away at what little break time you had? You'd throw yourself out that fucking floor-to-ceiling window before you let that happen again.

"Fine," you sighed, glancing at your watch as you switched the phone to your other ear. "You can come over next week. I'll check my schedule."

"Really?" His voice immediately brightened, and you rolled your eyes. "Shivers! That sounds great! Just text me when—"

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. Shivers? SHIVERS?

"Break's over, Hyungwon," you interrupted, forcing a smile into your voice. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Y/N. I'll call you tomorrow."

The line went dead, and your fist clenched around the phone.

"God," you muttered to yourself, tossing it onto your desk with an exasperated sigh, "I'm changing my fucking break time."

"Should I come back later?"

You yelped at the sudden voice, spinning around in your chair to see your best friend standing in your office doorway, his signature Cheshire grin firmly in place.

"Jiminie!" you beamed, frustration melting away as you rushed over to pull him into a hug. "No, it's okay. It was just—"

"Hyungwon," Jimin finished for you with a knowing, apologetic nod. "You know, you could always just… not answer when he calls?"

You rolled your eyes, brushing a piece of blonde fringe from his face. "And have his suicide on my conscience? No thanks."

"He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions," Jimin shrugged, laughing when you widened your eyes in faux shock.

You shuffled back to your desk, stabbing a cherry tomato from your salad. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me to run back into his arms and admit I was wrong? Some sort of cousin code or something?" you quirked a brow teasingly, humming around the mouthful.

He laughed softly, adjusting the files in his hand. "I'd never tell you to go back to something you were clearly miserable in, Y/N. Even if he is my cousin."

You swallowed another bite, giving him an appreciative smile before finishing the rest of your water bottle. "That is why I love you, Park." You threw the rest of your papers into a folder and linked your arm with his. "And why I'm going to miss you so much." You pouted playfully.

Jimin rolled his eyes, guiding you out of your office. The usual hustle and bustle of level twelve filled the air as he snorted, "Don't say that. You're not going anywhere, Y/N."

"Mm, I beg to differ." You shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. "I haven't heard a word about permanency, and my contract ends in four days." With a dramatic sigh, you added, "Guess you'll just have to visit me at KimCo on your lunch breaks instead."

"First of all," Jimin smirked, "I wouldn't drive across town on my lunch break to visit anyone, even you." You squinted at him as he teased, "And second, yeah, it's shitty that you haven't heard anything about the promotion—"

"And unprofessional," you interjected, rolling your eyes. "And discourteous, and obnoxious, and plain fucking rude—"

He chuckled, cutting you off with a light shrug. "Yes, all of the above," he agreed as you both reached the elevators. Unlinking his arm from yours, he pressed the button to go up. "But… have you accepted the offer at KimCo yet?"

You frowned, glancing at the lit-up arrow pointing up. "No, not yet. I was going to tonight…" You trailed off, turning to him in confusion. "Jiminie, why are we going up? Our meeting's on level seven."

Jimin glanced down at the file in his hand before his mouth opened to respond, but the elevator dinged, catching your attention.

The doors slid open, and you were immediately hit with the faint scent of tobacco and Bvlgari. Your head turned slightly, seeking the source.

Jungkook stood inside, eyes focused on the phone in his hand, dressed in a perfectly pressed designer suit that somehow looked more sinfully casual on him than it had any right to.

You blinked, tearing your gaze away from him and turning back to Jimin, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh yeah, uh, the meeting's been pushed back a bit," Jimin said, nodding to the elevator. "But you're needed upstairs for a moment."

You frowned, glancing down at the heavy folder in your hands as you stepped into the elevator. If the meeting was postponed, you wouldn't have dragged this big fucking thing around with you. You left some space between yourself and the CEO and Jimin happily slid in between, his usual smile bright and easy.

The doors closed, and silence settled over the small space. Jungkook was still looking at his phone. Jimin still hadn't pressed a button.

You frowned. "Jiminie, why haven't you clicked a floor?"

He turned toward you, feigning confusion as his eyes flicked toward the panel. "Oh, because it's already pressed." He shrugged, flashing a quick smile before turning forward again.

You stared harder at the panel. From the corner of your eye, you could see Jungkook's broad frame. His phone was tucked away now, but his gaze remained fixed straight ahead. He hadn't said a word.

"Level nineteen?" you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

Jimin nodded, offering you a simple smile.

The elevator crawled its way up slowly with a few more words exchanged between you and Jimin. Then, finally, the elevator dinged open at level nineteen, and the air shifted.

The sleek, pristine hallway stretched out before you, polished floors gleaming so bright that you could almost see your reflection in the tiles. You had only been here once before, for a department meeting with the CCO, Kim Namjoon.

Jimin politely bowed to his boss as you instinctively stepped back, allowing Jungkook to exit first. His gaze never wavered as he nodded in acknowledgment, his movements calm as he stepped out.

As you followed Jimin down the hall, you couldn't help but notice how eerily quiet everything was. The glass-paneled meeting rooms stood empty, the reception desk vacant. The last time you were here, the place had life, but now… nothing.

Jungkook disappeared into his office without a word while you and Jimin continued walking. Your confusion only deepened as you glanced through the glass panes into all the very empty meeting rooms.

Jimin slowed at the entryway to Jungkook's office.

"Jiminie, what's going on?" you asked, gently grabbing his arm. "Am I supposed to have a meeting with Jeon Jungkook-seonsaengnim? Why wasn't I informed? I need to know what's required—"

"Y/N," Jimin interrupted softly, his hand covering yours reassuringly. "I'll explain soon, okay? I know it's last minute, and I'm sorry for that. Let me just make sure everything is on track." He smiled at you before gesturing to the plush seats outside the office. "Take a seat. I won't be long."

You hesitated, but trusting your best friend, you nodded, setting your folder on the table before sitting down. Jimin gave you one last encouraging smile before disappearing inside Jungkook's office, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Your eyes darted around the hallway as you waited, the clean surroundings feeling almost too sterile, too perfect. The glass walls of Jungkook's office made it impossible not to glance inside. You caught a glimpse of him flipping through a file, his expression focused, detached. Jimin approached him, placing his own file down on the desk as the two exchanged quiet words.

Jimin greeted his boss again with a respectful bow. "Seonsaengnim," he smiled, placing the file in front of Jungkook.

Jungkook didn't look up from the papers he was thumbing through. "Is she waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir," Jimin replied, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. "You have about thirty minutes before the board meeting, so I thought now could be a good time for you to meet with Y/LN Y/N… The temp administrative assistant from level twelve? Her contract ends in—"

"Four days," Jungkook finished, finally closing the file in front of him. He reached for the one Jimin had brought, flipping it open. "Why hasn't her contract been extended? Her performance is strong, and she has streamlined operations in her department. Does she not wish to stay with the company?"

"She does, sir," Jimin nodded. "But I was informed by Namjoon-seonsaengnim's assistant that Lee Dohyun does not plan to extend her contract. He intends to let it end."

Jungkook's brow twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he flipped through the papers. "And why does Dohyun plan to do that? She's efficient, profitable. She cleaned up the mess the last administrative assistant left behind." His tone was clipped, irritation poorly masked.

Jimin shifted on his feet, the hint of hesitation visible in his posture. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. It's mostly hearsay, but…" he cleared his throat, glancing at Jungkook before continuing cautiously, "there's a rumor that she rejected one of Dohyun's advances a few months ago. Since then, word has flown around that he's been less than accommodating toward her."

Jungkook's eyes darkened, his fingers stopping their idle flipping as his gaze snapped back to Jimin. "So, he's punishing her for not entertaining him?"

Jimin's silence was enough of an answer.

Jungkook's jaw clenched, the tension in his shoulders building. He flipped the file shut, the subtle thud of the paper echoing in the quiet office.

"Why have you brought her to me, Jimin?" he asked, shooting a sharp look at his assistant. "There's a chain of command. At least six people between Dohyun and me."

"There are," Jimin acknowledged. "But some months ago, you mentioned noticing a significant increase in productivity and efficiency in Administration… You said the improvements could be attributed to the new assistant's work. I just thought considering her contract ends in four days, you'd want to meet her personally before she accepts another offer."

Jungkook leaned back against his desk, glancing at the glass door where you were sitting, your legs crossed, eyes absentmindedly focused on a strand of your hair. His gaze flicked over your tight black pencil skirt, the cream blouse that hugged your figure, the neat ponytail held in place by four bobby pins.

"She's very good," he admitted, eyes dropping back to the folder. "But I don't meddle in the hiring department. Tell Dohyun to reconsider his decision."

Jimin shifted slightly. "He's on leave for the rest of the week, sir."

Jungkook sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Then go to the next in command, Jimin. I'm not—"

"She's accepting an offer from another firm tonight, Jungkook," Jimin said quickly, catching himself. "Jungkook-seonsaengnim," he corrected. "Once she signs the contract with KimCo, there won't be time to make a counteroffer."

Jungkook went quiet; his eyes focused on the closed folder in front of him as Jimin pressed on. "Just five minutes, sir. That's all she needs."

Jungkook's eyes flicked up to meet Jimin's. He rolled his eyes, leaning back on his desk, arms crossing over his chest. "You're supposed to make my life easier, not harder, Park."

Jimin couldn't help but grin, looking over his shoulder to catch you glancing down at your Apple watch. He bit back a snicker when you rolled your eyes, clearly getting impatient.

"She'd be a big loss, seonsaengnim," Jimin said honestly as he turned back to his boss. "I believe I'm making your life easier. You live, eat, and breathe this company."

Jungkook groaned, closing his eyes briefly before nodding. "Send her in. Five minutes."

"Thank you, seonsaengnim." Jimin bowed, turning toward the door.

"Jimin," Jungkook called out, his assistant's hand freezing on the handle.

"Yes, sir?"

"Draft effective immediate termination papers for Lee Dohyun and put them on my desk when you leave for the night."

Jimin bit back a grin. "Yes, sir."

You straightened in your seat as soon as you saw Jimin approaching, eyes narrowing suspiciously. He looked like the cat that caught the canary, and you didn't trust it for a second.

"Y/N, this way, please—"

"No," you snapped, swatting his outstretched hand away. "Brief me."

There was no way you were walking into a meeting with the fucking CEO without any preparation. Was he fucking high?

Jimin chuckled softly, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Relax, Y/N. It'll only take a few minutes. Jungkook's not much of a talker…" He reached out again, and you batted his hand away once more.

He laughed again, then pouted, blinking at you with wide, innocent eyes. "Please, Y/N? Just trust me."

"God, you're a cunt," you muttered under your breath, shooting him a glare as you stood and smoothed your skirt. Reluctantly, you started toward the office.

"Unprofessional…" Jimin teased with a grin, snickering when you turned and mouthed 'get fucked' at him before stepping inside.

The glass doors clicked softly behind you as you entered the impeccably tidy office. "Seonsaengnim," you greeted with a bow. “Y/LN Y/N. It's nice to formally meet you."

Jungkook barely glanced up, his dark eyes sweeping over you for just a moment before he dropped them back down to the file on his desk.

His nod was curt, his voice low and indifferent. "Jeon Jungkook," he said, as if his name wasn't already plastered across every inch of this building.

When he gestured toward the seat in front of his desk, you sat down, crossing your legs as he settled back into his chair. His attention returned to the open file. "Your contract ends in four days."

"Yes, sir," you nodded, hands resting in your lap as you held back any trace of bitterness.

"Do you not wish to stay here?" His voice was steady as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You blinked, a little surprised by the question. "No, sir. I do wish to stay. But I haven't heard anything from management regarding a permanent position."

"Who do you report to?" Jungkook asked, though you were sure he already knew the answer.

"Lee Dohyun-seonsaengnim."

He leaned back in his chair, drumming his tattooed fingers lightly against the desk as he skimmed the file. "Your work is impressive."

"Thank you, sir." You smiled softly, ignoring how those four simple words made your stomach flip. "That means a lot coming from you."

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer before he closed the file and set it aside. "Y/LN Y/N," he said, his voice calm, "Why do you think your contract hasn't been extended?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "I'm not entirely sure, seonsaengnim."

Jungkook hummed. "You've been here almost a year. Your work speaks for itself. Yet your contract hasn't been extended." His gaze locked on yours, and for a second, he almost looked genuinely interested. "Why?"

You inhaled slowly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. "I've heard rumors, sir. But I'm not one hundred percent certain."

An eyebrow arched, and Jungkook tilted his head slightly. "Let's say the rumors are true. Do you think personal reasons should outweigh performance?"

"No, sir," you answered steadily. "But I don't control the decisions."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with amusement. Whether he appreciated your honesty or just liked watching you squirm, you weren't sure. "Do you plan on accepting an offer from another company, Y/N?"

You gave a slight nod. "Yes, sir. My first choice is KimCo. They've offered me a permanent coordinator role in their administration department. I plan on sending my letter of acceptance tonight, after my shift."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes roaming over you lazily, but enough that it was impossible not to notice. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" he asked finally, his voice casual as he leaned back in his chair. "Or are you happy to go to KimCo?"

"I would prefer to stay, sir," you said, holding his gaze. "If Jeon Corp is willing to match the salary offer and I'm guaranteed a permanent position."

"What's the offer?"

"₩67m, sir."

Jungkook's expression didn't change. "We can do eighty."

"Wha—"

"I'll have your permanent administrative coordinator contract drafted by tonight and emailed to you. Will that work?"

It took you a second to process his words before you blinked in surprise. "Yes, sir," you replied, fighting to keep the smile tugging at your lips in check. "It would."

Jungkook leaned back further in his chair, his eyes flicking over you once more, lingering in a way that wasn't accidental. Then, with a simple nod, he closed the file in front of him. "Good. I'll expect your response by tomorrow morning."

You still don't really know how it happened.

Maybe it started when you stood to give him a polite bow before leaving his office, and he reached out for a handshake at the exact same moment. His cold hand accidentally brushed against the side of your inner breast through your blouse as you leaned forward, and suddenly, both of you froze.

Jungkook pulled his hand back sharply, his brows furrowing as he stared down at the file on his desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world, muttering a low apology, his usual confident tone suddenly gone.

It was... so cute.

Seeing the man who looked like he could ruin your life with just a snap of his fingers suddenly all shy and flustered as if he was more embarrassed than you were? Fucking adorable.

Maybe it was his instinct to avoid an HR complaint, to maintain professionalism in what could have been misconstrued as an inappropriate touch.

But you weren't going to misconstrue it. It was an accident.

And, honestly... you always were kind of a sucker for bad boys with soft eyes.

"Fucking goodddd!!!" you moaned, your voice barely coherent as your cheek pressed against the cold surface of his desk. Each relentless thrust from Jungkook had your body jiggling under him, your mind lost in a haze as his hips slammed into you without mercy. "S-so fucking b-biiiiig."

Your eyes rolled back, throat raw from the croaky whimpers that escaped between each ragged breath. His hand was firm on the back of your head, keeping you pinned down, helpless as he took you apart, piece by piece.

"I know, baby," he cooed, his voice laced with that condescending pout that only made you clench harder around him. "I know it's big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?"

His fingers tangled in your hair, brushing lightly over your flushed cheek in a teasing, mocking pat. Then, without warning, he pulled back and slammed into you harder, deeper, until you felt him hit that spot. That fucking spottt. Your breath caught in your throat as he didn't stop, didn't let up, just kept going, over and over and over.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, nails scraping into the polished wood of his desk until you felt the lacquer gathering beneath your fingernails. The loud, wet slaps of his hips against your ass echoed through the room, his heavy balls smacking into your swollen clit.

"'Course you can take it. 'Cause you're such a hard worker, hm? Such an overachiever, aren't you, baby." His voice dripped with dark amusement, each taunting word sending shivers down your spine. His hand pressed your head harder into the desk, the weight of him leaving you trembling, drool pooling on the wood beneath you as you gasped and whimpered, completely at his mercy.

"You can take it, Y/N. Know you can," he murmured, every word like a filthy promise, his gaze locked on the way your body was surrendering to him, giving him everything. He wasn’t going to stop until you broke. Until you were his.

"Color, baby." He growled into your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He hummed in delight when he felt you swallow, your gasps feeding into his satisfaction.

"Green," you choked out, barely able to form the words. "Do anything to me. Green, fucking green to it all," you cried, voice raw as tears blurred your vision, and Jungkook groaned, teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat in approval.

His grip tightened in your hair again, yanking you upright until your back was flush against his chest. "G-g-godddddd," you choked out, body trembling, tears threatening to spill as his thrusts grew quicker, more brutal, each one slamming harder and louder, drowning out everything else.

Your hands shot up, clawing desperately at the back of his neck as you tried to hold on, your body burning from the inside out as he destroyed you. His lips ghosted over the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin just as his hand slipped down your stomach, his fingers finding your swollen, slippery clit with ease.

Jungkook's pace became punishing, driving into you harder and faster, your body quivering under his touch. His lips brushed lazily over your neck, whispering filthy praise into your ear as his fingers circled your clit, sending a jolt through your entire body. The wet, sloppy sounds of his hips smacking into your ass filled the room, each thrust sending you closer to the edge.

"F-fuck, Jungkook," you gasped, your voice cracking as his pace quickened even more at the sound of his name on your lips. "It's s-so… fuck…"

He groaned low in your ear, his hand fisting your hair tighter, yanking your head back as his hips crashed into you over and over. "So good, Y/N baby," he cooed, his voice dripping with lust. "You're doing so fucking well. Taking it so good."

The praise made your throat bob, your entire body teetering on the edge of collapse. You couldn't think of anything but him—full, Jungkook, full, Jungkook. It was all-consuming, the only thing that mattered.

You weren't just wet anymore—you were disgustingly soaked, your arousal dripping down your thighs, mixing with the sweat on your skin as he ruined you. You let out a sob as tears streaked down your cheeks, your mascara no doubt smeared beyond repair as your entire body burned with pleasure.

"Careful, baby," he hummed darkly, voice tinged with amusement. "Don't want anyone to hear you, huh. Coming to check if you're okay..."

Your eyes flicked toward the glass doors, your head lolling back into the crook of his neck as you realized the vulnerability of your position. Fucked out, skirt bunched up around your waist, tits spilling over your bra, completely on display and helpless in his arms—holy fuck. The idea of someone seeing you like this had your thighs pathetically trembling as you felt yourself get even wetter. Sicko.

"S-sir," you stammered, the words forced out between his relentless thrusts that threw your body forward. "Cl-close the blinds."

Jungkook's lips curled into a smile against your neck at the lack of conviction in your words. Fucking perfect. His breath was warm as he whispered, "Why would I want to do that?" His hand slid to your chin, his fingers gripping firmly as he forced your eyes to the glass. "Y'look so fucking pretty, Y/N. Who would want to hide all that?"

Humiliation mixed with need, making your core throb even harder. The reflection of your wrecked form stared back at you—trembling, sweaty, makeup running down your tear-streaked face.

Well, he wasn't wrong. You did look kind of pretty.

The thought of how many other women had been in this same position with him briefly slithered through your mind, but you whimpered, pushing it away.

"H-harder, Jungkook… please," you gasped, voice a broken plea. "P-please, baby?"

That was all it took. His low groan vibrated through you, his hands gripping your waist tight as he snapped his hips into you with a force that made the desk rattle beneath your hands. One hand cupped your breast, tugging harshly at your nipple, while the other slipped down to mercilessly slap at your clit over and over.

"Shit, shit, shit, shittttt!" you sobbed, your voice high and broken, pleasure tearing through your body.

"You're close, aren't you?" Jungkook rasped, his voice rough as his thrusts grew erratic, harder, faster. "Getting so fucking tight around me. Gonna come for me, aren't you, baby?"

Your mind was gone. You couldn't focus on anything but the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, owning you. "J-Jungkook..." you slurred, your head falling back against his chest, "please make me come, baby, pleasepleasepleaseeee."

Jungkook's arms tightened around your trembling body, and in one quick motion, he sat back in his office chair, pulling you down into his lap. You cried out as his hands hooked under the back of your knees, planting his feet on the ground and spreading your legs wide, completely open, and facing the see-through fucking doors.

He didn't give you a second to breathe before he started pounding into you again, his fat cock hitting so deep at the new angle that your body shook uncontrollably. You couldn't even hear your own cries—just the wet, obscene slapping of skin and Jungkook's gorgeous groans in your ear.

"Rub your fucking clit," he commanded, his voice thick with urgency. "Come. Now, Y/N. Fucking come."

Your hand flew to your clit, trembling fingers rubbing furiously, slipping because you were so fucking wet. "Jungkook," you gasped, voice breaking, tears pouring down your cheeks.

"No, baby, f-fuckkk, I'm sor—" You couldn't stop the sobs, your body convulsing as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you. "Jungkook, I'm—I'm so sorry, ahhhh fuckkk! I-I'm gonna squirt, oh my goddddd!"

"Fuck, yes," he growled, and just as your body started to seize up, his hand shot down, pressing hard on your lower belly and bladder, right where he was buried deep inside you. His hips didn't relent, pounding into you with the same brutal pace.

The pressure on your abdomen made everything inside you snap. Your scream tore through his office as your walls clamped down hard on him, your body shaking violently as your hand trembled, losing its grip on your clit. You came so hard that your hand slipped away entirely, but before the overwhelming release could fade, Jungkook's hand was there, replacing yours instantly. His fingers rubbed your swollen clit with intense pressure, refusing to let you stop.

"Fuckk, look at that fucking pussy, Y/N," he growled as he slapped your pulsing clit over and over. "Keep going, fuck, keep squirting on my fucking dick, baby, holy shittttt."

The filthy command tipped you over the edge again. The sensation was too much, and you started to gush even harder. Wetness sprayed everywhere, soaking his lap, drenching the desk. You were fucking gone.

"Holy fuck," Jungkook choked out at the sight of your cunt gushing out liquid, his hips jerking erratically as his body tensed beneath you. He came hard into the condom with a deep, broken groan, his grip on you tight as he rode out his release, still rubbing your clit with nasty, unrelenting strokes, making sure you didn't stop.

Your body convulsed violently, your legs shaking uncontrollably as he kept rubbing, drawing out every last wave of your orgasm until you were a trembling, sobbing mess. His big hand cupped over your warm pussy, feeling it throb beneath his palm as he slowed his thrusts, easing you through the last shudders of your release.

"My godddd," he growled, his voice raw with awe as he moved his hand and looked down at the mess you'd made. Your quivering pussy, glistening and red, his slacks drenched, the chair wet, and even some paperwork on the desk soaked through.

Fuck, he groaned internally. He's obsessed.

Your chest heaved as you slumped against him, completely spent, your head falling onto his shoulder. Jungkook’s hands glided up and down your trembling thighs, suppressing the smile tugging at his lips as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, clinging to him like he was the only thing holding you together.

"Well done," he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead before pressing a soft kiss there. You could still feel his heart racing against your skin as you tried to catch your breath.

"Seonsaengnim," you muttered, still panting, "I'm so sorry about your papers—"

"Shut up," Jungkook cut you off with a roll of his eyes, your sudden shift to formalities clearly grating on him. His hands continued their soothing path over your stomach, fingers brushing lightly over the soft skin before he gently adjusted your legs on his lap. His strong thighs kept your feet dangling above the floor, his touch softening as he patted your belly absentmindedly, his voice easing. "It’s alright."

You tried to gather yourself, your mind still spinning. "I haven't done that in a while," you mumbled into his neck, the words slipping out without thought. "God."

Jungkook swallowed hard, suppressing the mix of emotions rising in his chest. Pride at making you feel this way. Anger at knowing someone else had. His jaw clenched briefly before he cleared his throat, forcing a casual hum of acknowledgment. "Good."

He patted your belly a couple more times, as though resetting his focus. "You okay to get dressed?" he asked, his voice slipping into something nonchalant, though the grip on your thighs lingered a moment longer than necessary. "I've got a meeting soon."

You cleared your throat and nodded, feeling a little unsteady as you began to push yourself up from his lap. His hands helped guide you as you stood, and you winced slightly as he slipped out of you, leaving you feeling oddly empty. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you ignored the sensation, letting your skirt fall back into place. You glanced around the room, searching for your panties.

You crouched down, looking under the chair, then the desk, even flipping through some of the papers on his desk, but there was no sign of them.

"Have you seen my…?" you trailed off, turning to look at him, feeling the confusion settle in as you noticed his casual indifference. Jungkook, now having disposed of the condom, zipped up his slacks with an air of calmness that seemed just a bit too casual for your liking.

You raised a brow, suspicion growing. His expression mirrored yours with a glint in his eyes.

"Where are they?" you asked, narrowing your gaze.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he straightened his shirt. Then, he casually slipped his hands into his pockets, and that's when you caught the faintest flicker of black lace peeking out from one of them.

You scoffed, stepping toward him, but before you could snatch them back, Jungkook caught your hand. He snickered softly as he brought it to his lips, pressing a mocking kiss to your knuckles.

“01J09. Lock the door when you leave, Y/N." His tone was commanding but light as he slipped past you, grabbing his suit jacket as if nothing had happened. He gave you one last look before walking out of the room, leaving you standing in the middle of his messed-up office.

You slumped back into his chair with a huff, quickly adjusting your bra and buttoning your blouse. As you started to tidy the room, you found some disinfectant wipes in a cupboard and began cleaning the desk, trying to distract yourself.

The sound of the door opening behind you startled you, and you quickly turned, assuming Jungkook had returned. But when you locked eyes with your best friend smirking widely at the scene, your stomach dropped.

"You fucking slut!" Jimin shouted, closing the door behind him as he made his way toward you, cupping your face with both hands. His grin was bright, teasing, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Holy shit! I'm mortified that I just walked past and saw my best friend getting railed by my boss… but I'm also so fucking happy! So, are you staying? Are you guys a thing? How did it happen? Holy fuck—"

"Jiminie," you whined, pulling his hands away and turning back to the desk to finish cleaning, "I'll tell you later. My legs hurt, and we need to get to the meeting—"

"The meeting's over," Jimin interrupted with a snicker, "it's been an hour."

"What the fuck?!" Panic washed over you as you turned to face him, eyes wide.

Jimin just shrugged, still wearing that smug smile. "It's fine, Y/N. I took notes; they're on our shared drive. It wasn't anything important. Definitely not as important as the 'meeting' you were in."

You snorted, tossing the used wipes into the bin and slipping your heels back on as you made your way toward the door, legs still shaky. "Jesus, Jimin, I can barely walk."

"I noticed," Jimin teased, his voice full of amusement. "Want me to carry you?"

"No thanks," you replied quickly, shuddering at the thought. "I'd rather crawl than have anyone see you carry me out of here."

"Are you at least going to the bathroom to fix your hair and makeup?" he asked, eyeing you critically. "You look like you were attacked by a swarm of wasps..."

You groaned. "Yes, Jiminie. I'm going to the bathroom. Now stop pestering me, or you'll be having movie night alone tomorrow."

His smirk softened into a playful smile. "Okay, okay. I'll wait for you in your office."

You waited for him to leave before entering the pin code to lock Jungkook's office door. After hearing the beep and confirming the door was secure, you turned to head toward the bathroom, only to find Jimin still blocking your path, brows furrowed and eyes wide.

"Jimin-ah, move—"

"He gave you the code to his office?" Jimin's voice was serious now, the lightheartedness from earlier gone.

You blinked at him, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. "Yes. Can you please move?"

Jimin didn't budge. His frown deepened as he processed the information. “Y/N… He doesn't just give the code to his office out. To anyone."

Your stomach twisted at his words. "Maybe he'll change it later. He said he had a meeting to go to—"

Jimin shook his head. "He hasn't changed that code since he took over. And… he just canceled his meetings for this afternoon. I thought it was because…"

The sinking feeling in your stomach grew worse. Of course, Jungkook lied and just wanted to leave. What was he supposed to do—sit there and cuddle you? Offer you aftercare? This wasn't new for him. You weren't special. Just another woman in a long line.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the bile rising in your throat. "Jiminie, can I… meet you downstairs? I need to go to the bathroom."

Jimin's expression softened instantly, his hand reaching out to brush some hair from your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. "Okay, love. I'll get you some water and wait in your office."

You thanked him quietly before heading to the bathroom, locking the door before you leaned heavily against the sink. Staring at your reflection, you sighed at the sight. Your sleek ponytail was merely a distant memory, makeup smeared beyond repair. And there, on your neck, was a deep hickey blooming against your skin.

"Idiot," you muttered to yourself as you turned the tap on, starting to scrub your face clean in attempt to erase every trace of what just happened.

What was happening to you? You never let stuff like this get to you. You'd had more than your fair share of one-night stands, and you knew better than to let them mean anything. It was nothing to him, and it should've been nothing to you.

But god, it felt like so much more than nothing.

"Idiotttt," you muttered again, this time more frustrated. As you aggressively wiped away the mascara and dried tears, your eyes kept drifting back to the hickey. You sighed, knowing you had no makeup to cover it until you got back to your office.

With a huff, you walked toward the toilet and sat down, your hand grazing the mark on your neck while you peed. The memory of his lips still lingered fresh in your mind, and the longer you sat there, the more the reality of it all began to sink in.

Fuck, you groaned internally. You're obsessed.

Jungkook pulled the keys from the ignition, stepping out of his car and adjusting the collar of his suit jacket when it shifted out of place. The door clicked shut behind him as he locked the Mercedes, casually slipping his phone into his pocket—right next to your panties, still snug in the black fabric of his slacks.

When he reached the reception desk, a fake redhead sat behind it, focused on a stack of paperwork. She didn’t notice him at first, not until the sound of his footsteps caught her attention. The moment her eyes met his, Jungkook noticed the way she straightened in her seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, hello,” she greeted, her voice sweet but dripping with an attempt at seduction. “Welcome to Jang Merriott. How can I be of service?”

Jungkook swallowed the grimace threatening to surface, but his lips curved into that fake, charming smile he’d perfected for work events. “Hi, darling.” His voice was smooth, just the right amount of warmth. “I’m here for a business meeting, but I’m so silly...” He leaned in slightly, watching her eyes widen. His voice dropped to a lower, more intimate tone. “I forgot which room it’s in. Think you could help me?”

His eyes flicked to her nametag—Cho Minju—and when he looked back, he could practically see her mind spinning. “I-I…” she stammered, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Do you have the name of the—”

“Lee Dohyun,” Jungkook answered easily, not missing the way she gulped when he added softly, “Thank you, baby.”

“L-Lee Dohyun,” she echoed nervously, typing the name into the system with shaky fingers. Then she paused, biting her lip. “I, um… I really shouldn’t if you aren’t—if you’re not on the guest list…”

“It would really help me out, Minju-yah,” Jungkook murmured, his voice taking on a softer, boyish edge. His brows furrowed just slightly as he leaned in a touch more, looking at her through his lashes. “If I’m late, Dohyun-seonsaengnim will kill me… I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Her wide eyes blinked up at him, her lip caught between her teeth. He could see the internal battle playing out in her head—protocol versus the hot guy in front of her. Predictably, protocol lost.

“Floor 13, room 304,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed.

“Thank you, baby,” Jungkook replied with a charming smile, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into her tip jar before walking toward the elevator. Minju’s breath caught again as he turned and walked toward the elevator, not looking back once.

As the elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, Jungkook’s facade dropped, and he let out a small, amused scoff. He thought that was going to cost him at least a couple grand.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended. When the monotone voice announced floor 13, the doors slid open, revealing a quiet, plush carpeted hallway. Jungkook strode out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he made his way to room 304.

“Jungkook-seonsaengnim?” Dohyun’s voice cracked in surprise when he opened the door, eyes widening at the unexpected sight of his boss. “I’m on leave, sir, is everything oka—”

The words barely left his mouth before Jungkook’s fist connected sharply with the side of his jaw. The force of the blow sent Dohyun crashing to the ground, his head snapping back as he sprawled out, half-dangling outside the doorway. His feet splayed awkwardly on the floor, barely moving. Jungkook nudged his limp body inside with the toe of his polished shoe, stepping over him as he calmly closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Everything’s fine, Dohyun.” Jungkook’s voice was casual, almost too calm, as he crouched down to level his gaze with the man on the floor. Dohyun was clutching his jaw, eyes wide with terror, blinking back tears as he struggled to sit up. Confusion mixed with fear spread across his face, trembling as he tried to find his words.

Jungkook tilted his head, a slow, cold smirk pulling at his lips. "Great, actually," he continued, the menace in his voice unmistakable. His eyes flickered over the man on the ground as if he were nothing more than something to be dealt with. “And it’ll be even better in a second.”

TODAY

The soft click of heels against tile echoed down the pristine hall of level nineteen. Jimin and Hobi were either side of you, all three of you deep in conversation about Jimin's latest epic love saga.

“And afterward, we went and got ice cream,” Jimin sighed, a dreamy smile spreading across his lips. “And he even paid for my cone. I think he’s the one.”

You and Hobi shared a knowing look before turning back to him. Hobi giggled, shaking his head, while you leaned your head on Jimin’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “I’m sure he is, honey. Was it at least a double scoop?”

Jimin beamed, nodding enthusiastically, but his excitement faltered the second he caught the teasing smirks plastered on your and Hobi’s faces. His expression morphed into a pout as he narrowed his eyes at the both of you.

"Whatever. Just because you—" Jimin shot a pointed look at Hobi, "—don’t sleep with anyone more than once because of your deep-rooted commitment issues, and you—" he turned his accusing gaze to you, "—have found the only person in Seoul as crazy and fucked up as you to spend the rest of your life with, doesn’t make Min Yoongi any less of a perfect prince."

Hoseok grunted, crossing his arms dramatically as you broke into laughter. "You're not wrong," you hummed with a shrug, right as Hobi muttered defensively, "I don't have commitment issues."

It was Hobi’s turn to receive knowing looks from both of you before he sighed, dramatically slowing his pace as you reached the entrance of the meeting room. "Whatever, you guys suck."

Snickering softly, the three of you stepped inside, bowing politely to the handful of executives already seated around the large meeting table. As usual, the three of you were early, but you noticed that a few others had already claimed their seats. Unfortunately, there weren’t three consecutive spots left for you all to sit together.

Your gaze immediately went to the head of the table, the seat reserved for the CEO, which was still empty. You knew Jungkook was in a meeting with Kim Namjoon that had run overtime, so their arrival was indefinitely delayed.

The seat closest to the CEO’s chair—Namjoon’s usual spot—was unoccupied, but the one on the opposite end, typically claimed by you, Jimin, or Hobi, was already taken. You felt your blood boil when you saw Heejin, the newly appointed temp head of Communications while Sana Minatozaki was on maternity leave, sitting there comfortably, scrolling through a document on her laptop.

Jimin caught your eye, noticing Heejin as well, and gestured toward the chair next to her, silently offering it to you. You just shook your head, flashing a small smile as if to say, no fucking thanks. He and Hobi settled into two seats beside each other, leaving you to scan the rest of the room for an available spot.

Your options weren’t great.

A middle seat between Hailey and Vernon—two relentless chatterboxes from levels three and four—caught your eye. You grimaced immediately at the thought of being dragged into their non-stop, ping-pong conversation about god knows what. They could probably talk about fucking office supplies for hours if given the chance.

Then your gaze shifted to the next option: a seat next to Kang Minho, the scruffy finance head. As expected, he was already twirling a cigar between his fingers, his eyes twitching in clear defiance of the new no-smoking rule in meetings. The urge to light it was practically vibrating off him.

You sighed.

That left the only bearable choice: a seat next to Oh Sehun, the head of Technology and Innovation. He was known to be quiet and professional, and most importantly, he's least likely to annoy you.

Resigned, you pulled the chair next to Sehun, placing your laptop and phone on the table in front of you. He glanced over with a polite smile, nodding in greeting. You returned the gesture, settling into your seat and immediately focusing on starting up your laptop.

The room settled into a quiet lull, with only a few hushed conversations breaking the silence. Most of the attendees were either finishing up side discussions or preparing for the meeting as they trickled in. As your laptop booted up, you instinctively picked up your phone, slipping it under the table. Your fingers moved quickly, opening the location app and tapping on Jungkook’s name. The pin was still loading when you heard a throat clear beside you.

Oh, here we fucking go.

“Y/N-ssi?”

You locked your phone and turned toward Sehun with a forced smile. "Yes, Sehun-ssi. How can I help?"

His smile widened slightly, a little shy. "Uh, I just wanted to say… congratulations. Your promotion to Head of Operations & Efficiency—it's no small feat. Not an easy title to earn or handle. But I've seen your work, and it's… admirable. Truly."

You almost frowned, caught off guard. That was… really sweet.

"Oh," you replied, your voice softening. "Thank you, Sehun-ssi, that’s very kind of you. I appreciate it a lot." You smiled genuinely this time. "And I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Running your department is also no easy task, and you do it well."

Sehun grinned, his head dipping slightly as his ears turned a bit red. "Ah, thank you so much," he murmured, looking humbled. "I’ve learned a lot from our CEO, Jungkook-seonsaengnim. He’s incredible. One day, I hope to have my own business and run it just like him."

You bit the inside of your lip, warmth swelling in your chest at the compliment to your man. "He is," you agreed softly, your smile a little more private this time. "And I’m sure you will."

Sehun’s lip was caught between his teeth as his eyes seemed to linger just below yours, but before you could say anything else, the sound of footsteps echoed through the room, drawing your attention. You turned toward the entrance.

Jungkook and Namjoon strode into the room, their presence immediately commanding attention. Namjoon greeted the department heads with a dimply smile, but your eyes locked onto Jungkook. His gaze, however, wasn’t on you—it was unwaveringly fixed on Sehun’s reddened face. A flash of something dark crossed his features, and he didn’t spare you or anyone else a glance as he took his seat at the head of the table.

Straightening in your chair, you swallowed the scoff that rose in your throat. He didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention already on the file in front of him as he flipped through it silently. Namjoon’s eyes flickered over Jungkook’s hardened expression before realizing the CEO wouldn’t be opening the meeting. Clearing his throat, Namjoon stood up and took over.

"Good morning, everyone. Glad to see you all here," Namjoon greeted, flashing a bright, toothy smile. The room responded with polite murmurs. "We’ve got a full agenda today, so let’s start with—"

About thirty minutes into the meeting, you were still focused on your notes. Namjoon was wrapping up his discussion on a new marketing campaign strategy that had piqued your interest. You were typing up the last few points when Jungkook’s deep voice suddenly rang out. Your body reacted instantly, muscles relaxing after hearing him finally speak after what felt like hours of his silence.

"Sehun," Jungkook called out, his tone firm and commanding, and your head snapped up instinctively, surprised to find that Sehun had leaned over, perhaps about to whisper something to you while Namjoon was speaking.

"Did you have a question about the campaign strategy?" Jungkook’s voice was measured, but you felt the tension behind it.

Sehun jerked back, startled by the sudden attention. "Oh, I- no, sir, I was just—"

"Conversing with your colleague while your superior was in the middle of speaking," Jungkook finished for him, his dark gaze unwavering, pinning the tech head in place. "I'm sure I’d be more than capable of answering any questions you have regarding the project. Go ahead."

It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

Sehun swallowed nervously, eyes flicking down to his laptop as if it held the answers. Then, foolishly, he glanced at you, probably hoping for some kind of lifeline. You could only offer him an apologetic look, knowing your boyfriend's ways.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched visibly, his irritation evident as he barked out, "Do you need her to speak for you?" His fist tightened on the table beside him, knuckles paling. "Are you that incompetent?"

Your gaze slowly shifted from Sehun, who was visibly shaken, to your boyfriend, who was fucking seething. You sighed softly, dropping your gaze back to your laptop, fingers resuming their typing with a small shake of your head.

And then his voice came again. A little softer, but still pissed. "Did you have something to add, Y/N?"

Your fingers froze mid-typing. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. You could feel every pair of eyes turning to you. Everyone knew about your relationship with Jungkook. It wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t exactly something you had announced over the firm intercom, either. Most of the department heads were aware and knew better than to draw attention to it, but there were still some, like poor Sehun, who hadn’t quite pieced it together yet.

When you looked up, Jungkook’s dark eyes were locked on you. From your peripheral, you saw Jimin and Hobi exchanging wide-eyed glances, while Heejin’s gaze flickered nervously between you and the CEO.

Every fiber in your bratty being wanted to fight back, make him repeat himself, ask him what the fuck he was trying to prove by putting you on the spot in front of a room full of department heads. But the professional in you won out, forcing you to bite your tongue.

You shook your head calmly. "No, sir." The silence was deafening. You turned to Namjoon, whose eyes were carefully trained on his papers. "My apologies, Namjoon-seongsaengnim," you said. "We didn’t mean to interrupt you. Please, continue."

Namjoon nodded appreciatively, sending you a brief smile before moving on. “Right, as I was saying…”

The meeting finally wrapped up, and everyone began packing up their things. Some were quicker than others to vacate the room, with Kang Minho leading the pack, cigar already halfway to his lips, lighter flicking in agitation.

You closed your laptop with a little more force than intended, irritation still simmering under your skin. Grabbing your jacket off the back of your chair, you stood, feeling Sehun shifting beside you, fumbling to gather his things. You could almost sense the apology hanging on the edge of his lips, and you sighed internally, praying he wouldn’t try and engage in conversation with you again.

Jimin and Hobi walked over, ready to leave, but your attention was drawn to Heejin’s voice as she spoke to Jungkook. Your movements slowed as you listened.

“Thank you for such a great meeting, seonsaengnim,” she said sweetly, her fingers tapping the edge of her laptop.

You clenched your jaw slightly, the inside of your cheek caught between your teeth. Namjoon had handled ninety percent of the presentation—what the fuck was she even thanking him for?

“I actually had a few concerns for the Communications department that I was hoping to run by you—"

"Take them up with your superior," Jungkook replied, not even bothering to glance her way as he slipped his phone into his pocket and made his way toward the door.

Heejin smiled, clearly undeterred as she closed her laptop and followed after him. "But you are my superior," she giggled. Your brows furrowed as you turned to look at her follow after your man like a lost puppy. Your grip on your laptop tightened.

Jungkook sighed, forgetting she had even been promoted recently. Still, he didn’t glance at her. “Make an appointment with one of my assistants, Heejin,” he said, his voice dripping with impatience. “I have somewhere to be. Excuse me, please.”

Excuse me, please? You rolled your eyes. Why doesn't he just tell her to get on her knees and get to work?

Heejin nodded, still all smiles as she left the room, laptop clutched to her chest. You gathered your things and fell into step with Jimin and Hobi. Jungkook paused near the end of the table, his gaze boring into you, but you ignored the stare, slipping between your friends as you headed out.

“Y/N-ssi,” Sehun’s voice cut through the air as he jogged to catch up with the three of you.

You sucked your teeth, glancing down at your watch. Fifteen minutes until your production conference. Enough time to grab something to eat since you’d skipped breakfast—thanks to Jungkook’s insistence on christening yet another room in your new house this morning. The laundry room, this time. And as it turns out, sex on top of a dryer was a lot better and less uncomfortable than you’d expected.

Jimin took your laptop from your hands, giving you a soft smile. "I’ll drop this off at your office. Hobi and I are heading that way."

You nodded in thanks, turning back to Sehun, only to catch Jungkook’s eyes glaring at you from behind the tech leader’s frame. His brows were furrowed, a silent question written all over his face—what the fuck are you doing?

Ignoring your fuming boyfriend, you refocused on Sehun. "You alright?" you asked.

Sehun nodded quickly. "Yeah, I just—" He started to say more but stopped abruptly, his body stiffening as if he could feel Jungkook's glare on the back of his neck. Turning, he blinked, clearly startled to see the CEO still there. "Oh—hi, sir. Once again, I’m so sorry about—"

"It’s okay, Sehun-ssi," you cut him off, drawing his attention back to you. "I need to grab something to eat. Is this important?"

Sehun shifted nervously. "Ah, well... it can wait." His ears were going red again. "How much time do you have? Did you want to stop by the cafe on level 10 before your conference? I was heading there anyway—"

At that, Jungkook’s head snapped up, his gaze zeroing in as he pushed himself off the table. You stepped around Sehun, positioning yourself between him and your clearly furious boyfriend.

"No, thank you, Sehun. I’ll catch you later, okay?" You kept your tone light, ignoring the fact that you had definitely not told him that you were on your way to a conference.

Sehun, still a bit confused, turned slightly to see what had you moving so quickly. And that’s when he saw it—Jungkook’s dark, cold glare burning holes through him. Before Sehun could stutter another word, Jungkook’s eyes flicked down to you, noting the goosebumps on your arms. He grabbed the jacket from your hands and silently made you slip your arms into it.

That’s when the realization hit Sehun like a fucking brick.

His face went ghostly pale, and you could visibly see him swallow nervously. "Oh my god… are you—are you two—"

You nodded simply, sliding your arms into the jacket as Jungkook remained silently brooding behind you.

"I—I am so—sir, I’m so sorry! I would never—"

"Sehun-ssi, it’s fine." You gave him a polite, almost bored smile. "Let's talk later."

Sehun barely managed a shaky nod before he bolted, red-faced and flustered, out of the room.

"You’re such a jealous psycho," you muttered under your breath, turning to face Jungkook, who was still fuming quietly. You puckered your lips for a kiss.

Jungkook just glared, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before leaning down to give you a quick, soft peck. You frowned, leaning in for another, but he pulled back, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Why’d you sit there?" he asked, glancing down at your jacket, noticing you hadn’t done up the top two buttons. When he reached to fasten them, you smacked his hand away, refusing to let him make you look like a nun.

"Because your girlfriend was in my usual seat," you shot back, poking him in the stomach before turning on your heel and heading toward the door.

"And I’m the jealous one?" he muttered, flicking the lights off as he followed behind you.

"Yes," you hummed, walking down the now-empty hall, clear of all the departmental seniors and visitors.

You reached the elevator when Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek as you reached out to press the down arrow.

"That poor boy almost pissed himself because of you."

"I felt like I was very soft on him," Jungkook shrugged, taking a deep inhale of your honey scented skin before pressing a kiss to your neck and standing upright. His hands slipped under your jacket to rest on your belly over your blouse, his fingers grazing your skin gently. "Could’ve been a lot worse."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t resist the urge to look up at his adorable pout. You puckered your lips again, and this time, he gave in, leaning down for a proper kiss. Spinning in his arms, his hands fell naturally to rest on your ass as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

A soft moan escaped your lips when his tongue slid between them, licking into your mouth in the way only he could. It felt like only milliseconds before the elevator dinged, snapping you back to reality. You reluctantly pulled away, biting his lip gently before spinning around to face the opening doors.

The elevator revealed Kim Namjoon, standing there with his head tilted, eyebrow raised. "Jungkook-ah, the board is waiting. Answer your fuckin' phone, man," the CCO huffed, gesturing for you both to step inside with a hurried wave of his hand.

You smiled at Namjoon and walked into the elevator, Jungkook right behind you. His hand found its way back to your belly, rubbing absentmindedly as you hit the button for level 12.

Namjoon scrolled through something on his phone, snickering. "What time are you planning on getting there tonight, Kook? The RSVP says 6, but they don’t start serving drinks until 8, so I'll be there around 9," he chuckled.

Your ears perked up at the mention of the event. You fiddled with Jungkook’s tattooed fingers on your stomach, glancing up at him as you waited for him to respond.

"For what?" Jungkook asked, not looking up from his phone.

You almost frowned at his response. He already told you he had a sponsorship function tonight. Jungkook never forgets things like that.

Namjoon barely glanced up. "That promo celebration for the girl taking over for Sana-ssi?" He explained, locking his phone and leaning back. "Shit, I forgot if we need to bring gifts. I'll check with my assistant—"

You didn’t hear anything after that. Everything faded, the muffled sounds of the elevator blending together like white noise. Jungkook’s hand stiffened against your stomach, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

He hadn’t gotten his schedule mixed up. He knew damn well what event Namjoon was referring to. The "sponsorship function" was actually a celebration for that dirty slut from level 7, and that dirty slut from level 7 had gotten a permanent promotion, which would bring her even closer when fucking working with him.

The elevator doors slid open, and without a second thought, you shoved Jungkook’s hand off you and stormed out.

"Baby," Jungkook was immediately on your tail, ignoring Namjoon’s confused calls from behind.

"Wh— Jungkook-ah? What the fuck? Where are you going?"

"Baby, wait." Jungkook's voice was tense as he caught up to you, but when his hand reached out to grab your arm, you shoved it off aggressively.

"I’m so fucking serious right now, don’t touch me, Jungkook." You spat, whipping around to face him. He just shook his head, trying to step closer, but you put your hand up, keeping him at a distance. "I’m not fucking kidding—"

"Baby, listen to me—" he tried, his voice urgent.

"Get the fuck away from me," you snapped, digging into your pocket for your phone, your fingers trembling as you scrolled through your contacts. "God, you know I fucking hate it when you lie, and you just—" You groaned, your fist tightening around your phone as you shoved his hands off you once again.

"Who are you texting?" Jungkook frowned, trying to get a look at your phone over your shoulder.

"None of your fucking business," you spat, stepping out of his reach.

"Y/N, don't. If you're not going to let me explain—"

"My mom," you snapped sarcastically, your fingers flying across the screen as you started typing. "They finally adapted technology so you can get cell reception six feet underground now. It's great."

Jungkook scoffed, clearly unamused, but he continued following closely behind you as you started walking again. "If you can lie to me, then I can fucking lie to you, right?" you added mockingly.

He tried to grab your phone, but you dodged him, sending the message just in time. His jaw tightened when he saw the screen. "Like hell you’re sleeping at Jimin’s tonight, are you fucking crazy?"

"Well, I’m not staying in a house with a fucking liar, that’s for sure," you shot back, your tone sharp as you moved further away from him.

"You’re not staying at Jimin’s," he repeated firmly, his voice absolute.

His certainty made you laugh bitterly. "I’m staying at Jimin’s or I’m staying at Hyungwon’s. You fucking choose."

Jungkook’s fists clenched at his sides, his face hardening in disbelief. "Why the fuck would you say that, Y/N?"

"I don't have anywhere to go, Jungkook!" Your voice rose, frustration and pain bubbling to the surface. You could feel eyes on you from the staff scattered around the floor, but you didn’t care. "You are my home. I don’t have anywhere else to fucking—"

Jungkook’s expression softened when your voice broke, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He stepped closer, his hands slipping under your jacket, palms smoothing down your hips. "Then don't fucking go, baby. Just don’t go anywhere, please. Don’t go to Jimin’s." He begged.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the warmth of his hands, the familiar comfort of his body close to yours. His face rested in the crook of your neck, and despite your anger, you found yourself leaning into him slightly, knowing full well that getting to your conference on time now was just a lost cause.

"Tell me why you lied then," you mumbled, your voice quieter, your sniffles betraying you.

Jungkook pulled back, his thumbs swiping gently under your eyes, wiping the tears away before they could fully form. His fingers brushed under your nose as he wiped away the dribble there. "Because I knew it would upset you. We’ve been doing so well in our new place, baby—I didn’t want anything to ruin it." His voice was soft, almost pleading. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was only going to make an appearance and come home straight away."

You studied his face, your own expression softening despite the anger still bubbling inside you. You understood him, you really did. But you still hated when he lied. "Then why didn’t you just ask me to go with you?" Your voice wavered, doubt creeping in despite yourself. "Did you... not want to be seen with me?"

You didn’t even know where the self-doubt was coming from. Jungkook loved you. He loved letting people know you were his. He didn’t care who was around when he kissed you or rested a hand on your body, claiming you without shame. But something about Heejin… She got under your skin in a way that you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was because she’d been here longer, known him longer. She was going to be in meetings with him now—department head meetings, one-on-one meetings. The thought alone made you feel sick.

Jungkook sighed, his hands cupping your cheeks, and pressed two quick, soft kisses on your lips. "Don’t say dumb shit like that," he murmured, his voice soft but firm. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. "I wanted to have a joint office, but you said that was unprofessional or whatever." He rolled his eyes, giving you a little smirk.

You blinked, hugging your arms around yourself, stepping back a little. "Then why?" Your voice was quieter now, laced with the confusion and hurt you couldn’t hide. "Why didn’t you want me to go? I’ve gone with you to plenty of functions."

Jungkook hesitated, and you felt the tension settle back into the air between you. His silence weighed heavy, and that familiar twist of anxiety and anger began to gnaw at you again.

"It’s because of Hyungwon, isn’t it?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. "You didn’t want me to go because people from his firm are going to be there, and he could be too, right?"

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardening slightly as he averted your gaze. He didn’t need to say anything. His silence confirmed everything.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. Not only did he keep you away from a party celebrating the one woman you couldn’t stand the most when it came to him, but he also made sure you didn’t go because of the one man he had a problem with the most when it came to you was attending.

"Fucking hypocrite," you muttered, stepping further back from him, your stomach turning in disgust.

"Baby, it’s not like that—" he started, his tone filled with urgency.

"Then what is it like, Jungkook?" Your voice rose again, frustration spilling out as you threw your hands up. "You didn’t tell me about the party because you knew it would piss me off that it’s for Heejin. But you also didn’t want me to go because there was a chance Hyungwon could be there! So, what? I can’t go because you have a problem, but I’m supposed to sit at home and wait for you like a fucking housewife while you go to a party for a bitch that you know I can’t stand? How the fuck does that make sense?"

Jungkook’s face was a mixture of guilt and frustration. He took a step toward you, but you held up your hand again, stopping him in his tracks.

"God, can you just go away?" you spat, your voice trembling slightly as you felt the tears begin to well up again. Shaking your head, you started to walk away.

"Baby," Jungkook grunted, his frustration growing as he followed you.

"No, Jungkook. I need space. Seriously." You didn’t even turn around, your voice sharp as you neared your office.

"We don’t do space. That’s not how we work," he argued, right behind you.

"Well, maybe we need to start doing space," you snapped, reaching for the door handle.

Before you could pull the door open, Jungkook grabbed your wrist, spinning you around to face him. His eyes were intense, wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. "If you keep walking away from me, I'm going to follow you into that conference room and make you sit in my fucking lap during your entire presentation."

The seriousness in his voice made you want to roll your eyes, but you kept your expression blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop. "I can’t have you two in the same room, Y/N." His voice was low, almost dangerous, as if just saying Hyungwon’s name triggered something in him.

You just blinked, still silent.

“If I see him anywhere near you, I’ll kill him.” Jungkook said it simply, like it was just another fact. “I wouldn’t regret it. But they probably won’t let you stay in my cell with me, would they, baby?” His brows furrowed, head tilting as he asked, like he was genuinely curious to know the answer.

a/n i cut it here because the rest is nawttt edited at all and very rough 😬 but any takers on a part 3 ??!!?! just give me 6 months and it's all yours xx

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 2

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Part 3

Chapter Summary: You're anxious before your date.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.1k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, stalking, coercion, threats (not against reader), creepy and unhinged behavior, flashback, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you for the feedback so far! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You loved working at the flower shop. Putting together beautiful arrangements and bringing joy to others made you happy. But today, the morning after that stranger showed up in your home, you weren’t fully alert as you went about your tasks. The air around you felt different, thicker. Flipping through the order book, you attempted to look busy instead of walking around in a haze.

Whenever you began to focus, your mind would drift back to Bucky Barnes and your upcoming date. You hadn’t told Addison or anyone else about it because what could you tell them? How could you explain your situation?

You hadn’t even slept in your own bed thanks to that man.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed seated on the couch once Bucky left your place. You’d have to move eventually, but you were replaying what happened in your head like a song on repeat and tried to make sense of it. A man broke into your home, but didn’t steal anything. Held you in his lap, but didn’t violate you.

No, that last part wasn’t true. That was exactly what he did. He violated your safety. And demanded a date with you.

You jerked when your phone dinged, but your heart only pounded faster when you saw a message from a new contact.

Bucky.

“I wish I could’ve stayed the night, but I’ll dream about you and count down the minutes until our date. Don’t forget about your gifts.”

He knew the date was on because how could you say no?

Your stomach dropped as you glanced down the hall. Wiping the remaining tears away, you got to your feet and cautiously made your way toward your bedroom. You weren’t expecting anyone to be there, but who knew what he did while you were at work? And what if he came back?

Would you scream for help or call the police?

“Just go in,” you whispered.

Pushing the door open with a shaky hand and flipping on the light, everything looked normal as you looked around and approached the bed. Everything except the garment and gift bag in the middle of it. They taunted you, daring you to look inside. At the very least, to read the small card on top of the bag.

You caught a small whiff of the cologne he wore as you picked it up and read the single statement.

“This is just the beginning, doll.”

The card slipped from your shaky hand. It would’ve been romantic under normal circumstances. You looked inside the gift bag next, but it did nothing to calm your nerves. Not only was it your favorite perfume as he stated, but it was the largest size available.

You unzipped the garment bag after and gasped at the sight of the dress. It was from a designer you admired, but could never afford. Simple yet beautiful in design, you had to stop yourself from running your hand over the fabric. Yes, it was a beautiful dress and it was just the right size.

But it came with strings attached.

“How?”

You half expected to see a blinking light when your eyes darted to the corners of your bedroom, but everything still looked ordinary. Nothing looked out of place. It didn’t stop your skin from crawling at the thought of him watching you. Because how did he know your size and the kind of perfume you liked? That you liked having a glass of wine when you took a bath? The password to your phone?

How did he know anything about you?

That was perhaps one of the most terrifying aspects about your ordeal: He was clearly powerful and connected, yet you didn’t know exactly what he was capable of or how far he’d go.

It took you a minute to type back a message to him. “Thank you for the gifts.”

A response came back almost immediately. Was he waiting by his phone for you? “Like I said, it’s just the beginning. I have another gift waiting for you, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow for that one. It’s a surprise.”

You suddenly didn’t like surprises.

Could you accept gifts wrapped in pretty bows if it meant keeping those you cared about safe? Would you be a living doll to satisfy whatever craving he had that led him to you? At the very least, you’d have to play along for one night to try and get some answers.

“I’m sure it’ll be a nice surprise. Good night.” You sent, hoping he’d get the hint and leave you be.

“Sweet dreams.”

Grabbing a blanket, you made your way back to the living room and curled up in your oversized chair. There wouldn’t be any sweet dreams. Not tonight. Not with the way your mind raced.

Because who the hell was Bucky Barnes and why did he want you?

The bell over the door rang, pulling you from your thoughts and reminding you that you had a job to do. You blinked as a tall man with golden hair and bright blue eyes walked in. A new customer from what you gathered, and an intimidating one at that. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you exhaled once he smiled in your direction.

“Hi,” you said, closing your book. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to get some flowers for my girl,” he replied, the deep timbre gentle yet commanding. “No special occasion or anything. I just want to surprise her.”

A smile touched your lips. “That’s one of the best reasons to get someone flowers,” you said. You liked to imagine your future husband would get you flowers just because he felt like it. “Does she have a favorite?”

“Tulips,” he answered without hesitation. “Any color as long as they’re tulips.”

You stepped around the corner and led him to the premade arrangements. “We have this multicolored bouquet that she may like. Brightens the room and has an uplifting aroma.”

The gentleman reached out to touch one of the petals before he nodded. “She’ll love them,” he said more to himself than to you.

He sounded like a man in love.

“I’m sure she will,” you agreed, carefully carrying it to the counter so you could ring it up. Your skin prickled when you felt his eyes on you, but you told yourself to relax. This guy wasn’t like Bucky. You were paranoid after last night and he was likely watching just to make sure you didn’t drop the bouquet. “Will this be all for you?”

“Which one is your favorite?”

“My favorite?” You repeated as he waited for your response. The question surprised you, but you nodded to one of the recent arrangements you made. “It’s hard to choose a favorite, but I like stargazer lilies.”

You sometimes brought arrangements home for yourself since you couldn’t remember the last time anyone got you flowers.

“I’ll take those, too,” he said, going to get the vase himself. “I really appreciate your help.”

“It was nothing,” you smiled, ringing up the order. “And you made my job very easy, so thank you.”

“Your partner must feel very lucky to have you,” he said before you paused.

Biting your tongue, you stopped yourself from correcting him. You didn’t have a partner. A possible stalker? Yes.

His brows furrowed as he quietly paid. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

You shook your head and put your best customer service smile back on your face. “No apologies. I actually have a first date tonight. Maybe he’s the one,” you told him, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. “I hope your girl enjoys her flowers.”

He smiled back as he took the bouquets and receipt. “Me, too,” he said, something sparkling in his eye when he added, “Good luck on your date.”

The blonde left without another word, leaving you to grip the counter and wonder how the hell you were going to get through your evening.

You stood in front of your bedroom mirror hours later, admiring yourself in the dress. It fit you well. Beautifully, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. You spritzed yourself with the perfume too. Might as well use it since Bucky was likely expecting it.

The scent should’ve brought a smile to your face instead of tears to your eyes.

“Hey! Still on for hanging out tomorrow?” Addison messaged you as you checked the time on your phone.

You blinked the tears away and realized you hadn’t messaged her once today. You were afraid to. If you mentioned Bucky, it would tempt you to spill what happened since you hardly kept anything from your best friend. And if you told her what happened…

Bucky would know.

With a shudder, you messaged her back. “Yep! See you then.”

The tension in your body skyrocketed when your doorbell rang at 7pm, right down to the second. “Be right there!” You called, shoving your phone in your clutch before you took one last look in the mirror. What did it matter if you looked good or not? It was a forced date.

You exhaled as you opened the door and froze when you saw Bucky standing on the other side. You foolishly thought he wouldn’t show, but luck wasn’t on your side. The sharp, dark suit he wore and air of confidence he carried had your heart pounding in your chest. The glove covering his left hand somehow worked with the suit.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his gaze sweeping over you. Why did he look at you like you were something to be desired? “You are so beautiful.”

Butterflies filled your stomach despite your fear. If only he had approached you and asked you out like a normal guy. “Thanks,” you whispered, locking the door once you were in the hall.

Did he have your spare key or did he find a way to get a copy?

“I wore this suit to match your dress,” he said, giving you an expectant look.

The guy was actually fishing for a compliment. “And you look very handsome,” you said, a smile lighting up his face.

“Thanks.” He held his arm out, satisfaction filling his eyes when you took it. “I’m glad you said ’yes’ to this date.”

“I’m sure you would’ve found a way to convince me if I didn’t,” you told him, reminding yourself that accepting this kept your loved ones safe and sound.

“I would have,” he agreed, keeping you close as he led you outside to where a luxury car was waiting. The car likely cost more than what you made in a year. “But you saved me the trouble by agreeing like the good, smart girl I know you are.”

You didn’t thank him for the “compliment”.

Bucky didn’t wait for the driver to open the door, grabbing the handle and helping you inside himself. You slid across the seat and tried to keep your dress from riding up as he got in beside you. He didn’t allow you any breathing room as the glass partition went up and the car took off. You were alone with him.

He could do whatever he wanted.

“You can sit in my lap if you’d like,” he said to break the silence. “It’s nice and comfortable.”

“No thanks,” you said, glancing ahead at the glass when he took your hand. You’d been in his lap the night before and that was more than enough. “Doesn’t seem safe.”

“You can sit here after dinner then,” he suggested, smirking when you glanced out of the corner of your eye.

Your stomach turned at that. He mentioned it took everything in him not to drag you to bed. You believed him. How long would he hold out before he tried to make a move?

“Sorry I didn’t text you today. I didn’t want to bother or overwhelm you while you were working,” he continued, kissing each of your knuckles as you stared straight ahead again. “At least not right away.”

“How considerate of you,” you muttered.

He chuckled and pressed another kiss to your hand before he held it in his lap. You stiffened and for a moment you thought he’d put your palm to his crotch. You weren’t sure what to expect from him.

“Look. I want tonight to be good for both of us. I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I’ll do my best to give you answers,” he said, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear as he addressed the elephant in the room. “I know a lot about you, but I imagine you don’t know much about me.”

“No, I don’t,” you admitted. As tempted as you were to look up his name, you refrained and couldn’t put your finger on why. “If I ask you questions, will you lie to me?”

“I have no reason to lie.” He brought a gloved hand to your cheek and forced you to meet his gaze. Even in the dark of the car, you could see the want in his eyes. “I want you to trust me.”

Trust the man with zero respect for boundaries? Could you do that? “Addison’s bachelorette party was a month ago. Was that really the first time you saw me?”

“It was. Everything changed when I saw you,” he replied, moving his hand from your face down to your neck. Like he just had to touch you. “Though it didn’t take a month to track you down, it did give me time to do my research and find out everything I could about you. Where you live, where you work, your interests, your routine. I like to be thorough.”

You turned your head away when it began to spin, trying to understand how he sounded so casual in his admittance to stalking you. You also couldn’t keep looking into those blue eyes. They would drown you.

What you wanted to ask was if he was watching you in your home. But trapped in that small space with him, what if his answer freaked you out more? He said he wouldn’t hurt you, but would he keep that promise?

The question that came out instead was, “And you just decided during that time that you wanted me?”

Your eyes shut as his lips touched your ear. “I wanted you the moment I saw you,” he whispered, making you shiver at the feel of his breath. “And the more I learned about you, the more you pulled me in. I’m just a moth drawn to your flame. And you’re exactly who I want by my side.”

His words washed over you, wearing you down like a stone sinking in the water. It was too much. Too intense. “Where are we going?”

“Mmm. Our date.” You exhaled when his fingers brushed along your arm. “I thought about renting out a restaurant or taking you away to an island for our first date. Something intimate and private. Then I thought, what’s more intimate and private than my penthouse?”

“Your penthouse?” You asked, opening your eyes.

“Yeah, my home,” he smiled, either not noticing or caring when your eyes rounded. “It’s the best spot in town, of course. Can’t beat the view. And we don’t need any eavesdroppers now, do we?”

Your heart sank as you reached for your phone. People would at least be able to see you in a public place, but his home? That was like going into the heart of a lion’s den. It would be so easy to message Addison or Dana and ask for some sort of help without giving too many details. You could-

Bucky took the phone from your hand and tucked it in his jacket pocket. “You won’t need that tonight,” he stated, something in his calm tone telling you not to argue. “I have a chef preparing dinner and a dessert and I selected a nice bottle of wine for us to share. I also want to give you a tour after the meal since it’s going to be your home sooner or later.”

You choked on your next breath. “It’s what?”

“We’re here,” he smiled, terror gripping you when the car stopped in an underground parking garage. “You can ask me more questions inside.”

“Bucky, did you say this is going to be my home?” You pressed as he helped you out, having to rush to keep up with him as he pulled you to an elevator.

You hoped that wasn’t the gift he wanted to surprise you with tonight.

“Not right away, but yes. My place is a bit safer than yours and it’s close to my club and your shop. A win-win,” he said, scanning a key card before the doors opened. “Don’t look so surprised. Most couples live together.”

You refrained from telling him that you weren’t a couple. “I think that’s moving a bit too fast,” you said, your voice cracking as he pulled you inside, keeping you right beside him even though there was plenty of space to be apart. “This is only our first date,” you added, not wanting to upset him.

“That’s why I said it wouldn’t be right away,” he teased, pressing the button for the top floor as his other hand rubbed your hip. “But soon.”

You kept your breathing under control as the elevator climbed higher. The man had your future mapped out and you had only known him for a day. Was this some sick, elaborate game that he was playing to scare the hell out of you? Or had he convinced himself that this was romantic?

“I hope you like it,” he said softly as you stepped out together and walked toward a man who stood by the door. He was just as large as Bucky, but didn’t dare make eye contact with you as he opened the door and let you in.

The spacious entrance opened up to a large living space with high ceilings and marble floors. It was admittedly gorgeous and you hadn’t seen the rest of the place yet. But that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the flowers in the middle of the table a few feet in front of you.

The coy smile on Bucky’s face made your blood freeze when you faced him. “Those are your favorite, aren’t they?” He asked.

They weren’t just your favorite flowers.

It was the same arrangement of stargazer lilies you sold to the blonde gentleman earlier today.

“I told you, doll. I know everything about you,” he began as the clutch fell from your hand and the door shut with a heavy thud. “And I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

Zero chill, lovelies. What's the surprise he has for you? How will this date go? And did you like the appearance from the man in the shop? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[formula-ghost]

Wildflower (OP81 x fem!reader x LN4)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve reached your breaking point with Oscar, but an unfortunate grand prix changes everything you thought you wanted. 

WORD COUNT: 10.3k

WARNINGS: Conversations about sex and but no actual smut, degradation, angst. Mentions of cheating. Oscar is literally horrible. Mention of unhealthy family dynamics. Lots of cursing. Pain, so much pain. Mention of injury. I’m so sorry for all the emotional suffering this chapter will cause. 

TAGLIST: @at-a-rax-ia @henna006 @linnygirl09 @cassielikereading @judelina @supertrashbread @fastandcurious16 @widow-cevans @czennieszn @irisesinthegarden @wierdflowerpower @sweetwh0re @reginalaufeyson-holmes @honethatty12 @suns3treading @obxstiles @mimiastroos @mrs-reeves-17 @milkysoop @amalialeclerc @starksztony @llando4norris @ginsengi @angxlzinthesky

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Accept message request from Lando_Norris?

Your fingers hovered over the “accept” button, nervous but curious. What would Lando ever want to talk to you about?

He had avoided you like the plague since that night in Italy, and you hardly blamed him. But as far as you knew, no one except you and Nicole knew that Lily was no longer in the picture; still, what would have changed to cause Lando Norris, of all people, to be messaging you at night?

“Who are you texting?” 

You jumped, not having noticed that Oscar had turned over to face you, seemingly unable to sleep.

“No one,” you said. “Just scrolling.”

Oscar confirmed your suspicions. “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” you said, short and annoyed. 

Oscar didn’t respond, instead just moving on top of you, holding your chin in his hands to force you to look at him.

“You can’t even sleep until I fuck you like the little whore you are, huh?” He leaned down to kiss your neck, lips grazing over where only hours before he had left dark marks in the supple skin.

“Get off me, Oscar,” you said, and he immediately pulled back.

“You okay?” he asked.

You weren’t okay. In fact, you were furious. “You realize that you never even asked me if I was okay with you talking to me like that?”

The look in his eyes said only two words: Oh shit.

“YN, I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of it like that. Shit, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you to treat me with respect.”

“I thought you liked it?” he said, running his fingers through his hair out of nervousness.

You sat up, the anger burning within you. You hadn’t planned to confront Oscar so soon after what you had overheard, but now that you’d gotten started, there was no stopping you. 

“That’s not the point. Maybe I’m tired of feeling like your personal sex toy, Oscar. Oh, but I forgot. My feelings aren’t your problem.”

Oscar exhaled angrily. “Is that really what this is about?”

You just looked at him, bewildered. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

He began, “Look, I don’t know what you think you heard—”

“I heard you talking shit about me on the phone to your own mother.”

“It wasn’t like that, YN.”

“Then what was it like? What’s your excuse now?”

Oscar tried to begin, his mouth opening with no words coming out. He truly didn’t know what to say. “It’s been a hard time.”

“I know. I’m well aware, Oscar. Because I made your feelings my problem for years.”

“I know, and I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to explain it to you.”

“Of course, you want to talk now that I won’t give you sex anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“Oh my God,” Oscar huffed, and it took every ounce of your strength not to curse him out then and there. “You act like I’m some fucking villian. You can’t get mad at me for fucking you when you wanted this too.”

“But how do you know that, Oscar? How do you know what I want? Have you ever asked me what I want?” Tears began prickling at the edge of your eyes. “You haven’t, because you don’t care.”

Oscar looked at the wall, his jaw tense. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Am I not even deserving of an honest conversation?” you said, the tears now flowing down your cheeks. It had been years since he’d seen you cry, but Oscar wouldn’t even look at you. 

You got up from the bed and started changing from your pajamas to your regular clothes. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. I can’t make you. But I’m going home.”

“YN—”

“Leave me alone,” you said, grabbing your purse and exiting the bedroom. You heard him call for you again, but you ignored his pleas, walking ahead out of the apartment and to your car.

When you slid into the driver’s seat, you finally broke down, resting your head against the steering wheel. No thoughts went through your head. You weren’t much of a crier, so when you finally gave in, it was more of an act of your body giving up.

So you took a few minutes to compose yourself before driving the short distance home through the streets of Monaco, a place you’d grown to love. But his presence was everywhere. The car. The streets. Your apartment. Oscar was inescapable.

And when you felt your phone buzz as you sat with a cup of tea on the balcony an hour or so later, this reality was confirmed. He was calling. 

You didn’t answer the first call, or the second. But by the third you knew that your only options were to turn your phone off, block him, or answer.

Well, what did you have to lose?

“What do you want?” you asked upon picking up the call. 

“I’m sorry, YN. Can we talk?”

“Say whatever you’re going to say.”

He paused. “In person? I’m in the hallway.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” he asked. You sighed. Why could you never say no to this man?

“Fine. Give me a sec.” You hung up the call, took another deep breath, and opened the front door before immediately turning around to go back to your balcony. You couldn’t bear to look at him, and you welcomed the sound of the soft waves lapping at the harbor as a buffer.

He sat down beside you, and even before any words were said, you felt the tears returning. Something about this felt…final. And your intuition had hardly ever been wrong before. 

“YN, I’m so sorry. When I get frustrated I say things I don’t mean. I was really out of line earlier.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, unable to truly accept his apology.

He continued, “And you’re right. I shouldn’t have just assumed that all the rough stuff was okay. And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

You waited a moment for him to continue speaking, but he didn’t. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I just…don’t know what else you want me to say.” You looked over to him. His head was hung low, like a child in trouble at school. Not like a man who was taking accountability for his actions.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?” he asked. 

You just stared at him for a moment, gathering the courage to ask your question.

“Did you talk to Lily like that?”

“Huh?” he echoed.

“Did you call her all those names? Degrade her?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s…personal. I don’t think Lily would appreciate me talking about it.”

“She didn’t appreciate me being in your life, either. But look how that turned out,” you said, the malice lingering on every word. 

Your statement cut a little too deep for comfort. But Oscar finally relented, answering, “...I would, sometimes. She didn’t care for it. But I just…get frustrated a lot. It helps me get all that pent up energy out. Half the time I don’t even think about what I’m saying.”

You hummed. The implication of his words hung in the air; you were a relief for his frustration, a thoughtless passtime. 

When you didn’t respond, he got nervous. “Did I…hurt you?”

“Not physically, no,” you answered, your eyes never moving from the sight of the harbor in the distance. “But I don’t think you really care.”

“Of course I care.”

“No, you don’t.” Your lip quivered. You tried to swallow the tears that came up, but you couldn’t.

“No, don’t cry,” Oscar said, reaching out to embrace you, but you avoided him, getting up to lean on the railing. He followed you, this time not offering any comforting touch. 

“What the fuck are we doing, Oscar?” you said, barely able to get the words out. He grasped for words but wasn’t able to find them before the flood of emotions spilled from you. 

You began, “I used to think that the fabric of our lives was…like, sewn together. Like we were destined to always be in each other's lives. But ever since the breakup I’m so afraid that everyone who ever warned me about you was right. I feel like all these years you’ve just been using me, stringing me along so you could have someone there when things don’t work out. Like I’m just your backup plan. Like I’m not even good enough for you to treat me like a human being.”

“You really feel like I’m using you?” Oscar asked, his surprise horrifically genuine. “Was I just using you when I went out of my way to call you every week for 4 years when I was away in school, even during exams and races? When I got you this place because I wanted to live close to my best friend?” His tone went from gentle to frenzied—not angry, but desperate, like he couldn’t even fathom it. “I mean, YN, what, did you want me to cheat on my girlfriend with you?”

You looked up at him, and he realized again that he had messed up again.

“No, that’s not what I wanted. I’d never do that to Lily because you know it’s been done to me.”

“I know, and was I not there for you when you needed me?” In a way, Oscar was right. When you had broken things off with your unfaithful ex, Oscar was the first to your rescue, staying with you for days while you could barely even function. “YN, what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to be honest about what’s going on between us.”

“We’re…. hooking up, I don’t know.”

“Is that all I am to you, a hookup? A friend with benefits?” Your soft tears became full on sobs now. “Oscar, I am in love with you! You are the love of my life. And you can’t tell me that you haven’t known exactly how I felt, for years now.”

“Of course I knew,” he whispered. 

“Then why would you do this to me? Why would you take advantage of me like this?”

Oscar had started crying now, too. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“This isn’t fair, Oscar.”

“I’m sorry.”

A thick silence fell over the balcony. You knew that the conversation should be over now. There was nothing else you needed to say. But you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing the pointless hurt. 

“Do you even love me?”

“Don’t—”

“Can you even look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that you don’t love me?”

“YN—” 

You didn’t even let him complete his sentence, instead walking back into your apartment and slamming our now cold mug into the sink. “Just go,” you said, your voice stern.

“YN, please—” Oscar said, following you inside the apartment. 

“Go!”

“You want the truth?” Oscar said, raising his voice to you for the first time since you’d ever known him. His eyes now flooded with tears, staining his cheeks. His hair was tousled, his under eye bags puffy and pronounced. He looked like a mess. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is the truth.”

“The truth,” he began, swallowing, his voice cracking as he spoke. “The truth is that I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“No—”

“Yes, YN,” he said, his voice raising again.

“No, fuck you, Oscar, that’s not true!” You were both sobbing messes now. 

“Yes it is,” he begged, his voice ragged.

“Then why would you do this?”

“Because…” he paused, taking a deep breath and sniffling, trying to regain his composure. “Because we were best friends, and you lived with us, and I was so scared of fucking things up.”

“So you went and just found a girlfriend instead?”

“No, it…” he looked away from you and took a sharp exhale. “It wasn’t as simple as that. You…” He let out a frustrated sigh. “It was just…complicated. You were the girl who lived with us, like another sister, I mean, I couldn’t have feelings for you of all people. So I was so scared.”

He looked at the wall, scarating his neck, and continued. “And when I met Lily, it was all just…simple. Everyone liked her, she was nice, she’s smart. When I brought her home she fit right in, the fans loved her. She was everything I needed her to be, y’know?” He exhaled. 

His gaze fell to the floor and lingered as he continued. “I didn’t love her at first. I mean, I liked her, she was great, but it was more about just…filling a need, I guess. But I did fall in love with her later. I tried to love her with my whole heart, I really did. I thought that what I felt for you would just go away but obviously it didn’t. And then she fucking left me. As she should, honestly.”

Oscar nervously looked around the room until he could no longer avoid your piercing gaze, face frozen in disbelief.

“You’re horrible, Oscar.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“You used me. You used Lily. And all of this from the very beginning was about… my family? I’m sorry you all had to take me in because no one else would. I’m sorry I didn’t go to a fancy boarding school in London. I’m sorry that my parents are two pieces of shit that didn't want to take care of me when I was a literal child.”

“It’s not that—”

“But it is. That’s what you said.”

“It’s not you, YN. I mean, it was, but we’re not kids anymore. I love you. It was just… awful circumstances.”

“And now? What’s your excuse? I cut off my parents. And Lily fucking left you. So why are you just using me now?”

“It’s just too much right now. The breakup, the championship…I know if I try, I’ll just fuck it up. I lost Lily, I can’t lose you too.”

“Why? Because then you’ll have no one to warm your bed when you’re sad?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone that you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with!”

“You’re right, I don’t. Because the person I want to spend the rest of my life with is you, Oscar. But you don’t want me. You never have. I’m your backup plan until something better comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been. I’m not good enough for you, you don’t love me. I don’t even know who you are any more.”

“You said I was the love of your life,” Oscar said, his voice lowered now. 

“You are. But I’m not yours. I don’t care what you say you feel. If you really love someone, you don’t treat them like that.”

“I’m so sorry. That’s all I can say.”

You let out a shaky breath, exhausted of all energy from the fighting. You didn’t even have it in you to be angry anymore. 

“We shouldn’t do this. We should just go our separate ways and be done with it.”

“No, YN—”

“You have a championship to focus on, don’t you?” you said. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said through his tears. “I need you.”

“I’ll finish out my employment contract through the end of the season. You can sell the apartment. I’ll pay back Mum for anything she had to spend on me when we were younger.”

“YN, please,” he begged. 

“Don’t, Oscar,” you said, your voice soft now. “Just let me go.”

“Can I kiss you?”

The correct answer should be no. You should have told him to get the fuck out of your apartment and never come back. But it was Oscar. 

You didn’t answer him, instead just walking up to him and embracing him, letting him hold you in his strong arms as his lips met yours one last time. His lips were salty with tears, but for once his touch was soft and gentle.

When you pulled away, he stayed close to you, pressing his forehead down to yours. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Go home. You’ve got a flight to catch in the morning.”

You could call in sick to the United States Grand Prix in Miami; Oscar could not. 

Well, theoretically, he could. God knows the reserve drivers would be happy to take his place and show off in front of the teams that were always scouring for new blood. But he couldn’t back down now. Not with a trophy looming so ominously over his head.

And especially not in Miami. Everyone hated Miami. Everyone except Lando, that is. 

And as Oscar mindlessly paced the paddock back and forth, praying to God that no journalists would pester him for an interview, he couldn’t escape the reminder of his teammate’s victory. 

“Well, things seem to be heating up here in Miami! The race continues between McLaren teammates Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris in this early battle for the World Driver’s Championship. Piastri is putting in a valiant effort, but who can forget Lando Norris’ first victory here last year? It’s incredible to see how far he has come in such a short amount of time—”

He really needed to stop walking past the commentator’s box. 

This is usually when Oscar would try to find you in the paddock, or send you a text from halfway across the world. But he couldn’t do that anymore; you hadn’t quite barred him from communication, but what could he say?

He just needed to focus. Perform. Drown himself in the work. That’s what he told himself as he made his way back to the McLaren garage, away from the prying eyes of the media and the haunting words of the commentators. That’s what he told himself as he slipped on a set of headphones and nodded along as his race engineer spoke, acting as if he was paying attention. 

That’s what he told himself as he climbed into the car, took a deep breath, and pressed his foot to the gas. 

Thousands of miles away, in Monaco, you were supposed to be having dinner. Actually, you were supposed to be in Miami, taking photos of Oscar in all his glory.

But you couldn’t face him. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t even sleep.

In the corner of your living room sat a box with Oscar’s old stuff in it. You stared at it as if it had the eyes to stare back. Your hand mindlessly swirled your fork around your remaining food, now cold and mostly uneaten.

Why did this feel like a breakup?

You wanted to scream, but you’d already gotten noise complaints from the fight days prior. So instead, your apartment was deadly quiet. 

You sighed, moving to your bedroom and collapsing in the soft covers, having decided to give up and indulge yourself with a night of bed rotting. But even your bed felt empty. The sheets held a faint trace of Oscar’s scent. It would come out with a simple wash, but laundry was the furthest thing from your mind right now. 

You needed a distraction. You grabbed your phone and immediately went to social media to mindlessly scroll. 

But in your notifications was one you had nearly forgotten about: that message request from Lando. 

You opened it without even thinking, unfortunately sending the read receipt even though you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. 

Hey, not to be weird but do you know if anything’s going on with Oscar? He’s been acting odd recently.

You groaned in frustration. You couldn’t escape your best friend. 

The message was sent a while ago—when the pair were in Bahrain, actually. You should have just deleted it and acted as if you never saw it. But you felt horribly awkward leaving Lando on read. 

Yeah, he and Lily broke up :(

Was the frown really necessary? Should you say more? You didn’t have the energy to think, sending the message without much fanfare. You locked your phone and put it back on your nightstand. 

But only a few moments later, it buzzed. Another message from Lando.

But…Lando was in Miami? At the circuit? He should be driving, not texting you. You opened your phone and clicked on the notification. 

Damn, that’s rough. I thought they were endgame. You in the paddock?

You raised an eyebrow. Why would Lando Norris, of all people, want to know where you are?

No, I’m back in Monaco. 

Another nearly instant reply. Ah, I was hoping to make a cameo on Oscar’s Instagram haha. You’ll be at Imola though?

This whole interaction felt…weird.

I will! I’ll be sure to get some good team shots lol

You tried to match his energy with your reply, but you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that this wasn’t right. But as you finally did put your phone down and retire for the night, your mind kept racing, coming to wildly different conclusions.

Maybe Lando did want to be friends. Maybe, now that Lily was out of the picture, he felt more comfortable around you. Maybe he was just trying to smooth things over with Oscar in the championship battle. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Or maybe you were so used to Oscar’s lying and manipulation that you couldn’t imagine someone talking to you just for the sake of friendship. 

You huffed to yourself as the thought crossed your mind. You pulled your blanket up and buried yourself in it, as if the thoughts were something physical you could hide from. You fell into a tense sleep.

Oscar couldn’t sleep, though. He could barely sleep back when he had you at his beck and call, let alone when you all weren’t speaking to each other.

How had he fucked up so badly? He brought his hands to his face and roughly exhaled. Like you, he had resigned himself to spend his night scrolling, until he too noticed an unanswered message. 

Except it wasn’t from Lando. It was from Lily. As if things couldn’t get any worse. 

She was brief and to the point.

I just wanted to let you know I’ll be at Imola for a company event. I doubt we’ll run into each other. Hope you and YN are well. 

Her words stung. The professionalism where there once was warmth and love. The perfectly petty dig at him and you, assuming that he had already moved on (though, she wasn’t exactly wrong). 

He wanted to throw his phone off his hotel room balcony. From the slight crack in the blinds, he could see palm trees, and the ocean far off in the distance. And he knew that back in Monaco, you’d be staring at the same moon, hearing the water in the distance as it lulled you to sleep. The miles between you during race weekends had always been numerous, but the distance wasn't—not until now, at least. 

He slammed his phone on the nightstand and took yet another sleeping pill. 

It was going to be a horrible week. 

And, unfortunately, the morning wasn’t much better. Another oh so friendly interaction with his teammate. 

“Hey, Oscar, wait up,” the Brit called, jogging to catch Oscar as they both entered the paddock. Oscar slowed his pace but didn’t stop, hopeful that this would be a clear sign that he wasn’t here for conversation.

When he did catch up, Oscar just gave Lando a small nod as a greeting. 

“Hey, I, uh, heard about you and Lily. I’m so sorry, mate.”

Oscar turned, making a confused and irritated face. “Who told you?”

“YN. Well, I asked her if you were okay.”

The Aussie made a small grumbling noise. 

“I was just worried, you know. You just seemed like you were going through some stuff. You know I’m always here if you need me, right?”

“I need to beat you,” Oscar said, but his words had no bite to them. There was no snappy anger anymore, just exhaustion. 

“Of course,” Lando said, smiling, as if he thought his teammate’s championship ambitions were nothing more than comic relief. “But for real, man, I’m sorry and I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said, though he didn’t really mean it. He just wanted to be alone.

In Monaco, you were breaking your first cardinal rule of a breakup (even a friendship breakup) and turning on your TV to watch Oscar drive. 

You had managed to go without watching the free practices and even quali, but you couldn’t bring yourself to not watch the Grand Prix. 

And it was good that you tuned in, because he won. 

You nearly threw your phone across the room when he finally passed the checkered flag. You had been practically holding your breath since he secured the lead in a masterfully timed pit stop mid race, beating out Max Verstappen to bring home his second win of the season. 

So, maybe he wouldn’t hate Miami as much anymore. 

Your phone—secured now on your nightstand to prevent any race-related breakage—loomed in the distance as you debated sending him a congrats text. It wasn’t like you all had gone through a true breakup; you weren’t even together. But you knew you couldn’t let yourself end up in his bed again. You knew that he was a broken man, and you couldn’t fix him. 

So your friendship had come to occupy this odd liminal space in which neither of you knew exactly where you stood. At some point, this would have to be discussed, but clearly neither of you had learned your lesson on healthy communication. 

You wanted to tell your best friend that you were proud of him. Was that such a bad thing?

It wouldn’t be, if you could ignore that voice now echoing in your mind.

Since when are her feelings my problem?

You nearly gagged at the thought. Yeah, you weren’t texting him.

And back in Miami, Oscar anxiously awaited a text that would never come. 

“Oscar, mate, quit staring at your phone and let’s celebrate!” Lando teased, patting his teammate on the back. 

Oscar just sighed, opening his phone again to find no messages from you. 

“She’s not coming back,” Lando said. “So either you get drunk enough to call her, or you get drunk enough to find someone to replace her. Either way, you’re getting drunk tonight.”

“Really, Lando?” 

“She destroyed a five year relationship over some stupid shit, and you just won another grand prix. So yes, I think you should get fucked up with me tonight!”

“Don’t talk about Lily like that, mate. And besides, I’m not even waiting on her.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Then who are you waiting on?”

Oscar’s defenses were wearing down, even while sober. “You know who.”

“And you still want me to believe that you two aren’t hooking up?”

“It’s…complicated.” 

“Spill.”

Under normal circumstances, Oscar was never the type to discuss his personal life at work, much less with his rival for the championship. But as the plan of going out was abandoned in favor of a nice bottle of Cuban rum ordered to the room, Oscar found himself spilling his secrets like a teenage girl at a sleepover.

“And then I just…” he hiccuped, “I told her everything. And she didn’t believe me, and I don’t blame her, but it fucking hurt, you know? And we were just screaming at each other, she said we should go our separate ways. What am I supposed to say to that? And I still haven’t heard from her, but her and Lily are gonna be at Imola. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Mate,” Lando said, slurring his words, “You fucked this up worse than I fucked up the championship last year.”

The two drivers laughed—otherwise, they’d have to cry at the peril poor Oscar had put himself in. 

But the time flew by, and soon enough Oscar found himself on a flight to Italy, which he secretly prayed would crash so that he could avoid this entire charade. 

Of course, on all your respective flights, the feeling was mutual; neither you, Oscar, nor Lily really wanted to be there. But duty called, and you were nothing if not professional. 

It was an odd place to be; on one hand, you loved this job. It was fun getting to explore the world with your best friend and get paid to take pictures and make silly videos. The electric atmosphere of the paddock was one that had always felt like home, like you belonged there.

On the other hand, every time you thought about seeing Oscar again, you wanted to puke. 

Thankfully, when you did inevitably see him again, your lunch did not resurface. You operated like a robot; no banter, no friendliness, just stark professionalism. 

And Oscar didn’t know what was worse; not having you there, or seeing you act like a stranger. 

The one silver lining, at least, was that Lily was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t handle those emotions too. 

So, again and again throughout the weekend, he repeated that manta to himself: Just focus on work. Just focus on work. 

He said it to himself one last time before he hopped in the car for qualifying. Just focus. 

But he just couldn't. From the seat of his car, the chaos of the pit lane and the gaggles of photographers were just blurs, unidentifiable blobs. I had always comforted him to think that one of those was you, watching him. Now it was haunting. 

And somewhere, buried away in the paddock, Lily was there. Oscar could imagine it; her polished and professional demeanor, almost perfect, as she schmoozed up to that one executive from the company that he swore always had a thing for her. 

He wanted to scream. Instead, he had to pull the car into the garage as the session was stopped due to an accident. It was raining heavily. Extra caution was advised, his engineer explained, but Oscar couldn’t focus. Not because of his thoughts—although, those certainly didn’t help—but rather because of what he saw across the garage.

You were chatting with Lando. 

“Hey, YN!” Lando greeted as he hopped out of his car, seeing you in the back of the garage taking photos. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too,” you said, though it wasn’t particularly true. 

“Looks like we’re going to be a while,” he said looking over his shoulder at the storm brewing in the distance, “want to walk the paddock with me and get some candids?” 

“Sure,” you agreed, though the request confused you. 

The two of you left the garage and Oscar felt like punching the wall. 

At first you walked in silence, your only emitted sound being the soft click of your camera. It was kind of pointless, though, since you were supposed to be getting shots of Oscar. You knew this. Lando knew this too.

“Can I ask you something, Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there any reason that you’ve been pretty…friendly lately?” you asked, controlling your tone so it came off as genuinely curious rather than suspicious.

“Honestly,” he laughed, scratching the back of his neck with nervousness, “I felt really bad about everything that happened on the trip. I was afraid I might’ve scared you off.”

Well, that didn’t make much sense. Lando was the one who had been avoiding you since the trip. But, after dealing with Oscar, you had simply accepted that men in general made no sense. 

“You didn’t,” you said. “And, I mean, the only reason we ended up like that is because Lily was trying to get rid of me. But, you see how that worked out.” 

“Really? She didn’t have the balls to tell you to leave her man alone?”

“Not until after you left,” you said, exhaling in exhaustion.

“Damn,” he said, looking away from you. You snapped a few photos of his candid side profile, admiring how the light hit his curls just right. “You know, the only reason I ran off in the club that night like that was because I didn’t want to get involved in all that? I mean, I wasn’t about to steal Oscar’s side chick.” He laughed.  “But from what I hear, things have changed?”

You laughed. “Oscar’s side chick?”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t sleeping together?”

“Why do you want to know?” you laughed. Was Lando…flirting with you? No. He couldn’t be. He was Lando Norris, the most notorious playboy of the 2025 grid. 

“Aw, c’mon. I want to know the drama!” he teased, flashing his boyish smile. 

“Well, what if I want to know your drama?” you teased back, taking the opportunity to snap a few photos of him as you continued walking. 

“Psh, I’ve got no drama. Just keeping to myself, trying to win.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re avoiding the question, YN,” he said, smirking. Holy shit, he was flirting with you. But did you really mind? It felt nice to have that playful banter, to see a man who wanted that back and forth more than he just wanted your body. What was wrong with having a little fun?

You sighed and told him the most technical version of the truth. “Oscar never cheated. But you really thought I was sleeping with Oscar and you didn’t say anything to Lily?”

“Wasn’t my business. Besides, I thought it was pretty obvious.” His comment left a bit of a sour taste in your mouth, especially knowing the fears that Lily had confessed to you so long ago.

“No, I wouldn’t do that to Lily,” you said, and it was true. After all, you were both women. 

“And what about Oscar?”

You rolled your eyes. Having a nice conversation with Lando helped you remember how not nice your time with Oscar had been recently. “Oh, fuck him,” you said weakly. 

“Well, did you?”

You paused, unsure of whether or not to confess. “I already told you that he didn’t cheat. Is what, or who, I do in my spare time really any of your business?” you playfully teased.

His lips curled upwards. “I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

The double entendre wasn't missed on you. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the crowds to ensure that no one was paying too close attention. “You don’t have to worry about me and Oscar. But you know I run his social media, right? So I see all the gossip pages, all the shit you get yourself into. It’s a bold claim to say you’ve got no drama.”

“Oh, darling, they don’t even know the half of it,” he smirked. You all had turned around by now, walking back in the direction of the paddock. The crows were thinner now. 

He continued, “But what about you, huh? You’re all bored with Oscar and now you want some real fun?” He let out a small laugh. “No, you’re not like that. Too much of a good girl.”

“You think I’m too good? I’m here flirting with my best friend’s rival for the championship.”

“Are we flirting, is that was this is?” he asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. “I thought we were just having a pleasant conversation, catching up on the gossip.” Unbeknownst to you, Lando had gotten all the gossip from Oscar after their drunken celebration in Miami. But he wanted to see exactly how much you’d reveal to him. 

“Well, sure then. I’m sure you get tired of race talk all day, anyway.”

“You say that like you think race talk is boring. But I’ve seen you at enough races to know better. Don’t play coy, you love it, don’t you? You know more about racing than most of the drivers’ girlfriends.” 

It kind of unnerved you, the way Lando knew exactly how to push your buttons. The subtle you’re not like the other girls implication; both you knew it wasn’t a compliment, but rather a statement meant to rile you up and see how you’d react. And it worked.

Your voice lowered, steady yet quieter. “It’s a bit sexist to assume that women don’t know anything about racing. And knowing more about racing doesn’t make me any better than anyone else.”

“I never said that, love.”

“Hmm, but you thought it.” 

“Are you in my head now?” You playfully rolled your eyes. “So tell me about all the race talk between you and Oscar.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” you chuckled.

“D’you want it to be?” he smirked. “No, no, really. Tell me what groundbreaking F1 opinions are inside that pretty little head of yours.” Yeah, he was definitely flirting with you. 

“I’ve got nothing groundbreaking,” you said as your smile loosened, contemplating how you wanted to arrange your words. “I think Oscar has a good shot at winning the WDC this year, if he can get out of his own head.”

“And what about me?”

“I think you’ll give him a run for his money. But you care too much about what random people on the internet think,” you said, ending the statement with that on the nose jest.

“You’re probably right,” he smiled. “God, you sounded like my PR manager for a sec there.”

“Not exactly dirty talk, is it?” you joked.

You arrived back at the McLaren garage. Lando walked in first, seeing that Oscar’s back was to you, and positioned himself so that when Oscar looked around, he’d see him instead of you. You were none the wiser. 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “You still haven’t answered my question. How was he?” Lando’s face was plastered with a mischievous grin. 

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Don’t ask me that!” you cooed, though you didn’t mind his closeness, the warmth of his breath on your ear. 

Oscar didn’t like it, though. And when he turned around and saw your back to him, Lando leaned down next to you, and smirking, he wanted to run him over with his car. 

Lando looked up for only a split second, but his eyes met Oscar’s, as if to acknowledge what he was doing. Or, as if to say, yes, I’m doing this, and you can’t stop me. 

Oscar couldn’t handle the audacity of watching Lando flirt with you in front of his own eyes. Thankfully, you were tapped on the shoulder by none other than the new guy, who had broken his extremely expensive camera, and you were called away to help him figure it out. 

Oscar crossed the garage to face Lando, never breaking his line of sight. 

“Oh hey, mate, what’s up?” Lando asked, innocently.

“Why are you talking to YN?”

“Oh, she wanted to take some photos—”

“Don’t talk to YN,” Oscar said, his voice plain but stern. 

“Mate, we were just having a chat. It wasn’t like that. Don’t be so paranoid.”

“I’m serious,” Oscar reiterated. “Don’t cross that line, Lando.”

“Okay, my bad,” Lando said, nervously laughing and carelessly throwing his hands in the air. Oscar still wouldn’t shift his gaze, even as both drivers were called to get back in their cars to resume the qualifying session. 

There was something up about Lando, he could tell. But it’d have to wait. Now, he had a pole to get. 

Well, he tried, but only managed to come in fourth. Lando got pole. Of fucking course. 

Another sleepless night passed with no messages from you. 

And the next morning, there you were as usual, staring at him only through the eye of your camera lens. 

But then, across the garage, you had no problem chatting it up with Lando. He threw you a glimpse of his award winning smirk and Oscar felt violent. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. 

You were doing it to spite him, that was obvious. You’d never be interested in a guy like Lando; too much of a playboy. And honestly, Oscar knew deep down that he deserved this. But it still made him sick to his stomach. 

The feeling only dissipated when it was replaced by that primitive need within him to win. The lights before him went out and reason gave way to instinct. 

Lando bottled the pole, losing the lead to Max after the first corner. Oscar fell back one place, narrowly avoiding a collision between Charles and Lewis, before overtaking them as they struggled to reorient their cars. 

So it was just him, Max, and Lando. He could do this. 

His body moved automatically. He could hear the roar of the engines, the chattering of the radio, and the screaming of the fans in the distance, but in his mind all was quiet. Laps blurred as he sped along the track, pushing inch by inch closer to overtaking Max. 

Eventually he did, getting DRS and flying past the Redbull driver, pushing hard to get a good lead over him. 

All that was left now was his own teammate. 

“Okay Oscar, you’ve got enough space between you and Verstappen,” his race engineer said.

“I want to overtake.”

“A 1-2 is our goal right now—”

“Then he can be 2nd. I want to win.”

Silence befell the radio channel for a moment. 

His engineer returned. “Okay. Papaya rules.”

Papaya rules. The phrase that haunted his dreams. 

There was really no need to use the coded language anymore. The world knew what it meant—race, but keep it clean. Put the team above yourself. Don’t do anything reckless. 

But Oscar was sick of being the good teammate, the one who always let Lando win for the sake of the team. He was tired of being gifted wins. Team orders were bullshit. This wasn’t about McLaren anymore. This was about his pride. This was everything. 

So he pushed harder than he should have. He was wearing his tires out, he knew, but Lando just coasted along, as if nothing was amiss. As if his teammate wasn’t out for blood and gaining on him with every lap. 

Lando glanced in his mirrors and saw Oscar behind him. 

“Oscar’s getting close,” he said to his engineer. 

“We told him papaya rules. Remember, our goal here is a 1-2.”

“He’s gonna wear out his tires.”

“Let’s just focus on keeping P1.”

But Lando knew it wasn’t that simple. This was no longer impersonal racing, just the best of the best competing against each other because it was in their nature to do so. 

No, this was personal now. 

Lando rounded the corner, feeling Oscar hot on his heels, but managed to defend his position. He knew that with DRS enabled at the next stretch, he wouldn’t be able to hold him off. 

But in front of him, he was already close to lapping the backmarkers of the grid.

Oscar could see them in the distance; the familiar teal of Lance Stroll’s Aston Martin, and an even more familiar fumble as he drove erratically due to some mechanical issue with the car. 

Lando slowed down, but Oscar couldn’t react. He swerved, hitting the barrier. 

Back in the garage, the breath left your lungs. 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of watching. You’d slid the headset on after Oscar had driven off, and you’d planned to leave before he got back to the garage and discovered that you’d ever been there. No harm, no foul. The allure of the purring engines and adrenaline-fueled racing was just too much to resist.

But now, hearing the violent scrape of carbon fiber against metal as Oscar’s car screeched along the barriers, your heart sunk into your chest. 

“Are you alright, Oscar?” you heard his race engineer ask, his voice filling your ears. 

But the silence afterwards was deafening. 

“Oscar, can you hear us? Are you alright?” 

All that came through was a metallic gargle of noise, a sign that the radio had been damaged in the impact. There was no way to know if Oscar was hurt or not.

A hush fell on the track as the safety car was brought out. Lando had effectively secured his win, with so few laps remaining. 

Your eyes were glued to the screen, praying to whatever God would listen that Oscar would be okay. You watched as the marshalls rushed to the site of the car, huddling around the lump of broken parts that stood still on the sidelines. 

Because of the force of the crash, the medical car had been deployed as well. You were frozen in place.

You had never been much of a believer in God, but all you could do now was beg.

Please, God. Please let him be okay. If he’s okay I can forgive everything he’s ever done. If he’s okay I will never let him out of my life ever again. Please, God, please let him be safe. 

You chanted the prayer over and over again to yourself as the seconds ticked by like hours. 

Finally, after an agonizingly long wait, you saw the marshalls carrying along an orange-clad form into the medical car. 

You didn’t even think. You just reacted, taking off your headset and booking it towards the medical tent. 

You weren’t the only one there, though. The tent was already swarmed with media, all craning their necks to see Oscar. You pushed your way through to the front, only to be stopped by security, since you had your media pass instead of your usual VIP pass as one of Oscar’s friends. 

You panicked—to the eyes of security, you were just another reporter who was rudely trying to cut through the crowd to get to the injured driver.

“Please let me by,” you pleaded. “I know Oscar—”

“You can wait at the media tent.”

“C’mon—”

“Ma’am, we need you to leave.” You groaned, and you were about to leave before you heard the voice of your savior from out of nowhere. 

“Hey!” he called. You turned your head to see who it was—the familiar, friendly face of Zak Brown. 

He was on the other side of the barrier, but Oscar was still nowhere to be found. 

“Oh, YN, am I glad to see you!” He turned to the security officer. “Let her in.”

“Sir, media personnel are not authorized—”

“She’s VIP, not media.”

“Sir—”

“Do you know who I am?” he said, an unusual sternness in his tone. The security officer glanced down at his pass and silently let you through. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Zak said, his boyish grin returning as he patted you on the back and led you along to the private area where they’d be bringing Oscar any second now. 

You sighed as he pulled the medical curtain closed. 

“Boy, was that a nasty crash,” he said.

“Is he okay?”

“Well, he’s alive. That’s as far as I know.”

Your heart sank again. But as if on cue, you heard the rumble of camera shutters and reporters chattering outside the tent as the marshals escorted Oscar into the tent. When he came up, the room was flooded with medical personnel, pushing you and Zak back to the edge of the curtained-off room. 

A nurse rushed in. “Who’s his emergency contact?” she asked Zak.

“Her,” he said, gesturing to you. You were confused. Since when had Oscar made you his emergency contact? 

“Stay here,” the nurse instructed, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t move an inch. You resumed your prayers as Zak blabbered on and on, mainly to himself. One thing that you’d learned very quickly about Zak Brown once Oscar had gotten to McLaren is that he really liked to yap. 

As the doctors and nurses filtered in and out of the room, you caught a brief glimpse of Oscar in the hospital bed, his eyes rolled back into his head, slumped over into his shoulder. 

You wanted to wail. 

But it was only a few minutes before everyone began to filter out of the room, creating enough space for you to finally see your friend. And when you did lay eyes on him, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you feared. 

His eyes were closed; an attempt to rest, rather than a state of unconsciousness. 

A nurse at his bedside turned to you. “Don’t worry. He’s going to be fine. We’re going to sedate him and transport him to a hospital, but he’s not gravely injured. He just needs some tests done that we can’t do here.”

You nodded along, not once taking your eyes off Oscar. 

“And, yes, you are his emergency contact, so we’ll need you to come with us. He’s authorized you to make decisions in the event that he's unable to. But that is unlikely, of course.”

“Is he…?” you asked, gesturing towards him. 

“He’s still a little shaken up. The best thing right now is to get him into a calmer environment.”

You nodded. “I’ll make sure that new guy doesn’t lose all your stuff,” Zak quipped, and you threw a smile out towards him. “I’ll meet you all there when we’ve wrapped up here.”

Ah yes, the grand prix was likely still going on outside, and Lando would have to climb the podium and take his P1 trophy home. 

But as you sat in a hospital room in Italy next to your best friend, the podium was the last thing on your mind. 

Oscar was still completely out of it. The doctors had come and gone, confirming that all of his tests had come back normal. No broken bones, no concussion, nothing major. Just a shit ton of bruises and a shock to the system that left him too exhausted to stay awake for more than 15 minutes at a time.

Outside, the sun was setting, but you couldn’t sit still. You held Oscar’s limp hand in your own, tracing patterns into the cold skin. You hadn’t held his hand since you were kids—no, Oscar had held your hands above your head as he pinned you to the wall only weeks ago. 

You flung the memory away. Now wasn’t the time. Besides, you promise you’d forgive all that. 

Either way, you couldn’t focus on that now. Oscar’s eyelashes were fluttering open, his eyes squinting at the fluorescent light above him. 

“Osc!” you said, truthfully too energetic for the occasion. You dropped his hand, got up, and turned off the overhead light, leaving only the swiftly fading daylight from outside the window to illuminate the room. 

He groaned as you sat back down, but still mumbled a small thanks. 

“Where am I?” he asked, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes.

“A hospital in Imola.” 

“Shit,” he sighed. 

“Yeah. You had a pretty bad crash.”

“I remember that,” he said, his throat dry and cracked. He took a sip of water. “Lando brake checked me.”

“Is that what happened? I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah. Fucker,” he cursed, his voice dripping with contempt. You didn’t know what to say. 

“How are you feeling?” you finally said, tired of the lingering tension. 

“Awful. Everything hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re here,” he said, reaching for his call button to request painkillers. “I’ve missed you.”

It was bold, doing this when he knew you couldn’t exactly be cruel to him. So, instead, you were honest. 

“I’ve missed you too. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you said, reaching forward to smooth his hair away from his sweat-stained forehead. Your touch felt better than any painkiller. “We were really scared.”

“Nah, you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” he joked as the nurse arrived and wordlessly administered his meds. He let out a sigh as he felt the painkillers enter his system. “I run on pure spite. A little wall isn’t gonna take me out.”

You gave him a small smile. “You didn’t say anything after the crash,” you said, your voice just a quivering whisper, giving away the true depths of your fear.

“I had the wind knocked out of me. And then, everything just went black, I was fading in and out.”

“I was praying you’d be okay. It was so scary.”

“Hey, I’m okay. A little busted up, but I wasn't exactly a looker anyway, huh?” he joked, a feeble attempt to make you laugh. You sniffled and smiled.

He continued, “Can I use my near-death experience as an excuse for us to make up?”

Your smile dropped and you bit your lip.  “Osc…”

“I just want my friend back,” he said, cutting you off. “Look, I can’t be the boyfriend you deserve. Not right now, at least. And I think, after all the shit I did, you wouldn’t want me to anyway. But I miss my friend.”

“I miss my friend, too.” 

Your heart to heart was interrupted by a knock at the door. The same nurse from before poked her head in. “Excuse me?” she asked in an Italian accent, and you looked up. “There is a visitor asking to be let in. She said her name is Lily?”

You couldn’t help the face you made. What on God’s green Earth was Lily doing in Imola?

“Um, yeah, let her in,” Oscar said. He didn’t react, though you scooted away and sat at the edge of your seat, ready to leave at any second. “Stay,” he whispered to you, and you did. 

A few moments later, you saw her walk in, and the atmosphere was thick. 

“Hi Oscar,” she exhaled, grateful to see him okay. He greeted her back, but she didn’t even look at you. You got up to give them a moment, but Oscar reached out and grabbed your wrist. “Don’t go,” he said, and the look in his eyes was impossible to refuse. You tentatively sat back down. 

“How are you feeling?” Lily asked, and the two exchanged pleasant conversation back and forth. You wanted nothing more than to jump out of the window that now showed the sunset over the trees. Normal visiting hours would be ending soon. 

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay,” she said, getting up to leave. “I’m glad you’re doing well. You too, YN,” she added on the end, but you didn’t believe it. You gave her a flat but polite smile. 

“Actually, YN, could we have a word?” she asked, cocking her head in the direction of the hallway. 

The look on Oscar’s face told you that this was a horrible idea. But one of you was confined to a hospital bed, and the other wasn’t. You ignored him and followed Lily into the deserted hallway.

She turned to you, voice full of venom. “How long have you been sleeping with Oscar?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, plain as day. 

“I’ve told you before, Oscar never cheated on you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You turned your head in confusion. “What are you getting at?”

Lily angrily sighed. “You think that you can just waltz around the paddock talking shit about me with Lando, and that I’m not going to hear about it?”

Had Lily been at the paddock? Or even worse: had she somehow heard you?

“Well, if you actually heard my conversation with Lando, you’ll know that I stood up for you.”

“I thought you were a girl’s girl,” she said, deflecting from your defense.

“I am.”

“Then why were you in bed with my boyfriend 4 days after we broke up?”

“Your ex boyfriend,” you said, meeting her level of venom. “You left him.”

“I just thought, after all that talk, you’d have the decency not to prove me right.”

“Lily, I was honest with you. If you’re mad at Oscar, don’t take it out on me. He’s the one who suggested it. I told him it was a bad idea.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“And I felt horrible about it. So I stopped.” Your voice was sharp. “Who told you any of this?”

“It doesn't matter. I hope you’re happy.”

“I hope you are, too. Genuinely.” You lacked the words to say what you really wanted to. He treats both of us like shit. He used us. I am not your enemy. She wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. She wordlessly walked away, scoffing and mumbling to herself. 

You didn’t say anything either as you walked back into the hospital room and slumped in the chair.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go well?” Oscar said.

“Nope.”

“Well, we were in the middle of something…”

Oh, right. The conversation where Oscar was trying to get back in your pants. 

“I’m not going to fuck you, Oscar.” 

“I’m not asking you to.”

“We can let anything lead to that. Not again.”

“I understand,” he said. “I just want my friend back in my life. Like all of that never happened.”

“Could we even do that?” you asked. It felt like a line had been crossed, moving your friendship in a way that couldn’t be undone. 

“I promise. And I know my word doesn’t mean much, but really, I promise. Never again.”

Haven't you promised that you’d forgive him?

“Okay,” you said, “Okay.”

Oscar smiled at you, showing off his bunny teeth. You still loved him. You couldn’t help it. But true to form, you could never stay away.

“Oh, and by the way, congrats on Miami.”

You fell asleep in the chair, having refused to leave Oscar’s side. He’d be discharged in the morning to make his flight back to Monaco, though it was questionable whether or not he’d be able to race in the iconic Grand Prix. 

True to his word, though, Oscar got one final set of visitors in the dead of night.

The first was Zak Brown. 

“Oscar!” Zak yelled, before Oscar shushed and pointed to your sleeping form. You stirred but didn’t fully wake, and Zak placed his hand over his mouth and raised his eyebrows as Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

“Hey Zak,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Glad to see you’re doing better.”

“Yeah, I made it,” he mused. “Hey, what did the FIA say?” Oscar’s phone had died since you had fallen asleep, and his charger had been left at the track.

Thankfully, Zak had brought his (and your) belongings, and he placed the bag at the foot of the hospital bed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the penalty, from the crash?”

“No one got a penalty.”

“But, Lando brake checked me.”

“Lando barely avoided a crash with Stroll.”

“I know, but he didn’t swerve, he slowed down. He had room to swerve, I didn’t. How did no one get a penalty?”

“That's just racing.”

“He intentionally slowed down to stop me!”

“Oscar, I highly doubt that that’s what happened. It was a crowded track, and you all had to react in a split second. These things happen, you know this.” 

Oscar wasn’t at all pleased with this answer, and it was worsened by the appearance of his second visitor: Lando himself.

“Ah, there’s our grand prix winner!” Zak said, giving him a hearty pat on the back. 

Lando smiled, and Oscar wanted to throw up. 

“Had to bring it home for the team,” he said, smiling at Zak. “You doing alright, mate?” he asked. 

Oscar was already tired of people asking him how he was feeling. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Lando gave Stroll an earful after the race.”

“Oh yeah, probably getting fined for that one…”

“Why? I didn’t crash because of Stroll. You brake checked me.” The pain was making Oscar more irritable. He’d need another dose of meds soon. 

“No, Stroll was driving like an idiot out there, I had to slow down.”

“No, you had to move. You’re not stupid. You just didn’t want me to overtake, didn’t you?”

“Okay, boys, let’s save this for the track,” Zak interjected. Oscar just grumbled. “I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” he said to Lando, who nodded but stayed behind. 

The Brit glanced at you, still fast asleep in the chair by Oscar’s bedside. “D’you tire out your babysitter?” he smiled. 

But Oscar was relentless. “Don’t talk about her.”

“I thought you all weren’t on speaking terms?” 

“Lando, mind your business.”

“I don’t know what your problem is, mate.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. Jesus, Osc, they should check that you didn’t hit your head too hard, you’re so paranoid.”

Truthfully, Oscar was bluffing. He had a horrible feeling about his teammate, but no evidence to back it up. But his intuition was hardly ever wrong. 

“I ran into Lily after you left,” Lando said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told her you were here.” His tone of voice was so gentle that Oscar began to wonder if maybe he was being too paranoid.

“Yeah, she came by earlier.” 

Lando’s eyes glanced back to your sleeping form, and Oscar felt his anger rise again. He didn’t even want Lando to look in your direction, let alone be speaking to you. 

“Your heart rate is up,” Lando said, gesturing to the monitor that now showed the physical effects of Oscar’s anger.

“Look, Lando,” Oscar said, shifting to sit up in bed. “Stop acting like we’re friends. Stop talking to YN, stop trying to play this buddy-buddy game. We’re here to beat each other.”

“I was just trying to be kind, but I guess if you really don’t want to be friends, I can’t make you.”

“I’m serious. Leave YN alone. Don’t even go there.”

“She’s an adult.”

“And she’s mine.”

Lando laughed. “Seriously? That’s not exactly what she told me.”

The monitor beeped again as Oscar’s heart rate continued to rise. “I don’t care what she told you.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Try it. See what happens.”

A nurse gently knocked on the door, and Oscar was grateful for the distraction and relief of pain meds. 

“Well,” Lando said, leaning on the door, “I guess I’ll see you all in Monaco.”

[fictionalsweethearts]

THE COMMISSION PT. 4 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

'The Commission' series: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, epilogue.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw, nsfw, smut, fingering omgg

If you're underage, be responsible and don't consume smut content. I AIN'T YOUR MAMA TO SPANK YOUR ASS.

Word count: 5,384 (yes, things HAPPEN in this chapter)

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

Two years earlier

"I'm fine." Sevika murmured, in a tone that could scare anyone away. Except you.

Third day in a row you slept in Zaun's main square, you were cold and your stomach was asking for a more substantial dish than the cookies you could afford. You smelled of street, oil and rain, you were risking everything to get some money and sleep under a roof today.

Many warned you about Sevika, it was better not to mess with her or even show your nose, unless you were proposing a card game, a business or you were a lady-in-waiting. You were none of the three, but you trusted what your hands and your tools were capable of. You held the toolbox, keeping an upright posture even though inside you feared ending up in a dumpster or bleeding to death in the middle of the Last Drop.

"Your arm seems to need a checkup." You insisted. "I know the model, I assume you've had it for about five years, yeah?"

Sevika frowned, putting down the cards and letting out a puff of smoke. She didn't look convinced, more irritated. You insisted.

"I don't charge much."

Sevika flicked her eyes up and down your form, her expression stern. She had seen you before - a street rat, hanging around the less salubrious parts of the city. You were skinny, dirty, and reeked of poverty. You had no business approaching her, let alone with such audacity.

"And what makes you think you can fix it?” she scowled, her voice as harsh as sandpaper. "You some kind of mechanic?”

"Yes." you said, noticing the way Sevika was studying you. You couldn't call her out, you had to swallow your pride in order to swallow a decdent meal later, if everything goes right. "I used to work at Benzo's pawn shop, fixing unused appliances. I brought fine pieces back to life." you said, your eyes flickering to Sevika's mechanic arm. "Like yours."

Certainly Sevika was not pleased with your audacity, she was forced to answer for Silco to idiots, drug addicts, gang members and murderers, so you were just another one to add to the list.

"Used to?" she grunted, her eyes narrowing as she took another drag on her cigarette. "What, you get fired or something?"

"He's dead." you reminded her, knowing damn well Silco's goons were behind that.

Yes, you were bretraying yourself and your past by turning to Sevika to offer your services, but your situation wasn't getting any better. Not with a dead father, an absent mother, and debts to deal with. You should have known better, gambling leads to no good, neither does the air of Zaun. You fell victim to both, the first killed your father, the second probably killed your mother, you weren't sure. And the debt collectors were breathing down your neck.

She eyed you for a moment longer, her gaze weighing your worth. You were desperate, that much was obvious. And she couldn't help but see an opportunity in that. "Alright," she grunted, her voice gruff. "Let's say I let you take a look. What's it gonna cost me?"

You huffed, you were losing dignity there. "A meal." you shrugged. "And a sip of whiskey if you're feeling generous. But I assure you, I do a fine job."

"You'll get your meal and your shot of whiskey," she grumbled, knwoing she would regret giving you a chance. "But if you don't do a damn good job, I'll rip your pretty little head off."

"My head will stay above my shoulders..." you stated. "And your arm, brand new." you added.

Sevika raised her eyebrows, giving the guard a signal to let you come over and take a seat next to her on the couch. You had little time to prove that your offer was not talk but fact. You opened the toolbox, taking out a screwdriver to begin taking apart the arm and separating the pieces. The supply of Shimmer on top seemed novel, but predictable. You knew what to do

As you progressed with your work, Sevika's first impression about you began to crumble. Beneath the hollow cheeks and dark circles under her eyes was a beautiful girl intent on her task, with attentive eyes, deft fingers, and latent confidence. The woman then began to ask questions, hoping to intimidate you.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-six."

"So young, and already out on the streets?" she grunted, her voice carrying a hint of mockery. "What, your parents throw you out or something?"

"They're dead." you mumbled. Sevika was holding her card with her flesh hand, still gambling while you were attending her prosthetic arm.

Your confession did not move her, having parents alive and present in Zaun was a privilege. However, her curiosity only increased. "Orphan?"

"You could say so." you said, glancing at the disassembled parts, studying the system of Sevika’s arm. The thermal paste needed changing, luckily you had some on you, the seals needed oil too, and some of the gears could use replacing.

"So you're just a street rat then," she said bluntly. "No family, no friends, nowhere to call home."

"Rat." you huffed. "I'm prettier than that." you might have been hungry, skinny and dirty, but you were a lot smarter and prettier than a goddamn rat.

"Maybe," she smirked. "But you still smell worse than one."

As Sevika took the time to mock you, your eyes were split between the arm and the opponents' play. You were sure that Sevika was taking a big risk by continuing to allow the cuprier to keep adding cards to the deck. "Stand," you whispered. "You're too close."

Sevika raised her eyebrow, planning to ignore you, however your comment didn't seem to be wrong. She let out a sigh before raising her hand to the cuprier. With that, the man turned over his cards. "Seventeen." The man said, to which you looked with pleased eyes at Sevika's nineteen.

"Agh, for fuck's sake." groaned one of the opponents, losing the bet. Blackjack was quite unpredictable, but you advised Sevika well; she hit the jackpot.

She chuckled, turning to look at you with a mix of surprise and respect. "Well then, not bad," she said, her voice gruff but impressed. "You really know your stuff."

"The rat's useful." you mumbled. "I have a name, though."

"I haven't asked your name." she replied, as she placed her just won chips on the pile.

"I rather you to remember the quality of my work than my name." you stated, assembling the arm back on Sevika. You turned the last screws, applied oil to the parts, and finally inserted the supply of Shimmer into the shoulder compartment, clicking your tongue. "Set and done, miss."

As the arm connected to her system, Sevika immediately noticed the fluidity of the gears and the restored sensitivity of the metal fingers. She flexed her arm and stretched it out, looking at you with a half-smile. It was all she would give you, along with an, "And here I thought I would rip your head off."

Before you could accept the praise wholeheartedly, there was this sudden commotion in the club. Another bastard too immersed in Shimmer to contain himself had entered, knocking out the guards with just the touch of a hand, and actually, knocking down everything in his path.

Fuck.

Sevika tensed, eyes flickering to the situation. She recognized the signs of a Shimmer-induced maniac, and knew damn well the trouble that could follow.

"Gods," she growled under her breath. "Not this bastard again."

Sevika quickly rose from her seat, her eyes watching the Shimmer-fueled maniac with a steely glare. It was only a matter of time before he would turn his attention to the rest of the bar, and Sevika knew she had to act fast. One of the other players had already fled, hiding behind the wall near the bar. The other stood frozen in fear, unable to speak or move. But you remained calm, your eyes on Sevika, awaiting her next move.

Sevika looked more irritated than alert, she moved her mechanical arm and walked towards the purple beast in front of her, her bearing filling the entire place, her confidence latent. You watched the fight unfold with a smile, the arm worked like a charm and there was no denying that you did a great job, especially when Sevika pulled the opponent’s leg against her and her elbow landed on the knee joint, bending the limb at an unnatural angle, followed by a punch capable of sending him flying through the air and landing in front of the bar. You drank from her glass, watching the guards carry the unconscious opponent away and Sevika letting out a sigh. The music began playing again.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, and by then you had realized that it was a habit of hers, and before scolding you for your attitude and your audacity in drinking from her glass, the woman called for the waiter. "Bring the girl dinner, and a glass of whiskey." she mumbled.

"I like it with soda," you added, smiling pleased from the couch.

Sevika rolled her eyes. "With soda," she said.

When you had already filled your stomach and calmed your nerves with a good whiskey, Sevika reappeared through the door. She had disappeared during your dinner, but returned to the room with a small bag of coins between her fingers and a less cold look than before; you could read the ambition on her face.

"For the arm repair," Sevika said, placing the pouch next to you on the table. To it, she added a small card with an address and the Silco symbol on the bottom, known as the "Eye of Zaun."

You knew that card was your golden ticket.

"This..." she said lowly. "Is a way to keep yourself fed and off the streets, if you're interested."

As you nodded, Sevika leaned in to whisper in a tone that made you shudder. Her scent of tobacco wafted into your nose, her closeness overwhelming. "Report to this address tomorrow at 8. Not a single minute later. We'll talk business when the time comes."

"Yes, ma'am." you said, making Sevika grin.

"Sevika." she said. "I am not into formality."

With that, she walked away, leaving you with a job opportunity and a pouch full of coins.

You did it. You fucking did it.

And tomorrow you would prove that your actions weren't just talk but pure merit. You counted the coins, it was enough for a hotel room and half of what you owed Horner. You smiled, he's always been good faking a Shimmer overdose.

As the days went by, you went from rat to girl. You met Silco, you closed a deal for private services to the organization, you took care of the maintenance of machinery, clothing and weapons. You were a full-time worker, you spent your hours within the four walls of the workshop, living off of coffee, bread, fruit and whiskey. Sevika watched you from the beginning, it was the task that Silco had entrusted to her; "Keep an eye on the girl, make her work and keep her mouth shut."

And that's what you did.

When the time came, you went from girl to mechanic. The workshop was not only your workplace, but your temple. Silco allowed you to accept external orders, you began to build a business that not only gave you autonomy, but also colored your cheeks, filled out your muscles and gave you the beauty that poverty had taken from you.

It was then that you went from mechanic to sweetheart. And Sevika forced herself to keep her distance, but the numerous appointments to check her arm, the jokes, the glances and the talks had loosened this armor against you. Now you ate full dinners, steaks, roasted vegetables, drank lemonade and replaced coffee with Shimmer, with Sevika as your only provider.

That was her mistake.

She thought she had done you a favor by providing you the doses. You worked better, your efficiency was through the roof, your performance impeccable. But that night, seeing you unconscious on the floor of her office, surrounded by paramedics and pale as snow, Sevika knew that you ended up like this because of her.

Her fault. Her damn fault.

"You've allowed this." said Silco, dragging from his cigar. He seemed quite unbothered by the situation, considering your incident as another problematic worker that couldn't control herself. All businesses have causalities, however, this wasn't just any. "She wasn't supposed to be at your office."

Your inert eyes, the way your body lay languid, a purple substance coming out of the corner of your mouth as if your insides were melting, the paramedics trying to revive a being whose life was hanging by a thread. It was a nightmare.

"She's dead." The paramedic said.

Dead.

Dead.

You died for her.

Because of her.

"Ah!" Sevika sat up suddenly, a drop of sweat wetting the back of her neck when her eyes landed on the halo of moonlight that was leaking through the window. She had dreamed of the accident again.

She wiped the sweat from her neck with a quick gesture and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Just a dream, she told herself, just a damn dream.

Sevika didn't even stop to put her mechanical arm on, which was resting next to her bed, but left the room at a quick pace and uncovered your sleeping figure on the living room couch.

You were fine.

You were curled up on the couch, your bandaged wrist resting next to your face, serene and calm. Your breathing reminded Sevika that you were still alive, even though you threatened to die on the old wooden floor of her office a month ago. But you were too stubborn to die from an overdose. You shifted in your spot, the breeze biting at your skin in the absence of the blanket over you, and when you opened your eyes you found the immense silhouette of Sevika before you. You screamed.

Sevika winced at your sharp cry, her hand reaching out instinctively to cover your mouth, to silence the sound before it echoed through the apartment.

"Shhh!" she hissed, her eyes darting towards the main door. The last thing she needed was for someone to think she was murdering someone in there.

"Quiet, quiet," she whispered, her hand still firmly over your mouth. "You'll wake the whole damn block with that shrieking."

Your heart skipped a beat before connecting two coherent thoughts and realizing it was Sevika. The woman pulled her hand away. "Fuck, don't stand in front of me like that again," you gasped. "I thought it was the grim reaper."

She took a step back, giving you some breathing room. "Believe me, he must have more important things to attend to," she said, her voice still low. "Just came to check on you. Didn't mean to scare you like that."

You sat up, reaching out to turn the oil lamp on. Sevika was still on her tank top and boxers, it was unusual to see her without the prosthetic arm. "I'm fine." you said. "You could've came to check in the morning, damn... what time it is?" you asked.

It's three," she replied, her tone still hushed. "Go back to sleep, girl. I just... wanted to make sure you were alright."

The lamplight outlined Sevika's silhouette, you could see the sweat on her neck and a certain pallor on her face. You assumed it was another nightmare, you already knew about them, but you avoided bringing them up because every time you did, she would shut you up with an "I'm fine, girl, go to sleep."

You watched her walk towards the balcony, a pack of cigarettes in her hand and a deep sigh leaving her lips. When she had the cigarette between her lips, you were suddenly beside her, lighting it up. “What’s really going on?” you asked.

"Can't a woman just enjoy her smoke in peace?" she grumbled, taking a drag from the cigarette. But there was no real malice in her voice, just a touch of weariness. She leaned against the balcony railing, the metal cool beneath her bare arm.

You sighed, coming up against a wall again. Sevika was impenetrable, so much so that you didn't know what was going through her mind unless she said it, and you could certainly assume it had to do with her nightmares, but you didn't dare to intrude on her fears. Still, you stayed next to her on the balcony, your stomach aching as the first sign of withdrawal.

The first few days were atrocious, you trembled and vomited every hour, you believed that dying was more pleasant than enduring such nausea and fits of anger and pain. However, Sevika stood firm by your side, brought you to her apartment and such a nurse, kept track of your symptoms and silenced them with the medicines the doctor had prescribed you. More than once, she stayed next to you on the couch, talking to you about trivialities or reading a book until the sleeping pill took effect and you could sleep. Only then did Sevika allow herself to stroke your forehead and relive the guilt of the accident.

Sevika had lived long enough to witness the effects of Shimmer on people. It didn't just destroy wills, it destroyed bodies and minds. The mutations from overuse of Shimmer were morbid and grotesque, luckily you didn't experience any, but that didn't make seeing you on the office floor, languid, pale, with your eyes open any less terrifying. Silco saw Sevika lose her temper for the first time in his life.

"I shouldn't have let you take those doses," she finally muttered, the words coming out with a hint of gravel in her voice. "I should've found a different way. This..." she gestured to you, the signs of her failure still lingering in the bags under your eyes and the scars along your arms, "...this is on me. My fault."

So that's what it was all about; guilt. Sevika had learned to take the blame for other people, to take responsibility for other people's mistakes, and this time was no different. Yes, she made a mistake by giving you doses of Shimmer for two years, but you were the one who decided to relapse. And you took all the blame. "Nobody forced me to relapse that day, Sevika." you stated. "And nobody could've stopped me neither, not even you."

For a moment, she was quiet, mulling over your words, the smoke from her cigarette spiraling up into the night air.

“You shouldn’t be the one consoling me, girl,” she said finally, the vulnerability in her tone betraying her gruff exterior. “I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

"We both know that a worker isn't taken care of the way you take care of me," you stated, your words implying more than what they said.

"You've never been a mere worker for me," she stated, letting out a puff of smoke, moving away into the air. Zaun was quiet, as if the city had stopped the day you nearly died. "Sometimes I can't stand you, you don't know when to back off."

You reached for her cigarette, taking a drag. "I never learned to back off."

“Of course, you didn’t,” she said, a note of resignation in her voice. “You’re as stubborn as they come. Should’ve known from the beginning that I’d have my hands full with you.”

And here you were, two years later, sleeping on her couch and making her coffee in the mornings, refusing to die without proving once again that you are many things, but not a street rat.

You had already settled into a routine. Sevika would leave early in the morning, usually returning at noon to check on you. You always waited for her with a cigarette and a cup of coffee, you started adding a touch of whiskey when you realized she liked it. You used to keep the apartment clean, read the books Sevika kept, play with her cards and sometimes take out your tools and make crafts or repair unused items, even though Sevika had forbidden you to work until you had recovered.

"Your recovery comes first, girl. Go easy."

Sometimes you found yourself chatting with her on the balcony, taking drags from her cigarette and oiling her mechanical arm, before daring to ask how her day was, absorbing her worries and whispering a "you always put up with too much, Sev" afterwads, only for her to shrug and light another cigarette. Being her tenant had allowed you to see Sevika in a much more intimate setting, without the need to maintain the impenetrable facade. You watched her sleep, yawn, train, and even cook; your favorite was the mushroom stew with enhacium powder. It was quite the meal, always leaving you with a heavy stomach and a pleasant drowsiness, although your tongue took the brunt of the sting of the powder. Sevika could feel you starting to itch as your cheeks colored, and with a smile, she would hand you the lemonade.

You were embarrassed to admit it, even more so considering that the overdose could have killed you, but you were grateful that circumstances led you to live with Sevika. Sometimes you wished you had done it sooner, but you remembered the way she reacted when you woke up in the hospital and regretted it.

"Don't you ever do that to me again, girl, understood? Never again." she said, agitated, holding your hand in hers.

You could never apologize enough to take the blame off Sevika's chest, so you just limited yourself to being a good roommate.

"Would you mind helping me with the painkiller?" you asked then, placing the cigarette between Sevika's lips. Despite having started the methadone treatment more than a month ago, it still gave you the shivers to handle the syringe.

"Of course," she said simply, her voice a mix of gruffness and understanding. "Let me do it."

You two sat down on the couch, Sevika holding the cigarette between her lips as she wrapped the elastic around your arm and tightened it. You didn’t admit it out loud, but ever since you’d been staying at Sevika’s apartment, your favorite time of day was when she helped you with the methadone. You loved the way her eyes focused on you, her thumb gently searching for your vein, commanding you to close your fist, then after piercing your skin, whispering “there you go,” pulling the needle back out before caressing the mark with her finger and purring “good girl.” She made you feel special, you were pampered by a woman who didn’t pamper anyone, and it was exhilarating in the most unusual way.

You thought you could take a thousand injections if it meant continuing to be Sevika’s good girl.

"Easy as pie," she said, her voice a rough whisper. "No pain, no drama." she added, disposing of the syringe in the trash can.

You watched her put out her cigarette in the ashtray, expecting her to sit next to you and wait for you to fall asleep like she always did. You had gotten used to hearing her voice by now. Just then, the first hit of the drug bathed you. It was always the strongest, however after a few weeks, the dose had decreased and only gave you a pleasant drowsiness.

"You're getting sleepy." she said. "Good."

Sevika watched as your eyelids fluttered shut, your body slumping back against the couch. The drug had done its work, a gentle drowsiness seeping into your limbs and calming your nerves. You felt an arm wrap around your waist, Sevika lifted you over her shoulder and carefully carried you to her bed. "It's too damn cold in the living room," was her excuse, even though you didn't ask for one. The bed was still warm, wide and the sheets smooth. Sevika wasn't lying when she said she prefers her whiskey neat and her bed soft.

She turned off the lamp, snuggling up to you, keeping a prudent distance that at the moment seemed ridiculous to you. "Do I scare you?" you teased her.

"Scare me?" she huffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Come closer then." you said, pushing your luck just enough. And Sevika seemed to give in.

You rested your head on her chest, allowing yourself to inhale her scent and feel the beat of her heart; it was slow, imposing, just like her. Sevika frowned, ignoring the urge to bury her nose in your hair and entwine her legs with yours. You heard her sigh, you were dozing off by then. "Rest, girl, you need it."

Sevika wasn’t the best early riser, but she woke up in a better mood that morning. A hand around your waist, her nose on your neck as if your scent alone had calmed all her nightmares, and it did. You were still asleep, comfortable and serene while she spooned you, unaware that Sevika pulled you close to her, taking in your cleavage from where she was; your shirt had shifted in the night, revealing more of your skin.

Look away, Sevika, get a grip.

Sevika sighed against your neck, knowing she was treading unfamiliar and inappropriate territory, but she couldn't help it. Her hand found the edge of your tank top, pulling it down just to reveal your breasts; smooth, tender and full.

No, she shouldn't, but... she wanted to? Absolutely.

Her lips found the sensitive area of your neck, trailing kisses and nips down to your shoulders and collarbone, daring to squeeze one of your tits between her fingers. You shifted on your place, the air biting on your bare chest managed to draw your attention and Sevika pulled her hands off, as if she was spooked of herself.

What the hell am I doing?

"Mhm..." you uttered, your hand seeking for Sevika's, bringing it back towards your chest. "Don't stop." you whispered, your eyes still closed.

Sevika gulped, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body as she reached out again, catching your breast between her fingers and massaging it gently, peppering kisses down your neck, your cheek, your shoulder. You felt her abdomen press harder against your back, you shifted your ass against her, half asleep but perfectly aware of what was happening, and you wouldn’t let her stop.

She grunted against your neck, her hand squeezing harder your breast. "Don't move," she growled softly, her breath hot against your ear. "Stay just like this."

You moaned, your hand reaching her cheek, urging her to touch you, to kiss you. Your eyes fluttered open as she ran her hand down your stomach, teasing your lower belly, down to your legs, the inner side of your thighs. "Sev..." you purred.

"I'm here," she whispered against your ear. "I've got you."

"Shit." you whimpered, your eyes shutting once she slipped her hand into your shorts, settling between your legs. That's all you needed to fully wake up. "Ah, god." you panted, feeling her fingers against your slick.

"You're so wet for me, aren't you?" she breathed against your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine. She pressed kisses along your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "Yes, you are."

As much confidence Sevika showed, the truth was that inside she was shaking with fear. She was crossing a line she had imposed on herself when she met you two years ago, and she had never felt so out of control as she did now. It wasn’t just your moans, it was your scent, your heat, the idea that she was the one who gave you the opportunity that night at the club and now you were lying on her bed, squirming under her hand. She forged this situation from the moment she laid eyes on you, not knowing that you intended to end up in this position ever since she leaned in and her tobacco scent filled your nostrils. You intended to work for Sevika, to be her confidant, her best partner and above all… to become her weak point.

You pulled your head back, moaning as Sevika parted your legs and eased a finger inside you, licking your ear. "Sleeping on my couch, playing with my cards, wearing my clothes while I'm gone; all you've done to end up here." she mumbled, easing a second one, knowing you could take it.

"Yes, I... I did it." you whimpered, gripping the sheets between your fingers.

"You were testing me." she stated, biting on your neck. "Always pushing my buttons to see when I would give in."

You knew Sevika wasn't just playing around with you when she rubbed the heel of her hand against your clit, already swollen and sensitive for her. The room was filled with the obscene sound of your slick, your moans and Sevika's words. "Legs apart." she commanded. "You never learned to follow instructions, learn now." she said.

"Yes, ma'am." you whined, before Sevika chuckled.

"Didn't I tell you I'm not into formality?"

She could never forget the details of the time they met, no. Not when she was the one who saw you enter the club with your toolbox, your tired eyes, your steely confidence. Not when she was the one who asked Silco for a job opportunity for you and paid you with her own coins. Not when she chose you, for herself, from the first moment.

You were hers from the beggining, and somehow you knew it.

Her hand continued to work between your legs, her fingers moving expertly, making pleasurable heat pool in your belly. "You can pretend to be tough all you want, but when you're with me, you're not."

Your legs were locking around her hand, your breathing quick and ragged as Sevika sped up the motion of her fingers. Fuck, you were starting to shake, that tickling sensation settling in your stomach.

"You and your insolent mouth, your smug smile…" she whispered. "I wanted them for myself, I always did." You shifted, knowing that if Sevika had the mechanical arm on, she would already be choking you. However, you felt her move over you, trapping you against the mattress.

"Sevika… I'm…" you mewled, realizing you were on the very edge. "Huh, please..."

"I know." she smiled, as she laid above you, her hand firmly working on your throbbing pussy. "Now kiss me, pretty girl. Earn it."

You cupped her cheeks, kissing her as much as your moans would allow, tasting the tobacco on her tongue, her teeth between your lips. Sevika kissed like she walked, and that was saying a lot. You pulled back, realizing the trembling of your legs was the hint of an orgasm you couldn't contain. "Oh... god...!" you cried against her lips before you dove into the sensation.

And you melted.

Sevika leaned down to kiss your chin, your neck, totally in love with your whimpers and trembling lips, your smell of sweat, your juicy pussy. You barely rode the high when Sevika kissed your belly, a hand tracing fingers on your knee as her mouth hovered over your core. "I could lick it off of you, y'know?" she smirked.

You were in no position to ask or deny anything, but Sevika was in the perfect position to tempt you and play on your desire. “If only I didn’t have that meeting with Silco in…” she glanced at the clock beside the bed. “Ten minutes.”

Oh, no.

"Ten minutes is more than enough." you said, even though it sounded like a plea.

But Sevika chuckled, leaning to place a kiss on your lips. "I don't rush things when I eat a pretty girl out." she stated, leaving the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at Sevika with your lips apart. Unfazed, she took the mechanical arm and connected it to her shoulder, glancing at you with a rose brow.

"Wait for me with the coffee ready," she said, walking to the dresser to get ready. "I'll finish what I started, sugar, don't worry."

To be continued...

taglist: @lez-zuha @amoraeu @nikaachuuuu @furrytaesss @elliecoochieeater @n-noctiss @emmanetalias @sevikashairbrush @lipglosskxsses @chaosfieldflower @kairuvhen @moodient @izzy120 @bonemarrowstew @abbysunderwear @batman-2 @karmalovessimonriley @fandomsinthegalaxies @fudosl @femme-historian @poprostuhybryda-blog @kifuqe @xblinkx2 @tamikahoshiko @lia-winther @https-mika @armeenix @bambishaven @xblinkx2 @luvg1s3l1e @dopemusiccowboy @imheadintothemountains @lilithyys @soullessbody @lavendersgirl @lovesickdreamer @makaylaislovely @demonofpuns @celestialst4r @ilovehotd @emmanetalias @bethany-l87 @marah280 @srtuna @jannesyjane @victoriaanne9 @rottngrl3 @depressedqueersocialists @slut4sevika @fragilsnoopy @stmvivs @sillystarv @vyvvycg

Also, I haven't stopped to thank u all for your reception of this series. It makes me absolutely happy you girls like it so far! Thank u all <3

[strandedtoodeep]

Poolverine fics rec' ✨

Yes, FINALLY.

So, basically what the title said: some poolverine's fics recommendation because i have 150+ bookmarks and sharing is caring so let's go!

I'll put title, link, tag the author (if they are on tumblr), numbers of words & chapters and probably silly summary or thoughts

I'll be adding some in the future with a red exclamation❗

The ones without smut have a bunny emoji 🐰

My faves are on top

If you have some recs i'm happy to take them thank you 🤲

Faves

Come Hell or High Water by @farmhandler 84k, 11 ch. || love when a fic take mental health seriously and talk about it in a way that feel so right? (bonus the smut is *chef's kiss*

Promise Me We'll Be Back In Time by @back4destiel 108k, 17 ch. || 50 First Dates was one of my favorite movie when i was a preteen (yeah) so this fic fill me with nostalgia and happiness

where soul meets body by @edgebug 33k, 3 ch. || one of my first poolverine's fic and it sets the bar so HIGH (and tbh i cried so much reading it, it's concerning)

silence is what i do best (but still i hear it all) by @cainroses 25k, 3 ch. || feral! logan is very dear to me and the character's voices in it?? absolutely delightful (beware the smut is very good but spicy)

Until you get sick of me, honestly by @3koboldsinahoodie 151k, 27ch. (on going) || i love it so much i want to forget it and discovers it again, the peak of two idiots in love it's beautiful

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) by @wickedscribbles 16k, 4 ch. || love some genderplay, bottom and protective logan, my dear, i love it but most importantly the writings is scrumptious

The Void by @rovingotter 115k, 23 ch. || i'm still trying to process what i feel with this fic, please please read this blindly and i assure you, you'll never be the same

The Soundtrack by @greatsnakestintin 43k, 15 ch. (on going) || love a good road trip fic, love music so it's absolutely perfect for me! and the plot is so?? fascinating???

Kaleidoscope by Space_wanderer 79k, 14 ch. || CHAPPELL ROAN REFERENCE! when Logan is such a idiot Wade need to go get him AGAIN in his universe

Don't you want me to run? by @decaying-lover 89k, 26 ch. (on going) || if you love angst, this fic will serve you ANGST! love their dynamics, the tension, their voices, everything

❗Maximum Effort by ArtemisFAYZ012 168k, 33 ch. || OMG the plot?? the spicy spices?? the intimacy between Logan and Wade (AND Logan who falls so HARD for Wade)

On going

Somewhere I belong by @terrasilvershade 24k, 6ch. || another girls dad AU but this one, my god!!! the feels?? it's so interesting to see Logan being envious and it's writing so well

❗Do I Wanna Know by @slut-arc 13k, 5ch. || a 5+1 fic! It's cute and fluffy but also with sparkles of angst, and the ice skating scene??? didn't leave my mind for days ugh

Baby(girl) Don't Hurt Me by @peargreen-jellybean 16k, series with 4 works || 4 fics and i love them all! some good poolverine pining & domestic bliss + men in lingeries (my weakness)

❗Under Your Skin, Over the Moon by RatFlavored 5k, 2 ch. || first Soulmate AU i read for Poolverine and i love it??? So much??? think this trope is underrated ngl, and it's well written!

In Another Life by @flash-bastardd 32k, 10 ch. || x-men origins but better! (bc it's gay) i have some feelings with this movie but this fic healed me and i love it!

❗don't i give you what you need by @wickedscribbles 5k, 2 ch. || i cannot not put the new work of Wicked here, it's so good and the heartbreak??? the angst??? my heart bleed so much for them

call me when you’re ready to be real by @maroonmused 23k, 9 ch. || "and they were roommates" ofc like it's not absolutely obvious for EVERYONE except themself; a very good domestic bliss!

❗Echoes Through the Timeline by @piplover 64k, series with 4 works || i loved so many works in this series, specially the first and last one, break my heart and heal my soul

How To Pay For Rent 💸 by @fictionfeast 59k, 4 ch. || this fic feels like a fever dream, but a OH SO GOOD and well writing fever dream! (ngl as a french person Craig List scares me)

❗🐰 unhappy man syndrome by @gossippool 19k, 5 ch. || don't know if i'll recover from this fic, ever, but i'm so invested and it's pure whump all over (HUG FOR EVERYONE YALL)

❗Got My Mind Set On You by @buttsforabettertomorrow 23k, 4 ch. || Logan try so hard to be good and accepting in this one i love him so much lmao (and it confuses Wade so it's a double win)

🐰 Christmas in Canada by @thatoneartyishperson 7k, 3 ch. || listen, Halloween is still my favorite holidays but Poolverine AU Hallmark Christmas Movies ? URGH i'm here for it!!

❗back to the old house by @nico-di-angelol 71k, 8ch. || it's so interesting that i'm MAD at myself for not reading this earlier, yep it's THAT good! beware chap. 7 will break your heart

Synergy and Entropy by @artemis-pendragon 46k, 19 ch. || i was so sure that i'd put this fic here but no??? anyways, the hurt and angst in this fic are so astronomically good, so beware

❗🐰 Mr. Forgettable by @eliemo 40k, 7 ch. || okaaayy listen, this one make me cry every time i read it, idk how to explain why it feel so personal to me but it'll move you

🐰 make me into something sweet by @mothgardens 30k, 8 ch. || AU poolverine WITH MUSICAL CLASS? it's... it's beautiful! particularly love the dynamic between Logan and Wade in this one

❗knee deep in this thing called life by @secondbreakfastwizard 86k, 13 ch. || i'm so OBSESSED with this fic, autistic Logan is so dear to me (maybe bc i relate a lot) and these two are so stupidly in love

Complete

🐰 the dollhouse by @kanashikute 4k, OS || love the fluffiness in this fic, love how Logan accept to love, be loved and doesn't left Wade behind UGH they're so cute in this one!!!

❗Pavlov’s Dog by @panties-on-boys 18k, 11 ch. || this is the kind of fiction that obsesses me so much, and i don't even like perfume; it's the most smutty slow burn ever hehe

Girl Dads by @starburstsobsessions 40k, 16 ch. || AU poolverine's fic are fire and this one, THIS ONE, omg! this fic makes my dream (aka seeing dilf! logan) a reality

🐰 Glass Shards by greaserbabes 9k, 2 ch. || always love when Logan and Wade are SO STUPIDLY in love; ngl the scene with the glass shards make me cry every time

You Should Feel My Nature Too by sterlingstars 10k, OS || so uh, i love stripper! Wade okay? it's not really that with this one but it's as good AND wholesome (and spicy too) so yeah

🐰 The Folly Of Playing Gay Chicken Too Hard (Phrasing) by GayLord3000 3k, OS || the domestic fic where Wade is the stupid one, being so stupid in fact it's nearly cost him his relationship with Logan whoops

Love shot by lillygoeson 28k, 6ch. || another bartender! Logan one, but AU no powers AND with a good "twist" in the middle; this fic is so bittersweet and good oml

Don't Want To Be A Fool For You by @cuntylogan 96k, 5 ch. || bartender! Logan who try to fight his addiction (and slowly fall in love) has a special place in my heart, you go boy

❗🐰 This Old House by @twentyghosts 30k, 16 ch. || AU with patient! Wade and handyman! Logan, they fall in love, it's full of angst, fluff, hurt, and with a very cute ending

look at you by @weedwilson 3k, OS || yes it's shameless smut and mirror sex, my beloved... and I LOVE when Logan worshipping Wade this much bc he deserves it

❗🐰 Is It Casual Now? by @twilightkitkat 6k, OS || love this bc i have so many feelings about how the X-Men have treated Logan, i love seeing him stand up for himself **sob**

It's Just Chemistry by @farmhandler 37k, 5 ch. || in the same universe of Come Hell or High Water, there is so... so much angst but it's very good angst!!! still love this specific dynamic

🐰 We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do) by @nikaandtea 8k, OS || HOZIER REFERENCE! i'm still so happy when a fic talk about chronic pain combined with domestic bliss i'm totally sold

Night Terrors by educatedwish 50k, 13 ch. || love how Logan is written is this fic, how PTSD messed with his feelings in a serious way... my heart melt every time i read it

❗🐰 Relationship Advice by fir_forest 1k, OS || no but the idea of a fic like a relationship advice post on reddit??? i love this!! short, but sweet and very funny hehe

second nature to me now by @edgebug 36k, OS || a investigation in a gay club??? with my two idiots in love?? and with old gay Logan? i giggled so hard reading this, i LOVE IT

🐰 It Feels Like Home by @twentyghosts 10k, 6 ch. || one of my favorite trope is the 5+1 and this one... my god, right in the feels! so much fluffiness, coziness, it warm my heart

a loaded gun, can't contain this anymore (i'm all yours, i've got no control) by @obihoebikenobi 6k, OS || i have nothing to say other than read the tag hehe! but yeah love the concept, the smut is spicy (always like some focus on the claws)

🐰 stuck by the glue (oh and you) by prngslvr 3k, OS || a good rewriting of (some scenes) from DP&W, and one of my first fluff and non-smut fic that i read after watching the movie!

Let Me Get Back to You by RatFlavored 14k, 2 ch. || pls i want to read more fics with phone sex in it (i know it's specific) but in the meantime, this one is SO good (and full of feels too)

❗Heat of the Moment by @finelydressedspacemen 11k, 4 ch. || non traditional a/b/o my beloved!!! and it's always a little bit satisfying to see Scott mentioned (hehehe the drama)

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow by signifier 10k, OS || i have a thing for time loop and this kind of fuckery, it's short but good and i love the title it make me chuckles

🐰 Take Me Through the Darkness to the Break of the Day by The_Colour_Yellow 17k, 10 ch. || a very good fic around hanahaki disease with my two favorites idiots??? sign me in! even with so much hurt and angst UGH

Oh, God, I Think I'm Fallin' by @slut-arc 15k, 5 ch. || the return of domestic poolverine and YES I KNOW but it's my weakness... and Logan is so emotionally constipated it's concerning

🐰 Little Reflection by @wickedscribbles 11k, 5ch. || poolverine + cute cat + Logan suffering from anxiety and i'm sold! because ofc Logan is a true and pure cat (and dog) dad

❗i bet we’d have really good come right on me, i mean camaraderie by @notesappwitch 31k, 2 ch. || bodyswap trope, love the character's voice bc it's so on point, very funny, a lot of emotions and the spicy scenes are perfect

the bucket list by @kanashikute 33k, 4 ch. || read this one, please, really, it's so bittersweet BUT i promise there's a good ending (and i cried so much while reading it)

🐰 he’s the headlights, I’m the deer by NatalieK 7k, OS || it's interesting to see Logan's losing his healing factor for once instead of Wade! and seeing Wade taking care of him, my heart

when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor? by @slut-for-a-good-latte 5k, OS || one of my favorite thing with poolverine is psychic/quantum thingy bond because of the Time Ripper and this one DELIVERS!!

🐰 holding out for a hero by @splinnters 6k, 3 ch. || once again, i have a soft spot for Logan trusting Wade so much he called him when something is wrong and this, THIS is good

❗it's all in my head but i want nonfiction by @obihoebikenobi 21k, 3 ch. || Wade pinning x Logan perfectly happy in his relationship with his boyfriend who doesn't know he's his boyfriend it's perfect

🐰 I've got some color back (he thinks so too) by @mid13s 3k, OS || just a short fic with non-sexual intimacy because these two need comfort, hugs and a lot of affection (and the Hozier reference is chef's kiss)

who are you, really? by @edgebug 45k, 4 ch. || the sequel of where soul meets body and it's also an absolutely masterpiece! and still trying to process my feelings for this fic

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[beaulesbian]

One Piece Live action season 1 + hints or similarities to future One Piece moments (specifically after East Blue saga) - part 1: episodes 1-3

This wasn't meant to be a comparison between the live action and the animanga, but more so seeing these added/modified scenes that differ from the manga, yet with some of the acting/writing includes clues and hints to different and future canon material, or even characterization that necessary doesn't fit East Blue yet, but fits well enough into later arcs.

Luffy not knowing his world directions both in Opla (ep 1) /// Skypiea arc, in anime ep 168. But it could be for honestly any other arc (Funny thing is, in Opla he rang the bell that unfortunately alerted Alvida's crew, and only when I was rewatching that scene it made me connect it with the great Luffy moment at the end of Skypiea.)

The matches that Zoro has on the Island of Sixis in Opla ep 1, possibly manufactured on Baldimore (?), with a name Beast of Baldimore. /// After Sabaody Archipelago Franky was sent to Baldimore by Kuma, finding Vegapunk's homeland and laboratory, and also developing more of his science projects, as well as causing funny incidents, such as the Burning Beast. (It has probably nothing to do with the matches, except for the 'tiger on fire' motif and the name of Baldimore, but the details of Opla are just so fun!)

Zoro's first meeting with Luffy in Opla episode 1 is really different but fun nonetheless, especially with wording of the line that he doesn't want to 'play pirates' with Luffy. It's such a great setup line for his development to truly be one of the very first to understand how much Luffy means everything he's doing /// Zoro in ep. 323 Post Enies Lobby arc, making sure both his crew and the audience know how seriously he takes being part of Luffy's crew and what it means for future arcs.

Opla ep 2, Luffy mentioning Shanks' way of thinking about fighting (or not fighting someone who's not worth it) /// ep. 146 Jaya arc, Luffy saying to Zoro not to fight Bellamy's crew, which was direct influence from Shanks not fighting the Mountain bandits in the first chapters of the manga. It's interesting that for both of these scenes both Zoro and Nami are there to hear this.

This is just a fun bit, but seeing Nami excited about having a bath was cute. Opla ep 3 /// anime ep. 326, just after they get Sunny and everyone was finding out what space there is for them.

Garp and Koby playing the game of Go, Opla ep 3 /// CP0 agents playing Go while discussing the outcome of Strawhats & Oden's crew's raid on Onigashima against Kaido. It seems like a game that maybe Marines play more/enjoy (?) & above, up to CP ranks.

Usopp 'retelling' a story about eating a dragon, Opla ep 3 /// Punk Hazard ep 580, Zoro killing the dragon and planning with Luffy what's the best way to cook and eat it. Lol. In next chapters Luffy was carrying a big chunk of it, seemingly ate a bit part of the dragon already.

This one is self explanatory. Zoro is so gone for Luffy in Opla it's insane. Every time I remember that I get emo. ep 3. /// One of the first really fond smiles that Zoro keeps smiling at Luffy, a mixture of proud and understanding how Luffy works. ep 63, but it's just so much better in the manga, just look at it. Smitten™ (ch. 104)

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. “She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[padfootagain]

Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Pairing : Hozier x fem!reader

Professor! AU

Warnings: hurt-comfort, angst, fluff, no smut but suggestive scenes so 18+ only

Chapter 1 : 'And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately'

Chapter 2 : 'Through me the way to the City of Woe'

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Chapter 4 : ‘For he gave all his heart and lost’

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Chapter 6 : ‘I’ll lie here and learn how, over their ground, trees make a long shadow and a light sound’

Chapter 7 : 'And so I still wait, like a lonely house, for you to see me and inhabit me again. Until that time, my windows ache.'

Chapter 8 : 'I hope she never learns how to peel oranges'

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river-- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Chapter 10 : '[I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea'

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Chapter 12 : 'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again'

Chapter 13: ‘So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.’

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Chapter 16 : ‘Only the things I didn’t do crackle after the blazing dies’

Chapter 17 : ‘Dear pine cone, let me hold you as you open’

Chapter 18 : ‘What the devil do I care what I know, and what I say?’

Chapter 19: ‘I knew winter cold like the nuzzle of fjords at my thighs’

Chapter 20 : 'My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you'

Chapter 21: ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love’

Chapter 22 : ‘And if you missed a day, there was always the next, and if you missed a year, it didn’t matter, the hills weren’t going anywhere’

Chapter 23 : 'Even the dearest that I loved the best are strange – nay, rather, stranger than the rest'

Chapter 24: ‘Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing’

Chapter 25: ‘They will think of ways to make you smile so you can be happy for a while’

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Chapter 28: ‘You are neither here nor there, a hurry through which known and strange things pass as big soft buffetings come at the car sideways and catch the heart off guard and blow it open’

Chapter 29: ‘My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips’

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Chapter 31 : ‘Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief’

Chapter 32 : ‘How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then’

Chapter 33 : ‘The scent already in the air’

Chapter 34 : ‘One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.’

Chapter 35 : ‘Love comes quietly, finally’

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Chapter 37 : ‘I found the other half above the pillow where you lay’

Chapter 38: ‘They are elsewhere beyond the night way higher than day in the blinding brightness of their first love’

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Chapter 40 : ‘Where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.’

Chapter 41 : ‘Just one candle burning on, shadows lurking everywhere: some one came, and kissed me there’

Chapter 42: ‘Love in such a way, as I… love… you.’

Chapter 43: ‘The whole world depends on your pure eyes and all my blood flows into their gaze’

Chapter 44 : ‘I go up to the stone wall for a friendly visit.’

Chapter 45 : ‘Nobody, but nobody can make it out here alone.’

Chapter 46 : ‘Both of us, of the love which makes us one.’

Chapter 47: ‘To whom I owe the leaping delight that quickens my senses in our wakingtime and the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime’

Chapter 48 : ‘It’s love almost too fierce to endure, the bee nuzzling like that into the blouse of the rose’

Chapter 49 : ‘I am the blossom pressed in a book, found again after two hundred years’

[physalian]

Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

--

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

[fangdokja]

Yoo, can I ask a question? - yandere (of course) tartaglia, wanderer (or scaramouche) and kazuha, with a reader who has.. a slightly interesting temper, that is, the reader has an unconventional, sarcastic, extremely cynical sense of humor) humor is the reader's protective reflex, maybe.. The reader is constantly trying to turn everything into humor,often makes sarcastic little comments even if at the wrong moment.. (but reader still manages to make people laugh) Maybe this is a bit of a strange request, but why not? (I just often see how in yandere fics the reader is assigned almost the same behavior, I would like to read something new, and besides, you are one of my favorite yandere writers!) I hope my request complied with your rules, because there are SO MANY OF THEM.. I don't even remember some of them lol.. I'll be glad if you accept my request! thank you 💋

Too many thoughts, not enough brain cells. Let’s see what happens.

❤︎ Synopsis. A chaotic whirlwind of sarcasm and unfiltered humor, you—channeling the energy of Gojo Satoru—navigates life like it's a comedy show. Nothing is too serious, and everything’s an opportunity for a joke—even when the world’s falling apart.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Genshin Impact Males (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha) x Fem. Gojo (?)! Reader (separate?)

♡ Headcanon. Humor First, Consequences Later - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 12,339

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, angst + tragedy, sexual themes

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N #1. This turned out longer than it was supposed to be......... but it was necessary for the build-up. So waha. And, this definitely has a different formatting and plot development style from all my other works (especially formatting), but that was done on purpose. And, yes, I'm putting this story in WITD, despite it's length, because of the formatting. Well, either way, hope you all enjoy :))

♡ A/N #2. Thank you for the support and reading so far, I appreciate it and also for taking the time to read the RULES. But, I have to inform you all on some important rules especially. As mentioned in my rules, requesters aren’t allowed to assign behavior towards the reader. For only MY works particularly, I agree that most of the behavior of reader is generally the same. Why? Well, simple, I hardly encounter self inserts with apathetic, actually not emotional readers. I lack book food. There are SO MANY emotional readers inserts. And even sarcastic sassy ones. I have no food. So I cooked my own food instead. I’ve read so many over the years, that honestly? The ones close to my personality are ALWAYS original novels with male characters. Literally Fang Yuan from Reverend Insanity cooks hardest, and even then there was that stupid part in almost Chapter 3k mark that I hated. Because they added emotions and shiz. And here I thought I found a true villain character. Small rant. But even then only he cooks really, both intelligence wise and even personality wise. No one has even beaten Fang Yuan in terms of strategy and intelligence from books that I haven’t created.

♡ A/N #3. I get it. Females are emotionally built, even biologically. But, I’m not overly emotional. I can act it, but feeling it? No. I can create other personality readers. I’ve literally written a lot of OC’s from thinkers to feelers so I can. But. Guys. I also self-insert myself in these stories whahaha. It’s not exactly my personality, but it’s still part of me. However, I’ll make an exception this time since I just released a new book, “Whispers In The Dark” for short stories. Since I’m actually a person who dislikes reading self inserts with mean readers of any kinds. This does not sound humble at all, but I’m not a mean person at all if it comes to commentary. I just keep to myself or keep my mouth shut. And I also HATE reading main characters with tempers. Probably because, I have a very mellow personality in reality. And emotions? Hardly feel anything tbh.

♡ A/N #4. Anyways so I won’t get mad when writing this, here’s basically a Gojo inspired Reader. Most ENTP’s (especially 8w7 and 7w8) are relatable to me, and I relate to Gojo a lot. Never simped, but I relate. But, next time, to anyone. I will NEVER be writing content that assigns a personality to reader. It’s one of the few things I have freedom in to just enjoy writing. I would honestly just get really irritated if I had to follow a set personality to reader. Yeah, I may write consistently the same reader, but that like genuinely makes me happy to write a reader that I can finally relate to. I hardly find stories like that. Much more in reader inserts. I hope you all understand. Kind of pathetic to say “I just wanna have fun”. But, it’s true and foundational to me. I have a difficult time writing if I’m not having fun.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia (Childe) who first noticed you in the midst of a chaotic battlefield, blades clashing and blood splattering in all directions. He was there for his own mission, but your laughter—loud, sardonic, and downright inappropriate—caught his attention.

You’d just disarmed one of his men with a sarcastic comment and a flashy spin move, only to remark, “Well, that’s one way to make him stop talking.” Tartaglia’s first thought was: This one gets it.

The two of you had crossed paths before, but this was different. You fought with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, and the fact that you seemed entirely unfazed by the danger surrounding you only intrigued him further.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who you clashed blades with in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. The air was thick with violence and the sound of metal, but there you were, laughing through the chaos.

"Well, this is fun! Is this your idea of a date, or should I try harder?" you joked, dodging his ruthless strikes with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Tartaglia couldn’t stop himself from grinning back, impressed by your chaotic energy and your apparent lack of fear.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he quipped, flipping his spear expertly. "But I gotta ask—are you always this insufferable, or am I just lucky?"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who first noticed you during a chaotic battlefield where chaos was your language, and you spoke it fluently. You both crashed into each other mid-fight, swords clashing in a brutal rhythm, but the moment his eyes locked with yours—amidst the blood, the screams, and the madness—he felt a jolt of recognition.

Not of fear, no, but of pure chaotic understanding. "Well, well, well, looks like you're not just another pretty face—you're a disaster in the best way possible."

You didn't miss a beat, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. But I’ll take it. You really should work on your aim though."

Despite being enemies in that instant, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you threw yourself into battle—your sarcasm as sharp as your blade. Every strike was a witty remark wrapped in bloodshed. You were an unfiltered storm of energy, and he couldn’t help but think, “This is the kind of chaos I want in my life.”

After the battle, despite the blood and sweat, you both shared a laugh as if you had just finished a light sparring session, not a life-or-death duel.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who being the chaotic soul he was, immediately clicked with you, and your shared irreverence made it impossible for him to hate you, even if you were technically enemies.

Tartaglia spoke with a handsome boyish grin, "I’m gonna need a drink after that, how about you?"

"Nah, you’ll need a bottle, pal. But we both know you’re a lightweight."

"You wound me."

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer (Scaramouche) who hated you immediately. The moment he met you, you gave him the most obnoxious smirk and made some comment about how “intense” he looked, like a lost kitten trying to be menacing. You couldn't help it—his dramatic aura was begging for a punchline.

“Oh, look. A robot with an existential crisis. What’s next, a lecture on how you’re misunderstood by the world?” The sheer audacity of your sarcasm sent a shockwave through him, one that made him freeze for a split second.

“I’d ask you to smile, but I’m pretty sure that would crack your face,” you quipped, and the cold, calculating expression he wore only made it worse. He stared at you with thinly veiled contempt, his distaste for your flippant attitude and sarcasm immediate.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who hated you even more when you opened your mouth. During a tense moment of political intrigue, Wanderer was deep in a conversation with some high-ranking officials, trying to manipulate them for his own advantage, when you interrupted with a perfectly timed comment.

"Wow, these people talk more than my grandmother at Christmas dinner. Do they even hear themselves?"

The room went dead silent. Wanderer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you, trying to figure out who this... jester was. Your irreverent attitude was a sharp contrast to his own cold, calculating nature.

"Are you always this... unbearable?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Well, only when I’m surrounded by such charming people like you," you replied, not a hint of fear in your voice.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who didn’t know how to handle your complete lack of respect. He saw you as an irritating fly—one he couldn’t just swat away because of your sharp tongue and unpredictable nature. But that didn’t stop the twisted curiosity that started to bloom in him. Maybe he hated you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching you twist every interaction into a dark comedy sketch.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he sneered, but you only shrugged.

“Nah, just you,” you replied with a wink, “but don’t feel too special. I hate everyone equally.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who, unlike the others, didn’t immediately form an opinion about you. You met him on a peaceful evening, sitting by the fire as you shared a drink.

"Nice music, but tell me—do you ever sing songs about decapitations or revenge? You know, the classics," you asked, leaning against a tree with a mischievous grin. Kazuha blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by your unexpected question.

He chuckled, albeit nervously. "Ah, well, I do tend to favor more peaceful melodies. The world has enough violence, don’t you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "Sure, but I think it’s just a matter of perspective. You’ve never heard a good ‘revenge ballad,’ have you? Something with blood, guts, and a sweet vengeance story?"

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who was calm, collected, and in no hurry to make judgments about people.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue," Kazuha remarked with a soft laugh, sensing the tension you carried beneath your humor.

"Sharp enough to cut through all the nonsense in the world," you replied with a smirk. "It’s a survival tactic, you know? Get too serious, and people start thinking you’re a threat."

Kazuha chuckled, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. Unlike Wanderer, who despised your sarcasm, Kazuha found a strange comfort in it.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who spent hours talking with you—half serious, half joking—and by the end of the night, you couldn’t quite tell if Kazuha had warmed to you or simply found your humor amusing. He was neutral, calm, but there was something about your cynicism that tugged at his heart. Not in a romantic way—more like a curiosity about the darkness behind your jokes.

Despite everything, Kazuha found himself oddly protective of you, even if you were too much of a loose cannon for his liking.

"You really know how to push people’s buttons," Kazuha mused with a faint smile, sipping his drink.

"It's a gift," you replied with a grin, letting the conversation fade into the night.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who didn't dislike you. It was more that he didn’t quite understand you. He found your humor bizarre—borderline morbid, really—but at the same time, it made him appreciate the way you could maintain your composure in the face of things that would send anyone else into a frenzy. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something magnetic about your wit, your sharp tongue, and the way you saw the world.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who couldn’t get you out of his head after that battlefield encounter.

At first, it was your audacity that stood out—who cracks jokes while fighting for their life? But as you two clashed more often, he found himself genuinely entertained by your wit. Each fight became less about winning and more about trading barbs.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia purposefully pick fights with you just to hear your comebacks. One time, mid-battle, you yelled, “You gonna twirl that spear all day, or are we actually fighting?” He almost dropped it because he was laughing so hard.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who invites you for drinks post-battle as if you’re not enemies. “Come on, you’ve earned it,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the bar. But if you poison my drink, we’re gonna have a problem.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia becomes your unofficial sparring partner. The battles become a game of who can outwit the other with sarcastic comments.

“You call that a strike? My kid brother could hit harder,” you’d say, dodging his attack.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply, smirking.

“Maybe I’ll let him fight you next time.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he eventually starts treating you like one of his comrades. He shares stories about his family, asks about your past (you deflect with humor), and even brings you snacks during downtime. “You fight better when you’re not hangry,” he claims.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer despises your existence but can’t seem to avoid you. Every time he’s working on some secretive plan, you pop up with a sarcastic comment.

“Wow, plotting world domination again? Don’t forget the evil laugh—it really sells it.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer tries to ignore you, but your presence grates on his nerves. “Do you ever shut up?” he snaps one day, glaring at you.

“Not if I can help it,” you reply with a smirk. “What’s the point of silence when your misery is so much fun?”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer reluctantly teams up with you during a mission. It’s strictly business, but you make it nearly impossible for him to stay professional.

“You know,” you say, “if you smiled more, people might actually like you.” He glares, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrays him.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when for the first time he lets his guard down, it’s accidental. After a long, grueling day, you find him staring at the stars.

“So, what’s the brooding about tonight?” you ask, sitting beside him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually, he mutters, “Nothing you’d understand.”

“Try me,” you challenge, and for once, he indulges you.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer begrudgingly respects your intelligence. Despite your flippant attitude, you have a knack for solving problems in ways he wouldn’t consider. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.

“You’re not as useless as you look,” he says one day.

“Thanks, I’ll embroider that on a pillow,” you reply.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when your sarcasm starts to grow on him.

When someone else insults him, you’re the first to step in with a cutting remark. “Hey, I’m the only one allowed to call him insufferable, okay?”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha meets you on a quiet evening, and your energy is a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

“Do you ever stop being so mellow?” you ask after he recites a haiku. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

He smiles faintly and replies, “Perhaps you bring enough for both of us.”

Traveling with Kazuha feels like a comedy routine. You constantly try to bait him into arguing, but he just humors you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy this,” you tease.

“Perhaps I do,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha is the only one who sees the cracks in your humor.

Late one night, you sit by the fire, unusually quiet. “Even storms have calm moments,” he says softly, offering you a drink.

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, smirking, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

Your dark humor doesn’t faze him; if anything, he finds it endearing. When you jokingly suggest writing a song about a gruesome battle, he actually considers it.

“A ballad of bloodshed and bravery?” he muses. “Sounds poetic.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha subtly encourages you to open up. He never pries, but his quiet patience makes it easier for you to let your guard down.

“You’re oddly calming, you know that?” you admit one day. “Like a weirdly wise fortune cookie.”

He laughs and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, despite his gentle nature, doesn’t hesitate to protect you. When a fight breaks out during your travels, he steps in without hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” he says, drawing his blade. “You’re not facing this alone.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who realizes he’s falling for you during one of your sparring sessions. You’d taken a hit—nothing serious—but enough for him to notice. After the match, he grabbed your arm, inspecting the wound with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Relax, Childe, it’s just a scratch,” you said, smirking through the wince.

“Stop joking for one second,” he replied, a little sharper than usual. As he wrapped the bandage around your arm, his hands were surprisingly gentle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “What, worried you’d have to explain this to my ghost?”

He didn’t laugh this time. “No, I just—” He stopped himself, his usual cocky grin faltering.

“You’re reckless, you know that? I can’t always be around to patch you up.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who finds himself watching you more carefully after that, his playful facade slipping every time you brush off an injury or laugh in the face of danger. It’s in those moments he realizes your humor hides something deeper—a pain he’s desperate to understand.

When you finally catch him staring, you raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the puppy-dog eyes? You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”

His grin returns, but there’s a softness behind it. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

For once, your usual quip dies on your lips, and the silence between you is louder than the battlefield.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who starts noticing your distant stares during quiet moments. He catches you gazing into the horizon, your usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s wrong? Forgot your punchline?” he asks, his tone biting but not cruel.

“Just thinking,” you reply, your voice softer than he’s used to.

“That’s new,” he mutters, sitting beside you. When you don’t snap back with a retort, he frowns. “What’s going on with you?”

You shrug, deflecting with humor. “Guess I’m out of jokes for the day. Mark your calendar—it’s a historic moment.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “You can’t fool me with that act. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t push you to open up but finds himself frustrated by your reluctance to trust him. He hates that you make him care this much, but the thought of you being hurt—physically or emotionally—makes his chest tighten.

When you finally let out a small, dry laugh and say, “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?” he feels an odd sense of victory.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who finds you one evening, hunched over a journal he gifted you long ago. You’re scribbling furiously, completely absorbed, and he can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

“You’re quite the writer,” he comments, startling you.

“Geez, give a person a warning next time,” you grumble, closing the journal instinctively.

Kazuha tilts his head, amused. “What are you hiding in there? Plans for world domination?”

You smirk. “Nah, just embarrassing poetry about how much I love chaos.”

But when he gently reaches for the journal, you hesitate before handing it over. Inside, he finds sketches of places you’ve traveled together, snippets of conversations, and little notes about your adventures.

“You kept all of this?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, well, don’t get a big head about it,” you reply, trying to downplay the sentiment.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the way your humor becomes softer, almost shy, when you talk about the memories you’ve shared. It’s in those moments he realizes how much you’ve let him into your life—even if you don’t fully trust him yet.

“You’re more sentimental than you let on,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Don’t spread that around,” you reply, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that he treasures.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who catches you off guard one evening after a particularly intense sparring session. You’re both sitting on the ground, exhausted but grinning. He hands you a flask of water, and as you take it, your fingers brush.

“Careful, Childe,” you tease. “I might think you’re getting soft on me.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Maybe I am. Around you, anyway.”

You pause, your usual smirk faltering as you look at him. “Don’t joke about that,” you say, your tone unusually soft.

“I’m not joking,” he replies, his voice steady. “You’re more than just a good fight to me. I care about you.”

For once, you don’t deflect. Instead, you lean back, staring up at the stars, and mutter, “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

But the way your lips twitch into a small, genuine smile doesn’t escape his notice.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he’s walking you back to your camp, and you stop abruptly. “Hey, Childe?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him, your grin replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks. For putting up with me.”

The warmth in your eyes is something he’s never seen before, and for the first time, you seem completely unguarded. Before you can say anything else, he cups your face with his hand, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re worth it,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. And when you don’t pull away, he closes the distance, his kiss surprisingly tender.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who finds you sitting alone under a tree, the sun setting behind you. There’s an unusual stillness in your demeanor, and he approaches cautiously.

“What’s with the brooding hero act?” he asks, sitting down beside you.

You snort. “Maybe I just like the dramatic lighting.”

But he notices the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve, a telltale sign of your unease. “You’re terrible at lying,” he mutters.

“Only to people who can’t take a joke,” you quip, but your usual bravado lacks its usual spark.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you until the silence becomes comfortable. Eventually, you speak again. “Do you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The question surprises him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. “All the time,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual.

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for something you can’t quite name. Then, with a small sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when the gesture catches him completely off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly to make you more comfortable, his hand twitching at his side as though debating whether to touch you.

“You’re warm,” you murmur, your voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re annoying,” he replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

For the first time, there’s a genuine warmth in your smile, and he can’t help but feel like he’s finally starting to understand you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the change in you during a quiet evening by the campfire. You’re holding the journal he gave you, flipping through its pages with a soft expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance up, startled, and then shrug. “Just… how far we’ve come, I guess.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who smiles, sitting beside you. “It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice unusually quiet. Then, after a pause, you add, “You’ve been… really patient with me. I don’t think I ever said thanks.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I do,” you insist, looking at him with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “I’m not… easy to deal with. But you stayed anyway. That means something.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when the vulnerability in your tone is something he’s never heard before, and he feels his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he says softly.

You stare at him for a long moment before lacing your fingers with his. “Maybe I’m starting to get that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, your smile is free of sarcasm or deflection. It’s warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.

“I’ll take that as a victory,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, but there’s no bite in your words.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when the firelight dances in your eyes, and he looks at you, he knows he’d follow you anywhere.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who surprises you one evening with a quiet dinner set up near a cliff overlooking the ocean. When you see the setup, complete with lanterns and freshly caught seafood, you raise an eyebrow.

“This is new,” you say, smirking. “What’s the occasion? Did someone die?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“You? Nice?” you tease, plopping down onto the blanket. “You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Childe.”

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The way he looks at you, with a rare softness in his expression, makes your usual bravado falter.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, at one point, he leans closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You snort, your cheeks warming. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

But when he cups your face and kisses you, slow and deliberate, your witty comeback dies on your lips. His touch is both tender and possessive, a silent reminder that he’s already decided you’re his.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer drags you out of bed one morning, much to your annoyance. “I promise, if this isn’t life-threatening, I’m going back to sleep,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist. “Just shut up and follow me.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where he leads you to a secluded hilltop just as the sun begins to rise. The view is breathtaking, but you’re still half-asleep and unimpressed.

“You woke me up for this?” you ask, stifling a yawn.

“Ungrateful as always,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Despite your sarcasm, you sit down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. After a moment, you glance at him and say, “Thanks. For this, I mean.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer smirks, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you’re lying back in the grass, the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable. He leans over, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward his.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Good,” you reply, grinning. And then he closes the distance, his kiss as intense and consuming as his feelings for you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha invites you on a late-night stroll, the two of you wandering through a quiet forest illuminated by moonlight. He stops at a clearing where fireflies dance in the air, their glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“You sure know how to set a mood,” you say, half-joking.

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not the fireflies setting the mood.”

You raise an eyebrow, your trademark smirk in place. “Kazuha, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when he takes your hand and pulls you closer, the teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. His hands rest on your waist, his touch featherlight yet grounding.

“You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Instead of replying, you pull him down into a kiss, slow and deep, the world around you fading away.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when It’s been a year since he first confessed, and while you’ve spent most of it poking fun at his intensity, tonight feels… different. He’s pacing around your shared campsite after a mission, looking oddly nervous.

“Spit it out already,” you say, lounging on a log and stretching like you don’t have a care in the world. “You’re giving me secondhand anxiety.”

He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we made this official.”

You blink, sitting up. “Official?”

“You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Us. Together. Permanently.”

“Oh, that kind of official,” you reply, your smirk widening. “You really know how to charm a person, Ajax.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, before he can get defensive, you saunter over, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Relax,” you murmur, your voice dropping an octave. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

The relief in his eyes is quickly replaced by something darker, more possessive. “You really mean that?”

Your grin is wicked. “Why don’t you make me prove it?”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who doesn’t need to be told twice. Before you know it, you’re backed against a tree, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine now,” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Completely, utterly mine.”

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already,” you quip, though your voice trembles as his hands slip under your shirt.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous. “Oh, I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt left.”

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare, pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your hip—leaving marks that scream possession.

“You look so perfect like this,” he mutters, his voice thick with need. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” you manage to say, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he finally slides into you, slow and deliberate, your sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge as he whispers possessive promises against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, over and over, his grip on your hips bruising. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as your nails rake down his back, pulling him impossibly closer, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, when It’s late, and you’re lying together in his makeshift tent. The air between you feels heavy, charged with something unsaid. Finally, he sighs and sits up.

“You know,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft, “it’s been a year.”

You hum, not bothering to open your eyes. “And?”

“And I think… maybe it’s time we stop pretending this is casual,” he says, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your eyes snap open, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. “Wanderer, are you seriously confessing again?”

He glares, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you reply, sitting up fully. “I didn’t think you were the type to get sentimental.”

“Only for you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing.

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing—for tonight.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you—it’s desperate, hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his hands sliding under your shirt to explore your bare skin.

“Good,” you breathe, grinding against him. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

His response is a low groan as he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the soft fabric of the bedroll. His eyes are dark, his expression utterly unguarded as he looks down at you.

“You’re not getting away tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you reply, smirking.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he enters you, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath, his movements erratic as he chases both your pleasure and his. His hands pin your wrists above your head, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with intensity. “No one else.”

And as your moans fill the air, his grip on you tightening, you realize there’s no point in denying it.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where he's sitting beside you by the fire, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. Kazuha leans toward you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“You’ve stayed with me for a year,” he says quietly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you by my side.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile is genuine. “Are you trying to propose or something?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I am.”

The teasing remark dies on your lips as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight. “I want this. Us. Forever.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well, I’m not exactly in the habit of saying no to you, am I?”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who kisses you then, slow and deliberate, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.

When he lays you down by the fire, his movements are unhurried, each touch a silent declaration of his devotion. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve as his lips press heated kisses along your skin.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Show me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

And he does.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when he finally joins with you, it’s slow, almost reverent, his movements guided by the need to make you feel every ounce of his love. His hands never leave your body, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your shoulder, your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with sincerity.

And as the firelight dances across your intertwined bodies, you realize you’ve never felt more adored—or more his.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he stands on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, his mind races. He’s been with you for over a year, and it’s been nothing short of perfect, even if you’re still your usual teasing self. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t wait any longer. He’s made up his mind.

Marry me, he thinks, the words swirling in his mind. It’s not a question, not really. It’s an inevitable conclusion. You’re his. You’ll always be his. The only thing left is to make sure you understand that—completely.

“You’d be the perfect wife,” he mutters to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He envisions you, sitting next to him by the fire, laughing, living, thriving beside him. He imagines it all, and it feels… right. It’s what he deserves.

But the question is: How?

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as his eyes scan the horizon, searching for inspiration. The right setting, he thinks. It has to be memorable. Something personal, something only the two of you can share. Not just some grand spectacle that’ll make you feel overwhelmed—something that’ll make you want to say yes without hesitation.

Or maybe I should take you by surprise, he contemplates, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. A more intimate, private moment. No distractions. Just the two of you, alone, with nothing but his love wrapping around you.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his mind races through countless scenarios—by the water, under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing at your feet. Or maybe in the heat of the moment, when you’re both caught up in your passion, when the connection between you two is raw and undeniable.

But one thing is clear: Tartaglia knows you’ll say yes. You’ll have to. You’re already his.

He just has to make sure you see it, too. That you realize how deep his love goes. That you understand the intensity of what he’s offering. This isn’t just a ring. It’s a lifetime of devotion and passion.

After a long silence, his eyes harden with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine forever.”

The plan is set. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to make you his wife.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where two months have passed since that night in the tent, and Wanderer can’t stop thinking about how perfect it is between you two. It’s a strange thing, this feeling in his chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

You’re mine, he thinks, but now, it’s not enough to just claim you. He wants more. He wants you by his side forever. He wants you to carry his name, to have no other but him in your life.

There’s something about you, the way you challenge him, the way you fight him. It stirs something inside him, something primal, something that says, this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

“Marriage,” he mutters to himself. The thought comes to him like a sudden revelation, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. He doesn’t even blink. It just feels right.

But how? How can he make sure you understand that this isn’t just a casual decision? That he’s serious?

♡ Yandere! Wanderer rolls over in bed, staring at the ceiling. A ring? A symbol of ownership, of course. Something that marks you as his. But how does he make it clear to you that he wants this—wants you—forever?

His thoughts are a whirlwind. He knows that he can’t just come out and ask you. Not like that. You’re too clever, too observant for something so simple. No, he’ll have to make it special.

Perhaps somewhere secluded, just the two of you, far from anyone who could interrupt. He’ll show you his commitment, and then, in the silence of your shared space, he’ll make his declaration. A vow, a promise.

The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself not to just take you right then and there. The idea of you in a white dress, standing beside him, gives him a rush of desire so intense it nearly overwhelms him. But he knows that’s not what he wants.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer wants you to want this, too. Not out of obligation, but because you feel it, because you understand the gravity of what he’s offering.

But how can he make you feel that way? How can he show you that, even though he’s never been one for sentimentality, with you… he’s willing to change?

Wanderer sits up, his eyes narrowed as he thinks it over. He’ll need to be patient, let the moment come naturally, and then when it does…

He’ll claim you forever.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where it's been two months after that night by the fire, his feelings for you have only deepened. He’s spent hours thinking about how to make the moment special, wondering how best to express his love. The idea of forever with you fills him with a warmth he can’t quite put into words.

You’ve been his muse for so long, and now, he wants to make you his in the most meaningful way he can think of.

The problem is… he’s never been good at this. How does one ask for someone’s hand in marriage without sounding cliché or desperate? How can he ask you to be with him forever when everything about him feels so transient?

♡ Yandere! Kazuha watches the wind rustle through the trees, lost in thought. The answer isn’t obvious, but it’s there, in the quiet moments he shares with you. He needs it to be personal, a reflection of the time you’ve spent together, of the bond you’ve created.

A small, intimate setting—a secluded beach at sunset, perhaps. The two of you alone, just like the first night you truly opened up to each other. He’ll ask you when the moment feels right, when the connection between you is so palpable it fills the air.

A simple question, but with everything he is.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha chuckles to himself softly. It doesn’t need to be grand. What matters is that you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours, forever.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when the world slows, and his heart stops for just a moment, realizing that the blow meant for him has fallen upon you instead. You stand between him and the Abyss, your eyes wide in pain as the deadly weapon pierces your body. His breath catches in his throat.

"No..." he whispers, his voice broken as he crawls toward you, blood seeping from your wound.

Your lips curve into a sad, knowing smile, but it’s sharp. "Go," you command, every ounce of strength focused on keeping him safe, even as the life begins to drain from you. "Get out of here. I’ll hold them off. You have to survive. It’s not your time yet."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia where his entire world crumbles. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. "I won’t leave you," he growls, trying to rise, but the weight of his own failure pulls him back down.

"You will," you say, your voice steady, but you can feel the darkness creeping in. "You will, Ajax. I love you... I always have." Your eyes lock, your gaze filled with such quiet resolve that it nearly breaks him. "I’m yours... but you have to keep fighting... For us."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia before he can protest, before he can beg, you make your move. With every ounce of your strength, you grab the closest enemy and pull them down with you into the depths of the Abyss, dragging their weapons into the chasm alongside you. You force them all to fall, ensuring they can’t escape with you, ensuring that Tartaglia gets the chance to survive.

"Go!" you scream one last time. "Now!"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, with every fiber of his being, refuses. His body trembles, his heart splintering into pieces as he watches you disappear into the darkness. He screams your name, his voice thick with despair and rage.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, when you’re gone, when you’ve been consumed by the Abyss and he’s left behind, alone with the silence, he’s never felt more hollow. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you vanished—days, weeks, or mere minutes. Time has no meaning when you’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to you.

But he will find you.

His eyes darken with madness as he stands, his entire body burning with fury. He will never stop searching for you. You think you can escape him? He will tear apart the world, the Abyss, and everything between him and you. If it takes years, if it takes an eternity, he will find you.

The ring in his pocket feels like a weight he can’t carry without you, but he will find a way to make the promise real. The promise he made to you. To love you, forever.

He stands, his fists clenched. The hunt begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, as his eyes narrow. "Stay close," he commands. The two of you fight side by side, effortlessly synchronizing your movements as you’ve done countless times before. You’re unstoppable—until today.

Suddenly, the world tilts. A strange force pulls at the very air around you. The weapons they wield are like nothing you’ve seen before. A barrage of magical projectiles rains down from every direction, each one more powerful than the last, each one seemingly tailored to exploit your weaknesses.

You’re fast, but not fast enough. Your energy wanes. Wanderer's face flickers with concern as he fights to protect you, but the odds are overwhelming. Then, one of them moves too quickly, too precisely. They strike at Wanderer with a vicious blow that sends him flying back. His body crashes to the ground, and you’re the first to rush to him to take the killing blow.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where you’ve fallen, your body slipping into the darkness to protect him—Wanderer watches in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as you’re consumed by the Abyss. His voice is raw, lost. “No… no, this can’t be happening.”

He rushes toward you, but the wave of enemies, their weapons tearing at the air, blocks him. His hands are shaking as he tries to reach you, but the moment is slipping away, too fast, too cruel. His mind is screaming for him to do something, anything, but the power of the Abyss pulls you further from him.

As the last of the darkness claims you, you look back. Your eyes are filled with pain, but also love, and the last words you whisper are enough to break him.

"Live, Wanderer," you say. "Live for us…"

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where his knees buckle, his world imploding in on itself as he screams your name. There’s no escaping the agony that claws at his heart. His mind turns dark, fueled by rage and desperation. How dare they? How dare they take you from him?

He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he rises to his feet. “I’ll kill them all,” he growls, his voice hoarse with rage. “You won’t be forgotten. I swear on everything… I will make them pay.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer stands, a man possessed, and the hunt for vengeance begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where, just as he’s about to finally put his plans into motion, to ask you the question that’s been burning in his mind for months, everything shatters. The campfire crackles behind him as he watches you, your eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. He’s so sure, so certain. The ring hidden in his pocket, the words ready to spill from his lips—but then the ground shakes.

A flash of darkness tears through the sky, and Kazuha's instincts scream that something’s wrong. He turns to find you, standing beside him, your hand brushing against his as if fate has already decided. But the moment is shattered, ripped away by the sound of swords clashing, the sudden pressure of cold, calculated death.

A figure in the shadows, their weapon gleaming with deadly precision, lunges at Kazuha. A dozen more emerge, surrounding you both, their weapons crackling with malicious energy. Their presence feels wrong. Their faces are hidden behind cold metal masks, and their movements are unnatural, almost mechanical.

Everything goes wrong too fast, too quickly. You don't hesitate to protect him with your very life, shielding him from a fatal blow, from an injury that could've killed him.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the moment he sees you fall—your body consumed by the Abyss—he’s frozen, unable to move. He’s never felt fear like this before, the way it twists his insides, cold and sharp. You, the one who’s been his light in the darkness, the one who’s made him believe in something worth fighting for, are now gone.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, his heart breaking in his chest. “No… No, this can’t be real. You… you promised…”

But the Abyss has claimed you, and he’s left standing in the dark, the world crumbling around him. His hands tremble as he drops to his knees, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “I swear I will. I will bring you back. I will make them pay for this.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha stands, a storm brewing within him, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable. He will find you. And when he does, there will be no place that will ever be able to hide you from him again.

The hunt has begun.

────────────

The world feels like it’s crumbling around him. His heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble as he moves through the shadows, eyes searching desperately for any trace of you. He’s been hunting for days—no, weeks—losing himself in the search for the only person who’s ever truly mattered to him. The Abyss took you. They took his light, his love.

He’s driven, possessed by the desire to find you, to bring you back to him, to make everything right again. No obstacle is too great. No danger too perilous. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat is a reminder that he’ll stop at nothing to have you back.

And then, there he is. The Abyss Prince.

His blood runs cold, as he sees Aether standing there, his icy gaze locked onto the battlefield. And in the distance, he sees you—slumped, bloodied, barely conscious. His heart skips a beat.

“No,” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. His every instinct screams to run to you, to hold you, to protect you, but there’s a force that stops him. Something deeper, darker, something unnatural. He knows who’s responsible. It’s him. The Abyss Prince.

His hands curl into fists. His fury surges, but before he can make a move, a chilling, unbearable presence stops him. The world seems to slow.

Suddenly, a blade pierces his chest from behind.

He gasps, his breath catching in his throat as pain explodes through him. His hands shake as he tries to reach for the hilt, but his vision blurs. He looks over his shoulder and sees a familiar face—a face he never thought he’d see in this moment.

It’s you.

A mad gleam in your eyes, a cruel twist to your lips. Your posture, your expression, everything about you has changed. You’re no longer the playful, teasing soul he once knew. You’re cold, calculating, your emotions absent, as though the person he fell in love with is gone. All that remains is someone dangerous.

His heart shatters. His voice trembles as he gasps, “No… No, you—”

But before he can finish, the Abyss Prince steps forward, his cold gaze locking onto him. “You’re not allowed to kill him,” Aether says softly, the command in his voice undeniable. “Not yet.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his confusion swirls into a storm. He stumbles back, watching as you step away from him, the blade still lodged in his chest, before the Abyss Prince gestures for something to happen. You don’t just leave him wounded—you restrain him, binding him with chains, powerful and unyielding, until he can’t move, can’t even see. His head is tilted back, his vision completely restrained completely by the thick, suffocating darkness of the chains.

He struggles, his breaths shallow, his heart racing. He can feel the cold weight of his situation—the desperation, the helplessness that’s taken root inside him.

“You…” Tartaglia’s voice is raw with fury, with disbelief, and with pain. “What did you do to her? What have you done to my wife?”

But you say nothing. You only scoff, as though the situation is beneath you, as though the man you once knew no longer matters. There’s no playfulness, no warmth, just a chilling, vacant emptiness where your love once was.

Tartaglia’s mind races. This can’t be happening. His wife—his wife—has been manipulated. He knows it. This is all the Abyss’ doing. You’re not like this. They’ve broken you, twisted you, made you into something else. They’ve taken you from him.

His frustration boils over, but he’s helpless. “I’ll kill him,” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill the Abyss Prince for what he’s done to you.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong—everything is wrong. He can’t focus. His mind is too clouded, too confused. All he wants is you back. And he’ll stop at nothing to have you again. Even if it means destroying everything in his path.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where the madness is overwhelming. It’s all so much—the pain, the frustration, the confusion—as he watches you in front of him, cold and emotionless, blade in hand, ready to kill. His thoughts spiral in a frenzy. This can’t be real. He refuses to believe it. You… you’re supposed to be his. You’re supposed to be with him. Yet here you are, ready to snuff his life out.

The Abyss did this to you, he knows it. They’ve taken his love and turned her into something else—something cruel, something empty. Something unrecognizable.

His hand shakes as he tries to reach for you, but the chains binding him keep him stuck. His vision is obscured. Every move he tries to make is futile, a cruel reminder of how powerless he is in this moment.

“Why?” he chokes, his voice thick with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I know they’ve manipulated you. I know you’re not like this.”

But you don’t speak. You just look at him, your eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. He can’t reach you, can’t get through to you.

The Abyss Prince stands by, silent, his eyes as cold as ice. He’s watching this—he’s letting this happen. The rage within Wanderer swells to a point where he can hardly breathe.

“No,” he snarls, pulling against the chains. “I will kill you. You will answer for this.”

But you just smile at him, that same cold, emotionless smile. And all Wanderer can do is watch as his love slips further from his grasp, bound by the chains of the Abyss.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the world shatters around him as he watches you fall, as he watches you change into something that he no longer recognizes. The blade that once threatened his enemies is now raised to him, your eyes cold, indifferent to the pain he’s in. He’s unable to stop you, even as he feels the weight of the chains binding him, constricting him. You’re too far gone.

“Kazuha…” you murmur, but the words don’t feel right. They sound empty, distant. His heart cracks as he watches you, the woman he loves, standing before him, her emotions stripped away. You are a stranger now.

He gasps, trying to break free, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened to you?” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, just… just come back. This isn’t you. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”

But you don’t answer. You only watch him, the gleam in your eyes nothing like the playful light he once knew. It’s cold, calculating, and it freezes him to his core.

And then Aether steps forward, his voice a soft command that stills Kazuha’s frantic mind. “You’re not allowed to kill him, not yet,” Aether reminds once more, his presence suffocating.

Kazuha’s breath catches, and his thoughts spin wildly. This can’t be real. You—you—you’ve been twisted. But Aether has the control here. The chains bind Kazuha tighter, his vision clouded by darkness, and all he can do is sit in silence, trapped, powerless.

“Why?” Kazuha chokes, frustration and fear flooding him. “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you don’t answer. You only step back, leaving him to face the Abyss alone, the chains around him tightening with every heartbeat.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield is chaos, Tartaglia’s vision locked onto you. Aether stands at your side, the Abyss Prince exuding an otherworldly menace. Yet, Tartaglia doesn’t care. He’ll cut through anything and anyone to save you, his beloved, from the darkness that has ensnared you.

“Let her go!” Tartaglia snarls, voice cracking with desperation. His body screams from the injuries sustained in his relentless pursuit, but his heart burns hotter. His eyes flick to you—the source of his pain and salvation. “You don’t belong here! Come back to me!”

For a moment, his words seem to falter against your icy gaze. He knows you hear him, knows that somewhere in your heart, the person he loves still exists. But instead of the warmth he longs for, a cruel, mocking smile spreads across your lips.

“Come back?” you repeat, your tone dripping with false innocence. “Oh, Tartaglia, you poor, stupid fool.”

His breath hitches, confusion flashing across his face. Aether glances at you, silent but visibly amused, as though he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance. You turn to the Abyss Prince, patting his shoulder with an air of camaraderie that shatters Tartaglia’s world.

“He’s SO dumb,” you say with a cackle, tilting your head back to laugh. “Did he really think he was that special? That I cared? Oh, this is too good.”

Tartaglia stumbles back as if struck. “What… what are you saying?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“Everything, from the very beginning…” you start, pacing in front of him like a predator toying with its prey. “The teasing, the affection, the nights we spent together, the ‘sacrifices’ I made to protect you. All of it. A lie.”

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. “No! You… you almost died for me! You saved me!”

You roll your eyes, brandishing the very blade you once used to fight by his side. “Please, Childe. That was just part of the plan. You were so much fun to manipulate, though. I’ll give you credit for that. Getting through your walls wasn’t easy.”

Tartaglia’s hands clench into trembling fists. His heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. This is the Abyss! They’ve done something to you!”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, stepping closer to him. Your blade tilts his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’ve always been like this. You were just too blind to see it.”

Aether’s voice cuts through the tension. “Enough.” The Prince’s command is calm, almost bored. “He’s served his purpose.”

You sigh, turning back to Aether. “Fine, fine. But can we please kill him now? This melodrama is getting tedious.”

Tartaglia’s vision blurs as the weight of betrayal crashes over him. He can’t reconcile the love he felt with the monster before him. Even as his body fails, his heart stubbornly clings to the hope that this is some cruel illusion.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer’s indigo eyes are wide with disbelief, fixed on you as you stand beside Aether. The Abyss Prince’s presence is oppressive, but it’s your cold smirk that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Why are you doing this?” Wanderer’s voice cracks, his usual sharp wit replaced by a trembling vulnerability. “I trusted you. I… loved you.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “Loved me? That’s sweet. But did you really think someone like me could love someone like you?”

The words hit him like a blow, but you’re not finished. You twirl a dagger in your hand, your movements lazy and confident. “Let me guess. You thought we were kindred spirits, two broken souls finding solace in each other? How… adorable.”

Wanderer’s rage flares, his chains rattling as he strains against them. “You liar! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the Abyss Prince and get you back, no matter what it takes!”

Aether chuckles softly, and you laugh along with him, the sound grating against Wanderer’s raw nerves. “Kill him?” you echo. “Oh, darling, you couldn’t even touch him. And you think I want to be ‘saved’ by you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wanderer freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. He studies your face, searching for any trace of the person he thought he knew, but all he finds is a stranger wearing your skin.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Why would you do this?”

You shrug, tossing the dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly. “Because it’s fun. And because Aether needed a little help with a certain someone.” Your gaze sharpens, and for a moment, Wanderer sees the madness in your eyes. “You were just a pawn, dear. A very entertaining pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels, his hands bound by unyielding chains, his soft crimson eyes filled with betrayal as he looks up at you. The gentle breeze that usually follows him is eerily still, as though the world itself mourns his heartbreak.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could you… why would you do this?”

You sigh, as if exasperated by his naivety. “Oh, Kazuha. Always so poetic, so trusting. It’s almost endearing how much faith you put in people. Almost.”

He flinches at the derision in your tone. “You saved me. You risked your life for me. Was all of that a lie?”

You kneel before him, cupping his face with a mocking tenderness. “Not all of it,” you admit. “Some of it was necessary. After all, how else was I supposed to gain your trust?”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, his heart shattering into pieces he can hardly comprehend. “You used me,” he says, more to himself than to you. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

“Bingo!” you chirp, pulling back and spinning on your heel. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow that looms over Kazuha. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone bored.

You glance at him with a pout. “Almost. Just let me have this moment. Watching him break is the best part.”

Kazuha’s head hangs low, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of your betrayal. Yet, even as despair overtakes him, a small ember of hope remains. He vows, silently and fiercely, to free you from the Abyss’ clutches—no matter what it takes.

You, however, have other plans. As you turn away, a cruel smile graces your lips. The game has only just begun, and you’re already thinking of your next move.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield reeks of blood and fire, the aftermath of Tartaglia’s relentless pursuit of you. His breaths come ragged, his body battered, yet his gaze remains locked on you. Aether stands beside you, radiating the chilling authority of the Abyss Prince.

“You think this is over?” Tartaglia spits, his voice raw with determination. “I’ll tear apart this entire Abyss if I have to—just to bring you back.”

You laugh—a sound that is anything but warm. It’s a sharp, maniacal cackle, filled with scornful glee. “Back? To what, exactly? Your pathetic little life of lies and delusions?”

He flinches, but you’re already closing the distance between you. Your hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength. His vision swims, yet he refuses to look away from you.

“You’re nothing without me,” you hiss, your grip tightening as his struggles grow weaker. “Do you honestly believe your love could save anyone, Childe? That I needed saving? How quaint.”

He gurgles something incoherent, but you only tighten your hold, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. “The only thing you’re good for is bleeding. Look at you, all this power, all this loyalty, and for what? For me to spit in your face?”

You release him suddenly, letting him collapse in a heap at your feet. He clutches at his throat, gasping for air, but you’re not done. Your boot presses against his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you sneer, tilting your head like a predator savoring the kill. “Did you think I was some damsel in need of rescuing? No, darling. I’m the monster your nightmares warned you about.”

Tartaglia’s eyes blaze with despair and determination as he chokes out, “I’ll… I’ll kill him… take you back…”

Your laughter erupts again, wild and unhinged. “Kill him? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t even stand. You’re nothing but a pitiful fool—a fool who thought love could conquer someone like me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer thrashes against the chains binding him, his indigo eyes burning with fury and disbelief. His usual sharp tongue fails him as he stares at you, standing beside Aether, a wicked grin plastered across your face.

“You’re insane,” Wanderer growls, venom dripping from every word. “Let me go, and I’ll make you regret this.”

You clap your hands mockingly, the sound echoing in the cavernous Abyss chamber. “Regret? Oh, sweetheart, regret is for people who make mistakes. I’m having too much fun watching you squirm.”

He lunges against the chains, his strength formidable but useless against the Abyssal restraints. “You lied to me!” he snarls. “Everything—you lied about everything!”

“Of course I did,” you say with a sing-song lilt, stepping closer. Your hands trail lazily over his face, your nails scraping just enough to hurt. “Did you really think someone like me could ever care about someone like you? A discarded puppet, a useless little doll?”

His expression twists with rage, but the vulnerability behind it is unmistakable. “You’re wrong,” he bites out. “You cared. I saw it. I felt it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo mockingly, before your voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Feel this.”

Your knee slams into his gut, forcing a pained gasp from his lips. You grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look at you. “I never cared about you. You were just a stepping stone, a toy for me to break when I got bored. And guess what? I’m bored now.”

Aether chuckles behind you, his voice cold and amused. “You’re cruel,” he observes.

You flash him a wicked grin. “Why, thank you, my prince. I do aim to please.”

Wanderer’s voice is hoarse, filled with hatred and anguish. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill you. You’ll regret this.”

Your laughter is pure insanity, ringing out like a bell of doom. “Try, little puppet. Try and fail, again and again. It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels in chains, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow as he gazes up at you. The stillness of the air is suffocating, the calm before a storm that will never come.

“You…” he begins, his voice a broken whisper. “You were my compass. My home. How could you betray me like this?”

You crouch in front of him, your eyes alight with malevolent joy. “Betray you?” you echo, your tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, Kazuha, don’t flatter yourself. You were never that important to me.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t stop. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You were just a convenient tool, a way to pass the time. A pretty little plaything for me to use and discard.”

Kazuha flinches as if struck, his spirit cracking under the weight of your words. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but the tremor in his voice betrays his doubt.

You laugh, the sound a haunting melody of madness. “Oh, but I do. Every word. And do you know the best part? Watching you break, piece by piece.”

Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You thought you could save me, didn’t you? That your love could heal whatever darkness you saw in me. How utterly pathetic.”

He trembles under your touch, his chains rattling as his hands ball into fists. “I’ll find a way,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll free you from this darkness.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back in pure delight. “Free me? Oh, Kazuha, I am the darkness. There’s nothing to free me from.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow beside you. “He’s done,” the Abyss Prince says. “Let him wallow in his failure.”

You stand, casting one last mocking glance at Kazuha. “Goodbye, my little storm. Try not to drown in your tears.”

As you walk away, Kazuha’s head hangs low, his heart shattered—but the fire of his resolve burns on.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The kiss you share with Aether is cruelly deliberate, a deep, searing display of mockery meant for the man crumpled at your feet. Tartaglia’s battered body trembles, his fists digging into the scorched ground as he watches, his chest heaving with a suffocating cocktail of pain and rage.

“Don’t look away,” you taunt, your lips still wet with the evidence of your betrayal. “This is the truth, Childe. This is all you ever were to me—something to laugh at.”

Aether scoffs, shoving you away, irritation flashing in his Abyssal gaze. But you only laugh, twirling back to face Tartaglia, your grin stretching wider as your gaze locks with his. Gone is the warmth he clung to, the person he thought he loved. In its place is a madness so stark, so twisted, it shatters whatever hope remained in his heart.

The realization crashes into him like a tidal wave—you never cared for him. Not once. Not even in the smallest, fleeting moment. His breath hitches, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I see it now,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but laced with a dangerous calm. “You don’t deserve kindness. And I’ve been far too kind to you.”

Your grin falters, if only for a second, as he rises to his knees, his gaze blazing with something new—something unhinged.

“It’s too late to turn back,” he says, his tone eerily even. “I don’t need your love, or your lies, anymore. You’ll be mine, no matter what I have to destroy to make it happen.”

As Abyss subordinates drag him away, his eyes never leave yours, his smirk dark and foreboding. “Run, hide, laugh while you can. I’ll be coming for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every breath you ever stole from me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Your lips crash against Aether’s, an act of derision that sends a violent shudder through Wanderer’s restrained form. His chains rattle as his whole body tenses, the burning in his eyes consuming what little humanity he’d clung to.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper against Aether’s lips before pulling away, your laughter slicing through the silence. The Abyss Prince wipes his mouth with a look of disdain, but your amusement only grows. You whirl around to face Wanderer, your grin a feral slash across your face.

“You never saw it, did you?” you sneer, your voice dripping with venom. “All that time, all those stolen moments—and you never noticed the madness in my eyes. You’re not a victim, Wanderer. You’re just another broken thing for me to play with.”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, the corners of his lips twitch upward, forming a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with something chilling. “You think this is over, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor.

“Go ahead,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “Laugh, mock me, pretend you’ve won. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Abyss soldiers begin to drag him away, but his eyes stay fixed on yours, unyielding and terrifying.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “So now, I’ll do the same to you. Love? Hate? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll strip you bare, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me.”

And as he’s pulled into the shadows, his final words echo like a curse: “You’ll never escape me, not even in death.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Your kiss with Aether is theatrical, exaggerated, designed to carve deeper into Kazuha’s shattered heart. The Abyss Prince shoves you away, muttering something under his breath, but you laugh, spinning to meet Kazuha’s gaze.

“Did you think you were special?” you ask, your voice lilting with mockery. “That your poetry and promises could bind me to you? Oh, Kazuha, you were always chasing a storm you could never tame.”

Kazuha doesn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on yours with a quiet intensity. But the light in them has changed, twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve lost,” you declare, turning away, but his voice stops you cold.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone so calm it sends a chill down your spine.

You glance back, and the sight of him—the once-gentle warrior now smirking with a darkness that rivals your own—sends your pulse skittering.

“You think you’ve won,” he continues, his voice soft but deadly. “But this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

The Abyss guards move to haul him away, yet he doesn’t resist. His gaze remains locked on you, his smile growing as he speaks his final words.

“I’ll break you,” he says, his voice like a whispered promise carried on the wind. “Not with anger, not with hatred—but with love twisted into something you can’t escape. And when you’re mine, when you’re begging for the freedom you so carelessly destroyed, I’ll remind you of this moment. I’ll remind you who truly holds the chains.”

And as the shadows swallow him, his presence lingers, a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.