#he loves her so much and now he just has to let her know that okay..........

[angelfic]

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of blood, death, violence, weapons, jealousy. unedited!!

a/n; i have to fight myself not to make reader have certain traits of mine like my anger issues but sometimes she deserves to be a little crazy. as a treat.

JASON TODD with someone that matches his freak.

You have so much patience and grace for him and he loves you for the way you make him feel less broken every day you’re together. But he won’t lie that he enjoys it when you’re the one who goes a little crazy.

He teaches you self defence pretty regularly, because he knows he can’t always be there, protecting you on the streets of Gotham and he’d rather you be prepared for any given scenario.

You’re a good student, listening to his every word and successfully mastering most of the manoeuvres he teaches you. He enjoys teaching you for many reasons, one of them being that he has an excuse for keeping his hands on you. But his favourite thing is the way your eyes light up when you manage to knock him off his feet or land a hit.

You ask him if he’s alright because there’s a pink flush kissing his cheeks and he mumbles that he’s fine, but really he’s blushing because he’s embarrassed about the sick thoughts he’s having about you being able to physically hurt him. That is until you grab one of his knives off the table.

You twirl it between your fingers, seemingly fascinated with the way the warm lighting of your apartment reflects off the blade, showing off its fatally sharp edges.

“Would you teach me how to stab a guy?”

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Your voice is so sweet, asking him such a question so politely and who is he to deny you?

Never in a million years will Jason think he deserves you, and there’s always going to be a little voice in his head that says you could leave him at any given time for any one of your choosing. Which is why he gets jealous really easily, but he tries his best to hide it as not to scare you away.

Not that it would, since you never bother hiding the scowl on your face when you catch another girl throwing glances at him now and then. Jason doesn’t even notice the other girl until he looks over at you and sees the dark look in your eyes and suddenly his blood runs hot.

God forbid a girl tries to talk to Jason in a flirty way, because you’re immediately there, wrapping your arms around his waist, fingers sneaking under his leather jacket.

“Hey, babe,” you say, voice deliberately sweet as you look up at him. “I was looking for you.”

“That so, sweetheart?” he murmurs, amusement flickering across his blue eyes as his arms naturally find your waist. He completely forgets there was even another girl talking to him until you turn around to stare her down.

“And you are?”

“Oh, uh, no one,” she says, faltering slightly, her eyes still glued to Jason. “I was—”

“Right,” you cut her off, a smile gracing your face, but your voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. “We were just leaving.”

You don’t bother waiting for a response before you’re dragging him out of there and he’s gladly letting you.

Your smile drops as soon as you’re both alone and you’re letting go of him, walking faster ahead of him. He catches up to you easily, trying not to laugh when you bat his hands away. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” you snap, refusing to look at him.

Jason grins, stepping in front of you to stop you. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “You could have shut that down, you know.”

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head and smiling even wider at how pissed off at him you look. “There was nothing to shut down,” he says truthfully, stepping closer to invade your personal space and uncrossing your arms to pull you closer. “Plus, I like seeing you a little jealous.”

A little is a bit generous since you look downright murderous, but he’s not complaining in the slightest.

You still refuse to look at him. “I am not jealous. I could have easily beaten her ass,” you mutter.

Jason huffs out a laugh, and when you scoff and turn away, he catches your wrist and tugs you forward so you stumble against him, using his chest to steady yourself. His lips ghost against your ear, making you shiver slightly as he whispers, “My money’s on you, babe. And for the record, you’re the only one I’m ever looking at.”

Your irritation melts into something else entirely and you playfully roll your eyes at him. He knows he’s got you now, just like he’s aware of how much you pretend to hate that he knows how to handle you.

When he comes home, covered in blood finally allowing his shoulders to sag with exhaustion, you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. You smile when he enters your apartment, dropping a kiss to his cheek in greeting and guiding him to sit.

“Any of this blood yours?” you ask, calmly. He doesn’t miss the concern in your voice and the way you’re subtly checking each area covered in blood for any hint of a wound.

He shakes his head and your body relaxes. “Good,” you mutter, focused now on scrubbing away a spot of dried blood from out of his suit. You don’t bother attempting to clean his hair since you’ll get it out in the bath a bit later.

He watches you, waiting for you to ask a question that never comes. The question that he feels like the members of his family are always asking in an attempt to morality check him.

You’re not like them, though. Your expression remained unfazed when the washcloth in your hands is more red than whatever colour it was before.

His jaw tightens. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what, Jay?” You tilt your head, pausing in your movements. He hesitates for a second.

“How many?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you slowly nod. “Ah. Well. Do you want me to ask?”

He studies you for a long moment as you resume your work with the washcloth, moving to the areas that the blood seeped through a gap in his suit to coat his wrists. The quiet hum of your shared apartment settles around you both. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

“Alright then,” you say softly, setting the washcloth down. His bloodied shirt is next, torn in some places, damp with sweat from overexerting himself. You grab the hem, pulling it over his head and he lets you. Tossing it to the ground, you hesitate for the first time tonight when you catch sight of his torso. You frown, fingers skimming over his bruised ribs. Your touch is light, careful. You finally meet his eyes, unflinchingly. “Every single one of them deserved it.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lip, something between relief and something else — something darker. He shudders out a breath and finally allows himself to touch you, knowing you won’t break.

Pulling you closer, he rests his head against your chest, melting into you when your fingers start to lightly scratch against his scalp.

You aren’t scared of him. You never would be, he was pretty certain of that. He even sees some of that same darkness in you that he used to wish he could rid himself of. And he loves you for it.

Jason has never been more fucking gone for anyone in his life.

a/n cont.; only difference between reader and a psych ward patient is that she’s outside

[astonmartinii]

doing business with family | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem hadjar reader

brother and boyfriend in the same sport? nothing has ever gone wrong when doing business with family... right?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pepemarti and 307,377 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & isackhadjar

yourusername: max will officially become my second favourite f1 driver this weekend

view all comments

user1: watched isack’s f2 radio highlights in preparation for this weekend … yeah they’re defo siblings

user2: i know they’re parents had a HANDFULL with them growing up

user3: lmao just ask george in abu dhabi or lando in austria, y/n knows how to make her point KNOWN

isackhadjar: omg i beat max in something!

yourusername: come on bro have some faith in yourself - you can defo beat max in singapore at least

maxverstappen1: rude?

yourusername: you know i hate singapore in solidarity babe?

isackhadjar: and that’s crazy because she loves the glitter helmets

yourusername: i really do

user4: get you a couple that measures their love by glitter helmets?

user5: y/n is so real for that though, i’d fuck seb’s glitter helmets

yourusername: right well i don’t love them quite THAT much

charles_leclerc: slides £5 across the table isack please take max out, he won’t hate you

isackhadjar: no?

landonorris: WHY NOT

isackhadjar: i want to keep my job and actually score some points

yourusername: you people done harassing my brother?

maxverstappen1: do we have a problem?

isackhadjar: they’re being mean, they’re trying to PEER PRESSURE ME

charles_leclerc: i don’t think i was peer pressuring you

charles_leclerc: it’s bribery, god get it right

maxverstappen1: i think you should watch it

yourusername: say something like that to him again frenchie and your ass is grass

user6: omg romance ❤️‍🔥

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 823,081 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & liamlawson30

redbullracing: red bull vs rb on pop culture trivia… max and isack were unstoppable - we might have to split them up next time

view all comments

user7: now i wonder where max and isack got their real housewives knowledge from …

user8: this has y/n hadjar written all over it

user9: if i remember rightly y/n was asked by some interviewer in the paddock who she’d like to see as a paddock guest and she said LISA RINNA?

user10: i knew i stanned the right queen

isackhadjar: not our fault that liam and yuki aren’t caught up with all the fresh news

maxverstappen1: we’re bonded cats i don’t think they have the power to separate us

redbullracing: it’s a trivia game…

maxverstappen1: THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER

redbullracing: YOU GUYS AREN’T EVEN MARRIED YET?

yourusername: looks like admin just lost their invite to the wedding…

redbullracing: yOU AREN’T ENGAGED?

yourusername: i guess you’ll never know

user11: no way they just teased their engagement in an argument over media duties?

user12: you’re shocked? this is quintessential them

user13: and they’re adding in their little rabid mini-them? i fear f1 is actually not ready

liamlawson30: so when do we get to do cars trivia? or is it all set up for them to win?

yourusername: just say you’re uncultured…

maxverstappen1: get a new personality trait bro

liamlawson30: omg why are you guys on my neck so hard?

maxverstappen1: funny

liamlawson30: this is so not fair why didn’t you guys defend me like this last season?

yourusername: that’s my flesh and blood dude

isackhadjar: duh!

maxverstappen1: i am so in love with y/n i just do what she says, do let it be known that if isack was not related to y/n he would be just another stray cat to me

isackhadjar: sure i’ll take it!

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar and 839,023 others

maxverstappen1: we had the chance to extend our championship lead but with two optimists behind you anything can happen…

view all comments

user21: LMAO THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST POST

user22: isack probably teared up in the stewards room and max crumbled

user23: i mean on his radio as soon as GP said it was isack max was immediately like ‘is he okay?’

isackhadjar: sorry max!

maxverstappen1: no worries buddy, you can pay me back with room service

isackhadjar: so our move marathon is still on?

maxverstappen1: don’t be dumb - obviously!

maxverstappen1: i need my second in command to help defend my snacks from y/n

yourusername: you guys aren’t supposed to have those snacks i’m doing you a favour !!!

isackhadjar: sureeeee

yourusername: i can call your trainers up if you want?

maxverstappen1: NO WE’RE OKAY

user24: esteban ocon is not okay seeing this tomfoolery

user25: yeah yeah yeah it’s all fun and games but that’s legit his baby brother of course he wasn’t going to cuss him out

user26: exactly! he’s been with y/n for like four years? of course he was concerned about isack’s safety than his race

landonorris: i’m not surprised, just disappointed

maxverstappen1: why?

landonorris: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU STILL AIRED ME OUT ONLINE?

maxverstappen1: first of all y/n is my best friend

maxverstappen1: second of all isack is my baby brother

maxverstappen1: third of all you’re annoying

yourusername: heavy on number three

landonorris: i GIVE UP WITH YOU PEOPLE

user27: i love watching max and y/n making people crash out in instagram comments

user28: couples that terrorise together, stay together

georgerussell63: interesting ….

yourusername: you wanna say something

georgerussell63: suddenly not anymore

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 459,034 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, isackhadjar & pepemarti

yourusername: bond a little bit stronger than a lil crash in a formula one race

view all comments

user29: if they don’t get married and live happily ever after i might just sue them

user30: so real

user31: they’re my parents and i can’t go up to four christmasses

redbullracing: that was millions in damage

yourusername: you gonna invoice me for it?

redbullracing: no?

yourusername: then get the fuck out of my comments this is a wholesome post

user32: why is pepe here?

pepemarti: i am just as much part of the hadjar family as max

maxverstappen1: well that’s just factually incorrect

pepemarti: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: ??? i’m marrying in? what are you doing?

pepemarti: i’m mama hadjar and y/n’s favourite so divine intervention

maxverstappen1: @yourusername please dispell this nonsense

yourusername: look at his lil face …

pepemarti: :p

isackhadjar: i’ll be clear i am not marrying pepe

pepemarti: that’s not what you told me the other day :(

user33: can someone make a chart this is all a bit confusing now

user34: i don’t think anything is helping with this chaos

maxverstappen1: i love you forever and ever, even if your brother puts me in the wall <3

yourusername: awww i love you too bubs

maxverstappen1: but i am your favourite though?

yourusername: don’t tell them but yes!

isackhadjar: these are public comments?

pepemarti: i’m legally blind now

fin.

note: a quicky i wrote during the super bowl lol - hope you enjoy xx

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"

[robertsfloyd]

PLS PLS PLS part 2 for puppies...where lando can't just stop fucking her.. and they have to lock him up in chastity but it's already too late since lando has filled her with his puppies and she's like pregnant or something like that?!!!

okay i went along those lines, but chastity became crate

part one

cw: light smut, pregnancy

the crate was comfortable. soft pillows and blankets that smelled like you surrounded him when he laid down.

but he didn't want to lay down. he wanted to be on top of you, inside of you, rutting against you until you were filled with him.

"horny fucking mutt," carlos muttered as he locked the door to the crate, leaving lando on his own in the kitchen. it wasn't fair that the scent of you surrounded him and he couldn't get to you.

it wasn't fucking fair.

you laid with your head in carlos's lap as he pet your hair, scratched at the base of your ears. your body was so damn sore from the way lando had been manhandling you, but you were loving every moment of it.

you knew he didn't mean to be so harsh with you. but the thought of pups in the moment was exciting. would they have your ears or his? would they have your pointed ones with his curls? how about the tail?

no matter what, your pups would be cute.

but, now that it was over with, now you had a minute alone to think, you shook away the thoughts of pups. you weren't ready for that, especially not when oscar was due back from australia any day now. home from australia to take lando away from you.

you whined at the thought.

"oh, my girl," carlos cooed as his thumb stroked over your cheek. "i'll keep him in there until oscar comes to get him, if you want me to."

you sat up suddenly, shook your head rapidly. that was the last thing you wanted, for lando to be kept away from you. even when him trying to be inside of you 24/7 became too much, it was still nice to lay with him in your bed, to sit together while carlos was out and keep each other company. it was nice to talk to someone else who understood the intricacies of being a hybrid, the struggles that came with it.

"i like him," you mumbled to your owner. "he's..." but you couldn't begin to describe what you felt around lando. you liked it when he kissed you, liked it when he trapped you beneath him at night. liked it when he growled at other dog hybrids that got too close. liked it when you sat at the window, watching birds and that one cat that always escaped from the netting covering up their balcony.

standing from the sofa, you walked into the kitchen. your tail started wagging the moment you saw him. he held you blanket against his nose as he rutted pathetically into his hand.

you dropped to your knees in front of him. his eye opened as he whimpered at you, his grip on his hand tightening. he just wanted it to be you. he just wanted to be inside of you.

you stayed sitting in front of him, reaching through the bars of the crate. the lock was taunting you, daring you to try and open it. but you didn't know the code.

he came in his hand with a cry and wiped it on your blanket. you didn't mind; it was an old one kept in the crate. he reached towards you, played with your fingers as he stared at you.

eventually, carlos freed lando from the crate. he was on you immediately, kissing all over your face as your tail wagged. your tail was moving just as fast as his, and the two of you looked like you were going to take flight.

the moment he started humping you, your legs locked around his middle, carlos's slipper met the top of his head. "oye," he said with disapproval in his voice. "keep doing that and you're going back in the crate."

lando stilled, but you kept your legs locked around him, unwilling to let you go.

the threat of being torn away from you kept lando behaving for the next few days. he was attached to you in a way he wasn't before the crate, growing every time carlos came near.

something was going on with him, making his instincts go haywire.

but then oscar came to pick him up.

he whined as he gripped you tight, refusing to let you go. when oscar approached, when he tried to attach a load of the d ring of his collar, lando snapped.

he snapped his jaws at oscar, nearly biting into his fingers.

you were whining just as pathetically as he was. no, he couldn't go. he couldn’t leave you!

you didn't know how they got you separated. but you cried at the door through the night.

until you got sick. throwing up in the morning, hiding in your bed for the rest of the night. you blanket still smelled faintly of him, and that was enough to bring you comfort.

it was carlos's idea for you to take a pregnancy test. and then another. and then another.

he damn near lost his mind when they came back positive.

he was going to kill that mutt.

[dyingswanpavlova]

Treasure

Pairing: Hwang In-ho/The Frontman × Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Smut, Age Gap (Reader is 25, In-ho is 54), Usage of Daddy, Mentions of Emotional Abuse in the Past, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as a Business Deal, Edging, Spanking, Overstimulation, Face Slapping, Oral Sex (Both receiving), Gagging, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Minors do not interact!

Author's note: It's mostly bad experiences and smut. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't do wholesome...But, you guys, I'm trying!

It has been quite a while since his wife died and he hasn't gotten over it. But now he found someone who brings out a softer side of him...or makes him feel anything at all. Even if it's just the fact that he doesn't have to dine and sleep alone.

The day of her death was always the worst.

Of course he was always cold. One might even muster up the courage to call it cruel.

He was a complicated man in any sense of the word. While he was as cunning as he was handsome, he was also cool and composed. He didn’t ever lose that tight composure, until he allowed himself to. There were only few situations that allowed him to let loose and unleash the beast that lived within him.

It was rather obvious that there was more to him. The way he carried himself made it seem like he was no more than the stoic business man, but sometimes, sometimes you caught a soft glimpse of whatever was underneath. The way his eyes shone in a certain light.

 His brother was enough.

His wife, of course.

 But you were clever. And your sense of self-preservation forbade you to pry. All you had to do was do your job. And what was your job?

You found yourself applying a drop of perfume to your neck and your wrists, staring at your form in the mirror. The black lace covered most of your intimate parts, but it was just enough to leave him yearning for more. He liked that especially ��� when he had to use his imagination.

But sometimes, on rare occasions like that night, he needed more. He needed a little, naughty dream, to distract him from the turmoil that raged within him.

He was never cruel to you. He was just cold.

It wasn’t like you minded. So far, you had heard all kinds of things from a few friends of yours. Men could be vile creatures, who performed the most heinous crimes, whenever they felt like it. You were sure you could call yourself lucky, when it came to that.

He was older, that was out of question. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not for you anyway.

You couldn’t tell when that started or what the exact reason was.

Your father had been a fairly good man. He never abused you and never hurt you out of the ordinary. The occasional session of spanking was something that stopped once you got older. Of course a child that steps out of line will get punished. It’s not that dramatic and you were sure, you took no damage after that.

He had been a kind man. Good-hearted. He loved you, your sister and your mother very much.

Until he got drunk.

Of course, he loved you then as well. And he never hit you then, either. Not you.

Your mother, sure. The poor, sweet woman she was. Her broken spirit cracked through the light in which her soul was covered, because she was strong like that. Gentle, but strong.

He wasn’t gentle when he drank. No, all you had to do was say the wrong thing at the wrong time and suddenly he’d explode. The way he yelled out of nowhere was the worst thing. The way he gritted his teeth like a wild animal.

You had flinched more than once during the course of your life, simply because he got so angry.

But after a while, he always calmed down, didn’t he? He came down from his demonic horror trip and suddenly, he was good again.

Of course he was proud. Too proud for anyone’s good. His pride often kept him from apologizing. In most cases, he’d just try and act like nothing changed, like nothing happened, like he didn’t just made the walls crumble with his anger.

But sometimes, when he went really overboard, he managed to swallow his pride and then he would apologize. A hug, a kiss, and everything was back to normal.

You forgave him. Why wouldn’t you? He was your father. He loved you.

But daddy issues? No. He was there, after all. He didn’t abuse you. Didn’t hit you.

You had no issues. Why would you?

Right?

You finished applying the perfume and decided to put on some lip balm. It held the faintest hint of rose-color. He didn’t like too much make-up. He didn’t like anything that felt like you were playing dress-up. The silk on your body, it only made sense if it highlighted your character in a way. Not change it.

The gloss on your lips, the blush on your cheeks. No eyeshadow allowed, unless it were natural colors. Mascara was alright, but no fake lashes.

Blush was okay, contour was not.

Lace was okay, leather was not.

J’adore was okay, Chanel Number 5 was not.

You released a slow breath and took a moment longer to check your appearance.

You were pretty, you knew that. Probably not in the way that made you get voted prom queen. More in the way that made weird men ogle you.

That was a talent of yours you had figured out at some point. Your eyes were expressive. And people loved to eye-fuck you.

Sometimes, you’d indulge. It depended on the man and the situation. It depended on the way his eyes on you made you feel.

Not any man would do. Some were perverts, some were disgusting, some desperate. You didn’t look back, when a man walked beside his oblivious wife and looked at you like he was ready to devour you. You also didn’t look back, when a man stared at you with wide eyes and licked his lip in a way that was too lecherous at once.

A subtle glance.

Not even a smile.

Just a look.

You’d look away and after a while, you’d check again. The feeling that spread in your chest was often the same. One of recognition, of attention. It made you feel pretty and desired. Someone wanted you. They were subtle about it, but not subtle enough to refrain themselves from staring.

In most cases, it didn’t lead to anything.

Sure, you had that messed-up phase, after you turned nineteen. Looking back, you really wished your father had been stricter with you. You were always allowed to do whatever you wanted. Meet who you want, do what you want, unless, of course, it got dark outside. No walking alone in the dark.

But he never checked who you were with, if you were truly where you said you were. Your parents trusted you. Back in the day, when you told them you had already finished your homework, they trusted you. Your bad grades weren’t their fault. They had trusted you to do better.

Back when you were nineteen, when you told them you were at the cinema with a few friends, they trusted you. They didn’t check, if maybe you were getting pounded away by some forty-seven year old man, who came on your face and left you feeling used and humiliated.

Never during. Always after.

You had no idea why you felt like you needed this so badly. Attention of men. Approval of men.

Men.

They were never good to you. They used you in most cases and then they’d just up and leave.

First, you were naïve. You pictured all kinds of things. Your mother’s Italian friend, who’d take you to Rome and buy you gelato. You’d walk some coast and he’d show you the lovely way Italians lived. He’d love you, you were sure.

It didn’t matter than he had a daughter your age or maybe even a few years older.

He’d love you.

But of course, he didn’t. Silly you, you really believed that, didn’t you? And he didn’t even say he would. You just made up that version of him in your head.

Some sweet guy from Oregon, who sang Arctic Monkeys song for you with his guitar. You only spoke online, but why care? You’d go and live the American dream with him. Of course you would. He had those soft, brown eyes and the voice of an angel.

You’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

So, of course you agreed, when he asked you to take your top off. Suck on your fingers, look up at the camera with doe eyes, while you did. You slipped two fingers inside yourself, moaning and gasping. Of course you were pretending. Who got off on this? Not you. All he did was stare at you. You didn’t see his face, while he pulled his pants down. It was either his face or the rest of him. But you were looking at him, while you touched yourself for him. It didn’t take him long to cum. But that was alright. You’d get married, after all. In some cases, long distance worked. This was one of them of course.

Blocked.

You spent months trying to find him again. But no way. He was gone, deleted, lost in the depths of the internet. A lost memory. A shameful one.

Sometimes you asked yourself, why your sister turned out normal. She had a job, a family, a husband who loved her. Or did he?

He did get angry, at times. And those few times when he called her a slut, when they argued. It wasn’t that bad, right?

That one time he left her standing at the sidewalk in the middle of the night, in a foreign city. It wasn’t that bad, right? She had angered him after all.

You felt nauseous, just thinking about it. Your sister was the epitome of life and liveliness. She was so spirited, that sometimes her anger scared you. Her confidence did for sure. She was your father’s daughter after all.

But the bastard she married broke that spirit.

And she didn’t even realize it. She just let it happen. You didn’t understand it.

But what you did understand was that she wasn’t as perfect as you always thought. Things were a little more complicated than you initially thought. But you were still far behind her.

You tried to push the thoughts of your messed-up existence and upbringing aside and focus on the task at hand.

Him.

Mr. Important.

You knew his real name and he knew yours, but names didn’t really matter. All you normally called him was daddy.

But luckily, you weren’t babygirl or little girl. That felt odd, even to you. It wasn’t that he was after that – someone who was remarkably younger than him. You just happened to be.

He was fifty-four, going fifty-five. You were twenty-five, going twenty-six.

Thirty years more or less, who cared about that?

And he didn’t really look his age. You found, he looked a good forty-six, maybe.

But aside from that, he was different. The were two kind of men in the world.

The real ones and the made up ones.

The ones who ogled you, while they were walking beside their wives and the ones who never got over their wife’s death and were looking for a way to distract themselves.

You had seen a picture of her. He didn’t make a secret of it. No, he was proud to having loved her. The thought filled you with something bittersweet. A part of you was jealous. Jealous, that someone got loved so intensely, that she’d never be forgotten, ever.

After all, she died young and pregnant. It made you nauseous.

And another part of you, the far bigger part, the less selfish part, it admired him.

He loved her. He loved her so dearly, that she took a great part of his soul with him, when she left.

God, you wished to be loved like that. To be loved at all.

You remembered the way you first met him. The subtle eye-contact. No smile.

But you didn’t feel like you normally did. Something about him was different. He wasn’t lecherous. He was calm. Almost like he was…lonely.

And he understood your loneliness.

The arrangement came quick and without any fuss. He did pay you, but not with money per say. He paid for your studies, he bought you gifts, sometimes he took you out to places you had never been before.

The theatre. The ballet. The opera, even.

That was what you loved the most. He didn’t just use you and left you feeling empty. He didn’t even fuck you every time you saw him. Sometimes you’d just go out. Have dinner. Talk.

You talked a lot and about everything. Sometimes you felt like you were an old soul, sometimes you felt like you knew nothing at all. He knew things. He looked at you. He listened to you.

Sometimes he could be really funny. On other nights he was rather quiet.

You didn’t care if he absentmindedly played with your hand or hair or if he stared straight ahead. Whatever he did, it always made your heart race.

You understood that you were treading on very thin ice.

Feelings were not a part of the arrangement.

He would never love you. You would never be more to him than treasure.

But when you lay there, your head on his chest and still breathless after you just spent hours doing the most wicked things to each other, you couldn’t help yourself. You craved his warmth. His arms around you and how protected he made you feel.

You couldn’t make a mistake. Nothing you did ever made him yell at you.

And that was rather dangerous.

Because you could picture it so easily. Being his wife. His everything. Having his children. Cooking his dinner. Doing all the things loving people did.

All the things loved people did.

You pushed the thought aside with intense fervor, when you heard his raspy voice call out for you.

“Treasure? Are you alright?”

You nearly gasped when you realized how long you had been in there. With a soft shake of your head and a slow exhale, you pushed down the door handle and stepped out of the bathroom. He stood in front of the fireplace and stared down at the flames, lost in thought. When he heard the door open, he looked up and met your gaze. Something in him stiffened for a moment and his gaze ran down your body slowly. You swallowed thickly and tried to push your nervousness aside.

You wanted to be perfect for him. But you were so far from perfect. Each and every time you feared he would look at you, scoff and shake his head.

“I don’t remember that much skin.”

“You looked younger last time.”

“Where’d that wrinkle come from?”

But of course he never said anything like that. Simply your insecurities, giving you a hard time.

He hummed softly and shifted so that he was fully facing you.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured. “Come here.”

You approached him with slow steps, the sound of your tiptoes the only sound beside the crackling of the fireplace.

You came to a halt before him and he tipped your chin up in a gentle way, slowly tilting your head up and making you look at him. He brushed his lips over yours in the softest way, making you shiver in response.

His hand slowly ran down the side of your neck, until his fingers brushed over the lace that covered your collarbone. His eyes followed the movement and he released a soft sigh.

“You get more and more beautiful every day.”

How did he expect you not to fall in love with him, when he was being like this?

“Thank you.” You whispered in return and swallowed a bit of your nervousness.

His eyes crinkled in a smile that hardly reached his eyes and his hands slowly came down to grip your hips.

“You know what day today is?”

You nodded.

“Good.” He whispered and dropped his hands to his sides. “Then be a good girl for daddy and distract him.”

You licked your lips and slowly pushed him back. He was letting you. Until you reached the armchair and he slowly sat down on it. You stood before him and tipped his chin up, making him look up at you now. The look in his eyes was nothing short of admiration. His breath against your skin sent a pleasant tingle down your spine.

You slowly straddled his lap and rested your knees on the armrests, pressing yourself against him and feeling the hardness in his pants press into you already. But not yet, you thought. Why not tease him a little?

You leaned in as if to kiss him, but the second before your lips met, you slowly pulled your head back, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A low growl grumbled in his chest. “Stop being a brat.” He murmured.

You bit your lip and leaned back with a grin. “Me? A brat?”

“You’re just asking to be punished.”

That made you chuckle. “Well…”

“Oh, I see.” He tangled a hand in your hair and tugged on it, tilting your head back and making you look up at him. “That’s how you want to play?” He murmured and his hot breath fanned over your lips and neck. “Alright, then. I invented this game, little dove.”

He released his grip on your hair and grabbed you by the hips, standing up and holding you against him. He picked you up like you weighed nothing and strode off to the bed, practically throwing you down onto it. The sudden intensity left you breathless and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He reached for his tie and slowly undid it.

“I thought you were daddy’s good girl. Looks like I was wrong.”

He sounded as calm as ever, not a hint of anger as usual. He was just being himself.

“I am your good girl.”

“I’d prefer you to be bad right now. Because I feel like punishing you.”

You swallowed thickly and bit your lip, like you did every so often when he got you cornered like this.

“How?” You whispered.

He smirked in that delicious way, which lit his whole face up without even trying. Then he slowly pulled the tie off and ran his fingers along the soft material.

“Turn around.”

Within seconds, you were on your knees and facing away from him. His hands were gentle as he reached for your wrists and brought them behind your back to tie them together. You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, while your body surrendered. It wasn’t hard for you. You trusted him. He knew your boundaries.

For whatever reason, with him you had boundaries.

Never in your life before had you ever told anyone to stop or not do something. Was it fear of being rejected? Simply fear? Something else? Whatever it was, it kept you from setting healthy rules to keep your body and mind safe. You were free to use. Anyone just did whatever they wanted.

Sometimes you did protest, but they wouldn’t stop and eventually you gave in.

But not so him.

He had asked not once, not twice, but countless times. Until eventually you had been forced to be honest and tell him what it was that threw you off. And to your surprise, he didn’t get angry, didn’t even move a muscle. He just nodded and accepted it.

There were a few freaky things you were into and you were obviously allowing him to do. But if there was something that you didn’t want, he didn’t do it. Just like that.

How hard it was not to fall for him. Impossible even.

He tied your wrists together fairly tight and made a point of pulling on the tie to make sure it was good enough. You felt his gaze roam along your back silently. He then ran his fingertips up your back, over your shoulder blades and eventually the back of your neck.

“You’re my little brat, aren’t you?” He purred.

When you didn’t respond at first, he made a point of gently tugging on your hair.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“And you’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

When you nodded, he tugged again, slightly harder this time. You gasped and immediately added: “Yes. Yes, I’ve been bad.”

“So, you deserve to be punished. How should I punish you?”

There was only one right answer to that.

“However you wish.”

You heard the way he smirked. “Good girl. You’re learning.”

He hummed and slowly circled you like a predator. Of course you felt rather exposed, kneeling on the bed like that, wearing nothing but that thin piece of lace and nothing to cover the dampness between your legs.

“Look at you.” He murmured. “So open and ready for me. Let’s see how ready, shall we?”

He didn’t hesitate to slide his hand between your legs and run a finger over your wetness. You couldn’t help but inhale sharply. Your body was aching for his touch.

Surprisingly, he knew how to make you cum. Pretty good even. No other man had ever accomplished that. You’d normally count only on yourself for that, but Mr. Important? Fuck, he was skilled.

He circled your clit in the same skilled way, causing you to squirm and gasp under his touch. He began to work his fingers on you more and more quickly, keeping his gaze firmly on your face. Your brows furrowed in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, but you didn’t care. You were so close. So close. So-

You whimpered when he sharply withdrew his hand, leaving you aching.

“Please-“ You whined.

“Not yet.” He said calmly. “Open your mouth.”

You obeyed wordlessly, allowing him to slide his slick fingers into your mouth and making you taste yourself on him. The bulge in his pants became more and more obvious and it did things to you. The way he looked at you, while he made you suck on his fingers was enough to make you go dripping wet. After a beat, he slowly pulled his fingers back and dried them against his shirt. You let out a shuddering gasp.

“You still ought to be punished, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t this punishment enough?” You whispered.

He smirked. “Not even close.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently draped you over his lap, stomach down and your rear up in the air. Your cheek was pressed against the sheets and you closed your eyes.

“Ten. You know the rules.” He murmured and you nodded.

His flat hand cracked against your skin, sending a sharp pain through your body. He wasn’t gentle about that. Not at all.

You cried out in pain and tried not to squirm too much. “One. Thank you, daddy.” You gasped out.

He hummed approvingly, before his hand came down a second time, causing you to wince and cry out again. Somehow, every strike seemed to get more and more rough. Your skin felt raw and sensitive, more and more with every hit, but you forced yourself to stay still and count, like a good girl. By the time you reached the seventh hit, the pain was nearly unbearable. But you knew better than to beg and plead. It only turned him on more and he was ready and eager to start anew.

“Nine. Thank you, daddy.”

“One more. Just one more, treasure. You’re almost done.”

He deliberately waited for a few seconds, causing you to go rigid and tense in his grip. The uncertainty of when the next hit would follow was nearly killing you. Just when you expected it and you winced forcefully, he instead ran his palm along your red skin gently. You took a deep breath.

And then it came.

The most painful of them all and you immediately felt tears sting your eyes. Your voice cracked as you cried out: “T-ten. Ten. Thank you. Thank you, daddy.”

He made a soft sound, filled with approval and a hint of pride. “That’s my good girl. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

His words made you feel warm and fuzzy and suddenly you felt like crying even more. Your feelings for him were more complicated than you thought.

“Thank you.” You whispered, still trying to catch your breath.

“I think you deserve a reward.” He murmured.

You tried to swallow, with your mouth dry and whispered: “I do?”

He ran a gentle hand over your hair and hummed again.

“You do. Let’s see what we can do for you.” He shifted you gently so you lay on the mattress instead, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He ran his knuckles over your cheek and smiled slowly.

“Was it too much?”

You shook your head.

He took a slow breath and nodded. “Good.” He shifted so he was on top of you now and pressed a leg between your own. His knee slowly pressed against your core and you felt your eyes fall shut. You didn’t try to hide your pathetic whimper.

He smirked against your ear and gently nipped at it. “Look at that. Have you been this wet all the time?”

Your face flushed painfully and you swallowed your embarrassment. “Yes.”

He hummed approvingly and ran his lips along your cheek, before they finally met your own. You had no time to understand what was going on, when his tongue already parted your lips and delved into your mouth. He wasn’t sweet about it, instead your tongues met in a messy battle, ready to prod at and devour each other.

“What are you?” He groaned against your lips.

“Your cumslut.” You whispered back.

He groaned again and bit down on your lower lip. “Fuck, yes, my dirty little cumslut. You want daddy’s cum, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.” You moaned out.

“Where do you want it, treasure? Dripping down your chin or deep inside you?”

Your eyes nearly rolled back. “Wherever you want.”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your neck. His kisses made you squirm and shudder, but it only ever got more and more intense. You felt so exposed and helpless, but also cared for.

He slowly moved his lips along your collarbone, before they brushed over the material that covered your breasts. He bit down on it and tore at until you felt the cold air hit your now exposed chest. He growled in response and didn’t hesitate to kiss and suck at the skin of your breast. Your hips involuntarily arched against his knee, which was still working on your core. You gasped breathlessly and rubbed yourself against him, desperate for more friction.

“Please-“

“Patience.”

He licked a wet path down your stomach, causing you to writhe and moan.

He wasn’t one for half things. When his lips reached your core, he wasn’t gentle or careful. No, his mouth enveloped your most sensitive spot and he began to work his tongue on you almost furiously. He sucked and licked, slid his tongue inside you and over your wet folds with an intensity that made you cry out. He then sucked on your clit in a way that was almost too much, but just right to make you cum so good that you felt like everything around you faded into nothingness. You felt warm and good, better than you had ever before. He took his time and made the moment last, riding out your release so intensely that you nearly had to pull away from him when it became to much. He smirked up at you and slowly came back up to face you. He was fighting for air, as were you.

“Oh God, that was-“

He pushed his tongue back inside your mouth, nearly fucking it. At the same time he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them torturously and pumping them against you in a way that brought you close yet again.

“P-Please, I- Ah!” Your release rolled over you again, hard and soft at the same time, with an intensity that was near painful. Your hips arched off the bed and you nearly screamed by the way you couldn’t find it in you to shut your mouth.

You gasped for air and expected him to finally pull back, but he didn’t. He kept curling his fingers against your sweet spot and the feeling quickly became too much. Your body was so sensitive and every new touch he added felt almost painful.

“Stop- Please- St-“ You cried out and pressed your hips against his hand involuntarily. Your release came crashing yet again, this time it was a feeling between heaven and hell. It still felt good, but it felt far too much.

“Please.” You gasped, before the feeling even was gone. “Please. I can’t take any more…”

He smirked against your lips and gently bit down on the lower one, before he slowly withdrew his hand.

“Good girl.”

You were still panting and gasping for air, when he gave your cheek a light slap. “Time for you to get to work.”

You moaned, and with some effort, fought your way to get up. Your hands were still tied, so you carefully slid down to your knees, kneeling in between his legs. He was still in his pants, so you looked up at him with innocent eyes and whispered: “Can you help me?”

He smirked again and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. “So obedient.”

He freed himself from his remaining clothes and you found yourself staring at him. Despite his age, he was so well-built and you were always desperate for every glimpse, every touch and every taste.

“Can I?” You breathed out.

He hummed and nodded. “Get to it.”

Your gaze wandered down, but he quickly caught your chin. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your insides tingled with newfound desire. You forced yourself to keep looking at him, while your tongue slowly slid down his stomach. You saw the shift in demeanor. He was still dominant and calm, but his breathing sped up and something changed in his eyes.

“No teasing today.” He all but growled. “Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. You parted your lips and ran your tongue over his tip. His head fell and back and he groaned. He then tangled his hand in your hair and guided your movements. He didn’t give you time to catch your breath, he just pushed you down and forced you to take him in. You were caught off-guard for a moment and felt yourself gag. He loosened his grip the tiniest bit and you began to move in the rhythm and pace that he set for you. He quickly went from calm and collected to a beast which rammed his thick cock into you and began to use your throat to his pleasure.

You felt yourself grow wet yet again as you moaned against his skin. Whenever he seemed to hit the back of your throat, he couldn’t control the low moans and groans that left his lips. Your movements became more and more frantic, determined to make him feel just as good as he had you.

Of course you wanted him to fuck you and he probably would in an hour or two. And again and again and again…But right then, you wanted nothing more than for him to shoot his hot load into your mouth and down your throat.

You sucked and flicked your tongue against him in a way that made his grip tighten more and more until he-

He went still, except for his cock, which was throbbing furiously inside you. He came with a low growl and he filled your mouth with his seed. He held your head in place, until he rode out his release. When he finally caught his breath back, he released a soft sigh and his grip on your hair became gentle again.

“Oh God, that was…” He sighed again. “Fuck.”

You slowly swallowed every drop of his cum, all the while never taking your eyes off him. His eyes instantly darkened again and he ran his thumb over your tongue.

“My good girl. My treasure.” He breathed out. “I’m so proud of you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. It became increasingly gentle and he slowly cupped your cheek in his hand.

“That was incredible.” He murmured. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He reached behind you and carefully freed your from his tie. Then he slowly rubbed his thumbs over your sore wrists.

“Does it hurt?” He murmured. You shook your head.

He pulled you up onto the bed again and gently laid you down beside him. He stared down at you for a long moment, before he finally rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a full-course meal right now.”

You chuckled and wrapped your arms around him, slowly running your hands down his back. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”

He smirked and slowly opened his eyes. “You and that wicked mouth of yours.” He murmured.

Your smile softened when he pressed a lingering kiss against your forehead.

“Can I stay for the night?”

He would most likely let you. He never sent you away feeling used or unsatisfied or, God forbid, unwanted. But there was a part of you that needed to be reassured so badly. And he seemed to know.

He raised a brow and his own expression softened.

“Did you expect anything else?”

His coldness melted away whenever you were like this, entangled and breathless.

No matter how many times he said that it didn’t mean anything.

His eyes told a different story.

“No.” You whispered softly and rested your head on his chest. “No, of course not.”

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader a loooot of sexual tension, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, handjob, a lot of curse words, dirty talk.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[7.4k words ]♡― guys, i'm very grateful that you enjoyed gameboy. thanks to everyone who asked to be on the taglist, to everyone who is deeply involved in the story (just like me). here's another chapter. the third of this journey. don't forget to listen to the playlist and those who just got here PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡ [part two]

We'll be dancin' with the shadows in the night The stars are jealous knowing that you’re by my side Feel the adrenaline, acceleration In the course, we’ll be drivin' so rough

The whole campus buzzed like it had just been cast as extras in Magic Mike: College Edition.

Nahee appeared with her basket of brownies, practically vibrating with excitement. You had floated the idea to your theater crew, and, much to your delight, they had all rallied behind it.

“This,” she said, scanning the chaotic crowd, “is the sluttiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She turned to you, her grin devilish. “And I love it.”

The scene was pandemonium. The entire basketball team had ditched their shirts, creating a spectacle that rivaled any reality dating show. Lines formed instantly—three people deep for each boy, regardless of who they were. Men, women, professors who “just happened to be walking by”—no one was immune. A few of the boys even posed for photos, flexing like they were auditioning for a particularly steamy firefighter calendar.

“This has a countdown clock before someone shuts it down,” you said, arms crossed, though you couldn’t stop your lips from twitching.

“Let them try,” Eunji sighed, fanning herself dramatically. “This is art. This is community service. This is visual serotonin.”

“Speaking of the devil…” Nahee tilted her head, gesturing with the slightest nod.

You followed her gaze and immediately wished you hadn’t. Bangchan was front and center, a walking thirst trap without even trying. His arms, all defined muscle and veins, moved in practiced ease as he handed out brownies with that easy smile of his. His shoulders looked like they could carry half the student body, and his wet, glistening torso was proof he either took this way too seriously or knew exactly what he was doing. Either way, the guy was impossible to ignore.

You tilted your head, feigning indifference despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Guess some people can’t help themselves, huh?”

Nahee smirked, not buying it for a second. “Some people, indeed.”

You hated to admit it, but he was a natural. Flashing easy smiles, throwing in effortless charm, making every girl swoon just enough to dig into their wallets a little faster. All he had on were sweatpants slung low on his hips and his cap turned backward—just unfair, really.

Not that it mattered. You weren’t talking. There was nothing to talk about. And yet, after the kiss, everything had shifted. Bangchan had distanced himself like you were a plague, and for once, he wasn’t even trying to get under your skin.

You stole glances when you thought he wouldn’t notice, hating the way every passing hand seemed to have permission to touch him. He didn’t look at you once. And knowing him, that meant something.

The sun was relentless, making the whole shirtless thing almost justifiable. You, Eunji, Nahee, and Sohee made your rounds across campus, hustling for the theater fund. But let’s be real—nobody cared about the cause.

They wanted six-packs and pretty smiles.

You were so busy pretending not to notice Bangchan’s every move that you almost missed the presence looming beside you.

“Hey,” Mingyu greeted, arms crossed, his signature grin firmly in place. “Got one of those brownies for me?”

“Of course,” you said, grabbing a brownie and passing it to him. He handed you a bill, and the weight of it made you freeze. That wasn’t just a regular bill—it was way too much.

“Uh, I think you might’ve made a mistake…” you started, holding it up.

“No mistake,” he cut in smoothly. “I’m buying the whole basket.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what now?” you glanced at the basket, then back at him. “You want to buy all of them?”

“You heard me.” he shrugged, his tone so casual it bordered on infuriating.

Your brow arched instinctively, your internal lie detector pinging. Still, you weren’t about to complain about a sale this good. Slowly, you held the basket out to him, trying to mask your suspicion with a polite smile.

But Mingyu just shook his head, taking a bite of the brownie in his hand. “Keep it,” he said, licking the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t buy them for the brownies.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, your sass kicking in to override your confusion. “Oh, right. I forgot. They pair perfectly with a little showing off.”

He laughed, leaning in slightly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to the cutest seller here.”

“You know, flattery works better when you actually take the brownies.”

“I’ve got what I wanted,” he teased, taking another bite.

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes, you couldn’t hide your smirk. A sale was a sale, even if the customer was a little too smooth for his own good.

You stood there, momentarily stunned. Someone had just dropped a ridiculous amount of money on brownies—out of nowhere—and then decided you could keep both the cash and the sweets. Suspicious? Absolutely. But were you going to argue? Not a chance.

With a smug grin, you strolled across the lawn, basket in one hand and Mingyu’s absurdly generous payment in the other. The whole thing felt like an easy win—until a strange heat crawled up your spine, prickling your skin like the sun had suddenly gotten personal.

You turned your head, and there he was. Bangchan. Watching you.

And for the first time all day, he wasn’t smirking. No teasing, no cocky grin—just something sharp in his gaze, something dark curling at the edges.

Bangchan had never been the clingy type. He wasn’t the guy who caught feelings, overanalyzed texts, or lost sleep over someone who didn’t want him back.

Relationships? Fun while they lasted. Breakups? Mutual and drama-free. Ever since college started, he’d embraced the single and thriving lifestyle—no strings, no complications, no mess.

And sure, people talked. About his skills on the court, his grades, his leadership. But mostly, about his other talents. The ones that kept his phone buzzing at ungodly hours, filled with invitations that had nothing to do with basketball.

Bangchan never minded the attention. He never cared—until the only girl he actually wanted looked at him like he was just another name on a list.

Like he was forgettable.

What the hell was he doing wrong? He was a good guy. A loyal friend. A straight-A student. A goddamn basketball prodigy.

So why weren’t you interested? Why were you the only one immune?

He wanted to push, to test your limits, to make you see him the way he saw you. But that wasn’t his style.

He knew when to start and when to stop. And right now? He was dangerously close to crossing that line.

Bangchan wasn’t asking for much. Just a moment—one real, uninterrupted conversation with you. No sharp comebacks, no teasing deflections. Just you, stripped of the armor you wore so well.

But that wasn’t your style, was it? You never made things easy.

It all started when Hyunjin, the group’s reigning drama king, decided to join the theater. Naturally, he demanded a full entourage for moral support, which was how Bangchan ended up in that stuffy auditorium, sitting between Seungmin, Changbin, and Jeongin, watching Hyunjin pour his soul into a song like he was auditioning for Broadway itself.

He was good. Of course, he was good. Velvet-voiced, graceful, with a presence that demanded attention. The second he finished, Bangchan was ready to get up, clap him on the back, and drag him out for celebratory food—

Until you stepped onto the stage.

He didn’t know your name yet. Didn’t know anything about you. But there you were, in knee-high boots and a white dress, angelical, standing under the spotlight like you owned it.

Then, you started to sing. I’ll Be Over You. Soft, rich, and powerful all at once.

And just like that, Bangchan was gone.

He wasn’t used to losing—not in basketball, not in academics, and definitely not when it came to people. So when he finally got close enough to talk to you, he expected… well, something.

Maybe intrigue. Maybe mild annoyance. Fuck, he would’ve taken playful exasperation.

But you? You loathed him.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Any hope of friendship, of even standing on neutral ground, went up in flames. You always had a comeback locked and loaded, always deflected, always avoided his gaze like it might set you on fire.

And maybe it would.

Because that sharp tongue of yours? The way you kept him at arm’s length, like he wasn’t worth a second glance? It only made him want to push harder.

So fine. If you were going to make him fight for every inch, he’d play along.

He just needed to know—was this all just a game to you? Or were you just as afraid of losing as he was?

The bar was buzzing, laughter and conversation mixing with the clink of glasses and the steady thump of music. You were comfortably wedged between Sohee and Eunji, their arms draped around you like you were some rare artifact they had to protect at all costs.

You were tipsy, maybe a little emotional, but mostly just basking in the warmth of the people around you. Tonight wasn’t about stress or overthinking. It was about celebrating a well-earned victory.

"I can't even describe how happy I am, guys," you sighed, raising your glass with a lazy smile. "You are, without a doubt, the best friends a girl could have."

Eunji and Sohee groaned dramatically, tightening their hold on you. "You’re lucky we love you," Eunji grumbled. "And that we’re good at handling your emotional soju phases."

"I mean it," you insisted, half-dramatic, half-serious. "We did it! We have enough to keep the theater running until Mrs. Baek finds a permanent solution."

Your gaze flitted across the table, landing on Seungmin and Hyunjin. "None of this would’ve happened without you."

“We’re a fucking team!” Changbin declared, slamming his hand on the table with the confidence of a man three shots past his limit. "And you know what that means? Another round!"

The table erupted in cheers, and for a moment, everything felt right. Until you felt it. That pull. That heat at the back of your neck, like someone had just flipped a switch.

You knew before you even turned. Bangchan was here.

You refused to acknowledge him. Absolutely not. You were having a great time, and he—well, he was an occupational hazard. A walking, talking disruption to your peace.

"Channie!" Felix called, pulling him further into the group. "Finally decided to show up, huh?"

You still didn’t look. Instead, you took a long sip of your drink and focused on the condensation trailing down your glass, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

But Bangchan had never been one to be ignored.

"You didn’t think I'd come?" his voice slid into the conversation so smoothly it sent a shiver down your spine.

You took your time—because if he was going to show up and be smug about it, you could at least make him wait. Finally, you turned, meeting his eyes head-on. "Didn’t think you’d dare."

He smirked, leaning just a little closer, like he was waiting for you to react. You didn’t.

But your pulse? Yeah, that was another story.

Bangchan leaned back in his seat, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as he watched his friends celebrate. He should’ve felt the same rush of excitement, the same weightless joy—but his mind was elsewhere. The relentless pressure of basketball training sat heavy on his chest, and the gnawing anxiety that came with it refused to let go.

And then there was you.

Standing there, effortlessly stunning, laughing like the world had never touched you. Just close enough to see, but never close enough to reach.

When Changbin made his way to the bar for another round, you followed, craving something non-alcoholic to cut through the buzz in your head. He glanced at you as you stepped up beside him.

“Happy?” he asked, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eye.

You grinned, light and unburdened in a way Bangchan hadn’t seen in a while. “Very. Thanks for all the help.”

Changbin shook his head with a smirk. “You should be thanking my boy over there.”

Your brows knitted together as you followed his gaze. Bangchan, mid-laugh, his head thrown back at something Jisung said. Carefree. Unbothered. Completely unaware that your entire world had just tilted on its axis.

“What?”

“He basically forced the team to join the sale,” Changbin said, voice thick with the weight of alcohol and honesty. “Said it was to help a friend.”

Your stomach did something weird—tightened, flipped, something you weren’t prepared for.

The memory hit like a slow-motion replay. Bangchan barged into your dorm, smug as ever, announcing he had dragged the entire basketball team into your little fundraising mess. You had assumed it was for Hyunjin and Seungmin. Maybe even for some ego boost, a reason to flash that damn smirk of his.

But no. A friend.

“Really?”

Changbin snorted. “What? You think he went out selling brownies half-naked just for fun?”

You forced a laugh, but your smile didn’t quite stick. Something about it—about him—felt different now.

Changbin walked off with his four bottles of soju, leaving you behind, still leaning against the counter, replaying his words in your head. It was almost offensive to think of Bangchan as anything other than his usual self—cocky, overconfident, annoyingly self-assured. Your brain outright rejected the idea that he could be good. That he could do something selfless without expecting anything in return.

And yet, here you were, stuck with the uncomfortable realization that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the villain you’d made him out to be.

Letting your guard down was one thing. Admitting you’d been wrong? That was the real battle.

You made your way back to the table, feeling just sober enough to regret this night’s life-altering discoveries. Sliding onto the edge of your seat, you watched as Jisung threw himself into a chair, already deep in the throes of drunken confidence.

“I’m feeling karaoke,” he announced, slurring just a little. “Who’s in?”

One by one, the group rose, fueled by alcohol and poor decision-making. Bangchan stood up last, and as he did, your hand found his arm, barely brushing over the smooth leather of his jacket.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can we talk?”

He blinked, caught off guard. For a second, he just stared, as if trying to decipher whether this was some kind of elaborate prank. Then, he glanced at the others heading toward the karaoke booth and nodded.

“Later,” he murmured. “That okay?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure why your heartbeat had decided to play double time.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “That’s… yeah. Sure.”

The night had escalated quickly. One minute, everyone was just vibing at Kooler’s, and the next, you were crammed into a karaoke room, neon lights flashing, Sohee absolutely butchering a ballad while Eunji screamed in horror.

The mic passed around until it somehow ended up in your hands.

“Oh, no,” you said immediately. “I don’t sing in public.”

“Ma’am,” Eunji deadpanned. “You’re in the drama club.”

“Yeah, for acting,” you retorted. “Not for embarrassing myself in front of—”

But then the opening notes of Breaking Free started playing, and the room lost it.

“Oh, you have to sing now,” Changbin cackled.

“We’re literally living a High School Musical moment!” Sohee clapped.

Then, the real nightmare happened. Bangchan grabbed the second mic.

The room erupted.

“TROY AND GABRIELLA, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Eunji announced like a sports commentator.

“Nope.” you stood up, but Jisung pushed you back onto the couch.

“You must embrace destiny,” he said solemnly.

Bangchan, ever the performer, smirked at you before dramatically bringing the mic to his lips. “We’re soarin’, flyin’—”

You covered your face with both hands. “Kill me.”

“That’s not the lyrics,” Changbin howled.

The moment Bangchan began to sing, his voice smooth and steady, you felt it—the tiny spark igniting between you, the way his presence pulled you in no matter how hard you tried to resist. His voice wrapped around the lyrics effortlessly, making them sound less like a cheesy high school musical duet and more like something real, something raw.

Then it was your turn.

Bangchan stilled for a moment, eyes widening slightly as you sang your part. He had always known you had a great voice—it was impossible not to, given how much time you spent in the theater club—but hearing you like this, just the two of you, no stage, no rehearsals, just you—it was mesmerizing.

God, you sounded unreal.

His chest tightened at how effortlessly you carried each note, how your voice blended with his in a way that made his skin prickle. You weren’t just singing—you were feeling it, even if you tried to hide behind an indifferent mask. He could see it in the way your body moved slightly to the music, in the way your lips curled at certain lyrics.

And fuck, he felt it too.

As the song picked up, the energy between you both crackled. Your voices melted together in harmony, and the chemistry was undeniable. You tried not to look at him, tried to focus on the screen, but every time you did, Bangchan was already looking at you, that damned smirk still in place.

When the chorus hit, something inside you gave in just a little. The moment was too fun, too infectious, and before you knew it, you were actually enjoying yourself.

You didn’t notice the way Bangchan’s gaze softened.

He saw through you, saw the way you let your guard down, even for just a second. And maybe it was the adrenaline, or the alcohol, or the way your voice wrapped around his in the final harmonized note, but Bangchan couldn’t stop himself from grinning like an idiot as you finished the song.

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

Everyone jumped up like it was the Super Bowl. Eunji was sobbing dramatically into Hyunjin’s shoulder. Changbin was standing on the couch, pointing like an old man watching his grandkids do something historic.

“Troy and Gabriella could never!”

When the song ended, the room was feral.

“That was the single most important moment of my life,” Eunji declared, visibly drunk and happy.

“I think I just saw God,” Felix wheezed.

Meanwhile, you just handed the mic to Eunji, turned to Bangchan, and muttered, “I hate you.”

He leaned in, voice low enough for only you to hear. “Sure you do.”

You’d excused yourself under the guise of needing a breather, but really, you just needed a damn second to exist without someone screaming lyrics in your ear or pulling you into another round of shots. The night was fun, but it was loud, and if you wanted to make it through, you needed a minute to reset.

The balcony was empty, save for the faint scent of nicotine lingering in the air. You took a deep breath, letting the cool breeze settle against your skin, grounding yourself. The city hummed below, distant and detached, and for a second, you just… let yourself be.

Then, before you even opened your eyes, you felt  him.

That ridiculously familiar cologne. The one that had been all over you. On his t-shirt. In your space. In your head.

“Is our rockstar already tapped out?”

You turned just in time to see Bangchan leaning back against the railing, watching you with that look.

“A little.” you waved a hand dismissively, but your small smile gave you away.

His was softer, quieter than usual, but still there. Still undeniably him. And the way his eyes swept over you in the dim light? Yeah. You could feel it. The way he noticed things, details, like he was cataloging every inch of you.

It should’ve annoyed you. But tonight? Tonight, it didn’t.

“Heard you wanted to talk to me.”

You raised a brow, suddenly remembering why you had pulled him aside in the first place. “Right. Think I owe you an apology.”

Bangchan’s expression flickered with surprise. “For what?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?” he leaned in slightly, nodding as if urging you to continue. “You should be clearer.”

You exhaled, hating how hard it was to say it. Vulnerability has never been your strong suit.

“Fine.” you glanced down at your boots, gathering your thoughts. “I know you convinced the basketball team to help with the sale. I assumed the worst about you, and that wasn’t fair. So… I’m sorry. You really helped me.”

Silence.

When you looked up, Bangchan was staring at you like you’d just told him the sky was green. Confused. A little offended. Like that was what you thought needed an apology.

“That’s what you’re apologizing for?”

You blinked, confused. “What else should I apologize for?”

Bangchan let out a dry, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair before whispering a low, exasperated “fuck you.”

Your eyes narrowed. His arms crossed over his chest, the leather of his jacket tightening around his sleeves as he shifted against the ledge.

“What was that?” you demanded.

“Look, I appreciate the apology, really. But that’s not the thing you should be apologizing for.”

Oh, he was so good at pissing you off. Always had been.

“Then be clearer,” you shot back, arms folding tightly over your chest.

“Alright.” Bangchan turned to you fully, gaze locked in, voice steady. Too steady. “Let’s talk about your habit of coming after me and then bolting the second it gets real.”

Your jaw clenched. “I never—”

“For fuck’s sake, be for real. At the party? In my dorm? I’m not saying I didn’t want it—fuck, I wanted it. But so did you. And then you acted like it was a mistake. You run from things.”

His words landed like a punch to the stomach—sharp, direct, impossible to ignore. You blinked hard, fighting the sting behind your eyes, but you had nothing. No witty comeback, no escape route. Just the weight of the truth between you.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you did want this—him. The way he looked at you like he could devour you whole, the way his hands knew exactly where to go, the way your body reacts before your mind could stop it. You wanted it. You wanted him. But wanting didn’t make it easy.

“Why are you mad?”

“Why?” he let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Because it’s fucking frustrating, that’s why. You can’t make up your damn mind.”

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself, but your heart was hammering.

“It’s not that simple,” you muttered, voice quieter now, the anger slipping into something else. “Not for me.”

“Why? Because you hate me?” his lips curled, amused despite himself. “Which, by the way, I’d love to hear all those bullshit reasons why.”

“Is that really what matters?” you lifted your chin, defiant.

“So what, you’ve just decided you’re gonna hate me forever?”

“Maybe I will,” you shot back, voice dripping with venom.

Bangchan smirked, stepping in closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering its prey. He leaned against the railing, his body angled toward yours, closing in just enough to make you breathless. "Hate to break it to you, love," his voice was low, dripping with amusement, "but people don’t usually fuck their enemies."

That voice. That damned voice—soft as silk, smooth as sin, and dangerous enough to make your pulse stutter.

Heat coiled in your stomach, spreading like wildfire, your body betraying you instantly. No. You weren’t going to let him win this.

"You’re right," you said, tilting your chin up, feigning nonchalance. "Which is why it’s never happening again."

A bold-faced lie. One you both saw through immediately. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, your mind was already spinning with memories—his hands, his mouth, the way your bodies fit together like a perfect crime.

Bangchan chuckled, dark and knowing. He moved closer, close enough that you could feel his breath graze your lips, your senses drowning in him—the scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sheer audacity in his gaze.

"That’s a shame," he murmured, eyes flicking to your lips, "because we’ve got insane bed chem."

You swallowed hard. You didn’t know what was doing you in—the teasing rasp of his voice, the heat rolling off his body, the way his muscles flexed under that stupidly fitted jacket, or just him. All of him.

And just like that, your heart slammed against your ribs, your resolve threatening to crumble.

Bangchan lingered, watching—waiting. He wanted to see it happen, the exact moment your carefully built walls cracked. His pulse pounded, anticipation thrumming beneath his skin. But you held firm, clinging desperately to whatever thread of self-control you had left.

His smirk deepened, infuriatingly cocky. "I’m heading out," he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. Then, with a knowing glance, he added, "If you ever change your mind… you know where to find me."

And just like that, he turned on his heel, walking away without so much as a second look, leaving you standing there—heart racing, head spinning, and a heat pooling low in your stomach that you really didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night stretched on, loud and chaotic, but undeniably fun. By the time the drinks had blurred everyone’s ability to string together a coherent sentence, you decided to call it.

Back at the dorm, Eunji and Sohee barely made it to their rooms before collapsing face-first onto their beds, too drunk to even bother kicking off their shoes.

You wished you could do the same. But no—your mind had other plans.

You tossed. You turned. You put on some soft music, hoping it would lull you into sleep. It didn’t. Instead, every time you closed your eyes, all you saw was him.

The way he leaned in earlier, the heat rolling off him like an invitation. The way his muscles flexed beneath his jacket. The way his voice dropped, teasing, tempting, knowing.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling into the sheets. It was ridiculous. Annoying. Infuriating.

You rolled onto your side, desperate for a distraction—anything—when your gaze landed on something draped over your study chair.

A black T-shirt. His.

The idea bloomed in your mind just as quickly as the heat spread between your thighs.

Pathetic. That’s what this was. That’s what you were.

Still, you got up, grabbing the shirt in your hands. His scent clung to the fabric—clean, musky, him. Just the faintest trace of it had your stomach twisting, the warmth inside you flickering into something dangerously close to need.

Before you could think better of it, you were pulling a hoodie over your flimsy excuse of a pajama shirt and slipping out the door.

It was past midnight. The campus was practically a ghost town at this hour, which was both a blessing and a curse. No one witnessed this humiliating trek across the quad. No one to stop you, either.

Your steps quickened as you reached his building, as if slowing down would somehow bring back your sanity.

Not happening. Not when your knuckles were already rapping against the door. Not when your breath was unsteady, your chest rising and falling too fast. Not when anticipation was burning through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and restless.

Shuffling sounds came from the other side. The lock clicked.

And then—him.

Bangchan stood in the doorway, his torso bare, sweatpants hanging sinfully low on his hips. His skin gleamed under the dim hallway light, muscles shifting as he leaned against the doorframe.

One look at you—hoodie, messy hair, his damn shirt clenched in your fingers—and something shifted in his expression. His lips parted slightly. His gaze darkened.

He already knew.

Bangchan was deep in sleep when the knocks came. His brows furrowed, his face crumpled with exhaustion as he groggily sat up, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

He hadn't been expecting anyone. But when he swung open the door, there you were. Hoodie slightly oversized, cheeks flushed, eyes dark with something unspoken.

You lifted the black shirt in your hands, your breath still uneven. “You forgot this.”

Bangchan’s gaze dropped to the fabric, then back to you, slow and deliberate.

“That’s all?” his voice was rough with sleep, but there was something sharper beneath it.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “No.”

That was all he needed.

The shirt was snatched from your grip and tossed somewhere behind him. His free hand was already at your waist, pulling you inside with a force that had your pulse skyrocketing. The door barely had time to click shut before you were on him. Hands in his hair, lips crashing into his, pouring all your frustration and desperation into the kiss.

Bangchan groaned into your mouth, gripping your hips so tight it sent a shiver down your spine. His skin was warm, solid beneath your touch—broad shoulders, the ridges of muscle beneath your fingertips.

And you wanted all of him.

His hands slid up, fingers teasing along the curve of your spine. Your teeth grazed his lower lip, earning a sharp, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

You barely recognized yourself at this point. There was barely any sanity left in your body, and whatever remained was slipping fast.

Somehow, between hectic kisses and hands wandering like they had a mind of their own, you ended up on the sofa. Bangchan sat with his legs spread, his breath heavy, and you straddled his lap, your hands splayed against his firm chest.

His eyes were dark, hooded, watching you like you were something he wanted to devour.

"Are you sure?" the words left his lips, but your body already knew the answer. Your stomach twisted—not with doubt, but with the unbearable anticipation of what was about to happen.

Bangchan opened his mouth, but you pressed two fingers against his plush lips, cutting him off.

"Shhh," you hissed, your voice edged with frustration. Your hips rolled against him, a slow, deliberate drag that had him sucking in a sharp breath. The way he twitched beneath you sent a wicked thrill through your veins.

"You're driving me insane," you confessed, your nails digging into his skin. "You're in my head. That ridiculous face of yours."

Through the haze of want, Bangchan let out a breathless laugh, slowly biting your finger. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

You smirked, dragging your fingers down his jaw. "Shut up. Kiss me."

And he did—like he had been waiting his whole damn life to.

With effortless ease, he shrugged off his sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but that dangerously thin white tank top—one that did absolutely nothing to hide how your body reacted to him. Bangchan’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight. Fucking hell. He wanted to devour you. Every inch. Every sound. Every shiver.

His lips crashed onto yours, rough and demanding, his hand curling around the base of your neck as his tongue teased and tangled with yours. He tasted you like he was trying to memorize every second of it, like he never wanted to stop. The heat of him, the way his fingers dug into your waist, how his breath hitched every time you met his urgency—it was intoxicating.

Then his lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, down your neck, and suddenly, your body wasn’t yours anymore. Your knees went weak, your breath came in ragged little gasps, and before you could stop yourself, a low, broken moan escaped your lips—right against his ear.

Bangchan groaned. That sound. That fucking sound. He was about to lose his goddamn mind. His hands tightened around your hips, his patience thinning by the second as you shifted against him, rolling your hips just enough to make him ache.

That sound. That fucking sound. Bangchan was about to lose his goddamn mind.

“I want it off,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need.

His hands twitched against your waist, desperate. He could’ve ripped those pants clean off your body if he wanted to. But you took your sweet, agonizing time peeling them away before settling back onto his lap, now wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of white panties.

He would have torn your pants to shreds right then and there, but you took your time—agonizingly slow as you peeled them away before settling back onto his lap, now clad in nothing but the flimsy white panties that left nothing to his imagination.

And fuck. Bangchan broke.

You looked like a dream, like something too good to be real. Kiss-swollen lips. Hair messy from his hands. Chest rising and falling as you gasped for breath.

You were going to ruin him.

The absence of your pants made you bolder, rolling your hips in slow, teasing waves against his lap. He was already impossibly hard, every grind making it worse—if you kept this up, he was going to lose it before he even got the chance to be inside you. And that was not what he wanted.

But fuck, it felt good. The thick bulge in his sweatpants rubbing against your soaked panties, just barely grazing your clit, sending white-hot sparks shooting through your body. Every movement set off a new wave of heat, of need, of something devastatingly addictive.

“I need to do something,” you whispered against his lips, your breath warm and uneven.

Bangchan still had his eyes closed, savoring every second of this moment, refusing to let it slip away.

“Please.”

Your hands drifted down, fingers ghosting over the outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats, barely touching—but more than enough to make his whole body tense. He gritted his teeth, veins pulsing as your palm pressed just a little harder.

“Fuck…” he rasped, voice hoarse, almost a plea.

You shifted between his legs, fingers toying with the hem of his pants, your nails barely scraping against his skin. His gaze burned into yours, dark with anticipation, completely at your mercy. And when you finally wrapped your hand around him—hot, firm, thick—he let out a shaky, wrecked breath.

A low groan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the couch as you wrapped your hand around him, warmth meeting warmth. The muscles in his abdomen tightened, every nerve in his body set ablaze by your slow, deliberate movements. You weren’t in a hurry—you wanted him to feel this. To lose himself in the way you handled him, the way you made him wait.

"You said I could use my pretty mouth next time," you murmured, feigning innocence, biting your lip just enough to drive him mad.

And then you winked—sweet, angelic, like you weren’t about to completely wreck him.

His breathing stuttered. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab you, to make you do something instead of torturing him like this. “You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his voice wrecked, eyes rolling shut as pleasure coiled in his stomach.

You only smiled, satisfied with how easily he was unraveling for you. Leaning in, you ghosted your lips over his, not quite kissing him—just close enough for him to chase after the contact. His body burned under yours, every breath he took shaky, labored.

"Like that, baby" he panted, his voice breaking as he let himself go, surrendering to the moment, to you.

To his torment, you picked up the pace, your touch firm, deliberate. His breath hitched, his body tensing beneath your hand as his head fell back against the couch. The heat between you was unbearable, a wildfire consuming every inch of restraint he had left.

His moans came unchecked, rough and unrestrained, completely at your mercy. He let you guide him, surrendering to every agonizing second—until suddenly, it all stopped. The loss of contact was like a snapped tether, leaving him breathless, on edge, undone.

His chest rose and fell rapidly as he blinked down at you, wide-eyed, dazed. The way you knelt between his legs, watching him with that look—he swore it could drive him insane.

And then, with agonizing slowness, your lips parted. The moment your mouth met his cock, his whole body tensed, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth. His fingers curled into the couch, muscles drawn tight as you worked him over, your tongue teasing, tormenting, ruining him.

"Look at you," he murmured, smirking like he had the upper hand when, in reality, he was barely holding himself together. "So pretty around my cock" his tongue flicked over his lower lip, his voice rough, almost reverent.

If his goal was to sound composed, he was failing miserably.

You hummed in response, deliberately slow, deliberate in every movement. He cursed under his breath, fingers threading through your hair, not pulling—yet—but holding, like he needed something to keep him grounded.

"If you keep going," his voice was strained now, his thighs tensing beneath your touch, "I—"

You raised an eyebrow. "What, baby?”

His jaw clenched. He was already too far gone to play games, but you weren’t about to make this easy for him.

And then, just as he warned, he shattered. Every muscle in his body locked up, his breath stuttering as he tipped his head back, a curse slipping past his lips like a prayer. You didn’t let up, dragging out every second of his cum until his grip on reality seemed just as unsteady as his grip on you.

His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his grip on your hair going slack. You pulled back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, before giving him a slow, knowing smile.

By the end of it, he was completely wrecked—chest heaving, eyes hazy, limbs boneless. His vision blurred at the edges, like his body couldn’t decide whether to collapse or beg for more. He knew you were good. Knew the chemistry between you was dangerous. But the way you looked at him—innocent, yet utterly sinful—while taking him so effortlessly? That was his undoing. You weren’t just ruining him.

And yet, you didn’t stop there.

Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, capturing his lips in a kiss so wet, so consuming, it made his head spin all over again. The taste of himself lingered between you, but you never shied away from things like that. Bangchan was great in every way, and if he could make you feel good, you’d damn well return the favor.

"Holy shit, baby," he murmured between kisses, his voice still rough with aftershocks, "you're fucking amazing."

The wicked curve of his lips sent heat straight to your core. He was teasing you, even now, when he could barely string words together.

And God, it only made you want him more.

Every movement between you was deliberate—synchronized, electric, and dripping with consent. Bangchan’s fingers trailed down your trembling thighs, finding the soaked fabric of your panties. He barely touched you, yet a deep shiver ran through him, his cock twitching at the sheer slickness of you.

"Fuck," he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice thick with hunger.

Then, without warning, he pushed the fabric aside and pressed two fingers against your clit, rubbing slow, relentless circles.

Your moan was swallowed into the kiss, tangled between tongues and shallow breaths. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, his body burning with every second of restraint. Bangchan grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, his free hand teasing and taunting with no predictable rhythm—just continuous, torturous pressure that sent you spiraling.

"I..." you tried to speak, but the words crumbled in your throat, lost in the haze.

Bangchan's dark eyes locked onto your face, studying every microexpression—the way your lips parted, the way your brows knit together, how every tiny twitch exposed just how undone you were.

Then, as if testing the limits of your sanity, he dragged his fingers lower, slipping two deep inside.

You gasped.

The stretch was sinful. Even his fingers were thick, filling you in a way that had you gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Bangchan groaned at the feeling, his patience thinning with every squeeze of your walls around him.

And the worst part? He was just getting started.

He sucked on your lip, bit it, then soothed it with a kiss. "How can you be so fucking tight?" his voice was wrecked, nearly a growl, as he felt your walls clench around his fingers, swallowing him with a desperation that made his cock twitch.

Bangchan didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace turned ruthless—deep, fast, relentless. Each thrust of his fingers sent another jolt of pleasure through you, leaving your brain nothing but static. Your body thawed under his touch, a mess of heat and sensation. He pushed your blouse up just enough to bare your breasts, immediately palming them, kneading them as if the sensation alone could ruin him.

"Don’t stop." the demand left your lips between ragged breaths. "Harder."

Bangchan groaned, watching you ride in his lap like a dream he didn’t deserve. "Jesus Christ." his voice was strained, his self-control hanging by a thread. "’Gonna cum all over me, hmm? Is that what you want?"

It was too much. The filthy words, the ruthless rhythm, his fingers buried deep inside you while his cock throbbed against your thigh, still wet from your mouth. Your body was on the edge of something catastrophic.

And then you shattered.

The orgasm slammed into you like a cursive wave, your moan breaking into something raw, something uncontrollable. Bangchan swore under his breath, completely mesmerized. He didn’t stop—kept his fingers buried inside, working you through every pulse, every aftershock.

When your breath finally started to steady, you opened your eyes. And he was watching you.

His gaze was alarming—dark, hungry, completely ruined. As if he had just witnessed the most beautiful thing in the world.

You were both breathless, skin damp with sweat, but it wasn’t just the intensity of what happened—it was everything that had led to it. The frustration, the tension, the unspoken words tangled between your bodies.

Bangchan reached for his black shirt, which had been abandoned on the arm of the couch. "Keep this."

You eyed him, still catching your breath. "Why?"

"To motivate you."

You snorted, rolling your eyes before giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're so full of yourself."

But you still slipped it on, letting the oversized fabric swallow you up, suddenly feeling less exposed—less vulnerable. His hands remained on your thighs, holding you in place on top of him, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

Then, casually, he picked up his phone and handed it to you. "Put your number in."

You held the device, raising an eyebrow. "Why? So you can save it as ‘bootycall’?"

His lips curled into a slow, shameless smirk. "Maybe."

"You're terrible." you rolled your eyes but still tapped your number into his phone, handing it back with a smirk. "And a complete pervert."

Bangchan ran his hands up your thighs, his fingers lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. "For you?" his voice was low, teasing, but there was something deeper in his gaze. "Completely."

The weight of the moment settled between you, thick and lingering. And that was your cue. You stood, reaching for your clothes, shaking off whatever it was that passed between you. Bangchan did the same, though not without watching you with that unreadable look on his face.

"You could stay if you want," he offered, ever so casually.

You scoffed. "It's late, and the girls will notice if I'm missing in the morning."

He nodded, as if he understood—because he did. No one could know. 

Once you were dressed, you headed for the door, pausing just long enough to glance over your shoulder.

"So," Bangchan leaned against the couch, arms crossed, his smirk returning. "How about it?"

You blinked. "What?"

"It'll never happen again?" his tone was pure mischief, mocking you.

Your lips curled, mirroring his amusement. "You have my number." you shrugged, stepping into the hallway. "Make good use of it."

And with that, you disappeared down the corridor, leaving Bangchan standing there, an unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling tightening in his chest.

One thing was becoming painfully clear—whatever this was between you, it wasn’t going away. And maybe, just maybe, you were better together than apart.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf

[httpknjoon]

quite an impression | myg

plot | that time where the afterparty left quite an impression on the not-so-friendly relationship between the popstar and her bassist.

w.c | 5.1k

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

After the show, everyone, including the band and the show's crew members, was told that you and your management prepared an afterparty for everyone in one of the known yet private hotspots around New York City.

Everyone agreed to come, including Yoongi due to the band's persuasion. Plus, he doesn't really have anything to do back in his hotel room. The holiday EP's done. The concert tour just finished its first leg, which means their one-month holiday break basically started the moment you closed the show a while ago.

"What happened to your Valentino suit?" Fred was the first to ask when Yoongi joined the rest of the band on their ride to the afterparty venue.

Yoongi shakes his head lazily, "Don't want to ruin it at the party."

Before getting back into his usual clothes, Yoongi had to convince Paul to let him change. But your stylist was eager to make him wear it to the party tonight. He told him that there would be paparazzi there to take pictures of them arriving.

"I don't really care what I'm wearing if I ever get photographed tonight," Yoongi replied to Paul. It's not like I'm the main star, he thought.

He was so sure that the paparazzi were not interested in taking photos of them, but the moment their ride stopped in front of the private bar, Yoongi could hear the little commotion outside. There were paparazzi waiting by the sidelines with their big cameras and as soon as a car stopped, they got up to prepare to whoever is in the vehicle.

"This is crazy." Akio gasped as they all looked outside their tinted windows.

"Okay, put on your sunglasses if y'all don't want to be blind before we even get to the party." Noah, who has been a part of your team for years now, told them.

Yoongi was thankful he followed what your lead guitarist advised because the moment they got out of the car. There are flashing lights everywhere. He can hear some people calling his name, which is something he still needs to get used to. He doesn't remember getting much attention when he was at other artists' shows. Hearing various voices call his name everywhere makes him feel weird— not in a good way. They didn't stop for photos, heading straight to the private club's entrance while being guided by one of your security staff.

"I love playing for big artists," Akio whispered when they entered the venue, already eyeing the cocktails not too far from where they stood. "They know how to party."

It was obvious, the moment they got in, that the afterparty was well-prepared and expensive. Although the lights were dimmed and colorful fairy lights mainly provided lights for the place, there were customized holiday decors everywhere to celebrate your EP, which plays in the background. There are ice sculptures of your brand's logo and even a few mistletoes on entryways with your signature kiss mark placed on them.

"Yeah, YN's label is never scared to splurge money on her," Noah said, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the place.

Who will be scared anyway? You are one of the biggest pop stars in the world currently. Your songs earn hundreds of thousands of streams every day and almost everything you do gets praised by your fans and critics. Everyone, even you yourself, knows you are the top cash cow of your company at the moment, considering your recent tour and EP release. You are an investment worth investing in.

Yoongi stayed quiet while his eyes scanned the whole place. He never really cared about parties, but he could not deny that your label made an effort to make tonight's celebration impressive.

Everyone was invited, from your concert staff down to the late-night show crew members. While the band was walking through the crowd, Yoongi took a glimpse of Art, chatting with the producers of the late-night show you just hosted. Your dancers also came, already enjoying the dancefloor with other guests. There are more faces Yoongi had recognized, but there are some he still hasn't seen yet. Paul... Cal... You.

"Yoongi, over here!"

Suddenly, somebody called his name, snapping him out of his trance. Yoongi turned and immediately spotted another familiar face waving his hand across the room. It was a friendly gesture from Ben, one of the tour's sound engineers, Yoongi raised his hand, offering a small wave before walking deeper in Ben's direction. Along the way, one of the waiters offered him a drink and Yoongi got one, quickly taking a sip to hopefully give some energy to him to socialize. Nods and smiles were exchanged once Yoongi joined the small group, which included a few of your staff and a couple of writers from the late-night show. Ben was in the middle of telling the others of something.

"Yeah, the tour just ended its first leg this week. I think we'll be back touring internationally in the last week of January though. Right, Yoongi?"

Feeling a lot of eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, Yoongi's eyes widened slightly before he looked away, "Yeah, I think so."

Ben went on to talk about the work he does in your shows. Yoongi, as usual, just listened and observed the lively crowd.

"I saw you on the show earlier, you are a great guest." someone in the group spoke, making Yoongi look back to them.

A woman in a ribbed-knit, V-neck, white sweater smiled at him, offering her hand, "I'm Bea, one of the writers of The Late, Late Show."

"Yoongi, YN's bassist." he shakes her hand.

"And favorite band member?" Bea teased, referencing the question in the show earlier. They both laughed.

Yoongi smiled, shaking his head before sipping from his glass, "Not sure about that."

"Oh, trust me. Based on our team's research, you seem to be YN's favorite." the curly-haired brunette smirked.

"What research?" he asked, now curious about what she said.

"Well, you know, our team does research on our guests before writing for them. Then, we noticed how many times you two interacted on stage during shows, even your outfits aligned during her Halloween shows," she answered casually. "She always seemed to gravitate towards you."

Her tone seemed to be implying something, making Yoongi shake his head again.

"She just likes to play around on stage." he denied whatever Bea must be thinking.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." she sneered, hiding an obvious smile while drinking from her cocktail.

Yoongi looked at her, trying to decode her thoughts, and when she felt her stare on him, she simply smiled, "I mean, I kinda get her."

As the music gets louder and the crowd gets bigger, Yoongi finds himself chatting with Bea ever since they met half an hour ago. They occupied one of the booths in the club alone while they talked about their jobs in the entertainment industry, something they are similar to.

Bea is funny, witty, and smart, Yoongi thought. He likes that she doesn't force him to speak in their conversation. He didn't really mind her telling him about her experiences as someone who moved here to New York eight months ago. It's better than being forced to jive on the dancefloor, something he's not really fond of.

"Yeah, I was actually scared to come here tonight." Bea shared, chuckling.

"And why is that?" Yoongi asked, slightly leaning closer to hear her over the loud music.

"I heard that staff members from other shows have to pay for their own drinks at after-parties like these, and I just can't do that right now. I have rent to pay!" she exclaimed, making both her and Yoongi laugh. She then rested her chin on her palm on the table, "How about you? Do you enjoy these parties?"

"Not really..." he was quick to answer, not bothering to conceal his dislike for social events. "Everything's too much at parties. The drinks, the people— even the music, it's too loud."

That's another thing he and his ex used to be contrasted about. Sara will always be at parties back in LA because of her job. It's a place for widening her networking in her perspective. Sometimes it is necessary for her to attend, sometimes she just wants to. Yoongi, on the other hand, is not a fan of networking. As long as someone is interested in collaborating with him, he's gonna be fine. But he cannot deny that Sara helped him get more people to work with him whenever she pulled him along with her at parties. She literally introduced him to Art years ago.

Bea chuckled, "Isn't it ironic that you're literally a bass guitarist and you hate loud music?"

"There's a difference between music and what's basically a noise." he joked.

Just when Yoongi took another sip of his drink, there was a sudden change of energy in the room. The music lowered slightly, and the whispers and turning of heads at the main entrance got more noticeable.

"Looks like the woman of the hour has arrived." Bea mused next to him.

Everyone can hear the main door opening, along with the sound of cameras clicking and people calling your name. Then, it was followed by familiar voices laughing and chattering. Yoongi didn't bother to turn around to the doorway until Bea murmured.

"Oh, they arrived together."

He finally glanced at the doorway, catching sight of you at the center. You were glowing with your gold closed-fitting, thin-strapped mini-dress. He wondered if you got cold outside while wearing that glamorous dress, but then he saw Cal next to you, holding a fur that he assumed was yours.

Then, he also noticed who was standing on your left. Harry was holding your waist as you greeted the first people who approached you. You two were a pleasant eyesight, a perfect eyesight for everyone. It was obvious how you two were comfortable with each other. Harry leaned closer to you to whisper something, and you would easily laugh like he was the funniest person in the world. Yoongi looked away, back at minding his business.

"They used to date, didn't they?" Bea whispered next to him.

Yoongi shrugged, "I don't really know."

"You should. You were Harry's bassist during his first album, right? I heard he wrote songs about her in there." she went on.

He raised an eyebrow, "You really did your research, huh?"

"Told ya." she clicked her tongue before looking back to you and Harry. "They still look cute together, don't they?"

"Yeah," Yoongi mindlessly replied even though he was not looking anymore.

He took another scan of the whole room. He stops when he sees you looking at him while everyone in the circle you're in is having conversations. Your eyes traveled from him to the woman next to him. Your eyebrows raised and you looked back at him again. Just when lines form between his brows, Yoongi sees you joining your group's conversation once again. It was a brief and quiet interaction— confusing for Yoongi— that seemed to be only known by you two.

"That was... interesting." Bea, the best observer, smirked into her drink.

The night went on with you and Yoongi being on separate sides of the room. Yoongi introduced Bea to the band, joining them in their booth. He ignored Fred's teasing stare ever since his new writer-friend sat with them. Noah also has his boyfriend with him, adding more fun to their conversations. At some point, Yoongi excused himself from the booth, getting up next to Bea.

"Oh, where are you going?" she asked with her hand on his arm.

"I'll get another drink, want some?" He answered, nodding at her empty glass.

She smiled, "Yeah, sure."

"Don't try to escape the party!" Noah teased him as Yoongi walked away, rolling his eyes at his friend.

He was about to walk to the bar, but decided to stop midway, heading to the restroom first. After doing his business and enjoying the quick solitude, Yoongi rinsed his hand and walked out to the dimly lit entryway. He was not paying much attention to his surroundings, just aiming to get to the brighter entryway to the party, causing him to bump into someone.

"Oh."

It was a light collision, but you were wearing your strappy God-knows-how-high heels, causing you to lose balance a little. He was quick to catch you and help you steady yourself.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," he mumbled.

"Clearly," you looked up with a snarky reply and the same smile you always give him. "Enjoying the night?"

Was it a little unexpected question from you? Yes. But maybe you've been asking everyone that since you are the host of the party. Yoongi wouldn't want to overthink it.

"Yeah, it was fun." he replied like he didn't spend his time talking to people he only knows except for Bea.

You hummed, "Bea seems nice though."

He paused, staring at you for a second, "You know her?"

Shrugging, you replied, "Met her during preparations for the show earlier. She seemed pretty smart and witty."

Were you watching them? Yoongi starts to wonder since he sees you vibing with Harry and your other guests whenever he catches glances at you in the crowd. He cannot tell by your tone if you are just being friendly, casual, or just teasing. But the way you were looking at him got his throat running dry, making him gulp hard.

Before he could figure out what to say next, a voice piped up from one of the small circles near the entryway.

"Oh my gosh, look up!"

Your eyes widened. Yoongi frowned. Right above you, it's one of the few mistletoes in the place. The small circle cheered, getting more attention to their direction.

One of your dancers urged, "You have to kiss now!"

"Ugh, seriously? Do we really have to do this?" you tried to play it off, acting dramatically.

But Yoongi can feel the tension growing in the small space between you, making everything more awkward. All while your concert staff enjoy how you are both caught off guard, knowing your childish and petty relationship behind the scenes.

"It's a tradition!" someone sing-songed.

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, "But it's just a plant."

"It is!" you laughing awkwardly.

It felt like high school— or even middle school. Like they were stuck in a game of truth or dare. The cheers for them got louder and clearer. Yoongi only looks at you, trying to read your thoughts. But you were exchanging jokes with the small audience.

“Wow, you guys are really committed to this tradition, huh?” you let out a breathy laugh.

In all honesty, Yoongi would not mind kissing you. Will it be awkward? Yeah, probably. But you both know that the easiest way to end this scenario is to just get over it. A quick kiss, then move on! It's not like everyone will make a big deal out of it.

But why? Why is it so hard?

You took in a slow inhale as you looked at your bassist standing in front of you. How can he still have the same blank expression on his face while you were shitting bricks, trying not to make the atmosphere awkward? You swallowed. Hard. You wondered where's the liquid courage when you need it. Kissing is never a problem with you. Hell, you were the one who suggested putting mistletoes everywhere tonight, unprepared that you are your own victim.

Yoongi's lips parted when you took a step closer to him. So close that he can smell the same sweet vanilla scent he sensed when you gave him a quick hug earlier after the show. He cannot help but study your features as you stand this close to him.

"Let's just do it?" your glossy lips whispered.

"Okay." He replied, almost breathless.

When he unexpectedly yet gently held your waist, you unconsciously held your breath like his soft touch burns your skin. You can still feel the tightness in your chest when his lips brushed against yours, like a feather. It would have been meaningless if one pulled away as soon as your lips touched. But for a half second, no one moved. You felt like leaning it when you felt his slight squeeze on your waist. But before anything could happen, it was over.

Brief and light.

Everyone cheered as you went along in this stupid holiday tradition. Yet the noise was all drawn out in the background as you and Yoongi slowly pulled away from each other.

In that quick second, you swore you felt his warm breath as he pulled away. You blinked, but still, stared back at him. Your heart was beating too fast, you didn't like it.

Yoongi didn't like that when he pulled away, he could not think of anything to say. It was like his brain into a factory reset, resetting everything he knew. He remembered you singing this close to him during one of your shows, thinking you looked like an angel. He still thinks the same thing.

After getting your souls back on the ground, Yoongi let go of your waist and you took a step back. Everyone is still having their reaction. Someone even whistled, making you turn back to the crowd. You forced a laugh.

"Satisfied?" you played it off with the crowd.

Yoongi's jaw clenched as he turned around leaving the entryway, ignoring the warmth that was still lingering on his lips. The image of your face close to his cannot get out of his head. He walked straight to the bar to get another drink.

You, on the other hand, ran back to the restroom. Looking back on yourself in the mirror, your fingers slowly touched your lips as you felt like they had been tingling ever since Yoongi pulled away. Realization sets in as your bite your lower lip.

Fuck, you wanted more.

For the rest of the night, you and Yoongi got some unspoken agreement to not stand within a six-foot distance between them. Yoongi found more comfort, sitting next to Bea, who raised a brow, when he came back to their booth after the kiss. He simply shook his head with that. She took it that he didn't want to talk about it.

"So are you guys playing tonight?" she asked him.

"I don't know, really," Yoongi replied, resting his arm behind her seat.

"I mean, it would be really cool to see you play at this party." she drew circles on the rim of her cocktail's glass before playfully tilting her head to him. "You know, just throwing the idea out there... Only if there are instruments laying around at this par— Oh, wait. There it is!"

Yoongi laughed at her feigned yet coy innocence as she tried to convince them to play. He scanned the room, looking for the instruments Bea was referring to. Instead, he catches you looking at him before quickly turning your back. Something in his stomach flipped before he finally found what he was looking for.

"You alright, angel?"

As soon as you turned your back to your bassist, Harry, who had his hand on the small of your back, asked. You looked up, putting on a smile before nodding. Ever since he said about your nose flaring when you lie, you try to be careful about not saying the truth around him. He smiled, pinching your nose.

"Looks like that kiss did something to you." he leaned into your ear as he teased you.

You moved away, glaring at him, "It's just a mistletoe kiss. Nothing too special about it, H."

"Okay, okay, if you insist." he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, "I feel like you're trying to push an agenda here and I am just gonna ignore that."

Feeling your face warming up, you walked away to distract yourself with something else. It's nothing! You repeated in your head as if to remind yourself. Yoongi seemed to thought the same thing since you saw him getting comfortable with the same girl he's been talking to ever since you arrived.

There is a tightness in your chest. You had to stop one of the waiters who was going around with shots of espresso martini. You took one and immediately let it slid down your throat before returning the glass to the same guy.

Out of the blue, you hear a familiar beat of the drum playing along your song that was playing in the background. The small crowd in the dancefloor started cheering. Turning around, you see your live band on the small stage back in their element. The lights were dim, but you can see your bassist pushing his hair back, which somehow made your throat dry.

"I think we need a vocalist." Noah spoke on the mic.

Your eyes widened, you know he sees you with your shimmering gold dress. And the spotlight that landed on you didn't help for you to hide in the corner of the room. Shaking your hands to your sides, you exhaled before walking up to the stage. The last thing you want now is to stand next to your bassist, especially when you're confused and having a meltdown in your head. But your forever motto plays in your head, fake it 'til you make it.

The band continue playing along with the song that was already playing in the background. You took a sip from a bottle of water Cal handed you before catching up on the song. Shaking it off, you put on your usual popstar persona. The one who's confident, spontaneous, and maybe a little annoying to your bassist.

An idea pops in your head, making you signal to the band to repeat the song from the start. They followed, same with the DJ who turned down the music. Noah began counting and Yoongi almost crashed out in his head when he felt you standing close to him.

Unexpectedly, you lifted his chin, making him look at you. You silently hoped he is under the same spell as you are, not knowing that your touch burns his skin. Looking straight to his eyes, you sung,

"Oh, I leave quite an impression..."

The moment you saw a hint of something familiar in his gaze, you tried to bit off a victory smirk, letting go of him and turning to the crowd. A spur of energy grew quickly in you, knowing that you're not the only one struggling here.

The crowd sings along throughout the whole song. Yoongi was quite relieved that you didn't try to pull something on him again. He knew you got him earlier in the song, hence why you are suddenly more confident now, dancing on stage. Your hips swayed along with the beats and he finds himself almost getting out of tune, distracted. He played it off, adding a cool riff in your song, which made you turn to him.

"Show off." you scoffed in the mic, making the crowd laugh.

"Every time you close your eyes, And feel his lips, you're feelin' mine..."

That gave you another reason to annoy him. Yoongi felt you resting on his sides like he was a wall. You slowly slid down as you sang the bridge before getting up to let the crown scream the line,

"Yeah, I know I've been known to share!"

Yoongi tried to stay as far as possible from you after that performance. Harry sang too after you called him on stage, which didn't really distract Yoongi as they played the song your ex wrote about you. Only Angel. What a fitting title? He thought.

After that, they played a couple more songs before getting back to their booth. He was so ready to get back to the hotel, but he didn't to leave Bea alone, who he enjoyed talking with tonight. She just finished her fourth glass of the night when she noticed the time on her watch.

"Oh, it's almost midnight." She murmured as the corners of her lips dropped.

"And? Are you Cinderella?" Yoongi quipped.

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, "Well, yeah. Fairy Godmother will take away this thick ribbed-knit sweater once I don't show up in Central Park on time."

They laughed. She continued, "I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning. Need to be home before Christmas."

Bea began saying goodbye to everyone. Yoongi said he'll go back to the hotel too, and got a knowing look from his bandmates. He rolled his eyes, lifting his middle finger at them, which made them laugh. The party is dying down anyway. Yoongi saw you saying goodbye to Harry before he left after he performed on stage. Then, he didn't catch sight of you again.

"How about you? Going back to LA for the holidays?" Bea asked as they walked out of the private lounge.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, "I don't know. I have no plans yet."

They stopped on the pavement. The paparazzi are long gone, it's just them and the distant noise of the city.

"Maybe you can come to Seattle with me? Want to meet my parents?" she joked. "But seriously, I enjoyed talking with you, Yoongi."

He smiled, feeling a warmth on his chest, "Me too, Bea."

As if on cue, a yellow cab stopped in front of them. Bea looked at him before getting on her tiptoes to give his cheek a soft peck.

"Contact me. Let's see each other again once we're in the same place again. Okay?" she smiled, hopeful.

He nods at her with a small smile before she gets in the cab, waving at her before the car drives away. For a few seconds, Yoongi stood there alone. He looked down, remembering the last time he went on a date. As an image of Sara came up in his mind, he shook it off while walking away.

Yoongi did not mind walking from the party to the hotel. It was a twenty-minute stroll. He needed it with so many thoughts in his head to organize. His dating game, the mistletoe, Bea, your gold mini-dress that exposed your back, his plans for Christmas, your face when you pulled away, his house back in LA... the kiss.

What the fuck.

He paused just right before the hotel everyone in your staff is staying at. You kept on reeling back in his head, he did not even notice it. Suddenly, he's recalling your scent and the softness of your lips on his. It lingers. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Then, he remembered your own fingers running through his jet-black hair when he was asked to show up during your Bed Chem performance. Your gaze under the red lights. His Adam's apple bobbed as he thought about it.

As he walked into the hotel elevator, Yoongi thought of hopping into a quick shower before sleeping tonight. Maybe it will clear up some of his thoughts. Just when the door began closing, he heard a scream from a distance.

"Please hold it!"

Yoongi, although distracted, followed. He held out his hand between the doors, slowly opening it up again. That's when you showed up, chest heaving, still wearing the same dress Yoongi was thinking about. He squeezed his eyes closed as he turned his head down. The amount of curses he let out in his head.

"Thank you." you tried to say it softly, but you were breathless from running. You push the button to your floor and you notice that he still hasn't clicked his. "What floor?"

"Hmm?"

You turn around and catch him staring at you in a way you've never seen before. You felt your stomach twist. Your eyes moved down to his lips. He was biting too hard, turning the skin red. You watched as he inhaled, lifting his shoulders like he was trying to stay still.

"Same as yours. Twenty-nine," he mumbled.

His voice was too deep, your voice ran dry. You nodded, standing back next to him. Silence hummed for the first few seconds as the door closed. You didn't know that this tension joined you two in this elevator, making the atmosphere heavy and honestly, a little warm. You felt it again. Your lips. They're tingling again.

You can feel that he feels the same way. Your heart starts to beat too fast when you look at him again, still biting down his lip. Hard. Maybe talking would help.

"So, what happened—"

You were not even done with your question about Bea when Yoongi moved forward, crashing his lips on yours. It felt urgent. And hot. Like he was thinking about it for a while now. It was like you broke him.

Your gasp barely made it out of your lips when he swallowed it. He got his one hand on your cheek, while the other was squeezing your waist. His fingers held you down as you squirmed too much.

You don't really have much thought except him. His scent. His lips. His hair. Oh my god, his hair. You ran your fingers on it, tugging on it as you felt the temperature rising in your body. He groaned before pressing you on the elevator wall. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, while your hands explored each others' bodies. Desperation and hunger reeks from the way you two taste each other's tongues.

Wanting to hear him again, you bit on his lower lip. He groaned lowly, feeling the vibration in your chest. You smiled into the kiss. Suddenly, you felt both of his hands on your waist. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the kiss getting gentler.

Your chests were heaving as he pulled away, resting his forehead above yours. You unconsciously licked your lips after seeing how his got redder and glossier due to your own. You noticed his Adam's apple moved up and down, making you meet his eyes.

Ding!

Your heads snapped to the side when the elevator door opened. Yoongi's hands clenched when you slowly stepped back, exiting the elevator wordlessly. He followed behind you while still tasting the strawberry taste of your lipgloss.

Your rooms were right before each other's. Turning your back, you didn't say anything as you opened the door. He didn't either and faced his door, but didn't reached for the key card. The moment he heard your door closed, he turned around.

Fuck it.

Determined, he knocked on your wooden door. And almost in an instant, it opened with you pulling him inside.

note | thank u for @momma1 for commenting this song months ago! 🩷 please consider as the conclusion for the first leg of this tour. the next drabbles will be set after their "tour break". lmk what u think of this one?

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[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[zepskies]

A SIMPLE TOUCH

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

AN: Surprise drabble! Dipping back into the BMD-verse for a sec. Chronologically, it's set sometime after In the Dark.

Prompt from @lifeonawhim: The reader is physically affectionate. (BMD) Ben sees this, tries to give her that comfort, and it just surprises everyone—how Ben is a source of comfort for her, even though he’s quite literally the strongest man.

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/01/25

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

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Annie was loyal to a fault. For that reason, she was still skeptical about Soldier Boy—about Ben, even after Vought Tower collapsed.

You might’ve been living with him now, but that didn’t mean he was safe, or even a good enough man for you.

She watched you closely in concern while the team filed onto the small private plane. It was set to take you all from northern Pennsylvania back down to New York. You weren’t injured, but in a way, you were still walking wounded.

The rogue supe that the Supe Affairs team was called in to catch had destroyed an office building. You, M.M., and Frenchie had saved a handful of people while Ben and the rest of the team handled the supe. But a young woman slipped right through your fingers off a balcony, falling to the pavement from three stories high.

You still remembered the look of shock cross her face. It was frozen there, even after her body lay prone on the cement. Her blue eyes, perfect mirrors of didn’t see that coming.

That was the picture you couldn’t get out of your head.

Now, you were moving slow, your face tired and drawn. Annie was about to ask if you were okay, even though she knew the answer full well.

Ben reached out his hand to you first. He was ahead of you in the aisle, having put his carry-on bag and yours in the overhead bin. You looked at his hand, and then up at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, his voice deep and steady. It steadied you, along with his hand around yours. He guided you not into the seat next to him, but onto his lap. By now he’d changed out of his suit, leaving him in jeans and a dark gray sweater you picked out for him, rolled up to his elbows.

Annie sat with Hughie across the aisle, but she had you and Ben in the corner of her eye. She marveled at the way he was holding you, seeming to know you needed the contact. With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lay against his chest while his warm hand ran up and down your back. A simple touch was all you needed to relax in his arms.

“Don’t mind me. Just gonna sleep for about ten years,” you murmured against his chest. You laid a hand over his heart, silently thanking him as your fingers drifted back and forth.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards. “Just try not to drool on me. New shirt, you know.”

Despite yourself, that managed to make you smile, huffing a laugh. You shoved his shoulder in retaliation. “I don’t drool.”

He knew for a fact that you did, but he just smirked. He sunk his fingers into your hair and inhaled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo.

“Get some shut-eye,” he rumbled. “We’ll be home soon.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to rest. So you did. Your eyes closed on you after you let go of a deep, even breath.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a nothing moment. This was a man who had crumbled two skyscrapers and scarred Hughie for life. (He’d never be able to listen to Air Supply again, pretty much for as long as he lived.)

And yet, maybe it meant Annie could stop worrying so much about your judgment where Ben was concerned.

Only much later, she would realize that this was the moment she actually started to trust him.

AN: I want to get back into BMD world for a longer visit, hopefully soon. 💚💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next in line, we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

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[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[beatlblog]

#George can fix his own dinner sorry it’s for couples only (via @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

#steak and spuds#but none for George huh?#I would love to have heard John's 'indignant' voice#real indignant or mock indignant? (via @crepesuzette2023)

#a regular LITTLE HOUSEWIFE!!!#also his and johns dinner#LMAO literally only cooking for John like#George is right fucking there#but I’ve always loved to think of them in Paul’s house and Paul’s out here with his little apron making John his tea#so honestly this only confirms that image#I’m dying it’s so funny#Johns like don’t point it out to him then he’s gonna stop being my little wifey#I wish he’d answer tho#WAS IT COMMON JOHN 🎤 (via @sleeper9)

#has probably cooked for john since they were teenagers and now people are calling them weird for it#anyway I love the domesticity of it#everyone needs a work wife (via @javelinbk)

#cooking a steak for his husband after a long day of being rock stars#a single mom who works two jobs etc (via @backbenttulips)

#let him cook (literally) (via @elena-ferrante)

#paul being a little campy fork found in kitchen (via @hamyilton)

#ay el amor#perhaps affectionately (via @alwaysreturntome)

#they're in a penthouse where obviously the thing to do would be room service#especially in 1964 where that sort of thing was still new and exciting#Also the fact that George is sitting right there and Paul's not making him dinner I'm dead#Where was Ringo I wonder#But really it makes me think of how Paul talks about being good at scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes and not much else#He likes to be Linda's sue chef and chop things up and hang out with her while she's cooking but she's the one who loves it#And yet here he is cooking for John in a penthouse#Why is it so important for him to maintain gender roles in at least the media perception of his marriage?#Because of comments like this?#Or maybe Linda really was just so many worlds better at cooking and loved it so much like they always assert (via @m1ssunderstanding)

not especially new in 64 but maybe for them newly famous with money

#does george just not eat (via @supersonic1994)

no he alwys does and that's why it's funny

#they let george STARVE 💔 (via @gardenwalrus)

#also John “I love to play it faggy” lennon finding THAT funny is honestly hilarious lol (via @cocaineskinny909)

#its ok if he does john don’t be embarrassed (via @beatlesmenrock)

#I’m going to imagine that Paul turned round and gave George $5#and said ‘go ask the hotel kitchen to make you a sandwich’#‘and don’t come back for a while’#‘mommy’s going to give daddy a special adult kiss on his trousers’ (via @didwemeetsomewherebefore)

#''it sounds funny'' yes it does john. yes it does (via @moptopper)

#also obligatory#what's libel about calling paul camp? (via @saturn-iidae)

#secure men could chuckle at their boy best friend bring called their little housewife (via @paulscunt)

#and yet the regular little housewife apparently forgot to cook something for their kids aka george and ringo lmao (via @innitmarvellous)

#pauls a mummy#johns mummy (via @beatlesyurii)

#this book is out next week and I’m really interested to know what the source for this is considering Malcolm Searle died in 2008#by which I mean…I wonder if audio exists (via @delightfullyatomicfest)

#*heavy italian accent* what? no steak for george? (via @maccaritamondays)

#1) paul only cooking for john and leaving george and ringo to starve in a cardboard box on the side of the road#2) where did he get a little apron when they were on tour#3) he really just wanted to be someone's wife so fucking bad (via @ozymandiasdirge)

#how much do you wanna bet this was a money saving thing#like george is there eating some nice takeout and paul's stirring potatoes saying ''you're wasting all your money. right john???'' (via @moptopper)

When We Was Fab: Inside the Beatles Australasian Tour 1964 by Andy Neill and Greg Armstrong

I’ve stolen this off a Facebook group but feel it needs to be seen on tumblr.

[darnell-la]

May we have some Logan, maybe Old Man Logan x fem!reader with: breeding kink, non-con or dub-con, forced orgasms, and cumflation? Logan fucks her so hard, for so so long that she starts looking pregnant from how much cum he's pumped into her but he never pulls out so it stays in her?

note: ngl, this Logan has a slight baby-trapping kink when it comes to finding a mutant so young and pretty that wanted him in the first half.

DO NOT READ THIS IF CNC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Logan had been fucking into a girl he picked up from the bar, for hours. When they talked, she could’ve sworn he was a gentleman and would give her the best sex she’d imagined. Only one of those was true.

Logan had been pounding this weak woman for hours. He’s been at it for so long, that when one hole went sore, he switched to the next. He’s been all around the world four times, never giving her a break.

Every now and then, y/n would moan, and make noise, letting Logan know she was still functioning. That never stopped him, though. It only made him want to go further.

“P-Please,” y/n let out for the thousandth time after Logan spilled in her. “Please what? You want more?” Logan asked, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak a full sentence.

“C-Can’t,” y/n’s weak voice forced anything she could out. “But, you can — I know you can, Bub — I can’t just stop when you’ve given me so much- just feel yourself, princess,” Logan said as his hand brushed against y/n’s heat as his cock kept pushing in and out of her upper hole.

“L-Logan,” y/n whined, only making Logan groan low at his name rolling off of y/n’s tongue. “You know I can’t let you go after this, right, Bub? You’re gonna come on the road with me,”

Because y/n couldn’t speak anymore, she whined, not knowing what to do or think about Logan wanting to take her with him.

She doesn’t have a family, and she’s also a mutant. It wasn’t hard for Logan to figure that out. Maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with her. He’d never run across a mutant this young who’d want to even look at him.

“I’ve got room at my place, baby, don’t worry — We’ll even continue there,” Logan said as he felt his cock twitch once again. Before he released, he flipped y/n over and slammed into her cunt, making sure every inch of him felt the inside of her.

“Fuck,” y/n cried low, feeling Logan fill her up again, and each time, it seems like it was more. “Fuck, Bub — Just look at you,” Logan said as he placed his hands on Y/n’s stomach, softly rubbing across to see her shift.

“I bet you could hold so much more, baby. Can’t you?” Logan asked, instantly making y/n shake her head. She swore if he kept going, her body would shut down. Sadly, her orgasm spoke for her as she gushed around Logan’s cock.

“That’s it — I knew you love me just as much as I love you,”

[scoupsakakitty]

Please Don’t Leave Me pt.2 | idol!Mingyu x Reader | fluff

The phone buzzed against the car's dashboard, but the call went straight to voicemail—just like all the others before it. Mingyu let out a sharp exhale, gripping the steering wheel tightly before pressing the phone to his ear as the familiar automated message ended.

"Y/N, you're leaving me no choice," his voice was hoarse, exhausted. "I'm on my way to your dorm. I can’t keep waiting for you to answer. We need to talk. You can be mad at me, you can yell at me, but you can’t ignore me. Not anymore."

With that, he hung up and started the engine, his heart pounding against his ribs as he sped off towards the university. The rain drizzled lightly, the city lights blurring against his windshield, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by her. By them. By everything he was about to lose if he didn’t do something.

When he arrived, he parked haphazardly, not caring if he was in a student-only parking zone. He stepped out, pulling his hood up to shield himself, but it was useless. The moment he walked through campus, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. Whispered voices, subtle gasps—some had recognized him. But he didn't care. He had one goal.

Stopping in front of her dorm room, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again, harder this time. "Y/N, open the damn door." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I'm not leaving until you do."

A few seconds passed, and then—

The door swung open so fast he barely had time to react before Y/N’s hand gripped his wrist and yanked him inside. She slammed the door shut behind him, her eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. "Are you insane? Showing up here like this? Now people will definitely know you’re here! And then you knock like that? Desperate much?" Her voice was laced with panic.

Mingyu took a deep breath, stepping closer. "You left me no other choice. If you had just picked up the phone, if you had answered even one of my thousand messages, I wouldn't have had to come here."

She crossed her arms, her expression hard. "I don’t have to answer just because you call."

His jaw clenched. "Then I have to show up."

Silence settled between them, heavy and unyielding. Finally, she sighed, rubbing her temple. "What do you want, Mingyu?"

His brows furrowed, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "What do you mean, what do I want? Isn't it obvious? I want you. I want us. I can’t do this without you."

She scoffed, turning away. "Mingyu, wanting something doesn’t always mean you get to have it."

He ran a hand through his damp hair, frustration evident. "I talked to my management. I told them I want to go public with our relationship. I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about the fans who won’t support it. If they love me, they need to accept that I love you. That I can’t live without you."

Her breath hitched, but she remained silent.

"You’re not happy without me, Y/N. Just like I’m not happy without you. I know it. You know it. So why are we doing this?" His voice cracked, raw and pleading.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sweatshirt. "Mingyu... the stress, the sasaengs, the threats—it’s too much. Even if we go public, that won’t change overnight. And you’re always traveling. I barely got to see you before, how will it be any different?"

"I’ll take you with me." His answer was immediate. "We’ll talk to your university. My management has connections—we can figure out a way for you to do your studies online. That way, you can be with me. I can protect you."

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I can’t afford online tuition, Mingyu. I can barely afford my fees as it is."

His heart ached at the helplessness in her voice. Slowly, gently, he reached for her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "That’s what you’re worried about? Y/N, come on. How many times have I offered to pay for your tuition? Let me take care of you. Let me give you the life you deserve."

"I don’t want to be a burden to you," she whispered.

"You're not a burden. You're my life." His voice was thick with emotion. "Stop finding reasons for this not to work. I can and will fix everything, but I need you to fight with me. For us."

For a long moment, she just stared at him. At the exhaustion in his face, the desperation in his voice. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Like he was drowning.

Finally, she exhaled shakily, placing her hand over his chest, feeling the steady, desperate thump of his heart. "Okay... you’re right." Her voice broke. "I’m sorry, Mingyu. I’m so sorry for making us suffer like this. Please forgive me."

A choked sob of relief escaped him as he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. "You won’t regret this, I promise."

She let out a watery laugh as he peppered kisses all over her face—her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. "Mingyu, stop! You're acting like a puppy."

He grinned, setting her down but not letting go. "Now that I finally have you back, I’m never letting go again."

His eyes flickered around her room, taking it in for the first time in person. "So this is your room, huh? I’ve only seen it on FaceTime. Cozy. I like it."

She rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. "It’s small, but it’s mine."

"Not for long," he mused. "Once you start online classes, you’ll be moving out. Either to my dorm or, better yet, our own place. And when I’m on tour, you’ll stay with me. We’ll share hotel rooms, wake up together, fall asleep together. Doesn’t that sound perfect?"

Her heart swelled at the thought. "I always wanted to go on tour with you, to be honest."

Mingyu’s lips curled into a soft smile. "Then it’s settled. From now on, we’re always together. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more distance."

He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. "I love you, Y/N. More than anything. And I’ll spend every single day proving that to you."

Her heart melted as she whispered, "I love you too."

And as he kissed her, sealing their promise, she knew—this time, they were going to make it.

[scented-morker]

Remember?

Shoutout to kiki for requesting from my Romance Untold event!! I love you mootie, I hope you like this!! exes to ?, Jake x fem!reader, 990 words, fluff.

Your friendgroup decideds to celebrate Valentine’s Day together. The only problem? You’re friends with your ex. And he doesn’t know how to act like he’s not in love with you.

Being friends with your ex was no big deal, really.

A small part of you liked to think it was the pinky promise you'd forced Jake to agree to the minute he asked you out romantically. "No matter what happens, we stay friends."

However, another, more honest part of you knew that even after a break up, Jake was just not the kind of person you could stay away from.

Which is how you ended up in this situation in the first place, a tray of heart shaped cookies in one hand, and a gift bag dangling from your fingers.

Spending Valentines Day with your friends was a much better option than spending it on the couch with a tub of ice cream mourning your newfound singleness. Now you just have to make it through a couple hours without accidentally falling back in love with Jake, no biggie.

"Yn!!" Sunoo cheers as soon as you enter the apartment, taking the tray out of your hands so you can shrug off your coat.

“About time you got here,” Sakura calls from the dining room.

A familiar voice comes next, and you hate the way your heart still reacts to it.

“You’d think after all these years you’d know yn is gonna show up fifteen minutes after what you tell her.”

You cross the threshold after kicking your shoes off, and snatch a throw pillow off Jays couch to toss at Jake.

“Easy girl,” he laughs, snatching it out of the air before it hits square in his face.

You roll your eyes and head through the living room towards the dining room where Sunoo has now set your cookies on the table with the rest of the treats your friends brought.

You greet Chaewon with a hug while she tells you about her work shift that morning.

Jay calls out for help setting the table, and the next thing you know the six of you are sat around the dining table, dishes littering the space in front of you.

A pan with steaks is being passed around, and you stare at them when it gets to you. It makes sense that Jay chose the fancy meat for the occasion, and you felt bad about how picky you were, knowing you probably wouldn’t eat most of it after cutting.

“That one’s for you,” Jake supplies helpfully from his seat next to you, picking up the tongs to grab one of the peices from the side and putting it on your plate.

He makes no further comment as he continues passing the tray.

However, once the conversation has started back up, he slides your plate closer to his own and reaches out with his knife.

“I told Jay you liked yours well done. I know you get freaked because you’re convinced it’s bleeding when you cut into it otherwise.” He says it with an airy laugh, not a care in the world as he cuts your steak into bite sized pieces.

When he’s done, he holds a piece up to your face, letting you get a look at it, cooked exactly the way you like.

You have to restrain yourself from kissing him right then and there, the fondness in his eyes and actions sending your heart into a frenzy.

“Thank you, Jake.”

He grins at you for a moment too long, his eyes boring into yours until Jay calls his name.

When you finally drag your own away from his figure, you’re met with a teasing look on Chaewon’s face.

You give her an impolite hand gesture before happily eating the rest of your meal, ignoring the way Jake’s knee bumps into yours under the table.

Soon enough, you’re spread out on the floor of the living room with a gift bag from a randomly assigned friend in front of each of you.

Everyone starts going through their bags, yelling and showing the person next to them in excitement.

From your spot on the floor, you don’t notice Jake on the couch behind you setting his bag next to him and opting to watch as you pull on pink tissue paper.

Inside is the newly released book you needed to finish your series, your favorite scent of perfume, a box of chocolate covered strawberries, and a sunflower Lego set.

Your head immediately whips towards Jake, finding him already looking at you with the biggest smile on his face.

The legos were the exact set you helped him build after your first date, when you’d gone back to his apartment after dinner and slipped into one of his flannels while he dumped the pieces all over his bed.

You reason that a hug is reasonable considering he just got you an extremely thoughtful gift, but all thoughts of justifying it to your friends disappear as soon as Jake’s arms are around you.

You lean your head into his neck, his familiar cologne surrounding you as his hands run up and down your back.

“Thank you,” you mumble into him.

“You really thought I wouldn’t remember what you like? Please, give me a little credit.”

You let out a laugh, and Jake’s skin erupts into goosebumps at the feeling.

When you finally pull away from the hug, you get hit in the face with a ball of tissue paper, and you turn to find everyone staring at the two of you.

“Ok can you open the gift that I so carefully picked out for you now?” Jay asks, and Jake finally focuses on his own gift.

His left hand falls onto your shoulder as you sit back down on the floor in front of him, and you don’t make any attempt to move it.

When he gives Jay a hug for his gift, Sakura leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Why’d you two break up again?”

You flush red and swat at her, but as Jake’s hand returns to its spot on your shoulder you find yourself wondering the same thing.

[mollys-meadow]

Who initiates hugs? Jim, definitely. Molly relaxes onto them but she's definitely too shy to ever initiate them.

Who wants to hold the hug longer? Molly. She doesn't say anything about it but it pains her to let go.

Who borrows the other one's phone charger? They both do. Kinda. Jim only forgets his when he WANTS to forget it and if he steals Molly's it's to annoy her, but it doesn't happen often. Molly on the other hand, regularly gets hers lost.

Who loses their keys / wallet? Molly. She loses things all the time, something she inherited from her mother. When Jim is around he points out exactly where she lost it and Molly gets mad that he didn't think to mention it as it happened.

Who's better with money? Depends on your definition of it. Jim is very good at making money so he doesn't mind spending it carelessly. Molly gets paid fairly but London is expensive, despite this she manages to make ado without having to share a flat so I'd say she's doing fine.

Who tried to hide the relationship from their parents? Well, Jim's are dead so there isn't much to hide from them, and Molly didn't exactly try to hide their relationship, merely the true nature of it.

Who's better in the kitchen? Sebastian. I know he isn't part of this relationship but this is the only right answer. Sebastian.

Who needs/gets more sleep? They both are sleep deprived, Molly's work is quite exhausting and Jim is an insomniac but he indulges in a nap every now and then, and he indulges often in waking up late. Molly doesn't, she gets shifty if she stays in bed for long in the morning.

Who's more laid back and who's more hard working? Jim is clearly the definition of "work smarter not harder", he knows how to exploit every opportunity for profit but he's relaxed about it. All the work is on his head, the rest is just seeing it in motion.

Who has more empathy? Molly. She's always been a bleeding heart but it has reached a point where it's not a virtue but a flaw. She gets too emotionally tied and too forgiving and everything just hurts her so much.

If they were to adopt a pet together, what pet would it be? I mean, they already have Toby but... Probably another cat.

Who is more outgoing? Jim but it's just for show, he doesn't actually like most people.

What is their love language? For Jim it has to be physical contact but he also enjoys quality time. For Molly it's mostly acts of service.

Are they holding any secrets from each other? Yes, many. They don't talk -REALLY talk- so there are many things they do not know about each other, and many things they consciously hide.

Which one is more likely to cheat? Both, kinda, but for different reasons. Molly would be the most likely because she wouldn't think the relationship is real or serious and so she wouldn't think of it as cheating because it's not a REAL relationship. Jim would cheat if he gains something out of it, and he isn't particularly invested in the monogamous agenda so he'd not care.

Which one first brings up the idea of having kids? Jim. He doesn't want any but he knows there's nothing Molly dislikes quite as much as the idea of ever becoming a mother and he knows Molly's mother would be delighted by the idea so he'd bring it up to have fun tormenting her.

Who sleeptalks? Neither. When Molly is really stressed she screams and cries some gibberish in her sleep but that's about it.

OTP questions:

Who initiates hugs?

Who wants to hold the hug longer?

Who borrows the other one’s phone charger?

Who loses their keys/wallet?

Who’s better with money?

Who tried to hide the relationship from their parents?

Who’s better in the kitchen?

Who needs/gets more sleep?

Who’s more laid back and who’s more hard working?

Who has more empathy?

If they were to adopt a pet together, what kind of pet would it be?

Who is more outgoing?

What is their love language?

Are they holding any secrets from each other?

Which one is more likely to cheat?

Which one first brings up the idea of having kids?

Who sleeptalks?

[cameronsbabydoll]

ROUTE 66 ㅤ♡ RAFE CAMERON X BABY DOLL READER

WARNINGS — smut, daddy kink, dub con, piss kink, humiliation MDNI 18+

Rafe felt a smirk growing on his face as he watched his babydoll fidget and squirm in her seat, his deep blue eyes caught the slight look of panic in her eyes as she tries to hold back the urge to pee and the way she’s squeezing her thighs together.

The engine rumbling and the sound of some old music in the background, the wind blowing through their hair as he drove the car with a cheshire smirk as he drove by yet another rest stop.

All the drinks he gave his babydoll before they started hitting the road were spiked with something Barry gave him, knowing it would only strengthen the pressure in her bladder. The little game of innocent torture was the ultimate pleasure in his books. It only made Rafe crave her more with the way she desperately tried to hold it in.

Rafe truly savored the way she saw her struggle, it only fueled his sense of control that he held. Rafes fingers curled tightly around the leather steering wheel, feeling the pressure and weight of his semi-erected cock.

Finally, when his babydoll just couldn’t handle it anymore, she let out a slight whimper and the warm trickle of urine dripped through her denim skirt.

Rafe’s grin only widened and his cock painfully throbbed in response to her embarrassment. Finally Rafe pulled the truck over to a secluded spot in the forest.

Rafe turned off the radio and pulled out the keys to the truck, his voice gruff as he turned to her, “Looks like my babydoll just couldn’t hold it in? Could ya..? You’ve gone and wet yourself, huh?” Rafe delighted in their humiliation, enjoying the way their panties soaked in their urine, and the way she bite her lip nervously.

Reaching over, Rafe unbuckled her seatbelt, his hands lingered on their shivered arm as he helped them move out of the car. “Now babydoll, let’s get ya out of ‘em dirty clothes, that alright’ with ya doll?”

Plus it’s not like she’ll need em anyways for what Rafe has planned to do to her, Rafe thought.

Rafe carried her out of the truck and set them down, the soft grass tickling their feet as Rafe kneeled down and took off the mary jane’s she was wearing.

“Turn ‘round for me baby” he commanded. Rafe unzipped the worn jeans he was wearing, and he pulled down the mini denim skirt she was wearing along with the frilly panties. Rafe inhaled the scent deeply, “God damn baby, you have no idea whatcha you do to me or how hard ya make me.. but don’t ya worry babydoll, daddy will show ya how hard ya make me”

Rafe’s hands found the its way to the small of her back, slowly guiding them down to bend over on a nearby fallen log. “Ya look so cute like this baby, all soaked and vulnerable,” Rafe purred slowly as his fingers traced circles on her neck, “Say it back for me, Babydoll”

Rafe watched the way she shakily looked back slightly, “I-I l-look cute like t-this” She sniffled.

Rafe grinned at the way she obeyed his words, “Bet ya look much better covered in your daddy’s liquid” Rafe grumbled.

Rafe’s large hand drifted to the supple of their ass, giving it a soft slap. He watched the way she jolted forward slightly at the surprise touch, “Mhmm, such a good girl, my good girl right?”

His fingers eagerly crept between her thighs, savoring the way the slick heat felt on his hands, “Ya know, I’ve been lookin’ forward to touching ya all day” he grumbled, “I loved watching the way you tried so so hard to hold it in, seeing ya squirm next to me, God it made my cock so hard, babydoll, so fucking hard”

Rafe emphasized his point by pressing his hips forward, grinding his rock hard cock on the flesh of their ass, he groaned by the contact, “Ya fee that babydoll? Feel how much your daddy wants ya?”

Rafe’s other hand slide up her neck, tangling his fingers through her hair as he tugged her head back slightly as he makes eye contact with her, “M’gonna fuck ya now, baby girl” he growled, “Gonna fuck ya so hard, you’ll forget your name, the only thing you ought to remember is the way your daddy’s cock fills you up”

With his promise, Rafe lined up his cock, smearing the leaky pre-cum from his tip, and with a hard grunt, Rafe pushed forward burying his cock in her slick form.

Rafe loudly groaned as he felt wet heat from his baby doll’s pussy. Rafe had to pause his eagerness for moment, as he wanted to savor this moment completely, “My God baby, you feel so good round’ me, so fuckin’ tight too”

Rafe continuously rocked his hips forward into her, letting his babydoll feel every inch of him, “Ya like that don’t ya? I know you like the way your daddy’s cock stretchin’ ya out, ain’t that right doll?”

Rafe could feel the way her body trembled beneath them, their walls fluttered around him. He could feel them getting close to their pleasure, “Come on baby doll, your daddy wants to feel you cum ‘round me”

Rafe pulled one of his hands from her hair as he reached down to rub her clit slowly and then speeding up, “Fuck I can feel ya gettin’ close,” Rafe huffed and breathed harshly against their neck, “Ya gonna cum ‘round me like the good girl you are?”

With that Rafe felt the way his babydoll whimpered lowly, feeling the way she limped over the log with the feel of pleasure. Rafe collapsed slightly against his babydoll’s back, the sweat rubbing against her, “Fuck baby, made me feel so good” he murmured as he slowly pressed soft kisses along their neck and face, “Took me so well, didn’t you baby? Just like a champ”

As Rafe pulled out of their hole, a mix of both of their combined liquids leaking down onto the grass, he tucked his now soft cock back into his pants before he scooped his babydoll up, cradling her against his broad muscular chest. “Now, let’s get ya you cleaned up into some fresh n’new clothes,” Rafe murmured into her ears as he walked with her in his arms as she fluttered her head against his chest.

“And after that, I can find us a cozy spot round’ here and we can cuddle and just be round’ each other, what do’ya say doll?” Rafe looked down at them with a warm affection in his eyes.

“Sounds good Rafey” she mumbled against his chest. Rafe brought her down to a nearby bench as he grabbed her and covered her with a blanket and held her against his chest tightly. Rafe knew in that moment that he’d always cherish his precious baby doll.