#for now i offer you a stupid little man instead

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers day 17: hot cocoa soup. Max & GP. About 600 words.

Max can race.

He's been telling that to everyone who questions it: his trainer, the team's doctor, Christian, Jonathan, even Helmut. It's just a little cold, and he's raced with worse. Besides, it's not even raining anymore, and his fever has gone down.

He can race.

It would be really stupid to miss a race just because he's a bit stuffy, a bit sore, a bit tired. Besides, his father would never forgive him, and he would be right not to.

So he can race, and he will race, and everyone should just shut up about it and let him focus on actually getting ready.

He's trying to work through some stretches, having to breathe heavily through his mouth because his nose is annoyingly blocked, when there's a knock on the door.

It makes him groan, not wanting to deal with someone else trying to tell him it's "unhealthy" to push his body like this, or that he doesn't "need the points" since he's not in the championship fight. As if not every single point counts!

"What is it?" he asks, hating the way his voice sounds, raspy and broken, hurting all the way through his throat.

"It's me," GP's voice answers, and he groans again, flopping back on the floor and closing his eyes.

Great, now they sent GP to try and discourage him. Awesome.

GP must take his silence for an invitation, because the door opens, and then closes, as GP's steps come closer.

"Are you alright, down there?" he asks, concern and amusement forming a weird mix in his voice.

Max opens one eye, glaring, unwilling to admit it feels a little too good to be laying down instead of preparing for the race.

He can race, and he will race, even if he has to go against the wishes of every single person in the damn garage, himself included.

The only thing is that, when he opens his eye, he finds that GP is holding something, and not his usual clipboard.

He curiously opens his other eye too, pushing himself up on an elbow to look at the tray better, trying to see what's in the bowl on top of it.

GP's smile is too fond and knowing for Max's taste as he sets it down on the small table, making him want to glare again, even as he squirms into a sitting position.

"I know this is not in your pre-race diet, but I think it should make you feel better," GP says, offering a hand to help Max up, keeping his hold until Max is solidly on his feet. "We need you in tip-top shape, after all."

GP's voice fades a bit in the background as Max takes a step forward, surprise filling him.

In the bowl there is what looks like tomato soup, steam wafting up from the surface.

He looks up at GP, not really knowing what his face is doing, emotions swirling around in his chest as the man reaches out, gently clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Eat, drink some water, and then I'll see you out there, alright?"

Max nods automatically, not really knowing what to do.

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know why GP is the only one who hasn't questioned him, but has brought him a bowl of comfort instead. He doesn't know how to express the gratitude and trust threatening to make him tear up. But GP doesn't ask anything from him, turning around and leaving him to it.

As he brings the first spoonful to his mouth, Max closes his eyes, trying to catch the taste of love and care with every bite.

[unknownartiste]

seen some shit

[d1stalker]

Suspension Bridge Effect [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

Warnings: mainly Logan POV, jealousy, cuteness, fem!reader WC: 2.6k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan’s losing it; his thoughts are spiralling to the point where he wonders if he should be locked up.

At least, that’s what he thinks is happening as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. You’re standing near the edge of the mansion's garden, laughing softly as the kid—Johnny, a younger teenage mutant—tries to hand you a bouquet of hastily picked flowers. His face is flushed, eyes wide with admiration, and he’s practically vibrating with nervous energy as he looks up at you.

This punk, this moron, this lovesick blockhead, has been glued to your side ever since you saved him during the last mission.

It was supposed to be a standard run-of-the-mill rescue operation, but when things went south, and he was cornered, you swooped in like the hero you are and got him out unscathed. Now, the kid’s been following you around like a lost puppy, trying to win your attention, your approval—your everything. And it’s infuriating.

Logan can feel his hands clench into fists as he watches Johnny offer you the worst attempt at a bouquet he's ever seen, and sees the youngster's face turning a deeper shade of red as he mumbles something the older man can’t quite hear. Probably some dumb compliment, he thinks bitterly. The kid’s got no game.

You smile at Johnny. It's that soft, kind smile that always makes Logan’s heart skip a beat. But this time, all it does is fuel the fire raging within. He knows that smile isn’t just for him, but damn it, he wishes it were.

He wishes you’d tell the kid to scram, that you’re already spoken for, that you have a lovely boyfriend who could put together a way better bunch of flowers, but instead, you take the flowers with a gentle laugh, thanking the goblin like he’s just handed you a priceless treasure.

And somehow, the torment is never ending, it seems. Because later in the day he find’s himself lurking at the doorway of the mansion library, watching as you and Johnny sit together, heads bent over some book he know knows the little gremlin is just pretending to be interested in. That brat is soaking up every second of your attention, hanging on your every word, and it’s driving Logan up the wall.

“He’s just a kid,” you keep saying whenever he grumbles about it, but you don’t see it. You don’t see the way the bastard’s eyes light up whenever you smile at him, or how he leans in just a little too close when you’re explaining something to him. You don’t notice the small touches—the way his hand lingers on your arm when he’s pulling you somewhere, the way he looks at you like you’re the centre of his universe.

Logan sees it all, because he’s been there before. He knows exactly what Johnny’s feeling because he felt the same way when he first met you. Still does. It's that intense, all-consuming crush that makes you do stupid things just to be near the person you can’t stop thinking about.

“Logan, you’re staring,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to see her smirking at him from across the hallway.

“I’m not starin’. Just keepin’ an eye on things,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re jealous.”

He scowls at her. “I ain’t jealous of some kid.”

“Sure you’re not,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

Clenching his jaw, he knows she’s right but not wanting to admit it. “She doesn’t get it. She thinks it’s cute.”

“Maybe if you told her how you’re feeling, she’d understand,” Jean suggests gently, though there’s a knowing look in her eyes.

Huffing and turning away from the library, Logan has decided that he’s had enough of standing on the sidelines. He needs to do something before he loses his mind entirely. But it seems he can’t escape this torture, because he can’t even get five minutes alone with you.

He tried to get your attention after you finished up teaching your class, but before he could, the little devil ran in front of him and got it first. His eye twitches as he watches Johnny offer you another “gift,” this time a poorly folded paper crane. You take it with a smile, thanking him kindly, and Logan grits his teeth so hard he swears his molars might shatter.

“Hey, kid,” He grumbles, stepping forward with a growl in his throat that would send most people running. “Don’t you got somewhere else to be?”

Johnny looks up, momentarily startled by the sharp tone, but then just gives a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no, sir. I was just, um, hanging out with her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got things to do. Don’t you, darlin’?” Logan’s eyes flicker to you, hoping you’ll catch the hint and send the kid on his way.

But you don’t. You just laugh. A musical sound that makes him want to clamp his hand over your mouth because why should that devil's spawn get to hear your beautiful voice? He’s truly about to lose it. 

“It’s fine, babe. Johnny’s just being sweet.”

Sweet. Logan wants to snort. Sweet is one word for it. Obnoxious, irritating, and clingy are a few others that come to mind.

“You got a crush or somethin’, boy?” His tone is laced with a dangerous edge as he crosses his arms over his chest, towering over the knucklehead. He’s trying not to outright scare him, but damn, he’s close to it.

Johnny turns beet red, stammering, “N-no, I just… she saved me, and I just wanted to say thank you, that’s all!”

Narrowing his eyes, a low snarl rumbles from his chest, and Logan takes a deliberate step forward, but before he can do more, you place a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Logan, that’s enough,” you say firmly, giving him a pointed look. 

Well, there goes another piece of his sanity.

You’re too kind, too understanding. You just don't get it. To you, it’s just an innocent crush, something harmless, something that makes you smile. You think it’s nothing, and that only makes his blood boil more.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, stepping back, though his eyes never leave the teenager’s. Johnny seems to take that as some kind of begrudging acceptance and gives you another shy smile before scurrying off, likely to find the next token of his gratitude to bring to you.

Once he’s gone, Logan lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is drivin’ me nuts, you know that?”

You just chuckle again, stepping closer to him and slipping your arms around his waist. “It’s just a phase, I’m sure. He’ll get over it.”

Wrapping his arms around you tightly and pulling you in close, he feels a little bit better in your embrace, but his eyes still track where Johnny disappeared into the mansion. “He better. ’Cause if he doesn’t, I might lose my damn mind.”

You tilt your head up, kissing his jaw softly. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

He huffs, not wanting to admit it, but the truth is written all over his face. “Maybe a little.”

Smiling, you lean up to kiss him properly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Logan kisses you back, a little more possessively than usual, as if to remind himself that you’re his. And even as you melt into him, he can’t help but keep one eye open, scanning the garden for any sign of that kid returning. He might be crazy, but he’ll be damned if he lets some lovestruck teenager get between him and the woman he loves.

—

The next morning, the mansion is buzzing with its usual activity. You and Logan head to the dining hall for breakfast, with him looking a little more relaxed after a night of holding you close. But the moment you step into the room, he spots a certain demon sitting at a table, eyes locked on you as if he’s been waiting for this very moment.

Groaning under his breath, Logan mutters, “Not again,” before guiding you to a table near the windows, hoping Johnny won’t follow.

You take your seat, smiling up at your boyfriend as he pulls out his chair, and for a brief second, he dares to believe that he might actually get to enjoy a quiet breakfast with you. But just as he’s about to sit down beside you, Johnny swoops in out of nowhere, plopping down in Logan’s seat with a grin like he’s just won the lottery.

“Morning!” He chirps, completely oblivious to the thunderous look on the other man’s face.

Freezing in his place, Logan glares at the kid who’s now sitting where he was supposed to be. He mentally cycles through a list of unflattering nicknames—Useless Idiot, Captain Obnoxious, Motherfu—but none of them seem quite strong enough to capture his current feelings. “You’re in my seat, kid.”

Johnny blinks up at him, feigning innocence. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t see your name on it.”

You can practically see the self-control it takes for Logan not to pick the kid up and toss him across the room. His fingers twitch at his sides, his claws itching to come out, but he holds back. For your sake, and only your sake.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm, “you do know he is my boyfriend, right? And even if he wasn’t, I’m a bit too, uh, old for you?”

The young mutant's eyes widen, and for a split second, you think you might have gotten through to him. But then he glances over at Logan, his face scrunching up like he’s just eaten something sour.

“Yeah, but he’s, like, hella old,” The idiot blurts out, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if the mutant standing right there can’t hear every word.

Logan’s expression darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes as his jaw tightens to the point where you can almost hear his teeth grinding. Hella old? Is this guy serious?

He's dealt with all kinds of enemies—mutants, monsters, government assassins—but nothing, nothing has tested his patience like this hellspawn has been. “What did you just say?” he growls menacingly.

Johnny, either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, doesn’t back down. “I mean, no offense, but you’ve got a lot of… uh, experience, you know? And you’re like centuries old. Maybe she needs someone closer to her age.”

That’s the last straw. Logan’s eyes flash with anger and something else—something more vulnerable that you rarely see. A part of him knows the gremlin’s just talking out of his ass, but the words hit a little too close to home, stirring up old insecurities he usually keeps buried deep.

Without another word, he slams his hand down onto the table, the sound echoing through the dining hall like a gunshot. The room falls into stunned silence as he then storms out, his footsteps heavy and his anger radiating off of him in waves. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t acknowledge the whispers that follow in his wake. He just needs to get away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Logan, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already halfway out the door.

You turn back to Johnny, who’s now looking a little less confident and a lot more like he might have made a mistake. Sighing, you lean forward with a serious expression. “You can’t just say things like that. He’s not just my boyfriend. He’s the person I love.”

Looking down at the table, his face falls, and he begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I just thought—You saved me and I felt something…I thought maybe you’d feel something for me too.”

You soften, reaching out to pat his hand. “Johnny, you’re a sweet kid, but you’ve got to understand that Logan’s the one I’m with, and no one can replace him.”

He nods slowly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I get it,” he mumbles. “I just…”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You’ll find someone your own age who’s perfect for you. But for now, you need to give us some space, okay?”

Johnny nods again, this time more resolutely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just… try not to instigate anything else. I’ll go talk to him.” You give him one last reassuring smile before heading toward the exit.

When you step out into the hallway, you barely have a second to process your thoughts and decide where to look before you’re suddenly pressed up against the wall. A gasp escapes your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by Logan’s mouth on yours. The surprise melts away as the intensity of his kiss overtakes your senses, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His kiss is possessive and fierce. You can feel the frustration, the jealousy, the need to claim what’s his, pouring out of him with every movement of his lips against yours. For a moment, you lose yourself in the heat of it, letting the world around you fade as you focus solely on him.

Then, through the haze of the kiss, the practical part of your brain kicks in. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Logan… we’re gonna get caught.”

He growls softly, his lips trailing down to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Let them see,” he mutters between kisses. “Maybe then that damn dunce will get the hint.”

You laugh, though the sound is cut off as he captures your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as if he’s afraid to let go. “Babe, really,” you whisper, trying to sound serious but failing as your body responds eagerly to his touch. “People are gonna see…”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you involuntarily shiver against him. “Shoulda thrown that little shit out on his ass… let him know who you belong to.”

“You’re jealous of a teenager,” you tease, though the words come out breathless and almost lost in the intensity of the moment.

Logan pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark. “Don’t like him sniffin’ around you, thinkin’ he’s got a shot.”

You smile up at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him back down for another kiss. “You don't need to feel threatened by him. You’re the only one I want.”

He huffs softly, his lips brushing against yours as he mutters, “Damn right I am.”

“C’mon,” you murmur, gently pushing against his chest. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, huh?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering back toward the dining hall, as if half-expecting Johnny to come barreling out any second. But then he nods, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway, away from prying eyes. His grip on your hand is tight, territorial, and you can’t help but smile as you follow him.

As you walk together, you give his hand a squeeze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly.

“I love you, you know that?” You say it with that pretty grin of yours, and the way his eyes warm in response makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I love you too.”

The remaining tension melts away, leaving just the two of you walking hand in hand, ready to steal a few more precious moments together.

----

A/N: this was really fun to write!

[hyhkai]

camboy! | c.yj.

[ 🎥 ] — after yeonjun's rise in the porn industry, an interview was something he agreed to for fun. however, after he saw you, the interviewer, he wished it was a fake interview where he gets to fuck you.

cw : pornstar!yeonjun. unedited word vomit fictional magazine company that apparently also exists in real life.

a/n ; i apologize for my sins i swear I'll change 🙏🏼 and this is a drabble, not a fic! i might turn it into one over time ♡

after you reached out to him a few weeks ago with greetings and compliments, and asking can I interview you some time? I'd like to know what it's like to be a person who earns through the adult industry, and with your fame, I know that you're just the right person., his first, honest reaction was to laugh. i mean, seriously?

he was laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being interviewed. i mean, who was willing enough to take out time of their busy, hectic schedule to interview a man who earns bread by having a dildo inside of him? he had to know. he wanted to know what this person was like.

he did think that this could be completely false and you could be a potential threat, trying to lure him into your little cage with cheese like he's a fucking rat, capture him and do bad things to him like he'd heard with various nefarious acts of people against people with 'easy' fame.

"can I get proof that you're actually an interviewer?"

to which he immediately got a response with a photo of a xerox copy of your identification document, namely at a popular company called mode de vie. he could see the black and white ink that framed the photo stuck on the top right corner, and he knew that he had to see that fucking face in real life. if that's how you look in a awfully captured picture, so captivating, bold, and confidence outlining your eyes in the form of sharp eyeliner, he had to see that face in front of him, asking him questions about his body count or something else he doesn't give two shits about.

he'd said sure to your offer almost immediately now that he saw that it was a real interviewer after him. and now that it was time, he drove to the place where you both agreed to be at — a café which was relatively close to his house and your office.

"I'm glad you came!" you said as you shook his hand that would eventually get sweaty from just sitting opposite to you. what the fuck? he seriously considered telling you to quit this stupid, serious job and just join him in his public sex life. you were stunning.

now that he saw your hair open, framing your face, and that fucking sharp-ass eyeliner, he was mad that he didn't dress up nicely and instead came in a hoodie. who wants to miss a chance of getting a baddie?

he thanked the lords he'd long forgotten when you told him this is just an audio based interview which will later be turned into a text format.

while you continued asking him questions about everything, from "fuck-a-fan" to "how did your mother find out?", he'd needed to ask you to repeat your questions several times. his eyes kept drifting down, down to your chest.

'why the fuck are you wearing a top so low-cut? is it to provoke me or something?' he'd think. he legitimately wants to put his hand on the table, pushing himself towards you and grabbing one of your tits. it's pissing him off he can't.

okay, so maybe he was a pervert like one of his friends liked to say. but it wasn't his fault when you were asking him questions about his sex life while looking at him with those eyes that were possibly tearing his clothes off.

in his world, that is.

'do you want to fuck me too, or am I trippin'?'

he knew he had to keep his filthy hands, his filthy thoughts, to himself. c'mon, it's a fucking interview, yeonjun. grow up. you've had plenty of girls and guys to fuck in your life. from small and petite, to taller than you. from fucking someone to getting fucked. you've done it all. why are you so captivated by this woman?

maybe it was the way you had your makeup done that had him wishing he could see it smeared all over with a new makeup product; his cum, or maybe it was your tits that were practically begging to be the thing he shoves his face in tonight. but no, it was the way you carried yourself.

there was this... this aura, this radiation of confidence that was magnetic enough for him to be pulled to you.

under the table, he was practically going to rub one out. he kept adjusting his pants, kept palming his dick that was straining against his pants and standing up against his thoughts of not fucking you ever.

ugh, just how fucking good you'd look on his bed, and he swears he could go above his rounds per fucking streak of 4 with you; from classic missionary to the amazon position, from sixty-nine to his foot on your face while he fucked your ass from the back. fuck, he'd even let you peg him, something he's always refused to do.

just how good you'd look while sliding your strap-on inside of him, his eyes going wide, as well as your smile at the sight of his pretty face. he thinks you'd like some crazy songs playing in the background, similar to the vibe of playboi carti.

fuck, he'd hold onto your tits for support, comfort, for just the fucks of it no matter who is topping.

"um, excuse me?" you asked when he spaced out in the middle.

"yeah?" he said, looking up from the table where both of your milkshakes resided.

"thank you for the interview. i appreciate it a lot!" you said, smiling at him, completely unaware of the junk he had in his brain about you. you put out your hand for a friendly yet professional handshake.

"oh, yeah, of course." he muttered out, responding to your hand with his that was definitely sweaty.

as you closed your notepad and stopped the recording, he looked up at your face finally.

"can I ask you a question too?"

"oh, yes, of course." you said, looking up at him with a face of genuine curiosity. maybe it would be something like —

"when will this be posted?"

"where can I read it?"

"will there be a hardcopy?"

"would you ever fuck me if you could?"

and suddenly, this was the first time you regretted not recording the aftermath of an interview.

[frmisnow]

BORDEAUX !

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

notes. welcome to a new verse (aka. series), usually most of my series are more fluffy w a touch of smut (besides two whores, one job lol) but this one is gonna be a lot more angsty and smutty! so i hope y'all are into that kinda jam 🍷⭒⋆｡˚

warnings /includes. (1.7 k words / suggestive!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, alcohol, shitty ex :/, jk is an alcohol nerd?, reader kind of uses him to kill bad memories ?, making out

the air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and smoke melted with the faint music somewhere in the background: jazz, how unfitting for this kind of environment. the enviornment which people go to specifically to escape reality, for a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

the alcohol wasn't bad, at least judging by the wine and it offered a sense of peace or rebellion, stupid fucking rebellion. your ex used to despise wine with all of his heart, he hated the scent of it, didn't want you to drink any of it near him.

he didn't like when you drank alcohol over all, he was stern on the idea of keeping you innoccent. you chugged down the glass like a shot at the sheer memory of the behavior you used to put up with.

the glass hits the table with a dull thud and you could almost hear his voice, scolding you for how reckless you were. you reach out for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass. and this time you savor the taste on your tongue, the rich flavor.

you feel eyes burning into your face, no- not burning, observing. it didn't feel uncomfortable but you could firmly feel them on you. the man's presence cut through the fog of alcohol and self-pity that had settled over you, and for a moment, you simply stared.

you should have looked away, but you didn’t. instead, you lifted your glass to your lips, taking another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down your throat, heavy and warm. he watched you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving yours.

he stands up making his way to you, and suddenly the crowd and all the shitty memories fade away, it was almost like he had a bigger effect on you then the alcohol did and that said a lot.

finally, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “mind if i join you?”

the question was formal, did he work in business? no, that would be stupid to assume based of just a question. you nod, slowly but surerly, motioning towards the chair next to you.

he takes the seat next to you, signaling for a nearby waiter, requesting another glass, before turning his attention back to you. his gaze is intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to see straight through to your soul.

“rough night?” he asks, his tone conversational but his eyes still focused intently on you.

his thigh touched yours, the proximity with somebody you didn't know should make you feel uncomfortable but it strangely didn't. "yeah," you mouth. the whole truth was too complicated, too raw, to lay out infront of a stranger.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before he speaks again, his voice was soft, almost soothing. "you're downing that glass like it's water."

you look at the almost empty glass that your fingers had been circling around while talking to him, he was right. you didn't even remember how many glasses you had, three perhaps?

"you have a pretty voice," you mumble, finshing what was left of liquid in the glass.

he raised an eyebrow at the compliment, surprised by the sudden comment from you. he can't help but chuckle a little, amused by the drunken confession. "thank you," he replies, sounding sincere.

you both barerly talked, you were two strangers in a cheap bar, why bother talking about boring jobs? the night was young.

the music in the background shifted, a slower, bluesy tune now. the more you looked at him, the more you could firmly feel his thigh pressed into your own. his fingers, tattooed, why hadn't you noticed that earlier? took the wine bottle from earlier, tilting it around to look at the label. he seemed to know the brand, humming in approval.

"it's a good vintage." he says, still holding the bottle but his eyes are on you, studying your face in the dim light.

and this actually managed to crack a smile out of you. it wasn't meant to be a funny comment, in fact he seemed serious about it. was he an alcohol expert? the fact that you knew absolutly nothing about wine made it better.

he takes a sip from his own glass, his eyes never leaving yours. he can't help but find your lack of knowledge about wine oddly endearing.

please, talk me stupid about alcohol. i want to know what rebellion tastes like. the words linger on your tongue but you don't cave into the urge of saying them. i want you to teach me what he was so afraid of showing me.

"i have a whole collection of rare and expensive wines back at my place. some you would never find even in the best bars," he pauses, his hand brushing slightly against your arm.

"are you trying to make me come home with you?" you ask though it's not a question you necessarily need an answer to, you knew what he had meant.

"and if i was?" his eyes stay on yours, tilting his head, "would you come with me?"

stupid fucking question.

the second you step into his apartment, the door closing behind you, he is already on you. his hands are on your waist, holding you firmly in place as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting the mixture of your saliva and the rich flavor of the wine.

when you both take time to breathe, you ask, "so where is the wine you were talking about?" your tone is clearly intoxicated, your eyes a little hazy as he doesn't let go of you and you both stumble towards his living room together. the action seeming strangely domestic.

"it's right there." his voice a tad bit breathless, he motions towards a large display of alcohol, his eyes scanning the selection before settling on a particular bottle.

he reaches for the bottle, the arm around your waist still keeping you close to him, the alcohol clearly making the both of you more touchier then you would be sober.

jungkook holds up the bottle, letting you get a good look at the label. it was an expensive brand, even you could tell that, the words written on it swirling in an elegant script.

you hum, "italy," leaning into his touch sub counciously whilst he drew little circles over the clothed skin, twisting the bottle, "when did you get this?"

"i have a guy who brings me the good stuff from time to time."

your eyes wandered over the display, you wanted to kneel forward to look over the bottles but didn't want to get out of his embrace either.

it felt good, doing everything your ex would scrutinize you for. he'd be disapproving off even letting you look over all of these.

his head made a little motion towards almost like a silent 'go on' like he could firmly hear your thoughts.

the bottles seemed rare, visably very espensive and whilst you looked over the alcohol, he looked at you.

"what do you think?" he asks after a few minutes, tone soft and quiet like he didn't want to disturb you.

"i think i've had enough to drink already but it's all really pretty," you trail off, "you're really pretty"

jungkook smiles at the comment, reaching forward to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture seemingly absentminded yet surprisingly tender, "is that the alcohol talking?"

you shrug, grinning, "i honestly don't know"

he studies your face for a moment, his eyes roving over your features. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline, the touch light and gentle. "you know, you're very pretty yourself," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

the color of the red wine in your hands is now the exact color of your cheeks and your mind is empty as you lean forward to kiss him once more.

this time when your lips meet, it was rather delicate and slow. as you both sat on the ground next to the large display and kissed eachother like it was the end of the world.

and you don't stop when you felt like you couldn't breathe, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the pulse beneath the shirt. this was what drowning memories was all about.

your ex didn't kiss like this. he didn't hold you like this and he most certaintly will never get the chance to redeem himself ever.

you find yourselves sinking to the floor while jungkook craddles your face as if you were something precious, something worth cherishing.

your ex kissed you just to check of the foreplay box, jungkook kisses you because he wants to.

"i want you," you mumur against his lips as you both take time to breathe.

you wake up to harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds, you realize you're lying on a coach. his coach. the cool leather fabric is a stark contrast to your bare skin, that's when you notice — you’re only in your panties. red lace with little bows.

the rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, your shirt draped over the armrest, your skirt crumpled beside it.

you try to piece the events of last night together, did you sleep together? ... you can't quite remember. you sit up slowly, your head pounding with the dull throb of a hangover.

jungkook's presence was no where to be found, the apartment was dead quiet. he left you here, naked and confused: what a dick.

you do your best to gather the clothes, slipping into them, you search for your phone, finding it next to the alcohol display. you take another look at the various bottles, now sober.

you shake your head at how easy you were yesterday, checking the time on your phone until your heart drops — the meeting. the meeting you could not afford to miss.

you let out a groan of frustration, fighting the zipper of your skirt, great- you were going to meet your new ceo looking and feeling like a mess.

you step into the large building with your heart still pounding, why did the metro station have to be so far away from your job? running as fast as you can had been your only option.

you push through the glass doors of the conference room, instantly sitting down, you did not want the people to look even more then a second at the wrinkled skirt of yours.

the important man stands facing away from you, writing something down on a white board. he seemed pretty tall, confident posture.

and then he turns around.

your expression drops. it's him. it's the man from last night.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

flower therapy | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after being rescued from the capitol’s torturous clutches, your boyfriend, finnick odair, assists you with recovering from haunting memories and ptsd.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: finnick being major boyfriend material, soft reader, mentions of torture, ptsd, panic attack, hurt/comfort, fluff

notes: the way i lowkey triggered myself into a panic attack while writing this?? i’m okay now though 😀

word count: 1.3k

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. That is what the psychiatric doctors of District Thirteen suggested after you were rescued from being captured and tortured in the Capitol. Their methods sounded daunting and all too familiar—sterile white rooms, memory flash cards, persistent strangers who would force you to relive your trauma so you could 'work through it'.

Finnick did not like the sound of that one bit. So, he offered an alternative.

Post-traumatic stress mental rehabilitation. The label was a mouthful. Finnick preferred to call it "flower therapy". Twice a week, you and Finnick were authorised to spend two hours above ground where you would sit in a nearby meadow, make daisy chains, and occasionally open up about what happened in the Capitol.

You liked to call it "the power of flowers". Stupid, but saying it always formed a little smile on your face and there was no harm in simple joy considering the cruelties you had endured. Most of the time, you were silent and would lie in Finnick's arms while making flower crowns. He was always patient; he understood you needed time. Day after day, he proved his unconditional love, and you thanked the universe for blessing you with such an incredible man.

"Oh no," you whispered.

"What is it?"

You dangled your broken daisy chain in front of you and Finnick.

"Oh no," he echoed.

Your back rested against his chest and his arms enveloped your body as he held his own effortlessly crafted yellow chain in your lap. Apparently, years of weaving fishing nets creates a master of making daisy chains.

"Here," he said, positioning his own flower crown on your head. "Beautiful."

Smiling, you turned your head to face him. "I'm going to tell everyone I made it."

The flowers sat like a golden halo atop your head, beaming just as bright as the smile Finnick had bloomed at the sight of you. Beauty was everything that you were; not just outwardly, but within the confines of your mind too. Flowers and sunlight were interwoven with your soul, making up the essence of who you were—loving and warm-hearted. One of the many reasons Finnick had fallen in love with you.

He would forever want to remain in your garden, tending to and protecting every petal that blossomed.

His thumb swiped affectionately across your cheek. "Of course you are, you thief," he murmured, grinning. "You owe me."

Your stomach flooded with butterflies and you leaned in, tenderly kissing him with soft pink lips. Finnick cupped your cheek, stroking the baby hairs of your hairline with his fingers as he smiled against your mouth. Even your lips tasted like sweet nectar to him.

After you pulled away, you settled back into his embrace, sinking into those arms that shielded you from any and all harm.

"Okay, I suppose you're forgiven," Finnick said, the smile present in his voice.

You toyed with his fingers while wearing a glowing smile of your own, his arms lovingly wrapped around your body. Oh, you loved him so endlessly.

As the sun began to lower, a mixture of orange and pink clouds blanketed the sky. The trees surrounding the meadow cast large shadows throughout the area, making it appear much darker than it really was. A subtle shift in the once tranquil atmosphere rippled through the meadow, happiness now becoming a distant and unreachable feeling.

The broken daisy chain crumpled in your hands no longer shined in the sun like a beautiful mess. It instead looked tangled. Chaotic. Darkened by the dimming light and transformed into something sinister that resurfaced haunting memories of the Capitol—twisted IV tubes filled with unknown substances, chains that removed layers of skin, decaying white roses that covered the floor of your cell.

Heaviness clutched at your heart, suffocating you from within.

Finnick sensed the sudden shift, loosening his hold around you as he whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I—I don't know," you stammered, the air thinning around you.

The wilting daisies started to taint your hands with darkness, creeping slowly up your arms and causing them to tremble. Finnick, who noticed your fixation on the daisy chain, gently took the flowers from your grasp and set them aside.

It was too late; the panic had already set in.

He turned your body to the side in his lap, forcing you to face him. Your eyes flickered with worry. No amount of pain could compare to the heartbreak he felt seeing you like this.

"Hey. Hey, look at me," he urged, his tone soothing. "Breathe with me, alright? In..." He inhaled deeply through his nose. "And out."

But it was no use. Air was caged within your lungs, burning like fiery hot whirlwinds inside your chest. It was all you could do to force rapid shallow breaths out of your mouth.

"No, no!" A tear fell from your eye as you fervently shook your head. "Finn, I ca—I can't."

"Yes, you can, baby," he said, pushing aside the hair that obscured your vision. His eyes searched the area, looking for anything that could help distract your frantic mind. That is when he spotted a small flock of birds perched on one of the tree branches, instantly recognising their black feathers and sharp beaks. "Look. See those birds? They're mockingjays."

Finnick pointed up at the tree, gaining your attention which then shifted to the birds that were gawking down at you with curious tilting heads. Mockingjays. Katniss. Rebellion. Hope. You focused all your attention on the little black birds and listened to Finnick's reassuring voice.

"They'll repeat any tune you make," he continued, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Can you do that for me? Try and whistle something for them?"

Attempting to control your ragged breathing, you jerkily nodded. Songs from the world before the war overtook your mind. At first, it was overwhelming as your mind scrambled for a suitable melody, fuelling your panicked state. But then you heard something familiar and focused on the familiar tune, one that was from your childhood.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,

Go to sleep, my little baby,

When you wake you shall have,

All the pretty little horses.

It was a lullaby your mother sang whenever you were upset. Seemed fitting considering the situation. You managed to whistle the first few notes, albeit a little wobbly of course, hardly noticing the air that was starting to flow more freely into your lungs.

"That's it, sweet girl."

Once the mockingjays began echoing the song throughout the forest—far more beautifully than your broken whistles—you continued the melody until the end. When you finished, the birds continued to repeat the tune, singing your mother's lullaby over and over in the trees of District Thirteen.

Whilst sat cradled in Finnick's embrace, you quietly hummed along as he stroked soft patterns on your arm. Darkness and pain were long forgotten now. Your body no longer trembled with fear nor did your breathing. Memories of the Capitol's brutality were locked away and hidden in the back of your mind, diligently guarded by the man whose arms you lay in.

Golden beams filtered through the tree trunks; the sun was now lowered enough to let the warm light in, illuminating both you and Finnick. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, wrapping you up even tighter in his arms now that he was certain the worst had passed.

You clutched onto his arm and blew out a final stabilising breath, finding comfort in the strength and protection he held. The side of your head rested against his chest, the beats of his heart harmonising like a drum with the mockingjays' song.

You wanted to apologise but knew his response would be dismissive. You wanted to tell him how deeply you loved and appreciated him but knew your words would fail you.

So, you remained silent.

"You're safe," Finnick whispered into your hair. "Right here, right now. I promise."

Right here, right now, you repeated in your mind. In Finnick's arms, you were safe. You were loved.

tags: @tayrae515

[greg-montgomery]

the latest hotch x sunshine reader fic?

u think u ate with that?

no.

U DEVOUREDDDDDD. GRRRRRRRRRRR

part 2 now mama i love u so much

bestieee thank you omg!!!! <3 i hope you like part 2!!

part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Spencer took a deep breath staring at his desk. On any other day it would be due to the amount of paperwork waiting for him, but this time it was a cup of his favorite coffee order, a muffin, and a chocolate croissant, all sitting right on top of the report he was working on.

He wasn’t ungrateful for the treats, but he would rather enjoy them if they weren’t accompanied by three pairs of wide eyes looking at him, while searching for answers in return.

Emily threw her head back dramatically. “Come on, give us something.”

“They’re on a date right now, aren’t they? That’s why he left early. I know you know,” Penelope said. “I know you do. Rossi knows too, but he won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “Every time we ask he says nothing and just…smirks at us.”

“Please, you’re our last hope.”

Spencer took a bite of his muffin and smirked.

“You’re even worse than him,” Emily said and pointed at him.

“Come on, girls. Let’s go hack Hotch’s phone.”

“No, wait!”

--

Was it silly to start planning your wedding on a first date?

Maybe it was; you didn’t care. Because there was no way Aaron was not your future husband.

He did everything perfectly: he picked you up from your house, got you flowers, did not let you touch a door handle, paid for your dinner date, and let you play your music during the car ride.

Aaron also smiled a lot and the sight of it made you melt into your seat. It wasn’t often that a man gave you butterflies by just one look or with the sound of his laughter.

“What are you in the mood for now?”

The last thing you wanted was for the date to end, so instead of suggesting you walk back to his car you made a different offer.

“Let’s get ice cream!”

He chuckled, but you could already tell he would not say no to you. “Okay.”

You were walking side by side and even though you were already falling in love with his warm voice it was hard to pay attention to his words. Your mind was too occupied thinking about his arm swinging next to yours and how bad you wanted to hold hands with him.

Did he want it too? Would he think it’s childish to hold hands?

What if you just…did it?

Life’s too short, you thought and grabbed his hand.

Yes, you had not been paying attention to what he'd been saying but you did notice how he stopped mid-sentence when your hands touched. Was he mad?

Your heart was jumping against your chest, afraid you did something stupid. Aaron was quick to ease your anxiety, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently your hand.

He wanted this too.

He cleared his throat. “So it’s um…a good chance to…”

With the side of your eye, you caught him turning his head to stare at you. You hadn’t wiped the grin off your face from the sudden hand holding yet, and he saw it.

His dimples made an appearance, and as your grin got bigger you noticed he blushed.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you giggled.

The sound of Aaron’s phone ringing interrupted your moment.

“Sorry, I have to get this,” he said.

You, of course, didn’t mind. Even though he hadn’t said so himself, you knew he had left right on time – early in Hotch’s terms - from work just for your date. Perks of being best friends with your date’s subordinate was getting to have this kind of inside information.

“Hotchner,” he said sternly.

You stayed quiet.

“What? I didn’t authorize this.”

Oh.

“No. And I trust this won’t happen again.”

Oh…Maybe you liked this side of him a little bit more than you should.

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. “I’m sorry about that.”

I’m not.

“No, it’s okay! It’s fascinating observing you being a boss.”

“You like observing people?”

“Why, are you interested in hiring me?” you teased.

“Oh, I would never.”

“Why not?” you asked, acting offended.

“I would not be able to focus on a case with you around.”

You took advantage of the fact you were on a sidewalk and stopped walking, turning your body to face him. “And why is that?”

Aaron moved closer and dropped your hand only to cup the side of your head. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek and his eyes on yours made you feel dizzy.

“Because you take my breath away.”

And with his next move he took yours. Maybe you’d actually faint if he didn’t pull you in and place his lips on yours.

Your hands moved to his tie with the intention of pulling him even closer to your body. His kiss was heavenly and you really wouldn’t mind if you were to stay like that forever.

Yeah…there was no way Aaron Hotchner was not your future husband.

[livinginshambles]

But what about me | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Summary: Established relationship - You're jealous of the new girl but are mature about it, James is oblivious, and he also forgets your birthday and anniversary.

Notes: So here it is, a new version. I'm not going to continue the taglist, because it is kind of a hassle to take care of. Lily is our friend. OC Rosalie sucks. James is stupid. Spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, probably a happy ending, you know the drill.

Masterlist

“What’s on your mind?”

_________________________

You stared at James from a distance.

You shot up, your eyes widened in an alarmed manner before your posture relaxed when you saw it was Annabelle. She was a Hufflepuff ghost, a student who had tragically died during a Triwizard tournament, a few decades ago.

You shook your head in reassurance. “Nothing’s on my mind-“

“-So, the usual then?” Sirius’ voice popped up behind you and you wasted no time in elbowing him in the ribs, causing him to let out an “oomph”. You quickly waved at Annabelle who floated off.

“Watch it Padfoot,” you sternly told him, and you tried your best to give him a reprimanding look. By the laughing sound of his reaction, you failed in appearing intimidating.

“So,” Sirius began. “Big day tomorrow ey?” He wiggled his eyes suggestively. You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah, my birthday. Stop making it sound weird,” you huffed, and you shook your head.

“Totally worth it, Annika just walked past us with a beet red face,” Sirius defended with a mischievous grin.

“You should stop your inappropriate comments, I mean you are literally my cousin,” you stated loudly, and Sirius earned a disgusted look from another student passing by.

Sirius’ mouth hung open and then he scrambled to defend himself. “So, we’re not related at all, she was kidding!” His voice and pitch raised by the end of the sentence as he called out to the student who’d given him a not-so-subtle side eye.

You gave him a smug look. “Fine,” Sirius relented. “Truce?” You two shook hands.

“You’re not trying to steal my girl, are you Pads?” Two arms found their way around your waist, followed by a kiss to your cheek.

Sirius let go of your hand to hold them up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare, Prongs, just chatting because she seemed lonely,” he shrugged. You shot him a glare.

“Lonely?” James’ attention immediately zoned in on you.

“He’s just talking out of his ass, Jamie,” you waved it off.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, because you were definitely not longingly looking at Prongs here, talking to that gir-“ This time, you kicked his shins.

“Nah, I’m just pranking you, mate,” Sirius nonchalantly changed course and patted James on the shoulder while he passed him. James ignored him and focused on you.

He spun you around by one arm, held above your head like you were doing a ballroom dance. His hands quickly settled on your sides when you faced him, and he leaned over to pepper your face full of pecks. You grinned up at him and he fondly looked back before pulling you in again for a deeper kiss.

“Really?” A portrait next to you spoke up snorted. “Right in front of my salad?” He gestured to the painted salad on the dinner table in front of him.

James pointedly ignored him and instead tried to pull you a little bit closer. Not that that was possible.

“Oh, now you’re just doing it on purpose,” The man in the painting complained, and you would imagine the grimace on his face if you weren’t too preoccupied with James, who was leaving small pecks against your lips.

“Don’t like what you see, look away,” James murmured against you.  

“Disrespectful cretin these days. I would look away, but you are right in my sight,” The portrait huffed dramatically. You softly pushed James away to offer the poor man a sheepish look but found that he’d already escaped to a neighboring painting.

“So tomorrow,” James started, and you couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of a date with James. That giddy feeling sank very quickly when James finished his sentence.

“I’ll be training our newest Chaser for the day. That’s the girl I was talking to before,” he explained. “Her name’s Rosalie James, isn’t that funny? Like her last name is James, it confused me a lot during today’s practice,” James continued, not noticing that your mind had wandered of the brunette girl.

“She even joked that if we’d get married, I could change my name to James James,” he laughed. You didn’t particularly see the humor in that.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I know I said that we would study together in the library tomorrow, but I think we should move that to Sunday.”

You frowned, “can we not just move it to the evening then?” you asked, wondering if James was really planning on spending the entirety of your birthday with someone else.

“Well, it’s from 9 o’clock until 7 o’clock in the evening, and we have a Quidditch party thing afterwards, but it’s more of a teambuilding thing. I can ask them if you can join though?” James offered.

You blinked at him in confusion before offering him a smile in return. “What, no- I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you denied. You assumed that he’d find some time to squeeze in a birthday celebration.

James shrugged. “Suit it yourself, love.”

You didn’t actually think James would forget your birthday. After all, James was literally the perfect boyfriend. He was proud to show you off to people, always ready to lend an ear when you needed to, and most of all showering you with love, any chance he gets.

But we’re all still humans after all, today was very busy so it probably just slipped his mind. That’s completely okay, you told yourself. And so, you tried to push away your thoughts, wanting to enjoy the cake that you and the girls had snuck from the kitchen as a late-night snack.

“Red velvet is the best, I swear,” Lily laughed with a sigh as she let herself fall flat on her back in satisfaction. Marlene agreed wordlessly, preoccupied with stuffing more cake in her mouth.

“Happy birthday again,” Alice smiled kindly at you, and you beamed at her. “Thank you, guys, for today, you shouldn’t have bought me the expensive painting equipment,” you said as you motioned towards the brand-new canvasses, brushes, primer, and oil paint.

“Nonsense,” Marlene replied in mock offense. “But you will paint me one day, right?” She batted her eyelashes at you. You pretended to think about it. “I mean, for 15 galleons?” you joked and then had to rush to take your words back when Marlene agreed without hesitance.

“I was only joking,” you laughed and swatted her lightly.

“Eh, leave the joking to your boyfriend and the other marauders,” Lily teased you. “Speaking of them,” she started, and you looked down, knowing the follow up question. “What did they get you for your birthday?

“Well,” you recalled your day so far. “Peter, Remus and Sirius gifted me an expandable suitcase, so I can put all my collectables in there.”

“Damn,” Alice whispered. You sheepishly scratched your head. “Yeah, it took me by surprise too. Last I checked, it cost way too much. I sure hope they acquired it in a legal manner,” you joked.

“I mean, both Sirius and James are well off, so maybe they could afford it and actually bought it,” Alice joked along.

You shrugged. “Oh, James didn’t pitch in for the suitcase. Remus said that he’d told them he was getting something more personal for me,” you said.

“Ugh, what a sap,” Lily commented lightheartedly, and you agreed with a chuckle. “So, what did he get you then?” Lily asked exasperatedly, already expecting something ridiculously grand.

There was a beat of silence.

“Uh, I’m not sure, we didn’t get around to celebrating my birthday together,” you settled on answering.

“What?” Marlene, Lily, and Alice asked in chorus.

“He was busy,” you defended James.

“The entire day?” Marlene squinted her eyes, absolutely seeing through your bullshit excuse. You shrugged in response but nodded your head. “The entire day?” She repeated in disbelief. “Like he couldn’t pop in in the morning or during breakfast?” You shrugged again.

“I guess he forgot,” you mumbled, starting to feel down again. Alice quickly caught on to that and decided to change the subject, trying to cheer you up. “Anyway, should we picnic tomorrow by the lake?”

You exhaled in relief. “I would love that.”

Sirius and James entered their dorms and greeted the other two marauders. “And? Did she like the suitcase?” Sirius immediately asked while he made himself at home on the foot end of Remus’ bed.

“Definitely, like she couldn’t believe it. She even did the happy wiggly dance,” Peter and Remus laughed at the memory. Sirius held his hand up to high five them and grinned in victory. “I told you guys, she needed someplace to put all that stuff she collects.”

James had been utterly confused since he stepped into the room and was not at all following the conversation. It was definitely about you, he figured that much from the wiggly happy dance. But what on earth were they buying you stuff for?

“You guys gave Y/N a suitcase?” He asked cluelessly.

“Yeah, why?” Remus inquired, eyebrows raised. “Is that not up to standard to the great James Potter?” He sarcastically asked, already expecting James to start gloating about whatever he got as a present for you.

“Well, if you guys have that much money in abundance to spend, save some for great pranks too,” James complained jokingly.

Sirius stared at James in confusion. “Huh?”

Peter tilted his head while examining James’ facial expression of confusion and then hesitantly asked. “James, did you forget about Y/N’s birthday?”

Time stopped for James, and he could hear his heart beat loudly, blood rushing to his ears as realization dawned on him, entirely to slowly.

“Merlin!” he loudly cursed, wide-eyed.

At his confession, Remus and Sirius’ jaws slacked. “You forgot!?” They shouted in unison.

Peter covered his ears at their yelling.

“Y/N!”

You turned your head, trying to find the source and halted in your step when your eyes landed on James who was frantically making his way through the hordes of students, crowding the corridor. He had been trying to find you since breakfast.

“Yes?”

James stopped in front of you, out of breath, a little flushed in the face and an apologetic expression adorned his face. You already knew what he was going to say and held up your hand to stop him in advance.

“I don’t need your apology,” you sighed out. James words died in his throat, and it took a moment for him to break out of it. “Love, I’m a right twit, I know.” He unintentionally shot you a defeated look with puppy eyes that you couldn’t help but melt for.

“How was your day yesterday?” was all you ended up asking as you continued making your way towards the library. You motioned with your head for him to follow you.

“I missed you,” James sincerely answered. He still pouted, seemingly upset, but all directed at himself of course. “I can’t believe I forgot,” he frowned. “I’ll work to be the greatest boyfriend again, I promise.” His eyes sparkled with determination, and you couldn’t suppress your amusement anymore, a smile lifting the corners of your lips.

“Well, you’re not off the hook yet, Potter.”

“Not the last name,” James whined. You shot him an unimpressed look that had him accept defeat.

“So, no kisses for you anymore,” you huffed for extra measure, in retaliation to his complaint.

“Wait what? You can’t do that, that’s so mean,” James immediately protested.

“For a week,” you added. “Forgetting about me yesterday was mean to me too.”

James’ hand made its way to intertwine with yours. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But this is still okay, right?”

You squeezed his hand. “It’s twelve o’clock right now. Do you want to have lunch first or study a little bit in the library?”

James gave you a bright smile. “Whatever you want.”

“I want you to choose,” you retorted.

“Lunch, please.”

James spent the following week almost draped over you. His entire body leaned into you, your hands always together, and every time he came in for a kiss, he reminded himself to respect your wishes, which left him burying his face in your neck instead.

It was Sunday and you hummed peacefully to yourself while you were sketching in the boys’ dorms, on James’ bed. You sat in the middle of his crossed legs, his arms were wrapped around your middle. His chin was rested on your shoulder which left him with the perfect view on your drawing in progress.

“I love you,” he quietly mumbled.

“I know, Jamie. I love you too,” you nudged him. James’ arms slipped away, and he moved away from you, you frowned at the loss of contact and warmth, leaning into the pillows behind you instead. “What are you-?”

James moved in front of you and nestled himself between your own crossed legs, back to your stomach, exchanging the position you had previously been in. He slouched a bit until his head leaned against your chest.

“My, you’re putty today, love,” you teased him softly. You closed your sketchbook and started untangling his curly hair.

“I’m really sorry I missed your birthday,” James whispered. You melted.

You chuckled and shrugged. “Sometimes things slip our mind. It just made me feel a little bummed out, that’s all.”

James hummed. “Well, I can promise you that I won’t forget about our anniversary though,” he said, voice filled with determination. You laughed. “That’s still a long time from now Jamie,” you mused.

“I’m already counting down the days so that there’s absolutely no way that I’ll forget it.”

“Hey James?”

James looked up at you.

“It’s twelve o’clock.”

James blinked twice and then a wolfish grin appeared as he practically jumped up and turned to face you, tackling you to bring you in for a kiss.

You groaned at the impact of your head against the wall behind you and James grinned sheepishly in apology before grabbing your hips and pulling you further down the bed to make space so he could finally press his lips to yours, all while completely melting into you and sighing in relief at the feeling.

And for two weeks, everything seemed to be perfectly fine. Until Rosalie joined the picture again, that is.

Dorcas sat next to you in class and elbowed you softly. “What’s up with James and that girl?” she whispered. You looked up from your notes and glanced at James who was nodding enthusiastically at a drawing that Rosalie was showing James. It was a portrait of him, and you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach at how well she drew him.

Features that were so on point, up to the little details like the three tiny birthmarks that seem to disappear amidst his freckles and that one freckle on his upper lip that you often pressed an extra peck to. You knew that for such a detailed, accurate and hyper realistic drawing, Rosalie had probably spent a lot of time studying him up close.

You averted your attention back to Dorcas and forced a smile. “She’s their new Chaser,” was all you replied.

Dorcas sent another skeptical look in James and Rosalie’s direction but didn’t comment on it any further.

“Guess what, love?!” James burst into the common room where you and Remus were calmly reading. James skipped over to the couch you were sitting on and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What?” you entertained him.

“I just made a deal with the kitchen elves and they’re going to cook us a candle lit dinner for our anniversary,” James triumphantly grinned from ear to ear as if he had just won the Quidditch cup.

Your eyes widened and you jumped up in excitement and disbelief. “How did you manage to do that?” You curiously pondered.

James puffed his chest. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he secretively replied, and you huffed and swatted him with a laugh. “We’re all magicians here, James,” you pointed out with a pout.

James leaned down to press a kiss to your pouted lips. “Just enjoy dinner with me. It’s in three weeks.” He was not about to tell you that he made a deal with the elves to go and clean the kitchen every day after supper for three weeks.

“Thank you, James,” you said, voice muffled because you had your face buried in his neck, arms around him in a tight hug.

You were incredibly excited for your anniversary, having a surprise for him as well, as you managed to get him tickets to the Quidditch world cup.

You waited for James in the changing rooms, Gryffindor had just lost an important match to Slytherin, and you knew that James would be feeling down. The Gryffindor team walked in, and you got up from the bench you were seated on. When you found James, he immediately came in for a hug.

“You did great out there, love. I’m proud of you,” you whispered.

“But it wasn’t enough,” James frowned. “They’re just always better than us, it doesn’t even matter how much we practice, because in the end, we can’t beat them.”

You stroked his hair in a consoling manner.

“And what’s the point if we can’t bloody beat Slytherin,” James spat out in frustration. You threw Sirius a look over James’ shoulder.

“Don’t say that, Jamie. You’ve won the last two games, and you don’t have to win against them,” you tried. Apparently, that was not what James wanted to hear and you would later beat yourself up for seeming to discard his feelings.

James pulled away with a frown. “But it’s not enough!” You flinched at his loud tone. “I just want-, It’s,” he let out an aggravated sound. “You don’t understand, okay. The feeling of constantly losing to the same opponent, its-“ James was struggling to find the words and you tried to apologize, alarmed, and feeling guilty.

Rosalie showed up behind James and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, we’ll get them next time, James. She just doesn’t get it because she’s not on the team.”

You felt hurt by her dismissive statement and wanted to retort when James agreed with her. “Exactly, Y/N, you don’t even play Quidditch, you don’t know what this feels like.”

Your heart sank in embarrassment and hurt, and your mouth formed an inaudible ‘oh’.

“Come on, Prongs. It’s not her fault we lost, don’t take it out on her,” Sirius moved to stand next to James and swatted him lightly. James sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched his nose.

“’m sorry, love. That was totally uncalled for,” he admitted, and he reached his arm for you to pull you back in for a hug. You subtly evaded his arm and swiftly moved yourself to the door.

“No, no. I actually need to go meet up with Peter, so uh. You guys have fun. And yeah,” you awkwardly did a mini wave with your hand towards the  team and fled.

Sirius leaned in towards James. “Good job, mate.”

“Sod off.” You didn’t leave his mind at all for the rest of the night.

You were about to scream bloody murder when you were shaken awake in the middle of the night, but a hand covered your mouth and when your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could vaguely make out your boyfriend.

“James?” you incredulously whispered. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

James motioned to his invisibility cloak. “Sleep with me?” He asked and gave you a pleading look. You folded and so you tripled to the boy’s dorms under the cloak and then nestled yourself in his arms. A leg draped over his while you two fell into a peaceful slumber.

James was once again looking everywhere for you. This time with a slight sense of dread instead of the usual excitement.

When he finally found you and saw that you were laughing along with Sirius, he hesitated. He was halfway through changing his mind on addressing the issue with you when you called out to him.

“Morning!” you said, and you slid a sandwich in his direction. “You missed breakfast today, everything okay?" You asked.

James glanced at Sirius, and he excused himself and then left.

“I know we were going to go to Hogsmeade for our anniversary, but Rosalie managed to get tickets to a Quidditch game of our favourite team, and we even get to meet them afterwards. Like I can ask them for tips on playing, it’s just such an opportunity…” He trailed off when he noticed your fallen expression, which you quickly tried to cover up.

“Hey, that sounds like an amazing opportunity,” you assured him because it was true.

“We’re still on for that candle lit dinner, though?” You tried to joke, but it came off more as an insecure question.

James immediately enveloped you in a big hug. “Of course we are, 10 o’clock in the evening and I promise I’ll make it up to you afterwards.”

You laughed quietly. “You better.”

Your eyes crinkled in laughter as the kitchen elves tried their best to cheer you up and keep you occupied while James was hopefully simply running late. But by the time it was one o’clock in the morning, you decided to call it a night and thanked the elves for teaching you two new dishes and chess.

On your way to the dorms, you heard hushed whispers around the corner. When you turned it, however, you saw it was empty, but you knew better. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, contemplating if you wanted to do this now or tomorrow.

“James,” you called out.

There was a beat of silence and then the invisibility cloak slid off to reveal James and Rosalie, sneaking back inside the castle.

“Love? What are you doing up at this hour-“ he stopped halfway through his sentence with a curse.

“Wait, Y/N, this is my fault, not James’,” Rosalie piped up, but you were done with her.

“Go.”

Rosalie shot James one last glance and when he didn’t look back at her, instead still frozen, attention focused on you, she scurried away.

“I lost track of time. We went to have drinks with the players and time flashed by so quickly and then I completely forgot. And then Rosalie got sick, so -“

“Stop talking about her for a moment.” James looked at you, confused.

“Every single time, it is always you and Rosalie. It’s always her.” You didn’t bother hiding your hurt feelings anymore.

“But what about me,” you whispered defeatedly.

James shook his head. “No, it’s not her. I swear it’s not. It’s bad timing.” he firmly stated. “This isn’t even her fault, it was me and my enthusiasm to go to the game, I-“

“Why do you keep defending her?” You cut him off, allowing tears to well up in your eyes. James bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry,’ he eventually admitted.

“Yeah,” you breathed out exhaustedly. “You always are, aren’t you? Just like you always promise to make it up to me.”

“I will,” he weakly defended. “We can go back to the kitchen right now, eat food, celebrate our anniversary,” his eyes desperately searched yours for forgiveness, but in the darkness of the castle, he couldn’t find any.

“I spent three hours in the kitchen already, I’ve eaten the great food that the elves prepared for me, and our anniversary has already passed,” you coldly stated.

James’ eyes averted to his own feet, ashamed.

You tightly shut your eyes for a moment. And basked in the silence. When you opened your eyes again, you took in James’ posture. He seemed so very small all of a sudden.

Then you walked straight past him, while he was still frozen in place. When you passed him, you halted next to him and turned your head towards him. “I really hope she’s worth it, James.”

This seemed to snap him out of it, and he turned around in a flash. “Wait!” he called out in panic and immediately lowered his voice. “You’re not breaking up with me, right?” His eyes were pleading, and he looked distraught.

You scoffed softly to yourself. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m tired, so I’m going to bed, or else I actually will,” you replied shortly and retreated to your dorm.

Sirius whistled when James entered the room and unknowingly started to rub salt right in James’ well-deserved wound. “One o’clock in the morning, damn Prongs. You two must’ve had fun in the kitchen. How was the food? Did you like the present? I helped her with that,” he boasted.

James shook his head, “I messed it up again, Padfoot.”

Sirius eyes squinted ever so slightly at James. “No way,” he ended up asking in disbelief.

James didn’t answer right away, and Sirius got up out of bed and approached James. Then he shoved him. “Tell me you showed up for your anniversary, Prongs.”

James who had been looking at the ground finally met Sirius eye to eye, tears pooling in his own eyes. “We just lost track of the time, and then Ro-“

“If you finish that sentence and it’s about Rosalie, I will hurt you, James Potter.”

James helplessly looked at Sirius. “But you guys have it all wrong. It’s not her fault-“

Sirius grabbed James by the collar and shook him for good measure. “Prongs, mate. Wake the bloody hell up, would you.” His eyes bore straight through James’.

“Rosalie fancies you. It’s as clear as day. She demands your attention at all times. Asks for Quidditch practice, specifically with you, for an entire day. She diminishes our Y/N’s value in front of everyone, is pretentious and makes it seem as if you two are more compatible. She tries so hard to have so many common things with you like her last name, and she literally has a sketchbook full of portraits of you, which is rather creepy. Besides, she fully knew you were supposed to be back by ten o’clock for your date. I get it man, it’s subtle, but you’re smarter than that.”

Sirius released James and sighed. “And worst of all, Prongs, is that you let it happen. And every time you do, she wins a little more until Y/N will stop playing this stupid game for you.”

James let Sirius’ words sink in and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how right Sirius was.

“I don’t do it on purpose, Pads. Believe me. I know everything looks terrible, but I didn’t realize it.” James took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and pulled a hand through his locks.

“I forgot her birthday, but it was just a busy day, and I don’t really have a choice as captain but to train the new players. A-and I immediately apologized to Y/N when I realized what a twat I was in the locker room. And I didn’t miss my anniversary for a date with another girl or anything, there was a once in a lifetime opportunity to meet people I’ve looked up to, and I know it looks bad together because Rosalie was involved in all those instances, but I never meant to hurt Y/N. You know I’m in love with her.”

James started pacing through the room. It was a miracle that the others hadn’t woken up yet.

“Okay, I believe you,” Sirius decided after consideration. “But maybe try properly explaining and apologizing to Y/N. And then confront Rosalie and tell her to sod off.”

James nodded. “Yeah, yeah okay. I’ll do that.” Sirius looked a little skeptically at James and then patted his shoulder before climbing back in bed, while James did the same.

He had almost fallen back asleep when James asked, “Do you think she’d forgive me?”

Sirius was quiet. He’d seen the hurt look on your face multiple times and had instead tried to keep your mind off of James whenever he saw you stare at James and Rosalie.

“I think she might break up with me, Sirius,” James whispered in a small voice. He couldn’t sleep, his mind was filled with guilt, distress and you.

“Go sleep James, we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

You took a deep breath before pushing through the grand doors of the Great Hall. You spotted the empty seat amongst the marauders and let your eyes slide across the Gryffindor table to look for James.

You found him talking with Rosalie, and you almost wanted to turn around and leave, when you spotted her sour face when he finally walked back to his seat. James wore a relieved expression and was greeted by the marauders with pats on the back in congratulations.

Sirius spotted you and waved you over, scooting over himself so you could squeeze in.

“Good morning,” you gratefully smiled at the boys and sat down. James absentmindedly loaded your favourite food on your plate out of habit and then hesitated. He hadn’t really dared look you in the eyes yet, still ashamed after lying awake all night, thinking of all the things he’d done.

When your stretched out hand appeared in his sight, he looked up and saw a kind expression on your face. He handed you the plate and relaxed a little.

“Sirius tells me you want to explain some things to me, so unless you have a date with Rosalie over there,” you gestured to the girl who was not looking happy. “We could talk after breakfast?”

James nodded eagerly, eyes wide. “Yes, please.” He stared at you, and almost frowned, wondering why you didn’t seem as angry as you did last night, or rather this early morning.

You noticed his stare and knew what he was thinking. “I told you; I was tired, upset and couldn’t deal with it then. But I’ve had a good night’s sleep. I have thought about everything and decided that I’m not going to rashly throw away two years of unconditional love and friendship between us, for things that I feel like you want to explain to me. It’s not so black and white in decisions when it comes to love and my love isn’t that fragile.”

“Thank you,” James breathed out, already feeling like crying.

“Don’t thank me, thank Pads, he is vouching for you,” you hummed. “But your explanation better be worth it. And that’ll be at least two weeks without kisses.”

Taglist:

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@lizzxoxo @empath-bunny

@quackitysdrugdealer @frxcless @notasadgirlipromise @potter-head-phanatic @anyasthoughts @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @imnikki

[honnelander]

go fish!

so i fell in love with Sanji just like everyone else. i've never seen the one piece anime or read the manga so i'm solely going off of the live action. i had fun writing this and plan to make this a series of some sorts where it's a fem!reader x Sanji moments of awkwardness, fluff, and mutual pining because i love reading that stuff myself. if anyone has any suggestions or requests for this series please leave a comment or send me an ask!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 1.3k

pairing: opla!sanji x reader

summary: reader and Usopp are playing a card game when Sanji finds them. teasing ensues.

prequel part 2 part 3 part 4 masterlist

“Care for a refreshment, Madam?” a smooth, deep familiar voice asked to your left, breaking your concentration on the card game in front of you. 

“Hm?” you looked up from the cards in your hand and saw the Going Merry’s own chef looking down at you with a crooked, charming smile as he held a chilled glass bottle of water in his hand. “Oh, hey Sanji,” you greeted quickly with your usual smile as you looked back down at your hand. “What’d you say? Go fish Usopp.” 

Your opponent across the barrel from you grumbled as he took the top card off the deck sitting between you both. 

“I was just asking if the lovely madam sitting here would like a nice, cold refreshment on this particularly hot day?” Sanji asked again with a hint of amusement, his crooked smile deepening as he watched you study your hand once again. 

“’Lovely madam’?” Usopp repeated sarcastically, his eyebrows pulling together. “What about offering her super buff, brave, and heroic opponent an ice-cold beverage instead?” 

“Nope,” Sanji corrected, popping the 'p'. “Ladies first Usopp. Always.” 

Even after knowing Sanji for a couple of months now, his consistent chivalry always managed to make your heart flutter.  

You laughed lightly and couldn’t help but smirk as you said with a matter-of-fact, teasing tone, “Just say you wish you were a girl, Usopp. No judgment here.” You paused for a moment before asking, “You got the five of spades?” 

“Now even though I would make an extremely attractive, gorgeous woman, I am a man through and through.” A grin broke out on Usopp’s face as he glanced at his hand and triumphantly called out, “Go fish, y/n.” 

“Fair enough,” you hummed as you reached for a card. “And yes Sanji, I would love a glass of cold water. Thank you.” You shot a quick look of gratitude the chef’s way as you took a card from the deck. 

Sanji placed the two glasses onto your makeshift barrell-table top he was holding in his left hand and started filling up the glasses with water. “Of course. Anything for the missus.” 

Missus. Ugh. It made your heart skip a beat to hear him call you that. But you knew he didn’t really mean anything by it. It was just how Sanji spoke, forever the gentleman. 

“Oof. If you keep sweet talking like that Sanji, you’re going to even make me blush, just like y/n,” Usopp joked. 

Your eyes widened as your eyes snapped to look at your dumbass crewmate and friend sitting across from you. “I- I am not blushing Usopp!” God, if you both were using a real table instead of a barrel right now you would’ve broken his shine with your foot. You really weren’t blushing before but Usopp’s stupid comment definitely made your cheeks heat up now. “It’s the heat,” you hissed.  

“’Heat’,” he mocked with air quotes and snorted. “Right.” 

“I-” before you could defend yourself, Sanji spoke up. 

“Actually,” the blonde chef chimed in with a light laugh as he filled the second glass, “that’s why I came over in the first place. You were looking a little flushed y/n, so I thought you guys could use a cold drink.” 

Sanji’s words caused both you and Usopp to look up from your cards simultaneously, making eye contact with each other. A mischievous grin started to form on Usopp’s face as he saw the blush deepen on your face. You quickly looked back to your hand, suddenly finding the eight of clovers card extremely interesting.  

Sanji saw you looking flushed? He saw you? From across the deck? From inside the kitchen’s window? He was watching you play cards? The thought of Sanji watching you when you didn’t expect him to made your stomach erupt in butterflies, and it certainly didn’t make your stupid little crush on him go away. Just the opposite. In fact, it just fueled your delusional fantasy even more.  

And it certainly didn’t help that the only person who knew about your crush on the head chef just so happened to have a big mouth and loved to tease you about it any chance he got. And that he was sitting right across from you right now, watching all of this unfold right in front of him. 

“Oh? So you were watching y/n and I play cards out here?” Usopp innocently asked his blonde crewmate, but you knew better. There wasn’t an ounce of true curiosity in his tone whatsoever. 

“Yeah, from the kitchen,” Sanji answered casually as he recapped the glass water bottle. 

“Usopp,” you warned. 

“And you said that she looked ‘flushed’?” Usopp asked, quirking a brow at the end of his question as he turned his gaze from you to Sanji. 

Sanji blinked in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together for a second before looking down at his crewmate. “Yeah...” he said slowly before continuing, “Her cheeks looked a little pink so I figured-” 

“Oh?” Usopp asked, his voice becoming louder. “You noticed the color of her cheeks, from that far away?” 

“Usopp,” you hissed louder but it fell on deaf ears. Once your friend got on a roll, there was little anyone could do about it. Especially when it came to teasing you about your feelings for Sanji. 

“Yeah,” Sanji replied to Usopp’s question with a confused smile. “What are you-” 

“GO FISH!” you blurted out loudly, cutting Sanji off and having both men turn their eyes towards you.  

“Huh?” Usopp blinked his eyes at you, suddenly remembering the game in front of him. “But I didn’t even ask you anything y/n. And you just drew a card, so it’s your turn to ask me.” 

You let out a quiet sigh of relief at the fact that Usopp stopped grilling Sanji with all of those embarrassing questions right in front of you....even though you couldn’t help but perk up at the fact that Sanji in fact had been watching you from the kitchen, and that he was sweet enough to bring you (and Usopp) some water.  

“Well, I tried,” you shrugged and lied, “but you just kept yapping so you didn’t hear me. Do you have the Queen of hearts?” 

Usopp studied you for a brief moment before looking at his cards, smirking to himself. “You know y/n, it’s funny you asked about the Queen of hearts,” he said as he plucked the requested card from his hand and reached out to give it to you, “since you make heart eyes yourself whenever you look at-” 

“GOOD game Usopp!” you practically yelled as you threw your cards down onto the barrel and stood up, hoping your outburst drowned out the name Usopp was about to so stupidly blurt out. You shook his free hand with both of yours as you said, “You totally win my friend.” 

“What?” Sanji laughed slightly as he watched you and Usopp shake hands. The poor guy was as confused as ever. “But the game isn’t over.” 

You looked Usopp dead in the eye as tightened your grip on his hand. “Oh no, it’s over. He definitely won.”  

Yeah, he won alright. He won the game of making your life a living hell and embarrassing you in front of Sanji. He won the gold medal in that game. 

“I sure did,” Usopp agreed triumphantly, putting his cards down. 

You dropped his hand and took the glass of cold water that Sanji had so generously poured, the cold glass making you feel better already. “Thank you for this Sanji. I think I’ll go enjoy this on my hammock inside.” 

You couldn’t bear to look at Sanji, feeling humiliated for no reason with your face on fire, you stepped away from the barrel sipping your water as you made your way across the deck towards the ship’s living quarters.  

“Yeah, that’s a good idea y/n!” Usopp called, giddy from the high that could only come from successfully teasing a friend. “Maybe that’ll help calm down your flushed face!” 

Before stepping inside, you flipped off a laughing Usopp, completely missing the brief look of disappointment in Sanji’s eyes as he watched you go. 

[dollfacefantasy]

LAST MINUTE ♡

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: when frank won't give you attention, you have to convince him not to leave somehow...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, boot humping, praise/degradation

wc: 3.3k

a/n: i love him i love him i love him sooooo badddddd. if you send me asks about this man i'll make out with you sloppy. anyways, comments and reblogs appreciated too <3

kinktober slot: day 25 - boot humping

Frank's eyes cast over to the corner of the room where you're sitting in front of the mirror. He can hear you humming to yourself, your voice rising and falling to the soft tune of a song you'd been obsessed with for the last few weeks. Your fingers smear some lotion across your cheeks. The pads of them massage the cream into your malleable flesh.

Your gaze catches his watching you through the reflective pane. He sees a smile spread across your lips before you turn around and spring to your feet. Your body is only covered by a t-shirt of his along with the pair of panties lying beneath. You prance across the bedroom and glide around to hover behind him.

The scent of your lotion and shampoo from the shower you'd just taken cloud the air surrounding him. It's light and airy, like the vision of you that floats through his head nowadays. He wasn't sure when you'd taken up permanent residence there, though he couldn't really complain. Thoughts of you are better than echoing gunshots or screams.

He hums in acknowledgement of your proximity, giving your forearm a pat with his rough hand. It's smooth beneath his fingertips. So untouched it feels wrong to drag his calloused skin across it.

You don't seem to mind though. Not with the way you duck your head and kiss his cheek.

"It seems like something's bothering you," you murmur, the wisps of your breath brushing over his face.

His attention returns to the weapons in front of him. He focuses on cleaning the parts and putting them back together. Your words were kind of stupid. There's always something bothering Frank. Moments where he has a clear head are few and far in between; reserved for when he's asleep in your arms or balls deep in your cunt.

He doesn't say anything rude though. He knows you're trying to be sweet. The statement is your subtle attempt at offering up your ear. You always told him he could vent. He could cry over the past or seethe about his plans for the night, either way you'd be right there. But that would only be if he ever actually took you up on that offer.

Instead, all you get in response is a grunt before a muttered "'m fine, baby."

You frown. He can see it out of the corner of his eye. Your lips turn into that pitiful little pout that drives him up the wall. Good thing his eyes are locked on a different target right now.

"Are you sure? Feel like you got something on your mind," you try again. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, fingers beginning to tenderly massage his tense deltoids.

"Told you I'm fine," he says again. The words are firm and closed off, but they don't strike you as unkind.

"Wellll… if there was anything wrong, would there be anything I could do to make it better?" you whisper.

Your lips press against his cheek bone again before migrating downward. Your soft, plump lips coasts over his jawline and onto his throat. You feel his smile make a brief appearance on his face, but his hands don't stop rotating the cleaning rag over the grip of his gun. He hasn't abandoned his task for you. Yet.

"There's nothing wrong. Don't start makin' a fuss over it," he grumbles.

"C'monnn, Frankie," you say softly, "Just tell me one thing. Even if you feel fine, just tell me one thing that you'd like."

A few more gentle pecks land on his neck. Your fingers continue to swirl and massage into the tender muscles in his shoulders.

"I'd like it if you got some rest tonight and didn't stay up worrying about me or watching the news," he responds.

You roll your eyes. Of course, you were gonna do that regardless. You always worried about him when he was 'working.' He'd spend the hours out taking care of what - or who - ever, and you'd occupy that time in your apartment doing just as he said, pouring over news reports and bouncing your leg until you were so tired your eyes couldn't stay open if they wanted to.

"Be seriousss," you whine, growing more petulant with him.

He glances over at you upon hearing that tone. That rise in pitch never did you any favors with Frank. He didn't fall for the puppy eyes or quivering lip.

"I am serious. I don't want you worrying or stressing. I'll be back tonight, and I want to come back to you sleeping in bed. Not watching for me at the fire escape," he says.

"Ok well pick something I can actually give you now," you concede.

Space. That's what he wants to tell you. Not in an annoyed way. He loves your touch, adores feeling your body heat oozing off of you. But it's hard to get in the mind frame of a killer when your breasts are pushing against his back and your nose is gliding over his throat.

He doesn't say that though because he knows no matter what tone of voice he says it in, you'll only take it in the 'I'm sick of you' way.

"What makes you think I need anything?" he asks. He puts the handgun he'd been working on down on the table and picks up a larger assault weapon instead.

"Oh my god, you're so difficult," you huff, "I'm just trying to be nice to you. I don't like seeing you all grumpy and stressed."

You may not have liked it, but grumpy and stressed was the version of Frank you saw the most. It was the one you fell in love with. The one that spends the night here in your apartment most days of the week. The one who's hoodies you wear. The one who holds you while you sleep and grunts against your skin when he has a bad dream.

"I'm not. I'm just thinking. You're making something out of nothing, sweetheart," he chides.

"You know… I think you just don't want to admit that you need a night off," you say, nodding in agreement with yourself.

"No."

"Just wait. Don't shoot it down before I explain," you try to reason.

"No," he says again.

"Yes! You'd feel so much better if you had one single night to relax," you argue.

He looks at you with a bit of disbelief. "I can't just call in sick. There is no 'night off,'" he says. His tone is strict, no room for negotiation or bargains, but that doesn't stop you from trying.

"I know, but you don't have to go out. You could text your 'people' and they could do whatever for the night," you say. His people is the term you call whoever he works with. You know there's at least one other guy, he's just never told you any names or details. "Just one night to let me take care of you. It would be good for you. And plus, I miss you," you pout.

He eyes you for a moment, dark pupils scanning over each small curve of your face. The pause gives you hope that he's considering it. That maybe he'll choose to stay with you instead of the shipping yards or rooftops.

"Don't give me that 'I miss you' act. You know I miss you too, but I can't just stay with you and sit on my ass all night cause you think it's the magic cure to me being a hardass," he says.

You narrow your eyes as the look on your face likens more to sulking.

"It's not magic… just if you rest, you'd be less uptight," you say. You loop your arms around his neck again and smoosh your cheek against his, letting the prickly spikes of his stubble scratch you.

With a little sigh, your attention shifts to what he's working on. He's still cleaning the metallic item on the desk in front of him. You watch his hands work, moving in methodical swipes. Efficacy learned from years of experience. Still, it's so boring to you that you can't even come up with a question to feign interest. Not that he'd answer anyways. He didn't like involving you in his other job.

You puff air through your lips to signify your apathy. "Frank…" you whimper, right by his ear, soft and quiet.

Usually, you avoid asking him to stay home. You never complain about the awkward hours or inconsistent time you get with him. You don't accuse him of being uncaring or allege that he's using you. But maybe it's the fact that he so blatantly denied you tonight that has your mind acting up.

"Quit while you're ahead, baby. I don't wanna argue before I leave," he says.

"I'm not trying to argue. Why can't you just consider it?" you ask.

"You know why. Now, enough," he says, bringing the discussion to an end.

Your head slumps over onto his shoulder, your ear flush against the cotton of his shirt. Of course, you know why. You know why this stuff is important to him. And it makes you feel guilty for even suggesting a brief reprieve from it.

Sagging down, you slide around to the front of his chair and drop to your knees at his feet. You rest your head on his thigh, displeasure displayed across your lips.

"You're so mean to me," you mutter.

He glances down at you, smirking a little at your exaggerated defeat. "You think so?" he prompts.

"Mhm," you hum, nuzzling against the denim covering his leg.

You scoot a little closer to his leg, pressing your torso flush against the limb. Closing the distance brings his foot to rest right between your legs. You feel it, but you don't care to notice it yet. Instead your fingers massage his calve absentmindedly.

The bedroom is quiet for a few moments spare the sounds of fabric rustling and both of your soft breaths. He just watches you for a few moments before you feel his hand pet the curve of your head.

"So unfair," he says.

You suppress the smile wanting to show on your features. The look of joy at receiving his attention. His thumb swipes back and forth over your skull. The warm weight of his palm coasting over you does soothe ypu even if you still wanna act coy.

"Yeah, especially cause I just wanna spend time with you," you sigh.

"You'll get to. Tomorrow," he responds. You can hear the clipped amusement in his voice.

Just as quick as it came, his hand leaves your head. It's back to the table. He moves onto a knife now, cleaning some grimy stain that you don't even want to know the origin of.

Shifting your head upward, you rest your chin on his knee and glare at him. "But-"

"I'm not gonna tell you again the answer is no."

The words die in your throat, leveling down to a whine. "See? Mean," you say.

You turn your head back to his side, squishing your cheek against his knee. The hard bone divots the soft flesh of your cheek like a crater on the moon.

You're content to just sit in this position and rest there until he stands up to go. To cling to his leg like the words "please please please" are about to spill from your lips. But in your deflated state, you sink down a bit more. You relax the muscles in your thighs and inadvertently bring the seat of your panties in direct contact with the scuffed top of his boot.

It doesn't shoot bliss through you like a bolt of lightening, but it sparks a fuse in the pit of your belly. The solid curve of it slotted right up against your clothed heat.

As an experimental touch, you grind your hips down. You make sure to be subtle, not wanting him to see what you're doing before you can determine if it's worth the humiliation. The muted sensation of pleasure that fills your belly answers that question quickly though.

Once you get the first taste, you rock your hips back and forth in little bursts. It wouldn't be noticeable to a quick glance, but a more intentional look would catch the way your ass pushes forward and back.

What gets him to notice is the feeling of you gripping his leg tighter. You press the hard front of his shin between your breasts and down your stomach harder. That gets him to look in your direction. When he does, he finds the sight of you getting yourself off with his boot.

"What're you doing?" he asks, giving you the chance to explain first.

"Nothing," you answer almost instantly.

"Doesn't look like nothing. Doesn't feel like nothing," he says as he tilts the point of his shoe upward. The boost grants some more friction to your clit, drawing a sharp whine out of you.

"Might have to get you a collar if you keep acting like a puppy, baby," he teases.

"I'm not," you whimper. You press your face harder against his knee as if it could act as a shield against the embarrassment.

"Really? Whining and humping my leg like you're in heat doesn't count?" he mocks.

"Shut up," you choke out.

"Attitude," he tuts. He shakes his head before his eyes flit back to the weapon on the table, letting you do your thing.

And you take advantage of that. Your hips move back and forth like a pendulum. You can feel the thin cloth of your underwear getting sticky as arousal leaks from you at the soft stimulation blooming between your legs. Your poor, swollen clit presses on the firm material as you let out a raucous whine. He tsks at you from above.

"It's getting late. You might wanna keep your volume down," he says.

The words come out so dismissive, so passively entertained. As if you're merely background noise. You can't help whining again. Your grip tightens on him, and your hips move in broader circles. If he's just going to let you do this, you're going to take advantage.

More sparks of white hot pleasure fizzle between your thighs. Your cunt ruts over the expanse of Frank's boot in quick strokes. The fabric of your panties only serves to provide some extra friction. Your eyes flutter and your cheek feels numb from the pressure of his kneecap again.

It feels as if you're in your own little world while doing this. Even if you're attached to him, it still seems like you're in a haze of your own at the moment. Just a lusty daze focused on making yourself feel good.

Vaguely, you can hear the clicks of his equipment above. The rustling of pouches and cloths. The clunking of organization. It all means nothing to you. The only thing you're concerned with is how your folds spread across the shape of his shoe.

You mewl softly. A trickle of saliva leaks from your mouth onto the rough fabric of his pants. All your thoughts have melted away. Your limbs stay locked around his leg, ensuring you have secure leverage to rock yourself back and forth.

He still doesn't acknowledge you. His eyes stay on the table. Honestly, you would believe he didn't even know you were there if not for him lowering his foot and then raising it again. The motion gives you a burst of stimulation, an interruption to the rhythm you'd set for yourself.

A desperate whine crackles out of your throat. You spread your thighs further to get down on him and press your aching pussy against him harder.

"Frank…" you whimper before biting your lip for a moment.

This time he doesn't disregard the call for him. He reaches down, sweeping his hand over your head and cupping your jaw. He directs you to look up at him and gets clear view of your empty eyes.

"What is it, baby?" he asks. His thumb brushes back and forth across your lower lip. The simple touch is enough to send you into orbit.

"I…" you try to start. But words are hard to conjure when thoughts have become nothing more than memory. "I love you," you end up choking out.

He chuckles. "Yeah, you do," he agrees.

You whine and lower your head again. Your body doesn't stop swinging your hips. His hand migrates back to the top of your head.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he says. His voice rumbles out low and quiet, so gravelly you can almost feel the vibrations in your bones.

He continues to gaze down at you. His eyes drink in the sight of you getting yourself off on his leg. Your hips constantly drag over the seamless surface of his shoes. Cute little noises pour from your mouth in a never-ending flow. Your eyes scrunch up and your nose crinkles when rushes of euphoria course through you.

"You gonna cum on my boot, doll? Gonna make a mess?" he rasps.

You nod eagerly. "Mhm. Mhm. Mhm," you whimper. In direct contrast to his, your voice floats into the air light and soft.

"Do it. Maybe I'll have you lick it up afterwards. I know you'd do it. Shit, you'd probably fucking like it," he says.

That's all you need to rush the spark on your fuse to the end and send you into an explosion of pleasure. Your back arches and you cling to his leg like it's a lifeline. Your grip gets so tight that had you been more lucid, you probably would have worried about cutting off his circulation.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, your walls fluttering with the urge to feel him spilling inside you in unison. Regardless, you keep rabbiting your hips and working yourself over the peak. Your noises come out more whiny and full of need, aching to hear his grunts in your ear.

As blissed out as you are, your droopy eyes still catch sight of the solid bulge in his pants. You hold out hope that maybe you'll get to have some of what you long for before he goes.

The intensity of your high begins to simmer down to a satisfying warmth as you reach the end. Your hips move slower and slower until they come to a stop. You catch your breath, panting and leaning against his leg totally lax.

He doesn't say anything. He just finishes up what he was doing and lets you come down on your own.

After a few minutes though, he does scoop you up off the ground and into his lap.

"That feel good?" he asks.

Your head bobs up and down.

"Looked like it," he grumbles.

"Not as good as it would've felt with you though," you murmur.

He stares at your content, post-release face. It's not a surprise you want more. Had you not hinted at wanting him to fuck you properly after that, he would have been actually concerned for your well-being.

"Guess you'll have to wait till I get back to find out," he says lowly with a kiss to your temple.

"But Frank…" you say, lazily sliding your hand down. The center of your palm lands on his swelling bulge, giving it enough pressure to drag a hiss from his lips.

He pauses, lets you stroke him a few times. It feels good. He knows he should just push you off. Should send you off to bed now that you're all nice and relaxed. But he can't resist that light caress.

Sighing he lifts you and steps over to the edge of the bed. Dropping you back on the mattress, he starts to remove his belt.

"You got fifteen minutes, ya little brat. After that, I'm still leaving," he tells you before dropping forward and hovering over your body, bringing your lips into a brisk kiss.

[teddybeartoji]

neighbor!toji finds you sitting in front of your apartment door late at night as he's coming home and at first, he's really not planning on saying anything. he still doesn't know you, he hasn't talked to you – the most you've gotten is a look and a nod whenever you happen to take the elevator with him or when you just bump into him on your way out. and he really isn't the type to make small talk but with your knees pulled to your chest and your head rested on top of your hands, you look miserable and toji finds it very hard to ignore you.

he keeps stealing glances at your curled up figure as he searches for the keys in his pocket and it's only when he's got the door open, he swallows the weird lump in his throat.

"y'wanna come inside?" his voice is raspy, tired, but it does the job of luring you out of your little bubble.

there's a moment of silence.

toji isn't stupid, he knows the dangers of the world and it doesn't take him long to realize how strange his offer might sound. his eye twitches out of sheer embarrassment as he averts his gaze, rough fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand.

"that would be really nice actually, yeah."

there's no suspicion in your tone, nothing that would indicate that you're thinking what he's thinking. toji's mossy green eyes meet yours and he's met with a look he knows all too well.

exhausted.

"just so i can charge my phone?" you're already trying to apologize for yourself. to tell him that you'll only stay for as long as you need, afraid that you're bothering him.

but he just gives you a hum, patiently waiting for you to push yourself off the ground. for a moment, you stand next to him in front of the door, waiting for him to step inside first but when he gestures to go in before him, you don't argue with him. your hushed 'thank you' doesn't go unheard.

his apartment is tidy. probably even more so than your own. it looks surprisingly cozy – the light isn't a big, bright one but a dimmed down one instead and the sight of his big couch makes you let out a soft sigh. from the corner of his eye, toji observes you. he hasn't had anybody over in a long time and now here you are.

he tells you to take off your shoes and to take a seat while he goes to look for a charger, giving you the perfect opportunity to take a better look around the place – dvd's, old magazines and newspapers, a few movie posters and one singular plant. it's not a lot but it still feels like a good home.

at the sound of his voice, you snap out of your thoughts. your fingers brush against one another as you take the charger from him with another 'thank you'. a

"you're not going to kill me or anything though, right?"

...

for a man his size and his age, he feels a bit small under your gaze. you're blunt more than anything and he's just a little caught off-guard by your question.

"no."

"that's good."

you break the eye-contact to look for a place to plug in the charger and he feels relieved. "you feel safe."

you say it like it's nothing.

"i wouldn't've accepted the offer from anyone else, i think. well, maybe from the lady across the hall but then again, she'd just scold me for being up so late and i'm way too tired for that."

the words slip from your lips as if they're light as air while toji needs a second to really hear you, to know that he isn't making you uncomfortable. that in your eyes, he isn't scary or threatening in any shape or form. perhaps you're just naive for putting your trust into a stranger like this but toji still can't help but feel a little warm inside.

he doesn't say anything and you don't mind his silence. you do thank him a third time and let your lips curl into a proper smile when he almost unintentionally raises his brow at you – like it's weird that you're doing that.

he ends up bringing you a glass of water before joining you on the couch, both of your eyes set on the tv screen and the show that plays on it as you eakt for your phone to come alive again.

it doesn't feel wrong to just be with him like this.

it's right enough for you to let your exhaustion sneak up on you. your eyelids grow heavy without you even realizing it and then you're already dozing off on your neighbor's couch.

your quiet snores are so unfamiliar, the mere idea of somebody being able to fall asleep in his presence so surreal that he's left sitting there dumbfoundedly. regardless, he reaches for a blanket before throwing it over your body ever so carefully and turns down the volume of the tv as to not disturb you.

a stranger, a neighbor. somebody, who makes him feel a bit more alive. a silly comment, a blunt reply. a smile and a thank you.

a push to keep on going.

[bvidzsoo]

Take me to Paris...

▽ Neighbor!Seonghwa ▽

∞ Author: bvidzsoo

∞ Pairing: Park Seonghwa x female reader

∞ Warning: light mocking, blood, murder ∞ Word count: 5.6k ∞ Genre: non-idol!au, mafia!au, single mother!au, moving in together!au ∞ Rating: nc-17 ∞ Summary: With the appearance of Park Seonghwa in your neighborhood on a random afternoon, you find yourself running into him more often than not. You can't help but be skeptical of him, but I mean, your daughter loves him, so he must be a good man, right?

∞ A/N: I haven't forgotten about this little drabble series I have started a while ago, fear not hehe! Finally, Seonghwa's part is here, I hope it's enjoyable as I find it wonky lol. I don't know yet who I'll be posting next, it could be either Hongjoong, or Wooyoung, or even Mingi. Oh, and nothing is too detailed so you don't have to worry about that. I'm not starting a taglist for this one, sorry<3 (you'll have to lurk around) Feedback is much appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

▽ Listen to this before or while reading! ^^

∥ Hongjoong ∥ Seonghwa ∥  Yunho ∥ Yeosang ∥ San ∥ Mingi ∥ Wooyoung ∥ Jongho ∥ 

            Summer was nearing its end, the weather slowly turning cloudier and moodier. The mornings were chill, refreshing, but throughout the day it would warm up significantly, allowing you to walk around wearing thin and cute outfits. However, by the time the evening came, you’d have to cover up with something warm to keep yourself from catching a cold. All of that while trying to remain fashionable, well, whatever a four-year-old found fashionable enough. Wrestling my little one into outfits that would keep her both warm but not too hot was rather difficult as she turned out to have a rather stubborn persona even at her young age. Not liking to be coddled, but also hating to be alone was something we battled with daily, except on the days when her nanny came over so that I could go to work. My little one hasn’t been trusting of strangers since an even younger age, big eyes wary of anyone who came too close and cooed at her. Perhaps my overprotective tendencies played a big role in my daughter being skeptical of those around her, unless they were little girls who liked to play dress-up and organize tea parties in blanket forts.

Life as a single mother hadn’t been easy, but we managed just fine—have been for a while now. My parents lived in the city next to ours, a mere one-hour long drive away, and that also played a role in me learning how to be independent while navigating through motherhood for the first time. I would be lying if I said it was easy and an absolutely lovely journey, but I also would be lying if I said I haven’t been enjoying every single part of it, every little step my beautiful daughter has taken by my side. Without my two best friends, I probably wouldn’t be living as comfortably as I was at the moment, would be probably juggling between jobs, and considering moving back in with my parents. Arin’s father hasn’t been part of our lives since the second he found out I was pregnant, instead, he ran off to work on a cruise ship, throwing in the excuse that he’d be too absent in our lives like that, and instead he’d like to prevent his daughter from growing up wondering when her father would be back. However, due to his stupid choices he ended up making her wonder why she didn’t have a father like all the other children she went to kindergarten with or played at the playground with. Everyone makes mistakes, and mine was trusting my highschool sweetheart, who also happened to be the biggest asshole and player known to mankind.

With the weather changing drastically and the new school year being just around the corner, I tried to take my little one to the playground as often as I could, wanting her to enjoy the little freedom summer break offered us. My job was rather flexible and allowed me to spend a lot of time with my daughter as I more often than not worked from home, only required to step inside the headquarters when there were important meetings and business proposals. Arin had been excited when I told her we’d be going to the playground once again, before it could get dark, with the thought in mind to let her know that I would be sending her to daycare as I have decided to take on a second job as well. We managed just fine, but I wanted her to have more comfort, more toys, more pretty clothes that she could show off whenever she wanted to.

Her dark hair was in two little pigtails, bouncing on the top of her head with every step she took. The purple jeans she chose to wear didn’t match with the rest of her outfit, but I couldn’t care less when I saw the happy look on her face as we walked over to the mirror. Her blouse was a simple beige colour and had all sorts of different coloured flowers decorating it, her red socks peeking out from her white shoes. Thankfully her most favourite playground was in our neighbourhood, just around the block, and she was more than eager to meet her friends today too. I had held her little hand as we walked down the pavement, grinning as she babbled on about whatever cartoon she had been watching earlier, elated to tell her best friend about it too. Stepping inside the gated playground, I was quickly forgotten as she rushed over to her friends, not paying mind to my request of always staying within my sight. I had walked over to an empty bench and sat down, watching my daughter play around with other children with a smile on my face.

At times, I wondered what life would be like without her. Whether I would have stayed here or moved to another country, whether I would have signed up for another college or remained with the diploma I have right now. Whether I would have chosen a career that was more active and sociable than the one I had now, secluded and homebound. Whether I would have found a man that actually cherishes me and my child, whether he would have gotten married to me first and wouldn’t have run away, leaving a pregnant woman alone to fend for herself and their baby. But it was better without my ex, he would have been a horrible father, and I’d rather my little Arin not have a father figure while growing up than have one that is horrible and makes her hate all men.

It didn’t take long for the other mothers to approach me, wide smiles on their faces as they were happy to see me, happy that Arin was here to play with their children. Most of them were stay at home mothers until their children grew past the point of constantly needing attention and help, and they were rather friendly, understanding, and quite helpful if I needed guidance or a little bit of help. Doyoung’s mother was the friendliest out of them all, she never failed to make my day better and she always brought cookies for the two of us to snack on while our kids played around in the sand. But today she wasn’t here, and that meant I had to face Jake’s mother on my own, a woman that was far from being nice, and never failed to find ways to belittle me for being a single mother. She never said it, but I knew she thought I was a whore; I could see it in her eyes whenever she grinned that fake grin of hers.

“Ah, the weather is so lovely today.” And to my luck, it had been her who approached me first, the other mothers slowly coming up to us, greeting us with smiles and little waves. I paid her no mind, instead looked for my little girl, finding her on the swings as Nakyoung gently pushed her, making Arin giggle loudly.

“Is this real snake skin?!” A mother, one that was rather shallow, exclaimed as she grabbed for Jake mother’s purse, mouth having fallen open.

“Of course, it is,” Jake’s mother chuckled, looking over her sunglasses, “I don’t wear fakies.”

I tried to keep my eyeroll minimal as Jake’s mother threw a fleeting look my way, never failing to flaunt her wealth and the fact that I owned one fake Louis Vuitton bag. Sue me, the design was elegant, and I wasn’t about to leave it at the thrift store just because it was a fake one.

“It must be nice to have a rich husband.” Emma’s mother sighed dreamily, her lipstick a little smudged, but nobody pointed it out to her.

“It is rather comfortable,” Jake’s mother giggled, pushing her lavish curls behind her shoulders, “saves you from a lot of house chores and work I’d rather not do.”

“How are you today?” I felt a soft nudge against my knee, and I turned my head to face Mingyu’s mother, a woman who was beautiful beyond her years, well-mannered, wise, and very sweet. I liked her just as much as I liked Doyoung’s mother, sometimes the three of us would grab some coffee if our schedules aligned.

“Just fine, and you?” I asked, our voices hushed as we tuned out the other mothers’ conversation, not curious of whatever boasting Jake’s mother was on about. She couldn’t tell us anything new, she always repeated the same old stories, changing a few details here and there, thinking we wouldn’t notice.

“Mingyu’s been restless today,” His mother sighed, pursing her lips, “the more he grows, the harder it is to make him sit still.”

“Arin is energetic too.” I chuckled, watching Mingyu’s mother with an understanding look, “And she loves throwing tantrums if things don’t go her way.”

“Ah, of course.” Mingyu’s mother chuckled, shaking her head, “Maybe our little ones learnt it from each other, because Mingyu’s been doing them more frequently too.”

“Certainly, they must be conspiring—”

“Arin and Mingyu’s mothers,” Jake’s mother raised her voice, lips pulled into a fake grin, “are you leaving out others from your conversation now? Isn’t that rude?”

The other mothers chuckled, rather awkwardly, but Mingyu’s mother remained calm as she raised her eyebrows at Jake’s mother, “I don’t think having a private conversation with someone is considered rude despite sitting in a group.”

With a snort, I added, “Especially if only one person is talking in that group, that feels ruder to me…”

The other mothers, besides Mingyu’s, looked around awkwardly, some clearing their throats as the others tried to play it off as funny as they chuckled. Jake’s mother’s lips formed a tight line as she cleared her throat, gripping her authentic snake skin purse like anyone would want to steal it from her.

“I was merely sharing how much my lovely husband loves me.” Jake’s mother chuckled, voice dripping with honey as she blinked innocently, “You know, he’s always eager to please me, and, frankly, if a snake skin purse is what makes me happy as I have to stay at home and raise our child, he’ll get it for me without a fuss. What has your husband given you—”

Her insult wasn’t new, nor impressive, as I blinked at her, lips slowly pulling into a small smile. Mingyu’s mother scoffed next to me, and the other mothers’ looked rather uncomfortable due to the atmosphere Jake’s mother had created now. Really, if the woman wanted to hurt me, she’d have to get a lot more creative with her stupid back-handed insults.

“You know,” My voice was levelled, calm, “if I want to make myself happy, I buy that damn snake skin purse myself. I don’t need a husband who forces me to stay at home, stealing away my freedom, while he goes out and cheats on me as much as he’d like, knowing that when he returns, I’ll be waiting for him with warm dinner on the table and open legs.”

Well, that pretty much shut up the other mothers as Jake’s gasped, looking more than appalled by what I dared say to her face. I wasn’t insinuating anything, but knowing her, she definitely made it about herself in her pea sized brain, gaping like a fish as I rolled my eyes at her and turned my head to face Mingyu’s mother. She had her hand in front of her mouth, trying to muffle her giggles. A young child screamed all of a sudden, alerting us mothers as our heads whipped in the direction of the screams.

“Dear!” Kyuhyun’s mother exclaimed, running over to her child as he was clutching his little knee with tears streaming down his face. Realizing that I haven’t been checking on my little Arin, I let my eyes survey the playground, quickly coming to the alarming realization that she wasn’t anywhere. Heart suddenly racing in my chest, I jumped up to my feet and whipped my head around, alerting Mingyu’s mother.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t see Arin!” My voice sounded breathless as I left my belongings on the bench, taking off in a jog towards the sand. Mingyu was by himself, building a sand tower as he glanced up at me, his little canines showing as he grinned.

“A tower!” He pointed at his sculpture, but I couldn’t focus on that right now.

“Have you seen Arin?” I asked panicked, feelings my hands shake as I tried to fight the impeding panic that threatened to overtake my rational thoughts. I had to stay level-headed if I wanted to find my little girl.

“She went there, I think.” Mingyu pointed behind the big slides, that part of the playground rather obscured as it was covered with large bushes and overgrown grass. Thanking him quickly, I took off towards where the little boy had pointed, lump in my throat and heart in my chest racing wildly as I realized the gate was open and my little girl was talking to a man, giggling and letting him pat her head.

“Arin!” My voice sounded as panicked as I felt on the inside, it was loud and stern, alerting my daughter and the man she stood with. My feet carried me over in no time and I scooped her up in my arms, hugging her tightly, uncaring that she was getting heavier and I couldn’t carry her as much as I would’ve liked to, “Arin.”

I whispered against her hair, kissing her cheek as she giggled, hugging me around the neck as I finally turned my head, glaring at the stranger. But it took me by surprise how well-dressed and handsome he was, standing tall with his hands behind his back, shoulders pulled back, expression blank. The right side of his long black hair was slicked back, the left strands falling into his eye, slightly obscuring it from view. Despite the roundness of them, his eyes were sharp and fierce, it made my heart race once again as I couldn’t read his expression, scared of what he wanted. His nose was tall and his lips plush and plump, skin perfect and sun-kissed, “What the hell are you doing talking to my daughter?!”

My eyes swiftly checked him out again, taking in the expensive looking outfit he wore. His pants were of leather and hugged his long legs elegantly, obscuring the high heeled boots he was wearing. Despite the heat, he wore a black turtleneck with a white shirt and vest over it, all tucked inside his leather pants, with a black coat draped over his shoulders. His necktie was loose, but not to the point it would make his outfit look unkept. For a second, I wondered how he managed it with all the layers of clothing if I was sweating in a simple tee and ruffled midi-skirt.

“I’m afraid you misunderstood my intentions, Miss.” The man’s voice was deep, yet pleasant, taking me off guard by how calm and reassuring it sounded. It didn’t match his face nor outlook, “I was passing by, on my way to my car, when I saw her stumble past the unlocked gate. Worried that she was lost or would run into bad people, I decided to stop and ask her if she was here alone or with someone, with the intention of walking her back to you.”

I gulped as Arin nuzzled against my neck, peeking at the stranger with a shy giggle, “He’s handsome!”

“Arin.” I muttered, and threw her an unimpressed look, “Is it true what the man is saying?”

“Yes!” Arin exclaimed, suddenly pulling away from my neck as she grinned widely at the man. I’ve never seen her act like that towards strangers before, my eyebrows raised in surprise as I watched her make grabby hands at him, “You promised you’d carry me.”

The man’s chuckle was deep as Arin started pouting, making me feel embarrassed slightly, “Arin, you can’t ask people to just carry you around, especially not strangers—”

“But he’s not—” Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled for a second, “stranger, he’s Seong—hwa?”

The man chuckled and fixed his coat as his hands slipped inside the pockets of his leather pants, “Seonghwa, yes. I promised to carry you to your mommy, but she’s here now, so I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“But—” Arin pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she gave me puppy eyes, “can’t he be my daddy?”

“Arin.” I hissed mortified, cheeks flushing as the stranger raised an eyebrow, looking rather elegant as he did so, “I told you, you can’t ask random men to be your father—I’m sorry.”

I faced the stranger—Seonghwa—and bowed my head as Arin whined, kicking her legs and my ribs subsequently. I grimaced and went to chastise her, but to my surprise, the stranger stepped closer, eyes narrowed, but not maliciously.

“You’re hurting your mother, stop kicking.” The authority in his voice made both Arin and I pause as we both gazed at him with wide eyes, “You should thank her instead for coming to find you, and don’t wander off again, there’s a lot of bad people in the world.”

“Is that true?” Arin whispered, her round eyes falling on me as her lower lip jutted out. I sighed and nodded, facing the man again.

“Thank you, really, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” I bowed my head again, then placed Arin onto the ground, taking her hand into mine.

“Be more careful next time, you never know who you come across.” There was an almost dangerous lull to his tone, eyes slightly narrowing before he bowed his head and took off, probably towards his car. I gulped, the lump finally gone from my throat as I watched Seonghwa disappear around the corner, not a speck of dust on his expensive clothes. Then, I felt Arin squeeze my arm and sniff, making me look down at her to find her crying.

“Arin, what’s wrong?” I asked worried, feeling panicked again as all sorts of scenarios ran through my mind. Maybe Seonghwa did something to her and she was scared to say it in front of him.

“Seong—hwa promised to buy me cotton candy once we found you.” Tears rolled down my little one’s cheeks, making me chuckle as I crouched down to be eye level with her, “And he said he’d buy you coffee too.”

“He said that?” I asked surprised, wiping her tears away.

“Yes, he said he likes your skirt.” My eyebrows furrowed as I pressed a reassuring kiss against her chubby and rosy cheek.

“Does he now?” I muttered to myself as I stood up again, and tried to shake off the unease as I guided us back inside the playground. This was a weird interaction and it’s left me feeling uneasy and hopeful that something like this wouldn’t happen again.

            Days, weeks, passed by and it seemed like the stranger from the playground was everywhere now. Park Seonghwa, he had said his name was on a random Saturday afternoon, when we bumped into each other at a rather small flower shop, ten minutes away from my neighbourhood. I hadn’t been looking where I was going as I was busy multitasking—as in opening the shop’s door while typing away on my phone to the nanny that I would be home in fifteen minutes—and thus, the second I was out the door I had collided against a hard chest. The apology died down in my throat upon seeing the familiar face, heart racing out of unease rather than excitement. But Seonghwa had been nice, helped me pick up the bouquet I had dropped, and then offered to drive me home as the wind had picked up, dark storm clouds promising a downpour that would come rather soon. But, as I had taught my little Arin to not trust strangers, I didn’t trust this man either, and politely declined his offer. He didn’t seem weird nor made me feel uncomfortable, but I was wary of him. After all, the way we met was more suspicious than not.

The next time we ran into each other was barely a few days after the encounter at the flower shop, when I was out early in the morning, picking up fresh bread and some chocolate croissants that Arin loves a lot. My best friends had slept over the night prior, and so, it was safe for me to leave the apartment on my own, the two would watch over Arin if she were to wake up earlier than expected. The bakery had an adjacent coffee shop as well, and while I waited for my coffee order, I had stepped into line to order the delicacies, unassuming of the round eyes watching me from a table placed by the entrance. I was engrossed in reading through my emails as it was finally my turn in line, but the barista called my name to get my coffee right as I had placed my order for the pastries, and I had no choice but to step aside and quickly fetch my coffee. However, when I made it back to the cashier, the delicacies and my coffee have been paid for. When I asked how, the cashier just giggled about a tall and handsome man, dressed in an expensive suit, having paid for my purchases before he hurried outside. I had swiftly turned around, eyes wide as I caught a quick glimpse of Seonghwa sitting inside a very expensive looking Mercedes Benz parked across the street. My heart had started racing, but not out of unease anymore, but out of curiosity and wonder.

Then the next week had arrived, and Arin and I were at a playhouse when suddenly Seonghwa was sat at our table, smiling widely as he offered an unopened bag of marshmallows to Arin. I couldn’t help but gape at him, wondering whether it was coincidence that he had Arin’s favourite snack at hand. He apologized for having sat at our table uninvited, but he said his niece worked at the playhouse, and upon seeing us he wanted to greet us. Arin was beyond enthralled and begged Seonghwa to stay with us, managing to convince the both of us as we gave in at the end, keen to entertain my young daughter. It was rather heartwarming seeing Seonghwa so eager to play with Arin as they both made their way to the trampolines, Seonghwa looking out of place in his fancy leather outfit. Upon finishing my orange juice, I joined the two and was rather surprised to find myself enjoying Seonghwa’s company. Despite his fierce looks, he was a gentle man with a kind heart, happily playing with Arin, and letting her drag him around while he tried to make conversation with me as well. When I had put Arin to bed, she asked whether we could invite Seonghwa over to our house for a yummy meal.

Not much to my surprise anymore, a day later, Seonghwa and I crossed paths at the convenience store, and I decided to stop being so uptight and stirred up a conversation with him, inquiring of his sudden appearances wherever I went. He said he had recently moved into the neighbourhood, hence why we were crossing paths more often, and he had always liked making new friends, so he was rather eager to get to know me, if I also wanted that. I still didn’t fully trust him—he was still a stranger after all—but I decided to agree to hanging out in the weekend, of going someplace silent and relaxing. Arin could stay with the nanny this time; I didn’t want to involve her just yet knowing she liked Seonghwa rather a lot.

It had been a day before the agreed upon hangout, when I was walking home from a meeting that got drawn out due to a business partner showing up unannounced. Thankfully one of my friend’s was free for the night and went over to my house to help out as the nanny couldn’t stay for the evening as well, stressing me out even more. The sky was dark and the air chilly as I had gotten off the bus. I hadn’t driven to my workplace because I thought the meeting wouldn’t be more than two hours, meaning that it would’ve been still light outside when I had to return home. But that was hours ago, and now I just barely managed to catch the last bus, eager to get home and bury myself under the warm blankets, cuddled up next to Arin and my friend, probably having to watch Arin’s favourite Barbie movie again.

The neighbourhood was quiet as my heels clicked loudly, my pace quickening as I could feel a blister form right underneath my big toe, making me hiss out in pain as I stepped rather wonkily on it. My wrists had started aching from how many notes I had taken, and the satchel bag that hung over my shoulder was heavier than usual due to my laptop being inside it. I passed the convenience store just as the old lady was closing up, and we briefly greeted each other as I sighed loudly, my apartment just three blocks away now, right around the corner. The streets were quiet and a few lampposts were faulty as they flickered, then completely went out, making me shiver as it reminded me of horror movie scenes. My breaths were laboured and my gut feeling told me to just hurry up, so ignoring the ache of my foot due to the blister, I started walking faster, my heels clicking harder against the concrete. Much to my alarm, I could hear hurried footsteps behind myself, almost as if they were trying to catch up to me. My heart had started racing as I gripped my satchel bag tightly, ready to swing it at whoever if they tried to come at me.

I heard a hiss behind and I decided to look back, eyes widening instantly when they fell on a masked man, who had started running at me now. I shrieked and took off, the heels not being an obstacle as I made my way down the street, clutching my bag tightly as it tried to swing around my body. Nothing could’ve stopped me as I ran for my life, chest heaving as I tried not to slow down, the apartment complex I lived in barely a block away now. But the masked man was catching up and I knew I couldn’t outrun him, so I tried to quickly think of an escape route where I could hideout and phone the police. My heart was pumping fast and my lips had started trembling as my body and mind were filled with adrenaline, fuelling my senses to push harder as I made a sharp turn to the left. The alleyway was dark, I hadn’t been here before, and my blood ran cold when I realized the dire mistake I have made. It was a dead-end alleyway, a wired tall fence separating it from the next passage. I was trapped in as I whirled around, eyes wide as they fell on the masked man blocking my only exit. He cackled, suddenly something sharp and glinting appearing in his hands. It was a knife. My body had started trembling as I tried to come up with a plan, hand him over whatever he asked for, but before I could open my mouth to plead for my life, the man stopped abruptly, then heavily fell over, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

I gasped as I watched him frozen, confused and scared of what has happened. Looking around, I couldn’t see anyone, and so, reluctantly I made my way towards the masked man. But when I finally reached him, my eyes widened in horror at the blatant bullet hole in the back of his head, blood oozing out of it onto the pavement, flowing towards the soles of my high heels. I whimpered as I walked around the dead body, eyes fixated on it as if it would revive him, when I crashed into a hard chest. I gasped and opened my mouth to shriek, to call for help, but instead it got muffled by a leather gloved hand, my body getting pushed against the side of one of the buildings the alleyway was encompassed between. My body trembled as I looked up, eyes getting even wider, if possible, as I recognized the familiar face.

“Seo-Seonghwa?” I whispered, eyes falling back onto the dead man before they snapped back to Seonghwa, “What—what is—”

“Shh,” He whispered, pushing the hair out of my eyes as he gently caressed my cheek with his gloved hand, “You’re safe now, nothing’s happened.”

“But—” I had to gulp hard, heart hammering against my ribcage as Seonghwa’s round eyes were the softest I’ve ever seen them be, lips pulled into an almost motherly smile. He was calm, way too calm, as if he was used to this, “But the man’s dead, I—”

“He shouldn’t have tried to rob a woman.” Seonghwa’s sharp words cut me off, his grip slipping towards my chin as he grabbed me firmly, pulling my head closer to his, “He was a dangerous person, I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

Upon hearing his words I shuddered, eyes reluctantly traveling lower on his body, stopping on the black gun he held in his free hand, making me gasp, “Seonghwa, who are you—”

“I can keep you safe.” He cut me off once again, tilting my head back by my chin, our gazes meeting, “You and Arin, I can keep the both of you safe, never to worry about anything again. I can give you luxuries, vacations, anything the two of you want. Good schools, high education for Arin, whatever she’ll want in the future. I’ll give you all of that in exchange for a little something.”

I gulped, throat dry as my heart hammered against my ribcage furiously, my skin cold from the chilly air but from the lack of the adrenaline too, “What?”

My voice sounded small and afraid, but Seonghwa just smiled gently again, closing his eyes as he inhaled slowly, “Move in with me.”

“Wha-what?!” I yelped, trying to yank my head out of Seonghwa’s grip, but he held me firmly. Suddenly, he started leaning closer, making me shrink back as I was afraid he’d point the gun at me if I didn’t do what he asked of me.

“I’ve grown fond of you and Arin; I want to keep you safe.” Seonghwa explained, making my mind a jumbled mess of questions, confusion, and fright, “Did you know the father of your child has hired a detective to follow you two around? He wants to take Arin away.”

“What?!” I screwed my eyes tightly shut, head thumping from Seonghwa’s confusing words, he wasn’t making sense, “He hasn’t even been in her life, why now?”

“For money, of course.” Seonghwa sighed, tone growing colder, and I opened my eyes to find him sneering at the wall behind me, “He’s not a good man, Arin can’t fall into his hands—”

“And she won’t!” I exclaimed, gripping the collar of his leather jacket rather desperately, “How do you know all of this?!”

“I’m Park Seonghwa,” Seonghwa answered with a humoured chuckled, gripping my wrists as he removed my grip gently from his collar, “son of the chairman of Park Enterprises. You do know my family owns every nightclub in the high end of the city, right?”

I nodded, shocked to find out he was the son of the powerful Park Senior. I gulped, suddenly mulling over his words, wondering how much of it was true, “And?”

“Underground activities are much more fun than the legal ones, Y/N.” Seonghwa chuckled, bopping my nose with a gloved finger, making me flinch back, “I’m just saying…I’m the most powerful man in probably the whole country, are you sure you want to miss out on this proposal?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You’ll trust me soon enough.” He grinned, a little wicked and devilishly handsome, then leaned down and pressed a kiss against my cheek, leaving me stunned. I averted my eyes when his gaze fell on me, and accidentally looked at the dead man. Something coiled in my stomach and I had to gulp down the bile in my throat, fighting against the nausea that warned me that I would throw up as my body started shaking again, “Don’t look at him.”

Appearing in my sight, Seonghwa gently turned my head away and smiled softly again, “Deal? For Arin?”

I gulped, realizing I was crazy for what I was about to say, “Deal, for Arin.”

Seonghwa grinned and then threw his arm around my shoulder, turning me away from the dead man as he led us back onto the main street, at least eight masked men hurrying out of a black van and inside the alleyway. Seonghwa didn’t let me look back as he clicked his tongue and ushered me towards his Mercedes Benz. I steeled my nerves and reluctantly sat inside, fidgeting in the leather seat.

“I still expect us to go on that date tomorrow.” Seonghwa said once buckled up.

“Date?” My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at him, the engine purring to life loudly.

“Did you really think it was just a casual hangout?”

“Yes.”

Seonghwa chuckled and then faced ahead, pressing play on the radio, “Have you ever been to Paris, my dear?”

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In The Rink: Woodie

Travelling up North to visit his friend at the behest of his new hockey captain, Remy's in for quite a surprise when his friend has become quite the brute. More surprises await as it seems some intimate time together may just help him become part of the team himself.

Part two of my story for HairyJockTf! Dunks' domination streak seems to affect him off the court as well, not that Remy minds! The story continues off from In The Rink: Dunks! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Remy really didn’t understand why Duncan was being so cagey? They used to be so close before he moved up here for work and now it’s been months since they texted. Thank God his teammate finally reached out and invited him up to visit! He even paid for a plane ticket which Remy thought was insane, but he’s not about to turn down the offer. He can’t wait to see the look on Duncan’s face when he surprises him haha! 

Shivering in the cold streets, Remy smiles as he sees his breath in the air. He can’t believe it’s already so cold up here, back home it won’t get this chilly for a couple more months! His mind keeps returning to Duncan and his excitement at their impending reunion. Remy wonders what Duncan told Matt about him to get him to reach out, though presumably in their correspondence he realized that their relationship is a little more complicated than just ‘friends’.

Finding Duncan’s apartment unlocked, just like Matt said he would, Remy enters and lays his stuff down on the coffee table. Immediately he struggles to not be too intrusive. It has been a while after all, he’d hate to learn something that Duncan wouldn’t want him to know. He pauses for a moment, like if he had a boyfriend. Remy chews on his lip as he realizes how stupid he was to come up at the insistence of some man he doesn’t know. Totally overstepping an unspoken boundary with Duncan. Matt must have told him. Duncan must know he’s here, right?

Overcoming his druthers, Remy sets about snooping through Duncan’s apartment. Promptly he’s floored at what a pigsty it is. Nothing like the prim and proper man he knew when they went to university together. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, pizza boxes and other to-go containers scattered around the kitchen, loads of unwashed clothes spilling out of a hamper. He was shocked when he heard his friend had gotten into hockey, but he never expected that he’d be so obsessed as to start living in filth? 

His phone goes off and he checks it to find an alarm he set as a five minute warning prior to when Matt said Duncan should be making it back to the apartment. Initially he set it so he’d have time to get in the mindset to see his ex, not ex, friend. But at the present moment nerves seem insurmountable so instead he decides to instead skip straight to preparing a gag that would diffuse tension. Eying a uniform laid out on the couch Remy smirks as he imagines how funny it would be if Duncan got home to see his oh so mousy friend ready to hit the rink himself!

This turned out to be foolhardy for a number of reasons. The first being that Remy was absolutely drowning in this jersey. He knew they were massive, what with the pads and all, but he can’t imagine Duncan would ever fit in this? It’s gotta be for a man at least a foot taller than he knows Duncan to be. Beyond that he isn’t sure if the coming in from the cold dulled his sense of smell or what, but as soon as he throws on that jersey he is bathed in the scent of a jersey that hasn’t been washed after months of heavy exercise.

Remy could barely stand as he’s overwhelmed by the scent of the uniform that now rests on his shoulders. His eyes water as a stink greater than that of every locker room he’s had the misfortune of spending time in combined blasts his sinuses. He races to plug his nose but the movement only wafts more of the musk baked into the crusty jersey towards his nose. Gagging similarly only increases his intake and in little time at all the musk of his friend has totally displaced air in his lungs. 

Growing shockingly lightheaded, the young man falls back onto the couch. While his mind is awash with Duncan’s b.o., the part of him that has long been the most preoccupied with his friend begins to stir. In no time at all his most precious cargo overrides rationality and cleanliness and asserts the upside to wearing Duncan’s sweat-stained uniform. After struggling to produce a hand from the oversized sleeves he promptly begins working his package through the thick material. Before he has nearly enough time to get off, but well enough for him to forget his friend is almost home. The door to the apartment cracks open and he jumps with a start and falls flat on his face, uncomfortably landing on the boner hidden beneath the jersey.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house.” Hesitating as he lies face down on the floor Remy is filled with fear as he realizes he does not recognize that voice. Far deeper than Duncan could muster with a head cold, duller than his sharp friend would ever care to present, and with an irritation so harsh it borders on rage. Remy slowly turns to look up at the man entering the space with a shy grin that immediately dissolves. Were he not already on the floor he would have doubled over from the shock.

That cannot be Duncan Worthy. Stumbling over words as his clumsy tongue tries to buy time to take in the behemoth standing over him, Remy squints his eyes and finds the faintest glimmer of familiarity in the brutish man, “D-Duncan?” His scowl harshens further as he closes the door and crosses arms that could knock Remy out with a flick, “Name’s Dunks, kid.” Squinting in return, he looks down as if they were having a competition; he moves to pick the mousy Remy up by the jersey. “‘N why are you wearing my shit punk?” 

Remy again stumbles over his words before trying to get a grip on the hem of the jersey almost hanging past his knees. Rolling his eyes and grimacing at the pathetic grunts of his home invader apparent as the small man is unable to get the jersey off over his head, Dunks steps in and wrenches it off, briefly holding Remy in the air as he slides out of the stained fabric. Looking at the blushing man, the few gears in Dunks’ struggling mind click into overdrive, “You a horny fan or what?” Remy balks, “What!? Duncan it’s me!”

Hearing himself referred to with his proper name once more brings a darkness into the athlete’s eyes, “Told you to call me Dunks. If you were a real fan you’d know that.” Remy pouts and stamps his foot, “I- Do you not recognize me Dunca- Dunks? It’s me, uhm, Remy? Remy Woods?” The brute scratches his beard and disrobes from the sweaty clothes he wore to the team’s practice. “Oh yeah uhhh, Kinger mentioned somethin’ about you bein’ in town.” Suddenly the look in his eyes grows even more clouded as he strides closer to Remy. 

Despite alarm bells going off at the sudden movement of this man that he can read about as well as a wild animal. Despite adrenaline suddenly coursing through him as he feels genuine fear. Despite the brusque man’s arms reaching to grab him, he is unable to act. Conflict between his mind’s knowing that he should retreat and his more primal, hornier id demanding he stay rooted to the spot. When his nose is hit with a fresh wave of Dunks’ musk his rational mind loses whatever thin grasp it held on the reins and Remy becomes putty in the beast’s hands

“Been a while Woods. Seems like you're still obsessed with me eh?” Remy grumbles something unintelligible in protest but he lacks the coherence or care to even dispute the assertion. Dunks’ smirk grows wide and wicked as he continues, “And now you’ve followed me all this way to join the team huh? Hope you’re ready for a first taste.” Awareness returns to Remy’s mind at this bizarre statement, join the team? What on Earth did King tell him? “Uhm I’m not so sUR-” Unfortunately for his barely reemergent reason, he is interrupted as Dunks forces his head into his pits. “Yeah get a nice good breath.”

Remy struggles in the clutches of his once-friend, unable to make any headway against biceps the size of his thighs. He pushes with all his meager might but with each struggled breath he loses the willpower to do anything but delight in the odor. His mouth was open when he was shoved in shouting in protest, but now his tongue lances out to join in the rapture of Dunks’ post-practice pits. 

“Yeah I bet you like that fucker, that’ll put some hair on your fuckin’ twink chest huh.” With that he removes Remy from his pit and tosses him back onto the couch. Mind foggy from being anesthetized by Dunks’ musk, Remy has little recourse than to grovel on the couch and await whatever else the man standing over him sees fit, the bulge struggling against his already strained underwear makes it more than clear what he desires.

Dunks falls on top of him, taking care not to truly crush the smaller man as he lies beneath, moaning mindlessly. For his part the athlete’s eyes are shut as he imagines the prone man hes grinding against to be wearing a uniform, “Bet you can’t even fuckin’ carry your pads huh bitch.” Remy’s arms grope at the massive man’s hairy back as he thrusts against his own still clothed chest, barely able to move at all he struggles to remove his top now stained in Dunks’ sweat.

Doing so he finds something impossible, Dunk’s words have struck true, as the man’s meaty chest pushes into his own he feels a smattering of thick curls begin to meet them, causing friction and unfamiliar scratching. Through bleary eyes he sees Dunks’ smile grow wider. The athlete’s own mouth suddenly desiring a taste of the man he’s grinding against, Dunks leans down and begins aggressively discovering what his prey tastes like. Dragging his tongue across Remy’s hitherto hairless jaw he laughs as he feels it scratch against the first sign of stubble as it begins to break ground that shall never be clean shaven again. 

Imagining the playoff beard his bro, his teammate, will grow sends a stabbing, hungered pain into Dunks’ chest. Gritting his teeth his head trails down to Remy’s neck as he tries to inhale the first heady breath of musk that his new goalie’s body will begin to produce any second now. Impatient as he smells nothing besides himself, he almost growls as his head remains tucked behind the smaller man’s neck. His teeth move across it as his mouth opens, canines grazing Remy’s neck as he struggles not to give the moaning man a hickey powerful enough to strike him unconscious.

Beard scratching against new stubble, Jungle of chest hair tangling itself with the new forest growing on Remy’s chest, his massive cock frotting against his new goalie’s burgeoning bulge, Dunks grunts and takes a quivering breath as he is on the precipice of release he has not been allowed since he first stepped onto the rink. Pausing his momentum to ensure he enjoys the moment he has so awaited, the goliath leans in close to whisper into the ear of Remy. “Welcome to the team Woodie.”  

At that both men lose control. Cum streaks across Woodie’s awaiting stomach and pollinates a new oasis of hair that is to flourish on his torso for the rest of his life. Thick curls spread to capture the width of his stomach as it bulges outward with strength enough to hastily throw himself to stop any rushing puck. His own cock still imprisoned in the pants he traveled in prevents his load from escaping, allowing it to soak into his own blooming garden of pubes as they grow thicker than the hair of head on either man.

His mind rearranges itself to lose the dead weight of a life he will never return to as it fills with new instinct and abilities to dominate on the ice rink. Countless pucks blocked, myriad hours standing overwatch at the net, working out with his Captain Kinger and his other half Dunks. The couch underneath the two men creaks as Woodie bloats larger, gut filling out as it is quickly patterned with dark hair, shoulders widening to support weighter arms that are to evermore hide an expansive patch of pit hair, and the gem of it all an explosive hockey player’s ass.

Both men laugh as the seams blast off Woodie’s underwear and this thick cock is finally exposed. His cock bursts larger, escaping from his dense pubes and standing high above hairy balls that make one wonder if he’ll be able to fit in normal pants. On the other side the sheer size of his ass and thighs that are destined to rub together spell an end to any jeans that are not custom made, sculpted to fit around his dedicated physique. 

Seeing his quarry become the perfect teammate, Dunks feels his eternal need to dominate begin to rise. His calloused hands claw into the meaty hocks that compromise Woodie’s lats and with a smirk the newest member of the team does likewise before pitching to toss both men off the couch. Still groaning and convulsing with a body continuing to stain hairier and surge larger, the men begin to wrestle.

Their cocks remain out in the fray, twitching with anticipation as the two men frot in between holds and grunting thrusts. Woodie’s new expanding thicket of  body hair is stuck to his body with sweat as the two men rapidly wrestle for supremacy. Dunks’ brute strength makes it clear that the newbie doesn’t stand a chance. Twitching in his other half’s grasp a headache sears his mind as memories of watching Dunks absolutely demolish people on the rink. 

But it’s not over yet, the goalie’s got more of a head on his thick shoulders. Tactfully exposing his pit to get the oaf’s attention, which instantly works as the oaf hungrily stares mouth agape. Remy stretches his foot towards the enforcer’s bulging equipment bag. Shaggy leg stretching longer, he hooks his foot on the bag and yanks it, causing Dunks’ equipment to spill everywhere.

Only, that looks an awful lot like his own stuff doesn’t it? Gasping as he sees goalie pads, lustful fog abates from Dunks eyes as he sucks up some drool and follows Woodie’s eyeline, “Oh yeah huhuh, Kinger wanted me to bring you your stuff since you skipped out on practice ya-” Woodie promptly pushes to escape from the burly defenders clutches and after a grumble at his not playing fair, he assuages.

Possessed with a desire to try on his new stuff, Woodie races to the bag. Throwing on pieces as soon as he drags them out he’s made giddy feeling a compression shirt hug his powerful new curves and constrict his dynamo biceps. Woodie feels almost as overwhelmed with delight as when he and Dunks get the chance to fuck. It just feels right. Rubbing his tight, compressed torso and feeling the thick jungle of hair pressing through it, his mind restructures itself to hold hockey above anything else, everything else. Plays replace birthdays, techniques eviscerate his schooling, honed skill ousts neat handwriting, cleanliness, and any other marks of Remy Woods’ once-prim self.

Scratching at his stubble as it begins to thicken into a playoff beard to be proud of he starts digging through the equipment bag as if it were Christmas day. Dunks sidles alongside and pouts with some jealousy, whether it's for Woodie getting treats or for his teammate paying more attention to goodies than himself is unclear. Though seeing his bro light up as he yanks out a helmet any ill will vacates as he too is filled with joy at the grin on Woodie’s face. His hands shake as he goes to put on the helmet, eyes almost crossed with the irrational need to wear his uniform. 

Hair shoots up his neck as soon as the helmet graces his head. Thick itchy strands paint the entirety of his nape as his uniform sends tendrils of growth through him that are to evermore leave him as hairy as wildman. The fur on his arms and legs may be hidden with pads but beneath his faceguard and inching up from his pelted back is hair thick enough to instantly clog a drain or render a razor unusable, not that he would know that. Why would he want to shave? 

Hunger returns to the eyes of Dunks as he struggles to control his breathing and hold back from pouncing as Woodie finally finishes his emergence as the perfect goalie, the perfect partner for himself. Mouth shut to prevent from gnashing his teeth in wanton abandon, he yanks Woodie close and rubs his face against Woodie’s permanently scratchy neck, causing him more pleasure than is reasonable. Taking deep panting breaths and smelling musk enough to rival his own emanating from Woodie, drool drips and his eyes fog up as he almost feels ferality rising within him. 

Hearing the shift into some primal consciousness within Dunks, and feeling his hands tighten their grasp on his jersey, Woodie struggles to imagine a better way to break in his uniform. His mind flickers with the countless hours spent in the locker room after practice doing just that, shouts of ‘get a room’ from Kinger and their other teammates and raised middle fingers in response as they continue to make out. Blush burns bright enough to be seen through his dense beard as he feels Dunks’ tongue against his neck as it begins to trail its way up to his mouth. Woodie discards his helmet and turns to join in the fun.

The only thing that matters more to either man than time on the rink is enjoying the presence of each other. Present, in reality, for the first time in their true powerful furry forms, the hockey players find their schedules unsurprisingly open. With just under a day until they need to return to the arena the two men intend to spend every second they can in each other arms, wrestling and fucking in equal measure. Strengthening their bond like soldiers, the two athletes become more than the sum of their parts and find as much sexual gratification in their other half as they will find success on the rink. 

Kinger couldn’t wish for more skillful, or masculine teammates. With a pair of teammates as dedicated as himself on the field it's only a matter of time before they win at all. They are sure to begin a new dynasty in the sport. If not, hey, Kinger could find as many all-star players as they need. The next teammate is just a uniform away.

[pirateprincessblog]

accidentally sending a nude to ateez (hyung line) - fake texts

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you are a rookie idol in kq, and accidentally send a nude picture to ateez 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: psh x y/n, khj x y/n, jyh x y/n, kys x y/n 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: a little angst?, sexting, insecurities, fingering, squirting, oral (f! Receiving) 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: reader is of age!

𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

*offense not offence omg

the practice couldn't end fast enough. when it did, you shook as you exited the practice room. and you shook even more when you found park seonghwa's figure leaning against the wall with his back, one foot resting on the wall behind him and one on the ground, with a hand in his pocket and the other one scrolling on his phone. when he noticed you, he gave you a sweet smile and offered to take your backpack.

in no time, you find yourself back inside the now locked room, sitting in front of the mirror with your legs spread out and slender fingers slowly pumping in and out of you.

"look how pretty you are." "you moan so sweetly." "look at you glowing." he chants against your ear, hot breath caressing your face and lips grazing your neck and jaw.

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

your third award show already as a rookie, and you are still nervous. you excuse yourself, and the members offer to go with you.

"i'm fine, just need fresh air."

you exit the venue, breathing heavily. once you step over the threshold, you lean against the wall. the air is cool and biting against your bare arms, but the adrenaline rush inside you is keeping you warm. you miss the way the door opens again, a figure with his hands in his pockets slowly approaching you with a smirk.

"hey."

"fuck- where did you come from?"

"do i need to teach you manners, little rookie?" the playful glint in his eyes isn't gone, even though his face is dead serious when he grabs your jaw to look at him.

you are at a loss for words. a person standing aside might think that you were scared or in danger, but the arousal between your legs proves different.

"nervous?" he asks, seeing your distressed face. you nod, not able to break eye contact with him. it is so addicting. "let me help."

legs over his shoulders, and back uncomfortably pressed against the cold wall, you moan against hongjoong's hand. he has his head buried in the layers of your dress, tongue relentlessly lapping at your aching core and ridding your body of any remaining worries and troubles.

if someone once told you that kim hongjoong would be accepting his award and giving a speech with your arousal coating his lips, you'd call them a madman. but you sit and watch it happen, lips shinier than any lip gloss in the world.

𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

opening the door and finding jeong yunho standing there just as you were mid blocking his contact was a punch to the chest.

"hello." he smiles. "is alex here?"

"i'm here, you don't need her now." you step aside to let him in.

you guide him to the living room and continue into your room, hoping he'd stay there. but he doesn't, instead following to the room which you've managed to clean this morning. as you search for where you left the disc while you were stressing over the accidental nude, yunho busies himself with touching your things.

"ah, the fateful joystick."

"stop, give me that." you reach for it, but yunho uses his tall card, simply holding the gadget high in the air. "not fair."

standing on your tiptoes as your fingers desperately try to grab it, you lose balance and fall on the man. he catches you with one hand around your waist, pressing you further against him. "careful."

"take it, i don't care. it's a stupid game that i keep losing in, anyway."

"want me to teach you? this would be my second playthrough. i lost the disc and when you said you had it, i had to."

when you agreed, you didn't think he'd teach you while he also makes you moan. every time you don't listen to his instructions and fail, his hips stop and he denies you an orgasm, leaving you whining and groaning in frustration. his hand rests on your arched back, while his other one pulls your hair so your eyes stay on the screen. his hips work slowly, giving you enough sensation to keep you focused too. once you finally get through the toughest level, he pushes your head into the mattress, slamming his hips against your ass and finally giving you a reward for your hard work.

𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

conveniently, you sat in the front, next to yeosang who was driving. your cheeks redder than ever, your heart beating loudly, and your thighs pressed together. you felt wrong, but couldn't stop the gawking. his hands looked pretty when playing the violin, the guitar, and driving. it drove you insane.

"oppa, can you stop at a gas station so i can get some water?" one of your group members asks from behind, and the man doesn't take long before finding one and stopping.

all of them step out to refresh, leaving you and yeosang alone.

"i'm sorry." you don't hesitate to apologize as soon as they're gone.

yeosang is sitting on the edge of an open trunk, scrolling on his phone and avoiding you. or so you thought. he looks at you confused. "why?"

"for the picture. i'm sorry. i didn't mean to."

"i know you didn't, it's okay." he smiles assuringly.

"but- you didn't respond to my messages. i thought you were angry."

"i was..." he lowers his gaze, his cheeks a light pink colour. "i was in a dilemma. no man would stay careless after seeing a picture like that. especially me, since it's you."

"what?"

"you think i didn't notice all those clicks of the camera and you zooming in on my hands?"

and those very same hands have you bent over the open trunk, fingers drilling into you from behind as you moan into his other hand. you fear that the members might be back already, but yeosang assures you that he has it under control, urging you to relax and enjoy.

light squelching fills the trunk, along with his palm colliding with your bare ass with your skirt flipped over. in no time, the orgasm hits you like never before, and you hear yeosang gasp behind you.

"a squirter, huh."

well, now you were.

[astridthevalkyrie]

“By the way, here’s your jacket.”

You shrug it off and offer it up to him, but instead of taking it, Rafayel only raises a brow.

“You can keep it.” He shrugs. “I have like five more in that same style.”

“No.” Your voice is firm, and your eyes are trained on him so that he knows you’re serious. Shaking the jacket a little aggressively, you insist. “Take it.”

Now thoroughly weirded out, he takes it from you, giving it a little brush over as though to examine for any evidence of tampering. When he realizes there’s nothing, he looks back at you dubiously.

“You’ve had this for maybe a month now. Why the sudden change of heart to give it back?”

“No reason,” you huff quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. There has to be a level of pride preserved with this man, and it won’t be preserved if you simply tell him everything.

Rafayel checks the pockets now, turning them inside out and face brightening when he finds a little chocolate. Without even asking you if you would like it (it was your chocolate in the first place!) he unwraps it and pops it in his mouth.

“Something’s up. I don’t really like the idea that you consider this out of fashion.” A pouty little frown forms on his face. “Nothing I own is ugly, just so you know.”

“You’re so dramatic. It’s not ugly. Just…y’know, take it back, wear it a bit, and maybe I’ll borrow it again later.”

“Huh?” His brows crinkle. “So you do want it? Then why even give it back? I’ll telling you you can have it.”

“Ugh—“ You cut yourself off with a quiet growl, glaring at him and his stupid questioning eyes. Pretty boys are such a dangerous breed; they truly can make you do anything.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore, okay?”

There’s a pause after you finally confess, but as soon as the words register, Rafayel grins.

“Shut up shut up shut up—“

He tosses the jacket to the floor, then takes your hands and tugs you to him, cutting you off with a soft kiss. With a defeated but happy sigh, you run your hands from his shoulders down to his chest, melting under his touch. He’s so very gentle with you, it would make you angry if it didn’t make you smitten. He tastes like the chocolate he stole from you.

“Meri jaan,” he mumbles into the kiss, apparently unable to break it even to speak properly, “you don’t have to wait for me to wear it. You can have any of my jackets. Any of my clothes—any item in my house.” He keeps smiling against your lips, while his hands circle around you to hold you close. “Everything I own is yours, as am I.”

And well, you have to kiss him a little more after a statement like that. A little more, a little deeper, a little closer, though you could never get close enough.

By the time you leave the house, there’s not a single part of you that doesn’t have his scent. And as much as you’d like to have complaints with that, you find that you’re too happily snuggled up in your new cardigan to be able to come up with any.