#everything is normal except that he looks like this

[undyingdecay]

pairing: robert reynolds x reader cw: smut, afab reader, breeding, nursing, dry humping, mommy kink without the use of the word ‘mommy’(?).

bob had many bad habits—and calling them “bad” felt almost reductive. it wasn’t so much that they were wrong, but that they were inevitable. necessary evils, like antidepressants that cured one demon only to awaken another—sleep stolen, thoughts sharpened into blades. you knew the risks. knew that there were layers to him, chasms of light and void so impossibly knotted together that pulling one string risked unraveling everything. and yet, not once did you try to stop him.

especially not when he had you like this.

bob had you in what would have been a mating press. he wasn’t dominating you; that would have implied control. no, this was desperation.

you felt the weight of him—solid, large, always too warm. his hips moved in slow, needy grinds, rutting into the softness of your thigh with a barely contained whine. he didn’t even seem aware he was doing it at first, too lost in the hum of your skin against his, the scent of your shampoo, the knowledge that you were here, real, and not another hallucination clawing through the fissures in his fragile reality.

his entire psyche was trembling in the cradle of your touch. that heavy body of his, golden-skinned and too warm, was sprawled across yours, pinning you to the plush comforter of your shared bed. all clothes still on, not even trying to make a move for your underwear, and yet rutting into you like a fevered animal who’d finally found shelter from the storm.

“please… just stay still,” he whined into your neck, voice thick with need, cracked around the edges like a man seconds from breaking. “i need this… need you so bad…”

his hips rocked down, grinding the full length of his cock into the soft swell between your thighs, the friction of denim-on-denim only fueling his urgency. you could feel how soaked the front of his jeans already were, a hot patch of pre-cum bleeding through the fabric and clinging to your skin underneath your own clothes. he wasn’t trying to get off fast—he was trying to feel. the kind of touch-starved desperation that made your breath catch, made your core throb with guilt-tinged arousal.

it always started like this. bob had a serious humping problem, and half the time, he didn’t even seem aware he was doing it. like some old, buried instinct took over and short-circuited everything else. one minute, you were making drinks behind the bar—yelena’s had already been poured, predictably flat beer, though you’d sometimes coax her into a frozen piña colada on hot nights when the mission weight cracked her shell—and the next, bob was there.

you hadn’t even noticed when he moved in front of you. but there he was, subtly grinding the outline of his cock—half-hard, already leaking—against your ass while you stirred a cocktail like it was the most normal thing in the world. his hands crept around your hips, fingers splayed wide, clutching you like you might evaporate.

you could feel the thick heat of him behind you, the slow, indulgent roll of his hips pressing that leaking bulge harder against your backside. he buried his face into your shoulder, just breathing you in—letting the scent of your skin fill his lungs while his cock twitched and spilled again. a low grunt escaped him, like a growl caught in his throat, and you didn’t even need to look to know there’d be another dark patch soaking through the front of his pants soon.

he wasn’t much for words, at least not when he needed you like this. maybe it was psychological. maybe some freudian reflex—except his slips came in the form of motion, not speech. whatever it was, it usually ended the same: with bob flushed, breathing hard, and muttering a barely-there apology as he rushed off to change his boxers, the front soaked through with a spill of pre that just wouldn’t stop.

but that wasn’t even the worst of it.

no, the worst was bob’s obsession with your breasts. or more precisely, the act of nursing from them. you weren’t sure how it started—maybe a mission had gone sideways, maybe something in the void had cracked open inside him—but soon enough, it became a ritual. those pink, pouty lips latched onto your nipples with almost sacred reverence. like the act of sucking was anchoring him here, to this world, to you. he’d nurse himself to sleep on you, mouth slack and warm, eyelashes kissing your skin like they did when he wept.

he’d whimper softly while he suckled, hips occasionally jerking when your hand would trail down and cup the growing tent in his briefs. his tongue would lap at your nipple with slow, wet circles before taking it deeper into his mouth, his lips stretched open with hunger that was never quite satisfied. sometimes, he’d hum—soft, broken sounds that made your stomach clench and your thighs tighten.

it wouldn’t have been a problem, really—until bob started asking for more.

nursing wasn’t enough anymore. he wanted milk.

when you tried to gently explain to him that your body didn’t produce milk unless you were pregnant, something visibly shifted behind his eyes. a glint of understanding mixed with something far more primal. his breathing hitched, his hands went still on your hips—and the moment stretched out like a wire about to snap.

the next second he was rutting into you with such overwhelming need you could barely stay upright. his hands clenched at your waist like you’d disappear if he let go, his hips bucking up to meet yours with a helpless rhythm. you were riding him—gripping his broad shoulders, gasping each time he hit that perfect angle—and he was falling apart beneath you.

you were bare, both of you. his cock slid into you with such effortless heat you swore he was made for this, for you. your slick dripped down over his balls, already soaked from how much foreplay had bled into full-on worship. every grind of your hips forced a hiss through his teeth, his mouth falling open as he grabbed fistfuls of your ass and urged you down harder.

“please,” he sobbed, voice wrecked with sincerity. “please take my cum. i need it—i need you to have it. keep it inside, don’t waste it. don’t let it go, please—!”

the way he said please—like a dying man gasping for water—made you tremble. he was twitching inside you already, leaking thick pulses of pre so hot you swore you could feel it pool deep inside. you tightened around him and he cried out, high and hoarse, rutting up into you with broken rhythm. the slap of skin on skin echoed in the room, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he chased that final, frantic release.

he didn’t last long. he never did when the idea of forever was involved.

and when he came—god, when he came—it was like watching him detonate in slow motion. his entire body shook, legs kicking slightly under the sheets, and his cock jerked inside of you, spilling thick, hot ropes that filled you to the brim. it felt endless. like he’d saved it all just for you.

he sobbed through it, full-body tremors racking his frame as his arms wrapped tight around you. his tears were hot against your skin, streaming freely as he clung to you like a drowning man.

you didn’t move. you let him be there—in you, around you, breaking apart and coming back together in the shelter of your arms.

you held him as he cried, brushing his sweat-damp blonde curls back from his flushed face. he mumbled something incoherent against your breast, lips brushing the peak of your nipple before gently latching on again. and just like always, his breathing slowed. his body eased. the storm passed.

he drifted off suckling you, as though your body was the only thing tethering him to this plane of reality—and maybe it was.

maybe, in the end, you were his antidepressant. a dangerous kind. the kind that could save him or kill him depending on the dose.

and still, you’d never stop him.

[harstyle]

Fourteen Years

Summary: They became fast best friends at ten years old - fourteen years later, not much has changed. Now they're twenty four, spending a few weeks together in her Berlin apartment as he takes a well earned break from work. He's a world famous singer, she has an office job she hates. Their paths couldn‘t be more misaligned - but that's what makes them work. Everything falls into place when they're together, a quiet routine building in the shadows, easy and organic. They move around each other like life is the simplest thing in the world.

But what happens when a drunken conversation on a balcony threatens the livelihood of their friendship forever?

What happens when all bets are off and they're forced to be honest with each other?

Word-count: around 4k

Warnings: nothing really, mentions of alcohol, swearing

A/N: Hey there, it's been months! I haven't really written much except from this little thing because I’ve had a lot going on. I'm not a huge fan of this tbh, but something about it feels comforting, so I thought I'd post it. Get ready for the cheesiness of it all and hope you're having a good day!

By the way he calls her Tinkerbell in this lol (don’t ask).

Also, there‘s weird time jumps because I wanted to try out something new, but it basically just switches between the night the conversation went down (italics) and the morning after and her thoughts on the night (normal). Hope it‘s not too confusing!

—

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink.”

That’s what he said last night. He was drunk, even though he insisted repeatedly he wasn’t, but she smelt the alcohol on his breath, a mix of beer and mint that was harmonious enough to smell good. His pupils were dilated, cheeks a shade of red they only are when he’s downright gone but trying to act like he isn’t.

She knows him like the back of her hand. Fourteen years together, every step of their lives since childhood. Elementary, secondary, early adulthood to now— all of it, she’s known him better than anyone. She’s seen all of his phases, however successful or downright devastating— she’s gotten to know all the cousins, all the girlfriends, all the enemies. They’re the it couple, the loves of each other‘s lives. In the most platonic way imaginable.

Last night he wasn‘t like himself. He spent most of the night keeping to himself despite the rare company of their friends, chucking drink after drink like alcohol isn’t the gateway drug it‘s known to be— so unlike the man who always paces himself so as to preserve his health. And then he spoke to her. And at first, it went like always.

“Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She breathes softly, turning to face him whilst pressing her back against the railing. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, having just thought of him as she looked over the scenery from her balcony thinking how nice it’d be for him to be by her side. “You okay, there, cowboy?”

“Never been better, Tink.”

And she remembers, even now, the smile that tugged at her face when she realized he was different. Because it wasn’t a bad different; it wasn’t like he became cold, or dismissive, or mean— no, he just seemed happy. Too happy, like there was nothing in the world that warranted enough importance to be worried about. A version of him she’s never fully gotten to know, but has seen snippets of. And it isn’t like he’s not a happy person— he is; never too worried, never too scared. But this was a different kind of happy.

He seemed lighter. Like the years of experience and maturity had washed away momentarily, leaving her with the eighteen year old Harry she once knew standing in front of her.

“Oh is that why you can’t walk straight?”

He shushes her, coming to lean his front against the railing. She inches closer to him, head falling comfortably against his shoulder. Then she says softly, “we haven’t spoken much today.”

“Yeah, we haven’t.”

She prompts her chin on his shoulder, staring hesitantly at the side of his face. There’s barely any lighting and she can barely make out the shapes, but it’s enough. She watches as his lashes flutter softly, as his facial muscles tighten a little. “And why is that?”

He looks ahead, breathing in and out gently, like he’s deep in thought.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Tink.”

“Okay,” she nods subtly. “Well if you want to talk about it…”

“…you’re here.” He finishes for her.

“Like I always am,” she emphasizes, the extra squeeze to his arm substituting for a thousand words she could be saying instead. But she doesn’t really need to. Never has.

Now she’s waiting. In the kitchen, back in the living room. Then in the kitchen again. She’s pacing, thinking, worrying about what Harry will say when he’s up. If he even remembers what he said, if he meant it the way she thinks he must have.

She never had to worry about losing him. Because she always knew, even at 12 years old, that risking it would mean losing it forever. It being the friendship; the bond with the kindest, most precious boy she had ever laid eyes on. So even though throughout the years sparks of feelings have crept up instantaneously, she’s never pursued that dream.

But it would be sucha dream, wouldn’t it? To be loved by the boy she grew up loving. To be loved by the boy who knows how to appreciate her without having to be taught. To be loved by the boy who always puts her first, treats her best, makes her feel whole.

It hurts sometimes to think she might never find someone like him again. It’s psychotic, really, the fact that she’s so frightened of losing him that she’s deprived herself of the best man on earth. Just so she can keep him a little longer. Even if it means walking down the aisle to him and not being the one wearing white.

For a lingering moment, all there is between them is silence. Dead silence, just the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat exposed underneath her fingertips.

He breathes in deeply, almost as though preparing himself to say something earth shattering. But then he doesn’t. His fingers twitch, she sees it.

“What is it, H?”

He looks at her, eyes filled with something indescribable. But she speaks his language, so even though he doesn’t say it, she knows what he means to convey. Thankfulness. Gratitude. And she feels it too, any time she’s sad or conflicted, any time she’s in a place she doesn’t want to be in— a glance of his eyes and there it is. All the words. Never spoken out loud, but crafted together perfectly in the space between their bodies.  She always wonders how. She knows he’s wondering it right now too.

But it changes something in his face. It pushed him over the edge, the look of determination solidifying into something more serious.

“You get me, Tink.”

“I do,” she says lowly, making sure to tilt her lips into a smile. “And you, H, get me.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it? How rare must a connection like ours be?”

“Pretty rare, probably,” she replies with an easy chuckle, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t even think it and you know. Y’know before I do, every time.”

Her breathing changes with his. It’s sporadic, slower, almost like otherwise she would be risking a solid ground to stand on. “Yeah, I… I guess so, H. Are you okay?”

“I’m always good when I’m with you. Which is—“ he laughs, almost like at himself, “which is kind of the point, you know. I—“ he looks away, running a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, “I’ve been thinking about how weird it is that we’re… I mean, I’ve never felt that way about…” he pauses again, taking a short leveled breath. “About anyone, really. Anyone but you.”

Her eyebrows pinch, pulling together to crease the center of her forehead.

She doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. Maybe then he’ll realize he shouldn’t be doing this right now, that he’s entering dangerous territory.

“And I saw you with… with that guy. Tim, you said?”

He nudges her when she remains quiet.

She clears her throat,”Tom, actually.”

He huffs a breath, “right, Tom. I see him, you know? I see what he could be, but it really doesn’t matter that he’s a good guy. It doesn’t matter that he picks up the bill, doesn’t matter that he opens your fucking door. I can’t shake this feeling that he could never be good enough. Because nobody is— not for you. Not even if he kisses the ground you walk on.”

And finally, it’s like she understands a little better what he’s trying to say. She snickers quietly to herself, but lenient worry spreads throughout her chest regardless. “well, that’s a little silly.”

“Is it?”

“If nobody’s gonna be good enough then might as well pick the next one in line, right?”

A pause. Then a cough. “Yeah, right,” he nods, but it looks and feels as though there’s something more to it.

Gently, she brushes a lone finger over his cold wrist. “Harry, what’s happening right now? I’m confused.”

He shakes his head, taking a breath to brace himself. “Is he the next in line?”

For some reason, her heart beats faster.  “What?”

And when he looks into her eyes again, they’re red. “Tom. Is he the next in line? The next best guy?”

For the first time, she allows her gaze to linger, to glide over his nose down to his mouth, then back up again. She swallows, the options of what to say made available to her in her head, yet both too risky to choose from. But she has to say something. “No, he’s not. You’re the best guy, you know that. But it’s different with you, with us.”

And he nods his head, taking in the answer with special consideration.

After a long pause, he takes a deep breath. “Would I be good enough?”

“Would you be good enough for what, H?”

“For you.”

And it was truly instinctual, her laugh. It was racked with nervousness, a sense of unease because she was left thoroughly confused. Looking back, it was probably demeaning of her to laugh— but then again, she still has no idea what happened last night. Where it came from.

She can picture it in her head now, the nervous look on his face as he asked her the question and probably the only time she’d ever recognized anything resembling insecurity in his voice. She’s pacing, a feeling of disgust overriding her stomach at the thought. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, to undermine him. But she didn’t know.

“Why are you laughing?”

She detaches herself from him, dismissal evident in her every step. Maybe it’s the kind of dismissal that needs to be expressed so that nothing moves and everything is left untouched— enough for him to just drop it. Because she’s terrified of it all falling apart. The first domino tile has been flicked; now it‘s only a matter of when will the rest fall in line? “Because you’re being ridiculous, Harry. Stop doing that, you’re freaking me out.”

But it’s not enough. He follows after her, struggling to walk a straight line.  “What’s ridiculous about me asking you a serious question?”

“I just— you know you’re good enough!”

“Do I?”

She glances at him shortly before continuing in stride. “Oh come on! Stop acting so oblivious and innocent.”

“What does that even mean, Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. Not when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“Yeah and the fucking pope isn’t catholic.”

He scoffs aloud. “Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She swivels around, her arms coming to hug around her middle. She looks at him as though repulsed, because frankly, she is. Things were fine before he had to go and get himself drunk and spurt things he couldn’t possibly mean.

He pauses, an expression of defeat on his worry-ridden face as he inches closer. And when he speaks again, it’s timid, not like anything she’s ever known him to be.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tink.”

“What are you even talking about, Harry?”

“I don’t want to be the guy you regret, or hate, or hurt over. When we’re old, I want to be the guy you look back on with affection. And I— I didn’t really care about anything when we were younger, but I always cared about that. About you.”

He‘s terrified, she can hear it. With every breath he takes, every word he sounds out, there‘s an undertone of hesitation that keeps poking through the surface. It‘s like he‘s fighting with himself.

“Harry,” she warns, because this is all becoming too intense.

And that’s when he said it. Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink. He said it with sincerity dripping from his words, a type of vulnerable that neither of them had ever demanded from one another. Who could’ve thought that he would ever reserve those words for her. Not for the women he’s dated, not for the woman he’ll marry. For her.

He must be kidding her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

She walked away then, slamming the door behind her with considerable force. She was ready to leave this behind. Ready to sleep and wake up renewed, indifferent to last night’s shenanigans.

But she couldn’t sleep. She left bed at seven this morning and now she’s just sitting at the counter waiting for the air to shift. She wants the reassurance that things will continue to be the same.  

But deep down, she knows things can never again be the same, not even if they move past it graciously. It‘ll always live on in their subconscious, gnawing away at their minds until either of them caves and decides it isn‘t worth the hassle. Because it doesn‘t matter how much she wishes she could deny it; there‘s always been something there. And that something has gotten bigger and bigger, becoming too enormous to stay invisible to the human eye.

The clearing of his throat snaps her out of a trance. He’s standing in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low from his hips, shirtless. His arms are hugging loosely around his frame and something about about it causes her stomach to stir. Last night, of course, but also just him. Seeing him on a bright summer morning in all his glory, just how he is. There‘s a sense of domesticity that she supposes became normalized in their friendship but is now itching for a different kind of attention.  

She wonders how long he‘s been standing there.

“Hey,” she offers a warm smile, the relief at the sight of him enough to ease some of the tension in her body. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. It’s just now that I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh! I actually thought you might so I— wait,” she rounds the island to her purse and fishes around for the pills, “I bought a new pack of advil yesterday—“

But the distraction doesn‘t work on him.

“Tink, I meant it.”

It’s abrupt. Even in his delivery, she can tell he’s been keeping it in, been aching to say it.

She freezes however, turning in her spot with a squint in her eye, “what?”

He releases a deep sigh. “I meant it. What I said about you last night. I know you’re hoping we can move past it but it’s been on my mind for a long time.”

“Oh,” she replies quietly, dumbfounded, “I’m sorry about how I reacted—“

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way. Usually I’m good at keeping these things to myself but there was something about last night that— it just fucked with me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You should always tell me when something’s bothering you, I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you have to keep things to yourself.”

He laughs. It’s subtle and soft, but it’s there, barely a release of breath. He pushes away from the doorway, coming to stand by the island next to her. “You don’t mean that, Tink.”

“Yes I do.”

“You didn’t even want to hear it last night.”

“I was just confused.”

He shakes his head. “And if I told you all of that now? Would you react any differently? Because however much you might hate it, I wouldn’t take anything back.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you’re confused.”

“I mean— out of fucking nowhere, you drop this bomb on me and it’s… fourteen years, Harry. That’s how long we’ve been friends.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Because if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that, I’ll drop it right this moment.”

And she can feel herself becoming increasingly more frustrated because she can’t really tell what exactly he’s trying to say. Communication has always been their strong suit, but this… whatever this has come to, it’s not like anything she’s ever experienced with him before. It‘s messy, slopey, unchartered territory. “Thought about what, Harry? I’m so lost right now and I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to be honest!” He exclaims wildly, running a hand through his hair whilst gesturing with the other. “There’s been so many times, Tink. The dance, prom, our graduation, fucking last week where there’s been this— this switch. And I feel like something is going to happen but you’re— it’s like you don’t want it to. So be honest with me.”

“Well I just— that’s not fair!”

“How is it not fair?”

“Because you always seemed too fucking good for me, Harry!” She cries out. “Everyone would say it, literally everyone— those fucking girls at school, people at home, the media. I mean, how could I ever think you would settle for someone like me?”

“Someone like what, Tink? Someone who loves unconditionally? Someone who has always put the happiness of others before her own? Someone who is so damn perfect and selfless and kind that I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough for her? Someone like that, you mean?”

She shakes her head, the words describing her thoughts heavy on her tongue but too vulgar to be spoken aloud. How could she ever be honest with him if honesty means admitting to every feeling of insecurity she has ever harbored at the prospect of her best friend? How could she ever be honest with him when honesty means making him realize she’s not nearly as perfect, selfless or kind as he believes? “Nobody has ever loved me. I don’t think it takes a degree to figure out why, Harry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Look around, will you? If nobody loves you why are all of these pictures of our friends hung up on the walls?”

A chuckle escapes past her lips, “man, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about.”

He scoffs, shaking his head to regain an inkling of composure and rid himself of annoyance - not of her, but her tendency to make herself the villain in every story, “you can’t possibly be blaming yourself for all of those failed relationships right now. Half of them fucking cheated on you.”

“Yeah, why? if I’m so perfect and lovable why would—”

“God, would you ever blame me if someone cheated on me? Why are you always treating yourself the way you would never treat anyone else, huh? Why are you always so harsh on yourself?”

“You’re perfect, Harry. I mean, perfect career, perfect family— there’s nothing wrong with you. You can’t possibly compare that to me, can you? I’m a fucking mess. I haven’t found my passion—“

He rolls his eyes. “We’re twenty four, for god’s sake—“

But she continues. “And I’m emotional. I get annoying and clingy, my family fucking hates every guy I’ve ever brought home— and even worse, they hate me. So I’m sorry if I’m a little pessimistic when it comes to relationships, but I can’t fucking afford to be all rainbows and sunshine about it.”

“I get it, Tink, I do—“

But she’s had enough of misunderstandings, enough of him pretending like it’s that easy to let go and trust. “No you don’t! And you don’t get to walk in and say all those nice things about me wasted off of your mind pretending like all along it’s you who’s been yearning! Ever since we were kids, Harry, it’s always fucking been you! All of it, everything. I was crushed when I met your first girlfriend, you know that? Fucking crushed!”

There’s fury in his eyes, a fire that keeps getting bigger and bigger, burning at the sight.  “Why didn’t you fucking tell me then?”

“What did you expect me to do? You had never even looked at me twice!”

“You must know nothing about me if you really believe that.”

And it gets to a point where all she sees is red. He’s blurry in her line of vision, spewing words she can’t possibly digest in this moment.

She begins to walk away from him, cursing to herself like he can’t hear her. But he can, and he follows her every step.

“Is this how it’s going to go from now on? You’re going to walk away and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Frustration anchors at his every word and she can tell, even though she’s only able to hear his speech, that his eyebrows are pinched deeply, his forehead creased with intensity. She knows that he’s hurting to some capacity, that his heart is going wild in his chest.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her back into his front. “Tink, just fucking look at me.”

Their chests collide, hearts equally beating faster for one another.

She stares into his eyes, waiting for something to be said, anything. But as seconds pass, and words still remain unspoken, her shoulders start to lose their tension and her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach.

He’s dangerous because she could never stay mad at him. She could never hate him, no matter how badly she wishes she could.

She clears her throat, but fails to move. She doesn’t find herself wanting to. “Harry.”

His eyes trail southward toward her mouth and she wishes so badly he would just kiss it. “Does it really matter what happened back when we were kids? Does anything other than what I said matter at all?”

She swallows around a lump in her throat, staring into the green of his eyes that have always had the power of swaying her in every which way. And as he’s doing the same to hers, the air shifts in a more familiar direction.

“I’m scared.”

He nods, “I know.” Interlacing their fingers with one hand, he allows the other to rest comfortably against her neck.

But she can no longer look at him, not when he’s so close, expecting her to open up to her like a flower in spring. “I can’t lose you, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I messed this up. I’ve wanted it for so long, but I’m bad at being more than a friend. I’m bad at saying what I truly feel, I’m bad at being the girl guys want to bring home to their parents. I’m bad at time management. I’m bad at being vulnerable . You know all this about me, but it was always different before. With you it was easier. But if this were to happen… you’d get to know my ugly sides.”

His eyes are glassy, as are hers. From the outside they probably look like a mourning couple, one at the brink of heartbreak. And in a way, this feels similar to every heartbreak she’s been through, only this time the risk of loss is much greater. And so is the sense of hope.

“Y/N, when I asked you last night about Tom,” he nudges a finger underneath her chin, coaxing her to look at him, “I asked because for fourteen years, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t enough for you. At first I thought you would never be into me. You were too smart, too confident. It’s ridiculous, I know, but we were teenagers,” he smiles at the memory. “But then I joined the band and I didn’t want to expose you to a world I hadn’t fully understood myself. I didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that, so I tried to protect you. I hid you from the cameras, lied to people when they asked me about you. Clearly I didn’t do it very well because you just told me it still got to you—“

“That’s not-“

He squeezes her fingers, a silent appreciation of her reassurance, “but I tried my best, you know? I’ve always kept my distance because I didn’t want this — everything I do and everything I am — to become a burden to you. Because I’ve always loved you. I’ve always wanted to make you happy, to be the best guy for you. There were times I didn’t know it, sure, but deep down I’ve always known it’d be you, Tink. These last few years I just wasn’t sure I was enough. Because you deserve the best a person could get.”  

“Of course you’re enough, H.”

“I still think you deserve better than me, baby, so much better. But if you give me a chance, I promise I’ll try my best. I love you as you are; whatever you call your ugly side, that doesn’t exist to me. You’re you, Tink, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m done cowering away because I’m scared of fucking up and I’m begging you to do the same. Let go with me and explore this. Please.”  

She supposes this feeling in her chest is so indescribable because she’s never felt it so intensely before, but it resembles sheer and raw admiration. There’s a hint of fear brewing in the deep abyss, but hope surfaces at the top. And as she looks into the eyes of the love of her life, she sees safety. Love. A Future. Together.

Her face inches closer, “I’m so terrified of losing you.”

He nudges his nose against hers. “Won’t let it happen, I promise. You’re never getting rid of me.”

A smile breaks out on her face.

“Then kiss me, H.”

And so he does.

—

That‘s a wrap! Hope you liked it :)

[paucubarsisimp]

comfort

pairing: jude bellingham x reader, hector fort x ex!reader

summary: in which hector cheats on you and you find comfort in jude

warnings: mentions of cheating

a/n: this was requested on my wattpad, lmk if i should do a part 2.

the madrid night air was colder than usual — or maybe it just felt that way because your chest was cracked wide open.

you didn’t know where you were going. you’d left your phone buzzing on the hotel nightstand, unable to look at it after the message from hector. “i’m sorry. it just happened.”

1 and a half years of dating. quiet cafes, rooftop kisses, whispers in catalan you’d started to learn just for him. and it ended with four words.

you blinked against the wind, your heels clicking too loudly on the sidewalk as you kept walking aimlessly through the dim streets of salamanca. cars passed, couples laughed in restaurants behind glass windows, and everything felt too normal for a night when your heart was falling apart.

you weren’t even looking when you ran into him — literally.

you turned a corner too fast and collided with someone tall and solid. your shoulder hit his chest, and your breath caught as you stumbled back.

"oh—" you started, but he caught your arm gently before you could fall.

"hey, hey, you okay?" a voice asked, calm and warm.

you looked up. he was tall — taller than you expected — in a hoodie and joggers, curls a little messy, a takeaway coffee in one hand and worry in his eyes.

"i— yeah. sorry. wasn’t looking," you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face.

he tilted his head. "are you… crying?"

your eyes widened. was i? you reached up and realized, yes — your cheeks were wet, your eyeliner probably a mess.

"oh god," you whispered, half laughing, half humiliated.

"no, no — it’s okay," he said quickly. "look, there’s a bench right there. do you want to sit down? i won’t ask anything, i swear."

something in his voice was so genuine that you found yourself nodding before you even thought about it.

you sat down on the edge of a wooden bench beneath a streetlamp, the air between you tense but not uncomfortable. he sat a respectful distance away, sipping his coffee.

"bad night?" he asked after a pause.

you let out a breath. "the worst."

"want to tell me about it?"

"i don’t even know you," you said, glancing at him.

he gave you a soft, sheepish smile. "that’s kind of the point. clean slate. no judgment."

you studied him for a second, the way his eyes stayed gentle and didn’t flicker to your lips or your legs like most guys you met. he didn’t seem interested in anything except being human. being kind.

"…hector," you said finally, the words stinging as they left your mouth. "my now-ex. cheated on me. apparently it 'just happened.'"

his brows lifted. "damn. i’m really sorry."

"yeah. me too." you looked at your hands, suddenly embarrassed again. "you probably don’t care. sorry. i shouldn’t be trauma-dumping on a stranger."

he laughed softly. "i mean, technically you ran into me. i’m just standing here being nosy with caffeine."

that pulled a tiny laugh out of you, the first real one in hours. "fair enough."

"i’m jude, by the way," he added. "and i still think he’s a complete idiot."

you blinked. jude. wait. jude bellingham?

now that you really looked at him, it was obvious — the soft british accent, the familiar curls, the quiet confidence. your eyes widened slightly, but he held up a hand.

"please don’t freak out. i’m just a guy who likes late walks and caramel lattes."

you smiled despite yourself. "okay. jude, the guy with a caramel latte. thank you."

he nudged the cup toward you. "want a sip? it’s good."

you looked at him like he was kidding, but he just raised a brow, so you took a cautious sip — sweet, warm, and oddly comforting.

"so… do you live here?" he asked after a beat.

"no. just visiting for a shoot. supposed to be flying back to barcelona tomorrow." you exhaled, your voice tight again. "or maybe not. i don’t know anymore."

"take your time," he said quietly. "no one says you have to figure it out tonight."

you were quiet for a while, just sitting side by side, watching the occasional car go by. you could still feel the heartbreak under your skin, but it didn’t feel as suffocating now.

"you’re not what i expected," you admitted softly.

"how so?"

"i figured someone like you — famous, busy, whatever — wouldn’t stop for a stranger on a sidewalk."

"i’m not always in the mood to be the 'famous' version of myself," he said. "sometimes i just want to be jude, the guy with a weird sleep schedule who gets a coffee at 10pm and bumps into people with broken hearts."

you smiled, resting your chin on your knees. "you’re good at this."

"what?"

"being kind. listening. making someone feel like they’re not falling apart as badly as they are."

he looked over at you, eyes soft. "maybe you’re not falling apart. maybe you’re just starting over."

starting over. the words echoed in your chest like something you didn’t know you needed.

"do you want to walk for a bit?" jude asked, standing and offering a hand.

you hesitated only for a second before taking it.

—

you ended up walking through quiet neighborhoods for nearly an hour. no cameras, no fans — just you and jude, talking about music, football, favorite takeout orders, and childhood memories. you told him things you hadn’t told anyone, and he did the same.

he didn’t treat you like someone broken. he treated you like someone he wanted to understand.

as the night grew quieter, he walked you back toward your hotel. the lobby lights glowed from the windows, but you stopped a few steps before the entrance.

"thank you," you said. "i know i barely know you, but… tonight would’ve been unbearable without you."

he smiled. "then i’m glad you ran into me. literally."

you laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "so… what happens now?"

"what do you want to happen?"

the question hung in the air between you — honest, open, without pressure.

you took a breath. "i want to keep talking. keep walking. maybe not tonight, but… soon."

"then let’s do that," jude said, pulling out his phone. "can i get your number?"

you took his phone and typed it in, saving your name and handing it back. his thumb brushed yours for a second longer than necessary, and your heart jumped a little.

"goodnight, jude."

"goodnight, mystery girl with perfect coffee taste."

you laughed, cheeks warm, and turned toward the hotel. when you looked back, he was still standing there, watching you — not in a possessive way, but in that gentle, steady jude way.

and for the first time since your world had fallen apart, you realized it was still possible to feel something real.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[nightplvmes]

A LITTLE HELP

Rafayel one shot (love and deepspace) ⋆｡° | pairing : artist!rafayel x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 1.3k explicit content, smut, fingering likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

Sometimes she felt too needy, but she wanted to be glued to Rafayel all the time. He'd told her it didn't bother him at all and that he didn't mind having her on his lap while he painted, and that day wouldn't have been any different… if she hadn't been so needy.

She didn't know if it was her hormones or she was ovulating, but she'd been feeling her body hot all day. Rafayel had noticed but hadn't said anything because he knew how shy his girlfriend could be when it came to that, so he just waited for her to ask for help or mention something. She knew Rafayel would be happy to help, but the hours passed and she never mentioned anything.

He started noticing it more when she was on his lap, under the excuse she wanted to see what he was working on. At first, it didn't seem weird; more than once she had used the same excuse just to be close to him or to place kisses on his neck. That day was no different, except that the kisses were a little more intense. He could barely concentrate on his work when his girlfriend was sucking on the skin of his neck and trying to move her hips, to rub herself against something.

"Do you need help?" Rafayel's husky voice echoed in her ears. It was as if she were feeling everything twice right now. She stopped hiding her face on his neck to look at him, confused, waiting for more information.

Had she been that obvious? Maybe the heat in her body wasn't just mental, or maybe he'd finally understood the small advances she'd tried to make throughout the day. "What are you talking about?" She tried to act like she didn't know what he was talking about.

"You've been trying to rub yourself against me for the last ten minutes." Rafayel ground his hips, pressing her closer to him and she gasped in embarrassment. She wasn't even going to deny it because it was true. She had desperately tried to gain some release by squeezing her thighs together or rubbing herself against her boyfriend.

"I'm sorry." Her cheeks were so red, she felt embarrassed. She had never explicitly asked him to help her when she felt heat in her body, but Rafayel always noticed when she tried to seek release herself.

"Come here." Rafayel helped her turn over on his lap. His gaze now fixed on the canvas in front of them, her back against his chest. She could feel his breath against her neck, sending electricity through her body. "I have to work, so we have to be proactive," he murmured.

She was confused but nodded. She stayed in place, waiting for some movement, but only watched as Rafayel picked up the brush again and made a few movements, completing his painting.

She opened her lips to speak and ask him what he was doing; until she felt it. His hands slid between her thighs to spread her legs slightly. She obeyed almost immediately, spreading them. His fingers slid to her center until his fingertips brushed her damp underwear.

"Mmm… I think you need some help." She nodded with a gasp, trying to turn her face to look at him, but Rafayel forced her to return her gaze to the canvas in front of them.

"Raf—" Her boyfriend's touch interrupted her before she could protest. He pushed her ruined underwear aside, his fingers sliding along her wet entrance. She thrust her hips, seeking more of his touch, and he wanted to laugh when he realized what she was doing. She didn't understand how he could continue painting normally while he continued to tease her with his hand between her thighs.

"You know, sometimes capturing your own idea on canvas is a lot harder than many people think." Finally, one of his fingers pressed against her sensitive clit. She bit her lower lip, she needed to stop moaning at any touch. "You have to know your own art. Sometimes ideas take on a life of their own, but when you know your art, you know where to start."

His movements on her clit were fast enough to make her moan, but at the same time, slow enough to make her want more. She didn't know if he was really talking about his paintings or about her; she only knew that she loved his husky voice and the way his breath hit her neck.

"After the first stroke, everything gets easier." She dropped her head onto his chest, and his lips traveled from her neck to her cheek, pressing gently. She didn't know if Rafayel continued with the painting or was just focused on her, but she knew seconds later when his other hand joined between her thighs.

The pads of his fingers brushed against her entrance as if he were waiting for her approval, but she knew he only wanted to torture her. "Please…" She moaned, bucking her hips against his fingers.

"So needy." She could feel her boyfriend's mocking chuckle. She wanted to protest, to turn to face him, but she could barely think when he slid one of his fingers inside her. She moaned, dropping her head back onto his chest, her breathing ragged as she felt the slow movement of his finger and the stimulation on her clit. "Mmm… you feel so good." He kissed her cheek as he slid a second finger inside her, making her whimper.

Her faint gasps turned to small moans and then to whimpers. She squirmed on his lap, and Rafayel couldn't have enjoyed a better view: his beautiful girlfriend on his lap, squirming because of him. He didn't know if it was because she'd been so needy all day, but she felt close to the edge. She wanted to last longer; it felt too good.

"You're close, I can feel it." She nodded and writhed on his lap, doing her best to hold back her orgasm.

"I… not yet, please—ah!" She pushed her hips away from his hand. If she kept this up, she'd end up cumming on his fingers much sooner than she thought. It usually took her more than ten minutes when she did it herself, but the opposite happened when Rafayel did it for her. Perhaps it was due to the sensation of his touch or the knowledge that it was her boyfriend's and not her own hand.

"You look so pretty like that." She turned her face, and Rafayel pressed his lips against hers. It wasn't as intense a kiss as she'd expected; sometimes she couldn't believe how much control he had. "Cum for me, cutie."

She'd always joked about how long Rafayel's fingers were; he always said it was because he was an artist. She proved it once again in those moments, when his fingers hit that spot inside her that made her whole body tense. She couldn't hold back her orgasm any longer; her walls squeezed his fingers deliciously. She arched her back and let out a loud moan as she came in his hand. Rafayel continued his movements, prolonging her pleasure until he felt his girlfriend trying to pull away from his hand due to how sensitive she was.

"I love seeing you like this, thanks to me." He placed a kiss on her forehead again, and she smiled. Now she felt exhausted; she'd been wanting this all day and certainly hadn't expected it to happen this way, on his lap while he tried to work.

She could feel her thighs trembling, a wave of tiredness washing over her. She looked up at her boyfriend with those tired eyes. She still felt some shame about what had happened, but she felt that vanish when he placed a kiss on her forehead.

He had to get back to work, but maybe she could take a few more minutes, placing kisses on her boyfriend's face.

[luvdwkki]

Jeongin - Just Us

Jeongin x Gn!reader

Word count: 3,657

Synopsys: When Jeongin comes home from a long day, he doesn’t expect to find a rooftop transformed into a glowing nest of fairy lights, pizza, and love. With nothing but the stars above and each other below, the night becomes one you’ll never forget

The rooftop was magic.

It wasn’t extravagant or Pinterest-perfect, but it felt like something out of a dream. A quiet little world you’d built just for the two of you.

You’d spent the last hour fussing over every single detail, more than once rearranging the same blanket pile before undoing and redoing it again. The fairy lights you’d strung up twinkled softly now, their warm yellow glow casting gentle shadows against the makeshift canopy of cushions and throws. A few strands blinked a little too enthusiastically, no matter how many times you tried to adjust them, but somehow… It worked.

There were mismatched bowls filled with snacks like popcorn, chocolate-covered almonds, sour gummies, and those honey-dipped pretzels Jeongin always devoured like a squirrel hoarding food for winter. Two paper plates sat on a wooden tray beside a large pizza box, still warm. And next to that, two oversized mugs of hot chocolate that were practically overflowing with mini marshmallows, the kind that slowly melted into sweet clouds.

A single candle flickered beside it all, not for light but for vibe. Low, golden, and soft enough to make your heart flutter.

It was casual, but not. Chill, but not. This was something you'd imagined a dozen times. Lying under the stars with him, no real plan except being close. You’d just never thought you'd actually do it. But tonight, something inside you had whispered, why not?

And now it was real.

You checked everything one last time, brushing invisible lint from the blanket, turning the candle a few degrees, fluffing one last pillow. Then you gave yourself a tiny, ridiculous fist pump and padded downstairs to wait for him.

You sat on the couch and tried to act normal with your phone in hand, scrolling through nonsense, but not reading a word. Your fingers were jittery, your heartbeat quick. Every sound outside made you perk up. And when the door finally opened, your head snapped up so fast you almost dropped your phone.

“Jeongin!” you called out, a little too fast, jumping to your feet before he could even step inside fully.

He stepped in with a gust of autumn air behind him, cheeks rosy from the cold, wind-tousled hair falling into his eyes, the strap of his bag sliding off his shoulder in that loose, careless way he always wore it. He froze in the entryway for a beat, blinking at you, and then broke into a wide grin.

That grin. The one that took over his whole face, made his eyes crinkle and his dimples show. The kind of smile that made your knees feel like they forgot how to work.

“Why do you look like you’re about to pull a rabbit out of a hat?” he teased, cocking an eyebrow and kicking off his shoes.

You didn’t answer. You just crossed the room and wrapped your arms around his neck, rising up on your toes as you kissed him. His hair smelled faintly like baby powder. A soft and familiar smell as it tickled your cheek when he leaned down.

He kissed you back slowly, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease, drawing you in as if you hadn’t seen each other in days instead of hours. His touch was warm, anchoring. Steady in a way your nerves weren’t.

When you pulled away, just enough to meet his eyes, his smile lingered. “Not that I’m complaining,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours, “but what’s going on? Did I miss an anniversary or something?”

Your stomach flipped… again. “Nope,” you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the flutter in your chest. “But... I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” His brows lifted, lips twitching.

You nodded, reaching down to take his hand. “You just have to trust me.”

He let you pull him toward the stairs, his fingers sliding easily into yours, warm and familiar and just the right amount of grounding.

“Wait…is it food?” he asked, squeezing your hand playfully. “Because I can smell pizza and now I’m emotionally invested.”

You didn’t answer, just kept walking. You could feel his smile behind you even without turning around.

“…WAIT, are we eloping?” he added dramatically. “Because I really think I should’ve worn something nicer if we’re going to get married on the roof.”

You turned and shot him a look over your shoulder. “Shut up and go with it.”

He laughed. That hearty gaspy laugh he always did when he knew he was getting under your skin on purpose. But his grip didn’t loosen. If anything, he tugged you a little closer, his thumb brushing across your knuckles like he couldn’t help it.

As you reached the rooftop door, you paused for a moment, the nerves fluttering back in your chest. But when you looked back at him, he was already watching you. His eyes warm, smile wide, like you’d just given him the world and he didn’t even know what was coming next.

“You’re smiling like an idiot,” you muttered.

He shrugged. “Can’t help it. You look like a rom-com lead about to change my life.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stupid.”

“You like it.”

You did.

You really, really did.

And as you opened the door, your heart skipped again, though not because you were nervous about what he’d think, but because you already knew this was going to be one of those nights. The kind you’d replay over and over again for years.

The rooftop door creaked open as you pushed it gently, the cold air brushing against your skin in a hush of anticipation. You stepped aside, heart fluttering in your chest like it hadn’t quite decided whether to be excited or terrified, and nodded for him to go first.

Jeongin gave your hand one last curious squeeze before stepping out into the quiet night.

He didn’t say anything at first.

His footsteps slowed the second he crossed the threshold. His hand stayed wrapped around yours, like he needed that anchor as his gaze swept across the space.

The fairy lights glowed softly, casting warm golden halos over everything they touched. Their reflections danced faintly in his dark eyes as he took in the blanket nest you had made, layered and crumpled like something out of a sleepy daydream. The pillows you had fluffed and re-fluffed now looked perfectly, effortlessly undone. The flickering candlelight spilled across the snacks and pizza, the steam still rising faintly from the mugs of hot chocolate nearby. Over all of it, the night sky stretched wide and impossibly deep, stars scattered across the navy expanse like glitter someone had thrown from heaven.

The music you had queued up drifted in softly from your speaker, humming just beneath the stillness. It was mellow and slow, the kind of sound that tugged at the heart even when no one was speaking.

You stood a little behind him, watching his face more than the scene. Noticing the way his eyebrows twitched just slightly as his eyes moved from the lights to the food to the soft, glowy mess of everything. How his lips parted, like he meant to say something but forgot how words worked.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly.

And then he turned to look at you, really look at you, and his whole expression softened like something inside him had melted.

“Wait…” he said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. “Did you… did you do all this yourself?”

You ducked your head a little, suddenly aware of every breath, every sound. You felt his eyes on you like sunlight through a window, warm, gentle, and a little overwhelming.

“Yeah…” you murmured, glancing toward the lights, then back at him. “Do you… like it?”

There was a beat where he didn’t answer. His eyes stayed on you, unreadable at first. You wondered if you’d done too much, or not enough, or if it was weird, or if you should have gone with your original idea of just baking cookies and calling it a night.

But then that look appeared.

That look that only he gave you.

His smile bloomed slowly, tugging at one corner of his mouth before spreading into something wide and dazzling, all dimples and crinkled eyes and a kind of quiet wonder.

“I don’t like it,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “I love it.”

And just like that, your heart turned into soft butter. Everything in you let go at once. The nerves, the overthinking, the little panicked voices that had whispered maybe this was too much was now gone.

Because now he was smiling like you’d hung the stars yourself.

Without hesitation, he dropped his bag beside the pillow pile and turned back to you, eyes still bright. “You’re kind of unbelievable, you know that?”

You tried to shrug casually, but your smile gave you away. “It only took me, like… five Pinterest boards.”

He laughed, the sound low and boyish, and pulled you in by the hand, wrapping his arms around your waist with easy affection. “Worth every pin.”

You felt yourself exhale, and not because you were tired, but because there was something so indescribably peaceful about this moment. Like you had done something bold and brave and he had met it with nothing but love.

Just the two of you. Under the stars. No plan but each other.

“Come here,” Jeongin said, already flopping back into the blanket nest with a dramatic sigh like he was starring in his own indie film. “I need warmth. And snacks. And love. In that exact order.”

You laughed, the sound carried off a little by the breeze as you carefully stepped over a bowl of chips and dropped down beside him.

“You’re so needy.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, eyes closed like he was absolutely spent from the trials of his day. Then, without warning, he reached out and tugged you closer by the arm, until you were tucked firmly against his side, your head brushing against his shoulder. “You built a literal fairyland on a rooftop. You can’t just not cuddle me. That’s emotional sabotage.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“And yet,” he said with a smug grin, reaching into the snack bowl and dramatically selecting a gummy bear, “you’re still very clearly obsessed with me.” Then, with the confidence of someone who had done this before, he pressed the gummy bear to your lips.

You took the gummy into your mouth, chewing slowly, trying not to smile (and failing). Jeongin turned his attention to the snack spread like it was a battlefield to conquer, eyes scanning over the selection like a seasoned professional.

“Okay, let’s see. Popcorn. Cookies. Chips. Gummy bears. Are those honey pretzels? You are spoiling me.” Then his eyes caught something behind the candlelight. He gasped. Actually gasped. “Wait. Is that pizza?”

You smirked. “Obviously. I know where your loyalty lies.”

He turned toward you with mock awe, hands clasped together like he was about to cry. “You really do love me.”

“I literally built you a rooftop picnic under the stars. The pizza is just bonus points.”

He reached for the box with the reverence of someone unearthing ancient treasure. His face lit up as he opened it. “Oh my god, it’s the good kind. The cheesy one with the weird crust I love.”

“Of course it is,” you said, your voice soft but smug.

He pulled out a slice and held it up like a prized possession. “You know I could eat this entire slice in one bite.”

You blinked. “That’s not something to brag about.”

“Don’t believe me?” He raised an eyebrow, mischief radiating off him like heat from the pizza itself.

“Jeongin.”

“Watch me,” he said, folding the slice slightly in his hands like he was preparing a sacred ritual.

“Jeongin, no.”

“Yes.”

“Jeongin, seriously, no-”

But it was too late. With a devilish grin, he shoved the entire slice into his mouth in one go, somehow managing to bite it down with zero hesitation and maximum confidence. He chewed slowly and dramatically, eyebrows raised like he’d just won a gold medal in Olympic pizza consumption.

You smacked his arm, still breathless from laughing. “You are so gross.”

“Gross?” he gasped, feigning genuine offense like you’d just insulted his entire lineage. “Excuse me, that was a survival technique. I grew up with two brothers, remember? If you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t eat at all. It was war.”

“Oh no,” you said, hand flying to your chest in exaggerated concern. “Pizza trauma. The worst kind.”

He nodded solemnly. “I once reached for my last dumpling, my last dumpling, and it was already gone.”

You blinked. “No...”

He held up a hand, eyes dramatic and haunted. “Swear. My older brother didn’t even blink. Just stared me dead in the eyes while he chewed it. Didn’t break eye contact. That moment changed me.”

You gasped like he’d just revealed a deep, painful family secret. “A dumpling thief in your own home?”

“Gone,” he whispered, looking to the heavens like he was still grieving it. “Just vanished. I can still feel the betrayal.”

You giggled, resting your chin on his shoulder, the material of his hoodie soft under your skin. “Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to fight for food anymore. I made you a literal rooftop buffet. All for you.”

“And yet,” he said, turning to you with the gleam of mischief in his eye, “the only thing I want to devour is-”

“Jeongin,” you warned.

“...your heart,” he finished innocently, pressing a hand to his chest like a knight pledging his love.

You gave him a sharp look before grabbing a gummy bear and flicking it at his face.

Without missing a beat, he caught it in his mouth like some kind of pet, then threw his hands in the air in victory. “Talent.”

You rolled your eyes but flopped beside him, letting your shoulder press against his, your knee brushing his. The laughter faded into a soft, comfortable quiet, the kind that only happens when the silence feels safe.

It was warm under the blankets, but it was a different kind of warmth. It was one that came from being next to him. From feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. From the slight weight of his pinky hooking around yours. The lights of the city glittered far below, distant and dreamy, while the stars above looked close enough to touch.

You tilted your head and watched him for a moment, the way the fairy lights caught in the soft strands of his hair, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips were parted just slightly like he was still catching his breath from laughing.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, a little slower, “this is gonna be one of those core memory nights.”

You turned your head toward him, still smiling. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, eyes on the sky like he was trying to memorize the exact shade of it. “It’s just… you. And this. It’s honestly perfect.”

Your heart flipped in your chest, soft and full. You didn’t say anything right away though, you just let yourself take all of him in. The curve of his nose. The line of his jaw. The way his thumb gently stroked over your hand without even thinking.

“I’ve had a lot of loud days lately,” he said after a pause, his voice thoughtful now. “Schedules. Noise. Rehearsals. Managers yelling. Hyunjin hyung eating all the snacks before anyone else even sees them…”

You let out a quiet snort.

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But this? Just being up here with you? It’s like… I don’t know. Everything stops for a second.”

You turned fully to face him now, your cheek brushing against his shoulder. “You’re being soft.”

“I know,” he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “I’m gonna sound so cheesy.”

“You literally unhinged your jaw for a slice of pizza ten minutes ago. I think the line’s already been crossed.”

He peeked at you through his fingers and laughed, his voice low and warm. “Okay, okay. Then I’m saying it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Saying what?”

“I love you,” he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no cheeky tone, just softness and certainty. “Like… a lot.”

Your breath caught, but in the best way. Like the world had narrowed to just this moment. The lights, the sky, the boy beside you.

“Yeah?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he replied, tugging gently at the sleeve of your sweater, eyes locking with yours. “You’re the best part of my day. Even when you bully me for eating pizza like a menace.”

You leaned in, your noses brushing, lips close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “I love you too, Pizza Goblin.”

He made a wounded noise. “Wow. So romantic.”

But he was smiling so big now, so bright and beautiful, and a little shy around the edges. His cheeks were pink from the cold or maybe from your words. And in that moment, you were absolutely sure, this was the happiest you’d ever seen him.

And maybe the happiest you’d ever been too.

As he looked at you, his hands came up to cup your face. His fingers were warm as they brushed against your cheek, gentle and steady, like he was memorizing the shape of your face. His touch didn’t rush or demand, it simply asked, quietly, if this was okay. His eyes flicked between yours, wide and searching, like he was trying to read your mind or make sure this wasn’t some dream he’d accidentally wandered into.

There was a beat, a breath, where everything paused.

And then, slowly, like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it, he leaned in.

His lips ghosted over yours, a whisper of contact, so soft it almost didn’t count, almost. It was a question more than a kiss, a quiet, are you with me? spoken without words. His breath mingled with yours, warm and a little shaky, and you could feel the way his fingertips curled slightly at your jaw, like he was grounding himself.

You didn’t hesitate.

You leaned into him, your lips pressing back, answering that silent question with a yes that bloomed between you like light. And just like that, the world faded, it all blurred into background noise. All you felt was him.

His kiss deepened, slow and purposeful, like he wanted to make this moment last forever. His hand cradled your face with such care it made your heart ache, while his other arm slid around your waist and tugged you flush against him. Your body curved instinctively toward his, fitting together like puzzle pieces that had always belonged.

And when he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His forehead rested against yours, the tips of your noses brushing, breaths coming in tandem like you’d synced without even trying. His chest rose and fell quickly, and you could feel the beat of his heart through his clothes. It was fast and wild, but steady.

You stayed there in the hush between heartbeats, in the quiet intimacy of knowing someone down to their soul. His hand slid up to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, while his thumb grazed your cheekbone in slow, tender strokes. His gaze was fixed on you, soft and reverent, like he was still trying to believe you were real.

“I love you,” he said, barely more than a breath, but it was the kind of sentence that hit like a wave. There was no teasing in it. No playful undertone. Just truth. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he kept going, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them in anymore.

“I…” He paused, blinking quickly like he was searching for the exact words, like anything less than perfect wouldn’t be enough. “I could never love anyone the way I love you. Not even close. You’re everything. And I didn’t know love could feel like this… like my chest is too full, like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell you. It’s like… you’re my home.”

Your breath caught.

Because no one had ever said something like that to you, definetly not like that. Not with their whole heart in every syllable.

You reached up, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing the soft curve of his cheekbones. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his lashes fluttering slightly as he leaned into your palms like he never wanted you to let go.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with feeling. “More than I ever thought I could. More than I knew I could.”

His smile bloomed slowly, no smirk, no mischief, instead just something tender, something grateful. He looked like someone who’d finally found what he’d been searching for. Like maybe that something had been you all along.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and sure, then one to your nose that made you smile. And finally, his lips brushed yours again, this time even softer than the first, like a promise.

Then he stayed there, his head resting gently against yours, arms wrapped around you like he had no intention of letting go. And you didn’t want him to.

Not now. Not ever.

The air around you seemed to hum with something more. Not just love, not just comfort. Something unspoken but understood, something that wrapped itself around both of you like the blankets, like the stars, like fate.

Because in that quiet, glowing space between the rooftop and the sky, it wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just a night.It was the beginning of everything.

aurkayyyy i struggled w this. I cant even lie LMAO. when I got the idea for this story i knew that I wanted it to be Jeongin but it was actually so hard for me to make it sound like him and stuff 😭 and when I did include stuff abt him it just felt so like cliche to him like the baby power or the pizza but oh well 😛 also not proofread so if u find any mistakes pls let me know!!!

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

What if Stan found Ford before he figured out all the cat stuff? Poor guy can't even jump yet

Stan gets cursed in Gravity Falls and Ford finds what's obviously a cat with rabies. Figures hey! Might as well see if I can cure rabies! Freaks Stan out by both being his brother, and approaching him in some kind of hazmat suit, shoving him in a cage and bustling him off to somewhere while he yowls in confusion about what's going on.

Than Fords stealing his blood to see if he can find out if the cat has rabies without killing it and stuffing him full of potions and Stan's getting better so obviously he has! He's the man who's cured rabies! Just look at Nikola! He's acting like a normal cat just one month after getting drugged with questionable wizard potions (Stan does feel better,(no idea what those potions did to him, horrifying) but he's never going to let Ford forget all the things he shoved down Stan's throat once he gets his body back)

Except Ford can't tell for sure without looking at Nikolas brain, and he can't do that without Nikola being dead, and he... that's his buddy now 🥺. Maybe he'll just wait until Nikola dies of natural causes? But then maybe the evidence of rabies will have faded and and

Then Stan's back, having been locked in a crate for the whole time Ford was having this moral dilemma, everything hurts after smashing through to his full size, but not enough to hold back from punching Ford in the face and yelling about how he NEVER HAD RABIES!! WHAT DID YOU SHOVE DOWN MY THROAT!!

More angst as Ford relised he not only didn't cure rabies, he also almost maybe killed his brother and now doesn't know what those potions did to him, if it wasn't rabies he was dealing with.

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“No One Else”

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader

Genre: Angst, possessiveness, obsession, unresolved tension

Setting: Post-Class 2 events, dark school rooftops and quiet apartments

⸻

You shoved his hand off your wrist for the third time that night.

“Geum Seong-je,” you snapped. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t get to act like this.”

His eyes flickered. Not wide, not surprised—but focused. Too focused. Like a lion watching prey try to limp away.

“Don’t call me by my full name like that,” he said, stepping forward. His voice wasn’t loud, but it tightened the air between you.

“Why not? That’s your name, isn’t it? Or should I start calling you what people actually say behind your back?”

He raised a brow. “You think I care what people say?”

“You care when I say it.”

That shut him up, for a beat. And that silence felt more dangerous than any insult he could throw.

You folded your arms, already regretting coming up to the rooftop with him. He’d cornered you at the stairwell after your last class, asking—no, demanding—a word. Always when no one else was around. Always when it would be easier to just nod and let him have his say.

You should’ve said no.

“You were with him again,” Seong-je said finally, his voice low. “You know who I mean.”

You blinked. “Are you seriously bringing this up again? He’s a friend. A normal friend.”

“Normal? You think that guy’s not waiting for you to give him one smile and climb into his lap?”

You stepped back. “You’re out of line.”

He followed, slow and deliberate. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

“Even if you’re not, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get to dictate who I hang out with. You don’t own me.”

That word. Own.

His face twitched. Not angry. Not yet. Just… strained. Tense in that way he got when he was trying not to lose control.

“I don’t want to own you,” he said. But his eyes said otherwise. “I just want you to understand. I’m the one who sees you for who you are. Not them. Not that guy. He doesn’t know how your voice sounds when you’re lying. I do.”

You stared at him, arms still crossed. “That’s not love, Seong-je. That’s surveillance.”

He laughed. Just once. Sharp, bitter.

“Love?” he repeated. “You think what you make me feel is love?”

You paused. The rooftop air felt colder suddenly. And quieter. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I don’t sleep some nights,” he said. “Not because of guilt. I don’t have much of that left. But because I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Who you’re smiling at. If you’re still thinking about me or if you’ve finally decided I’m just another freak with a control problem.”

You didn’t speak. Because he wasn’t wrong. You had thought that. Maybe still did.

“But then you do something stupid,” he continued. “Like laugh too loud in the hallway. Or wear something that makes every guy turn his head. And I realize—they don’t get to see you like that. They don’t get that part of you. Only I do.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s not love either. That’s obsession.”

He stepped closer again, so close you could smell the faint trace of smoke and mint he always carried. Not cologne—something darker. More dangerous.

“I don’t care what you call it,” he said. “As long as it keeps you away from him.”

You glared at him. “You think I’ll drop my friends just because you said so?”

He leaned in, voice quiet enough that you could feel it in your spine.

“I think you already have. At least a little. Because you’re still here. Because even when I scare the hell out of you… you stay.”

He was right. And that terrified you more than anything.

Because you had a million chances to walk away from Geum Seong-je. From his temper, from the way he made everything a war, from the way his gaze felt like it could skin people alive—but you didn’t.

Maybe because part of you liked how intense he got. How he looked at you like you were the only real thing in a world full of pawns and trash. Maybe you liked being the one exception.

But at what cost?

“You need help,” you whispered.

His head tilted, eyes unreadable. “You make me worse. You know that, right?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. And you make it really hard to breathe sometimes.”

He looked at you for a long time. No smirk. No anger. Just a quiet, razor-sharp stare.

“Good,” he said. “Then we’re even.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claim.

Possessive. Bruising. A kiss like a warning.

You didn’t kiss back. But you didn’t push him away, either.

And when he pulled back, his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you realized he wasn’t going to let go.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

[wonnieluv]

pull the plug - s.jy

Summary: after working your connections and needing a job after graduating college, you’ve found yourself find yourself working a US Tour for one of your favorite groups, Enhypen

fem!reader x idol!Jake

warnings: suggestive, swearing, kissing, skinship, cuddling, Jake is down bad

masterlist | enha masterlist

Networking is everything. That’s what they drilled into your head the second you stepped foot into college when you decided you wanted to study Music Business.

Now just a few short years later you’re freshly graduated with a job opportunity on your plate for what feels like a dream straight out of one of your favorite tumblr fics. Working as a staff on Enhypen’s US Tour.

That’s how you’ve found yourself standing at the side of the pit while the group runs through their tech rehearsals.

You’re now on the third concert of their tour, and you're definitely settling into the role. It’s tiring at times, but you’re having the time of your life getting to travel and work with one of your favorite artists. The shows have gone smoothly for the most part, except for one minor quirk.

You’ve had to help fix a certain Australian boys microphone at least twice during each soundcheck not to mention an extra third time during the second New York show.

Your boss has overseen you fixing Jake’s mic so many times and not once has she said you’re doing anything wrong. She even made sure to reassure you that you aren’t doing anything wrong but it’s gotten to the point that you’ve officially been put on Jake duty.

Yes. Jake duty.

Your official job of essentially following him around whenever he is offstage to make sure he doesn’t damage the microphone and if he does you can fix it in time for him to go back onstage. During tech rehearsals, sound check, outfit changes, and VCR breaks.

It’s gotten to point where you swear he looked you dead in the eye as he slightly bent the receiver out of place before calling you over to fix it.

Now it wasn’t bent so bad that it was broken but he’s essentially been instructed to not touch it anymore and he’s having way too much fun making you all flustered when you come close to him.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

The members have now all gotten dressed and are prepping to head backstage from their green room. You’re sat in the corner with a staff you’ve befriended chatting about what you want to do on your day off in Chicago the next day before you hear the all too familiar teasing of Jay’s voice

“Y/nnnnn, Jake broke his mic. Again.” You let out a soft sigh and look over to where the pair are now standing seeing Jake’s mic wire hanging out of his jacket where it should be connected to his mic pack.

“Jake just admit it. You’ve got a crush on her and you like it when she touches you” Jay teases as he watches you walk over to Jake to fix his mic.

You’re standing behind him as you feel your face flush slightly at his comment and thank god for that because you don’t even want to imagine the stupid smirk that would adorn is beautifully sculpted face if he was facing you.

“And what if I do. At least I could pull a baddie and you’re sitting over there alone with your guitar” Jake jokes back

Luckily, his mic is back in place because, honestly, you would’ve dropped it. I mean, what else would a person do if Jake called them a baddie

“You’re all good Jake” you say stepping out from behind him but before you fully walk away you pause and face him “and by the way. If you really wanted to flirt. You could do it like a normal person instead of messing with the thousand dollar equipment” you say with a smile. As Jay begins to relentlessly tease him, you make your way back to your previous spot and continue your conversation as if your heart wasn't palpitating at a concerning rate.

Long story short, Jake’s microphone had absolutely no problems the entire show. What replaced it though, was the unnecessary prolonged eye contact, the winks, the smirks, and even the unnecessary slight brushes of his hand against yours as he passes by just a bit too close to you as he moves through the crowded backstage.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

With Jake no longer deliberately sabotaging his microphone, the show went on without a hitch.

Does this mean you were right? Was he really just breaking things on purpose so you'd get close to him? If so, what are you supposed to do with that? Jump his bones? Tempting offer, but you opt to be the nonchalant queen you are and ignore his existence after the show.

You don't say anything as you retrieve his undamaged microphone pack and wires from him after the encore before briskly walking away to place it where it belongs and collect your belongings before the staff car leaves for the hotel. Simple plan really.

Not so simple because a certain Australian boy decided he was going to follow you when he noticed you going off on your own. The next thing you know, your back is against the cement wall of the backstage and your eyes are locking with Jake's.

"Jake, what the hell," you say. The shock of this turn of events evident in your voice

"If you keep avoiding me, I'll start breaking my mic again," He says it so casually you almost miss exactly what he meant. By the time you comprehend any of it he's already walking back down the hallway you both came from.

"See you later pretty girl"

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

You let out a light exhale as you relax into your seat in the car as you wait for the rest of your staff friends to join you. You guys normally leave the venue a while after the boys do as teardown takes a little bit of extra time. By the time you pull up to the fancy hotel they have you in, it's long past midnight.

You bid farewell to your friend as her room is right off the elevator on the floor BeLift rented out for safety purposes. Your room is further down at the end of the hallway, around the corner. You lucked out with a corner room with beautiful views of the city.

As you round the corner to the final stretch of hallway that feels a little more greuling after the long day, you notice a man standing outside your door looking down at his phone in his hands. He has a flop of brown hair on his head, slightly messy from the number of times he ran his hand through it, and a stupidly handsome side profile. You know exactly who he is, but you're not too sure you want to face him right now, so you continue past him without sparing him an obvious glance.

You almost exhale thinking you got past freely before you hear "y/n"

You freeze just as you're about to scan your room key. "Jake," you respond, trying to keep as calm as possible. What on earth could he want from you at nearly 1 in the morning?

You don't turn to face him but you don't enter your room quite yet. You feel him step closer to you.

"What are you doing here Jake...?" You say almost breathily as you continue to face the door

He doesn't say anything before you feel a soft hand gently turning you to face him.

As you make eye contact with him your breath nearly stops at how close his face is to yours. You can practically feel his breath on your lips as you struggle to keep your focus on his eyes.

"I'm here to do something that I've been wanting to do since the moment I laid eyes on you..." His voice comes out almost in a whisper as he slowly backs you up until you're trapped between him and your hotel door.

"And what might that be..." Your gaze flickers to his plump lips just has he bites his lower lip pulling at it slightly before letting it go.

"I think you have a pretty good idea already... I just need you to tell me yes"

A week ago, you would've slapped yourself at the desperation dripping from your voice, but right now in this moment, you don't even care when you reply, "Please..."

The word barely rolls off your tongue before his lips are on yours. Everything about it is soft. His plump lips that are connected to yours. The way he takes his time as he kisses you like he's got all the time in the world. The soft locks that you run your hands through as he pulls you closer, if that's even possible.

You're too engrossed in what's happening to notice him guiding your hand with your room key to the scanner on the door, but the second that door opens, he momentarily pulls away to push you into your room. The door barely shuts before he's back on you.

By the time you pull away to catch your breath, your bag has long been thrown to the ground, his jacket the same, you both look a mess from the clear passion of, as you would put it, whatever the fuck just happened.

"Impatient are we". He chuckles softly as he presses his forehead against yours, with his hands resting on your waist.

You don't respond as you close your eyes in an attempt to steady your breathing and your heartbeat.

The two of you remain there for a moment, just silently in each other's presence, before he moves his head from yours, just momentarily before giving you a light peck on your forehead.

"You should go to bed," He says softly as he steps back. His face morphs into a soft smile noticing the light confusion in your eyes as they search his.

"It's not that I don't want to," He says, bringing your hand up to his lips, giving a soft kiss to the back of it, "Trust me if I could you'd be on the bed right now and nobody would be seeing you until we have to go to the airport" he chuckles out as he wraps his arms around your waist again. "but you look like you could fall asleep standing up, and I'm not going to rush this."

You nod as your shoulders relax slightly at his response, an unknown wave of relief washing over you.

"You can still stay... if you want," You say softly as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

"Oh? Can't get enough of me already?" He says with a tilt of his head, "I don't know... You might jump my bones." His tone is playful as he quirks his eyebrow with that stupid smile on his face.

"Hmm... I guess I'll save that for another time." You say, returning his banter as you push off the wall and head further into the room.

Jake quickly makes himself at home, kicking off his shoes and lying starfish on your bed. You chuckled at him before throwing the TV remote at him, causing him to lift his head at you quizically.

"I'm showering," you answer the unspoken question on his face before turning around to grab your clothes.

He flops his head back on your bed "you sure you don't need help?"

"Don't get any ideas" you say slapping his leg as you walk past. You barely catch his yelp in reaction as you close the bathroom door.

🤎🤎🤎🤎🤎

You step out of the bathroom, freshly showered in an oversized shirt and some sweatpants. Jake decided to make himself comfortable. His hoodie is shed and now lying on one of the chairs by your window as he sits against the headboard watching something on his phone while some random 2000's sitcom is playing softly on the TV at the foot of the bed.

When hears you exit the bathroom he turns off his phone and sets in on the nightstand and gets comfortable in the pillows patting the spot next to him.

"reserved VIP seating just for you, pretty girl" The smile on his face almost makes your knees buckle as you shuffle over to the empty side of the bed and lie down next to him.

He lazily wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you just slightly closer. You feel the warmth of his chest against your back as he nuzzles into the back of your neck, his breath tickling you as he inhales the scent of your freshly showered hair.

"tomorrow..." he starts softly "you're mine"

"Oh? And what if I made plans to go enjoy myself in this lovely city," you say playfully. Your hand reaches down to play with the rings on his fingers that were once holding your waist.

"Hmmm too bad"

You giggle softly and lean back into him as you close your eyes and relax into his hold. As you do so, you feel him relax against you, breath evening out as he mindlessly holds you just a bit tighter.

As you let much-needed sleep take over your brain, the conversation of what will happen when you inevitably blow off your friends tomorrow and what all of this means for the two of you leaves your brain. That's a problem for tomorrow's you. Tonight's you is contently snuggled up in Jake's embrace wondering what kinda voodoo shit she cast to end up in this position and what other kind of voodoo shit she can cast to make it last a little bit longer.

And when you wake up in the morning to Jake's pouty face trying as hard as he can (and succeeding) to keep you in bed for just 5 more minutes, you realize maybe you won't have to try too hard to keep him around.

authors note: sooooo what do we thiiiink? I reworked this like 20 times and i think I’m finally semi-satisfied with it so I hope you all enjoyed it!!

[aleskyyy]

Annoyingly Yours IV —Yeon Sieun x Fem!Reader

You is a bright, carefree high school girl who always smiles, makes friends easily, and sees the good in everyone—except not everyone sees the good in you. When your cheerful nature makes you the target of bullies, no one expects Sieun, the cold and grumpy boy who never talks to anyone, to step in. But he does—with sharp words and quiet strength that send the bullies running.

Warnings— none, just fluff.

Main Masterlist WHC Masterlist

Chapter Three Chapter Five

It was supposed to be a normal day.

Classes passed. Lunch came and went with you humming beside Sieun and him pretending not to care. After school, the clouds rolled in, and by the time they reached the school gates, the rain had started.

Again.

Sieun, prepared as always, pulled out his umbrella without a word. You slid in beside him, almost too close, as usual. But today, something felt different.

You was quiet.

Too quiet.

Sieun glanced sideways. “What.”

You blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“You’re not talking.”

“I talk too much, don’t I?”

He frowned. “That’s not what I said.”

You and Sieun kept walking in silence, rain tapping gently against the umbrella.

Then—

“Sieun,” you said softly, eyes on the puddles beneath their feet, “can I tell you something?”

“Okay.”

You stopped walking. He did too.

The world seemed to still around you and Sieun. Rain fell in soft patterns, the sky a gentle gray curtain. Both of you stood under their small umbrella, the edges dripping, shoes soaked.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and serious.

“I like you.”

Sieun froze.

“I know you probably already guessed,” you said quickly, voice trembling, “and maybe it’s super obvious and annoying and loud, just like me, but I wanted to say it. Properly.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His brain was screaming. She likes you.

She likes you.

Out loud.

You shifted on your feet, looking away. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I didn’t want to keep it in anymore.”

He finally spoke.

“I like you too.”

Your head snapped up.

“What?”

“I said I like you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I don’t know when it happened. Maybe after the third juice box. Or the time you talked for twenty minutes about cloud shapes. Or I don’t know. It just happened.”

Your smile bloomed, slow and radiant.

“You’re really bad at this, huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not.”

You took a tiny step forward, toe to toe with him now. The umbrella barely covered them both.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you whispered.

His breath caught. “Okay.”

And then, just like that, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft—barely there—but everything about it felt warm. His hoodie was damp, your hair stuck to your forehead, and neither of you cared.

Because in the middle of the rain, under one umbrella, both of your hearts felt like they had finally stopped searching.

When you and Sieun pulled away, Sieun was staring at you like you’d just changed the weather.

“You’re soaked,” he mumbled.

“You like me anyway,” you teased.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

You giggled, then took his hand.

And this time, he held on.

© 2025 aleskyyy

[v3lnys]

pink dreams, bez/sava 1.7k

The media team had filtered out of the room when the shooting was done, leaving Bez and Sava to review the footage and decide if they were satisfied with everything. Bez sat down on the table, legs dangling off the edge as he laughed at their wobbly attempts at yet another challenge they were made to do for the fans’ entertainment. Sava stood in front of him, head bent down to look at Bez’s phone, his laugh genuine and fond as he followed the actions on screen. 

Bez was trying to rewind a specific moment in the video, clumsy fingers slipping across the slider in a few failed attempts. Sava had laughed at him goodnaturedly, amused by the unsuccessful tries. Finally, Bez managed to rewind on a moment of the first try he had of spinning the toy, where he failed miserably, Sava cackling at him in the video. 

“Look,” Bez shoved the phone in Sava’s face, barely able to talk through his grin, “It looks like you’re about to kiss me or something.” Bez was laughing again, referring to how close Sava was to him then, leaning forward into Bez’s space, hand grasping the string of the toy.

Sava laughed along, but something stirred within him, his attraction to Bez that always simmered beneath his skin flaring up as a reminder. “Wouldn’t you like that, huh?” Sava aimed for something playful, flirty, normal. Something that wouldn’t betray his feelings and cost him a good friendship. 

But Bez had blushed unexpectedly, cheekbones and ears dusting a light pink. He tried to laugh, but it came out wobbly. “Hm, maybe I would,” whatever nonchalance he was trying to feign, failed, not coming out quite as easy. 

Sava raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his face as he got his laughter under control. This was dangerous. Was Bez nervous, shy? Did he feel uncomfortable and only tried to be nice and play along? Sava didn’t want to risk it – their friendship and connection – but at the same time, he was a MotoGP rider, a natural risk taker, thriving on adrenaline.

Sava came closer, slotting himself halfway between Bez’s thighs, just enough for it to be friendly, but also close enough if Bez wanted to do something about it. “What was that, Marco?” Sava grinned, a teasing tone in his voice like he was just playing around and not trying to feel out the situation they were in. 

It seemed that Sava was a lot better at playing it off like a joke between friends, like implying that your friend wanted to kiss you was normal for them. And it was fairly normal, except Bez was sitting there, hands gripping the phone that was still replaying that stupid video, blushing like Sava just asked if he’d like to have his dick sucked. Not that Sava wouldn’t do it if Bez asked, of course. 

A thrill ran down Sava’s spine at how flustered and blushy Bez had seemed, although there was a tiny voice in the back of his head that was unsure if he was making the younger man uncomfortable with the teasing, after all, Sava didn’t know if Bez felt even remotely similar. 

After a moment, Bez finally looked up and met Sava’s eyes, looking unsure, but there was that usual determined glint in his eyes. He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with it, Sava’s eyes flicking down to follow the movement subconsciously. His eyes snapped back up to Bez’s face, just as the younger Italian finally opened his mouth, “Maybe I would like that.” He bit his lip nervously. “If you.. kissed me.” 

Sava shuffled closer into Bez’s space, further between his thighs until he was practically at the edge of the table. His face turned serious, not much of the playfulness left behind, realizing just how much is at stake, even if Bez had explicitly asked for it. For all Sava knew, he could’ve been playing along without meaning to, afraid of rejecting Sava for whatever reason. 

“You know you don’t have to play along, right?” Sava reassured, but his fingers gently traced the lines of Bez’s muscular thighs on either side of Sava’s hips. Something like frustration flared in Bez’s eyes, the same glint whenever Bez is annoyed that he’s not winning one of their stupid media games or not getting what he wants. 

He huffed slightly, looking a lot less shy now, “Just fucking kiss me already.” The complete change of emotion punched out a laugh from Sava, Bez watching him with growing restlessness, insecurity pinching at his brows as he waited for the older man to gather himself. Sava finally looked at his face, really looked, cataloguing every little mimic to determine how bad of an idea this is. 

A gentle, warm palm caressed the side of Bez’s face as Sava sighed, heavy and burdened, like this wasn’t all he’s wanted for the last few months. Bez looked at him, confused, unable to grasp the situation with the way Sava was acting, as if he wasn’t the one that brought the idea up. 

“Sava–” Bez started to protest, frustrated, brows furrowed, but he was silenced by Sava finally leaning in, lips pressing against Bez’s in a soft kiss, far more tame than he’d wanted, but he wanted to give Bez space to back out. 

Other ideas seemed to have been running through Bez’s mind because he did not back out, instead he grabbed onto the fabric of Sava’s team shirt and pulled him closer, eliciting a surprised little sound from Sava. Bez seized his opportunity and slipped his tongue past Sava’s lips, hands fisted tightly in the fabric to keep Sava in place, as if he would ever want to run away. 

Bez was eager, maybe even more than Sava had ever seen him, kissing the older man with such hunger that Sava barely had time to recenter himself. Sava let Bez take control of the moment, one hand cradling the side of Bez’s face, the other planted firmly on his thigh, rubbing the soft flesh through Bez’s jeans. Bez was a good kisser, a little sloppy and wet, but Sava found that it fit him, returning the energy with enthusiasm, tongue brushing Bez’s every time the seal of his lips opened. 

It felt like they were teenagers again, the kiss all tongue and a bit of teeth, Bez biting down on Sava’s lip with a needy sound deep in his throat, nothing elegant or clean. Sava welcomed it, the kiss both nothing like he’d expected and all he’d imagined from the way Bez usually was. 

Bez was starting to whine a little against Sava’s lips, breathless, clearly needing to catch his breath, but refusing to pull away from Sava like he’d die the second their lips separated. Sava couldn’t help a fond little smile that tugged on the edges of his lips, amused by Bez’s eagerness. The hand on Bez’s face slid further up and to the back of his head, Sava’s long fingers gripping the brown curls near the roots, making Bez tip his head back with a shaky moan. The older man trailed his lips down to Bez’s jawline, leaving kisses along the edge, travelling downwards to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The kisses left a wet trail behind them, Sava occasionally biting down gently, not enough to bruise. 

“Sava…” came Bez’s breathy whine, his hands pulling on the shirt in his grasp, trying to get Sava impossibly closer. He let out a frustrated little huff when he realized Sava physically couldn’t get any closer, instead shuffling his hips closer to the edge of the table, legs wrapping around Sava’s thighs to bring their hips together.

A quiet groan slipped past Sava’s lips, slightly muffled by the skin of Bez’s neck, as their crotches pressed together, Bez’s squirming providing a bit of friction that was melting both of their brains. Sava mouthed along the column of Bez’s thick neck, warm tongue laving over the younger Italian's adam’s apple, loving the way Bez’s throat bobbed under his mouth as he swallowed down shaky moans, trying so hard to be quiet. 

Bez was holding onto Sava like his life depended on it, knuckles white, fingers itching to feel the smooth skin underneath the fabric. But all he could do was keep his head tipped back, allowing Sava to kiss and nip at his skin, wishing he’d leave marks. Much to Bez’s dismay, he soon felt Sava’s lips leave his skin, but before he could protest, he was kissing Sava again, easily parting his lips to give the other more access.

The kiss wasn’t as heated as before, but Bez found that he liked it as well, being able to really enjoy and feel every slide of Sava’s lips against his, every brush and press of their tongues. Bez was sure he looked utterly debauched, lips red and slick with their spit, Sava’s saliva drying on Bez’s neck like a reminder. 

They pulled back and finally took in the sight of each other, chests still heaving as they tried to steady their breathing. Bez realized with a tiny gasp that he will never be normal again, not after seeing Sava’s blown out pupils and kiss bitten lips, not after he’s had a feel of what Sava’s hard bulge feels against his own, how caring and possessive his hands feel on his body. Similarly, Sava felt like he would die if he lost privileges to seeing Bez like this – hair dishevelled, red lips parted around gasps for air, looking up at Sava like he’s all Bez’s ever wanted. 

“Need you..” Bez breathed out nonsensically, starting to feel the ache of how worked up he was, needing any kind of relief, subconsciously knowing that Sava would take care of him well. Bez wasn’t a stranger to fantasies about Sava’s hands and mouth, imagining how caring Sava would be, like he always is to him, and how skilled he’d be at taking Bez apart, then molding him back together. 

Sava brought his hand to Bez’s face once more, soothingly stroking his cheekbone with his thumb, the sheer gentleness making Bez’s chest feel fuzzy. “Not here, okay? I want to treat you well, Bez..” Sava admitted, looking at Bez with utmost care in his eyes, always the gentleman, “My motorhome?” 

Bez felt like he could leave this earth, the promise of more making his head spin. He leaned up to kiss Sava again, pulling away after a few moments with the softest little “Please, Sava…” 

[maryu-fics06]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter 8

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: it was supposed to be only a normal servant..right?

Hi guys! I hope the story is of your liking, stay tuned for more chapters, please leave a comment or like if you want more!❤️‍🩹

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠:poisoning, attempts of killing, angst, gentle Geta (he is bipolar in my story), fear.

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air as servants and concubines prepared for the Quinquatria celebrations.

Haydee stared at herself in the ivory-framed mirror. Her chamber, made of white and bluish marble, didn’t displease her—it reminded her of the ocean.

Lemonia was gently arranging her hair.

The attire was terribly lascivus, with deep necklines. It was a ball gown, the youngest maid, Aurea, had told her.

But Haydee hadn’t expected it to be nearly transparent, except for the chest and intimate areas. The fabric was a dark blue and shimmered in the sunlight, embroidered with beautiful golden patterns.

“You are beautiful, Puella” Lemonia said with affection. Haydee thanked the woman.

She was truly stunning. Slowly, she twirled, letting the transparent skirt flow around her.

Her hair had been styled into a modest braid, and the usual strands no longer obscured her face.

She joined the other concubines in a large hall; they all seemed hostile toward her. She hated their poisonous glances crawling over her skin.

Only then did she realize she didn’t know what kind of dance was expected. She had no idea how the others would dance.

Seeing the distracted look on Haydee’s face, Aurea leaned closer.

“My Domina, what troubles you? You seem worried,” the young maid whispered.

“I don’t know what dance to perform, Aurea,” Haydee whispered back.

The maid giggled softly. “Don’t be afraid. If you dance something only you know, the emperor will be more than pleased. He adores the unknown… and you, it seems, throw him off quite a bit.”

The banquet doors opened, and Haydee moved with the other women. One detail stood out—many of them wore orange, red, and some green. She alone wore the damned color blue.

The hall was immense. The two emperors usually sat upon their ivory thrones, sipping wine.

When the concubines entered, everything seemed to halt. Geta raised his gaze, ignoring Senator Thaex’s usual chatter.

His eyes searched among the women—he was looking for her.

The music began, slow and sensual. Haydee tried to follow the others’ movements. She was lucky—if there was one thing she was good at, it was learning quickly.

But then something changed. The music overtook her mind, and her body began to move in her own rhythm—like a rattlesnake swaying its tail.

Some women were shocked to see her break from the group.

Geta saw her and bit his lower lip at the sight of that body and those hips.

Damn temptress—Geta thought.

Their eyes met, and Haydee felt a heat ignite in her chest at the emperor’s hungry gaze.

She didn’t dare stop. She moved with grace, like a butterfly among the other women—miserable in comparison.

Many concubines stared, stunned. No one knew such a dance, nor one so shameless.

The dance ended, and Haydee stopped. The emperor called her over.

The others could only watch with envy.

Geta’s eyes never left her as she ascended the few steps of black marble.

He touched his own thigh—a signal—he wanted her to sit on him.

At first, Haydee considered refusing, but in front of the whole banquet, it wasn’t worth it. She gave in to his command.

Geta felt her body, tense like a violin string, pressed against him.

He slowly guided her back against his chest, and the emperor’s lips brushed her ear lobe.

“Relax, Graeca, being so tense is useless,” he whispered hoarsely.

His hands stroked her thighs through the fabric of the skirt. Haydee held her breath, then let it go.

The emperor pushed her styled hair off her shoulders and kissed her bare skin.

“You wanted my attention, didn’t you, temptress?” he said, softly, just for her.

“I only did what I was told,” she whispered, trying desperately to sound neutral.

Geta chuckled. She was clever, but not enough. The emperor could taste the sweet lie on her tongue.

“Of course, Graeca. Then I should kill everyone at this banquet,” he said.

She didn’t understand. Why would he kill his guests?

Geta smiled at her naïveté. “You should’ve seen their eyes. Like crows, ready to feast on your body. So much lust… but they know they’ll never touch you. Never have you.”

His words stirred something in her belly.

Haydee blushed.

Caracalla, sitting next to his brother, stared at the concubine but found nothing special in her. He returned to playing with his little monkey, Dondus.

“That blue suits you enchantingly,” Geta whispered.

Haydee didn’t know what to say. Just yesterday he had almost hurt her—and now, suddenly, he was too sweet to even seem like the same man.

She shivered as Geta’s lips grazed her neck—too gentle, as if she were made of glass.

The banquet continued stiffly: wine, senators’ usual chatter, and vulgar touches from some women toward the guests at the large table.

Haydee didn’t try to touch the emperor in any way. She sat still, like a statue.

Geta didn’t tease her further, nor touch her inappropriately.

He even rejected Alba’s advances when she tried to caress his chest.

The concubine glared hatefully at Haydee, seated on her emperor’s lap.

Geta watched Haydee from the corner of his eye. He was enchanted. She had cursed him.

She had wormed her way under his skin, to the bone—consuming him like fire devouring candles on the banquet table.

Haydee politely accepted a cup offered by a servant. She didn’t recognize him—thought he was just a kitchen boy.

How wrong she was.

The sweet taste of wine touched her lips and tongue.

The emperor reached for a glass from the same tray when Haydee suddenly felt irritation rising in her throat.

She coughed once, thinking the wine had gone down wrong—but the sensation worsened. Her throat began to burn, pulsing painfully.

Geta looked at her. His blood turned cold when he saw her clutching her throat, the glass slipping from her fingers as she desperately tried to breathe.

Poison. The wine was poisoned!

Geta caught her in his arms, shouting in panic, “Charcoal, quickly!”

Aurea ran to fetch the antidote.

Alba chuckled under her breath.

Geta held her tightly, forcing two fingers down her throat—he had to make her vomit, and fast!

Haydee coughed up the wine, but the poison had already entered her system.

The emperor whispered deliriously, eyes wide, trying to help her breathe.

He had never felt so powerless in his life.

“No… No! Graeca!… Look at me! Breathe, damn it!” he whispered.

Someone had tried to kill her. Someone wanted her dead.

Haydee’s cerulean eyes welled with tears. She had fought so hard to survive—was she to die now?

The charcoal arrived in time. Geta mixed it with water and forced her to drink it.

Haydee, exhausted, closed her eyes.

The last thing she heard were the emperor’s furious screams.

“Who… dared… WHO DARED!!”

Then everything became a blur—like a memory fading into darkness.

But Haydee knew: whoever had tried to kill her wouldn’t escape.

Because Geta was ready to unleash hell—if not burn all of Rome—to find them.

He would be worse than Nero, than Commodus, worse than any emperor before him.

Mastelist.

I hope you like this chapter!

Yep someone tried to killed her, and we might know who is already mhm mhm…🙃❤️‍🩹.

WHO wants to be tagged please told me!!🌻

Taglist🏷️ my beauties pookies!💕

@deliciousfestsalad

@coruja12345

@opy005

Translations

Lascivus= dirty, sensual

Domina= lady

Graeca= Greek female

Puella= girl

[hornyfor-redacted-onmain]

Secret Secret - Chapter 8

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

Masterlist |

The 2-and-a-half-hour flight from Incheon to Narita was single handedly the most terrifying 2 and a half hours of your life. Sat in between a random girl in her early 20’s and one of the stylists, you clutched the elbow rests for dear life as the plane shook from turbulence.

The girl side-eyed you. “If you're going to puke, don't do it on me”

You didn't even have the energy to correct her on her assumption. You were sure anybody who glanced at your pale and pinched face would assume you were just a nervous flyer but guessing that your nerve wrecked frame was thinking about the metaphorical bomb currently resting down below in the cargo area was the furthest thing from anybody’s minds. Except, maybe, Chan.

Chan, who had tried to reassure you in the half hour before he boarded (you didn’t board until later, with most of the other staff), and who you hadn’t talked to since the flight took off.  Chan, who you knew from the few weeks you had been working with him would surely take responsibility for anything wrong that happened. Who held way too much weight on his shoulders. You almost felt guilty for needing his help, but at the same time relieved that at least you weren’t going to go through this alone.

The moment the seatbelt sign was off, you were determined to get some space. You licked your lips and forced a smile onto your face, turning to the stylist next to you. “Sorry, excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.”

She gave you an odd look but made no move to get out of her seat, instead leaning back in her seat and giving you an expectant look. You shuffled past her and practically ran to the bathrooms in front of you, almost entering the empty room when the curtains leading to the first-class section shifted to the side, and you blinked up at Felix.

“Oh, good. I was just going to go looking for you,” He whispered behind his mask, glancing behind you and then shuffling to the side. “Come here.”

The two of you moved to the smaller area where drinks and snacks were held, the area empty and out of view of the rest of the cabin. After confirming there wasn’t anyone watching, he dropped his mask and swiped his hoodie back, running his fingers through his hair.

“Please tell me Chan has a plan,” You practically begged, fingers gripping his arm a little tighter than you normally would.

“He has a plan,” Felix said slowly, looking like he didn’t quite believe the words coming out of his mouth.

You stared at him expectantly, but when he didn’t elaborate, you frowned. “Why do I have a feeling he doesn’t actually have a plan?”

“No, he does!” Felix insisted. “It’s just … probably not one you’d like.”

“What do you mean?”

He gave you a sheepish smile.

-0-0-

You were going to murder Chan.

To be fair, you weren’t coming up with any great ideas to deal with the problem you had caused to begin with, but when he told you he had a plan, you weren’t expecting to be directly involved. You paced in front of the elevator of the hotel you had been set up in, two floors below where the boys were settled in, waiting for the confirmation text from Felix.

It was a simple plan, which should have eased your worries.

Felix was roomed with Hyunjin. Hyunjin had a sensitive nose and liked to shower after getting off the plane. So, while he was in the shower, Felix would get the suppressant for you and hand it off before he finished.

Simple.

But your mind couldn’t help but go over the million ways that everything could go to shit over and over again as you anxiously waited, wearing a hole in the fancy carpet that probably cost more than a year of your paycheck.

For starters, if Hyunjin opened his suitcase to get a change of clothes before getting in the shower, the towel wrapped bottles would be right on top, ruining the entire plan. Felix assured you that Hyunjin usually grabbed his clothes after his shower (which provided an image you desperately tried not to think about), but usually was not enough of a reassurance for you.

Then there was the worry you would be caught on their floor.

As an employee it wouldn’t be totally out of the norm to be up there, but as only a translator it would be odd for you to be interacting with the members outside of work reasons, and you desperately wanted to avoid rumors or any attention to yourself at the moment. And if somebody caught you with the suppressants in your hands, it would also make this entire plan pointless.

Not to mention the time constraints.

You didn't have to worry too much about your company assigned roommate, since she was a makeup artist you didn't know too well, and she had excused herself to another colleague's room after throwing her bag onto one of the beds. On the other hand, the boys had an interview in 2 hours and would only be given an hour at the most to unwind, get changed, and then they would be leaving. You had to rely heavily on Chan to make sure the other members wouldn’t be roaming the halls or in the elevator when you had to go up.

And as if your thoughts had summoned it, your phone buzzed in your hands.

You froze, taking a moment to just stare down at your phone with wide eyes, and then you pressed the elevator button.

It took exactly 43 seconds for the doors to the fifth floor to open up, and you shuffled quickly down the hall to room 502, which unfortunately was at the very end of the hall. The very door you were heading towards opened a few seconds before you reached it.

Felix peeked his head out, face breaking out into a blinding smile when he saw you. “Hey!”

“Shhh!” You hissed, getting closer. “You got it?”

He pulled his hands out from behind the door, and you nearly cried at the sight of the toweled bundle. Everything had gone to plan so far.

“Here. You should get back soon, Hyunjin won't be long.”

You accepted the bundle, cradling it close to your chest like it was a baby. “Thank you.”

“Felix?”

The two of you shared a wide-eyed look as Hyunjin called out from the room. He waved you off before closing the door behind him, and you shuffled back towards the elevator while looking down at the towel to make sure both bottles were still in there.

As you were two doors from the elevator, the last door to the right suddenly opened, and Minho paused as you passed him.

It was only pure adrenaline that kept your feet moving when your entire body wanted to freeze. You cursed whatever god was listening.

Of all times.

A minute later and you would have been in the clear.

You pressed the button for the elevator and held your breath, waiting for him to say something. But he didn't, and you quickly got onto the elevator and pressed the button for your floor without looking up, too scared at what you might see. It was only as the doors began to close that you risked a glance, only to find Minho already walking away, his back the last thing you saw as the door shut.

You bit your lip hard enough it started to bleed.

Well, that went well.

-0-0-

For the entirety of the day, and then the following, you found yourself wondering if Minho would confront you.

Both Chan and Felix (who you had frantically sent a message to the moment you returned to your own room) assured you that Minho wasn't the curious type and wouldn't tell anyone, but you found yourself still staring at him every time you were in the same room.

Thankfully, the actual work at hand left you busy enough that your worries didn’t have time to fester into anxiety. Translating during interviews would be easier when in English speaking countries, but Japanese was a language that the boys were only familiar with from an idol’s perspective, so complicated questions had to be simplified, and slang had to be translated.

You were still impressed at how much Minho seemed to understand, and Chan did his best to answer what he could in Japanese, but more often than not, it was quicker if you translated for the interviewer. All in all, it was one of the last interviews of the week, two days before their first concert, and you were ready to wrap everything up.

And then the last question was asked.

At first, you had simply thought you misheard it and asked the interviewer to repeat the question, mentally going through the approved list of questions that had been confirmed weeks ago. As far as you were concerned, the questions should have been over. And then the question was repeated, and your mind seemed to catch up to the actual words being spoken by the middle-aged Japanese man as if he was asking about the weather.

You weren’t sure if his nonchalance made the question worse or not.

There was a moment of silence. You glared at the interviewer, he smiled pleasantly at the group, and the group were starting to realize something was up as they all looked expectantly over at you.

You refused to return their gazes, keeping your mouth shut.

After what felt like a minute, but was only a few seconds, the interviewer finally realized something was up. He turned to look at you as well, but at your continued silence, he then turned back to the group with an awkward laugh and had the audacity to start trying to ask the question in English!

It was butchered, the verb he was starting to use was the wrong one, but you didn’t even want the members to get even an idea of the horrible question he had thought was at all appropriate to ask.

You cut him off. “Thank you so much for this interview. Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have today.”

Even speaking in Japanese, you’re sure your voice gave away your anger, and a few of the members (even a staff member in the corner) all gave you wide eyed looks as you stood up, ushering the interviewer away.

You were thankful that the team’s security members, despite not speaking a lick of Japanese, were quick to pick up on the change in vibes, helping you get the interviewer out of the room. You spared only a short glance back at the group- at the confused and worried look that Chan had- before you spun on your heels and followed them all out.

The moment the doors were closed, the interviewer was rounding on you, pushing against securities hold on him. “What was that? I didn’t even get to thank them-“

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for that incredibly inappropriate question you just asked!” You yelled at him.

“Please, as if it’s a crime to ask a question,” he scoffed.

“It’s harassment, is what it is.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable question in Japan-“

“I don’t care!” You shouted, and the security member closest to you gave you a look. You ignored her. “It should never, never, be appropriate to ask a pack about their mating cycles! The fact that you think it is, is disgusting! You should be ashamed of yourself. There is a reason we have a list of approved questions, and it’s so our idols do not get embarrassed or feel attacked by an interviewer.”

The interviewer shifted uncomfortably as he realized that the people in the hall were now all staring at the scene. “It’s a legitimate medical question. If they’re going to be on tour for such a long time, it’s bound to cause delays, a-and their fans are entitled to know!“ he stuttered out.

“Get him out of my sight,” You told the security guards in Korean, and without listening to the protest’s the interviewer tried to give, you walked back into the room you had just left.

You nearly hit Jisung in the face with he door, and he began to sputter as he realized he had been caught listening in. The other boys, all way too close to the door to not have been eavesdropping as well, at least had the decency to pretend they weren’t. You ignored them, making your way over to the manager.

You could feel a headache growing in your temples.

“I need you to blacklist that interviewer, maybe get in touch with the company he works with. He should never be allowed to interview any of our idols again,” You whispered softly to Soojin, and he gave you a worried look.

“Do I want to know what he asked?”

“No, you don’t.”

-0-0-

The first day's concert went by without a hitch. You translated anything the boys struggled to say in Japanese, but they had been practicing their lines, and any improvised sentences were simple enough that even the members less familiar with the language could react in their own way. There was one embarrassing moment where you had been too busy laughing at something Felix had said that it wasn't until the crowd's yells of confusion clued you in to the fact that he had spoken in Korean, not Japanese. You quickly translated his words over the exclamations of the other members.

It was only after the concert, in the hotel bar late at night, that you finally managed to talk with Chan since the flight. It wasn’t planned, but the moment you spotted the alpha sitting by himself at the end of the bar you found yourself heading in his direction, only taking a moment to make sure that nobody was looking in your direction.

There were only three other individuals in the bar, one of them the bartender. It made sense.

It was nearly 2 in the morning.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You wondered, making yourself comfortable in the seat next to Chan.

He startled, eyebrows shooting up as he spotted you. He said your name softly, like he wasn’t really sure you were there, and then he smiled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Chan nodded. “Me either.”

In reality, you had woken up from a nightmare. You couldn’t remember anything that had happened in your dream, only that it had left you with a feeling of dread. The hotel bar wasn’t your original destination, but the restaurant had been closed, and you were suddenly glad you had decided to get a drink instead of laying in your bed for the rest of the night. Chan’s presence was surprisingly calming.

The bartender made his way over, giving you a tired smile. “What can I get you?”

You ordered your favorite drink, and it wasn’t until it was brought over, and you had taken a sip, that Chan finally spoke.

“Thank you,” He whispered.

“Hmm?”

Chan let out a sigh, straightening up and turning to you. “Thank you. For defending my pack against the interviewer yesterday.”

You stared at him with a blank stare for a few seconds, mind racing as you tried to figure out what gave it away. “Who told you?”

“One of the security guards speaks Japanese. We’re close.”

“Ah.” You were suddenly a lot thirstier, sipping at the rest of your drink to keep from having to speak until you realized that he had thanked you. “Right. You’re welcome.”

There’s a moment of awkward energy, where you’re suddenly not sure if you should leave or not, but then he lets out another sigh. He stands up slowly, placing a hand to the back of your chair as he passes behind you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone.

It wouldn’t be until you were finished with your own drink and ready to leave a few minutes later that you learned he had paid for your drink.

-0-0-

The second day was setting up to be fairly similar to the first. You were starting to get into a pre-show routine, which allowed you a moment of calm to listen to music and hang out in the staff resting area while the others were running around getting everything set up. You would only be needed right before the concert started, having already gone through sound check and made sure your microphone was working fine.

According to your phone, you still had around 40 minutes until you needed to head towards the backstage area you would be translating from.

You closed your eyes again and planned on getting in a quick nap.

Your earphone did a good job of blocking out noises, but you could still hear the door opening every once in a while, and people chattering, though you couldn’t make out the words. You were hidden somewhat in the back of the room, laying on a couch that was facing another couch with a table in between.

In between songs, you could hear footsteps approaching.

You had planned to ignore it, thinking it was just another staff member looking for some peace and quiet, but the footsteps weren’t heading towards the couches in the back. You paused your song and lifted your head, only to be met with an empty room.

Confused, you looked around.

The door was still closed, but you could have sworn the footsteps hadn’t left. It wasn’t until you sat up, the leather of the couch making a squeaking sound as your weight shifted, that you noticed the figure huddled in the corner.

Jisung stared at you with wide eyes, like he was also surprised to see you there. Considering your clothes blended in to the couch, he very well might have been.

“Oh, sorry-“ You paused, noticing his pale face, the way his shoulders were moving too quickly, and the fear that was starting to burn your nose.

Oh.

“Jisung, are you okay?” You asked him, even though you knew the answer.

He bit his lip, face falling before he hid it in between his arms, legs curling up against his body until he was protected from your sight.

The distressed scent grew stronger.

You swore softly, moving quickly but carefully towards the panicking beta.

For a moment, you were glad that he wasn’t an omega. The scent of a distressed omega would linger far longer than that of a beta, and that would bring way too much attention to you, regardless if it was your scent of not.

Jisung didn’t move even as you got close. You paused near the table in between the two of you, eyeing his shoulders carefully to make sure he wasn’t hyperventilating. It seemed as if it was more of an anxiety attack at the moment, possibly embarrassment at breaking down in front of you.

You grabbed a bottle of water just in case.

Less worried knowing that the beta was actually breathing fine, you allowed yourself to get comfortable on the ground next to him. It was silent for a few minutes, in which you sent a quick message to Chan from the number he had given you all that time ago.

Y: 'Jisung is in the staff lounge. He seems upset.’

You received a reply instantly.

C: 'Minho’s on his way.’

Y: I don’t think he wasn’t company right now.’

Despite being read instantly, you didn’t receive a reply. You assumed that there must have been a conversation of sorts, and Minho was either convinced not to barge into the room or had been held back, because the doors remained close until Jisung finally let out a sigh, lifting his head.

He eyed you with red eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You offered him the water bottle without a word, giving him a reassuring smile and then allowing him some privacy to put himself back together.

Your phone beeped from your alarm.

“You have thirty minutes before the show starts.” You gave a quick look over, noticing his stage outfit and tear-stained cheeks. “You should probably get a makeup artist to help with … you know.”

You motioned to his face, and he nodded, still looking unsure.

Even with the lingering pressure, Jisung made no moves to get up or leave. You allowed him another minute, and then let out a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jisung huffed. “I don’t-“

“It’s okay if you don’t.”

“No, it’s okay. I just … sometimes I just have bad days,” He admitted, playing with the cap of the water bottle.

“Everyone has bad days,” You offered, then wondered if your words would be taken the wrong way. You quickly added. “People will understand if you’re not okay.”

“I know. But being an idol, it has so much … so many expectations. To go out there, to people who paid sometimes hundreds of dollars, who made plans to come see us, who might never see us perform again, just to not give it my all …”

He trailed off, wiping his eyes as they began to tear up again.

“I just don’t like feeling this way.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You weren’t sure there was anything you could say. Instead, you offered him some emotional support, leaning your head against his shoulder and wishing that you were open as an omega and able to help him calm down with your scent.

But the next best thing came in the form of Seungmin finally opening up the door. He eyed you two carefully for a second, unsure if he should come in, but Minho pushed past him and didn’t hesitate to make his way over.

“Jagi,” he breathed, looking relieved once he was close enough to gauge that his fellow member was okay. Just in case, he asked, “are you okay?”

Jisung nodded his head, and you pulled away in worry that your presence might be in the way.

Seungmin walked in at a much calmer pace, pumping out the much-needed calming hormones. “You having a moment, hyung?”

Jisung laughed. “Don’t call me that you little gremlin.”

Minho and Seungmin both seemed to lose some of the tension in their shoulders at his reply. You were surprised when you made to get up, only to have Minho’s attention on you at the slightest movement. For a second, you felt like a prey animal about to be pounced.

He raised an eyebrow at you, and despite staring right at you, his next question was still directed to Jisung. “Do you need some more time?”

It was only as his gaze dropped down that you realized you were holding Jisung’s hand in your own. You flushed in embarrassment, but your reaction only drew a downright predatory grin from the Alpha. Seungmin sighed.

“We don’t have that much time,” He muttered, shooting Jisung an apologetic look. “If you want to sit this one out, you need to let us know now.”

Jisung shook his head, giving your hand a squeeze. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

He said it almost to himself, but you smiled reassuringly when he faced you.

“Thank you,” He said, with more confidence than you expected. You watched as he got to his feet, remembering the conversation you had had not that long ago.

‘I guess it’s easy when you’ve got a stadium full of beautiful people screaming your name’

“I’ll be cheering you on,” You told him, raising your first and shaking it towards him. “Fighting!”

And with a genuine smile, Jisung left looking better than when he had arrived. Seungmin gave you a small nod as he followed, but Minho lingered long enough to watch you get to your own feet and begin to gather your things. You expected him to say something, but he finally left without a word.

-0-0-

Finding Chan in the hotel bar later that night wasn’t as much as a surprise as it had been yesterday.

You sat down without worry. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He laughed, giving you a soft look as he slid a drink over to you. It was the same one you had ordered the day before. You blinked in surprise.

“How did you know I was going to show up?”

“I didn’t,” He offered, looking down at his own drink. “But I hoped. I wanted to be able to thank you again, for what you did for Jisung.”

You shrugged. “I just did what felt right. He looked like he needed a friend.”

Chan continued to stare at the side of your face, and you hoped he would blame the blush that was starting to creep up your neck on the alcohol.

Once again, he paid for you as he left.

After everything that happened that day, you were more than eager to settle down and try to get some sleep. You would have a day off tomorrow and the day after, but there were a few more interviews scheduled for the weekend before you’d be flying out on Monday. So far, you were glad to know the first leg of the tour was almost over.

You entered the elevator without realizing you were being followed.

Minho slipped in next to you without a word, and you froze.

He didn’t say anything as the doors began to close, but he made no moves to push any of the buttons. It’s only when the elevator hadn’t moved for a few seconds that you realized that neither had you.

You tentatively reached forward and pressed your floor number.

He finally spoke when the elevator began to move up. “You and Chan seem awfully cozy.”

You swallowed. “He was just thanking me for helping out with Jisung.”

“Hmmm. And I suppose Felix was just lending you a towel the other day.”

You found yourself praying for any god out there that could hear for a way out of this conversation.

“I didn’t want to go down to the front desk. Felix had an extra,” You lied, hoping it would be enough.

“You want to try that again?”

You took a deep breath. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“I don’t know,” Minho drawled, giving you a predatory look. “Am I?”

You were on opposite sides of the elevator, but the step he took towards you suddenly put him within arms reach of you, and your heartrate jumped.

You almost laughed in relief when the elevator suddenly stopped. The elevator had reached your floor, but it seemed as if your prayers had finally arrived, if a little late.

Or maybe someone up there had a sick sense of humor.

The elevator doors made a strange screeching sound as they began to open, and you both turned to stare in confusion. Only halfway open, they stopped.

And then the elevator shifted, creaking.

You shared a wide-eyed glance with Minho, unable to even make a noise before suddenly the elevator dropped.

The sound that escaped you was something you didn’t even realize you could make. The elevator stopped almost as quickly as it had dropped, but through the still halfway open doors you could make out that the elevator had settled somewhere in between two floors. You shuddered as the creaking noise continued, scared too even make a move.

It was after nearly a minute of silence between you two that Minho finally spoke.

“Are you okay?”

You eyed his tightly clenched fists that were doing their best to leave their impression on the railings, the way his muscles were tense, the look of pain on his face.

“Are you?”

He let out a huff, releasing his grip slowly. And then he began to slide down the elevator wall until he was on the floor, legs spreading out in front of him. He let out another breath, and then another, and you suddenly began to grow worried he was hyperventilating.

You shifted forward, pausing to make sure the elevator wouldn’t move, but it seemed to be stable. Figuring it was okay, you walked the two steps until you were next to him, kneeling by his side.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re okay,” You told him, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

He slapped your hand away. “Don’t!”

His voice was rough, almost a growl. You felt your chest tighten in worry and rejection, but he was still breathing hard. Was he going to pass out? You wanted to help him, but afraid to touch him again, you held your hands out in front of you to get his attention.

“You need to breathe,” You said softly, trying to hide your own panic. “Take a deep breath in.”

He shuddered again and then let out a bitter laugh. “That’s not- I’m not having a panic attack.”

“Well, you’re definitely not calm,” You argued.

Minho closed his eyes, his head slamming back against the wall hard enough to let out a clang, and you reached forward without thinking.

“Be careful!”

He grabbed your wrist, eyes opening only a sliver to glare at you. And then, as you stared at each other in anger, he suddenly seemed to droop. He let out a swear, dropped your wrist, and swallowed.

And then the scent began to reach you.

There, lingering in between the fear and anxiety that had originally escaped from the first few seconds of the elevator dropping, was an unmistakable scent.

Your mouth dropped. “Oh.”

Minho let out a groan. “I’m sorry. I can’t-“ He let out another shuddered breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I … It’s okay,” You offered, moving back.

Suddenly everything was starting to make sense. The lingering stares, the flared nose, the almost predatory way he had been behaving. No wonder he didn’t want you touching him right now; you were surprised he hadn’t bitten you with his instincts running this high.

Alphas could be very sensitive when in pre-rut.

You turned back to the bigger problem, pressing the emergency button on the elevator and hearing a soft ringing noise. Your first concern was getting the two of you out.

But there was a bigger problem you were starting to realize.

It was late. Really late. You had gotten out of bed without thinking about it, but now it was all you could think about. The fear and anxiety lingering in the air wasn’t just coming from Minho.

You didn’t have your fake pheromone perfume on right now, just scent blockers. And they were starting to wear off.

And you were stuck in an elevator with an Alpha going into rut.

“It’s going to be okay,” You reassured Minho when the emergency alarm didn’t immediately get attention. “We’re going to be okay.”

But you weren’t so sure.

-0-0-

Taglist: I think I got everyone. If I missed you or you want to be added to the tag list, free free to ask.

@3rachasninja @lilyuwon @brojustfknkillm3 @yukichan67 @mallielovssyou @mintchip17 @iweirdthingsblog @maisyyyyyy @neivivenaj @jc003 @skz-ot8-stay @passionandsuga @ms-flowergirl @kayleefriedchicken @seungmonggg @luvvvash @galaxy4489 @quokkahannie4 @joyofbebbanburg @xxeiraxx @lemonn015 @dazzlingjade @tenshimara @danceonmyheyday @staytinyluv @mamaj-right @dessianna1 @sillyhal @minh0scat @iris-iiridescent @fackeraccount @bumblebeebeebumble @hanniesbubuwife @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @k-pop-luv04 @stopstaring4455 @mbioooo0000 @bby-boo4u @yumuramma @juju-227592 @idiotmaterial @channieismylove @kpetts @headfirstfortoro @iknow-uknow-leeknow

[tempo-takoyaki]

In honor of my "gege am i ugly" post getting over 10k notes, here's a "san lang am i ugly" version of it. Featuring: how I'm picturing Hua Cheng 90% of the time.

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[roseblues]

At this point idc about twow like ok the fandom gets more insane and annoying every year but that’s just life. I, personally, would do unthinkable things for just ooooonnnee teeny tiny chapter of Theon’s point of view during during the beginning of agot when Robert arrived at Winterfell. Like what was going on in his head when The Gang that Ruined his Life reunited in front of his eyes and everyone was just fine and feasting.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

The world if people stopped applying their understanding of "conservatism" and "religion/christianity" through a very modern, deeply American view onto Death Note (a manga from the Early-mid 2000s which is very much set in the cultural and societal context of early-mid 2000s Japan and all that entails):