#i promise i'm going to stop writing this pairing and do other stuff at some point BUT

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩-LET ME FINISH!

Pairing: mark Grayson x f!reader

Synopsis: your cooking and mark won’t leave you alone. He’s all cheesy trying to get you out of the kitchen and into bed, but you gotta get em away. You know just the trick.

Warnings: some cheesy dialogue, tit sucking (m!receiving), overstimulation!, cum consumption 😼

A/N: 2 fics in one day, wowza. Honestly was tryna pump these out incase my weekend is more packed than I expected it to be. Also also, thanks for all the love on the last 3 fics wthhhh im literally so fckin grateful dudes and dudettes 😞. I hope you enjoy this one as well but ngl it’s a bit all over the place. Trying to get better at writing I promise I promise. (Tryna get a bit better at describing some of the shi to, cus u guys can’t see my lil mind visuals)

Dishes piled in the sink, pots warming ingredients on the stove, and the aroma of something sweet floating through the air.

You are Mark were cooking together—usually you’d have takeout but tonight you wanted to get your hands messy and show off your cooking skills to your boyfriend. “Hand me that.” You say asking Mark to hand you any ingredients you need at the moment. He was zoned out, his mind on everything but the food. “Mark?” You say in a louder but curious tone.

“Huh, yeah?” He said finally snapping out of whatever trance he was in as he handed you the ingredient.

“You ok?” Usually, when he zoned out he always worried about something. For once it wasn’t that. He had something a bit more risky on his mind.

“Mhm, sorry I was just thinking about you or something.” He said with a soft smile before walking behind you. He towered over you—wrapping his arms around your waist as he started placing kisses on your neck and cheek. “Mark, I'm cooking, be normal. We can do whatever you're planning on your little brain later—just lemme finish cooking.” You said knowing how he got whenever he began kissing you up. Once he got started—there was no stopping him.

“What am I doing…?” He said cheekily as he kept going—beginning to suck on your neck now. You felt yourself starting to grow a bit weak to his lips, they were warm and it felt like your neck was just inviting them there. He was distracting and it honestly seemed like he was trying to get you out of the kitchen.

“You said you were hungry, if you do this I can’t cook mark.” You said trying to shew him away. You were failing miserably since you were just leaning into his lips more and more. It felt so nice—it felt right. However, you knew if he won this one he’d just keep it up. You had to figure out something fast to keep him satisfied and continue cooking.

“Yeah, I'm hungry…but I can eat other stuff too…” Mark was making hints about eating you out once again. He was so corny but you liked every second of it. You two eventually backed away from the counter as you leaned into his kisses more. You finally had a plan in mind—all you had to do now was put it in motion.

“If that’s the case, I wanna eat some other stuff too.” You said in a passionate tone as your positions were now changed. He went from behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist to behind the one pressed against the counter as you were in front of him.

You knew he was sensitive—it was honestly one of your favorite things about him. If he wanted to start something, you’d gladly finish it for once. “Well…what do you wanna eat.” He asked in a bashful tone as if he was ready to back out now since he was practically cornered.

“Just wait and see…” you say blissfully as you get his shirt off of him. His chest was practically staring at you as if they needed to be sucked. His eyes shot everywhere around the room trying his best not to freak out and cum on the spot.

“Mark…you gotta look at me or I'm not doing it.” He was in a tough spot now but he did exactly as he was told as his eyes tried his best to focus on you. Your mouth went to his chest as they softly began licking at the nipple. He gripped onto the counter beginning to whimper already. That’s what you liked to hear, it’s what you wanted to hear.

“Oh, oh fuck-“ he groans out as his head rolls back a bit. He was such a sensitive boy. You use your free hand to start rubbing and twisting at the other nipple feeling it perk up in a meer seconds. He was squirming a little bit already. He wanted this, he wanted to distract you from cooking. You’d give him what he wanted since he did exactly that. You kept sucking at his nipple moving your tongue around it

Pop—smack

The sound of your mouth on his chest as he was struggling for dear life. You could see his legs getting a bit shaky already and you loved the sight of it. “Baby…please-“ he said in a whiney tone—he was struggling to keep it together as you made sure you worked him up.

“You wanna cum?” You say in a snarky tone as you continue sucking at his nipple. You liked how pink it was like a little strawberry. He was so sensitive in this area—like a delicate little flower. You’d use that to your advantage. You move one hand off his chest—slipping it down to his sweatpants as you try to get it off. He begins to wiggle and squirm helping the process go faster as they slide down to his ankles.

The same process was repeated with his boxers until you were finally able to see his cock. You could see the precum already dripping down from his pretty pink tip. God, you were obsessed. First, you teased, softly moving a finger up and down his cock.

“Cmon…please don’t…” he cooed out as he felt like he was gonna explode already. You liked seeing him like this. You liked seeing him beg to keep going—it brought happiness to your horny little soul. Your viltrumite boyfriend was now at your whim just from your simple tongue on his chest. Finally, you cut the teasing out.

You began softly stroking his cock using any of his precum as lube while you kept sucking at his tit. You loved looking up and seeing his struggling face trying to keep any bit of composure. He kept squirming and twisting—he didn’t even try to keep in noises anymore. He moaned and whimpered so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole world heard. You loved it so much though, it was perfect.

“Nngh- oh…oh fuck-!” He huffed n whimpered out as he began to cum. Your mouth makes a popping sound as it lets go of his nipple. You bring your cum soaked hand up to your face licking it off each finger. Mark just stared in complete awe and astonishment. He was entranced.

You knew he had at least one more in him. You had to get it out of him so he could stay out of the kitchen and let you finish cooking.

Your lips popping back on his nipple—this time you give attention to the one you ignored the first time. Everything felt more intense to him this time. He felt like he was melting into the counter.

“Baby…f…fuck-“ he moaned out struggling to form full sentences. Your hand got back to work on his cock except this time, you wouldn’t let him cum as quickly—you had to make sure he was a little exhausted when you were done with him. Your hand going fast, then slow, then speeding up again as it teased the hell out of his cock. You could see tears swelling up in his eyes from being edged by you. He was biting his lip, trying to keep in any noise as your mouth popped off his nipple for a second to speak.

“Ah ah, lemme hear all of it” you commanded softly before going right back to sucking his chest. “Can I…can..” Mark was trying to huff out some wish. You began moving a bit faster by stroking his cock as you could just feel he was struggling. He felt overstimulated already but knew it wasn’t over.

“Can you what mark?” You said in a muffled tone as your mouth was stuffed with his nipple. You were honestly starting to grow wet from this yourself. Seeing him like this was like a reward. He was starting to become a pathetic little mess.

“Can…can-“ he couldn’t even form a full sentence. You saw drool seeping from the side of his mouth as he struggled to try not to cum. He knew you wanted him to ask for it first but it was so fucking hard. His hip staring bucking into your hand—fapping for dear life as if he was ready to explode.

“Can…can…I cum- ngh- please? I need…to finish-” He said with a tear of pleasure rolling down the side of his face as you began sucking harder and stroking as fast as you could. If he was about to finish, you were gonna make it worthwhile.

“Sure you can…”

You said with a smirk as you sucked harder on his nipple one more time before he came. He was practically laid out against the

counter. “Since I let you finish, can I finish to mark?” You asked in a teasing way as you did want to finish cooking with him trying to fuck or distract you now. He just gave a shaky thumbs up before trembling his way to the bathroom to clean himself up.

You licked the cum off your hand before washing it anyway since you had to finish cooking.

You finally got to finish not only that you got a little treat—overstimulating your boyfriend.

“Mark! C'mon come eat.” You call out to him from the kitchen as he comes. Before you could even set plates out he grabs you up—pinning you against the counter now.

“You finished cooking like you wanted…my turn!” Mark let you have a moment/second to win. Now he was coming back to redeem himself. You just leaned back into the counter knowing it was your turn now and he’d finish whenever he wanted to…

[justsleepybeans]

𝗩𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮 𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader(Y/n)

Story Notes: Reader is half-celestial, half-human. Adam is irrevocably obsessed. Yearning!!

WARNINGS: 18+ NSFW | Soft!Dom!Adam | PinV, Subtle choking/gagging | Finger sucking//deeep throat exploring(Adam is a curious little man) | Adam has a “mate” mindset | Slight breeding kink | Forced squirting | Creampie | Cum play¿¿ | Oral(Fem!Receiving)

Author Notes: I love Adam too much NOT to write about him. Bro needs to be buffed in MR tho. I listened to this while writing and proofreading! Def recommend for reading! Ambience Vid <-Link

Word Count: 7,746

—☆ KNOWHERE

The Kree were relentless but too cocky for their own good. You had just finished destroying the last fleet, their mission being to wipe out the existence of the harmless Utarians. You would've rather been at your favorite club in Contraxia but happened to be flying by when you saw the chaos. Peter had called in the middle of it all, his voice cutting out multiple times.

"Well, I think it would be nice if you joined us! It was your favorite holiday back on Earth, wasn't it?" he had asked with far too much enthusiasm for your liking. Halloween. Of course, he would know, considering you had shared that fact with him when you were "abducted" by Yondu and his crew off Earth, which was around the time you had found out you weren't just human.

Since then, Peter had been like a brother, except when he flirted horrendously with you in your mid-teens, which obviously didn't work out. Even though you didn't see each other much anymore, not after the Guardians formed, you two would still pick each other's favorite holidays and celebrate, his being Christmas, and yours? Halloween.

"(Y/n!)," Peter calls out your name as he walks towards you. Behind him is Gamora, and at her side, Mantis. However, there was someone else trailing behind them. A…golden man? You have seen many species in these galaxies, but none like him.

"Hi, Peter. Gamora. Mantis." you greet them all politely, giving an awkward little wave. The golden man steps forward, though he doesn't extend his hand. He stands there, closer now, and his chest is just a little more puffed out.

"I am Adam Warlock. We have not met."

"Clearly, we haven't. I'm-"

“(Y/n), yes. Peter spoke of you. He described you in precise detail." You look at Peter, giving him that 'the hell did you say about me' look. He puts his hands up in defense and promises it's nothing bad.

After a short debriefing between you and the girls, the four of you head into the center of Knowhere, where the Guardians live, and most things happen. The place seemed disjointed, colorful, and highly diverse amongst its citizens. Though, what you notice the most is the vast array of mismatched Halloween decorations. There were children of all kinds going around and ringing doorbells, knocking on doors, and then receiving some interesting-looking treats.

"So, you brought Halloween to Knowhere.", you say to Peter as you watch two kids fight over some tentacle-looking thing.

"Ah yeah, you know. It'd be nice to bring the culture. Plus, a way of getting to see you for once."

You smile at that, a feeling of admiration for Peter's thoughtfulness. However, all this Halloween stuff has you thinking of one thing. "Twizzlers?"

Peter raises his hand as if to stop you from speaking further. "Already done. When we went to Earth, we picked up plenty of candy and took loads of decorations."

"Wait…you took all of this? Peter, you can't just do that."

Peter shrugs, brushing your scolding off. "I'm just borrowing it."

—☆ FIRST SECOND ENCOUNTER

You've settled in your room, one of the many in the complex where the Guardians and others live. While laying down clothes you'd wear tonight for the "Halloween Party", you hear a soft knock on your door, followed by a slightly familiar deep voice.

"It's Adam."

The Warlock. Or Adam, so he's called, a name you'd find out he adopted. It suits him, you think. Setting down a pair of tights on the bed, you open the door. You're almost his height, so you don't have to look up much, though up close, you notice his eyes more. They're not exactly white, but a pale yellow, maybe light gold. The lack of pupils and complete coloring in his sclera should be unsettling, but you find it oddly...comforting.

"Hi. Adam. Do you need anything?"

“(Y/n)…I am...deeply attracted to you. I am certain I've felt a pull the moment you reached this galaxy. Then, when you came here, it became stronger than ever before. That's when I confirmed that it had to be you. It's a magnetism, and I cannot stay away longer. Allow me to court you."

Oh. Well…that is very direct.

“Oh…I…” You were left without words for a moment because how does one even respond to that from someone they met this morning? Was he sure that it was you? He's being ridiculous, you think, but the thought of entertaining this, whatever this is, was ever so tempting.

"I sense hesitation."

You shift your weight to your right side and tilt your head curiously. "Right, well, I did just meet you."

"Yes, I am aware."

You huff, somewhat annoyed but also amused. "Listen…whatever it is that you're feeling…I don't feel that. "

"Surely you must. I feel your celestial energy practically radiating off-"

"How do you know that." you interrupt him. He gives you a look that could only be described as confusion.

"I sense it. I am a cosmic being, (Y/n)."

"You're technically human," you argue.

"Perhaps—but I am far from any human. I was created with cosmic power," Adam takes a step closer, his eyes boring into yours like a hawk. "Allow me to court you."

"Stop saying that…feels like I'm in the Medieval times."

"Medieval times?"

Of course, he wouldn't know about that. "Nevermind. Just… that's now how things work, okay? Listen, I gotta start preparing for Peter's Halloween thing, so…"

"Right. Yes. The party. Very well, (Y/n). I hope you have time to…think about what I said."

"Mhm. I'll see you around."

With that, Adam gives you a slight nod, then walks off, his posture slightly less upright than usual. You watch him as he walks off and think to yourself, what if you say yes? What's the worst that could happen? A cosmic and celestial being coming together…surely nothing bad.

—☆ THE PARTY

You weren't wearing a costume.

Being invited on the day of a Halloween party, which doesn't even align with Earth's Halloween, would make it pretty damn hard to prepare a costume. Currently, it's October 28th on Earth, but close enough, right?

You carry a variety of clothes on your ship for all occasions, but not for a Halloween party. With a sigh, you smooth down the side of your red dress as you step into the center hall of one of the many buildings in Knowhere. This one was on the outskirts of the city and had a bar. The color of your dress matches your tights, deep and blood-warm, clinging like a second skin. It was the most Halloween-esque thing you could pull out.

The music was a mixture of strange tunes you hadn't heard before and some Earth songs you assumed came from Peter's tapes. You remember sharing an earbud with him and listening shoulder to shoulder on Yondu's ship. The crowds buzzed with sugar highs and very spiked drinks, beings of all kinds dancing without much rhythm, and the decorations glowed a little too bright for your liking as if a Spirit Halloween had blown up.

You scanned the place, finding Peter almost instantly, dual-wielding candy bowls and passing out the sweets while talking about famous horror movie slashers, who the citizens of Knowhere believed to be real people from how they were reacting. Mantis waved dramatically across the way, her cute buggy eyes locked on yours. Gamora was trying to keep Peter from falling on his ass, while Rocket was nowhere to be found, most likely on his usual antics with Groot. Drax seemed asleep, his head on the bar countertop, surrounded by a handful of empty bottles. And then—

There he was.

Adam.

Leaning against the wall like he had been carved there—perfect human and all. You may have turned down his advances, but you couldn't deny that he is, in fact, attractive. His expression is unreadable, as usual, and you notice he has no costume. He was still looking at you like he did earlier as if you were the only thing in this galaxy worth orbiting.

You reached for the table beside you, grabbed the nearest drink — bright neon green, fizzing, definitely alcoholic — and pretended not to notice him.

Didn't work.

He was already moving before you could take a second sip, golden eyes fixed, posture straight like he'd been waiting for a cue. He stopped in front of you. Too close, you think. Not close enough, you feel.

"(Y/n)," he said, voice low and smooth, "You didn't dress up."

"Neither did you."

"I didn't need to." Of course, he didn't.

You take another sip, eyes on him now. "You're staring."

"Perhaps I am."

There's a pause, though not awkward, but electric. Adam wasn't hiding it — the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize every minuscule detail, though he never did hide it in the first place. Not once. It should've been unsettling, but somehow, it wasn't.

"You look..." He pauses, eyes trailing down your length, slow and deliberate. "Dangerous."

"Oh." You couldn't help the smile that tugs at the corner of your lips.

Then, his voice quiet, as if he didn't want the crowd to hear, "Are you avoiding me, (Y/n)?"

After what happened earlier? Oh, you should've been, but no, you weren't...at least, not intentionally. Taking a deep breath, you look around before speaking up. "I'm gonna...go see how Peter's holding up."

You drifted, dancing near the edges of groups, getting pulled into half-hearted conversations with half-sober Ravagers and aliens in glittery face paint. But Adam was always there—watching without pressing, standing just far enough to give you space. Your drink was gone now, traded for a lollypop someone shoved into your hand with a slurred "Happy Humanween." Humanween? You didn't eat it, preferring your promised Twizzlers, which were nowhere to be seen. Instead, you rolled the stick between your fingers and your mind elsewhere. Still aware of him.

Then Peter—bless his drunk, clumsy soul—came barreling in out of nowhere, arms wide and voice loud, a bottle in one hand, and absolutely no concept of personal space, as usual.

"(Y/n)!" he called like he hadn't seen you some hours ago. His shoulder caught yours mid-spin, not hard, but enough to send you slightly off balance, your heel catching on the edge of the floor panel.

You were falling—until you weren't.

A hand wrapped around your upper arm, firm and warmer than others. Another gently caught your waist, steady and grounding.

Adam.

The contact wasn't much. Two hands, a beat of closeness, but it was enough. Too much.

It felt like something clicked, as if a thread snapped into place between your body and his, humming. Loud. Burning. Almost overbearing. You inhaled, chest still against his as you blinked at him, confused—for the first time— not by him, but by you.

Because you felt it. Whatever he had been talking about outside your room, all that talk of a magnetic pull, cosmic alignment—you felt it now, you think. It hit you fast and bright, like a fucking supernova, and far too much all at once.

You moved back quickly. Not dramatically. Okay...maybe a bit dramatic, but it was enough to break the contact. Adam's hands dropped, and though it wasn't visible, the imprint stayed. You could feel it.

"I—Peter's drunk," you used as an excuse to leave.

Adam's expression didn't change. But something in his eyes did. Softer. Knowing. He didn't have to say I told you so. He didn't even say anything at all.

He didn't have to because he knows you felt it. And worse? You know it, too.

Still—you wouldn't admit it. Not out loud. Not to him.

So you straightened your dress, fixed your hair like nothing happened, and pretended your heart wasn't beating inside your throat.

Adam said nothing, simply watching you with that same quiet hunger.

—☆ SUPERNOVA (5 Months Later)

It wasn't supposed to go this way. The mission was simple enough—answer the distress call of the Valturians and help out in whatever way was needed. You decided to tag along with the Guardians to help after Rocket bugged you about being a valuable asset. He also tried convincing you to join the Guardians, which you refused, and he may have tried to buy off your ship.

Though, you really wish you hadn't come.

Multiple fleets of the Kree appeared—a species you didn't exactly hate but were very annoyed with. However, a massive ship came out of hyperspace this time along with the fleet, sitting just above the atmosphere of Valtur. A loud voice boomed from the ship, practically shaking the ground.

"I hoped you would come, (Y/n). My men have been watching you. You didn't think that your destruction upon my fleet the other day would result in no punishment, did you?"

It was Al-Null—the leader who had stepped up to replace Ronan, The Accuser.

"I guess that's what happens when your cowardly ass ain't there with your men. I mean, come on, did you watch from your little jerk-off corner? Because listen, if you get off on that stuff, I'd say you need some therapy, buddy." The insult was very Peter-coded, showing just how much time you spent around him when you were with Yondu.

"You dare? You, the great mistake. Your father was the coward, and spineless to fall for some weak, pathetic excuse for an incubator. She died giving birth to something which was never meant to be. And you? You killed her. Since the day you were born you have caused nothing but chaos..."

The smile slowly fades off your face. And then, there's silence. At least, you think there is, but apparently, Al-Null kept going on and on. You couldn't hear him. You couldn't hear anything but your heart beating with such intensity that it felt like your head would explode.

Peter tenses up, having seen the degree of your powers firsthand. Gamora's hand hovers over her blaster inside her holster, though not exactly for the Kree. She knows what you can do because Peter told her before, but she also knows that a blaster won't stop you. Not even close.

The rage builds within you like a supernova waiting to burst. Your vision begins to blur at the edges, turning red with fury. You can feel your celestial power surging through your veins, threatening to overflow. Your feet lift off the ground as energy crackles around you.

"(Y/n)," Adam's voice cuts through the haze, steady and grounding. "Look at me."

But you can't. All you see is the massive Kree ship and all you hear are Al-Null's words about your mother echoing in your mind. The power builds, your hands glowing with energy as you prepare to unleash devastation upon the fleet.

"She is losing control," Mantis whispers, her antennae quivering with anxiety.

Peter steps forward cautiously. "(Y/n), hey, don't listen to that blue asshole—"

With a scream, you take off up into space, a colorful aura of hot energy trailing behind you like a flying torch.

The first ship explodes before anyone can react, pieces of metal and screaming Kree soldiers tumbling through the void of space. You're a blazing comet, your celestial power unleashed in its rawest form. Another blast from your hands tears through a second vessel, then a third.

"By the stars," Drax murmurs, watching the destruction from below.

Adam doesn't hesitate. He launches himself upward, his own golden energy propelling him toward you. He can feel your pain, your rage—a hurricane of emotions that threatens to consume not just the Kree fleet but yourself.

In space, surrounded by debris and fire, you hover before Al-Null's command ship, hands raised to obliterate it. Your body pulses with celestial light, eyes glowing with power no half-human should possess. You don’t remember what happened next, but you do remember that it was cold, and quiet, your body floating without any constraints of gravity.

—☆ TETHER

When you awake, it's not in the vacuum of space or surrounded by the wreckage of Kree ships. You're in a dimly lit room, lying on something soft. Your body feels heavy, drained of the celestial energy that had threatened to tear you apart.

"She's awake," Mantis says softly from somewhere nearby.

You try to sit up, but a gentle hand presses against your shoulder. "Don't," Adam says, his voice closer than you expected. "Your body needs time to recover."

As your vision clears, you see him sitting beside you, his expression unreadable yet somehow concerned. Behind him, Peter paces nervously while Gamora watches from the doorway.

"What happened?" Your voice is hoarse, barely audible.

"You nearly destroyed an entire Kree armada," Gamora answers matter-of-factly.

"Cool…," you manage to utter, your voice barely more than a whisper, strained and fragile.

Peter takes a tentative step toward you, his face etched with concern. "You should sleep. Al-Null escaped, but most of his fleet is scattered across three sectors."

"Doesn't matter," you mutter, attempting to push yourself up again. "He's still out there. He’s still—"

"You need recovery time," Gamora interjects firmly. "Even celestials have limits."

Adam's gaze hasn't left your face since you awoke, his golden eyes tracking every expression that crosses your features. There's something different in the way he's looking at you now—not hungry, but... protective. Soft.

"We'll check on the Valturians," Rocket announces, already heading for the door. "Make sure they ain't got more surprises waitin'."

"I am Groot," comes the agreeable response.

Peter hesitates, clearly torn between going off with the Guardians and staying to watch you. He comes to the decision to go off with them, but, Adam stays, much to your slight annoyance. You had planned to just sneak off when they were all gone.

"We'll be back soon," Peter says with a final concerned glance. "Just... stay put, okay?"

You nod halfheartedly, waiting for the door to slide shut behind the Guardians before immediately throwing your legs over the side of the bed. Your body feels surprisingly good—the celestial half of you working overtime to repair the damage.

"Where do you think you're going?" Adam's voice is calm but firm as he steps between you and the door.

"To finish what I started," you reply, standing up straight. "Al-Null is still out there."

"No." The single word carries the weight of a thousand. Adam doesn't raise his voice, but his eyes shine with intensity.

"Move, Adam. This isn't your fight."

He steps closer, golden skin catching the dim light. "You nearly burned yourself out. Even with your healing abilities, that level of power expenditure—“

“I said move.”

He stays put, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes now harder—firm and demanding. “No. You’re not leaving.”

A surge of anger rushes through you. Who does he think he is to tell you what you can and cannot do? The energy within you flickers to life again, not as powerful as before, but enough to make the air around you thick with tension.

"Get out of my way," you hiss, taking a step forward. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, a faint glow emanating from beneath your skin.

Adam doesn't budge. Instead, he moves closer, his own cosmic energy rising to meet yours. The space between you becomes charged, golden tendrils of his power weaving with the aura of yours.

"I will not let you destroy yourself," he says, voice dropping lower. "Your recklessness will be your undoing."

"My 'recklessness' is none of your concern!" You shove against his chest, but he barely moves. His body is warm and solid against your palms, and the contact sends a jolt through your system, like it did months ago at the Halloween party. You hadn't come into physical contact with him since that day.

"Get out of my way," you snarl, shoving harder this time, your energy flaring. The room's lights flicker as your power pulses outward.

Adam's hand suddenly catches your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "Enough." His voice has dropped an octave, resonating with authority.

"Let go of me!" You wrench your arm, but he holds fast, pulling you closer until your bodies are nearly flush against each other. The air between you crackles with energy—yours wild and chaotic, his controlled but equally potent.

"You're not thinking clearly," he says, his face now inches from yours. "Your emotions are clouding your mind. Don't be rash."

You’d come to regret what you do next, but a small part of you wouldn't, and never will. You emit a sudden wave of energy, sending Adam flying back against the wall, hitting it hard enough to leave a small crack. “I told you to move.”

You make a beeline for the door, your mind focused on one thing. Al-Null.

You barely make it two steps before a golden blur moves with inhuman speed. Adam is suddenly before you, his eyes blazing with an intensity you've never seen from him. In one fluid motion, he grabs your shoulders and spins you around, pushing you back against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

"No," he growls, pinning you there with his body. His hands move to capture your wrists, holding them firmly against the wall on either side of your head. "You will listen to me."

Your celestial energy surges in response to the threat, but Adam's power counters it immediately, creating a cocoon of golden light that seems to dampen your abilities. You struggle against his grip, but his strength matches yours in your weakened state.

"Let me go!" you snarl, thrashing against his hold.

Adam leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. "You would risk your life for revenge," he says, his voice dangerously low. "I cannot allow that."

Something shifts in his eyes—a decision made—and suddenly his grip tightens. You feel it then, a strange sensation like a thread being pulled from deep within your chest, connecting to him. His eyes glow brighter, the golden light intensifying as he presses his forehead against yours.

"If you won't listen to reason," he whispers, "then feel what I feel."

A wave of foreign emotion crashes into you—concern so deep it borders on anguish, fear so primal it makes your heart race, and beneath it all, a devotion so absolute it takes your breath away. These aren't your feelings. They're his.

"What are you doing to me?" you gasp, trembling under the weight of his emotions pouring into you.

"A soul bond."

Your body suddenly feels weak as the wave of emotions crash over you. Was this everything he felt? All this time? All of this, and yet he always managed to seem like everything was under control—the complete opposite of you. You somewhat tried to snap out of it, feelings of anger still there. “Stop…I don’t understand..,” you breathe, your resistance weakening as the soul bond takes hold.

His golden eyes bore into yours, pupils dilated with something primal. "I've tethered us together," he murmurs., "Now you'll understand."

The connection between you pulses like a living thing, and suddenly your senses are heightened, every point where his body touches yours sending electric currents through your skin. Your anger dissolves into something else entirely—a mixture of pain and longing that mirrors his own.

"I can feel everything you feel," Adam whispers, his grip on your wrists loosening but not releasing. "Your rage, your pain...”

You gasp as his emotions flood through you—possessiveness, need, and a desperate yearning that makes your knees weak. The bond amplifies everything, creating a feedback loop of sensation between you, as if trying to take away, or rather, distract your anger.

Adam's eyes narrow, something dark and primal flickering across his face. In one fluid motion, he spins you around, your chest now pressed against the wall, his body flush against your back. The heat of him radiates through your clothes, his breathing heavy against your ear.

His arm snakes around, fingers splaying across your throat before moving upward to grasp your face, thumb and fingers gently digging into your cheeks as he tilts your head back against his shoulder.

"Do you remember what I asked of you?" he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "When I came to your door?" His grip on your face is firm but careful, holding you in place as if you might slip away. "I asked to court you."

You don't answer—can't answer with his fingers pressing into your cheeks, but your true feelings become clear through the soul bond.

"You truly feel it now," he breathes, the words vibrating against your skin. "The connection that's been there since I first sensed you across this galaxy. My mate."

"Mate? What are you—"

But Adam doesn't explain, doesn't pause to clarify. He captures your mouth with his own before you can finish, your body still sandwiched between him and the cold wall, though his higher-than-average body temperature provided the perfect warmth. The kiss was far from gentle, instead full of possession and need.

His hand drifts from your face to your throat, not squeezing too hard but maintaining enough pressure to hold you in place. His other hand slips beneath your top, his palm pressed flat against your stomach to pull you closer as his lips roughly claim yours. Eventually, he parts them, leaving behind a thin thread of mixed saliva lingering between your lips before it breaks.

"I've been waiting," he murmurs softly by your ear, "ever since I first sensed you." His hand moves lower, dangerously near your clothed core, then his fingers travel over the delicate fabric of your panties before venturing further down to explore the damp spot beneath.

"Adam," you gasp as his fingers confidently press against your mound.

"Is this the effect I have on you?"

You bite back a moan as his digits locate the side seam of the soft fabric and tug it aside just enough to expose you.

“You don't need to voice it. I already know,” he whispers, gently running his fingers through your slick folds, tracing a line up to your clit before pressing down, testing your reaction.

"Oh—" you sigh, tensing as a jolt shoots through your nerves. While you have touched yourself before, the connection between your souls amplifies everything. You barely have time to register how different this feels as his fingers begin with light, deliberate strokes before progressing into slow, circular motions. "Adam…"

To your mixed frustration and arousal, he withdraws his hand from your pants, instead grabbing your hip firmly, leaving your core softly pulsating, getting wetter by the second.

"You're coming with me."

—☆ COCOON

His room is simple yet filled with lush green plants that fill the space with warmth and a welcoming energy—every scent in the room reminiscent of him, intensified by the soul bond.

His hands stay on your hips as he gently guides you against the wall by his bed. Leaning in close, his lips brush behind your ear while his nose caresses your skin as he takes in your scent. “I need you to smell more like…me.”

Smirking against his tousled blonde hair, you tease, “You take me to your room and yet you don’t put me on your bed,” while he continues to nuzzle, savoring every nuance.

His tongue flicks behind your ear before traveling down to your neck, sending shivers that ripple between your thighs. “I know,” he murmurs against your skin.

You shudder at the moist trail of his tongue, surprised by how soft it feels despite his synthetic nature. “You’re like a damn cat…”

“I’m not exactly sure what a cat is, (Y/n),” he replies, as his hands slide from your hips to your ribcage. With large, steady hands, he lifts you off the floor. “But if that’s how they behave, maybe I am.”

His bed is firm—a perfect match for him if not entirely for you—and he settles on his side behind you, drawing your body close so you blend together. One of his arms wraps around your neck gently, while his hand travels along your collarbone, down to your chest. His fingers brush over your hardened nipple through the fabric of your top, pinching it lightly with curious care.

“Hmm,” he purrs, shifting from a soft pinch to cradling your breast with a gentle squeeze. Meanwhile, his other hand glides briefly across your stomach before returning to your growing center. “You’re... so soft.”

His fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties again, finding you wet and wanting. The bond between you heightens every sensation—you feel his touch as deeply as he feels the effect it has on you. “And here, too,” he murmurs, slowly gliding his fingers up and down, deliberately teasing the wet heat of your folds before lightly rubbing your clit.

A quiet moan fills the room as his fingers pick up pace, each rhythmic movement sending waves of pleasure through you. He shifts slightly, partly laying over you, pressing his hardness against your ass even as his hand continues its exploration. His warm, erratic breath against your neck reveals his own mounting desire. “I want you to feel what I feel,” he whispers with raw intensity.

The energy between you builds as Adam’s presence seems to fill the space. Moving his hand lower, he pushes two long fingers inside you, meeting no resistance as you arch your hips toward him.

“Adam—” you breathe, but your voice falters as he curls upward, finding that soft spot inside and pressing with precise intensity.

A rush comes over you, skin tingling like pins and needles, your muscles tightening around his fingers. Your breath catches in sharp cries as they curl again, fucking you with a steady rhythm until you feel yourself cumming around them.

He doesn’t stop. Even as your body shudders with aftershocks, his fingers remain, now moving slowly and tenderly as they explore each reaction. “So responsive,” he murmurs against your neck, withdrawing his hand to taste you. “Your taste,” he breathes, as if it were the most precious flavor.

Before you can reply, Adam moves with fluid precision down your body until his shoulders rest between your legs. His hands press firmly on your thighs, gently spreading you open. “I need more.”

His golden eyes lock onto yours—seeing you wet, flushed, and completely exposed. He leans in, his breath sending shivers through your already sensitive core. Then his mouth latches onto you, warmth and urgency igniting every nerve as his tongue replaces his fingers.

“Oh fuck—Adam,” you gasp, the sound airy in the heavy room.

He doesn’t pause or hesitate. His focus is complete, consuming. The bond magnifies everything—the texture of his tongue as it works its way inside you, pushing deeper before flicking up around your clit with steady precision. The friction sends waves through your body, overwhelming and perfect all at once.

You writhe beneath him, gasping as his grip tightens on your thighs to keep you still. The tension coils inside you, rising so fast it steals your breath and turns it into ragged cries.

Even as you cry out, he doesn’t relent. Your body tenses again, but he keeps going like he needs every last drop of you.

“Adam,” you plead softly.

His response is a low, vibrating hum that sends tremors through you. He shifts his hold on your thighs, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your hips with sure guidance. The change makes you gasp as his hands spread you open. You squirm beneath him, desperate for more than just his mouth.

Holding you there, exposed and needy, he commands softly, “Be good.”

His mouth resumes its work with unwavering hunger, the wet heat of his tongue driving you wild as his hand lands with a quick, light smack on your ass. The sharp sensation makes you catch your breath, your body jolting in surprise.

“Adam,” you gasp again, his name melting into a moan as he soothes the sting with his palm before delivering another firm, playful slap—adding to the building intensity inside you.

“That…was for earlier,” he whispers against your slick heat before plunging his tongue back inside. His hands keep your hips steady while he devours you from behind, each movement pushing you closer to a place you have never reached. His hand slips between your legs, his fingers exploring until they find you wet and swollen, then push inside again, moving with a rhythm that matches his tongue.

The intensity builds impossibly as he takes you higher, pushing beyond any limit you’ve ever known. The motions of his mouth and fingers combine into a perfect storm of sensation that leaves you breathless, gasping for something you can’t name.

“Too much,” you choke out, barely audible amid the overwhelming rush. But it isn’t too much—it’s exactly what you need.

A tidal wave of pleasure surges through you, larger than anything you’ve ever known. And then—

You’re cumming—and, you’re squirting. A lot.

He pulls back slightly, watching with fascination as you ride the aftershocks. Breath ragged, you search for words—but Adam shifts again, his movements deliberate as he climbs up your body, slowing down until you find yourself pressed against his chest.

“Turn around,” he murmurs darkly in your ear, his hands guiding your hips until you face him, breathless and ready.

His mouth meets yours once more with an urgent, unapologetic kiss. His hands are everywhere—one tangling in your hair to tilt your head back for deeper access, another sliding down your back while one more grabs your ass, pulling you against the hard outline of his suit. His need is clear, insistent as he rolls his hips with growing urgency.

You feel his hardness, the bond amplifying every touch until your pulse races and you grind against him. The friction makes you gasp into his kiss, and he swallows your sounds with matching hunger.

Breaking the kiss, he watches you with a look of pure possession, as if he’s claiming every part of you, before his fingers trace gently across your lips. “I need to know,” he murmurs softly, “every part of you.”

With a subtle insistence, he guides your lips to his fingers, letting you taste him. You hum softly against his skin as your tongue meets his touch, exploring deeper.

His eyes darken at the feeling, a new fascination taking over. The slick warmth of your mouth wraps around him, and he pushes further than expected—just a little too far—brushing the back of your throat.

You gag slightly, eyes wide as the small sound echoes between you. He seems to enjoy it—more than he probably should—and a dark thrill pulses through him, leaving both of you breathless with need. He pushes further, feeling the wet, flexible tissue, earning another soft gag from you, to which he groans in satisfaction.

His fingers slip from your mouth, leaving you flushed and gasping. “I want all of you,” he murmurs, voice low and claiming. “Everywhere.”

With sudden speed, he rolls onto his back and pulls you up to straddle him, your thighs spread beside his waist. His hands hold your hips firmly, positioning you as if he’s certain this is where you belong.

The thin fabric of his suit does little to hide the hard length pressed against you. He rocks upward so you can feel the full weight of his desire. You can barely breathe as he holds you there, his eyes burning into yours with a look that leaves no doubt—you’re his.

“Take it off,” he orders softly.

You’ve never seen him so raw and demanding.

His fingers dig into your hips, guiding the movement as you press against him. You’re flushed and breathless, the urgency in his touch mirrored by your own desire.

Somewhere along the way, he had stripped you of all your clothes. It was only right to return the favor. Your hands tremble until they reach the seam of his suit, peeling it away to reveal the hard, eager length straining between his thighs. The sight was…ethereal. It was thick, very thick, and just the perfect length for you. The base matched his golden skin, while the color fades to a lighter gold towards the tip.

Lifting you slightly, he positions you above him with confidence that quickens your pulse. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, slick already from his earlier efforts. He doesn’t push inside—not yet—but the pressure is enough to leave you trembling.

“I want you,” he growls, his voice rough with need. “I want you now.”

There’s no question about who’s in charge—and you realize just how much you crave him. With a firm grip on your hips, he lifts you just enough to let the head tease your entrance before slowly letting you sink down. It’s both intense and teasing, filling you inch by inch until he’s deep inside.

���Ohh fuck…big…you’re so…”

Not ready to give up control, his hands still guide your hips as you ride him slowly at first, adjusting to the fullness and heat inside. The rhythm is gentle, allowing each shared sensation to build with the bond linking you.

You tilt your head back with a moan, your body arching as his movements stretch you perfectly. Even now, every pulse sends waves of pleasure through both of you.

Then it becomes too much for him to hold back.

The primal need takes over. His grip tightens and he starts thrusting harder, faster—a force that makes you cry out.

His hands leave your hips, gliding up your back to pull you closer against him. Your chests meet, and he wraps his arms around you, locking you in place as he drives into you with raw, unrestrained force.

Every thrust sends shockwaves of sensation, each movement deep and deliberate, claiming you again and again.

Adam’s breath is hot against your neck, ragged with desire as he thrusts relentlessly. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the space, accompanied by his low growls and your breathless cries.

“Is that good? You like this? Tell me you do.”

“Y-Yes, I—,” Clinging tightly to him, your fingers dig into his shoulders as he fucks you harder in response.

“Good,” he breathes against your skin, a single word full of possession.

A soft glow begins to shine behind your eyes, resembling the colors of your celestial aura, reflecting in his burning gaze. The sight sends a shiver through him, and his eyes blaze with soft gold as he watches you unravel in his embrace.

The room grows thick with heat and tension, your bodies slick with sweat. His grip tightens even more, drawing you closer until there’s no space left.

“Fuck—Adam!” You cry out as the friction builds impossibly high, pushing you both to the edge.

The rush of sensation becomes overwhelming—you could feel everything he felt on top of how his cock rammed inside you over and over. Then, in an explosion of pleasure, you’re cumming.

A surge of energy courses through every nerve as your body convulses, releasing all at once. You tremble, barely coherent, while Adam’s mouth remains on you, savoring all of you.

He pulls back slightly, watching with fascination as you ride the aftershocks. The bond between you amplifies everything, until it feels like every sensation is doubled. His steady hold keeps you grounded as your body trembles against him.

Catching your breath, you try to find words, but Adam moves with quick precision, turning you over onto your back, still inside of you.

He's relentless now, determined and unyielding as he pins you beneath him, fucking you with raw intensity, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, the sounds filling the room. The shift leaves you gasping, unable to find words.

With a deep groan, he moves faster, harder—a force of nature that leaves you breathless. His hands seize your wrists again, pinning them above your head with firm control.

“You’re mine,” he breathes fiercely, his eyes wild with hunger.

You can barely respond as each thrust sends shockwaves through you, building into a storm of shared sensation that fills every inch of space.

“Adam,” you gasp, barely coherent as white-hot pleasure takes over.

With a primal growl, he drives into you one last time—deep and claiming. Then he cums so hard that it leaves him trembling above you. A low groan escapes his lips as he fills you completely, the hot temperature of his cum rushing through your pussy.

He keeps moving, his hips rocking with focused intent like he wants to fill you until there’s no space left. “So much,” he whispers in awe, voice low and rough. “Take all of it.”

You feel him emptying into you—again and again—each pulse deliberate and consuming. The sensation is overwhelming, a flood that leaves you gasping.

He slows but doesn't stop, his thrusts shallow and steady, aiming right at your g-spot as his release seems endless. His lips brush your ear, murmuring with soft insistence that makes your heart race. “I’ll fill you with everything,” he breathes, the words wrapping around you like a promise. “Make you mine completely.”

The bond amplifies each word, every sensation, until it takes over your body entirely. Breathless and overwhelmed, you arch against him as the feeling builds again.

“Oh—fuck!” Another orgasm rushes through you in waves of overwhelming release. Your body tightens around him, leaving you breathless and shaking beneath him.

Adam holds you still, his primal need unrelenting as he fills you with consuming warmth. He groans, low and satisfied, whispering your name like a claim.

Seconds feel like minutes that stretch into forever, until he slows to a stop, body tense and trembling above you.

Then he pulls out, finally, his thick cum spilling from you. But Adam’s fingers are already there, picking up whatever he could, which was leaking out from your used hole from the sheer volume of it all.

Oh—

His brows knit with focus as though a sudden new fascination overtakes him. His thick seed leaks past his fingers even as they slide in and out, faster now, until wet sounds fill the room and your breath catches ragged in your throat.

You gasp, knowing what he's trying to do—and embarrassed despite yourself after what happened earlier. The sight of it had entranced him too much. Again? Really?

“Wait—,” you plead, your hands already moving to try and stop him.

Adam shifts up and his hand catches your face, firm and commanding. He holds you there, keeping your eyes locked on his as he watches each reaction, intent and consuming. His fingers never slow, relentless as they push deeper, stretching and filling you with everything he has.

“Let me,” he whispers.

You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch and the steady pressure inside you. The bond amplifies each sensation until it feels like too much. You’re already so close again—and Adam knows it.

A dark thrill pulses through him as he picks up speed, driving into you with raw precision. He wants to see you cum again like you did—a crying, squirting mess. And judging by that look in his eyes, he doesn’t plan on stopping there.

"Be good," he breathes, his grip tightening on your face.

Your pulse races as his fingers pistoned into you with building force, reaching deeper than before. "You're gonna...make me cum..." You can barely breathe, the relentless rhythm pushing you higher until—

You cum again, a flood of sensation and warmth erupting in a way that leaves you gasping for air. This time it's even more intense, your body releasing with such force that you feel it everywhere. An almost transparent, milky liquid rushes past his hand in hot, uncontrollable waves, soaking him completely. Your eyes roll back as the bond flares bright behind them. "Fucking hell—Adam!" you cry out, voice breaking with each surge of pleasure.

Adam watches in awe, golden eyes wide as he sees you unravel beneath him. His breath catches at the sight of your wetness spilling over his fingers, dripping onto the sheets with each convulsion of your body.

He grows harder still at the sight—the pressure so intense that it pushes him over.

“(Y/n)—” The word escapes his lips in a low groan as he cums hard and untouched, white hot ropes spilling across your stomach.

He continues fucking you with his fingers, his touch relentless despite his own release. The pleasure is overwhelming, eventually your body shaking with aftershocks. Only then does he slow, watching as the last tremors rock through you.

Breathless and exhausted, you collapse against the sheets, your skin damp and flushed. Adam pulls his hand away finally, fingers glistening wet as he traces them up your stomach before bringing them to his lips.

He tastes you slowly, deliberately—his gaze locked on yours with a look of pure possession. You can feel the effect it has on him as though it were your own.

The bond still flares bright between you, every shared sensation magnified until it feels like there’s no boundary left. For the first time, you understand what it means to belong completely to someone—and have them belong entirely to you.

You draw in a ragged breath while your body shudders beneath him. “You’re insane,” you murmur softly against his lips.

Adam's mouth curves into a slight, breathless grin. He shifts onto his side next to you, pulling your body close and keeping it there. “Then you are, too.”

Knowing you’re not going anywhere now, Adam’s arms wrap around you with an unyielding grip. His breath is warm against your skin as he nuzzles against you, his need to mark with scent strong. He seems content to have you so close, to feel every inch of you pressed against him in the quiet aftermath.

You draw a deep breath, letting your senses adjust to the new reality between you. It feels different now—right. Like something that was missing has finally clicked into place.

Don’t be rash 🤚🏼

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN? | JJK | PART 𝐈𝐈𝐈 |

"After all lessons are learned. There's only one to live out in practicality. You're not sure how good you're at it —only that, this time, you won’t try alone."

→ Pairing brother in law! Jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, fluff

→W.C 20k

→ Warnings lots of mentions of graveyards, loss, nostalgia, because you can scream and scratch and bite but you can never go back, minhos third death anniversary, he stays haunting everyone, jk being lovesick, what's new?,their dating era!!, kissing, self realization, they make it official, mentions of anxiety, soft family moments :(, mention of jk threatening someone, protective jk, mentions of alcohol, like a lot, jk manhandling oc, she's drunk and a menace, he is so in love, and so is she apparently, jks nose gets appreciated, nose kisses, fluff, jk is rich, dancing around, real chessy stuff im sorry haha but trust me when i say that it pained me too

→ Playlist You are in love by Taylor swift

→A/N hi! hello! It's definitely not been a while since I posted but it most definitely feels like I've lived a multiple lifes since. I'm sorry for not posting when I promised and I'm sorry that you had to see me falling for rage bait because i don't belive that was anything but. Like genuinely get a life my brother in christ. I write fanfiction for a hobby. A silly little hobby. It's not that deep and you don't have to lose your shit over that. Anyways, all that negativity aside I wanna thank you to all the majority of my readers who were nice enough to put up with me. You all are who I write for and will continue doing so though can't say for sure lol. I've had a great time with writing this fic and all the love it got. It will forever hold a special place. These characters will forever hold a special place. I will miss them and I really hope you understand from the word count why it took the time it did and enjoy reading <33 please comment or message your thoughts!! Love you!!

| PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE |

The graveyard was deadened in a way that empty places where bones met soil learned to be. In a way that they are belived they are. With a stillness so complete, it surmised like a hostaged breath.

You sat cross-legged before the headstone, coat draped around your shoulders, your fingers numb from the stone bench that did little to hold warmth or from holding the bundle of white lilies, their stems slick with dew. You hadn’t put them down yet. You had spent the better part of your time here, staring at another small bouquet resting at the base of the grave—white carnations and forget-me-nots, arranged with care, like they always were. Someone’s been here before you. Arranged these flowers with love. There's just no name in some card that gives away the beholder of the love.

You traced the curve of a petal with your gaze, not touching it. Not needing to.

You're not wary of them. It's a graveyeard. It's Jeon Minho's—beloved son, brilliant brother, best husband—grave. It's never empty. You recalled, absently,how on his first death anniversary the plot had been crowded. A forest of flowers so pretty and perplexing, letters folded into stones, paintings left by former students who still wrote emails to an address that no longer worked. One of them left a thumb drive with a digital portfolio and a note that simply read: “I only got in because of him.”

Even now—three years later—his name never stopped resounding in impertuable places because he had a way of staying with people, even long after he’d left the room. Had this laugh that would get stuck in your head. And somehow, that made it both easier and harder. That he was remembered in a love that he alone inspired. Gentle. that was earned without asking. The kind of love that was mourned in secret, in ritual, in color.

You placed your bouquet down next to the others, brushing a fallen leaf from the base of the headstone. The stone was smooth beneath your touch, cold. You traced the carved letters-his name, the dates-and swallowed the lump that always formed when you read them too slowly.

“I was going to bring tulips,” you said softly, not sure if you were speaking to the stone or the wind. “But you always said they looked sad. Too floppy.” A just as sad smile that would have mimicked the tulips curled at your mouth.

“Thought I’d bring lilies instead. Thought they might hold their shape better. I hope they do.”

The ache wasn’t sharp anymore. But it was deep. It was marrow-deep. Though it didn't weight like it used to. It hummed in your blood, a familiar frequency. Almost like a song you’d once loved but now couldn’t bear to hear past the first few notes. Like the sky that is a pale repose of overcast, streaked with gray, the kind that always made Minho grumble about "bad lighting" when he painted. The ground is damp but not cruel. Just enough to remind you that time moves here too. That even woe must learn to grow things again.

A breeze stirred, threading through your coat, pushing strands of hair across your cheek. You didn’t brush them away. You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, the grave in front of you, the silence beside you.

"Odd taste you had, min-min." You said after a while. "I wouldn't be suprised if you would find me sitting here, trying to make conversation with a slab of stone romantic. Probably say how so much effort for a guy who once mixed paint water into his cereal is good kind of weird."

Your voice cracked a little at that.

You don't cry.

You think that maybe you’ve used up all your tears on the wrong days—the regular ones, the grocery-list ones, the Tuesdays that came out of nowhere.

And then because the present can only be held for so long, you begin to remember.

The first time you were ever in a graveyard. Before you understood what death really was. Before it had touched you. When it was just a mystery. A place with names and flowers and questions no one could answer properly.

It had been years ago—childhood still clinging to your limbs like summer heat, with scraped knees and sticky palms and dreams that stretched further than your little world could hold. You and Jungkook couldn’t have been more than ten. Minho, already bordering on thirteen, had taken to pretending that his age made him wiser, even though he still laughed too loudly at fart jokes and left crayon smudges on his school notebooks.

You had been searching for this place for a while.

Not this graveyard, exactly, but the idea of it.

A name. A date. Something real to press against the fading edges of Jungkook’s memory.

He had come across a slip of paper one day in the back of a file, folded four times over, nearly forgotten in the drawer of father's study that nobody was allowed in. The handwriting had been unfamiliar—elegant but rushed—and it bore two names. His parents, he said. He thought.

And for weeks, the three of you had quietly tried to piece it together.

You’d used the school’s clunky computer lab—pretending to research for a social studies project while Minho furiously clicked through online directories and civic records. You whispered questions to the lunch lady, who knew someone who once worked in town hall. You even bribed the janitor with your entire sticker collection to let you sneak into the staff archives one afternoon.

No one said it was about sorrow.

No one had to.

You just wanted to help him find something—anything—that made him feel less like a shadow of someone else’s loss.

And finally, on a Thursday that still smelled like last night’s rain, you did.

You’d all skipped school that day.

The air still damp from last night’s rain, the sky overcast in a way that made the world look softer, quieter, like someone had pulled a cotton sheet over the sun.

It had been Minho’s idea, but Jungkook who needed it. You remember that part vividly, because he hadn’t asked out loud. Hadn’t needed to. He had stood in the courtyard with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his too-big jacket, hair a mess, eyes darker than usual. And Minho had just looked at him, then at you, and nodded.

“We’re going,” he said. "Are you ready, Kook?"

He was holding a slip of paper in one hand and clutching the edge of his jacket with the other.

“Yes, hyung." He had nodded. "I want to find them."

The air around you had gone quiet then—not out of shock, but out of care. Like the air had thinned out so as not to crowd him.

“We’d get in trouble,” you had broke the silence, voice a sharp whisper, mind already thinking of all ways you could get in trouble, eyes darting to the teachers pacing the other side of the field.

“Yeah,” Minho agreed. “But it’s a good reason. I'm sure they will understand...right?" Taller than the both of you already. He looked between Jungkook’s face and the paper again, then over at you.

You’d rolled your eyes, half because you were nervous and half because that was your role in this trio—to be skeptical just enough for Minho to feel brave. That made minho provide reassurance to his own doubt. "They will." Minho had said, like it was that simple.

And it was.

It always was, with the three of you.

You were kids, but not careless ones. You planned it like it was a secret mission—packed snacks in the side pockets of Minho’s bag, let Milo tag along even though he wasn’t technically allowed out without a leash. The sun was high when you snuck out, the kind of early spring day that couldn’t decide if it was warm or not. As if it was playing a cruel game of hide and seek, peeking through clouds that weren’t sure if they wanted to rain again. You wore your favorite jacket—denim with a strawberry patch on the sleeve. Jungkook didn’t bring anything except the folded piece of paper. Milo sat at his feet, tail thumping occasionally against the metal floor of the bus.

You caught the bus by the corner near the florist’s shop, ducking low behind the seats in case any familiar faces passed. The journey was slow. Long bus ride—two transfers, three wrong stops. You sat tucked in the back row, heads down, laughing behind your hands when Milo licked a stranger’s elbow. You passed the time counting license plates and telling each other made-up stories about the people outside.

One old man at the third stop looked at you from under his hat and said, “That place? That place’s been forgotten.”

But then a woman at the vegetable stall a few streets over gave you better directions. Told you to follow the path lined with dogwoods until you saw the iron gates.

You wandered through the quiet neighborhoods of Daejun on foot, sneakers wet from the last puddles, stepping over cigarette butts and crushed petals, past shuttered stores and a shrine half-covered in ivy. The deeper you walked, the more the world thinned out into something older. Something that felt sacred and sad all at once.

The graveyard.

Wrought iron gates half rusted, vines crawling up the stone wall, the sign chipped but still legible.

There was no one there to greet you. Just wind. And quiet. And Milo’s soft panting.

You stepped inside together, slow. Reverent. As if you were entering a cathedral.

You didn’t speak much. Just looked.

Row after row of headstones, some cracked, some buried under moss. The names were unfamiliar. The silence, even more so.

“I think it’s this way,” Minho said, squinting at the map he’d drawn on notebook paper. “I printed a map. And I’m, like, really good at reading maps.”

“You got us lost last week trying to find that new ramen place,” you reminded him, turning around to walk backwards for emphasis.

Minho rolled his eyes. “That was one time."

"Was it?" You looked at Jungkook to back you up but he only cracked a tiny smile at that. You caught it—brief, barely there—but it warmed you anyway. It had been a long week leading up to this.

“They’re somewhere near the east wall,” Minho said, squinting at the faded directions. “Row 12, plot 33. I think we’re close.”

Your footsteps crunched over gravel and scattered leaves. Milo veered off occasionally, sniffing at corners and chasing insects, but always came back. The sun filtered through bare branches in patches, dappling your arms in faint light.

The wind picked up when they turned the final corner—soft, not cold, brushing past their jackets like a whisper. Row twelve stretched ahead in crooked lines, some stones older than others, names worn down by years of weather and forgetfulness.

Jungkook stopped walking.

Your eyes followed his gaze.

Two gravestones stood side by side, tucked beneath a slant of oak branches. The grass was longer here. The stones smaller than you expected.

They were side by side. Dates etched beneath them.Born years before any of you. Gone before Jungkook had learned what it meant to belong to anyone. No pictures. No flowers. Just names and silence. And that was all he had.

Jungkook stared at them like he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel. Like maybe he’d expected something different. Or maybe he didn’t know what he expected at all.

His hand crumpled the piece of paper still clutched in his fist.

You moved first, not touching him, just standing nearby, close enough that he’d know you were there if he needed you.

Minho lowered the backpack slowly to the ground, the usual jokes stalled on his tongue. Even Milo went still, sitting quietly at Jungkook’s feet, as if he understood the moment too.

Jungkook stepped forward, cautiously. His sneakers scuffed the grass. He crouched slowly in front of the grave, his knees pressing into the damp soil, fingertips hesitating above the stone.

“That’s them?” he asked, voice tight in his throat. “For real?”

Minho nodded. “Yeah. The names match.”

Jungkook didn’t speak again. He pressed his fingers lightly to the letters on the headstone—first his father’s, then his mother’s. They were cool from the shade, worn smooth at the edges.

You crouched beside him. He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the way his eyes were glossed, not quite crying, but close. “Do you think they were nice?”

Minho sat down cross-legged beside him, stretching his legs out like it was any other afternoon. “Your mom? Definitely. Anyone who names a baby Jungkook has to be at least kind of awesome.”

That earned the smallest laugh from you, and then from him.

Jungkook looked at the gravestones again. “Do you think they’d like me?”

You nudged his side with your elbow, gently. “Koo, it’s kinda hard not to like you.”

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “I cry sometimes. And I suck at spelling.”

Minho made a dramatic groan. "You’re the coolest. Smarter than me. And you always win at Mario Kart.”

Jungkook ducked his head, but you saw the way his shoulders loosened. He reached out then—hesitant—and brushed some dirt off the stone. You watched the movement, how careful it was. How reverent.

“I didn’t think I’d feel anything,” he murmured.

“But you do?” you asked.

He nodded, still not looking at either of you. “Yeah.”

You stayed there until the sun dipped lower behind the hills. Minho finished the sketch and tore the page from his book. He folded it carefully, handed it to Jungkook without a word.

Jungkook looked at it for a long moment, then tucked it into his hoodie pocket.

“Hey,” Minho said as you were walking back toward the gates. “Think they’ve got a vending machine nearby? I want strawberry milk.”

You laughed. “You always want strawberry milk.”

He smirked, tugging his cap lower. “Yeah, well. It’s a long walk home.”

You trace the rim of the headstone now, your fingertips ghosting. Lingering. Your voice is soft. Almost like a child's again.

“We never did find that vending machine.”

The wind stirs in the trees like it remembers too.

“But you’d be happy to know,” you continue softly, “that your paintings found their way anyway.”

You smile faintly, fingers brushing a small chip in the edge of the stone like you could smooth it out. “It’s finally happening. Really. The gallery. Jungkook’s opening it today.”

You glance up toward the stone, as if you might catch his reaction.

“I told him we should. After I saw it—I mean really saw it—I couldn’t not share it with the world. And you know me. I don’t say things like that unless I mean them. I think… I think you’d be proud of how much care he put into it. How many nights he stayed up figuring out framing and lighting and titles. Gosh."

Your voice thickens around the word proud.

“He asked me what kind of wine you’d want served at the opening,” you add, with a shaky laugh. “I said you’d just tell people to bring root beer instead and call it a day.”

You look at the lilies now, at the way their petals fold gently inward. You try to imagine the sound of Minho’s laughter if he were here. Try to imagine the way he’d tease you for crying without making you feel like crying was wrong.

“It looks beautiful, Min min. The gallery. I think it would’ve made you shy. All those people showing up just for you. Can you imagine?”

You pause.

A crow calls from a nearby tree. A leaf skitters across the gravel.

“And something else,” you say softly. “I think I should tell you.”

It’s not a secret, not really. Just something unspoken for a long, long time. Something you’ve carried carefully, like glass.

“I wasn’t sure at first,” you admit, a dry laugh slipping out. “I mean, of course I wasn’t. It felt impossible. Like… crossing a bridge I shouldn’t have even been near. I can't even think of anything else to describe it to you."

The words take time. But you don’t rush them.

"The very first it was the the little bakery near the university with the good tarts. The museum with the terrible lighting but the softest benches. He even took me to that rooftop bar that used to give you vertigo—remember? "

You chuckle, covering your face briefly with your hand.

You shift your weight slightly, stretching your legs in front of you. A leaf lands on your boot.

“And then last week,” you continue, “he took me to this little Korean BBQ place in Hongdae. Said the meat was just okay, but the company made it worth it. We stayed until the restaurant closed. Walked along the river. He kissed me beside the railing. It was cold, and I couldn’t feel my fingers."

The place wasn’t fancy. People probably didn’t dress up for here dressed up or made reservations two weeks in advance. It had plastic chairs that wobbled slightly, walls lined with signed polaroids and grease-stained menus, and a sliding glass door that stuck every time someone tried to open it too quickly.

You ordered too much, of course. He insisted on the samgyeopsal, you picked the bulgogi, and somehow you ended up with three side dishes neither of you remembered asking for. The grill sizzled between you, soft smoke curling toward the ceiling vents, and Jungkook poured you a glass of water like it was part of an accent only he knew how to follow.

And there was something about watching him like that—hair pushed back, head slightly tilted, tongs in hand while he laid down the marinated strips of meat that made something alter inside you. Something small but sure.

Something you didn’t feel with the with the accountant who wouldn’t stop talking about NFTs. The guy who took you to a food truck but only ordered for himself.

A soft breath escapes you. “And it’s not the same. It’s not like it was with you. But it’s not different in the wrong ways either.”

You glance at the grave again, hands resting in your lap. Your heart hurts and swells at once.

“I think you’d understand,” you whisper.

And you do. In some strange, marrow-deep way, you believe it. That he would. That Minho, the boy who used to kiss the corners of your eyes and name his paint colors after inside jokes, would know what this meant. That he’d want this for you.

That he’d forgive you.

You reach for the lilies again, adjusting them so the stems don’t bend. Your eyes flick back to the stone.

“I still miss you,” you whisper. “I still love you.”

The breeze quiets again.

"And I still think you're the best friend I've ever had. That's why I needed to tell this this to you first."

Your fingers press gently to your lips, then down to the stone.

Who else would you tell other than the boy who had orchastered the definition of fairytale love for you? Who would you tell that you're starting to realize that he loves you? Maybe he had a for a long time now. And maybe you-

Bzzzt.

Your phone vibrated in your coat pocket.

The sound was soft, almost reluctant against the hush of the graveyard, like it too didn’t want to interrupt.

You blinked, pulled it out with chilled fingers, and read the message lit dimly on the screen.

[Dad:]

Sweetheart, we’re parked outside, still. Just checking if you’re ready.

You turned your head slightly and spotted the vague outline of your father’s car just beyond the gate, tucked in the corner of the lot. You could imagine your mother in the passenger seat, fingers wrapped around a thermos of tea, eyes scanning the trees while she waited with the scarf minho brought her two christmas ago, letting you have this moment uninterrupted.

They’re in town, of course. They always are, on this day.

It started the first year—when the pain was still red and raw and too large for your chest. Back then, you couldn’t eat, couldn’t speak without choking on the spaces where Minho should’ve been. Your parents had shown up with soup and chamomile tea and enough patience to outlast a storm. They stayed even when you didn’t speak for hours.

And every year since, they’ve found new ways to not let you be alone.

This day always makes them softer with you. Or maybe just more afraid of saying the wrong thing. Hovering a little closer. Speaking in quieter tones.

You sigh, brushing your thumb across the message. You don’t reply yet. Instead, you turn back toward the headstone, heart still soft and cracked wide open.You smile faintly.

“I should probably go.”

You reach down, sweeping a fallen petal from the edge of the stone.

“I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? Tell you how it goes."

You gather your coat closer around your shoulders, standing slowly. Your knees creak from the cold stone bench, from sitting too long in one position. You stretch slightly, then glance once more at the flowers now clustered at the grave’s base.

The sky has begun to change—clouds pulling apart in slow, reluctant threads, letting in slivers of afternoon light. You press your fingers gently to the headstone one last time.

"Wish me luck, min min."

You imagine he does. Hands in his pockets. Smile tugging wide and lazy. Head tilted, like he knows you've got this.

Like he's urging you to go back to the part of the story where something finally begins.

You slipped into the backseat with a soft apology, the car door clicking shut behind you.

“Sorry,” you murmured, pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders. The fabric had gone cold against your skin, but the chill clinging to you wasn’t just from the graveyard. “I didn’t mean to keep you both waiting.”

Your mother turned in her seat, her eyes warm even beneath the slight crease of worry still lingering at her brow. “Don’t be silly,” she said gently, her hand reaching back to rest briefly on your knee, the kind of maternal touch that knew when to press and when to ease. “We figured you might want a few more minutes. We all do."

“We were just talking about how this town hasn’t changed a bit,” she added, shifting the topic without making a show of it.

“She was talking,” your father interjected from the driver’s seat, a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I was checking the parking meter.”

“You were checking your watch and pretending it was the parking meter,” your mother teased.

“I was,” he insisted. “City’s always been eager to ticket people in parked cars.”

You let the cadence of their conversation fold around you, like the comfort of a familiar quilt. Safe. Worn soft with time. The kind of talk you’d heard all your life, in road trips and kitchens and walks through grocery aisles.

The engine kicked into motion, pulling you away from the graveyard slowly. You turned once in your seat, watching the wrought iron fence fade into the distance, your eyes lingering on the tree line long after it disappeared.

Outside, the town blurred past—branches heavy with the early promise of spring, cafés setting out mismatched chairs, signs swinging in the breeze like the sighs of old shopkeepers.

Your parents started talking about the café near the roundabout—how it had changed hands again, how the new owners apparently served matcha pancakes now, how the inside had been repainted a strange, charming blue. You listened with half an ear, forehead resting against the cool glass, hands folded in your lap.

Bzzt. Your phone made the same noise again.

[Jungkook]:

Are you on your way yet?

Missing you.

You typed back quickly, thumbs moving faster than your thoughts:

[You]:

On the way now. In the backseat with my parents. Be there soon.

He replied instantly like he was waiting with his phone in his hand.

[Jungkook]:

Good. See you.

You could picture him now—standing in the middle of the gallery in those dark slacks and a shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, brow furrowed as he scanned the placement of frames and fiddled with the lighting, making sure nothing was out of place. He’d probably refused help again. Probably hadn’t eaten yet. Probably had to be convinced into not polishing every glass display himself.

You scrolled up, letting your thumb drag slowly over the thread from this morning:

[Jungkook]:

Good morning, angel ❤️

[Y/N]:

Good morning 😊

[Jungkook]:

Did you eat?

[Y/N]:

Just coffee so far. Did you?

[Jungkook]:

Two bites of toast. Stress eating. Lights are temperamental again but I'll sort them out.

[You]:

Don't stress it too much, okay? And eat.

[Jungkook]:

Copy that, professor.

You had smiled when you read that. Still did. A quiet little curve of your lips you didn’t bother hiding. Then he had sent a photo—one of the larger canvases half-unwrapped, sunlight catching the ridges of Minho’s brushstrokes like gold embroidery.

[Jungkook]:

Look at this.

[Y/N]:

Looks so beautiful. Everyone's gonna love it. You've done so much.

The light turned red and your father hummed to the radio while your mother picked at invisible lint on her sleeve.

[Jungkook]:

I can come get you after you're done visiting the cemetery. Just say the word.

[You]:

It’s okay. My parents are in town. I’m coming with them.

You were still staring down at the screen when your mother spoke again.“You’ve looked miles away for the last five minutes. Who’s texting you?”

You didn’t look up from your phone, but you could hear the knowing in her voice. “Oh.. it's Jungkook.”

“Ah,” she said, like that explained everything.

“He’s there already, isn’t he?” Your father asked casually.

You nodded, surprised. “Yeah, he’s… there. He’s doing a lot.”

“He always did have a stubborn streak,” your dad added. “Good head on his shoulders though."

Your mother smiled to herself. “I remember how he used to follow Minho around. And it's so beautiful now that he’s carrying so much of him forward.”

You looked down at your lap, throat tightening. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “It is.”

The car turned left and began its slow crawl into a lane that was too familiar.

You sat straighter as the car slowed, heart pulling taut in your chest, held in place by something between magnetism and memory. You recognized the bend in the road before you saw the sign—the soft flicker of gold script in the window, the sharp white glow of the "Open" sign casting its light across the pavement.

Your mother leaned forward slightly. “Oh. We’re here.”

The tires crunched over the gravel as your father pulled into the side lot. There were already several cars here, clustered neatly in crooked rows—some you recognized, most you didn’t. The gallery looked different in this light. Not the mum, plagnent space Jungkook first brought you to, that secret place where ghosts had been allowed to breathe without interruption.

the same place pulsed now. Lived.

Soft warm light spilled out of the tall windows. Music, muffled by glass, carried on the wind in threads. A little cluster of people stood out front—hands curled around invitation slips, eyes lifted toward the lettering carved into the wooden sign overhead.

You inhaled slowly.

It was still the same place you saw a month ago.

But it had opened its doors.

People had come. People would see it. His art.

The same paintings that once cluttered the corners of your apartment. That leaned against your sofa while waiting to dry. That held pieces of him—his bursts of joy, his quiet grays, his wild blues. You wondered if anyone walking past those canvases today would feel it. Would know what it cost him to bare his soul in brushstrokes.

And what it cost you to let it go.

Your mother turned to you in her seat, her hand reaching for yours, gentle.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded before you even knew if it was true. “Yeah, eomma. I’m fine.”

Your father opened his door, stepping out and stretching a little. “We’ll head in first,” he said, not unkindly. “Give you a moment if you need it.”

You managed a grateful smile. “Thanks, appa.”

The doors shut gently behind them. And for a beat, you were alone in the car, staring at the front doors of a dream made real.

Minho should be here.

That thought burned sudden and sharp and then softened into something acheful and wide. No. If love made ghosts, he’d be here already.

You reached for your bag, tugging out your compact mirror. You checked your eyes, smoothed your mouth, and whispered something into your reflection you didn’t quite hear yourself.

You abode in the stillness of the car for a few more seconds.

The engine long silenced. The peal of your parents’ voices faded into the low thrum of background music filtering through the gallery windows, the kind that belonged to wine glasses and quiet awe. The kind you imagined would play behind moments people would remember long after they forgot the taste of the wine or the exact words said.

You stored at the open doors. Arms stretched out. Yet you couldn't find it in yourself to move.Your fingers fidgeted in your lap, tracing the stitching of your coat. The sleeves of your blouse itched slightly at the wrists where your nerves collected like water pooling before a storm. You weren’t sure why your hands trembled. Maybe it was the anticipation. Maybe it was memory. Whatever it was, you had to brush past it.

You finally opened the door.

The wind greeted you with the breath of spring—soft, cool, perfumed faintly by something blooming just out of sight. The air kissed your cheeks, lifted the ends of your coat, and whispered welcome in a language only the brave know how to answer.

Your boots landed on the pavement. One step after the another. surely you remember the movement. there's only so much a day can take away from you.

The closer you walked to the entrance, the quieter the outside world became. The street behind you faded. The city paused if it could even do that. All you could hear now was the creak of wood beneath your feet as you stepped through the front doors, the soft closing of them behind you.

You found yourself in the hallway.

Long. Polished. Narrow in the way old corridors are. lit warmly with sconces that cast golden glows on textured walls. The murmur of voices came from farther in, down toward the gallery proper. That’s where everyone must be. You imagined them standing in front of the paintings, glasses of wine held loosely, their faces tilted upward in soft admiration, eyes wet in that quiet way art sometimes invited. People standing in front of Minho’s canvases and murmured things like "alive" and "honest" and "brilliant" without ever knowing the sound of his laughter.

But this hallway was empty. Or you thought it was.

You had just reached the halfway point—right where the hallway curved inward—when arms slipped around your waist from behind.

A gasp left you before your body remembered the shape of his.The scent of cedar, lavender soap, and faint varnish clung to him like an afterthought. His arms locked around you with the ease of practice but the fervor of something still new, and for a moment, the world dipped, rearranged itself around this one small plantery motion.

“There you are,” Jungkook murmured, voice rough against your ear.

You turned in his arms, your hands finding the fabric of his shirt like they’d always known how. His sleeves were rolled, just as you imagined, the fine lines of stress still etched around his brow.

His eyes met yours.

And something in your chest loosened.

"Were you looking for me?" you asked quietly.

He replied just as. "I'm always looking for you, angel." There was no flourish in the way he said it. Your breath hitched, a tiniest of movement and Jungkook watched the subtle shift of your expression like a ripple breaking the surface of water.

Gods, he thought, how could he not?

Even now, here, when there was so much else demanding his attention—guests arriving in waves, wine being poured, lights flickering again in the east wing. And still, in every room he walked into, in every face he passed, he found himself searching.

It was ridiculous, really. The way his eyes would scan the corners of the gallery and mistake someone’s hair, the tilt of a shoulder, the sound of your laugh echoing in his head like phantom static. The way his pulse leapt anytime the door opened. The way he felt incomplete if he couldn't place you in the room.

And now you were here. And the world had stitched itself back together.

You didn’t speak at first.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because your heart felt like it was still catching up after it had been walking this hallway too, trying to find its way to him.

“Well, you're the host. I'm sure you must be needed elsewhere too.” you whispered, reaching to smooth the edge of his collar.

Jungkook shook his head gently. “I'm exactly where I want to be.” His hands tightened just slightly at your waist.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering just a beat longer than necessary.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Really okay?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “Now I am.”

He held your gaze for another moment, then dipped his head forward, just enough to press his lips to your forehead, his hands resting warm by your side. The world dimmed in that moment—just the two of you, suspended in quiet, his breath a soft punctuation at the crown of your head. But even as warmth bloomed beneath your ribs, there was a tight, pulsing thread of awareness that curled around your spine.

You stole a glance over Jungkook’s shoulder, eyes flickering to the curve of the hallway behind him—the doorway just around the corner where voices hummed, where glasses clinked, where footsteps could echo down the tile at any moment. Anyone could walk past. People with eyes and mouths and memories. Guests who knew your name. Friends of Minho’s. Colleagues. Distant family.

Anyone could turn the corner and see this—see him with you like this, your bodies tucked into each other. Your hand clenched softly into the fabric at his side. The paranoia was subtle, but it was real. It had crept in somewhere between the second kiss and the third hidden touch.

The thought made you tense, just slightly. He felt it.

“Baby.” Jungkook said, voice low, his hand drifting to the small of your back. “It’s just us.”

“Yeah, but…” Your voice trailed, lips brushing the fabric near his collarbone, your fingers curling into the cotton at his chest. “Someone might come.”

His eyes softened, though there was something that tightened at the corners giving way to a flicker of frustration he didn’t bother to hide. Not at you, obviously. He does'nt think he's capable of ever directing that at you. But at the way the world demanded so much of your caution, your retreat.

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours. "I promise. No one will."

The words curled in your ears, low and purposeful, like he’d carved them for just you. His hand slid up your back, a warm, steady line from your waist to your shoulder. You hated that you thought that they kinda do. You hated the need for shadows and how it has been shaping your frustration. How it has been shaping it in a circle so big you couldn’t tell where it started anymore. Only that it kept coming back. That it always ended with your pulse too loud in your ears and your eyes darting over your shoulder. Like what you were committing to didn’t deserve a place in the daylight.

You have also started eliminating even the possibility of the thought that it maybe didn't. Still, the guilt was no longer clean. It was clouded now, smeared at the edges with longing and the slow, terrible truth that what you had with Jungkook didn’t feel borrowed. It didn’t feel like a thing you could press back into a drawer once the moment was gone. It was the impossibility of compartmentalizing love.

Because how do you mourn someone and move toward someone else, all in the same breath? How do you walk through a gallery built from one man’s art only to fall into the arms of the man who framed it all?

It felt like it had grown roots.

And the more you buried it, the more it pulled at you.

You looked at him now—really looked. His brow furrowed slightly, not from worry but from effort. Like he was thinking, measuring, holding back the words that always swam just below the surface when you were this close.

Instead of saying any of the things tugging at the threads of your mouth, you stepped back just enough to feel the air slip between your bodies. Not far. Just enough for your hand to find his.

His fingers curled around yours instinctively. Always ready.

You looked up at him. “Is it crowded in there?”

"A little." He said. "Some of our colleagues. A few critiques."

You nodded again, absorbing that.

"None of them need to matter, yeah?" he added, searching your face, thumb skimming just beneath your eye. His next words were gentler.

You looked up then, caught the sincerity in his eyes, fought the urge to lean into his touch. Managed another nod. "Yeah...Can we stay a minute more?" The latter come out smaller than you would have expected.

“Take your time,” he nodded. "They can all wait."

You didn’t dare think about the look on his face when he had to let go of your fingers fitted around his after you said you were ready. He only offered a squeeze to your fingers and then let go with a kind of quiet reluctance, like pulling his hand out of warm water. The touch lingered, even as you stepped aside to let him lead the way. You rounded the curve of the hallway together, the voices sharpening in clarity now, glass clinking against glass, the soft rustle of shoes on polished tile growing louder until the threshold broke open and the gallery revealed itself in full.

It was no longer the dim, sacred place. It breathed differently now. Alive with soft light and the lull of conversation, with coats slung over arms and programs curled in curious fingers. Warm gold spilled from fixtures in the ceiling, catching on frames that lined the walls like punctuation. Artwork stretching in long, thoughtful rows, each canvas dressed in celebration. Of someone's unfinished story? you doubted it cared.

You stood still for a moment, toes just brushing the edge of the gallery’s threshold, eyes skimming the room as your body remembered how to belong to this space. The floors had been polished to a mirror shine. Glasses reflected in the glass cases. Someone was laughing softly by the front corner near the sculpture series.Others stood near the windows, wine glasses held delicately, murmuring words like “devastating,” “formidable,” “alive.” It wasn’t performative in a sense that you made up in your head. At least not all of it. You recognized a few of them—students, former professors, one woman who had once hosted Minho’s university exhibit and had cried at his brushwork.

You darted your gaze to Jungkook then. The way he walked just ahead of you now, poised and solid in his dark dress shirt and pressed slacks, shoulders straight, head slightly tilted to catch bits of conversation from passing guests. He looked composed. You assumed or you'd like to think so that he only bared his nerves in front of you. As if the man who used to flinch at compliments and pretend his silence was indifference had taught himself to carry meaning with quiet precision.

But then a man stepped into his path. Tall, suited, carrying a drink and the kind of posture that belonged to someone who used the word “impressionist” a little too often. His smile was sharp and familiar, one of Jungkook’s gallery donors or colleagues, you assumed. Maybe from Seoul. Maybe further. Either way, it took only a moment for you to read the shift in Jungkook’s expression—the subtle recalibration of his shoulders.

He turned to you before the man could fully pull him into conversation, fingers brushing your wrist in a barely-there promise. “I won’t be long.”

You nodded, already letting go. “Of course,” you whispered, because it was all you could offer right now, and maybe all he needed.

The man clapped Jungkook on the shoulder and pulled him aside, voice too loud and smile too bright. You watched them for half a moment—Jungkook answering politely, gaze flickering every so often in your direction like a thread trying not to fray before you eased yourself into the soft tide of the room, letting the current pull you away.

You moved carefully, politely. Like someone trying not to be noticed but still present enough not to be rude. You paused by a small table draped in navy linen, where empty glasses sat beside a quiet arrangement of baby’s breath and ranunculus. Someone offered you a flute of sparkling wine, and you accepted with a quiet smile.

You turned toward one of the walls, drawn in by a piece you hadn’t seen before; one of the mid-sized ones, full of green and amber and soft streaks of silver. The color didn’t move, it shimmered. Softly. Like someone had taken the feeling of being loved quietly and turned it into oil and canvas.

The placard below it simply read:

“Until Then.”

Minho’s signature curled in the corner, the same familiar scrawl you’d once watched him sign onto birthday cards and tax forms and the back of the fridge note that read don’t drink the milk, I’m trying to paint with it.

You had just rounded the sculpture wing—Minho’s smallest works, done in smoothed resin and wire, quiet things that bloomed under light like secrets left in the sun—when you spotted her.

Your mother, standing near the northern alcove, a glass of wine untouched in her hand, fingers curled gently around the stem like she was trying not to leave prints. She looked beautiful beneath the high arch of the window, her coat tucked neatly at her elbow, hair pinned like it always had been like she hadn’t aged a day past the first time she walked into your kindergarten recital.

You slipped beside her, your hand brushing her arm in greeting.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

She turned, her face lighting up with that familiar mix of joy and worry, the kind only a mother could balance so well. “Here you are. I was wondering if you’d gotten swallowed by the hallway.”

“Almost,” you said, managing a faint smile. “But I escaped.”

"where's dad?" you added. 'making friends I think."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice laced into the air from behind.

"Found you."

Mrs. Jeon stood a few feet away, her posture regal even beneath the soft, flattering lights. She wore navy silk—understated but elegant—and her hair was pinned in place with simple pearl combs. Always the portrait of grace, always the kind of woman who held her sorrow like a folded note in the corner of her purse: private, creased, but always within reach. of her, atleast.

Her smile, though, was real. It warmed as she drew nearer.

"Mom." You muttered in muscle memory.“I was hoping to catch you before the crowd did,” she said, pulling you in for a quick, maternal sort of hug. “You look lovely.”

“So do you,” you said honestly, letting yourself be held for the brief second she allowed.

"You look exactly the same, you witch. Do you age backwards?”

Mrs. Jeon turned at the sound of the voice she hadn’t heard in a while—one that still carried the same quiet humor, tinged with a touch of fond exasperation. Her eyes widened slightly before softening, and her expression brightened into something looser, something more like the woman she might’ve been before grief gave her bones new weight.

“Oh, look who’s talking,” she replied with a smile, already moving forward. “Still glowing like you’ve got a secret no one else knows.”

Your mother laughed as they embraced, arms curling gently around each other’s shoulders in a way that spoke of familiarity—of years stitched loosely together with holiday dinners and shared glances from opposite ends of the table.

“It’s been so long,” your mother murmured as they pulled apart. “I’m sorry it took something like this.”

Mrs. Jeon shook her head, brushing it off with a small wave of her hand. “Don’t be. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

"It's been a long time still. When was even the last time we saw each other properly?"

Mrs. Jeon tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Hmm—wait, there was that awful fundraiser for the community garden. The one where everyone got food poisoning from the shrimp cocktail.”

Your mother gasped. “That’s right! I completely forgot about that.” Her eyes glittered with the memory. The laugh that followed was lighter than you expected it to be. “We left early and went to get hotteok from that little cart in the alley.”

“We did,” Mrs. Jeon smiled, and something softened in her gaze, her fingers brushing absently over the pearl comb in her hair. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had hotteok since.”

For a moment, it was easy to forget the reason for this gathering. Easy to forget the weight of what this day had always meant.

These were two women who had held time in their hands and offered it gently to each other across decades. You saw it now, plain as anything—in the crinkle of their eyes, in their voices when they leaned closer, speaking not just as in-laws, but as women who had once, maybe still, shared the same kind of heartbreak no parent should have to.

“Has he come?” your mother asked softly, her tone shifting as she scanned the room briefly, no longer talking about students or fashion or time but of something more specific.

Mrs. Jeon’s expression softened, her posture stilling in that way you’d learned to recognize—when something trembled just beneath the grace. She shook her head once. "No." she said, smoothing her hand down the front of her skirt. “He wanted to come. Really, he did. But I guess he had to sit this one out." She passed you a apologetic look and you nodded in reassurance.

Your mother didn’t press either. She simply nodded, and her hand found Mrs. Jeon’s again—a squeeze, not meant to comfort so much as to acknowledge. To say, I know.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she added, turning to you, her hand squeezing your elbow briefly. “I know today couldn’t have been easy.”

"Makes the two of us, mom." You said with crinkle of your eye that earned a acknowledging smile from her.

Reaching out to adjust the collar of your coat like it was second nature, she added. “He’d be proud of you, you know. Both of you.”

You didn’t trust yourself to respond to that with anything other than a quiet, "I hope so."

She let out a breath, slow and steady. “Oh, my dear. He would.”

And then, like all good women who’ve loved and lost and laughed too hard in small corners of too-large rooms, they both smiled again.

Then Mrs. Jeon tucked her arm into your mother’s. “Come on,” she said with a small lift of her chin. “You’ve got to tell me where you found that skirt. And I need wine before I start tearing up in front of a painting again.”

"Oh I've been out of loop for years. I've got to." Your mother said and offered a hand to you. "Would you like to join us, love?"

“You should.I have stories,” Mrs. Jeon promised, and you smiled. "You two should go. I'm gonna look around a bit and try to find Mira. She's here, right?"

“Oh, I saw her by the impressionist wall earlier,” Mrs. Jeon said, glancing over her shoulder. “She looked like she was interrogating someone about varnish techniques.”

“That sounds about right,” you replied with a smile. “I’ll catch up with you both in a bit.”

They nodded, already slipping back into their quiet conversation, and you watched the two of them disappear into the soft murmur of the gallery, heads tilted together like old friends caught mid-thread. You turned then, letting yourself exhale fully for what felt like the first time since you stepped through the door.

A cello murmured somewhere over the speakers, curling between the talking here and there, and the lights glowed honey-gold against the soft canvas walls. Every corner of the room breathed with pigment. you could'nt stop noticing that.

You wandered.

Your boots tread lightly over the polished floor, hands tucked loosely in front of you, eyes scanning the crowd—pausing now and then at paintings you remembered in their messier stages: taped along the kitchen wall, hanging crooked behind your sofa, still smelling of linseed and dust. It was surreal, this setting—so curated, so clean—when you remembered the life that birthed the art was anything but.

You caught a flash of Mira’s hair through the crowd, that soft copper tone that always helped you find her in a room. You lifted a hand slightly, already beginning to weave your way toward her. But before you could call out or lift a hand in greeting, someone stepped into your periphery.

“Excuse me—are you…?”

The voice was tentative, warm with a kind of hesitant reverence. You turned, expecting perhaps one of the donors or a distant family friend, only to find a young man—tall, soft-eyed, and maybe just a little older than Minho had been when he first started teaching.

He looked vaguely familiar, though you couldn’t place him immediately. He stood with a kind of earnestness that was hard to fake, his hands clasped in front of him, suit slightly rumpled like he’d run here from the train.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, offering an apologetic smile. “You probably don’t remember me. I was one of...uh..your husband's students.”

Something gentle shifted in your chest.

“I… didn’t want to intrude,” he added. “But when I saw you, I thought—well, I hoped I could say hello.”

Your throat tightened. You tilted your head and smiled softly, gesturing toward a nearby bench nestled between two hanging pieces—one of them a landscape Minho had once painted after a rainy drive through the mountains. “You’re not intruding,” you said. “Do you wanna sit?"

He seemed almost surprised at the offer, but nodded. You watched him ease into the seat beside you, clearly trying not to take up too much space.

“What’s your name?” you asked gently.

“Jihoon,” he said. “Lee Jihoon. I took one of his electives in my final year. Painting, beginner’s level. I was…awful at it.”

You laughed quietly, a real sound. “He’d argue there’s no such thing.”

“That’s exactly what he used to say.” Jihoon grinned. “Said ‘awful’ just meant you had somewhere to go. I always remembered that.”

There was a pause, full but comfortable.

“I didn’t really know him that well,” Jihoon admitted, his voice softening. “But he remembered my name. Every single week. Asked about my projects. My mood. Even told me once that the colors I picked made him think I saw the world kindly.”

You blinked.

“Not a lot of people say things like that,” Jihoon murmured. “Especially to someone like me. I was a chemistry major—out of place, anxious, tired. Had no idea what I was doing with my life. Until I came across his class, of course."

“That’s so beautiful, Jihoon." you said, the words catching slightly on the edge of your breath. “He always did have a gift for reminding people of their light.”

Jihoon nodded. “I don’t paint anymore. But I kept the last thing I made in that class. Just a mess of color on canvas, really. But sometimes I look at it and think—he saw something in it I didn’t.”

You smiled, blinking against the warmth flooding your eyes. “He had a habit of doing that.”

Another beat passed. The murmur of the gallery swelled around you like background music scored too gently for something so profound.

Jihoon looked over at you, his expression shifting into something fragile, more careful. “I’m really glad I got to meet you,” he said. “I don’t think he ever stopped talking about you in that class. Said if we ever wanted to get him any snacks, bring lemon bars." His face lit up with a quiet smile. “He said you liked lemon better than chocolate.”

You nodded, stunned by how clear the memory was now that it had been stirred. “I did.”

“Still do?”

You lifted a shoulder, the corner of your mouth tilting upward. “Some things never change.”

Jihoon smiled at that—wide and boyish. "That's nice to know." It was gentle, the way his presence sat beside you—like he wasn’t just honoring Minho, but also everything that had grown from knowing him.

Then Jihoon exhaled, slow and almost awed, eyes drifting back across the expanse of the gallery, gaze moving reverently from frame to frame, like each canvas demanded a certain kind of silence. “This gallery… it’s really something. And it’s a beautiful thing you’ve done, putting this together.”

Your heart flinched at that—touched, yes, but instinctively you shook your head.

“Oh—no. It wasn’t me.” You paused, glancing toward the crowd again. Your gaze moved past familiar faces, past wine glasses and framed brushstrokes, until it landed on the person you had, without realizing, been looking for since Jihoon sat down.

He stood just a few feet away, near the long window where the light curved in golden arcs across the floor. He was finishing a quiet exchange with someone in a charcoal suit—one of the critics, you guessed, or perhaps a gallery curator. His posture was easy but alert, as if one part of him remained in every corner of the room at once. His sleeves were still rolled, his collar slightly unbuttoned, and you could tell just by the slight shift of his brow that he was already scanning the crowd for you again.

Of course he was.

You raised a hand and waved, catching his eye. His face lit up—not in a bright, extravagant way, but in the way only people who’d been waiting to breathe could look when they finally did.

He made his way over without hesitation.

You turned back to Jihoon as Jungkook approached, gesturing gently. “That’s who did this,” you said. “That’s Minho’s younger brother. Jeon Jungkook. He’s the one who made all this happen.”

Jihoon blinked, clearly surprised. “That’s his brother? I didn’t know he had one.”

“Not many did,” you murmured. “They were close. Complicated. But close.”

Jungkook reached your side just then, eyes flicking briefly from you to Jihoon before settling somewhere in between—calm, but attentive.

“Hey,” he said to you, his voice a quiet tether. "Everything okay?"

You smiled. “Yeah. Jungkook, this is Jihoon."

Jihoon stood up immediately, offering his hand. “Lee Jihoon, sir. I was one of Minho’s students—back in my undergrad days.”

Jungkook took the hand, gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Jihoon. I'm Jungkook."

“You too. I was just telling ma'am…” Jihoon glanced toward the paintings on the wall, his expression shifting to something a little more awed, a little more raw. “This place is really special. You’ve honored him in a way that… well, I think he would’ve loved it.”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed almost imperceptibly, but his nod was deep. “He gave us so much,” he said. “This was just… the least I could do. Thank you for coming."

You watched as they stood there, just the two of them for a moment—two people connected only through love for the same person. Different kinds of love. Different shapes. But still, deeply rooted in retention, in ache, in admiration.

Jihoon dwelled for a moment after the handshake, shifting slightly from foot to foot like there was something else he was holding on to, something not yet said. His eyes moved once more over the room—past the guests murmuring quietly before landscapes of borrowed light and rain-drenched rooftops, past the gleam of gallery sconces and the soft ripple of music weaving beneath it all. Then he turned back to you, gaze steadied by something freshly lit.

“Would it be alright,” he asked, voice tentative, “if we—if someone made a toast?”

You blinked at him, surprised.

Jihoon cleared his throat, not quite sheepish, but aware of the weight of what he was suggesting. “I know it’s not that kind of event,” he continued, “and maybe this is out of turn, but… it just feels like we should. I mean—everyone here came because they loved him. Or learned from him. Or knew someone who did. I feel like he deserves that much.”

You were quiet a moment, absorbing that. Your fingers brushed against the hem of your sleeve. Behind you, Jungkook stayed still, close but not pushing. Letting you hold this decision.

Then you smiled—softly, achingly—and looked to Jihoon. “I think he would’ve liked that.”

Jihoon let out a small breath, and for the first time since he introduced himself, his shoulders eased.

Jungkook stepped in then, his voice low as he looked between you both. “Let me get someone to quiet the room.” His hand grazed your lower back briefly before disappearing again as he made his way toward the center of the gallery, where the natural dip in sound could be coaxed into pause.

You and Jihoon watched him go.

Jihoon straightened, cheeks slightly flushed, suddenly shy. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to overstep. It was just a thought.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, reaching to squeeze his wrist with a gentle, grateful hand. “It was a good one.”

The lights dimmed ever so slightly in a way that pulled attention without demanding it. Conversations tapered. A curator tapped gently against the side of her glass. Heads turned.

Jihoon glanced at you again, seeking silent permission.

You gave a small nod.

And then he stepped forward, clearing his throat once. “Hi,” he said, voice steadier than you’d expected. “Sorry to interrupt.”

The small squleche that followed was expectant—not cold. Rather, waiting.

“My name’s Jihoon,” he continued, “and I was one of Professor Jeon’s students. I didn’t know him as well as some of you might have. But I think—I think that’s what made him so special. You didn’t have to know him long to feel like you did.”

A few murmurs of agreement. A rustle of someone dabbing their eye with a tissue.

“He taught one class,” Jihoon said, “and I carried the things he said with me for years after. He made you believe you were capable of softness. Of seeing the world differently. Of being part of something even when you didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere.”

You pressed your fingers lightly to your lips, blinking against the sudden sting at the corners of your eyes.

Jihoon looked down, then back up again. “So if no one minds, I’d like to raise a glass. To Professor Jeon Minho. For all the ways he made us see color in places we didn’t know to look.”

There was a quiet chorus of glasses being lifted.

“To Minho,” Jihoon said.

“To Minho,” came the soft, scattered reply.

There was a sereness after Jihoon’s final words. Not silence, exactly—but the kind of quiet that settles after something sacred has been said aloud. For one suspended moment, all you could hear was the soft creak of someone adjusting their stance, the distant clink of a glass set gently onto a tray. A man nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on the frame nearest him—one of the softer pieces, all dusk and ripple.

And Jihoon just stood there, blinking slowly, like he was still surfacing from whatever place inside him those words had come from. And when he turned toward you, there was something unreadable in his expression. Not pressure. Not expectation.

Just… offering.

He held it out—gentle, like it might break if he wasn’t careful.

“Would you…?” he asked, voice low. “I mean—you don’t have to. But if anyone should…”

Your breath left you all at once.

A soft, dizzying rush.

As if the floor tilted beneath your shoes, and suddenly you were thirteen again, being called up to the front of a school assembly. Your palms itched. The back of your knees tensed. Your first instinct—your strongest—was to shake your head. To step away. To dissolve into the crowd and pretend you were just another guest, just another echo of Minho’s story, not the one who shared the ending.

You hadn’t spoken about him like this. Not out loud. Not in public. Not since—

Not since the funeral.

And even then, the words had been written on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper you never managed to unfold.

You swallowed, blinking past the sudden blur in your vision.

The gallery was full. Packed. Shoulders bumped. Wine was held, not sipped. People who knew you only in tangents were watching now—waiting, not rudely, but with a kind of esteem that made the room feel tighter than it was. Their gazes weren't demanding. But they were present. And that was somehow worse.

Your feet didn’t move.

Your spine stiffened instinctively, not out of pride, but fear. Fear that your mouth would open and nothing would come out. That your voice would catch on the years you spent trying to say his name without crumbling. That they would all look at you and see not a woman still grieving—but a woman trying too hard to prove she still was.

Jihoon seemed to realize it too late.

His hand faltered slightly, his brows lifting in the smallest, guilty apology.

You inhaled through your nose, sharp and steady, the sound of your own breath loud in your ears. Your heart was racing. Thundering. The edges of the room blurred just slightly, like the light had leaned in too far.

This wasn’t how you imagined tonight.

You didn’t imagine standing beneath spotlights with every gaze tipped toward you like glass waiting to crack. You didn’t imagine saying Minho's name aloud in a room full of strangers who only knew the brushstrokes, not the man.

He was yours once. That memory still felt private. Sacred. Could you really put it on display like this? Wasn’t the art enough?

Your eyes darted to the floor. To your palms. To anything but the sudden attention.

And you thought—how does one speak about a person who once turned their love into art and left you with the aftermath of their absence? How does a person speak of someone who still walks the halls of their memory like the floorboards remember his weight?

But eventually, the words would come. And they would be something like: Tentative. Threadbare. But real.

“Hi,” you'd say the word small, too soft for the space at first. You cleared your throat gently. “Um. Sorry. I—I wasn’t planning to speak tonight.”

That would get a quiet laugh from someone.

“Minho wasn’t someone you really planned things with, either,” you'd add, your lips pulling into the barest shape of a smile. “He was… spontaneous. Kind of a whirlwind, honestly. He’d forget his keys three days in a row, but remember a stranger’s birthday after overhearing it in a coffee shop.”

The room would shift slightly—leaning in.

You took a breath. Let it settle.

“My husband wasn’t just a man who painted,” you said. “He was someone who watched the world the way some people listen to music. Closely. Devotionally. He noticed things most people didn't. Messy things. Especially those, I think."

You'd managed a laugh, more breath than sound. And you'd admit, for the first time out loud that grief is messy. It’s changed shape every day. Some days it’s a stone. Some days it’s a fog. Some days it’s a balloon with a string you can’t catch.

You'd pause and you'd tell yourself it's obviously not for dramatic effect. "But tonight is different. Because of all of you. Because you came."

You looked out then, gaze landing softly on Jihoon, on your mother, on Mira’s coppery hair now stilled in the far corner. You saw faces that had once lived only on the edges of memory, now lit by gallery lamps and the weight of shared knowing.

Your eyes, though painted a picture perfect of one man alone in the crown. Found comfort when they found him only.

Standing just behind the crowd now. His hands folded calmly. His head tilted, watching you like you were the only voice in the world. And maybe, for him, you were.

"And this was possible only because of one person."

Your voice would shake—just a little. But not from fear now.

“This was made possible by someone who loved him too. Someone who saw what he meant, not just to me, but to the world. Someone who held my hand when I thought I’d never feel anything but the absence. Someone who…” A unconscious smike would tug at your lips—tired, grateful, breaking gently at the edges. “Who also happens to be my boyfriend.”

And that's the thing about adrenaline.

"Thank you, Jungkook."

Or maybe it was longing, maybe it was just exhaustion wearing a braver face. Maybe it was the ache of having stood on a ledge for so long that when your foot finally moved forward, you mistook the fall for flight.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It had curled out of your mouth before you even registered the gravity of it, like a word said often in thought but never aloud. A word with teeth and color and something terrifyingly irreversible to it. A word that had lived only in backseat glances and unspoken tendernesses, in private touches and the quietness of shared nights.

And for a moment, everything inside of you would go still.

You'd wait—rigid, breath tucked in your chest—for the ripple of it. For someone to count the months, do the math, raise an invisible hand and say what you’ve been saying to yourself every night. The inevitable shift. The stiffened gazes. The whisper sliding across someone’s tongue like a question dressed up in disapproval before they decided how to create into the dirtiest scandle.

No collective sound of gasps would come but the silence would skin you down anyways. It would echo in your blood like something impossible to take back, something that forced you to run from everyone.

You locked the stall door behind you with trembling fingers.

The click of the latch echoed too loudly in the tiled silence, as if the world wanted you to know—yes, you were alone now. Yes, you had done that. Yes, you had said it. Out loud. In a room full of Minho's memories and the people who used to call you his.

You braced your hands against the walls of the stall, palms flat against the cold tile, eyes squeezed shut.

Your breath came shallow.

God.

You were so stupid.

It played again in your head—your voice, too soft and yet entirely too clear, threading through the quell of the gallery like silk cut on glass.

Boyfriend.

You had said boyfriend.

You had said Jungkook’s name and attached boyfriend.

And though none of the terrible things you thought in your head made it out loud, silence, when it’s thick enough, is just another kind of thunder. And now it was echoing between your ribs like a bell toll.

You sank down onto the toilet lid, coat bunched beneath you, elbows on knees, forehead in your hands. Your fingers against your temples like you could keep the shame from spilling further down your face.

What had you done?

You could still feel the phantom warmth of the spotlight on your face. The taste of exhilaration clung to the back of your tongue, sharp and coppery, like you’d bitten into a secret and couldn’t spit it out fast enough.

Why hadn’t you stopped yourself?

Knowing everyone who had been there. Your parents were probably standing near the back, holding a flute of wine with both hands like they always did when trying not to look worried. fingers curled too tight, probably, lips pursesd in a expression you would recognize too well.

And Mrs. Jeon. God.

What must she be thinking?

You had loved her son. Loved him through every phase of boyhood and manhood and married years. You’d sat across from her at too many dinners to count, brought her lemon cakes on Sundays, once helped her fix her shoe in the middle of the grocery store.

And now she’d watched you turn toward the brother. Heard you name him something tender. Watched you stitch that word between your anguish and your present like you hadn’t torn anything in the process.

You had handled it fine up until then. You’d spoken about Minho. You had kept your voice steady, even when your hands had trembled. You had said the hard things—the soft things. The beautiful things. But that one word had been too much. Too fast. Too soon.

Why did you always go too far when it came to him?

And worse—why hadn’t he stopped you?

Why hadn’t he looked away when you’d looked at him?

Why had he stood there, taking it, breathing it, accepting the title like he’d been waiting for it all along?

You had thrown him into the light. You’d stepped outside the one rule you’d both kept tucked beneath your skin since this thing started.

You were so stupid.

You'd undone months of silence in one breath.

And you hated yourself for the part of you that didn't want to take it back.

Because that was the cruelest truth tucked beneath your chagrin. The real reason your stomach twisted and your heart beat so wildly it felt bruised from the inside out that maybe you hadn’t meant to say it. But you had meant it.

And now you couldn’t hide from either.

Did they think you moved on too quickly?

That you had let love grow again in the ruins?

You had wanted so badly for tonight to be about Minho.

About the way he painted loneliness like it was light filtering through stained glass. About the way he had lived—not just the way he had left.

And instead, you had made it about yourself.

About you and Jungkook and the impossible thing that bloomed between the wreckage.

You could already imagine it. The murmurs. Soft as oil and sharp as glass.

“Did you know?”

“So soon?”

“Well, he was her brother-in-law…”

Your hands curled into fists against your knees. You hated that you could hear them before they spoke. Hated even more that a part of you feared they were right. That some version of yourself had always been selfish enough to want to be held again, even if it came in a contours you weren’t supposed to take comfort in.

Even if it wore your husband’s last name.

You pressed your forehead to your palms and breathed in through your nose, sharp and careful.

You didn’t know how longer it would take for your breath to even out or more importantly, how long will it before you find the courage to step inside, face everyone.

Time slowed in the tile-slick silence. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, thudding out some rhythm of regret. Beneath the thin fabric of your blouse, sweat cooled over your spine, a second skin of discomfort. Your coat, wrinkled beneath you, smelled faintly of rosewater and nerves.

You stared at the hinge of the stall door like it might open on its own. Like someone would find you here and drag you gently into sense, or kindness, or forgetting.

But no one did.

Not for a while.

Not till there was a knock.

You froze instantly.

Just one. Light. Then another, softer this time, like maybe they realized what this was. A retreat. A rupture even.

You opened your mouth, voice caught in the wires of your throat, about to say—occupied—or sorry—or please go—but the voice that came next was not one you expected.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked.

Your spine went taut, then loose, as if the air itself sighed through your bones. You pressed your palms flat against the stall wall again, steadying yourself against the name.

Not Jungkook’s. Not your mother’s.

Mrs Jeon. Oh Jesus.

You closed your eyes.

Her voice didn’t come again, but you heard the gentle scuff of her heel shift just once, as if she didn’t need to knock again. As if she already knew you were on the other side, already knew what you were doing in there. As if she had once stood exactly where you were, though not in a gallery bathroom, not in navy silk, but somewhere private and full of guilt of her own.

She didn’t rush you.

Didn’t tap her fingers against the wood or call your name again like some well-meaning warning.

Just asked for confirmation. "Are you in there?"

You lowered your hands slowly, tears unshed but dangerously close, and stared at the small strip of her shadow beneath the stall.

You wanted to bolt.

You wanted to speak.

You wanted to rewind time.

Instead you dared again and answered. "Yes."

Your voice ragged and small cracked through the silence like a thread fraying loose again.

“…Did you hear it?”

There was a long pause.

“Yes.”

Your stomach flipped.

Another breath drew.

“Do you think less of me now?”

It took her a moment. But when she answered, it was without hesitation.

“No.”

She didn’t say it’s okay. She didn’t say I understand. She didn’t reach for platitudes or soft versions of a dejection you both carried like broken mirrors. She simply answered what you’d asked. Somehow that was what made your throat cave in.

“I was twenty-four,” she said, almost conversationally. “When I said something like that."

You blinked.

“It was a dinner party. The first one I attended. I said it too easily. Laughed like it meant nothing. But it did.”

Another pause. Then:

“I threw up in the bathroom afterward. Swore I’d never go to another dinner again.”

You felt your lips twitch—wet with something like a laugh, but broken at the edges.

“Did you go to another one?”

She hummed softly. “Eventually. You do things again. Not because you stop feeling, but because feeling changes. Becomes something you live with, not something you live inside.”

The silence that followed didn’t hurt the same way anymore.

When she spoke again, her voice was nearer to the door, like she had leaned just slightly in.

“Come out when you’re ready, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Then her heels clicked softly against the tile, retreating with the same grace she always wore.

And for the first time since stepping into the bathroom, your breath moved all the way through your chest.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there after her footsteps faded.

A minute? Five? The kind of silence that doesn't tick, but swells. It filled the corners of the room, the hollow just beneath your ribs. You listened to it. To your breathing. To the subtle shift of water in the pipes behind the wall. You focused on the small things, the mundane ones—just long enough to believe the larger ones might not crush you once you stood.

Eventually, your knees cracked softly as you rose.

Your coat shifted around your hips. Your hands reached for the lock. A breath before the click. Another after. You opened the door slowly, stepped into the stillness of the restroom like someone learning how to inhabit her own skin again.

The light outside the stall was unforgiving, but Mrs. Jeon was not.

She stood a few steps away, hands folded gently in front of her, her shoulders soft with patience. And when her eyes met yours, she didn’t search your face for shame or answers.

She only opened her arms.

And you stepped in like a child too old to be held, but still needing to be.

The smell of her perfume—something floral and faintly spiced—wrapped around you like memory. Her arms didn’t grip. They gathered. And somehow, the simple weight of that embrace unspooled something inside your chest that panic hadn’t quite broken yet.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean any of it. I swear, I was trying so hard to be careful. I know how it must look. I know—”

She pulled back just enough to see your face, her hands still resting on your arms.

“Honey,” she said, voice quiet, eyes impossibly kind, “you’re talking like you’ve committed a crime.”

You flinched. “But I—God, I've been keeping this from you and everyone for so long. That doesn't feel fair."

“People who already knew,” she said gently.

You blinked. “What?”

She gave you a look—dry, fond, just the tiniest bit wry. “Darling, please. You think none of us noticed the way my son looks at you like he’s one second away from his heart bursting?” She squeezed your arms. “You said it. That’s all. You didn’t invent it tonight.”

You bit your lip. Shook your head like it might keep the tears from cresting again. “I thought I heard someone say something. A woman—by the back wall. She said something like… like it didn’t take me long.”

“Oh, that,” Mrs. Jeon said lightly, brushing your hair back as if to say not worth it. “You mean the one in the red shawl with the loud opinions and the knockoff purse?”

You blinked, stunned by the precision.

“She said something awful,” you whispered.

“I’m sure she did,” she said. “Right before Jungkook told her if she so much as muttered another syllable in his girlfriend's direction he’d personally make sure her husband’s antique store on Fifth lost its foot traffic forever.”

Your mouth parted. “He—what?”

Mrs. Jeon gave an elegant shrug, smoothing the sleeve of her jacket. “He was polite about it. But it was... unmistakable.”

You blinked again, and the breath that escaped you was half-laugh, half-sob. “Of course he did.”

“He’s terribly protective,” she said, glancing at you with a smile that was a little too knowing. “Gets that from his mother.”

It took you a moment to laugh—really laugh—but when you did, it broke through like sunlight behind thunderclouds.

“I just… I don’t want people to think I forgot Minho.”

She tilted her head, her hand coming up to smooth your hair behind your ear. “Sweetheart. No one who’s ever known you could think that. Least of all me.”

You looked down, voice low. “I didn’t want tonight to be about me.”

“It wasn’t.”

You met her eyes.

"What about my parents?" you asked quietly, your voice catching on the question like it had been waiting there all along. “Did they look mad? Disappointed?”

Mrs. Jeon gave a soft sigh, the kind that came from years of reading rooms, faces, silences. Her hand smoothed down your arm like she was pressing a wrinkle from cloth, calming you in increments.

“They’re planning to talk to Jungkook,” she said simply, brushing invisible lint from your shoulder. "Having a word with him, to be exact."

Your breath caught. “Oh god.”

Mrs. Jeon gave a small, amused shake of her head. “Don’t worry. I'm sure they're just making sure he treats their daughter right." She paused. “They’re not angry. I promise you that. A little surprised, perhaps. But not angry. No one's angry with you."

She staryed again.“I told her I’d beat her to it,” she said simply. “Can’t have him thinking he’s off the hook just because he's all grown up in a suit."

Your mouth opened, then closed. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing it, but your hands still clutched the edge of the sink like they needed something real to tether you.

A silence passed between you, then two. You tried to swallow the knot forming at the base of your throat, but it was impossible to hide the flush rising in your cheeks. Your voice came small, hesitant. “You’re… really okay with this?”

Mrs. Jeon looked at you in that particular way only someone who’d known you through every winter and every spring could. She reached forward and took your hand. Held it firmly.

“You tell me something,” she said, and her voice was quieter now, careful in the way it stepped into the softest parts of you. “Are you happy?”

Your eyes met hers.

The word hovered in your chest, terrified and blooming all at once.

You bit your lip, shoulders curling in, and nodded—small at first, then a little more certain. “Yes,” you whispered.

Mrs. Jeon let out a slow breath, like she’d been waiting to hear it for longer than she let on.

“Then that’s all that matters.”

You looked at her, eyes glassy.

“It was about time,” she said, smoothing a strand of hair away from your face again. “About time you finally put that poor boy out of his misery.”

You groaned in exasperation. "Mom!"

She laughed, not cruelly, but full of something knowing and warm. "What? Not my fault he was so obvious before he even knew how to spell your name properly.”

You smiled again. Free and a little stunned by how light your chest suddenly felt.

“Come on,” she said, smoothing her skirt with one hand and tugging your arm with the other. “Let’s go rescue him from whatever emotional purgatory he’s pacing through in that hallway.”

You let her pull you forward but you don’t get to rescue your boyfriend. You're rather met with a very heartbroken Mira who demands answers and pulls you away before you can even get the chance too.

She stepped back, pulled out her phone, and dialed with the urgency of a 911 operator.

“Hobi?” she said when the line picked up. “Yeah, hi, I know you’re probably making out with your date or something, but this is an emergency.”

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

She gave you a look. “You said you needed a drink, right?”

“…I did, but—”

“Well then.” She turned slightly away. “You’re not going back anywhere tonight until you explain everything to me in the proper setting, which is clearly a bar with sticky menu. Hobi? Yeah. Bring your wallet."

You watched her hang up and start marching toward the coat check like a woman with a mission. And you followed because this was the girl who’d held your hair back and fed you soup in silence the first week after Minho died. The one who knew when to fight, when to joke, and exactly when to say nothing at all.

The bar Mira chose was exactly what you needed and absolutely what she promised: questionable neon signage, vinyl booths held together with decades of duct tape and bad decisions, and a jukebox that alternated between early 2000s heartbreak anthems and ABBA on repeat. The air smelled like lemon-scented cleaner that didn’t quite mask the ghost of spilled beer, and the lighting was so dim you could’ve sworn everyone wore built-in Instagram filters.

You slid into the corner booth, coat still damp from the walk over, cheeks raw from wind and embarrassment, and Mira slid in across from you like she was preparing for a high-stakes interrogation.

Hoseok arrived moments later, hair wind-swept and cheeks pink from the cold, looking far too good to be in a place with this much wallpaper peeling off the walls. He dropped into the booth beside Mira with the chaotic energy of someone who had just abandoned a very flirty date and wasn't over it.

“Boyfriend?" he said in lieu of hello. "Why am I not suprised that Mr firm hands is the boyfriend?"

You gave him a look. “Are you… judging me?”

“Oh no,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Not judging. Just trying to understand how I didn’t know this was happening.”

“You were busy dating someone named Seulgi who calls you ‘sunbeam’ and posts about her salads on Instagram,” Mira shot back, flagging down a waiter with a sharp flick of her fingers. “Now respectfully shut up and let her talk.”

You stared down at the menu, even though it was mostly beer stains and crossed-out prices. Mira reached over and gently pulled it from your hands. “You don’t need this. You need fries, something fried, and probably a little tequila.”

“Tequila?” you murmured.

“Don’t argue with the doctor,” Hoseok added, even though Mira was most definitely not a doctor.

The drinks arrived fast—too fast, which meant they were going to taste like regret—and a bowl of over-salted fries landed in the middle of the table with a satisfying clatter.

You sipped your drink slowly, felt the warmth of it bloom at the back of your throat, and only then let yourself exhale.

“It wasn’t—God, it wasn’t like that,” you said, palms out now, defensive and pleading all at once. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It just happened. And then it kept happening. And then suddenly it felt like telling anyone would break it. Ruin everything.”

Mira stared at you, all righteous betrayal and mascara-smudged emotion. Her voice cracked just a little when she said, “But me?”

You let out a shaky exhale, your voice breaking into something small, something that couldn’t be smooth no matter how you tried. “I didn’t not trust you. Please don’t think that. I was scared.”

“Scared of me?”

“No,” you said softly, “of saying it out loud. Sorry, it sounds pitiful."

Mira studied you for a long breath. Then, like she’d squeezed all the anger out of her in one long sigh, she deflated a little. She still looked hurt, but her eyes softened.

“I should’ve told you,” you said quietly. “I just didn’t know how.”

She stared at you for a long moment, then slid her glass aside and reached across the table. “I’m still mad,” she said, “but I love you. And I’m glad you didn’t end up in a fling with those dates they used to send you on. Yikes! At least you picked Jungkook. Who clearly worships the ground you walk on.”

“Oh, I bet.” Hoseok added, “don't know him much but oh, I bet."

You winced or flushed but you wouldn't like to use that word. “That’s not—”

“He does,” Mira said, crossing her arms. “He did. Everyone saw it. Except you, apparently. Until now.”

“look,” you said defensively. “I just… I didn’t think it’d become anything.”

Mira made a sound that was equal parts sympathy and exasperation. “Yoongi told me years ago,” she said, picking up a mozzarella stick and pointing it at you like a weapon. “Said something like, ‘Your friend’s maybe as oblivious as she pretends. But my cousin’s a lost cause.’”

"Your husband speaks?" Hoseok snorted into his glass.

That earned him a punch to the side. He groaned so dramtically the five people in the space turned around. You wrapped your fingers around the base of your glass and stared into the fizzing surface. God, you loved them.

“I just didn’t want it to look like I was replacing him,” you murmured, not looking up. “Minho.”

Mira’s teasing stilled. Hoseok’s posture softened.

“You’re not,” Mira said, and her voice was quieter now. “And anyone who thinks you are can choke on their free gallery wine.”

“I’m serious,” you said, twisting the glass between your hands.

Mira tilted her head, one of her hands coming to rest gently over yours. "So am I. I almost dropped my canape when you said it. I even grabbed the old lady next to me.”

"That sounds very serious." Hoseok expressed.

You laughed, reluctantly. “I’m glad,” Mira said, serious again. “Even if I hate that you didn’t tell me, and I will absolutely be holding it over your head until the day we die. I’m glad. Because you’re here. Laughing. Smiling."

You reached for a napkin and dabbed at your eyes. “Thanks.”

And after that—after the napkin had soaked up the last streak of guilt, after Mira’s hand squeezed yours a little tighter, and Hoseok slid a second shot glass in your direction with all the pomp of a coronation—the night began to dissolve in that peculiar, beautiful way nights do when something heavy has been named and nobody lets go.

You drank.

And even that seemed like a understatement.

Not to forget anything but to remember yourself. The version of you that wasn’t shadowed by what you were afraid people would say. The one who dared to call someone hers in a room full of ghosts and memories and didn’t completely fall apart after.

It was baffling.

It was miraculous.

And, God, it was exhausting.

The drinks made everything blur—delightfully at first, then in a way that made your friends exchange glances. You heard Mira say something like “She’s cut off after this one,” and Hoseok immediately counter with “Let her live,” and then you couldn’t hear them anymore because the bar’s speakers erupted into some throaty love song.

Your cheek pressed against Mira’s shoulder for a while, though you couldn’t recall when it landed there. She’d draped your coat over your knees like a blanket and was scrolling through photos on her phone with Hoseok, both of them whisper-laughing, passing the screen back and forth like teenagers.

You looked at them, and something inside you melted—not from the alcohol, not from the bar’s molten heat though that was quiet unbearable too—but from the simple fact of being held.

A feeling you hadn’t known two nights ago, two years back. The universe hadn’t cracked open and swallowed you whole. The chandelier hadn’t fallen from the ceiling. No one had thrown wine at your face or cornered you near the shrimp cocktail with cruel questions about the morality of love.

Instead, the world pitched ever so slightly to the left every time you blinked. The jukebox had moved on to Fleetwood Mac now—some slow, melancholy guitar that wrapped around your temples like gauze. You couldn’t feel your legs. Or maybe you could. They just didn’t want to move.

The fry basket had long since turned cold, and your drink—whatever remained of it—sat abandoned in front of you, a wedge of lime floating like a lifeboat in stormy water. You blinked down at it and considered saying something. Couldn’t remember what.

“Okay,” Mira said, voice low but distinctly not subtle, “that’s enough for her.”

You lifted your head, eyes heavy-lidded. “Wha—? No. M’fine.”

“Sure you are,” she muttered, already pulling her phone out of her coat pocket. “And I’m the queen of France.”

“I am fine.” You sat up straighter, blinked hard at her, as if that proved something. The booth spun gently. “Mmmfine,” you mumbled. “Jus’ warm. Floor’s doing a little… wavy thing.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s not the floor. That’s your tequila tangoing with the bad decisions.”

Mira gave him a look before pulling her phone out of her purse.

“Noooo,” you groaned, pawing at her wrist with absolutely no coordination. “Don’t. I’m fine. I’m just… appreciating...”

“You’re appreciating everything too much,” Mira muttered, unlocking her phone with her thumb. “He deserves to know.”

You blinked blearily. “Who?”

She didn’t answer you. Thumbs tapping furiously. You tried to grab her wrist, missed by a margin you weren’t proud of. Just pressed the phone to her ear and stood from the booth, pressing one finger into her other ear to muffle the noise of the bar.

You slumped back, staring at your half-finished drink like it had betrayed you. Hoseok reached over and silently took it away.

“Miraaaa,” you called, dragging her name like a scarf behind you. “She’s being… dramatic. Over…reacting. I could walk home.”

Hoseok said, “you just mistook a fork for your phone.”

You stared at the table. “...Did I?”

He nodded solemnly. “Twice.”

“Jungkook,” Mira said sweetly into the phone now pressed to her ear, “hi. Yeah, she’s—no, no, she’s alright. We’re at that little dive near the station. You know the one with the broken neon cactus sign? Yeah. She’s, um…” A glance at you, hunched like a tragic poet over the tabletop. “She’s had a night.”

You sat up with all the indignation of a drenched cat. “A night?” you hissed.

Mira patted your shoulder. “Don’t worry. He said he’s on his way.”

You blinked, your voice in unison with Hoseok’s. “Already?”

"Already." Mira echoed.

You groaned and buried your face into her shoulder again. “Noooooo.”

“Yes,” she cooed. “Yes, ma’am."

You let out a slow, melodramatic exhale, sliding lower in the booth, your face half-buried in your coat. “This is humiliating.” You didn’t say anything after that. You couldn't and you didn't think you could even hear when the door to the bar creaked open. Not really.

The world had dulled to a low, sluggish hum, softened by liquor and dim light and the weight of your own mortification. But Hoseok glanced up, muttered something under his breath about “the cavalry,” Mira lifted her head, glanced over your shoulder, and then tilted her chin in that way that always meant: look sharp.

Not that you could.

You barely had time to blink before you caught the scent of him.

Jungkook’s cologne always managed to find you first—cedar and lavender, dusk and heat. Then the weight of his presence settled behind you like gravity, and before you could lift your head or find your voice, his shadow stretched over the booth.

His eyes found Mira first. A curt nod. Grateful. Barely spared Hoseok a glance. Hoseok looked almost grateful for it.

“Thanks for calling,” he murmured.

Mira didn’t flinch beneath his seriousness. “Thanks for coming,” she replied simply, standing up and gathering your coat like a reflex.

You stirred at that, blinking up at the blur of black shirt, rolled sleeves, and the soft fall of dark hair just slightly wind-tousled. He looked unfairly beautiful for someone who'd just found you curled into a booth like a regretful blanket. His jaw was set tight, you really hoped it was not anger.

He didn’t glance around. Didn’t blink against the tacky lighting or the low thrum of music. Just made a beeline toward your side of the booth, and for one breathless moment, you thought maybe he’d try to coax you out gently.

Instead, he looked down at you—your ridiculous half-hunched self curled in a coat that had long since become your second skin—and without preamble or ceremony, he scooped you up. Just like that.

Just a sure, practiced ease, like he’d been doing this for lifetimes. Like the world made more sense when you were in his arms and he didn’t have to guess where you were anymore.

You yelped.

He didn't say anything, just adjusted your weight slightly and wrapped his coat tighter around you.

But you felt the slow exhale he gave through his nose.

Not a sigh. Something closer to relief.

He tilted his head to Mira again when she spoke.

Mira’s expression had softened. “Don’t forget to make her eat something. And maybe—y’know—hydration?”

“I’ve got it.”

You were already half asleep against him.

Half awake.

All warmth and clumsy enegry, with your head tucked beneath his chin, the wind nipping at your cheeks while your fingers curled into the front of his shirt like some last-minute apology stitched into cotton. The air outside the bar was bitter enough to bite the inside of your lungs, and it sobered you in slivers—slow, fogged pieces of clarity threading through the haze like dawn slipping between window blinds.

But neither of you said anything.

He didn’t look down at you.

He didn’t speak.

Only the faint sound of his boots hitting pavement filled the space—cadenced, unbothered, maddening in its calm.

You let your cheek fall heavier against his chest, where his heart should’ve been louder. But it wasn’t. It was steady. Frustratingly so.

Your lips brushed against the fabric of his collar. You felt his heartbeat pick up. It felt charged now, as if both of you had bad thoughts trying to form, pushing through the quiet in crooked shapes and half-decisions.

You wanted to say something.

You wanted not to say something.

Your mouth tastes like tequila and fear and bad timing. God, you were all about bad timings today, weren't you?

You turned your head slightly, breath catching on the scent of him. The movement made your stomach sway, but you managed.

You swallowed. "Koo?" You asked in a voice barely above the wind. The nickname slipping out thick and syrupy from your mouth. The sober you would have winced at yourself the second it did.

Good thing you were not.

Before there was an audible response, you heard the sound of his breath catching. Muttering a incohered curse under his breath. "Yes, angel?"

You fiddled with the fabric of his shirt where your fingers rested. “Y-You mad at me?”

He didn't answer at first. His jaw tensed once, twice, the movement as familiar as the sound of your voice laced with slur and shame.

His eyes stayed forward. Watching the parked cars blur past like it mattered more than the conversation pressing in the air between you. Watching the lines in the concrete like they might give him something to focus on other than the pounding of his pulse.

Because your question so slurred and soft and soaked in all the wrong kinds of courage had landed somewhere sharp in him. Not painful, exactly. But startling. Like someone tapping on glass that had long since been sealed shut.

“Are you asking me that because you got drunk?"

"I'm not too drunk-" You mumbled, trying to line your spine straighter and immediately regretting it when your vision swans. "I mean, yeah, okay, I'm a bit- I mean I drank but that's not what I meant.

"What did you mean?" He asked, not unkindly. Voice low, like he already knew but needed you to say it again anyway. Needed to hear it from your own clumsy, slurred lips.

“I meant—fuck.” You groaned, dropping your forehead against his collar. "for what I did. Back there. At the gallery.”

It had rung through him with the violence of something gentle. And that was the worst kind, wasn’t it? The soft truths. The ones you didn’t brace for.

He had spent so long keeping this thing quiet; out of respect, out of fear, out of the twisted need to protect what didn’t yet have a name. He had convinced himself it was better that way. That if he never said it out loud, he couldn’t lose it. That the world couldn’t break what the world didn’t know existed.

And then you’d just carved him into your life liturgy. The only that he'd felt was unhooked.

God, how were you still scared of that? How could you not see it still?

Your hair smelled like lemon shampoo and something warm. sugar, maybe. Your breath still carried the ghost of tequila and lime and the kind of boldness people only conjure up when they don’t think they’ll remember it later.

He felt you pick nervously at the seam of his collar, like maybe that was safer than looking at his face.

You didn’t know that he’d replayed your voice a hundred times already.

Didn’t know that when you said it. His entire body had stilled. Had gone hot, then cold, then weightless.

You didn’t know that it had taken everything in him not to walk across that gallery and kiss you in front of everyone. The urge was so strong, the relief was so overwhelming that it had nearly leveled him.

And still, here you were fearing the thing he had dreamed of.

He finally spoke.

“Angel,” he said, voice low, careful, “I have been yours for a long time. I thought about it. Dreamed of hearing you call me that for longer than I’ll ever admit. Over dinner maybe. But I don't care where it happened."

You went still in his arms.

He tilted his head, just enough to brush his cheek against your hair.

“I’m not mad,” he said again, softer now. "I'm fucking elated." He rasped low, one hand tightening on your thigh, the other cradling your back like a secret. "And I'm just trying not mess it up."

Before you could make more of the latter, his parked car came in view.

The door clicked open, leather and warmth spilling into the night. He placed you into the passenger seat like you were made of glass—though that was nothing new. He always held you like that. As if the ache in you had a physical symmetry, and he was the only one allowed to carry it.

And maybe it was the night, or the alcohol still warm in your veins, or the sheer disbelief that your world hadn’t crumbled after your confession. But you believed him.

You slumped into the seat, curling into the warmth of his coat that he hung around your shoulders, the hem pooled at your lap like a blanket.

“so…you still wanna be my boyfriend?”

He laughed—really laughed this time, soft and low, one hand bracing on the top of the car door. Then he leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple, and whispered.

“Forever, if you’ll have me.”

When he finally closed the door and climbed into the driver’s side, the cabin filled with that muted, in-between silence. The kind where things weren't okay yet—but maybe on their way.

The heater came on with a soft whir, chasing off the cold from your knees. You barely noticed it, half curled beneath his coat, one boot unbuckled and heel slipping off as your foot tucked up against the seat like you had no intention of looking composed.

Outside, the streetlights blurred through the window. Pale yellow and blinking, like they couldn’t quite keep their eyes open either. The windshield fogged a little from your breath, everything smudging into something dreamlike and quietly unreal.

You didn’t speak for a moment. Just watched the haze of the window, your cheek nestled into the fleece of his coat collar. But your chest was loud. Restless.

Because for all the softness he wrapped you in, for all the peace you should’ve felt, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that if tonight hadn’t gone like it did, you might still be pretending you were just shadows again. That this wasn’t real.

Your fingers clenched gently at the hem of his sleeve where it had fallen across your lap. You sat there like that for a while, quiet and too full of all the wrong questions. Only to repeat.

"Koo?"

Your voice, thick with exhaustion and treacly from the weight of everything you’d drunk and everything you hadn’t said.

He hummed, fingers flexing against the steering wheel, gaze flicking toward you but not quite leaving the road yet.

You turned your head slowly toward him, your forehead creasing a little as the warmth from the heater tangled too hot against your cheek. “I… I don’t wanna go home.”

The words were blurry. Fumbling. Like they’d been handed to you in pieces and you hadn’t had time to stitch them back together.

But they were true. That they were.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just glanced at you from the corner of his eye. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and you watched the careful tension in his knuckles where they wrapped around the wheel.

You bit your lip. “Not—not forever. Just. Y’know. Just not… tonight."

You sniffled once, rubbing at your nose like a child, embarrassed by the confession but too drunk to walk it back. “Please don’t take me home.”

Jungkook exhaled softly. A sound that felt too much like relief for someone being asked for something so heavy.

“Good thing,” he said at last, turning the car down a different street, his voice curling warm and dry like smoke in your ear, “I’ve got a habit of taking you anywhere but.”

You sighed, relaxing deeper into the seat. “You’re not real,” you murmured. “You're… like. A fever dream. With like really... good cologne.”

Jungkook chuckled lowly, eyes flicking to your profile again, this time longer. “Drunk you’s a menace.”

“I'm sensitive,” you corrected, slurring. “Be nice.”

He reached across the console and found your hand without even looking. Threaded his fingers through yours and held it there like it was always meant to be.

“I am,” he said. “Always.”

“Your nose,” you whispered, studying him like you were discovering the shape of him for the first time. “It’s really pretty. Like. Like you paid someone. But you didn’t, did you? That’s just you.”

He bit back a laugh. “That’s just me, angel.”

You poked the tip of it with the gentleness of a feather. “Insulting.”

“Deeply.”

And then you kissed it.

Quick. Clumsy. The faintest press of lips to the slope of bone. Like you were branding him with your approval.

“Drunk,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound annoyed. If anything, he sounded like he was retaining you.

You nestled your face into his neck again, legs wrapped tight around his torso with his palms supporting your weight hanging off of him. Docking you to him the moment he slipped the car into some underground garage and stepped out without a word, circling to your side. Didn’t even wait for permission. Apparently when you flinched with a tiny sound, then whined when your limbs refused to cooperate was reason enough. You were up in his arms again before the cold could touch your ankles, the world tilting briefly before settling against his chest. You had blinked, dazed, then turned your face upward. “Warm,” you replied.

Jungkook made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re trying not to fall even deeper in love than they already have.

You hummed a note of agreement, then leaned forward and pecked the tip of his nose again like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Boop.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and kept walking, a little faster now.

The lobby was sleek and quiet, lit low with ambient light that glittered off the marble floor. A sleepy doorman nodded as Jungkook passed. You didn’t even ask where you were until the elevator opened directly into a hallway with only one door, black, modern, heavy. You blinked as he shifted you gently in his arms and pressed the keypad. The soft chime of the lock sliding open echoed too loudly in your ears.

“Where…” You blinked again as he nudged the door open with his shoulder. “Where are we?” This wasn’t your apartment. This wasn’t his parent's place. Did'nt exactly look like a hotel or if it was it was a really expensive one. This wasn’t anything you knew.

He set you down slowly—like a ribbon being untied—and turned on the light with a quiet flick of his fingers. Warm, dim lighting spilled into the room, softening everything to velvet edges. The floor beneath your boots was heated tile. The couch in the center of the room was oversized, draped in soft gray throws. There were no bright colors. No screaming art. Just low lines of furniture, oak and ash tones, clean details that whispered instead of shouted. You could see hints of habit: a stack of books with bookmarks poking out crookedly near the couch. A worn mug sitting on the edge of a console table. A leather jacket flung across a chair like it belonged there. Which it probably did.

There was a piano by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Of course there was a piano.

You stood still, swaying gently in your own boots, the air too warm against your skin now after the chill of the street. You stared across the space with wide eyes, lips parted, trying to absorb the fact that you’d never stepped foot in this place, and yet… there was something terribly intimate about it. About all of it.

It looked like somewhere important people lived. Or people who wanted to be left alone.

You moved forward carefully, shrugging out of his coat and draping it over the arm of the couch like you were afraid to wrinkle anything. The floors were silent beneath your boots, and the air had the clean scent of lemon balm and something else you couldn’t name something earthy. Sage, maybe.

You turned toward the open kitchen across the loft just in time to catch the warm flick of the fridge light opening. Jungkook stood there sockedfeet now, sleeves still rolled, a glass in one hand and the other pushing aside a cabinet door.

And your eyes stuttered. Not at him. (You’d long since gotten used to the way he looked like sin and salvation in dim light.)

But at the contents of the cabinet. You swear you just got a peak of dozens of tea boxes. Not just one brand or two—but everything from supermarket bags to specialty tins, chamomile to lavender to citrus blends. Lined like he’d been collecting them, like someone who maybe didn’t even drink tea but wanted to be prepared in case someone who did ever stayed the night.

He poured the water.

Set the glass down.

And only then turned to you.

You were still staring.

His brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You felt suddenly too sober. Or maybe just drunk in a different way now. “What… is this place?”

Jungkook stilled.

It was a half-second pause small, almost imperceptible but you caught it. The way his hands slowed, the way his eyes darted once toward the far window before coming back to you.

He wiped his palm on a dish towel, came around the counter, and set the glass gently in your hands. You took it, grateful for something to focus on. It was cool and smooth and anchored you just enough.

"it’s… it’s really…” You looked around again. “Expensive-looking.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the strands at the back then the same hand reached out to steady your elbows like he didn’t trust you not to float away. His voice, when it came, was low. Soft in that Jungkook way like gravel dragged through silk.

“I bought it,” he said. “Next day after the night at Kim's."

Your brows pulled together slowly.

“It was impulsive,” he admitted. “Probably stupid. But I couldn’t sleep. I felt like I needed to make space for something that might never happen." He needed to make space for the possibility of you. Because who was Jeon Jungkook if not the most hopless of case when it comes to you.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get to bring you here,” he said, eyes not quite meeting yours. “But I bought it anyway.”

You blinked slowly, piecing the words together. Your fingers lifted to press against your lips, as if trying to feel the echo of what you’d confessed there.

“This is yours?” you asked, like it still didn’t quite make sense.

He only said the simplest of truths. "It can be ours."

It felt too big for the room and too small at the same time.

“ours?” you repeated, tasting it.

He gave you a crooked smile, faint and self-conscious. “Well. That was the hope.”

Your heart tripped somewhere in your chest.

You looked around again, slower this time. Noticed the wine glasses above the sink, still drying. A photo frame faced down on the side table like it hadn’t been ready to be displayed yet. A stack of takeout menus in the corner, one with a smudge of sauce on it. A blanket draped over the back of the couch, creased like someone had slept there recently.

“Have you… stayed here?”

He nodded once. “Sometimes. When I needed to breathe." When he wanted to imagine you in here.

He didn't plan to tell you that part.

The truth of how often he came here, and you were in every corner of it.

He watched you now, standing there in the soft yellow glow of pendant lights, barefoot on the tile with your hair a little wild, your eyes flicking from one piece of furniture to the next like they were giving away secrets. And Jungkook—God, Jungkook had never known what it meant to wrench quietly until he imagined you here for the first time. Until he watched you exist in a space he had once only filled with feasibility.

He had picked that couch because it looked like it could hold two people who didn't mind tangling legs. Had stood in the kitchen and wondered if you'd drink your coffee by the window. Had stared at the second drawer by the bathroom sink and thought, that’s where she could keep her earrings.

He didn’t say any of that.

Didn’t confess the way he’d lain on that very couch more than once, staring at the ceiling and trying to imagine what your laugh would sound like bouncing off these walls.

He hadn’t wanted to jinx it. But he’d wanted it.

He still did.

“Were you gonna tell me? About this place?”

He smiled a little—wry, sheepish. “Eventually.”

“Why wait?”

“Because,” he said, stepping closer, “I didn’t want to give you something you didn’t ask for. Not unless you were ready to want it, too. Was'nt that right?"

Then, without meaning to, you took a small step forward and wrapped your arms around his waist. Clung. He didn’t hesitate. His arms were around you in a second. One hand cupped the back of your head, the other pressing gently against your spine.

You buried your face into the soft black cotton of his shirt. “I feel… dizzy.”

“From the alcohol?” he asked, a barely restrained urgency in his voice.

“No.” You turned your cheek against him. "This is just..really dreamy. Yeah. Really dreamy."

He heaved out a breath and started started rocking you back and forth against him in an missable motion. "Sure, angel? You like it?" He asked for confirmation. He didn't bother hiding his need for reassurance in front of you. And you don't mind giving him so. You nod with confidence.

He huffs a soft chuckle. "You haven't seen the half of it. Maybe you won't like the colors. We can change them if that's what you'd like. Add plants." His voice spilled low against the crown of your head. An offering disguised as a list of design choices. But you knew what he meant. You heard it tucked between every carefully placed word.

Let’s make a life here.

Let’s try. Together.

Your face pressed to the slope of his chest, listening to his heartbeat carry the words he didn’t yet say aloud. Your arms looped tighter around his waist, fingers bunching the back of his shirt like you might fall through the floor otherwise.

"We can do whatever we want." he murmured, then exhaled like something eased in him. "All the little, big things. Do you ever wanna get a pet?"

You bobbed your head with far too much enthusiasm. "Absolutely! We could get a dobermoon! You once said you always wanted that!"

"I did." He smiled gently.

Your mouth twitched, and you didn’t mean to smile—but you did. It bloomed slow and sleepy across your face, the kind of smile that couldn’t be helped. “And what else?”

He was still swaying you—slow, steady movements, his hands warm at the small of your back. It took you a moment to realize what he was doing, what the motion even was. You blinked, nose brushing the side of his neck. “Wait,” you whispered, a soft snort cracking loose. “What are you doing?”

Jungkook tilted his head down, eyes meeting yours, glittering a little under the golden pendant light. “I just realized,” he said, and his voice was so low, so unbearably soft, you almost didn’t catch it, “I never got to dance with you at your wedding.”

You blinked, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with that dizzy kind of drunk only heartbreak and hope could cause. “You left before the music started.” You pouted against his chest.

“I know.” His hand found hers. “Can I have one now?”

You burst out laughing, giddy and golden. The thought of so that's how your laugh sounds bounching around the walls came paired with If he could have bathe in the sound of it he would for the rest of his life. “There’s no music.”

He tilted his head. “There’s you.” With a theatrical sigh, you let him slip all around you. It was unsteady, like gravity had forgotten you tonight, yet just like gravity; the way you fit against was a contradiction. All too well. All too comforting.

He moved you slowly, in wide, meandering arcs, like your bodies weren’t bound to tempo or beat, just to each other. You stepped on his toes once. Maybe twice. Your sock slipped on the smooth floor and you cursed under your breath. He caught you, hands tightening with the kind of tenderness that made you want to cry.

“Oops,” you muttered.

“You're Graceful,” he murmured, voice fond.

“You love it,” you countered.

“I do.”

He twirled you then. Not properly God, no, but with that not so perfect grin that made your ribs ache and your stomach flip. You stumbled a bit, laughing into the fabric of his shirt, and he caught you again like he’d been born to. You buried your face in his shoulder. The air around you felt velvet-rich, the heat of his skin, the soft whirr of the heater, the scent of coffee grounds faint from the sink and your perfume still lingering on his collar. The world felt like something you could carry in your palm tonight.

Your cheek pressed right above his heart, where it thudded steady, solid, yours.

Your cheek pressed on right above his heart. “We’re not very good at this,”

“I don’t care,” he murmured into your hair.

You sighed. “My feet hurt.”

“We can stop,” he offered, easing to a gentle halt.

“Mhm." You leaned back to look at him, blinking up through your lashes, voice cotton-soft. You pressed your hand against it absentmindedly, right over the steady beat of his heart, fingers splayed like you could read it in Braille.

He watched you.

Watched the curve of your mouth. The warm glassiness in your eyes. The way your thumb moved without rhythm against his shirt.

You sighed out a thought. “Thank you,” you said.

He tilted his head, brushing a piece of your hair back behind your ear. “For what?”

“For this.” You squinted a little, like you were trying to remember something and only barely catching the edge of it. “For everything. I love you."

You hadn’t even flinched when you said it. You were smiling. Loose-limbed and lidded and not the least bit rattled, still swaying in place like the words had meant nothing more than a sweet note scribbled in a thank-you card.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe for a second. Could only feel the way his heart kicked against his ribs so hard he thought maybe you could hear it. hear the sound of it clawing toward your name.

His mouth opened slightly, but no sound from that came. The function of his body when he was around you, especially, this you was beyond him.

You just looked at him, lashes heavy, lips curved soft. “Hmm?”

“What did you just say?” he asked, voice rough around the edges.

You blinked. Tilted your head. “Thank you?”

“No, not that—fuck, angel." A deep chuckle rumbled out of chest. "Fuck."

But you were already pressing your cheek back to his chest, humming something tuneless, eyes drifting shut.

He swallowed hard. Tugged you closer to him and pressed his lips hard against your head. "I love you too."

Because what had once started with a love so rooted will end with a love that will survive an eternity.

It would always end in "I love yous."

SERIES TAGLIST: @ashslight @wannaghostbts @amatun28 @tteokbokibyjk @kelsyx33 @rexana19

[kar1nsworldx]

ArthurTV and singer!reader who releases from the start or promise by laufey 🩷🩷

(...) from the start ᝰ.ᐟ

pairing: ArthurTV x f!reader

Instagram!AU

SUMMARY: y/n releases songs about a special someone and soon enough it's revealed about who it is

requested: yesss!!!! anon a big big thank you for requesting a fic, feel free to request more asapp if you'd like because I'd love to write more for people!!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: anon I really hope you enjoy reading this! I tried to write this asap, and I really hope you like how the whole fic turns out <3 . I also actually wrote for the first time in my social media fic, so I really hope that you liked my writing and how the story progressed!!! Whilst writing I tried to make it as long as possible considering how late I posted this so I really do hope you enjoy!!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REQUEST MORE STUFF!!!!! ♡♡♡

ˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 🧸ྀི

ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩

y/n l/n

liked by faithlousiak, taliamar and 32,784 others

y/n l/n: bla bla bla !!

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COMMENTS;

gkberry_: stunning stunning girl! xx

y/n l/n: stop you're gonna make me cry 😭

bambinobecky: gorgeous woman 💓

y/n l/n: sobbing, thank you becky 🫂🫂

faithlousiak: loved seeing you yesterday girly 🩷

y/n l/n: sameee I missed you sm! 🥹

userly: ahhh I love your outfits! where do you buy your clothes from?

y/n l/n: thank you sm!! I usually go to thirft shops, but sometimes I got to H&M for some shirts. if you want quality, long lasting clothes go to zara! I only have one clothing item from zara which is jeans and even tho they're a few years old they're still top quality. would buy more zara stuff but I'm broke 😭🫂🩷

userly: ahhh tysm!! love you!! xx

y/n l/n: 💓

user007: omg I haven't seen you in a hot second

y/n l/n: LOL sorry? 😭😭

user888: TULIPS!!!!! 🌷🌷🌷

y/n l/n: TULIPS <3 🌷🌷🌷

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ding! new Whatsapp notification from Behz

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Behz;

⤷ Miss Olive says that if you don't come to the next Sidemen Sunday shoot you will never ever see her again

You;

Well please tell Miss Olive that there is no need for threats

and that I will be there!!!!

Behz;

⤷ I'll tell the little Miss

⤷ are you free this Tuesday? we were planning to shoot a Hide & Seek video at the London Zoo around 3pm

You;

yeah of course I am

you lot want me to come at 3pm or earlier?

Behz;

⤷ maybe around 2:30 or 2:45? just so that we can mic you up asap

You;

yeah of course, not a problem

you need me to bring anything??

Behz;

⤷ nah, no need but thanks tho

You;

yeah ofc

see ya behz x, say hi to Olive and Faith for me! 🩷

Behz;

⤷ will do L/n 👍

END OF CONVERSATION

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y/n l/n

liked by miniminter, sidemen and 54, 732 others

y/n l/n: lisened to a really great song on the way to a sidemen shoot. I wonder from who could it be tho... do you guys have a clue? 🤷‍♀️

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COMMENTS;

taliamar: BITCH YOU DID NOT MAKE ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE, AGAIN.

y/n l/n: mmm you'll find out in a couple of days if I did or didn't xxx mwah! gtg to film a video now, love ya talia! 💓

taliamar: Y/N GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE RIGHT NOW ISTFG I'LL CALL SIMON TO FORCE YOU TO TALK TO ME FFS

user007: I AM DYING WTF BAHHAHAHA

freyanightingale: darling this will be 5/5 songs that you've made without telling anyone, ffs 😭

y/n l/n: thats why it's fun! 🩷

freyanightingale: why am I not suprised by your responce

useroo: OH???? OH?????????????????????

useredup: NEW SONG???? OH MA GAWD HELL YEAH PARTNER 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

user505: OMGGG YES ID LIKE A NEW SONG PRETTY PLS

sidemen: oh? 👀

faithlousiak: NEW SONG??? WHAT??? I WAS NOT INFORMED ABOUT THIS Y/N

arthurnfhill: ooo new song, i'm intrested

user111: OMG I CAN'T WAIT!!!!!!!!!

xeuserxe: I AM TWEAKING I AM LITERALLY FUCKING TWEAKING

y/n l/n: me too bestie, me too 🫂

xeuserxe: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH

y/n l/n: BAHHAHAHAHAHA

ksi: insane news

xouserxo: I REALLY HOPE THIS IS A NEW SONG ANNOUCMENT I LITERALLY LOVE THE 4 SONGS YOU'VE RELEASED PLEASE LET THIS BE A NEW SONG ANNOUCMENT

y/n l/n: 🩷🤫🥹

xouserxo: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?????

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ding! new Whatsapp notification from Tobi 😎

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Tobi 😎;

⤷ hey, just wanted to lyk that were all metting up in front of the Zoo

⤷ but tbf no ones here yet, just me, josh and ethan

You;

ty for the info Tobi! :)

I'm there within the next 10 minutes or less!

Tobi 😎;

⤷ glad to hear, see you soon :)

You;

see yaaa!!!!

END OF CONVERSATION

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As she slowly started to approach the Zoo, Y/n put away her headphones into her tote bag, making sure to turn them off before putting them away. She quickly checked that she looked good and that her outfit was okay before walking through the black gates that were the entrence of the Zoo.

"Y/n, hey!" a voice called out as she was immidetly spotted entering through the gates. It was Tobi who greeted her first, a wide smile on his face as he waved at her. She waved back, greeting him as well Josh, Ethan and the crew members too. "How are you guys?" the brunette asked as she approached them with a shy smile.

"Pretty good, you?" Josh replied as he finished adjusting his mic. "Good, thank you," she answered. "Oi, you! Did you really make another song without telling anyone, again? Faith has been blowing up my phone for the last hour you crazy woman," Ethan spoke up as he looked at her. Y/n only let out a small laugh at his question and statement, a sly grin on her face. "Y/n, again?" Tobi asked with a slightly suprised and curious look. "Mm, I don't know boys. I'm sure you'll be able to find out in a few days." was the only responce the brunette offored, trying not to laugh quietly. She wasn't a famous singer by any means, like Talia or JJ but she did like to write music from time to time. So far she released 4 songs, but without telling anyone she knew that she's releasing a song it would always suprise them.

"Oh for fucks sake," Ethan groaned before contnuing; "I swear Faith will murder you one day I swear," at that Y/n let out a slightly suprised laugh. The four of them continued to talk and with time, more people came; Harry, Vik, Simon and JJ obviously, but also Chris, Arthur, and Danny Aarons. As they all finally got together, Josh informed the group that they would all have to wear a animal onsie.

"Oh for fucks sake man," Chris groaned as he put on a tiger costume. "To be fair they are quite comfortable," Arthur said whilst wearing a green frog costume.

Y/n only smiled at their antics and banter as she waited for the boys to finish putting on their costumes. She was given a fox onsie, which was slightly bigger on her but as Arthur said, it was comfortable. "I woudn't say they're that bad Chris," she said as she looked at the blond man.

"Yeah yeah," was the reply she got from the Jersey youtuber as he was slightly stuck whilst putting on the tiger costume. Y/n let out a chuckle as she watched him.

Soon enough they all were ready and Harry started off the video as he was the seeker. As he said that they could go and start hidding Y/n sprinted off, immidietly leaving the group to go and search for a hidding spot. "I have no idea where to hide, this place is massive," she spoke to her camera as she ran, showing off the animals. She always loved animals, so it was nice to see so many of them.

As she ran past the monkey enclosure, she spotted a little souvenir stand that was completly closed, windows locked, shut and everything. But to her suprise, the door was unlocked so she quickly steped in and closed the door behind her. "Fuck me it's dark," she said as she turned on the flash on her phone, lighting the place off. It was the size of a kiosk, so not that big. But there was a huge box under the counter, and that could just be her hidding spot. She put her camera aside to see if she would fit in it, and after she confirmed to herself that she would she picked up her camera again and got inside it, closing the box after she made herself comfortable.

"Not the comfiest place, but it could do the trick. It's kinda far away, so let's hope Harry dosen't come here anytime soon," she talked to the camera, holding it up to show her surroundings. "I think I'll camp out here for a few minutes and then I'll go outside again," she added "All the animals are adorable and I really want to see the red pandas."

Some time has passed and Y/n decided that she'd go and find another hiding spot. It was getting quite hot and stuffy in the cardboard box as well she was getting bored. After leaving the little souvenir kiosk she just strolled through the Zoo, filming animals and talking to the camera. "Guys I found Simon and Cal," she spoke as she recorded two extremely tall giraffes.

Just as she said that she heard screaming and from the distance she saw Danny get chased by Harry. "Oh fuck no," she yelled before sprinting away as she realised that Danny was sprinting in ger direction with Harry on his heels. "Fuck ne fuck me fuck me!" she yelled as she ran "I should've stayed in my hiding spot!"

Thankfully she was able to get away safely, but her costume? Not so much. She hid herself in a bush but because of doing that her costume got torn apart a little bit. "Man, I liked this onsie,"

She camped out in the big bush for a while, catching her breath and talking to the camera a bit. But after some time she heard yelling again. "Oh God I think Arthur is getting chased," she informed the camera, recording what she could of her surroundings from outside the bush. Just as she saw Arthur getting chased she immidetly stoped talking and stood still, praying that her cover woudn't get blown.

To her suprise, Arthur actually hid himself too in the same bush that she was in and Harry sprinted off down the path just a minute later, not even noticing them. Just as she was going to greet Arthur quietly he let out a loud surpised yelp. "What are you-" "Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up, you are not blowing this cover Televison," she cut him off, putting a hand over his mouth so that he woudn't make a sound. After a minute or so she put her hand down before greeting him with a smile.

"Hi," she said. "What are you doing here?" Arthur asked with a confused look on his face. "Hidding, obviously.," she replied. "Right," he said before falling quiet. The two didn't talk much, only recorded a bit and commented about something here and there, but other than that not my words were spoken between the two. After some time passed Arthur decided to go find another hidding spot, bidding Y/n goodbye. "Good luck," she told him as he left. "Thanks," and that was that.

"Well that was lovely..," she said to no one in a slightly moody tone. Nobody knew (hopefully) but the brunette had the biggest crush on the Jersey youtuber, despite knowing they had 100% chance of being together. Hell they weren't even that close, only really interacting whilst recording videos.

But that didn't matter that much at the moment as Y/n had a challange to win. After alot of more time has passed, she decided to leave the bush and go back to her original hidding spot. She made a dash for the kiosk, making sure to not be caught. After seccuring her original hidding spot she talked to the camera, about anything and everything really until someone entered the kiosk. She immidetly went silent, hopping she woudn't be found. Just then, she heard a yelp and something colliding into the box she was hidding in, making her fall. "Oh fuck me!" she yelled as she has been found, Harry standing over her.

"Oh my God I didn't even know you were in there, that was a complete accident mate!" Harry yelled, laughing as he recorded the brunette. "Oh for fucks sake Bog," she groaned as she got up. "Oi don't be so sad, you actually won!"

"I did?" Y/n asked excitedly, a grin slowly forming on your face. "Yes mate, did you not hear us calling for you?" Harry asked as the two walked out of the little kiosk with a confused look on your face. "I only heard screaming but no actual words being said." she responded. The two of them made their way quickly to the front of the Zoo where everyone else was. "Ey, theres the winner of todays video!" Tobi yelled out with a smile as he recorded Harry and Y/n approach them. "What happened to your costume?" Chris asked as he saw the brunettes ripped up costume. "Hidding in a bush is a smart move but it ruins your clothes." was all Y/n had to offer as they slowly started to finish filming. Soon enough everything was done and everyone was allowed to leave.

"You need a ride?" Vik asked her as it was a known fact that the girl didn't drive. "Nah, it's fine, thanks tho." she replied with a smile before going to bid everyone goodbye and leave.

.

y/n l/n added to their story!

⤷ faithlousiak liked y/n l/n's story! ♡

⤷ faithlousiak: Y/N WHEN I CATCH YOU Y/N

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⤷ taliamar liked y/n l/n's story! ♡

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⤷ freyanightingale liked y/n l/n's story! ♡

⤷ freyanightingale: ffs 😭💓

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y/n l/n

liked by vikkstagram, georgeclarkeey and 104,764 others

y/n l/n: FROM THE START IS YOURS PEOPLE!!! Please stay tuned as this is not the only song coming your way this month <3 Stream From the start, ASAP!! Much love to all xx

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COMMEMTS;

faithlousiak: SCREAMING AND CRYING GIRLY OH MY GODDD

behzingagram: @y/n l/n you are paying for the therapy bills, tnx

y/n l/n: love u both lots but we both know im broke af xxy

taliarmar: THERS MORE??? BITCH ANSWER THE PHONE

y/n l/n: 💓💓💓

us3r: 🎶💓

arthurnfhill: collab when???

y/n l/n: whenever you'd like arthur 🙏

freyanightingale: SO SO PROUD AND SHOCKED MY WORD

y/n l/n: LOVE U!!

xouserxo: literally in love with this song omfg

chrismd10: taylor swift (walmart version)

y/n l/n: hii chrissy :((

chrismd10: okay okay so maybe it is a good song or something...

y/n l/n: :D

bambinobecky: stunning stunning woman alert!!!

y/n l/n: marry me already?

gkbarry_: O.M.G

savinggracepod: WE NEED YOU ON THE POD NOW!!!!!!!

y/n l/n: I'm sure we can figure something out soon! xxx 😉

sidemen: bop

xeuserxe: y/n ilysm but who is this about!!!??!

vikkstagram: 🤩

userly: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

user111: SO HAPPY AND PROUD WHO!!

useredup: SCREAMING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP AND DYING WHAT IS THIS BEAUTIFUL HEARTCRUSHING MASTERPIECE YOU HAVE GIVEN US

y/n l/n: another one coming soon! xxx

useredup: WHAT

useroo: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH

y/n l/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH

user505: MUSIC ALERT MUSIC ALERT I REPEAT MUSIC ALERT

italianbach: holy shit

arthurtv: congrats!

ksi: insane

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faithlousiak

liked by y/n l/n, behzingagram and 27,672 others

faithlousiak: go stream the crazy lady's beautiful sad gutwrenching love song pls, she needs help

tagged: @y/n l/n

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y/n l/n: I do not need help! I have a perfectly valid reason for writing the song Faith!!!! >:((((

faithlousiak: oh shut up you sad sack of potatoes and go write more songs abt unrequired love

y/n l/n: I will actually!!!

behzingagram: oh ffs

user777: still in shock

user888: we all are babes

usermybeloved: this is such a cute post :((( <3

freyanightingale: shes the reason for my gray hairs

y/n l/n: or maybe ur just old??? 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

user007: why do I have a theory about who could this song be about

y/n l/n: BABES DO NOT SAY ANYTHING, PLS

useruuuu: love the song smm

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y/n l/n

liked by arthurhill, spotifyuk and 110,774 others

y/n l/n: Promise out now.

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arthurnfhill: COLLAB ASAP CALL ME

y/n l/n: 📞📞📞

faithlousiak: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU OH MY GOD

behzingagram: okay so maybe we should pay for your therapy instead...

user007: THE WAY I THINK IK WHO THIS IS ABOUT OH MA GAWD

savinggracepod: GET YOUR ASS TOMORROW IN THE STUDIO L/N.

taliamar: sobbing sobbing and more sobbing

spotifyuk: 🤩🎶

arthurtv: ...

⤷*this comment has been deleted...*

COMMENTS HAVE BEEN LIMITED ON THIS POST.

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savinggracepod

liked by y/n l/n, gkbarry_ and 46,754 others

savinggracepod: ladies 'n gents and all in between i'm sure you can guess our next podcast guest but please do tune in this week for the new episode to confirm your suspisions xx

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COMMENTS;

y/n l/n: hehe 😶‍🌫️🤭

gkbarry_: you cheeky cheeky woman

y/n l/n: 💋💋💋

xouserxo: literally cannot wait omg!!

user111: so so excited for this one x

usermybeloved: MISS @y/n l/n GET UR ASS IN HERE

user1: this ep is going to be so good I can already tell

savinggracepod: babe ur spitting straight facts x

user1: OMG HI!

faithlousiak: can't wait for this lovely shitshow <3

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y/n l/n

liked by savinggracepod, arthurtv and 47,654 others

y/n l/n: big big thank you for having me @savinggracepod !! Pls go check out this weeks episode asap 🎀

tagged: @savinggracepod @gkbarry_

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COMMENTS;

savinggracepod: we loved having youuu!! xxx

useroo: WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

faithlousiak: girly u ain't slick

y/n l/n: BITCH WTF DOES THAT MEAN??!??

faithlousiak: check gc

userly: cant wait to lisen to this!!!

gkbarry_: 💋💋💋

y/n l/n: 💋💋💋

arthurtv: loved the ep

y/n l/n: haha tysm arthur!! (:

useredup: NEW EPPPPP

user007: ...

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arthurtv added to their story!

⤷ y/n l/n liked arthurtv's story! ♡

⤷ y/n l/n: hope you like it! (:

⤷ arthurtv: really do, pretty relatable as well

⤷ y/n l/n liked arthurtv's comment! ♡

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.

"Hi Arthur," Y/n greeted the man as she approached him. Tomorrow came way to quickly for her liking, and she was so nervous too as she had no idea why he set this up. "Hey Y/n," Arthur greeted her politely with a smile as he looked up from his phone. "Want to head inside?" "I'd love to,"

The two of them entered the café with Arthur immidietly going to the counter. "I can take our orders while you find a place for us to sit down. What would you like?" he asked her. "An Iced coffee would be fine, thank you," Y/n told him before going to find a table to sit at. She quickly spooted a table in the back of the café where a little amount of people were sitting at. She put down her bag onto one chair and waited for Arthur.

"Your drink," Arthur said as he put down both of their drinks on the table. "Thank you," the brunette replied, taking a few sips of her coffee before looking at Arthur. "So, whats up?" she started. "This is, uh.. quite unusual for us to meet up outside of shootings. Is there something wrong?"

"Yeah, it kinda is. But theres nothing wrong actually, I just wanted to ask you something..," Arthur trailed off as he put his own drink down. "Well ask away than," Y/n said with a smile, still quite nervous.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"What?" Y/n looked at him dumbfounded, not beliving what she was hearing. Arthur asked her to go on a date with her? "Wait wait if this is about the songs and because somebody told you about my emotions you don't need to ask me out on a date Arthur, I understand that you don't feel the same. You don't have to take me out on some pity date, it's fine," she rambled, not letting him get a word in.

"Pity?" Arthur asked. "God, Y/n it's not pity I swear. I geniuenly liked you for way to long but I never thought you'd feel the same. Then the guys started to message me that I should ask you out after you released the songs and everything. The only real reason why I haven't tried to get closer to you was because I didn't want to get rejected or something and I kinda always thought you just didn't like me romantically."

"Oh..," Y/n breathed out, before a smile formed on her face. "Well in that case, I'd love to go on a date with you Arthur," she said, her cheeks turning pink as she looked at him.

"Really?"

"Most certantly,"

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⤷georgeclarkeey: about damn time

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⤷user007: If that isn't Y/n I will start tweaking Televison

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⤷useroo: PLEASE TELL ME THAT IS Y/N PLEASE

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⤷useredup: if that date isn't with Y/n istfg I will kms

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⤷ taliamar: hell yeah!!! so so happy for you!! 💓

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⤷ freyanightingale: told you it would work out xx

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⤷user007: OH MY GOD I WAS CORRECT OH MY GOD!!!!!! YES YES YESSSS

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⤷xeuserxe: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP DYING I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU

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y/n l/n

liked by arthurtv, wroetoshaw and 97,654 others

y/n l/n: guys I fucked up doing math but instead of failing a test I got the guy in the end 😄😆😉😜🤪😝

tagged: @arthurtv

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COMMENTS:

chrismd10: oh god you will be insufferable

y/n l/n: ofc I will be 😜🤪😝

faithlousiak: YESS MAMASSSS

user6: yayy!!!

user111: so happy for you!

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taliamar: CONGRATS!! 💓💓

georgeclarkeey: i will be sick you two are disgustingly cute

y/n l/n: choke on my dick clarke 🥰

georgeclarkeey: no ty

tobjizzle: ❤

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italianbach: lost my pookie to another pookie 😔

y/n l/n: its okay we can share him pookie xx

italianbach: thanks pookie!

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useredup: OH MY GOD MOTHER AND FATHER GOT TOGETHER FUCK YES

useroo: MAMA Y PAPA, MAMA Y PAPA

us3r: HOLY SHITTTT

user007: I WAS RIGHT YOU GUYS I WAS RIGHT

y/n l/n: YOU WERE

user007: WHOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO

userly: FUCK YEAAAAAAAAQQAAAAAAAAAH

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y/n l/n: you love it 😝

arthurtv: that I do 🙂

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[sceletaflores]

you need a seat? i’ll volunteer!

pairing: tashi duncan x fem!reader

summary: how much of a selfish douche does patrick have to be to not beg tashi to sit on his face every night? you certainly would.

—or: you show tashi what she’s missing out on…

word count: 3.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, girl kissing, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving) but not really, cheating (i can't stop lmao), patrick catching strays, a hint of "there's only one bed" trope, kinda sad angsty wlw pining, like this got a little depressing at the end lmao, more plot than i thought it would have when i started writing it (i physically can't not write so much plot it's a disease), no use of y/n.

author's note: AHHH HAPPY PRIDE!!! this is purely self indulgent lmao no one asked for this but i just had to write it. this is my first ever wlw fic!!! I know, please stop clapping, it was my duty to post one during pride month. i'm still writing the homoerotic wlw friendship fic, i promise it's coming! i just wrote this one way faster than i thought i would lol okay hope you love it! mwah xoxo

You and Tashi sit across from each other on the bed of some fancy hotel room in Texas the night before a match against UT with a new, exciting charge in the air between you.

Actually, the two of you sit on the only bed in the room after a mix up with the hotel’s booking but “You girls are close, you don’t mind sharing? Right?”

Your coach was right, you don’t mind sharing at all. Not one bit.

You and Tashi were more than close. The two of you have been best friends since middle school, and playing tennis with each other just as long. Whether it was playing side by side or with one of you standing on the opposite end of the court. It was you and her, always.

You realized your feelings for Tashi Duncan were a little more than platonic when you were 15 years old. You were staying the night at her house, laying on her bed with your legs tangled together under the covers watching Mean Girls as Tashi idly braided your hair. It was during the Halloween party scene where Cady catches Regina and Aaron kissing when Tashi spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “Have you ever kissed a boy like that?”

You just shook your head silently, leaning further into her hands as Cady stormed out of the party on-screen. You didn’t know why she was asking you, you told her everything. If a boy kissed you like that she’d be the first to know. Tashi was silent for a few more seconds, tying off the end of your braid and resting her hands on your shoulders. 

“I could show you how,” she had said, “You know, for when guys want to kiss you like that.”

You immediately felt your heart start to race, palms suddenly sweaty. Her suggestion caught you off guard, but you think you heard that girls actually do stuff like that. It’s just practice, it’s not like it’s a big deal. Plus Tashi’s your best friend, you trust her.

You turned up to face her, searching her eyes for any hint of a joke, but you found nothing. Her face was earnest, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked down at you, and her eyes filled with a mix of mischief and something deeper. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Tashi smiled, moving closer until your faces were inches apart. You closed your eyes as your breath mingled with hers, her hand settling softly on your jaw. The first touch of her lips was soft and sweet, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You gave in, parting your lips to let her tongue brush against yours. You felt something deep inside of you slot into place, like a missing puzzle piece finding its home. You got lost in the moment, mind going blank and fuzzy as your tongues explored each other's mouths. The thought of kissing boys suddenly felt unimportant and distant with Tashi’s lips moving against yours. 

All too soon she was pulling back, her face soft and flushed. “See? Not so scary,” she said with a smile, you swore you could hear a slight tremor in her voice. She brushed her thumb across your cheek once before she laid back against the headboard and cast her gaze to the movie still playing.

“Yeah…” you trailed off, leaning against her to watch Regina get hit by the bus. Your mind was still buzzing, the feel and taste of Tashi lingering on your lips.

That kiss changed everything for you, but the two of you never talked about it again. Tashi woke up the next morning as if nothing had changed, smiling at you over breakfast talking a thousand miles a minute about the new tennis club in town. It’s been years since then, years of pretending like you’re not really in love with Tashi Duncan, that it was just a phase. You just adore her so much, a totally normal platonic best friend kind of adoration, that’s all.

It’s well past the time you and Tashi should have been asleep by now, pre-match jitters and excitement keeping the two of you up late. You’d been talking for hours already, and somehow the topic has shifted into raunchier territory. Maybe later you’ll blame the pent-up energy for blurring your filter, but for now you were content swapping recaps of the latest hookups you’ve shared with Art for her stories with Patrick. 

The addition of Art and Patrick was definitely a new development in your relationship with Tashi. Two boys who thought they were being discreet following the two of you around the Adidas party all those months ago, taking turns chatting you up on the beach and inviting you back to their hotel room.

Then college started, and Patrick and Tashi were suddenly dating, and things sort of changed. Tashi was spending more time with him, leaving you alone to stew in your anger of feeling like the next best thing. Well not completely alone, Art was always there. In a similar situation as you, with Tashi taking up all of Patricks time when he’d visit campus. Leaving the two of you to sit in Art’s dorm sharing a handle of cheap vodka every time you got kicked out of your room so Tashi and Patrick could have some “alone time”.

Art’s hot, and he seemed to like you so it felt easy enough for the two of you to pair off like Tashi and Patrick did. You wouldn’t call it dating, friends with benefits fit better, but he was a nice distraction from the new Tashi shaped hole in your life, so you indulged. Tashi was overjoyed when she found out, so happy for you in every sense of the word. Constantly badgering you for details, like she was just before your conversation took a complete one-eighty.

“No way Patrick hasn’t asked you to do that before,” you ask a little too loudly, beyond shocked as you stare at Tashi sitting across from you on the mattress. 

She scoffs quietly, shaking her head as she picks at a loose thread sticking out of the comforter. “It’s kinda been all about him lately,” she trails off with a shrug, like that’s a good reason.

Fucking Patrick. You think bitterly, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. What a fucking loser.

You knew he wasn’t good enough for Tashi the second you met him. All flashy bravado and superficial charm, like a peacock strutting around with no substance. Tashi seems to like him enough so you bite your tongue at every dreadful detail she’s told you about their relationship, because you’re such a good friend.

Seriously though, how much of a selfish douchebag does Patrick have to be not to beg Tashi to sit on his face every night? 

You certainly would.

“Art and you do that a lot?” she asks nonchalantly, but her eyes have a certain look to them. One you can’t quite place, they’re sharper than they were before. Maybe even a tiny bit challenging, as if she’s daring you to go there. You were never one to back down from a dare, especially in front of Tashi.

You nod slowly, fingers toying with the edge of your shorts.  “A couple times.”

“How’s it feel.” She makes it sound like a question, you know her well enough to recognize that it’s more like a thinly veiled demand. Her voice is barely above a whisper but she may as well have shouted at the top of her lungs with the way it cuts through the space between you so sharply.

You see flashes of Art red-faced and needy as you knelt on top of him with your knees on either side of his head, of him spilling inside his boxers as you rode his face, using his tongue to get yourself off.

It has warmth pooling in the bottom of your stomach, thighs subconsciously clenching together. You imagine yourself in Art’s place, laying flat on your back as Tashi kneels above you, chasing after the taste of her with your tongue. 

“So good…” You whisper back, voice breathy like you just got done training. You can feel Tashi’s eyes on you, intense and persistent.

You meet her gaze, her familiar brown eyes dark and blown out in a way you’ve never seen before. She looks flushed, her cheeks tinged with the slightest hint of red. Her lips part ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of teeth as she bites down on her full lower lip, a tiny gesture that sends a zing up your spine. It's like the room's temperature just shot up by ten degrees, creating a kind of heat that makes you feel light-headed.

Tashi’s stare is unwavering, it makes your skin crawl in the best way possible. She looks hungry, you feel a pang of unfiltered need shake your body like thunder. You’ve never felt deja vu before, but you’re guessing it feels something like this.

The offer slips past your lips before you can think of stopping it, “I mean…I could– I could like show you. If you want.”

For a second, there’s silence. All you can hear is the sounds of the city three floors below you flowing in through the window. The distant hum of traffic and faint chatter blend into a muted sound that underscores the tense quiet in your room. You hold your breath, forcing yourself to meet Tashi’s gaze. Every second that passes feels like an eternity, you’re inches away pretending it was a joke, from running away with your tail between your legs.

Then, Tashi’s eyes narrow slightly, her lips curling into a sly smile. She leans closer, bridging the small gap between the two of you, the mattress shifts under her weight. “Show me,” she murmurs, her voice an assertive whisper. The intensity in her eyes deepens, locking you in place. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears louder than the city noise outside. It wasn’t really a joke when you offered, but you never thought Tashi would actually call your bluff. You thought she’d just laugh, roll her eyes and call you gross with a smile on her face. You swallow hard, a mix of excitement and nerves churning in your stomach.

Tashi’s hand moves to your chin, gently bringing you closer to her. The electricity between you is palpable, a charged connection that sparks and crackles. Her thumb brushes across your lower lip, and you feel yourself leaning into her touch, your body responding before your mind can catch up. 

“Show me,” she repeats, her voice firmer now, a command wrapped in velvet. Her words hang in the air, thick with anticipation and promise. You nod, a small, almost unnoticeable movement.

“We- Art and I - we…uh, usually kiss before,” you try to sound casual. Tashi’s eyes soften, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Then kiss me,” she says. You can feel her breath on your skin, warm and inviting. You lift your hand, reaching out slowly. Your fingers brush against the bare skin of her arm, you’ve touched her millions of times before, but this one is different. It’s a hesitant touch that feels both daring and delicate. She doesn't tense or pull away; instead, she leans into your touch, her eyes never leaving yours.

Your throat feels dry, your mind racing, but you push through, your hand glides up her arm, tracing a path to her shoulder. Her skin is smooth, warm under your touch, and you can feel the slight tremor that betrays the relaxed front she’s putting on.

With every inch you cover, you feel more confident, your movements becoming more assured. You lean in, close enough that you can see the slight rise and fall of her chest, hear the faint hitch in her breath. 

It’s been years, but you swear her lips feel the same. It’s far from the slow, sweet, timid kiss you shared on her bed. The moment they touch yours, it’s like a jolt of electricity runs through your veins, reigniting a fire deep within you that never truly died. Tashi’s lips are soft, yet demanding, moving with a hunger that mirrors your own. You can taste the faint hint of her coconut lip balm and something that’s uniquely Tashi, a flavor you had almost forgotten but that comes rushing back with each second that passes. You lose yourself in the rhythm, the pressure, the way her tongue teases yours, exploring, claiming.

If you weren’t so fucking turned on, so fucking wet that you’re drenching your panties, you’d probably laugh. You’d laugh at how easily you ended up back here, kissing Tashi just because she asked you too. You wonder if she’s thinking about that night too, if she ever thinks about it.

Your hands find her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more needy. Without thinking, you drag Tashi onto your lap, her chest pressing flush against yours as her knees fall on either side of your torso. She responds quickly, her fingers tangling in your hair, grip tight enough to have you softly moaning into the kiss. 

It’s messy, wet, and consuming, with spit mingling as your mouths fight for dominance. Tashi still refusing to let go of the upper-hand even though you’re technically supposed to be the one showing her something, but you don’t mind. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you groan, sending a shock-wave of heat straight to your core. Her nails scratch against your scalp, pulling you impossibly closer. The air is thick with the sounds of your ragged breathing and the soft, breathy moans escaping your throats. 

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other, a small thread of saliva connects your lips before it falls and breaks.

“Show me,” she whispers again, this time softer, almost a plea. And with a newfound confidence, you nod, ready to give her whatever she asks for. 

“Off,” you say impatiently, tugging at the waistband of her shorts. Tashi’s eyes darken, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps as she quickly complies, shimmying out of her shorts and tossing them aside. You waste no time, falling on your back so fast your body bounces on the mattress. You can hear the bed creaking as Tashi crawls towards you again, you can feel the warmth of her as she throws a leg over your hips and starts to make her way up your body. She pauses at your chest, hesitating. She looks down at you, her eyes more unsure and vulnerable than you’ve seen in a long time. You just smile softly, giving her a small nod and bringing your hands up to squeeze her thighs reassuringly. Her body is warm and firm beneath your palms. 

“Tash,” you whisper, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against her skin. “It’s just me.” 

Her eyes search yours for a second longer, the tension melts from her face, and she smiles. A real smile, not the fake one she gives pushy interviewers, one that reaches her eyes. Her vulnerability bleeds into tender determination as she gives you one sharp nod of her head and shuffles the rest of the way up your body.

With a sense of urgency, your fingers hook around the edge of her panties. Tashi’s trembling, her fingers digging into your shoulders, hips lifting slightly to aid you slide her panties to the side.

Being face to face with Tashi Duncan’s cunt feels euphoric. It feels right, like this is where you should have been all along. She’s so wet for you and so beautiful and so perfect and you can hardly wait to taste her.

You lean in, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along her inner thigh, feeling her shiver beneath your touch. Tashi’s breath hitches, a soft moan escaping her lips as you get closer to her core. Her eyes never leave yours, her pupils completely blown out and swallowing up the warm brown.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice strained with longing. The plea sends a thrill through you, has you feeling power drunk because the great Tashi Duncan is begging you. Begging you to touch her, begging you to make her feel good, begging you to make her come.

You lean your head up, you can feel her body tremble as your breath brushes against her. Your lips part, placing a soft kiss directly over her clit, making her squirm and moan softly above you. You flick your tongue out, teasing her, drawing more desperate sounds from her lips. 

The taste of her is intoxicating, flooding your senses and making you crave even more. She tastes like girl sweat, like girl sex, you moan into it, gripping her thighs hard to try in vain to steady yourself.

Tashi’s eyes flutter shut, her head falling back as your tongue slides through the wet slit of her cunt. Her response is immediate, lowering herself down against your tongue as a low moan escapes her lips. Tashi's hips start to move, instinctively seeking more, needing more.

You watch her through half-lidded eyes, mesmerized by the sight of her losing herself in the pleasure you're giving her. Her hands tangle in your hair again, guiding you, urging you on as you work your tongue along her slick entrance. The rhythm of her hips matches the movement of your mouth, and you can feel her growing wetter, absolutely drenching the bottom half of your face.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” she mutters, pretty face pinched in pleasure. You moan into her cunt, angling your head up to drag your tongue up her slit slowly until you reach her clit, sucking it into your mouth and swirling your tongue over it.

“Oh my God,” Tashi huffed. She opened her eyes and looked down between her legs, catching your glassy eyes with her own. The sight only made her grind her hips faster, “You’re so pretty,” She muttered. Your loud moan is muffled by her cunt, heart fluttering in your chest at her words. You can feel your hands start shaking with the intensity of the moment, way more intimate than it probably should be.

Her right hand lets go of your hair, shooting out to lace her fingers with yours. She squeezes your hand hard, gripping onto it like a lifeline as she rides your tongue. You respond in kind, using your free hand to guide her, to hold her steady as you delve deeper into her cunt, your nose bumping up against her clit. Her taste, her reactions, everything about her is perfect, and you can feel her body tightening, her muscles clenching as she gets closer and closer to the edge. 

Her other hand tightened its grip on your hair, pulling you closer as she threw her head back, a low, throaty moan escaping her lips. “Don’t stop,” she gasps, her voice breaking, “I’m close.”

You increase your pace, tongue working even faster over her clenching cunt. You lose yourself in her, in the rhythm of her movements, in the sounds of her moans and gasps. You need her to come, you need to see, need to feel it, need to hear it, need to fucking taste it.

And she does, her body tensing, then shaking as she cries out your name, the sound filling the room. You hold her through it, your tongue moving in gentle, soothing strokes as she rides out her orgasm, her body slowly relaxing under your touch. You keep going, tongue greedily soaking up everything she has to give you until she’s spent, her body going limp, her breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. 

Tashi leans back, blindly shoving her free hand down your shorts to delve between your slick thighs. Your hand grips hers harder, moaning out as her fingertips brush over your throbbing clit. Your eyes open to find Tashi already staring down at you between her thighs, the fancy hotel lights making a halo of light around her messy hair. She looks fucking ethereal.

You’re so worked up it only takes a few clumsy circles of Tashi’s fingers to push you over the edge. Back arching off the bed as you come, hips bucking up into her touch. Waves of pleasure crash through you as you soak your panties in your release as Tashi watches with sharp eyes. She keeps going, fingertips sliding over you with featherlight touches until you’re squirming away, thighs instinctively clenching shut.

Tashi falls back onto the bed next to you, the two of you laying beside each other trying to catch your breath. The room is filled with the soft sound of your synced heavy breathing, you can feel her hair tickling your neck from where it splayed out on the pillows.

“Patrick’s coming to the UT game tomorrow,” her voice breaks the silence, voice raspy and winded, “Art will probably be with him.”

Her impassive tone feels like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. You look at her, but Tashi keeps her gaze trained on the ceiling, her chest rising and falling quickly. She’s sweaty, baby hairs sticking to her forehead, her face is stony. She closes her eyes, it feels like a door slamming in your face. Your heart sinks in your chest, dread starting to wrap its tendrils around you.

Patrick and Art. Their names hang in the air like a storm cloud threatening to burst, casting a shadow over the fragile intimacy of the moment. You swallow hard, trying to muster a response, but words elude you in the suffocating silence. Tashi speaks again before you can, “We should all go out to dinner after, like on a double date or something.”

You trace the outline of her profile with your eyes, the curve of her jawline, the faint sheen of sweat on her skin. Each detail seems sharper, more defined, as if etching itself into your memory with painful clarity all over again. You have to close your eyes too, scared if you keep them open that the tears burning your waterline will start flowing down your cheeks. All you can do is lie there, next to Tashi, and feel the weight of her words settle into the space between you, putting up a barrier you're not sure how to breach. 

“Yeah…sounds good.”

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes @myahswrld

if you want to get tagged in any of my works just fill out this form!

[spdrwdw]

Art by marmar0u on instagram

Pairing: GhostFace!Miguel x f!reader

warnings: 18+, Smut, Roleplay, oral (m/f receiving) , unprotected intercourse, hair-pulling, choking, no use of y/n, slight hair pulling

Summary: It's Halloween and you in for a trick and treat of your life.

A/N: Thank you to the anon who requested GhostFace! Miguel! Sorry if this on kinda sucks. I'm not good with writing scary, suspenseful stuff lol. I did use some of the dialogue from the first movie and tweaked it a bit. If you want to be tagged in my future fics, just let me know! Or, you can also turn on notifications for my page and get notified whenever I post. I hope everyone enjoys and have a safe and fun Halloween!

Word Count: 2.8k ( I promise I'll make my fics longer one day)

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

It was Halloween night, and you were home alone. The tv was on, playing some random scary movie. You had music also playing in the background. 

Trick-or-treaters would be constantly ringing the doorbell. At first, you thought about simply leaving the bowl of candy by the doorstep, but you loved seeing all the costumes the kids and teenagers were wearing. 

You were wearing a costume, yourself. A simple angel. Nothing too flashy since you were simply handing out candy. Just a halo and wings in a white t-shirt and white shorts. You wore your more “suggestive” costume at last weekend’s Halloween party a friend threw. 

While making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some popcorn, you heard your cell phone ring. It was a number you’ve never seen before, but it had your area code, so you decided to pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hello?” A voice on the other end responded. 

“Yes?” You replied back. 

“Who is this?”

“Who are you trying to reach?” You asked, slightly confused.

“What number is this?”

“What number are you trying to reach?” Honestly. Dude dialed the number, right?

“I don’t know.” Ugh.

“Well, I think you have the wrong number. It happens. Take it easy,” and with that, you ended the call and began to head back to the microwave to check on the popcorn before your phone rang again. 

Reaching back over for it, you checked the caller ID. It was the same number. Should you pick it up? At first, you thought about letting it ring but, eh, whatever. You answered it. 

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I dialed the wrong number,” the same guy on the other end responded.

“So why did you dial it again?” You asked. 

“To apologize,” he replied.

“Well, you’re forgiven. Bye, now.”

“Wait! wait. Don’t hang up. I want to talk to you for a sec.” 

“Why?” Okay, this was getting a little weird. You really should just hang up. 

“Just want to know a little more about you. How about telling me your name?” He asked. “I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” you rolled your eyes, shaking your head. 

“Well, do you have a boyfriend?” He changed the subject. 

“Why? Do you want to ask me out on a date?”

“Maybe? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” as if you were going to give this guy a truthful response. Plus, you did have a boyfriend, so you wouldn’t have accepted either way. 

“You never told me your name.” There he goes again, asking for your name. 

You were now walking around your house, organizing some things as you entertained this weirdo.

“Why do you want to know my name?” No really. Why?

“Because I want to know who I’m looking at.”

What?

You suddenly stopped, feeling your heart drop.

“What did you say?” Your voice now grew quiet. 

“I want to know who I’m talking to.”

“That’s not what you said,” you pointed out as you began making your way around the house, turning more lights on, as well as the lights from your back porch. You really should hang up and call the police if this guy was stalking you from somewhere. 

“Then what did you think I said?” He asked. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

“What do you want?” You knew if you hung up now, he would just call back. So, you made another round around the house to make sure everything was closed and locked. 

“I just want to know your name.” 

“You don’t need to know my name. Now what do you want from me?” You questioned.

“I just wanted to talk. Maybe go out together on a date.”

Now you were peaking through the curtains, making sure no one was actually outside. Which was futile since there were still a lot of people out trick-or-treating. Maybe he was just messing around. But, you wanted to be sure.

“Can you see me?” He suddenly asked. 

How did he know you were looking for him? “Listen, I am two seconds away from calling the police.” Your voice was now shaky, as well as your body. 

“They’d never make it in time. It’s Halloween. Probably think you’re prank calling them or something.”

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice cracking and tears welling over your eyes. 

The line was quiet for a second, then you heard him chuckle. 

“To see what your insides feel like.”

The line disconnected, and there was a sudden flicker of the lights. He was here. He had to be. 

You were checking every single closet and door, your heart beating fast, panicking. Where was he? He had to be somewhere in your house. 

Your cell phone rang again. You didn’t bother to check the number. You knew it was him.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice shaking as you struggled to hold the phone in your hand. 

No response. 

“This isn’t funny! I’m going to call the police!” You threatened as you pressed your back against the wall, trying to keep your eyes everywhere. 

You heard the man chuckling again at the other end, causing goosebumps to raise the thin hairs on your arms. 

“Aww! Don’t be like that, baby. I’m just having some fun.” You could practically hear him smirking.

“Well, I’m not!” You spat before the lights began to flicker again. 

“Stop it!”

“Alright, alright. You’re being such a party-pooper. Here, I’ll tell you what. I’ll stop messing with you, if you let me fuck you.” 

“Excuse me?!” You gasped, eyes widened. 

“Come on. It’ll be fun. I’ll even keep my mask on,” he cooed. 

“No way!”

“Why not? It’s Halloween. I’m a trick-or-treater. I already did my tricks, now I’m ready for my treat.”

“I-I have a boyfriend!” You then blurted out. 

“You just told me you didn’t.”

“I know that.”

“So that ‘no’’ was a yes? I don’t like that you lied to me like that. Hmm..well, he doesn’t have to know, baby. It’ll be our little secret.”

“No,” you replied. 

“Alright. Fine. We can do this the hard way,” he responded just before the lights went completely dark. The line cut off on the other end, and you were left with silence. 

You covered your mouth and tried to calm down. You had to find something to defend yourself with. Maybe a baseball bat or something. Or you could go back to the kitchen and grab a pan or knife. 

Without removing yourself from the wall, you began to make your way to the kitchen. 

In the dark, you quickly made your way to the drawers and found a knife before proceeding to turn on the flashlight on your phone just as you heard something coming from upstairs. 

“Shit shit shit!” You breathed, gripping onto the knife with one hand and your phone with the other before you slowly began to make your way up the stairs , looking all around you.

You jumped when you heard a door slam behind you, and you slowly turned around to see a dark figure at the end of the hall. 

“Who are you?!” You called out, taking a couple steps back, still gripping the knife tightly. Your legs began to tremble a bit. 

The figure then turned around. A white ghost-like mask covered their face. You could hear a low chuckle coming from them as they began to take a step closer, holding their own, bloody knife in his hand. 

“Get away from me! I’m serious!” You threatened, but he continued to make his way closer to you, so, you dashed into your bedroom, not noticing something on the floor that caused you to trip and fall onto your bed, the knife slipped out of your hand, along with your phone, both landing on the floor with a thump.

Once you managed to push your body up, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the figure standing right behind you, causing you to scream. You tried to scramble back, but he grabbed one of your legs, lifting the knife towards you to strike. 

You quickly reached for a pillow and started hitting him with it. It worked for a second, and he stumbled back. But, it gave you enough time to get out of bed. 

However, your efforts were not sufficient,and he grabbed you, tossing you back onto the bed with a thump before he crawled over you, pinning your hands behind your head and straddling your waist. 

A low chuckle could be heard coming from him before he leaned over and whispered against your ear, “You’re so cute when you’re scared.”

Your heart pounded against your chest, struggling to break free as tears pricked over your eyes. 

“Please, let me go..” you whimpered. 

“Not until I get my treat, sweetheart,” he reminded her as he sat up and began to pull down his pants underneath the black cloak. 

“Aye, mierda, this thing..”he huffed under his breath as he hiked the cloak up above his waist. 

Wait a second. That voice..it sounded familiar. Too familiar. And there was only one person you knew who would curse like that. 

“M-Miguel?”

“Yeah?” He paused, looking down at you through his mask, his persona now forgotten. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?! It was you doing this the whole time?!” You shrieked as you started smacking him, hitting him with all your might. 

“You asshole!”

Miguel simply laughed as he grabbed hold of your hands. 

“Come on, nena! I was just messing with you!” He continued to laugh. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. It was adorable.”

“G-get off of me!” You were pissed at the stunt your boyfriend pulled. 

“But I want my treat,” you just knew that he was pouting under his mask. 

“I’m not giving you anything you big jerk! Now get off and turn my lights back on!” You demanded, shoving him off of you. 

“Fine,” he muttered before fixing himself and got off the bed and headed out of your room. 

You laid in your bed for a moment, trying to relax. You never thought Miguel would do such a thing. He really had you scared shitless. 

Shaking your head and gathering your thoughts, you got up from bed, grabbing the knife you dropped on the floor and began to make your way downstairs just as the lights came back on. 

Miguel was already in the kitchen, mask removed and munching on the popcorn you had made. 

You placed the knife back where it belonged before turning to face Miguel, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Miguel looked over at you after popping some more popcorn into his mouth, giving you a cheeky grin. 

“Heeey..” he reached over to you, pulling you over by the arm. “Don’t be mad. Please. Forgive me?”

He gave you big puppy dog eyes. And for someone as big as him, it was actually adorable. But you were still mad at him. He actually had you fearing for your life. 

“No,” you respond curtly, glaring up at him. Why did he think you would just forgive him so easily?

“How did you even get in here?” You asked as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“You showed me where you keep your spare key, remember?”

“Oh, yeah..” 

“Soo..”he smirked then. “Can I get my treat now?”

“You’re insufferable. Fine! Fine,” you finally agreed with a nod. “But, I swear if you do something like that again, I’m breaking up with you."

Miguel gave you a toothy grin before pulling his mask back down before pulling out his knife from under his cloak. With closer inspection, you realize it was just a fake prop knife with red paint over it. 

“Wait, how did you change your voice?” You suddenly asked. 

Miguel pulled out a little box-like device and held it to his face before speaking to it, his voice sounding completely different. 

“Oh.”

“Now, let’s have some fun, shall we?” Miguel stated before he started chasing you around the kitchen, with you now playing along. 

After you had given the last of the candy out to trick-or-treaters and finished up the popcorn, you and Miguel were upstairs in your room, with you on your knees, sucking him off. 

He was still clad in his costume, having his cloak bunched up around his waist. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it. Just like that,” he groaned, tilting his head back as you bobbed your head and pumped him in your hand. You couldn’t help but to slip your hand into your panties and finger yourself, letting out moans around his cock.

He began to thrust into your mouth, holding your head still with his hand. You continued to finger yourself. 

“Such a naughty little angel you are, nena. Taking my cock in so well,” he praised before letting out another groan, feeling himself close to his orgasm. However, he pulled himself out of your mouth, stunting his release. He wanted to be inside you for that. He pulled up on onto your feet before he knelt down before you, removing his mask before shooting you a playful wink and removed your white shorts and panties before half of his face disappeared between your legs. 

You let out a moan when you felt it. His tongue, running along your folds, picking up your wetness with greed. He lifted you up by the thighs, placing a hand on your back before lifting you up on the floor and blindly made his way to the closet wall, pinning you there. 

“Oh, Miguel!” You whined, tilting your head back against the wall, squeezing his head between your thighs as he slurped and nipped at your aching pussy.

Muffled moans could be heard coming from his mouth, sending vibrations through your body. You started bucking your hips against her mouth, needing more of his tongue. 

You let out another whine, needing more. You needed more of him. You needed him inside you.

“Migueeeel!” You pouted as you continued to grind your hips against him. All he needed was his mouth to send you over the edge, and he knew how to use it well. He had you seeing stars and reaching for the moon with how his tongue danced along your bundle of nerves and slipped into your soaking pussy.

However, he pulled away before you were able to reach your peak. 

“No!” You cried out, causing him to chuckle. He gently removed you from his shoulders and carried you to your bed, dropping you. 

“Don’t fret, nena. We got all night. It’s still Halloween. And I am going to enjoy my treat for as long as I can. I did tell you and wanted to feel your insides, after all,” he said as he slipped his mask back down and took off everything else, leaving himself naked. 

He proceeded to remove most of your clothes, leaving just your halo and wings on before flipping you over so you were on your stomach. 

“On your hands and knees, angelita,” he ordered, giving you ass a playful smack, causing you to let out a yelp. You did as he said and positioned yourself before him, ass in the air and face down onto the mattress. 

You could hear him stroking himself in his hand, and the sound made your mouth water. 

“I know you want me in that tight little pussy, nena. Don’t worry, I got you,” Miguel smirked before plunging himself into your warm, wet cunt, causing you to arch your back and cry out his name. 

Miguel didn’t wait to set at a brutal pace, pivoting himself against you, balls slapping against your clit. You let out a lewd moan, your eyes rolling back just as Miguel grabbed a fistful of your hair and leaned over, his phone in hand. He took a quick photo of the two of you. 

“You better not show that to anyone,” you whimpered. 

“Of course not. This is all for me. No one gets to see you like this, angelita,” Miguel cooed, and you felt him resting his masked face against your hair, as if trying to give you a kiss. 

“Now, you gonna cum for me?”

You could feel him hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars, and you cried out a ‘yes’ in response, nodding your head. 

“Yes! Yes yes! I will! Please..just like that!”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, giving your ass a hard smack that had you cumming instantly. 

You gripped onto the bed sheets as Miguel continued to thrust into you past your orgasm. He loved filling you up and mixing your juices with his. And that’s just what he did. A couple more thrusts and he came inside you. 

“Oh, fuck..that felt good,” Miguel sighed as he slowly pulled out of you, marveling at how your cunt dripped with his seed. 

Taking off his mask completely, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you passionately. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you reminded him, poking him hard on the chest.

He simply laughed and pecked your lips a couple of times. “Sorry, nena. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he cooed, nuzzling his face against your neck.

“Happy Halloween.” 

☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.:*☆ ☆*:.｡. o .｡.

@xaaaaaaax, @randomwriteralan, @migueloharastruelove, @camzzn

[zepskies]

Every Second Counts - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him. 

AN: I decided to put this chapter out a bit early due to some Father's Day stuff tomorrow. I was blown away by the response from you guys on Part 1!! Thank you so much. 🥰 I had some trepidation writing a new character, but I'm so glad you guys seem to enjoy where this little series is going so far. It makes me even more excited to bring you the next chapter of ESC! 💜

Song Inspo: “Too Late” by The Paper Kites

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: Shaw family feels, a bit of mystery, tinge of fluff and mutual pining, and a twist…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: “Family Reunion”

The next day after he left, you finally managed to get Charlie on the phone. He implored you not to try and find him.

He claimed he was staying with a friend for now, and was picking up some odd jobs through a connection at the museum—another security guard who knew how to get extra work. 

“What kind of extra work?” you asked. You sunk back into the couch in your living room and held a hand to your aching head. You had already lost sleep over this, worrying about where he was and what the hell he was doing.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Charlie said.

He really knew how to frustrate you to the nth degree.

“Charlie, just come home. Please,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes, choking your words. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

You heard him sigh.

“You had a right to be mad,” he said. “I’m the big brother, remember? But I’m…I’m a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“We take care of each other, and you know that,” you said sharply, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“Listen, I’ll come home when I can, okay? Be good.”

“Charlie! Ch—” The call ended, and you nearly tossed your phone in aggravation.

“That stubborn fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Four months later, your worry was eating you alive.

Charlie refused to come home or tell you where he was staying. The only time you got to see him was when you visited him on his night shift at the museum. You tried to talk him into coming home, but your brother remained stubborn.

“You get that from Dad,” you’d told him once, while watching him eat some leftover meatloaf you’d made for him. The two of you stood outside the museum on his break.

Charlie had smirked at you. “Yeah, well, you share the disease.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

But just when you thought you were starting to get through to him, now, he’d stopped answering your calls. For that matter, the museum hadn’t even seen or heard from him in a week or so.

So here you sat, in the living room of Dory’s apartment, crying into a jar of Nutella that you’d long ago stopped spreading over the strawberries she’d laid out. You had a chocolate-covered butterknife in one hand and a used Kleenex in the other.

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t want necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

You hadn’t had a chance to meet him when he dropped in a couple of months ago, but she’d told you about his brief visit to find a graduate student who had been kidnapped, and nearly killed by a professor in the Sciences department for uncovering a flaw in the man’s research. That flaw would have costed him his entire grant, and possibly his career and reputation. 

The terrible incident had caused an uproar on campus. Students were released from their classes for an entire day after the professor was arrested. 

Now, Dory considered your question with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll call him.”

You were grateful, but your face became pained as something occurred to you. You held up a hand.

“Wait, I just realized I can’t pay him,” you said. You didn’t have more than a thousand dollars in your savings account, and that was for emergencies. Like the time Charlie nearly burned the house down after a lighting mishap with his bong.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” Dory said. She laid a comforting hand on your arm. “He’d do this as a favor to me.”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your brows furrowing. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

She’d told you what some of Colter’s fees could run up to, but she tried to quell your reservations and promised to call him regardless.

However, the more you thought about it, you already had a phone number in your cell…for the one person who would understand the part of your brother that you might never be able to. 

After you left Dory’s apartment, you debated the idea in your head for the entire drive home. 

And when you got to the house, you picked up your cell, and you called him. Your nerves had you pacing back and forth across the living room as it rang. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help smiling just at the sound of his voice, smooth and pleased, and a hint surprised.

“Hey,” you replied, biting your lip. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You’ve got good timing too. I just came off a job,” he said.

“Oh really? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m states-side now. Just got back from South America.”

“Oh, wow,” you said, blinking incredulously.

What the hell was he doing there? you had to wonder. Maybe he was protecting some Latin American emissary. Or maybe, he was doing things you didn’t want to think about. Your brother had filled you in a bit about civilian contract jobs in recent weeks, as he’d considered going after those himself.

“They can pay very well, from what I hear,” Charlie had said. “The problem with that is, it kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the military.”

Despite that mildly troubling thought, you tried to focus on the fact that you had this man on the phone at all.

A smile formed across your lips. “Did you get yourself a nice tan?”

“Eh, not really. Was more of a night job,” he said. “But uh…how are you doing? Not gonna lie, I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m not all that good, if I’m honest,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You heard the concern in his voice. You steeled yourself before you answered.

“Russell, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a big favor.”

“Hmm, this sounds serious,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. When you next took a breath, it came out unsteady. “My brother’s missing.”

It was a bright Saturday morning when you welcomed Russell Shaw into your house. He looked around, finding family pictures, bookshelves, paintings, candles, all things that began to shade in who you were in the comfort of your home.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s uh, homey.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him.

“Well, it’s the house we grew up in,” you replied.

You and Charlie had of course inherited it after your parents’ passing. Their life insurance policies had helped pay off the three-bedroom house while you two were still in school. Your grandparents helped a lot back then too, and had even moved in for a time. Now they each had plots beside your parents at Grandview Cemetery.

“You want some coffee? I know you had a long drive,” you asked.

“Sure,” Russell agreed. He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on the coffee pot. You made a discreet glance at him. He looked virtually the same, with that familiar green jacket, jeans, boots, and a Jimi Hendrix shirt. You'd had a feeling he was a classic rock guy.

“Look, not that I wasn’t glad to get your call,” Russell said, “but you do know that I’m not the tracker in the family, right?”

“Dory did offer to call Colter, but I can’t afford to pay him,” you said.

“I could help with that,” said Russell. You raised up a hand to stop him there.

“I don’t want that kind of help from you,” you said firmly. “I didn’t call you for money, Russell. I called you because you’ll probably understand where Charlie’s head’s at. Better than me, anyway.”

He hesitated, but nodded in understanding. When the coffeemaker dinged, finished percolating, you turned to make him a mug with cream and sugar, as per his request.

While he waited for the coffee to cool, he admired you for a moment. Even in a plain V-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, your hair swung up in a ponytail, you were still a sight. (Your lipstick did match your shirt though. That made him smile.)

And Russell could admit, it was good to see you again.

“Me and Colter reconnected recently. Did Dory tell you?” he said.

Your brows raised high in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

The two of you found your way back to the living room with your mugs.

“Yeah. We talked for the first time in…shit, over twenty years,” Russell laughed, raking a hand through his hair.

Not only had he been able to say his piece to Colter about their…family issues, they’d also solved a case of their own, with Colter agreeing to help him find his friend Doug, who worked for the same black ops contract agency as Russell. The Horizon Group.

The aftermath of that still left Russell with a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of how Horizon would’ve left Doug to rot, if it hadn’t been for him and Colter pressing their luck and digging deeper into who’d taken his friend.

That whole mess had also made Russell begin to wonder if maybe he needed a new line of work after all. But, because the money was just that good, he’d ended up on a new job by the end of the month.

Your voice soon broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. You reached over and touched his arm, with warmth in your eyes. 

Russell gave you a smile. The closeness between you brought up memories of that dusty bar, and the taste of lime and tequila on your soft, supple lips. But you subtly cleared your throat and took your hand back. He hid a twinge of disappointment.

“So what’s going on with your brother?” Russell asked.

Get back on track, he reminded himself.

You sighed. “Damn Charlie.”

Over coffee, you explained that Charlie took off a few months ago, the night you got back from the bar. You had seen him only briefly, whenever you were able to catch him at the museum after work. He’d been keeping in touch with you on a weekly basis, but now, he hadn’t called in almost two weeks. You couldn’t get ahold of him on any of the numbers you had. They all seemed to be burner phones. Plus, he’d been let go from his job at the museum after not showing up for the past week. 

“What’s he into, extracurricular-wise?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me,” you said in frustration. Tears prickled at your eyes, and your lower lip trembled. “He said it was safer that way.”

Russell laid a supportive hand over yours, earning your watery gaze.

“And you haven’t gone to the police?” he asked.

“I think he’s gotten into something…dangerous. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he might be already,” you said. “I just want him to get help for his problems. Physically and mentally.”

Russell nodded. He understood that you wanted to protect your brother. Sometimes though, getting into “trouble” was the rock bottom someone needed in order to face their problems.

“Does he have friends?” he asked. “Some kinda crowd he hangs around with?”

“Not anymore. I think he’s lost touch with his Air Force buddies,” you said, though you tried to think. Your brows furrowed as something occurred to you. “He knew someone at work, at the museum. Another security guard on his same shift. After they cut his hours down to part-time, Charlie said the guy knew how to get extra work.”

“Okay, that’s definitely where we start,” said Russell. “Let me just give Dory a call. If I don’t let her know I’m in town, I don’t even wanna know the consequences.”

You laughed through your tears and tried to brush them away. 

“Yeah, do that. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Russell took one look at you, and he tightened his hold on your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

You glanced up at him, as tears clung to your lashes. His heart couldn’t help but clench for you. He really didn’t like to see you like this.

“We’re gonna find him. You’ve got my word,” he said. 

You were desperate to believe him. So you nodded, sniffling as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You were scared, for the first time in a long time. 

“All right, come ‘ere,” Russell said. When he guided you into his arms, you went willingly. You pressed your face into his chest to hide your weeping. His hold was warm and strong enough to make you feel secure. Just for this moment, you didn’t have to pretend you had everything handled.

“He’s the only family I have,” you reminded him. He nodded.

“I hear ya. We’ll get him home,” he said. “And I am going to call Colter. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll square it up with him.”

“Russell—” you protested, but he just squeezed you playfully. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull big brother rank. He’s got no choice,” he joked. 

You shook your head, but you allowed him to comfort you for a bit longer. Because all too soon, you’d have to steel yourself again. You’d have to be the version of yourself that you always had to be, ever since you were fourteen years old.

You invited Dory over to your house, where the three of you were soon joined by the last of the Shaw siblings: the one you had yet to meet.

Colter made it in time for dinner that afternoon. The tall blonde took up your doorway with his broad shoulders and offered you a polite smile, along with his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Colter,” he said. 

You mentally tripped up a bit as you shook his hand and gave him your name. Did all the Shaw siblings have to be so damn attractive?

“Uh, yes, please come in.” You ushered him into your home and led him into the living room, where Russell stood from the couch. 

“Ahh, there he is,” Russell grinned, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder. 

“Here you are,” Colter gestured at him. “Where the hell did you take off to after last time?”

“Ah, you know. Argentina was fun.”

“I’m sure it was.”

You paused in the doorway, just watching the brothers in mystification. Dory shot you a questioning look as she came over from the kitchen. You met her with raised brows. 

“What?” Dory asked. A smile played on her lips.

“Do all of you have to be so unbelievably pretty?” you whispered over to her. Dory smirked and bumped your shoulder, nodding at Colter. 

“What, you wanna make out with him too?” she teased. 

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dory just laughed and moved on to say hello to the other blonde. She pulled him down into a hug, and he reciprocated warmly.  

Russell then laid a hand on Colter’s shoulder, as well as Dory’s. He wore a big, proud grin.

“Hey. Look at us, huh?” he said. 

Dory sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at both of her brothers. Colter wore a more reserved smile, but he did wrap an arm around his sister and thump his older brother on the back.

You smiled. You were lingering by the kitchen doorway. If nothing else, you were glad that this whole mess had been able to bring Dory back together with her family. 

You decided to give them a moment, and you wandered back into the kitchen. There you took a beat for yourself, mainly to breathe.  

When you again thought of Charlie, you had to wonder just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Later, the four of you sat in the living room so you could explain everything you knew so far to Colter. He took all the information in with a pensive expression that didn’t reveal much to you. 

“So you said he was struggling?” he said. 

“Yes, after he got out of the military,” you confessed. “He had a hard time figuring himself out. I got him the job at the museum, but I don’t think it was enough for him.”

“Why is that?” Colter asked. He saw that you were reluctant to explain. “I need to know the full picture of who Charlie is if I’m going to be able to figure out his probable moves.”

You sighed. “Well, he was seeing a VA psychiatrist for a while. They wanted to put him on antidepressants, but he stopped going. He…started self-medicating instead.”

That part was hard to admit, but it was the truth. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t any longer. 

“What substances?” Colter asked. 

“Alcohol, mainly,” you replied. “At his worst, there were hard drugs, but I got him to tone it down just to weed every now and then.”

You bit at your thumbnail out of habit, but you forced yourself to stop, folding your hands in your lap. You didn’t see judgment in Colter’s eyes, just him taking in the information. You couldn’t help but glance at Dory, where you found her sympathy. She knew enough about what you’d been dealing with for the past few years. Russell seemed understanding as well. 

“Anything else I should know?” Colter asked. You shook your head. You felt bad about revealing Charlie’s business like this, but you knew it was the only way to help him. Still, you felt you had to defend him a little.

“Look, my brother has his problems, but he’s a good man,” you said. “He, um…he basically half raised me, after our parents died.”

Dory also knew this story. She rested a hand on your back, and you gave her what smile you could. 

“How old were you?” Russell asked. He earned your attention, and you met his sympathetic gaze.

“Fourteen,” you answered. “It was a car accident.”

He took that in, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The way he met your eyes when he said it, you believed him. You subtly cleared your throat and directed the conversation back.   

“So, I don’t have a lot of money. But I can give you something for your services,” you said to Colter. Both Russell and Dory met you with similar looks. 

“I’ve got it,” Dory says, before Russell had the chance. Colter waved her off though.

“In this case, it’s not necessary,” he said, focusing on you again. “So Charlie was working at the local museum?”

You breathed a note of relief at his generosity. Dory, Russell, and now Colter…they were all good people in their own way. You felt emotion rise in your throat.

“Yes, it’s about ten minutes away,” you managed to reply. “It’s closed now, but his coworker could be on shift. They always have security in place.”

You grabbed your purse to go with them when Colter and Russell stood, but the former raised a placating hand. 

“It’s best if you stayed here,” Colter said.

Your brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

Colter’s mouth parted, and he blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to push back quite like that; calm and matter of fact.

“Ah, well, it’s really for your safety—”

“I’m not going to sit and wait,” you said. “That’s all I’ve been doing for months. I may not be an expert tracker, or have been in the army, but I do know my brother. And we are going to find him.”

Behind you, Dory was giving Colter a warning shake of her head. She knew just how stubborn you could be. Meanwhile, Russell came up on your other side with a smile.

“What’s the harm in her coming along to the museum?” he said, sliding his brother a teasing look. “Unless the T. rex wakes up all the mummies, Ben Stiller style.”

You wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly the plot of Night at the Museum, but you held it in with a smile. You gave Colter an expectant look.

He sighed at Russell’s antics, but he turned to you with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said. 

“I’ll head home then,” said Dory. “Call me if you need anything.” 

You gave her a hug after she gathered up her purse. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rubbing your back. “Colter’s the best.” 

“All right, fine. And what am I? Chopped liver?” Russell remarked, gesturing wide with his hands. You all filtered out of your house, and you locked the door behind you.  

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Dory quipped back, but she gave her eldest brother a warm hug as well, then patted Colter on the arm before she left.

Russell shot Colter a playful smirk. “I got the hug.”

Colter rolled his eyes and pointed over to his big pickup truck. 

“Just get in the car, please.”

You had to smile at all their sibling teasing. It reminded you of how you and Charlie used to cut up, when things were good. On your way down the driveway, you hesitated by the Chevy Chevelle parked next to your own car. She was still black and sleek and beautiful.

You happened to glance up, and there was Russell, getting into his brother’s pickup. He winked at you across the driveway. You turned your face to hide your smile (and your blush) as you climbed into your car.

Colter noted the exchange when he buckled up into the driver’s seat. He watched Russell do the same on the passenger side, all while wearing a certain smile on his face. When he noticed how Colter was looking at him, his brows raised.

“What?” said Russell.

“What was that?” Colter asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Colter chuckled. He began to pull the car out of the driveway after you in your car, so he could follow you. “What, do you two have a thing or something? Is that why she called you before me?”

Russell shrugged, but his smile was telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Convincing,” Colter said, but his lips tugged upward as well. His good humor diminished though, when he considered the last time he saw his brother. “How’s the arm?”

Russell gave a thumbs up with his left arm—the one that previously had a bullet run through it. It was still healing, even now.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“Sure did.”

Riiiight. Another thing Colter wasn’t sure was the truth, but he’d give Russell that one.

“And that unfinished business?” Colter asked.

Russell’s smile faded, but he nodded. “Finished.”

After a moment, Colter nodded as well. 

“Okay,” he said. 

Something occured to him then. He paused, and he reached into his pocket. He held up a small, closed pocketknife with a wooden handle, and he gave it back to Russell. It had the man's name carved on the side.

Russell's smile returned as he flipped the old keepsake through his fingers.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said.

Colter smiled back. "Thanks for trusting me with it."

Colter parked next to you at the museum. It was closed, but the security guard, Jimmy, did know your brother. 

“I haven’t seen Charlie since he quit last week,” Jimmy claimed.

“He quit?” you said. “They told me he just never came back.”

“Yeah, well, same thing,” he said.

The front doors of the museum opened, and out came Dr. Feinman, your former boss, and the Head Manager. You left Jimmy’s questioning up to Russell and Colter with a meaningful look, and you went to intercept Feinman.

“Hi, sir, how’re you doing?” you asked. Your name fell from his lips in surprise. 

“My dear, it’s good to see you, but why are you here after hours?” he asked, his British accent lilting.

“I’m trying to find Charlie. He’s been missing, well, officially for about a week,” you said. “I was actually surprised to see you here so late.”

The man cleared his throat. He smoothed a hand over his tie and suit jacket.

“Yes, well, we could’ve used Charlie’s help. We’ve had to double our security efforts,” he said. “We’re currently dealing with a sensitive issue, so the museum will be closed until it is resolved.”

“You’re doubling your security efforts… Was something stolen?” you asked. 

Feinman clearly didn’t want to tell you this, but you knew you’d hit the nail on the head by the look on his face.

“Please, keep that information to yourself,” he said. 

“What was stolen?” you asked in concern. 

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information. Not even for you, dear,” he said. “I do hope you find your brother though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, and as a matter of fact,” you began, but Feinman waved an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush just now. But call my office tomorrow and Brenda will help you with whatever you may need,” he said. “Good evening.”

“Wait, Dr. Feinman,” you tried, but he was already breezing past you and heading toward his Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meanwhile, Colter and Russell weren’t having much better luck with Jimmy. 

“Look, I really don’t know where Charlie is,” he said. “Haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off.”

“He said you connected him with someone who could give him some work on the sly,” Russell said, leveling a hand at the man’s chest. “Who did you connect him with, and what kind of work are we talking?”

Jimmy blew out a breath, like this was really inconveniencing his day. (Or night, at this point.)

“What, you’ve got somewhere to be?” Colter said. “You’re getting paid to stand right here, and we have no problem sharing your shift all night. You might as well just tell us what we want to know.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

“All right,” he snapped. “I hooked him up with this guy I knew through a mutual acquaintance, who just needed some muscle. I guess you could call it private security.”

“A mutual acquaintance?” Colter repeated. 

“What’re you, James Bond? Who did you connect him with?” Russell pressed.

Jimmy was reluctant to talk. You came back over to join them, and the security guard became even more tight-lipped.

“You guys should go. I don’t have to talk to you, and I’ve got a job to do,” he said.

When he tried to continue his patrol around the museum, you stepped deliberately in his way. You didn’t have the patience for this, and you would no longer be a doormat, letting the Goldsteins and the Feinmans of this world push past you.

“Look, Jimmy, if you don’t give us something we can go on to find my brother, you know where I’m going to go?” you asked. But you spoke before he could respond. “To the police. And your name is the only one I have to give them. Now, if you don’t want that to be you, then give me a different name.”

Jimmy looked down at you, and then over at your intimidating shadows, Russell and Colter. Jimmy sighed.

“Eddie,” he gave, finally.

Russell raised his hands, as if to say, Is that it?

“What, Eddie Vedder? Eddie who? Come on,” Russell said.

“Eddie Mendez,” Jimmy replied in a lowered voice. “I don’t know where he lives. I don’t have his number. And that 'mutual acquaintance' is doing some time in lockup. But Eddie hangs out at a bar called Howley’s.”

You and Russell shared a meaningful look at that. You turned back to Jimmy. 

“Okay. What was stolen here at the museum?” you said. “That’s why it’s been closed, right?” 

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I wasn’t on shift, and Dr. Feinman keeps a tight lid on that kind of thing.”

“We’ll need to get into his office then,” Colter said. 

You blinked wider at Colter. Wait, was he really suggesting you guys break into the museum?

Jimmy pointed to the black device attached to the ceiling above them. 

“See the cameras?” he said. “That's not happening on my dime.”

Colter looked up, and he saw the cameras strategically installed across the front of the museum. 

“Then take us where the cameras don’t see,” he said.

You, Colter, and Russell were able to break into the museum via a storage unit door, thanks to Jimmy’s texted instructions. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but it was for Charlie, you reminded yourself.

You remembered where to find Feinman’s office. You paid for a lot of your undergrad expenses, namely your books and tuition, by working full-time as an office assistant here, and the occasional tour guide. 

You led them to the room where the inventory records were kept. Colter gave you his gloves so you didn’t leave prints, and you were able to pinpoint what was labelled as missing from the latest shipment. 

“Oh great,” you muttered. 

“What was taken?” Colter asked.

“A collection of Native American weapons. Dated almost eight hundred years old,” you said, shaking your head. “The collection is valued at $1.5 million dollars.”

Russell and Colter shared a look. 

“That’s some big motive,” Russell said. 

“When did they go missing?” Colter asked. 

“Almost two weeks ago,” you said. Your brows furrowed the more you read, as you realized something. “Just a few days before Charlie left the museum…” 

The timing wasn’t lost on anyone. But if Charlie was a suspect, Feinman hadn’t let on to that at all. You checked the exact date the artifacts went missing again: a Tuesday night. Charlie didn’t typically work on Mondays or Tuesdays, you realized. And he’d left after the artifacts went missing. So maybe they hadn’t thought to question him yet. One small blessing.  

You sighed. With that information gathered, the three of you put back everything you uncovered and left the building the same way you came in. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, probably patrolling the other end of the museum on purpose.

When you all made it back to the parking lot, you turned to Colter and Russell.

“Okay, what’s next?” you asked. “Howley’s right? To find Eddie.”

“Actually, I think it’s best Russell and I take it from here,” Colter said. “We don’t know what kind of character Eddie Mendez is, but from how reluctant Jimmy was to tell us, it doesn’t sound good.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Russell drew closer and touched your arm. You could see in his face that he agreed with his brother, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Look, you’ve been a huge help,” he said. “But let us work on this, okay? We’ll call you when we find something.”

Still, your lips pursed. “Russell, he’s my brother.”

“I know. Punching out drunks is one thing, but this might be a little different,” he said, grasping your arms gently. “Will you give me some peace of mind, knowing you’re home safe?”

He brushed one of his thumbs along your skin. Already you had goosebumps. From the cold chill on the air, or from him, you weren’t sure. But that simple touch, along with his earnest, imploring gaze broke you down.

“All right. I get it. I’m not the Special Ops guy,” you said. “But call me afterward so I know how it went.”

“Okay, will do,” Russell agreed. He let you go so you could go to your car. You shot the brothers one last look before you climbed in and peeled out of the parking lot.

Russell expelled a sigh of relief. He got into the passenger side of his brother’s pickup while Colter started it up.

Thanks to the late hour, and how little traffic there was on the road, it didn’t take you long to get home.

You’d debated whether you should just go to Howley’s anyway, but you didn’t want to get in the way, or make Russell worry for that matter. You smiled, despite yourself.

His touch had tingled across your arms, and whenever he absently laid a hand on the small of your back, supportive or guiding.

Thinking about him just made your heart ache. Because after this was over, he’d be gone again—on a new mysterious job, perhaps on the other side of the world.

You’d been regretting how you left things with him at the bar for months, but now you were glad you hadn’t gone any further with him that night. Your heart was too easily ensnared, it seemed, and Russell didn’t seem to be a “strings attached” kind of guy.

When you parked in front of your house, you let out a tense breath. Russell and Colter would find Charlie. You believed in them. You just hoped your brother was all right, wherever he was.

You pulled your cell out of your purse to call Dory as you headed for the front door. You wanted to give her an update and let her know that you were back at home.

The call began to ring just as you slipped your key into the lock. Unfortunately, you never got a chance to open it.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you from behind and yanked you back, and a firm hand over your mouth smothered your scream.

AN: 🫣 *Whispers* Sorryyy. But hey! What did you think of the reader's reunion with Russell, as well as the little Shaw Family Reunion? Plus, we got a bit of the reader working with Russell and Colter on the case.

Now, the real timer starts...

Next Time:

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement. 

“No…” 

That voice was all too familiar. 

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

welcome to the bakery

currently playing; the bakery by melanie martinez "pack it, box it, flip it, top it... the bakery, i'm tryna make some more"

this was inspired by @bunnys-kisses so go check out their page, such incredible stuff <3

when you request, please make sure to let me know if it's from my smut prompts or my soft ones [soft request prompts are still in the works]

hey lovely, how can i help? may i take your order? what do you feel like today? personally i'm in need of some iced tea and all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and server of your choosing please, please, please don't forget to indicate who you want me to write about!! also please keep in mind that i haven't written anything in a while so it might take a bit for me to back into the groove of it. <3

the bakeries i currently have open are: formula one, resident evil, bridgerton and criminal minds, just for now.[but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!]

the servers i'm currently writing for include; charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lewis hamiltion, pierre gasly, lando norris, max verstappen, oscar piastri, leon kennedy, carlos oliveria, chris redfield, anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, colin bridgerton, spencer reid, aaron hotchner and luke alvez.

i do also accept polyam relationships! [pairing + reader] but only three people just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @jude-duarte-wannabe and i'll get your order together when i can also let me know if you want your order to...

be extra hot; real smutty or have sweetener; extra fluffy

let me know if want to be added to my taglist by commenting <3 followed by the person.

the bakery menu;

pound cake; "i can be rough and i don't want to hurt you"

churro's; "does my sweet boy need comforting"

cheese scone; "let your brother find out, i don't fucking care"

mille-feuille; "that's it, shit, such a good fucking girl"

cinnamon buns; "no promises"

gingerbread; "i mean i would totally make out with her/him but like platonically, you know"

baguette; "give me a minute, i really need to tickle the shit out of you"

pretzel; "i was never meant to fall for you"

cornbread; "you taste really good"

strawberry shortcake; "he's so cute, i really want to bite him"

soda bread; "wait a second... am i your lockscreen'

focaccia; "i could beat the shit out of you" "i know"

choux pastry; "i can't believe i ever loved you"

pumpkin muffin; "shut up... my girls asleep"

dinner roll; "holy shit, you still love him/her"

cakepop; "goodnight to my future wife, fuck the rest of you"

pull apart bread; "i love you"

souffle; "i'll be gentle"

powdered doughnuts; "marry me"

s'more; "the accent got to you, didn't it"

waffles; "you spill a single fucking drop and we're starting again"

shortbread biscuits; "if he pisses me off again, i'm fucking his girl"

red velvet cupcake; "does he know that i cum deep inside his little angel'

pancakes; "no, we can't, not here"

coffee cake; "i need to breed you"

french toast; "i don't think it'll fit"

crepes; "go back to sleep, you don't need to be awake for this sweetcheeks"

sweet pastry; "i'm trying to get you pregnant, now shut up and let me concentrate"

butter tart; "stop, don't fake it"

sugar pie; "stop wriggling"

zebra cake; "i'll make it fit"

carrot cake; "dirty girl"

date scone; "i'm going to make you a mama and your going to make me a daddy"

cookie; "do you feel that, how fucking deep i am"

brownie; "no fucking touching"

cheesecake; "don't yell at me"

pumpkin pie; "are you nibbling on me"

chocolate cake; "i'll use protection, i promise"

spice pie; "i wonder if your brother know that i cum inside you"

apple crumble; "i can't do this while you cat/dog is watching"

sausage roll; "i hate being your secret"

blueberry slice; "but what if somebody see's"

mushroom pie; "that looks like it hurt"

apple tart; "what do you mean you want me to choke you"

lemon slice; "i forget how small you are sometimes"

swiss roll; "your glasses are fogging up"

truffle; "send me an audio of you moaning"

oaty slice; "you smell like me"

cream puff; "this ends when your pregnant"

custard slice; "no hiding your face"

victoria sponge; "you wanna hold my hand"

english muffin; "i could die between these legs"

bagel; "where you going, this ain't over"

banana bread; "i can't believe you broke my bed"

hot cross buns; "i'll pay for the damages"

apple turnover; "can you keep it down"

fudge; "what do you mean noise complaint"

peach cake; "i've never done this"

tiramisu; "how could you be so stupid"

crumb cake; "nobody has to know"

custard tart; "you gonna let me cum inside"

date pudding; "your going to let me rawdog you, oh fuck"

mince pie; "so fucking dumb"

angel food cake; "did you just squirt, since when could you do that"

savory scroll; "stop stressing, i'm not going to post it"

chocolate chip cookie; "did you just call me pretty boy"

croissant; "don't you dare"

elcairs; "don't, leave them on"

chocolate mousse; "i'm sorry"

boston cream pie; "fuck it's dripping down your legs"

and to drink;

coffee; somnophilia kink

tea; semi public

juice; breeding kink

mocha; daddy kink

peppermint tea; mommy kink

vodka shot; rough sex

sparkling water; gentle sex

oat milk; one night stand

soy milk; friends with benefits

coconut milk; friends to lovers

almond milk; grumpy x sunshine

energy drink; doggy style

turmeric latte; fake dating

cold brew; possessive

espresso shot; dirty talking

chamomile tea; choking kink

glass of water; aftercare

herbal tea; soft but only for you

milkshake; size kink

pina colada; pregnancy

matcha latte; mixed with smau

cider; body worship

mai tai; loss of virginity

margarita; unprotected sex

chai; biting or hickeys [please let me know which]

earl grey; big cock

tonic water; age gap

soda; protected sex

root beer; caught in the act

americano; oral sex

whiskey; degrading language

vitamin water; dom/sub dynamics

irish coffee; drunk sex

lemon water; secret relationship

dark roast; sub character

hot chocolate; sub reader

iced tea; accentally leaking relationship

flat white; brothers best friend

iced latte; best friends brother

iced mocha latte; plus sized reader

smoothie; belly bulge

doppio coffee; wall sex

green tea; spiting kink

cortado; belly kisses

affogato; a bet

lemon ginger tea; single mom/dad

berry smoothie; accidental pregnancy

sunshine smoothies; fake dating

cappuccino; secret baby

rice milk; baby fever

cashew milk; somebody flirts with your bf/gf

iced chai; forehead kisses

[jd-loves-fiction]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝

❏ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rin Itoshi x GN!Reader

❏ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

❏ 𝐰𝐜: 1.2k

❏ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You're kind of a pain in Rin's neck, but you're also the only one who's always been there. Maybe Rin can find a spot for you in his life...

❏ 𝗮/𝗻: Still getting used to writing for Blue lock in general so this might be very out of character idk but I'm just kookie for Rin before the trauma MY SHAYLAAA 😭

“Slowpoke!” You call out gleefully to a disgruntled Rin Itoshi, running towards the goal with a ball basically glued to your speedy little feet.

It’s just a friendly game, goal limits marked by school bags and a pair of cleats. But it could never be just a friendly game between the two of you.

Really, it’s Rin’s fault for egging you on, saying you couldn't possibly be the best striker in the world since Sae will be the best and him second best – no space for you – as if third place doesn't exist. Idiot.

“GOOAAALLL!! With no competition, with no hope of being stopped it's a GOAALL!”

“Alright! Pipe down already.” Rin scolds you, cheeks adorably flushed, lip poking out petulantly.

“What's that? Sorry, I can't quite understand you, since I don't speak loser!” 

Rin’s round face twists angrily at your taunting, as if he didnt start this, lips already twisting to ask for a rematch when clapping sounds from outside his field of vision.

“Sae-san!”

“Nii-chan!” You call out at the same time, running over to the older boy, “Sorry I'm late.”

“Sae-san, did you see? That goal was perfect, right?” you speak as quickly as your young lungs will allow, desperate for some validation from the one who’d one day be the best striker in the world.

(You believed it then.)

“Well, I wouldn't say perfect necessarily. See, your balance was off and you hit it–” he stops at the slowly deflating confidence on your face, “I saw it. Heard it too. Pretty sure the whole neighborhood did.” 

“Well, good!”

Rin immediately scoffs, childishly irked at the pride on your face, “I could’ve scored a perfect goal, two even! If you hadn’t tripped me.”

“Ha! You mean if you hadn’t tripped yourself. Seriously, how will you be the No.2 striker in the world if you can't even walk in a straight line?”

“You–” Rin starts, infuriated and ready to prove you wrong a hundred times over, before Sae cuts him off.

“Alright! How about we all get some ice cream and sort this out another day?” He'd usually let you fight it out, but your volume was beginning to attract odd stares.

You and Rin shoot each other one last glare promising a rematch, before rushing to grab your things and follow Sae.

“Ah, wait. I can't.” Rin’s face flickers with disappointment for a split second. And then he's back to running his mouth.

“Hmph! How are you planning to be the best striker if you keep running off to do other stuff?”

“What does that have to do with ice cream?”

Turns out, everything. Since football is everything, everything is therefore football related.

Totally not because he's jealous of the fact that in spite of training less than him, you have no problem keeping up on the field.

Nope, totally not.

“Tch, whatever. I'm going now. See you tomorrow!” Turning around to leave as Sae tells you goodbye while Rin furrows his brows at the flower of disappointment blooming in his chest.

For a moment, you stand there, thinking, considering.

“Oh and Rin?” You catch his attention, turning around just in time to see his eyes light up like the ocean on a calm sunny day…

And sticking your tongue out at him, “Bleh!”

Sae tries his best not to lose it as his brother trembles in bitterness at you getting the last dumb word, while you're already running off in the other direction.

His brother tells him he'll be going to Spain later that day and time passes in a blink. Before you know it, it's just the two of you.

Walking home. Practicing late after school. Eyes catching during games.

It's a little awkward at first, silences seem to stretch on for longer than they ever have, especially as adolescence puts strange thoughts in both your heads.

Has Rin always been so pretty? So tall? His voice so smooth and his expression so cool when he scores one of his perfect goals?

Has your smile always been that bright? Your eyes? Your laugh that melodic?

When did your presence become the most treasured constant in his life?

Was it all the times when you comforted him when he was missing Sae but never admitting it? (Somehow you always knew.)

Was it when you practiced with him after hours, even when you were ready to drop from exhaustion?

Was it all the times he helped you with your homework, without ever teasing you for needing help?

Or was it this one day…

The sky had been a gloomy kind of dark all afternoon, ready to bring down mighty rain at any moment.

The moment chosen fell right in the middle of one of your late practice sessions.

Slowly, the stickiness of the sweat on your skin turns to the wetness of cold autumn rain.

“Oh, it's finally raining.” Rin comments softly, lightly jogging toward shelter – a few more minutes of training are not worth catching a cold for.

“Huh?” He notices you're not moving, stood still as a statue as the rain keeps coming down without mercy.

“What are you doing? You're–” 

“Hey, Rin?” Your voice is so quiet amidst the heavy Rai, but he hears you as… any day but this one. A sliver of nervousness crawls down his spine at something in your tone – what it is, he can't say.

“You still wanna be second best?”

“Of course I do.” He answers firmly, without a speck of hesitation. As if he could ever change his mind. 

(If only he knew.)

The corner of your lip lifts into a fond smile, with a dash of something heavier, before you turn to him with a wet and shining ball beneath your foot, “Then, come on No.2. First to score wins, the other's a lukewarm loser.”

You're off before he can say another word, watching the back of your drenched uniform as you race towards the goal.

“Slowpoke–!” Both of you gasp as your foot slips on the wet grass, sending you tumbling onto your back, punching the air from your lungs.

Rin finally moves, rushing to your side without following your example before leaning over you while scanning for injuries.

And then, you're laughing.

He's worried sick, looking at you with the widest eyes in the world, wondering if you have a concussion and you're laughing. Loudly, openly, bright as sunshine with rain water all over your lovely face.

Your lovely face… your lovely dumb face that he just can't stop thinking about – even if it distracts him during games, or class or any moment of his day – he just can't stop thinking about you.

Because you'd always been there, and he hopes you always will be.

“Stupid,” he tells you with no bite, kicking the forgotten ball so it rolls slowly towards the goal, “There, you're a lukewarm loser, now get up before you become a cold loser and I have to carry you home.”

You’re not a loser though, far from it.

And maybe third best isn't that bad. Not if you stay close to him as you are.

Because if the one thing he's always had, the one person who’s always been there, suddenly left?

It might just break him.

[tayswizzlez]

roman reigns x oc - love me like i'm not made of stone, chapter one: control

title: love me like i'm not made of stone (ao3) pairing: roman reigns x oc (maria marie) summary: maria marie was once called the future of wwe but now she's been sidelined playing valet to her boyfriend, ace spade. when ace's obsession with roman reigns leads to him doing something drastic both maria and roman's worlds may never be the same. rating: 18+, minors DNI warnings: language, violence, eventual smut (including light kink and bdsm), possible other warnings to be added. other things: slow burn, angst, eventual happily ever after chapter: 1/? - control word count: 6287

other stuff: disclaimer | masterlist (coming soon) | playlist | about me

notes: i've had the idea for this fic since i played wwe 2k22 because apparently i'm incapable of making caws without giving them extensive backstories. idk how this one really happened, i just kept pairing up maria and roman for tag matches and… there they were. then i stopped playing and took a break from watching wrestling but when i got 2k25 (my first game since) i had to make maria again and well… this is a result of that?

this is also my first time writing for anything wwe related so hopefully everything is ic. also this fic is 100% kayfabe (it's still real to me dammit!). i've done my best to be as canon compliant as possible but i've had to change some things to better suit this story. this takes place after roman defeats lesner (bc i really just don't want to include him at all lol) and at the height of the bloodline's power. i've changed around some of the rosters just to work better plotwise and because i'm biased and and want to write about the wrestlers i like and slander those i don't jk. 

also i'll expand on this at some point but maria is half maori (a tribute to a friend). she is also in her early 30s. images of her were created by me in 2k games.

i honestly don't even know if i really like this chapter because my brain keeps wanting to focus on the later plot so i really just pushed this out so i could get to it but i hope it's somewhat enjoyable??

if you'd like to be added to an update tag list let me know!

i'm bigger than my body i'm colder than this home i'm meaner than my demons i'm bigger than these bones - control, halsey

Once they chanted her name.

Now she was lucky if it ended up on a WhatCulture “Top Ten Wrestlers WWE fumbled” list. Maria Marie one of the longest reigning NXT Women’s Champions reduced to being valet for the mid-card talent that was Ace Spade. Her boyfriend. Ace had promised her it would only be for a few months, just until he could find his footing on the main roster when they both got called up at the same time.

That had been over a year ago.

She kept telling herself things would change, that all Ace needed was one good match. A match that would put him over, a match that would help him find his footing and he would finally have his place on the roster. But deep down Maria knew that this wasn’t going to happen. During their time in NXT Maria had always been the better wrestler. She was better on the mic. She was a natural. She had lived and breathed wrestling for as long as she could remember. As a child she would stay up late to record every show on VHS and she would watch them over and over until the tape was so worn it wouldn’t work anymore. She’d memorize every move, she’d look for any tells of what a wrestler’s next move might be. She had lied about her age so she could join a wrestling club and once they had found out she was younger they ended up letting her stay because they had seen her potential. She was an expert tactician who wasn’t afraid to do high flying moves and take risks. What she had lacked in physical strength she made up for by being calm, collected and calculating in the ring.

And Ace… was Ace. He had never had a title in NXT. He was more of a loudmouth than he was a wrestler, which had only gotten worse when they had both signed to Smackdown. And it didn’t help that he was often an annoying loudmouth. He would talk a big game but never really could back it up. He always walked the line of being the type of guy the fans loved to hate or hated to hate. He was usually thrown into matches with guys at the top of the power rankings, probably to pad those wins out for them. The few matches he had won he had never won clean. But that never stopped him from talking like he was one of the biggest names in the industry.

For the most part Maria would go along with it. Because she loved him or she had at some point. In the last few months in particular Ace had been single minded in his obsession with Roman Reigns. Even at home, on the days they were away from the ring, Roman and The Bloodline was one of the only things Ace talked about. It was like he wasn’t capable of thinking about anything else anymore. Maria had learned to tune him out. She’d nod, give a “mmhmm” or some other sort of ambiguous noise that could be seen as agreement or disapproval. Ace was far to focused on himself to really even notice if Maria was listening or not.

Now was one of those times. It was just before Smackdown went live. Maria and Ace were in one of the locker rooms. Ace had been pacing back and forth, cocky as ever going on about how The Bloodline really weren’t all that great. Maria was styling her hair in the mirror. She looked immaculate. She always did. She put her hair up in an intricate style with braids woven in. Her makeup was perfect - red lips, cats eye liner and just a hint of glitter on her skin. Her clothes were perfectly tailored, skin tight pants, a sleeveless top that showed off her toned arms. She looked good. Really good.

Her eyes shift to Ace’s reflection in the mirror, he’s still ranting. Bleached blonde hair, pushed back with an 80s style bandana, like he was a Motley Crue reject. His gear a mix of garish colours and patterns that somehow for him just made sense. His long entrance jacket thrown haphazardly over the bench. He had a match against Butch tonight and Maria would be there ringside, cheering him on as usual.

“Babe, have you been listening to me?” Ace says suddenly, looking up and meeting Maria’s eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah, of course,” Maria turns to face him, leaning back against the sink.

“I need you with me on this. I can’t do this without you,” he says.

“You know I’m with you,” Maria says. How can he even question her on that, after all the sacrifices she’s made for him. It makes her chest ache whenever he talks like this. It was like no matter what she did, it would never be enough.

“It doesn’t feel like it sometimes,” Ace huffs, almost like a child. “I just need you behind me on this. No one has been able to stand up to Roman so far and I just can’t help but think the guy who can actually do it is me.”

Maria doesn’t reply right away. It seemed almost laughable for Ace to think that he could actually compare to Roman and be the one to make his empire fall. Roman was the best in WWE for a reason, he had an entire Bloodline behind him. He had beaten the best of the best, there was no one left to challenge his power. How could Ace possibly think he could do anything that?

“Babe!” Ace snaps, looking annoyed. “Just think of it. Who better to take on Roman Reigns than me?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Maria forces a smile.

“No one has the brains or charisma that I have,” Ace starts pacing, seemingly oblivious to Maria’s fake smile. “And I’m tired of having to just bow down to whatever they want. Who the hell does he think he is? He’s not special.”

Maria honestly didn’t really have many thoughts about Roman and The Bloodline. She admired him as a wrestler, there were many of his matches she watched over and over. Looking at his moves, looking at how calculated he was. How would act completely cold but there were sparks of real emotion there. Emotions he clearly didn’t want anyone else to see. She didn’t think much of that though - the emotional state of the Tribal Chief wasn’t really her concern.

She had enough trouble acknowledging her own.

A member of the backstage crew sticks her head in the locker room. “Ten minute warning,” she says, before slipping away.

“Ahhh,” Ace grins and rubs his hands together. “Who am I fighting tonight?”

“Butch,” Maria replies.

“Which one was he again?” Ace asks as he swings on his long coat with a flourish. “Doesn’t matter. My name is the only one worth remembering.”

It was impressive how someone with such a bad match record could have such a gigantic ego.

“Shall we,” Ace’s grin morphs into something that for a moment is a little bit softer. It was the smile that had first got Maria’s attention when they were in NXT. It used to give her butterflies now she didn’t feel much of anything about it. He extends his arm to her.

Maria takes it and they start to leave the locker room until Ace gives her a once over. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm,” Maria’s brow furrows. “What?”

Ace frowns and gestures at her arm. “Seriously? No wonder I lose matches, you can’t even remember my lucky charm.”

It takes Maria a second to realize she’s not wearing her armband. It had been something she had done when they had first started dating in NXT. It was supposed to be a one time thing for the NXT Heatwave PLE but Ace had liked it so much Maria had kept it up. She’d take scraps of fabric from his gear and fashion them into arm bands to wear for herself. Even when Ace wasn’t there or it didn’t go with what she was wearing she’d have one on. At one point she had made one from her own gear for him but he said that arm bands made it hard for him to flex and do certain moves. She had just brushed it off. Like she did a lot of things with him.

“Oh, shit,” she sighs. “I must have dropped it, you go ahead. I’ll meet you in gorilla.”

Ace scowls. “Be quick. I need my girl with me during my entrance.”

Despite the scowl he gives Maria a quick peck on the cheek before he leaves the locker room. As soon as he’s gone Maria exhales. For a few moments she just lets herself enjoy the quiet, even though she can still hear the bustle of the show outside. She missed that. She missed being a part of that. She had lived to go out there and do matches in NXT. She looked forward to touring and doing house shows more than she did holidays. And she missed it. So much.

But she told herself being there for Ace was the right thing. He had been the one who had helped her through her concussion recovery a few years ago. He had doted on her, looked after her, got her everything she needed. She could still see the look on his face for her first match back - he had been so scared. He kept asking her if she was really ready, telling her how concerned he was it was too soon.

Sometimes a deep and dark ugly part of herself couldn’t help but think Ace was only so concerned because her coming back from injury meant the spotlight would be on her again. But she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. It was too much. Besides what sort of boyfriend wouldn’t have been worried. He was the one who needed her now and she needed to be there for him.

“Five minutes!” she hears a stage hand yell out in the hall.

Maria breaks away from her thoughts, cursing under her breath as she goes back to her bag. She knows she didn’t drop the arm band, she had forgotten it. Normally it was second nature to put it on, one of the first things she did to get ready but now it was more of a chore. She pulls it out of her bag and quickly puts it on. She gives herself one last look in the mirror, forces a smile at her reflection before she leaves for gorilla. *****

That night’s Smackdown show hadn’t been that interesting - as usual. Roman Reigns had watched it from The Bloodline locker room, with Paul Heyman over his shoulder. It felt pointless sometimes but he needed to keep an eye on things. He needed to keep an eye on his show. As usual nothing of note happened. There was that one guy with the bad dye job running his mouth again but Roman didn’t take him seriously. There was no reason too. He didn’t have the skill. He wasn’t even skilled enough to lace Roman’s boots.

It was late by the time he and Heyman were finally leaving the arena. Even after the show there were things to take care of. The halls were dark, most of the other wrestlers had left and it was only crew taking things down for the night.

Roman walked ahead, while Heyman was behind on the phone talking to someone in the WWE offices.

“What my Tribal Chief wants, my Tribal Chief gets,” Heyman says into the phone. “Why is that so difficult to understand?”

Roman rolls his eyes a little as he keeps walking. From down the hall he can hear the sounds of someone in the gym. The crew always set up makeshift gyms at each arena. A place for wrestlers to warm up before matches. This surprises him, normally he was the last one to eave after each show. Curiosity got the better of him and he turns towards the gym - Heyman follows without question still on the phone.

He need to know who was still here, he had to know everything that happened on his show.

The lights of the gym were low, there was even a few crew taking down some of the equipment. In the makeshift ring was one person, the sleek ponytail making her unmistakable.

Maria Marie, the girlfriend or valet or whatever she was of that annoying jobber who had been so obsessed with him. She moved around the ring with ease, her movements so fluid and natural it was almost hypnotizing to watch. It almost made Roman want to charge into that ring and demand to know why she had just been following her useless boyfriend for so long. It was obvious just from watching her like this she had more talent in a finger than he had in his entire body.

Roman understands then why her boyfriend had pushed her into that role. If Maria was on the main roster she would outshine him. It was already impossible to take him seriously but if she was on the card he wouldn’t even be an afterthought, he’d barely even be a footnote. And he can’t help but stare at her as she continues, completely unaware of his presence.

“Ah, Maria Marie,” Heyman’s voice comes from over Roman’s shoulder, he still had his phone pressed to his ear. “One of the longest reining NXT Women’s Champions, once said to be one of the best technical wrestlers of this generation.”

Roman doesn’t say anything. He just keeps watching.

“Now she’s a valet to Ace Spade,” Heyman continues. “A shame she lost her fight, my Tribal Chief. She could have been one of the best- no, I will not go on hold again I am the Wiseman of the Tribal Chief…”

Heyman’s voice gets more annoyed as he goes back to talking to whoever on the phone, he walks away from the gym. Roman stays watching Maria, his brow furrowed.

“She hasn’t lost anything,” he mutters under his breath before he too, turns and walks away. *****

ONE WEEK LATER…

Maria was heading to catering. Ace had been ranting more than usual today and she needed a break. She told him she needed a tea to make sure her voice was ready to cheer him on ring side, which was good enough excuse for him. She was just outside of catering when she pauses, hesitating, she can hear Charlotte Flair and Lacey Evans talking and laughing.

“Did you see Spade’s latest Instagram post?” Lacey laughs. “Who does he think he is? Thinkin’ he can actually step up with the Tribal Chief.”

Maria freezes, then stays behind the vending machine. The two women don’t see her.

“I don’t know who’s more pathetic, him or his girlfriend,” Charlotte replies, voice full of disdain.

Lacey laughs again. “Gosh, she’s so pathetic. Can you imagine givin’ up your career for someone like him? As a woman it’s insultin’ Sets feminism back, yanno?”

“She wasn’t even that good anyways,” Charlotte replies. “Her not being in the ring isn’t a huge loss.”

“True. That girl is all look and no substance. I mean who even is she other than the valet of the most obnoxious and deluded man in the industry. What does that make her? She probably slept with someone to get her title in NXT.”

Maria’s stomach clenches but she stays hidden, unable to move. She had never really spoken to Charlotte or Lacey but hearing the venom in their voices was catching her off guard. Normally she didn’t care what other people thought of her. But something about their tone stings.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Charlotte replies. “If she’s fucking Ace Spade, she’s clearly willing to fuck anyone.”

“Desperation, nasty.”

They laugh. Maria’s hands ball into fists, her manicured nails dig into her palms. Then out of the corner of her eye she sees someone walk past her into catering, Charlotte and Lacey immediately go silent and it’s like the air has shifted. It’s somehow… colder. Maria tilts her head out just enough to see who it was and her eyes widen.

Roman Reigns.

Charlotte and Lacey both stare at him for a moment as he crosses over to the catering table. Lacey combs her fingers through her hair and then puts on her most flirtatious smile.

“Well hello there, Tribal Chief,” she coos. Charlotte rolls her eyes.

Roman says nothing, he doesn’t even look at Charlotte or Lacey. Maria stays where she was, watching. For a few tense moments Roman just looks at the catering table, then he takes a bottle of water and without a word or a look to the women watching him he turns to leave. Lacey watches with a look of disappointment, Charlotte mostly looks unimpressed.

Realizing he’s about to walk past her again Maria steps back a bit, hoping it won’t look like she had been watching the whole thing. As Roman walks by he doesn’t stop but for a moment he looks at her and their eyes meet. Something unreadable flickers in his steely gaze. It roots Maria on the spot. She doesn’t know what it is about that look but it does something to her. But before she can even figure it out, Roman is looking away and walking towards The Bloodline dressing room.

“That was weird, right?” she hears Charlotte’s voice again. “He has his own catering, why come here?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t mind acknowledging him,” Lacey says, meaning obvious.

“Now who’s pathetic?” Charlotte scoffs.

Maria turns, going the opposite way of Roman. She can’t listen to them anymore. Her mind feels like a mess. She usually had a thick skin but something about how they were talking about her really made her feel bad today. The fact they were so dismissive of her. She knows it has been a long time since she stepped into the ring but it didn’t change everything she had accomplished before that. Once she would have gone into catering and chewed the two of them out for talking about her like that. But now it didn’t feel like there was much point. They had clearly already made up their minds about her. And it wasn’t like she could even challenge them to a match to show them how good she was.

She heads back to Ace’s locker room. He wasn’t set to have a proper match tonight but he insisted that they still had to be there. She’s almost at the locker room when she stops, further down the hall she can see Ace talking to… Seth Rollins? Maria’s brow furrows. She didn’t even know Ace and Seth knew each other. And from the way they were talking it was like they didn’t want anyone to hear. After a few moments the two of them laugh and Seth claps Ace on the shoulder before walking away, a huge smirk on his face. As he passes Maria he smiles at her.

“Ready for the show?” he asks.

Maria’s brow furrows. Seth doesn’t wait for an answer as he continues to stride down the hall. Maria watches for a moment before she looks back at Ace who was now in front of her.

“What was that about?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” Ace says, sounding unphased as he picks invisible lint off his coat.

“I just… didn’t know you and Seth were… friends?”

Ace didn’t really have many friends in the company, mostly because he would run his mouth too often no one really wanted anything to do with him.

“He was just giving me a pep talk,” Ace replies. “Game recognizing game. He believes in me, unlike some people.”

Maria knows that was meant as a dig at her and she sighs. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you, I-”

“Really? Because you sure act like you don’t believe in me.”

“Ace that’s not…”

“You don’t think I can beat Roman Reigns.”

“I just want you to be realistic, you can’t just demand a match and expect to win.”

Ace shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

Maria sighs, deciding it was best to try and change the subject. “So, I’ve been thinking… I want to get in the ring again.”

“What?!” Ace’s eyes narrow.

“I miss wrestling, Ace,” Maria continues. “It’s been a year…”

“And what am I supposed to do? Huh?!” Ace snaps. “I need you in my corner.”

“I am in your corner!”

“No, you’re thinking of yourself again. How can you be so selfish after everything I’ve done for you. You promised me you’d support me.”

“If you really loved me you’d do this for me,” Ace says, snidely. “And you’ll do it with that smile that makes the whole world melt.”

Maria feels like she’s had ice dumped on her. She wants to scream. But she doesn’t. Instead she bottles all of it up. Like she always does. She doesn’t think she can do this much longer.

“Ace I-”

The Bloodline music starts up int he arena then, echoing in the hallways.

“Are you with me or not?” Ace glares at her.

She doesn’t know what to say, she barely knows what to think. Her emotions feel like a mess right now.

“…yeah,” she shrugs.

“Good, we’re a package deal baby,” Ace grins. “I promise you’ll get your turn again but timing is everything.”

He extends his arm to her, she takes it, automatically, and they head down the hall. *****

“Ladies and gentleman, my name is Paul Heyman. And I serve as the special counsel… to the reigning, defending, undisputed Tribal Chief - ROMAAAN REEIGNS”

The crowd roars. The Bloodline stands in the ring. Roman in the centre, title around his waist, with Jimmy and Jey flanking him. Heyman stands nearby, holding Roman’s other title - mic in hand.

Roman then extends his own hand and Heyman obediently hands over the mic with a little bow.

“ACKNOWLEDGE ME!” Roman yells into the mic.

The crowd goes wild yet again, some cheering, others jeering and booing. And Roman waits, soaking all of it in as if daring every person there to disobey him.

“Every week, I walk out here and it’s the same story,” Roman begins his promo, voice dripping with the type of smugness you could only earn. “I smash them. I stack them. I pin them. And then I fly home with my titles… and my legacy still intact.”

He begins to pace a little in the ring. Heyman in the background utters “yes you do my Tribal Chief.” Jimmy and Jey are all smirks.

“The truth is, there’s nobody left. I’ve beaten them all. Every challenger, every so-called superstar who thought that they were on my level.”

The crowd reacts, some booing, some yelling out names of other superstars.

“Nobody can beat you my Tribal Chief,” Heyman says.

Roman smirks. “Now, I keep hearing about this guy. Keeps buzzing around, flapping his mouth backstage, calling my name like he’s earned it.” Roman raises his hand close by his head and makes a gesture like there is a fly buzzing around him, because that’s all this guy was to him. A fly. A bug. Waiting to be squashed.

He then pauses, tilting his head. “What’s his name again, Wiseman?”

“Ace… Ace something, my Tribal Chief. Like a playing card,” Heyman supplies with feigned confusion.

“Right, that guy,” Roman says mockingly. “Couldn’t remember, he hasn’t done anything worth remembering.”

The Usos start laughing, meanwhile the crowd is now eating it up.

“What type of name is that, Uce?” Jey sniggers behind Roman.

“A bad porn star or failed magician,” Jimmy replies.

“Oh, he’s a failed something,” Roman agrees, smirking right into the camera. *****

“He’s taunting me,” Ace growls. “That motherfucker is actually taunting me.”

He was standing in gorilla with Maria and he was fuming. Maria had never seen Ace like this before. Even the veins on his head looked like they might pop.

“That’s just…” Maria puts a hand on Ace’s arm, trying to calm him down. “It’s just what he does. Don’t take it personally.”

“Don’t tell me how to take it!” Ace snaps at her, wrenching his arm back. “I’ve had enough of his bullshit. He thinks he runs this company. Well, it’s about time someone stands up to him. And that someone is going to be me. He doesn’t remember me?! I’m about to make sure he never forgets me!”

“Ace-”

Maria reaches out to grab him again but it’s too late Ace has already ripped a microphone out of the hand of a stage hand and is storming towards the ramp.

“PLAY MY MUSIC!” he yells at the crew.

Maria stares after him.

“Oh, fuck…” she mutters before quickly hurrying after him.

Ace’s music hits as he storms down the ramp, the crowd is shocked. In the ring Roman looks bored he looks at the Usos and Heyman and gestures towards Ace as if to say ‘this guy.’ The Usos meanwhile are already jeering at Ace as he continues to storm down into the ring.

A few moments later Maria is behind Ace, trying to get him to calm down but Ace pays no attention to her. Her climbs into the ring and immediately get into Roman’s face.

Roman’s eyes narrow a fraction as he looks down at Ace, who did he think he was to get so close to him.

“You think you’ve beaten everyone, huh?!” Ace yells into the mic. “You haven’t beaten me. I want a match. You and me, Roman!”

The Usos crack up. Even Heyman starts laughing. Then the crowd does too. After a few beats, Roman smirks a little.

“You want a match? With me?” he looks at Heyman. “Hey Wiseman, is this guy serious?”

“He’s delusional, my Tribal Chief,” Heyman replies. “He’s not fit to lace your boots.”

“FIGHT ME!” Ace yells.

Roman turns back to Ace, still laughing. “What for? There is no challenge in facing you. No title. What do you have that I could possibly want?”

Ace is still fuming. Maria slides into the ring then and goes to him, she puts a hand on his forearm.

“Come on,” she says quietly. “Let’s just-”

Ace wrenches away so hard it causes Maria to stumble a step, which in turn makes Roman’s eyes narrow. He looks directly at her and that same feeling from when their eyes met earlier comes back to her.

“If I were gonna fight someone in this ring… It’d be her,” he gestures to Maria before looking back at Ace. “At least she could keep up. But instead of standing on her own, she’s stuck carrying your dead weight. You got called up and you couldn’t handle the truth, that your girl has and always has been better than you.”

Maria is staring at Roman with wide eyes. The crowd was popping. And then she could hear it, it wasn’t loud but she could hear some fans doing one of her old NXT chants. It made her feel dizzy.

Ace was still fuming but a part of him was starting to panic. He doesn’t look at Maria, he’s not even thinking about her in this moment, not really. His obsession with Roman has never been as intense as it is now.

“Maybe I’ll step into the ring with her anyways,” Roman says mockingly. Show her what it’s like to stand next to a real man. Someone who isn’t afraid of her success or skill.”

The vein in Ace’s head starts throbbing again. “You want her so bad?! Huh?! Is that what you want?” he’s snarling. “You want a prize?! Is that what it’s gonna take for you to fight me?!”

Roman’s eyes narrow but before he can reply Ace continues.

“You and me. A match. You beat me and she’s yours.”

“WHAT?!” Maria’s eyes widen.

For a moment it's silent, like the entire arena needed a second to process what Ace just said. And then it explodes. The crowd goes crazy, the Usos are yelling at Ace, even Heyman is talking but Roman just stares. His eyes cold. His expression deadly. All of Ace’s bravado fades in that moment.

“You really just did that?” Roman says coldly. “You just offered your girlfriend like she’s a… prize?”

Disgust is evident Roman’s face, he wants to punch Ace. He takes a step closer, his voice darker.

“You don’t deserve to be in this ring with me. You don’t deserve to be in any type of ring. But I’ll make an example out of you anyways. You want a match? You’ll get your match.”

With that Roman steps away from him, he doesn’t look at Maria as he exits the ring. Ace stands there, still fuming. Jimmy and Jey go to follow Roman, purposely they both bang their shoulders against Ace on the way out. Heyman then leaves too. Maria is breathing hard she turns to Ace, eyes narrowed.

“Ace what the-”

He doesn’t even look at her. Instead he rolls out of the ring and storms off leaving Maria alone in the ring. Alone with the crowd still going crazy, some cheering, some jeering and booing. She can’t her her chant anymore, maybe she had been imagining it.

In that moment even though she’s surrounded by the bright lights, tens of thousands of fans and the ring she loves so much she has never felt so alone. *****

SMACKDOWN COMMENTARY DESK MICHAEL COLE: (shocked) Did he… did Ace Space just offer his girlfriend as a prize? COREY GRAVES: (flat) He sure did, Cole. I can’t believe I just watched that happen. Real classy move. Nothing screams future Hall of Famer like offering off your girlfriend like a trophy. What is wrong with him? COLE: I’m speechless. That was- GRAVES: (cutting in) Desperate. Embarrassing. And honestly pathetic. What sort of man does that? Especially, to the woman who put her career on hold to support him?! I’m disgusted Cole. Maria doesn’t deserve this. COLE: Maria Marie is a former NXT Women’s Champion, and one of the best technical wrestlers of her generation. She’s not a pawn, not a prop. Certainly not a prize to be wagered. GRAVES: (fuming) Say what you will about the Tribal Chief, but even he looked disgusted. COLE: I just don’t know how to process this. We’ve seen wagers in matches before but something about this one… puts a really bad taste in my mouth. GRAVES: As it should Cole. We always knew Ace Spade was a loudmouth but tonight he proved the exact type of man he really is. He’s not just delusional, he’s desperate. He’s a terrible human being and I personally I can’t wait to see the Tribal Chief punch that smirk right off his face. COLE: If I was Ace Spade, I’d start praying. No way this ends well for him. GRAVES: I don’t know who he should be afraid of more. Roman Reigns? Or Maria. Because if she ever gets her hands on him… he’s not walking out of that ring. *****

It was late. The show had ended hours ago. Maria had no idea where Ace was and at the moment she didn’t really care. She was back in the gym, using the punching bag. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess right now and she had no idea how to even begin to process them. So she used her fists instead. Normally she was so controlled, her punches always landing exactly where she intended but tonight thy were harder, faster, almost erratic. Her fists were slamming into the bag like it was something cruel. Like it was an amalgamation of the last year.

“I don’t know who’s more pathetic, him or his girlfriend.” “How can you be so selfish after everything I’ve done for you.” “If you really loved me you’d do this for me.” “If she’s fucking Ace Spade, she’s clearly willing to fuck anyone.” “You and me. A match. You beat me and she’s yours.”

The words play over and over in her mind and she can’t stop punching. Because if she stops then she needs to think and she can’t do that right now. If she thinks she’ll fall apart.

She hits the bag again.

And again.

Her shoulders burned. Her arms were starting to tremble. She can feel sweat dripping down her skin. She’s punching like her life depending on it.

She can’t stop. Stopping means unravelling. And she can’t do that. She refuses to do that. Not now. Not over Ace. Even if a tiny part of her wants to. Needs to more than anything else.

And then she can’t hold back anymore, she screams. Raw, ragged, guttural. With all the strength she has left she throws one final punch.

The chain snaps. The heavy bag hits the floor like dead weight. The sound echoing off the walls and down the hall and it feels so oppressively loud Maria almost wants to put her trembling hands over her ears. Instead she staggers back, gasping for breath. She stars down at the falling bag. She still doesn’t cry. It was like her body was betraying her by refusing to allow her that release.

And then she collapses on the mat, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She was just… done. *****

Roman saw the whole thing. Everyone else had left. Even Heyman was long gone. But Roman had stayed late tonight, he wasn’t really sure why. Maybe a part of him had hoped he’d see her again in the gym. Or maybe he just liked it when the halls were empty and quiet, the lights dimmed. He was getting ready to leave when he heard the sound of the bag being used and he knew.

It was Maria.

He couldn’t help but follow the sound. Once again he stands in the shadows and watches her. Even now her pony tail was perfect, it didn’t even look like her makeup had smudged. But there were fractures in her control. It was like she was finally unravelling and he couldn’t look away or move.When she screamed and fell to the mat he still didn’t move. He remembered Heyman’s words from the other night, saying what a shame it was that Maria had given up. Roman saw it then but it’s clear as day to him now. This wasn’t a woman who had given up. The fight was still there but she had been buried under someone else’s story. And despite himself, Roman can’t help but think how beautiful she looks in this moment.

And then mentally he’s scolding himself for thinking that. He was the Tribal Chief, this woman was just another wrestler. Other than asserting his dominance there was really no reason to think about her at all. He was about to step back and leave her when a side door creaks open and of all people Shotzi Blackheart walks in.

“Knew I’d find you here,” Shotzi says, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder as she makes her way over to Maria who was still on the ground. She glances at the punching bag. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Maria says nothing.

Shotzi seems unphased and dropped the duffel to the ground and then flops down next to Maria, laying next to her like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like they had done this dozens of times.

“You’re sleeping over tonight. No arguing,” she says.

Maria says nothing.

“Company policy,” Shotzi continues, her tone casual like she was talking about the weather. “Damage WWE property, get put under a 24-hour emotional surveillance watch.”

“That’s not a thing,” Maria croaks.

“It is so a thing. How do you think Miz and Maryse started dating.”

Maria huffs a little at that, almost a laugh. For a few moments they just lay there next to each other on the floor. Shotzi didn’t ask Maria if she was okay, she didn’t need too - she knew. Asking would just be insulting. After a few moments, Maria extends a shaking hand over to Shotzi, who’s own hand meets her halfway. Their fingers intertwine. Maria’s hands stop shaking.

Roman can’t look away. These two women looked like the came from different worlds, different planets even. Shotzi was chaos incarnate, tattoos, piercings and a wildness that couldn’t be tamed. Maria was perfected control, elegant with an air of elegance to her. They could not be more different. But it looked like they had been friends forever. His jaw tics a little, this made him feel something and he wasn’t sure he liked it. So he slinks back into the shadows to leave. *****

After few more moments, Shotzi helps Maria to her feet. She grabs the duffel bag which was full of Maria’s things and slings an arm around her friends shoulders.

“You know, just say the word and I bet we can get the whole locker room to beat the shit out of him,” she grins. “Sami was practically vibrating and K.O. never needs a reason, he’d do it just for fun.”

“Can we get noodles first?”

“Fuck yes!” Shotzi’s grin turns into a smirk.

Shotzi guides Maria towards the door but then Maria stops, out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw something. She turns towards one of the dark hallways, brow furrowed.

“You good?” Shotzi asks.

“Yeah I thought I just… saw someone,” Maria says softly.

Shotzi looks in that direction. “It’s probably just the crew waiting for you to leave so they can do take down.”

“Yeah,” Maria takes a deep breath. “You’re probably right.”

Then she follows Shotzi out the door.

[writtenbyadriana]

A spoonful of magic

@deanwinchestersgirl8734 asked:

"Can you maybe write something where Dean’s girlfriend drags Dean and Sam to Disney because she’s a Disney adult and it’s how she copes with the dark stuff they deal with?"

Pairing: Dean Winchester × fem!reader

Summary: Dean's girlfriend insisted on a spontaneous trip to Disneyland — and draged Dean and Sam along with her. To Dean, it was a ridiculous detour. To Sam, it was slightly amusing. But to her, it was more than just fun and churros — it was how she stayed sane in a world full of monsters, death, and darkness. Sometimes, you need a little magic to keep going.

Warnings: soft!Dean, fluff, emotional coping, references to trauma, mentions of past supernatural violence, lots of Disney references, light angst with comfort

Words: 2223

Note: English isn't my first language.

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I took a deep breath before stepping into the bunker kitchen. The familiar scent of coffee, toast, and old book pages hung in the air.

Sam was already sitting at the table, brows furrowed over his laptop, probably hunting down the next witch coven or werewolf pack.

Dean was leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in one hand, the other arm casually crossed over his chest. His look was still half-asleep, half-suspicious — he could already tell I wanted something.

I knew this wasn't going to be easy. Not with these two. But I had made up my mind — today was the day.

"Okay," I started without preamble, stopping in the doorway like an actress waiting for her cue. "I need to ask you guys something. Actually — I’m begging you."

Dean took a sip of coffee. "That's never good."

"Disneyland."

Two seconds of silence. Then, Sam looked up, a snort of amusement, and Dean — Dean froze like someone who’d just been told he'd be stuck in an elevator with Crowley for a week.

"What?" Dean asked slowly.

I stepped closer, gesturing like I was pitching them an idea they just had to sign off on.

"One. Day. Disneyland. Just the three of us. No EMF meters, no salt circles, no corpses, no apocalyptic demonic forces. Just…mouse ears, cotton candy, roller coasters, Disney magic."

"You want us to drive to California?" Sam's voice had that analytic tone, like I'd just suggested inviting Satan himself to our next barbecue. "From Kansas to Anaheim, that's…what, a 20-hour drive?"

I turned to him, hands on my hips. "Sam. We’ve driven farther for cases. To freakin' Oregon, Maine, and back — for people who heard a cat disappear. I'm asking for one day that has nothing to do with blood, death, or Latin chants."

Dean scoffed. "Disneyland."

I turned to him — slowly, with a sweet, dangerous smile. He was still leaning against the counter, his cup now resting on the small shelf behind him. My eyes lingered on him.

My Dean. Broad shoulders, messy hair, that grumpy look — and I loved every line life had carved into his face. I stepped right up to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

"Baby," I said softly, my fingertips trailing along his belt, "I promise you, tonight will exceed every fantasy you've ever had."

Dean raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching.

I could see his gaze sticking to me. He was already on the edge — I just had to give the final push.

I glanced at Sam, who was already shaking his head in disbelief, like he knew exactly what I'd done.

Dean looked at him too, then back at me, then at Sam again.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean finally said with that grin that was so unmistakably Dean, it made my heart skip a beat. "Be like Elsa — let it go!"

I squealed in delight — a real, childish squeal that even surprised me.

Sam sighed like he'd just made a deal with a trickster.

...

The trip had been long. And I mean: fucking long. Over twenty hours on the road, what felt like twice as many gas stops, three times as many burgers. Dean had started cursing at the Impala at some point, like it was a stubborn horse, and Sam had pulled out a playlist of audiobooks that actually made me consider whether demon summoning might be the more pleasant option. But I was too excited to complain.

We'd spent the night in a run-down motel somewhere in Arizona with stains on the bedspread, weird noises from the room next door — the whole package. Dean had scolded that even the ice from the machine tasted like mothballs. But I'd been so jittery that I shoved both of them back into the car before sunrise.

And now we were here.

Right at the entrance.

Disneyland.

I saw it first: the castle. That iconic, beautiful, cheesy fairy-tale thing I'd seen a thousand times in movies but never in real life. And now…it was there. Real. Huge. Bright. And most importantly: mine.

"Oh my god…" I whispered. "Oh my god. Oh my god, it's real!"

I turned halfway to Dean, who had that crooked grin spreading across his face. "She's about to hyperventilate."

Sam crossed his arms and gave me that typical, semi-dry Sam look. "I think it's serious. I see tears."

"They're real," I shot back without a hint of shame. "I'm crying from happiness, Sam. Let me be, this is my holy place."

Dean chuckled quietly, stepped a little closer, and for a second, placed his hand against the small of my back. "You see that, Sammy? The real magic’s not in the castle. It's in that face right now."

I couldn’t help it — I squealed, turned back to the entrance, and then it happened: I ran. Just took off. Like a kid. No thinking, no hesitation, I left the guys standing and bolted straight toward the ticket gates.

"Wait! Do you even have your ticket?!" I heard Sam call after me.

Dean just yelled: "That's what I call enthusiasm!"

But I was already gone — my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes locked on the castle like it might vanish if I didn’t reach it in time. Today, this place was mine. This one day was my fairy tale.

...

We were already inside the park, and I still couldn’t believe this was really happening. The music, the people in Mickey ears, the squeaky-colored stands with overpriced snacks, the happy screams from somewhere in the distance — it was like a parallel world. No demons. No blood trails. No knot in my stomach every time the phone rang. Just laughter. Colors. Childhood dreams.

I kept turning in circles, dragging Dean this way and that, shoving a giant map in Sam's face like I was explaining a global strategy. My whole body was buzzing with excitement. I was a grown woman — but here, I was five years old again.

"Okay, next one on the list is..." I said, walking quickly toward a large square without realizing the boys were barely keeping up, "...Peter Pan's Flight. Then we're getting Minnie ears for me — maybe glitter ones. And then...”

"You do realize we're not on the run, right?" Dean muttered behind me, sunglasses on his nose, face slightly scrunched. "You can actually walk. No need to sprint."

I stopped, turned to him, kept walking backwards so I could look at him. "Oh, come on, babe. You look like you're about to perform an exorcism."

Dean sighed deeply, shoulders sagging, but I saw it — that little smile he tried to hide. He was tired, maybe a bit overwhelmed, but he was here. For me. And that meant everything.

Sam, meanwhile, was walking beside us with a wide grin, holding his phone camera up. "This is the best thing I've seen in ages. I never thought you'd lose your mind like this."

"I'm not losing my mind," I objected — but then I stopped in my tracks again as something caught my eye. "Wait…"

There he was.

STITCH.

Life-sized. Big head, huge ears, bright blue, and currently hugging a little kid. My heart stopped. My stomach flipped like it was on a rollercoaster. I audibly gasped.

"Stitch…" I whispered reverently, the way others might say "holy grail."

"Oh no," Dean mumbled. "I know that tone."

I dashed off, leaving everything behind, carefully pushing through a small group of people until I was standing right in front of my favorite alien. He noticed me, lifted his arms, wiggled his fingers.

I squealed. I. Actually. Squealed. Like a fangirl at a boyband concert.

"Hi!" I called out, sounding completely over the top. "You are my absolute favorite character, oh my god, I love you sooo much!"

Stitch did that signature move where he placed his hands over his face and slowly dragged them down like a sad puppy. I was on the verge of tears — again. I threw myself gently into his arms, and he hugged me back tightly. Someone took a photo, I laughed, and it felt like a dream. My heart felt lighter than it had in months.

In the background, I heard Dean. "Great. She's getting adopted."

Sam giggled. "I swear I'll buy her a Stitch costume if she agrees to hunt monsters wearing it."

I turned around, grinning at both of them with tears in my eyes. "Can you believe it? I hugged Stitch! STITCH! This was the best hug of my life!"

Dean raised his eyebrows, crossed his arms, and gave me that look — somewhere between annoyed and hopelessly in love. "If you've still got energy tonight, I'll show you what I think the best hug of your life feels like."

I blushed, laughed, and Sam groaned dramatically. "I'm right here, you guys. Right here."

But nothing could stop me. And somewhere between overpriced Mickey shakes, the California sun, and my favorite little alien, I had really forgotten. All the darkness. The hunt. The crushing pressure.

Today was magic. And it was real.

...

The sky had turned a soft blend of orange and pink as the sun disappeared behind the castle towers. Tiny lights were beginning to flicker on everywhere — lanterns shaped like stars, shimmering garlands, sparkling windows. It was like someone had sprinkled pixie dust across the entire park. I could barely believe the day was already coming to an end. And at the same time, it felt like it had frozen time for just a little while.

The air was filled with the scent of caramelized almonds, cotton candy, and that sweet, intangible joy you can only feel in a place like this. Kids sat on their parents' shoulders, every inch of sidewalk along Main Street was packed, and everywhere I looked, light-up toys glowed like soft constellations.

I stood right at the edge of the curb, eyes fixed ahead as the parade began. Music swelled — loud, orchestral, dramatic, and so achingly familiar that it made my heart ache in the best way. Floats glided past like scenes from a dream: Elsa in an ice chariot, Buzz Lightyear, Belle and the Beast, Aladdin and Jasmine on a flying carpet that drifted through waves of light. Every moment hit me square in the chest. Every song a hit to the heart.

Then I felt it — warm arms wrapping around me from behind. Dean.

He was right there, pressing close, pulling me gently against him. His hands resting on my stomach, his chin against my shoulder. I leaned into him, grounding myself in his weight. His stillness, the heartbeat I could feel through time and fabric and everything we'd survived.

"You know..." he murmured against my ear, his voice barely more than a breath, "...I didn't think any of this would do anything for me. But…seeing you like this…it was worth it. Every damn mile."

My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, placed my hands over his, gently tracing his knuckles with my thumbs. "Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you for doing this with me. For…giving me this day."

He hugged me tighter. I watched Rapunzel pass by with Eugene. The two of them smiling at each other the way only people do when they've been through something together.

"Do you remember that case in Michigan?" My voice wavered. "When you were trapped in that basement. And I thought I'd lost you. Everything was covered in blood, and I…I couldn't even breathe. I screamed at you because you wouldn't wake up."

Dean didn't say anything. But his arms tightened around me.

"Or that nest in Idaho," I went on. "You were ready to sacrifice yourself...again! And you didn't even talk to me first. I begged you, Dean. You would've left me behind."

I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, but the tears kept coming. "And now we're here. At Disneyland. Watching a parade. No one's dying. No one's bleeding. I look at you and you're…alive. And here. With me."

Dean gently turned me in his arms, looked me in the eyes. The parade faded into the background. Nothing else existed. Just him. Just me.

"I'm not the guy who leaves anymore," he said quietly. "I'm the guy who stays. As long as you want me to…I'm here."

A soft, slow smile touched his face — the kind I rarely got to see, the kind that wasn't tired or guarded or haunted. It was light. And calm. And love.

"I'm not letting go," he added, then leaned in — and kissed me.

It wasn't quick or playful. It wasn't hesitant. It was deep, honest, and full. A kiss that had survived the hunt. A kiss that had beaten the monsters. A kiss that reminded me — here in Disneyland, under sparkling lights and with tears in my eyes — that maybe, just maybe, we had a home too.

The music soared, the crowd cheered. Above us, the first firework exploded across the sky. Golden stars, red hearts, green spirals. And as it boomed and sparkled above our heads, we stood there. Dean and I. Wrapped in each other. Loved. Alive.

Magic was real.

Because he was here.

With me.

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@deanwinchestersgirl8734 thank you so much for your request! It was fun to write this short story!🥰

[zepp-l1n]

Escape

Pairing: Adam Stanheight x (Photographer) GN!reader

summary: after Laurence leaves Adam behind, someone stumbles upon him accidentally. fic type - hurt/comfort, angst warning - cannon saw violence, oc involved that I made for the plot word count - 2,149 a/n: I love the Saw franchise so much and now that it's getting closer to Halloween I'm gonna write some scary stuff :D

"I have to go and get help. If I don't.... I'm going to bleed to death." Lawrence groaned out, clinging onto Adam.

"Don't leave me!" Adam begged. His hands tried to hold onto Lawrence's shirt tighter, but he was unsuccessful. Lawrence pulled away, slowly crawling towards the open door. Adam cried out to him as he made his way further and further away, but stopped as Lawrence turned back to him.

The older man pulled himself up a bit, using the wall and pipes as leverage. "Don't worry, I'll bring someone back. I promise."

Lawrence turned back to the door but stopped again when Adam called out. "Lawrence! We're going to be okay?"

"I wouldn't lie to you." he muttered back. Adam watched defeatedly as the doctor left the room, presumably to find help. He watched as the body in front of him came to, taking it's time gathering things and walking towards the door Lawrence had escaped though. He watched as the man spoke to him before shutting off the lights and locking him back in the room. He watched as he was left alone in the dark, screaming and crying, waiting for someone to come and release him from his personal hell.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

"Chris, I don't see why I have to do this." (Y/N)'s groaned out. The two were both in their collage's photography course, and had decided to help each other out on their current assignment. They were told to take photos of local rundown areas in an attempt to capture unusual beauty. Chris had taken the lead, taking (Y/N) to a part of town they had never been to.

In their search around the block, the two had stumbled upon an abandoned building. It outsides weren't to disheveled so Chris brought up the idea of going inside and trying to find any scenes that would show the story of whoever lived here before.

"Dude, imagine what shit was left behind. There could be whole living set ups that would be perfect for what the professor wants." Chris responded.

"Are we really gonna risk our lives for these photos, though?" (Y/N) asked.

Chris removed one hand off of his camera, letting it weigh down a bit more on his neck, and slapped (Y/N) on the back of their head "Oh, shut up. We're not gonna die, idiot." Chris laughed out. He placed his hand back on his camera and moved his shoulder out, nudging his friend.

"If you say so." (Y/N) walked forwards, making their way towards the back door of the abandoned house. "But you're walking in front the entire time."

Chris let out a laugh and stepped in front, guiding (Y/N) into the building. "Yeah, yeah." The duo made their way through the building, pushing past cobwebs and old sheets. The two friends uncomfortable glanced around, seeing boarded up windows and gross looking floorboards.

"Chris, maybe we should go, man." (Y/N) muttered, stepping around a broken chair.

"Don't be a wuss, just come on." Chris moved into the next room, walking around and taking pictures as he went. (Y/N) followed behind, going along with him as they made their way throughout the entire house. Each room was a little more disgusting than the last. Glass from the windows was broken, floors and carpets were stained, furniture was broken and flipped. Everything had obviously not been used in years, and Chris was having the time of his life getting pictures. (Y/N) would take a few every few rooms, but didn't take half as many as their friend.

They made their way to the last room of the house, finding the door opened, unlike most of the other rooms, and it empty other than the giant safe inside. "Holy shit." Chris muttered, snapping a picture. After getting the picture he moved forward, taking a good look at the safe. "Hey, look at this." he motioned for (Y/N) to step forward. They did, taking the spot next to him.

"What?" they asked.

"Underneath the safe, look." he spoke again.

Glancing down, (Y/N) saw what looked to be like the outline of a door underneath the safe. "What the...."

"Here, help me move this." Chris took off his camera, set it a few feet away, and started pushing the safe away from it's current position. (Y/N) was quick to join him, placing their camera near his, and going back to push it too. Once the safe had been pushed away, the duo took in the trap door, looking at it cautiously. "Well shit." he mumbled.

"C'mon, help me open it up." (Y/N) hesitantly asked, making sure to grab their camera before hand.

"What?" came from their friend. "Weren't you the one that didn't want to enter the building in the first place?"

"Yeah, well now it's getting weird, and I'm curious, so stop being a bitch and help me." they responded. Chris moved towards the trap door, and the two fiddled with it for a few minuets before finally unlodging it. "There we go..." (Y/N) grinned. The two pushed the door open, and glanced down into it. (Y/N) took a picture into the vast darkness, causing it's flash to brighten up the space. "C'mon...."

The duo took off down the hatch, taking photos along the way to give themselves light. Each flash gave them a glimpse of the dingy and cobweb filled halls, and helped them find their way around. "Hey, (Y/N), why don't we just head back?" Chris mumbled.

"No man," they turned to their friend and took a picture at him, letting the flash hit his eyes. "If you wanna go back, just wait for me at the trap door. I want to look around."

Chris huffed out an exhausted sigh and nodded before turning back the way they came. "Listen dude, just don't take to long. We've still gotta' take these to my dark room and get them ready for the deadline." Chris shook his camera as he spoke and gave them a cautious grin, then took off back to the hatch.

(Y/N) watched their friend leave before snapping a picture and continuing on their walk. The young adult stumbled around, going up and down halls, looking for anything unusual or interesting.

(Y/N) walked around for a while before finally making it to a dead end. As they went to turn, taking one last picture, they noticed that something was different about the wall. It's color was different in comparison to the walls they had been passing for the past little while, although it was obvious that it had been crafted in an attempt to keep it hidden. "What the....?" They stepped forward, taking another photo. At the left edge of the door they noticed a small and dusty handle. Reaching forward, (Y/N) lightly pulled at the handle, but hurriedly retracted their hand when feeling a gross sticky substance. They let out a groan in disgust, wiped the mysterious gunk on their shirt, and went back for the handle. "Ewwww...." they whined as they put their hand back on it.

(Y/N) used both of their hands this time, pulling a bit harder. As the door opened, (Y/N) took one hand back, and brought it up to their camera. They hesitated for a second before clicking the shutter-release button. The flash went throughout he entire room, giving (Y/N) a somewhat decent look at the bathroom in front of them. They could tell it was just as gross and disheveled as the rest of the house - if not worse.

Taking another picture, (Y/N) looked more around the room, attempting to see more of their surroundings. In a small moment of growing curiosity, they stepped inside and felt around the nearby walls, hoping to find something useful. To (Y/N)'s surprise, they did. Their right hand grazed against a switch on the nearby wall, it's hard structure jutting out from the tiled wall. The photographer flipped the switch slowly, watching and waiting as each light flickered and turned on.

During their moment of distraction, (Y/N) missed the small figure in the corner that was curled in on itself. The figure, a young man, most likely their age, lifted his head slightly in (Y/N)'s direction. Although he was very much conscious, the man had been starved and hadn't been given water in days, causing his movements to be slow and small. A soft cough made it's way out of his throat as he attempted to get their attention, causing (Y/N)'s gaze to fall over to him.

"Holy shit..." At first glance, they took in his bloody shirt and chain-clad ankle. "Holy fucking shit!" The longer they looked at the man the more recognizable he became. For months his face had been on missing posters around New Jersey - 15 of them could be seen on every street corner, and once (Y/N) saw the sad older women putting them up, who they now assumed was his mother. Slowly stepping forward as to not scare the man, (Y/N) attempted to speak to him. "Hello? You're...." they paused, trying to remember the name on the posters, "Your're Adam, right?"

The man quickly nodded, his eyes still darting around as he adjusted to the new lighting. "Yea..." Adam's voice caught in his throat causing him to cough again.

"Okay, Adam. I'm.... listen, my friend is waiting on my upstairs, I'm gonna go get him and then I'll be back to save you, okay?" (Y/N)'s statement seemed to throw him into a panic. His weak body jerked a bit, and he found himself reaching up, a scared look on his face.

"No! Don't leave me! Please, don't leave me like he did!" he begged. Adam's arm flung out at (Y/N), hand open and pleading.

(Y/N), not having been expecting his reaction, stepped forwards to comfort Adam. "Hey, hey, it's just for a moment. I promise." This didn't ease Adam's pleas. From (Y/N)'s perspective, it seemed as if it almost made them worse. In a quick and mostly unpondered decision, (Y/N) dropped down near the hysterical man, and grabbed onto his reaching hand. "Adam, look at me."

Adam glanced forward at them, trying to hear them over his own worries. "I-" as he tried to speak, (Y/N) softly cut him off.

"Adam, I can't get this off you myself." they pointed towards the chain holding him to the bathroom pipes. "I'm just gonna step outside the door and yell for my friend Chris, okay? I'll be in your line of sight the whole time, and I'll have him call 911 for us. I'm gonna get you out of here Adam."

Softly releasing their grip on him, (Y/N) moved back towards the doorway, not missing the way his hand still lingered out where theirs's had been. (Y/N) took one last reassuring glance at Adam before stepping through the doorway. Once exiting the room, the photographer let out a sharp breath, and took a moment to collect themself before yelling for help. "Chris!" their yell echoed through the halls and they hoped it would be loud enough for him to hear.

Moments passed before (Y/N) heard the soft call of Chris yelling back. "Chris, I need you to call the police!"

"What?" came his quick responce.

"Call 911, Chris! I found someone down here! For fucks sake, just hurry!" they screamed. "Call an ambulance, just something!" Without waiting for a proper response, (Y/N) made their way back to Adam, hoping he was still okay. "Adam?" they softly spoke, walking back into the bathroom.

He was still where they left him - sitting up, back against the wall, arm lightly tugging at the chain. Carefully taking off their camera, (Y/N) moved back to him, sitting in the same spot they had been before. "Chris is getting help. We're getting you out of here." Adam's eyes lightly watered as he looked at his unexpected savior. "You're safe now, Adam."

Leaning next to his shaking body, (Y/N) grabbed onto his side and arms, attempting to give him any comfort possible. Adam's hands gripped onto (Y/N) in a similar manner, and tucked his head into their shirt. Quiet thank you's escaped his lips as he finally let himself relax after the weeks of torturous solitude and constant fear of whether or not he would be saved. The two sat quietly in the bathroom, holding onto each other. They didn't have to say anything in the moment, both just sharing an understanding that things would be getting better for Adam. He was now safe. He was now out of Jigsaw's clutches.

Slowly, in Adam's moment of calm, (Y/N) noticed his breath level out. Looking down, they could see his content expression and decided to let him have his moment of peaceful sleep as they waited for Chris and the police to show up. (Y/N)'s arms wrapped further around him, falling into the same sense of calmness. "Your safe now, Adam. Your safe...."

[delulujuls]

friends don't know how you taste | ms47

hi! i know that i have a lot of second parts to write, like for example for this one, but i just cant write other stuff when i am having particular ideas in mind, ya feel me? but dont worry, i remember all of the requests and i will write them in the sooner than later future, i promise!

but here comes the mick schumacher's one and i hope that you will enjoy this while waiting for the next parts for other shots, so bon apetit!

summary: when you are in love with your best friend and only alcohol can untie your tongue to reveal your feelings

warnings: reader being drunk, mentions of alcohol usage

pairing: fem!bffreader x mick schumacher

"Careful, watch out."

The tipsy giggles intensified as Mick steadied his friend's waist a bit more securely while they exited the elevator on the correct floor.

The girl struggled to maintain her balance, and despite being upset when her friends ordered transportation to the hotel for her, she was delighted when Mick turned out to be her ride.

"We're almost there, you're doing great," he reassured her.

Occasionally, he glanced at her, wanting to ensure that the alcohol wasn't taking a negative toll on her. She, however, was in great spirits, giggling and being very talkative.

"When they told me to go back to the hotel because 'I've had enough,'-" she mocked one of her friends, hiccuping, "at first, I got mad. But when I saw it was you who came for me, you have no idea how happy I was to see you!"

She stopped and embraced him, hugging tightly. Mick chuckled softly and reciprocated the hug. He knew he was in for a rather amusing evening with his friend, whom he had no intention of leaving in such a state, even though he could see that she had indulged in one of those harmless ways that shouldn't lead to any harm. Nevertheless, he wanted a clear conscience.

"I'm happy to see you too, liebling."

The girl lifted her head, smiling at his face. Her mascara was slightly smudged, her eyes sparkling, and a wide smile stretched across her rosy lips. Mick returned her smile, looking at her affectionately. She looked charming, staring at him like a painting in the middle of an empty hotel corridor.

"Liebling," she repeated, trying to mimic the German accent, "am I your liebling?"

Schumacher laughed, hearing her feigned accent.

"Of course you are."

She giggled again and hugged him once more. Shortly after, they managed to reach her hotel room. Mick closed the door behind them and seated his friend on the bed. She immediately sank into the soft mattress, feeling everything around her spin. Mick put her purse aside and took off her shoes.

"We'll get you into something more comfortable, okay?"

"Just say you want to undress me."

She joked, giggling. Mick chuckled and shook his head. He was genuinely curious about what interesting things he would learn from his intoxicated friend, with whom he had been friends for many years, and who had never made him feel that there was anything more than friendship between them. However, with alcohol, the girl always became more open, and whenever he was around, she enjoyed his company. Mick decided to play along.

"No, absolutely. After all, we're just friends, right?"

He said, taking off her leather jacket.

"Friends, just friends," the girl sighed heavily, sitting down with difficulty, "of course, as you wish, liebling."

Mick laughed when she again used the term he often called her, this time with an exaggerated German accent that amused him.

"Do you even know what that term means?"

"Liebling?"

"Mhm."

He said, squatting by her suitcase and looking for something for her to change into. As he searched through her clothes, to his surprise, he came across his own T-shirt, which she must have borrowed from him at some point. He smiled to himself. It fit perfectly, being a bit too big for her and, as a result, comfortable.

"Of course, I know."

The girl snorted. Mick stood up and approached her again, holding the T-shirt in his hand.

"So, tell me, and I'll get you changed, okay?"

The girl nodded, a shadow of intense contemplation appearing on her drunken face.

"Liebling," she said again, with the feigned accent, "means darling."

Mick smiled, squatting down and unbuttoning her pants.

"That's right, it means darling."

"I'm your darling?"

She asked, looking at him. He lifted his gaze, and their eyes met. His once amused blue eyes suddenly became serious, and the girl's intoxicated, gleaming eyes also became a bit more serious, too. Nevertheless, a smile still lingered on her face.

"Am i?"

She repeated the question, but Mick couldn't bring himself to utter a word. However, he thought that the next morning, his friend probably wouldn't remember half of the evening, so why worry about what he would say? Even if he revealed his long-hidden feelings to her now, he could gauge her reaction even if it wasn't positive. Everything would return to normal the next morning. He decided to take the risk.

"Of course, you are, liebling."

The girl smiled. Mick returned her smile. He took off her pants and tossed them aside, leaving his friend in just the top and underwear. He stood up and handed her the T-shirt, which she clutched in her hand.

"Can you manage the rest? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"You promised to dress me, so you should keep your word."

She said confidently, looking into his eyes again.

"However you wish."

He replied softly, smiling slightly. He took hold of the bottom of her top and carefully removed it. He tried not to stare; that would be impolite. He grabbed his T-shirt and helped her put it on, tucking her hair behind the collar.

"We'll remove your makeup now, okay?"

The girl nodded and pointed to the bathroom. Mick disappeared for a moment, returning with micellar water and cotton pads. He sat next to his friend, looked at her face, and warmly smiled at her, sweeping her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. The girl closed her eyes and nestled into his hand. Mick stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her affectionately.

"You have pleasant hands. I like your hands."

He chuckled softly.

"Is there anything else you like about me?"

He asked, after a moment, taking a cotton pad and soaking it with makeup remover. He placed one hand on the back of her head and gently started removing her makeup with the other.

"I really like your eyes," she said after a while, without hesitation, "they're beautiful. Like the sky on a summer afternoon."

Mick smiled, hearing that comparison. With careful movements, he swiped the cotton pad over her cheek.

"I love your smile. And your laughter—whenever you laugh, you brighten everything around you." As she said this, she smiled herself. Mick couldn't hide his own smile.

"God, I think there's nothing about you that I don't like."

"Really?"

He giggled, taking another cotton pad, and he applied it to her eyes.

"Although, no, there's one thing I don't like about you."

"I'm all ears then."

"That you haven't made me Mrs. Schumacher yet."

Mick smiled. For a moment, he worried if he had missed something.

"Would you like to be Mrs. Schumacher?"

"Oh God, yes!"

She replied without hesitation, making him laugh. He set the cotton pads aside and leaned in, examining her face carefully, checking if he had done well in the task entrusted to him—removing her makeup.

The girl bit her lip, watching his face.

"You're doing great. This is the moment when you give me a kiss."

Mick was taken aback by her confidence. Even though, he looked into her eyes and smiled.

"Like this?"

He asked, touching her cheek and kissing her. He felt her smile against his lips, deepening the kiss. Although her lips tasted like alcohol, the kiss was filled with emotions. Not wanting to overdo it, he intended to pull away, but she grabbed his hoodie and pulled him closer.

After a while, they separated, but their foreheads were still pressed against each other.

"You have no idea how much I like you."

Mick confessed quietly.

The girl laughed softly.

"And you're telling me this now, when I'm drunk?"

"You probably won't remember it in the morning," he replied, stroking her cheek, "so I'm not worried that it will change anything between us."

"And you don't want anything to change?"

Mick sighed and lowered his gaze, leaning back a bit. He took her hand in his.

"You're drunk, baby."

"No, not at all."

She replied quickly, but hiccups got the better of her. Mick smiled, stroking her hand with his thumb.

"I'm afraid you won't remember anything from this conversation tomorrow."

"Answer me, Mick," she said, looking into his eyes, which were now avoiding hers, "you don't want anything to change?"

He looked at her. He felt that this joking conversation had taken on a completely serious tone. So, he decided to go all-in.

"I'd like to stop pretending that I only want to be your friend."

The girl smiled.

"So let's stop being just friends."

Mick was about to say something, but she kissed him again. Despite the taste of alcohol from her lips, he also felt the taste of change.

After all, friends don't know how you taste, right?

[fenris-wolff]

Hey!! I got so excited when I saw that you wrote for Jekyll and Hyde, especially the original book iteration! :]

I wanted to see if i could request Jekyll/Hyde x reader content? (Literally anything. I’m so desperate for more stuff of them ;-; )

Absolutely! here's an idea that's floated around my head for a while and just never had a reason to write!

Unconditionally

Pairing: Book!Henry Jekyll x Wife!Reader (mentions of possible Book!Edward Hyde x reader)

Word Count: 586

Summary: Doctor Henry Jekyll had been shutting himself off from his wife, hiding away in his lab. Finally getting sick of it, she goes into his lab despite his protests, and discovers the true nature of her dear husband's friend, Mr. Edward Hyde.

Warnings: First person POV, mentions of mild violence (book canon altercations), Hyde, Dr. Jekyll stresses out his wife, breaking and entering Henry's lab

He'd locked himself away again. He'd been doing it for weeks, hiding in his lab with the promise that his friend Mr. Hyde would be stopping by, and to make sure I steer clear of him while he ambles about his business.

I didn't like that Henry spent so much time around such violent company. I had heard that he'd murdered one of the Prime Ministers, but the authorities weren't quite sure if they could trust the word of the maid.

It had been six hours since Henry locked himself away, and I was getting sick of it, so I made my way to his lab. he'd always told me to keep away, that the things inside of it were dangerous, but I knocked anyway.

"Poole?" my husband's voice came from behind the door.

"It's me, Dear," I rattled the door handle. "May I come in?"

"No," he sounded panicked.

"Love, open the door," I called again, "I'm worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about," I heard a crash from inside.

"Love?" I searched around our yard frantically for something to open the door with. I had found a large stone, and began to try and break the door handle. Once the door handle fell off, I pushed open the door.

"Henry!" I called out as I kneeled next to his form. He writhed in pain next to me, as i watched him shrink as if by magic.

"Please, Love," his voice had changed, and he refused to look at me, "go. My experiment failed. I tried to separate good and evil, but I only amplified my intrusive thoughts-"

He groaned and I placed a hand on his back.

"Love-" I was cut off when he lifted his head, and I saw Mr. Hyde's face staring back.

"I can't control my urges, I can't control the changes anymore," he pleaded.

"Oh, Henry," I sat back on my heels.

"I gave him a fake identity so I wouldn't have to be known as this," he shook his head, "forgive me, forget this."

"Oh my love," I reached for his cheek, now younger than either of us had been for many years.

"Please," he groaned again, and against my better judgment, I left the lab.

Hours passed before henry returned to our room. I placed my book on the bedside table and stood to meet him. I cupped his cheeks, now as old as he really was, and I brushed some gray strands of hair out of his eyes.

"Darling," I whispered.

"Please," he tried to stop me from talking.

"No," I cut him off, "you need to hear this. I've thought about it. We have been married for near twenty years now, and you have never given me reason to doubt your judgment."

"Love-"

"I'm not done," I shook my head, "you are my husband. My other half, and I vowed twenty years ago to love every side of you. And due to Edward Hyde being a part of you..."

"He is a fake name I created for my urges-"

"And that's fine," I pulled him into a hug. "I love you, and he is still you. I vowed that much, and I have never broken a promise over the past twenty years, have I?"

"No, I suppose you haven't..."

For the first time in many nights, I slept in my husband's embrace without fear that I'd wake and he'd be gone off to his lab. Although, i supposed we'd have to replace the door handle.

[aboutchriss]

Warm like hot chocolate

Pairing: idol!chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff??? (I'm confused like you trust me), best friends to ???, cuddles, pecks

Author note: And I’m back babies, I have a lot of free time, sadly I have a brace on my foot so I need to rest all day on my couch, without moving, so I started writing again. I have like 9 drafts just on tumblr and a LOT more in my notes so be prepared I might publish something else this week hihihi, anyway since my birth i have this issues where I can't warm up by my self if the weather it’s not at a proper temperature, I’m in my 20s and I still struggle to warm my self up especially my arms, hands, legs and feet. That’s why i thought about writing this thing down, because I’m 100% sure that Chan is the warmest person ever, just like hot packs. not proof read I'm too tired and lazy.

As always my request are open!🩷

-✉️

I’m so insecure about my English, as I said it’s not my first language and I’m always scared to make mistakes or stuff like that, so if you find mistakes please let me know, I’ll be thankful and also my English will improve!

-✉️

Why it's so fucking cold in here?

you think

after months, you finally had the opportunity to sleep at your brother's place, his dorm actually, that he's sharing with some of his bands mates.

You get up, shivering cold, maybe with a pair of pants you could warm your self up? but you know that you can't fall asleep with pants, who sleeps with pants in 2023? exactly no one, you need something or someone to warm your self up and that's where are you going, in tired, sleepy steps.

you knock at your brother's door, opening it a little to see his figure under the blankets

"Changbin Oppa, you sleeping? I'm so cold"

you say waiting for a response, but a little snore informs you that luckily he is sleeping peacefully.

you get out, closing the door behind your back.

You knock at the door that it's in front of you, knowing that the person on the other side of the wall is awake, for sure, you knock gently, but you don't receive a response, maybe he's wearing headphones?

"Channie-oppa you awake?"

you open the door

"oh, cupcake what you doing here? is everything okay?"

he says taking his headphones off his head

"I'm freezing, why it's so cold in this house?"

you say closing the door behind you

"have you try to put a pair of pants?"

he says closing the laptop that was on his lap

"I'm just like Binnie, I can't sleep with pants on, but that's not the point. there was a fucking penguin in my room, because of the cold"

he giggles a little

"come here cupcake, I'll warm you up, but don't you try to fall asleep here"

"I wont, I promise"

you say crawling in his bed

"wait, before I get in, you have something on or I have to met little bang again?"

"right, wait. cover your eyes, and stop calling him little bang, he has feelings and he's not little, and you know it cupcake"

Of course you know it, the first time that you met him he was naked, like fully naked, you saw IT, just for a couple of seconds but you saw it, he tried to cover himself with a pillow but it was too late, you saw it and even if you know that it's NOT small (the perfect size actually) you call it 'little bang', just to piss him off.

You cover your eyes with your hands, trying to give him some privacy.

"Okay, I'm done."

he says, lifting the blankets so you can snuggle in, placing your body right next to him, head resting on his bare chest, he covers your shoulders with the blankets, his arm on your waist.

"I swear to God if you drool on me, imma ban you from my room"

"I'm not going to drool on you"

you say caressing his abs

"mhmh, liar"

he whispers

"you're so warm, you know that?"

"yeah?"

"mh, just like hot packs"

"hot packs?"

"yeah, hot packs or hot chocolate I don't know, you're just warm, and I want you in my bed every night, I'll pay you to warm me up every night, and your scent is addicting"

"addicting? what you mean?"

"I don't know, every time we cuddle the next day I need more of your cuddles and your scent stay in my t-shirt for nights."

you look at him smiling shily

"you can always come here to get your cuddles you know that right?"

"I know, but you're always working, and naked and I live away from your dorm and I can't come here every night, and-"

"I'll start wearing underwear if you want to cuddle every night"

"no more little bang for me?"

you smile at him, he try to hide a smile, but his dimples pop up anyway

"and again stop calling him little, he's not little"

"mhmh, whatever you say"

you smile

"Channie?"

"mh?"

"can you date someone at the moment?"

"what do you mean?"

he says looking at you

"it's a difficult question for you? can you date someone, you know with the dating ban and everything"

"uhm, yes. It was just for two years after the debut so yeah, I can date whoever I want"

"good, so we can go out right?"

you look at him smiling

"yes...are you asking me on a date?"

"I mean, If you want to yes, I can go back to the penguin in my room if you don't want to"

"nono, i want to-i-yes"

he stutters shily

"yes, I want to go on a date with you, but a real date, in a restaurant, with a nice dress and high heels"

"you mean both of us in a dress and high heels or you can wear that beautiful black coat and a white shirt"

"I'll wear the dress of course"

both of you giggles

"well, thanks Channie"

"for what?"

he asks

"giving the honor to come on a date with me"

"the honor? y/n I wanted to ask you to come on a date for months, I even asked permission to your brother"

"you ask permission to Changbin? For me?"

"yes, is that weird?"

"fuck no"

you say kissing his lips

"i-i'm sorry, I wasn't thinking-i-i fuck sorry I-emh I have to go"

you say trying to escape from his arms

"ah ah, where are you going?"

"setting my self on fire because I kissed my brothers best friend after I asked him for a date?"

"shut up y/n"

"but-"

"shut up, please"

he says kissing you, taking your face between his hands

"you know how long I have waited for this?"

you say in his lips

"yeah, since the first time that you see me, your brother told me about the little crush that you have on me"

he says looking at you

"see, he made a mistake"

"what you mean?"

he asks

"my crush for you it's not little, it's huge actually. You're in my mind most time of the day and the night, especially at night, and this lips? - you say touching his lips- I have dreamed about them for years Chan, so pink, and plumped and kissable, I knew that you were a good kisser"

"really?"

"fuck yes"

you kiss him one more time

"wanna know the other things that I'm good at? they involved little bang"

"don't talk, show me"

Tags: the one and only @paboswriting (I miss Mr Bang)

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Shooting a Movie part 4

Note: another thanks to @foxyanon for encouraging me while writing! & thanks to @legitalicat for coming up with a little nickname for a certain character ;)

reblogs & comments are very much appreciated, and make sure to read the previous chapters: part 1 - part 2 - part 3.

Warnings: 18+!! smut and a bit of angst.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f) / Modern!Masema x you (f)

summary: you continued to work with Sihtric, as well as with Masema.

wordcount: 5,4k

Masterlist

Your trip with Sihtric from Durham to London had been pleasant so far. He was a good driver and his energy was always positive and warm while he also eased your mind about your upcoming photoshoot. He would be there with you, and he promised that if anyone would even do as much as look at you the wrong way, he would tell them off. You were still nervous for your shoot, but knowing someone you feel safe with would be by your side made it easier.

You shared a hotel room together during your five day stay and also slept in the same bed, but Sihtric was respectful and never tried to have any sexual activities with you during the first two nights, despite aching to be intimate with you. He didn't know you would have never turned him down if he were to initiate something, but you also held off from making a move yourself because you wanted to keep things professional. And beside that, Sihtric was a real gentleman anyway, taking you out for lunch and dinner every day and always making sure you had everything you needed during your stay.

The first evening together was a little strange. You were both quite unsure about how to behave, as you were together for the first time without having any job to do or script to discuss. You eventually decided to watch some random tv in bed and, almost naturally, you ended up cuddling under the sheets. The butterflies you felt were overwhelming when you rested comfortably against Sihtric's bare chest while he had one arm wrapped around you, and you fell asleep like that not much later.

The second day you went over your contract together for the photoshoot, as Sihtric wanted to know what exactly you had agreed to, and after that you just did some sightseeing in the capital city. You ended up roaming the streets together, hand in hand, while you both slowly began to open up about some more personal things in your lives. And later that night, after dinner, you ended up all cuddled up in bed again to watch some easy tv, while Sihtric uploaded some content to his OnlyFans which he had already made before the trip. 

Sihtric chuckled when he saw the notification pop up on his phone that you had liked the video he had just shared, which was a rather sensual video of him jerking off in his shower, and you grinned when Sihtric looked at you with a mild side-eye.

'What?' you snorted, 'you know I see that stuff when you post it.'

'Yeah, well,' Sihtric laughed a little shyly, 'it's weird to see you're watching me touch myself while I'm literally next to you.'

'You should've thought about that before,' you smiled and shrugged.

Sihtric shook his head lightly and rolled his eyes while he smiled, 'Yes, okay, just… just stop watching now.'

'Fine,' you fake huffed and locked your phone, then rolled over to your other side of the bed and switched off the lights.

'Hey,' Sihtric complained.

'What?' you shrugged, 'I have to get up early tomorrow.'

'Fine,' Sihtric sighed, not even close to being annoyed but still pretending that he was, and he also put his phone down. 

And then, once again like the night before, he almost naturally cuddled up to you from behind while you both dozed off.

Today, the third day of your trip, was the day of the photoshoot. You arrived to set early to get your hair and make-up done, while Sihtric was present in your dressing room and just minding his own business, mainly scrolling on his phone and keeping up with what was going on in the industry. You occasionally glanced at him, without his knowledge, by looking in the mirror and seeing him sit behind you, looking so ridiculously sexy while he was just wearing some simple black sweatpants and a loose fitted black shirt, while the unshaved side of his head showed his messy curls. You felt truly blessed to have him around and cherished every second in his presence. And once you were all dressed and ready, Sihtric followed you quietly when you were called on set.

'Good luck,' he smiled and gave you a wink, to which you felt yourself blush and thanked him before you carefully walked in your enormous white latex heels to the mark on the floor.

Everything started off well, and Sihtric was glad to see you were treated decently. He was also glad to be there to witness your stunning look, as you were dressed in a tight fitting and dangerously short skirt with a matching white, stretchy crop top. And it all went fine, until the photographer, who Sihtric then realised was the Aethelred, told you to lower your top seemingly out of nowhere. Sihtric carefully monitored the situation from a distance and he watched your response before deciding if he had to interfere or not.

'My top? But…I,' you stammered, a little bewildered, 'I wasn't told…that…'

'Listen,' Aethelred sighed and threw his hands up, 'show those tits or go home, okay?'

You stared at the photographer, desperately fighting your tears and the tremble that was about to take over your lower lip. You were too ashamed to look for Sihtric in the crowded room, and your shaky hands then slowly reached for the neck of your white stretchy top, and you curled your fingers around the fabric as you swallowed hard. You came all this way and you needed the money, while Aethelred was also one of the most famous explicit photographers in the business, so you felt like you were in no position to disagree. But just before you could unwillingly expose your breasts, Sihtric jumped up from his chair and stormed over from across the room.

'Hey!' Sihtric shouted, which startled everyone on set, 'was that in the contract?'

Aethelred stared at you and then at Sihtric, not sure what to say as the man with fury in his mismatched eyes came closer, so he just laughed awkwardly while he felt his face turn red.

'Well, showing more skin will make her more popular,' Aethelred nervously argued while Sihtric got up in his face.

'But was that in the contract?' Sihtric asked again, more threatening this time as he already knew the answer to his own question.

'I… well…' Aethelred stammered.

Sihtric then looked at you and asked you the same question.

'No,' you said, barely louder than a whisper, 'this was not described as a topless shoot.'

Sihtric looked back at Aethelred, who was fuming as much as he was actually terrified.

'Well,' the photographer cleared his throat, 'if she wants to continue working in this industry, she better listens-'

'I think we both heard enough,' Sihtric cut him off and backed away, 'come,' he said as he came over to you, 'we're leaving.'

'But, Sihtric, I… I need the money,' you confessed quietly.

'You don't, let's go,' he said and held his hand out to you but he saw the clear doubt in your eyes, 'I got you, okay? You're not going to work with this guy anymore. Don't worry about the money.'

'But it's Aethelred,' you whispered, 'he… you know he's big in the industry, Sihtric, he can ruin my career if I leave now-'

'No,' Sihtric protested, 'he will not ruin your career. That is just what everyone makes you think so they can pressure you into undressing for them. But this is not how it works, sweetheart, trust me. This is not okay, and we're leaving,' he said sternly.

You needed a moment to let his words soak in, but then you took his hand. Sihtric attempted to walk you with him, past Aethelred, but the latter suddenly grabbed your arm and you gasped as he pulled you towards him and away from Sihtric.

'I will make sure you will never get hired again,' Aethelred hissed at you.

Sihtric turned and saw Aethelred's bruising grip on your arm, and he gave the photographer a harsh shove away from you to which every employee on set turned their heads and became quiet.

'If you touch her again,' Sihtric growled, 'I will fucking sue you!'

'Do you know who I am?' Aethelred scoffed, arrogantly.

'Do you know who I am?' Sihtric asked, to which Aethelred took a few steps back, 'and do you have any idea how hard I work to create a safe space for these girls in this industry? To keep them away from assholes like you? And I… I will fucking ruin you,' Sihtric nearly whispered as he got full up into Aethelred's face, 'and not ruin you in the pleasant kind of way, sweetheart. I can expose you for the creep that you are and then I will make sure you never get hired again. You got that, Aethelcunt?'

Aethelred didn't speak, he just stared at Sihtric with his jaw clenched. He knew his behaviour with girls had been awful, but no one had ever dared to confront him about it so he never cared, until now.

'I asked if you got that?' Sihtric pushed his question.

'Y-yes,' he said hoarsely.

'Good,' Sihtric said, 'now apologise to the lady.'

Everyone held their breath as they stared at Aethelred, the famous photographer who was finally being put in his place for his misogynistic behaviour over the years, and they all secretly enjoyed how embarrassed he was.

'I… I'm sorry,' Aethelred mumbled.

'What was that?' Sihtric spoke up, thickening the awkward tension.

'I said I'm sorry!'

'Good,' Sihtric smiled, satisfied at humiliating the poor excuse of a man, 'if I ever see your face again…'

Sihtric didn't have to finish his sentence for everyone to understand what would happen if they crossed paths again, and he circled his arm around your waist to help you walk back to your dressing room in those ridiculously high heels. You changed back into your own short black skirt with a comfy hoodie on top without saying a word, and after that Sihtric drove you back to the hotel, the drive being just as quiet as the dressing room had been.

There was a tension between the two of you since that moment on set, not an uncomfortable one or a threatening one, but there was something lingering and unspoken. A heavy pressure you both felt, which was building up as the drive back to the hotel continued, and with each passing second that gnawing feeling intensified. Sihtric felt his heart pounding in his chest when his eyes trailed off the road and to your bare legs, while you heard the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears as you looked at his hand clenched on the gear stick. You silently imaged his hand around your throat, while Sihtric imagined your legs thrown over his shoulders, and the quiet tension became thicker once you got out of the car and stepped into the hotel elevator. 

Sihtric stared at doors as they closed, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark, and the light shock the elevator gave when it went up seemed to be the moment you both lost control. You grabbed Sihtric's shirt while he immediately reached for your face, pulling each other closer and crashing your lips together in a passionate and heated kiss. Sihtric pushed you up against the steel wall and hooked his arms under your legs, lifting you with ease and you instinctively enveloped your legs around his waist while your lips never left his. You felt his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you with such force, it was almost painful but you were desperate to kiss him until your lips were bruised. Your tongues slid around each other's and your hand moved up in his curls, the other settled on his neck to keep the kiss as deep as possible while Sihtric moaned into your mouth and squeezed your buttocks with such force it bruised your skin.

The elevator came to a halt at the eleventh floor, and Sihtric lowered you down before the doors could open. You felt the ground beneath your feet as soon as the elevator bell sounded and you grabbed Sihtric's arm to pull him with you immediately once the doors opened. You almost tripped over your own feet because of the haste you were in, but Sihtric caught you in time and pulled you flush against him while he pushed you to walk backwards to the room.

'Eager,' Sihtric chuckled and kissed you intensely again.

Your back hit the door of your hotel room and, while Sihtric kissed you, your hands searched the pockets of his sweatpants for the keycard, but you felt something much more exciting and began to rub his hard cock instead.

'Back pocket,' he murmured and pushed his hips into yours.

You reached for his back pocket and fished out the card, then turned to swipe the key, but before you could open the door Sihtric had already shoved your skirt up and pressed his clothed arousal against your ass, while you were trapped between his body and the door. You smiled and pushed your behind back against his crotch, which earned you a low chuckle from Sihtric and then you finally pushed open the door. You both almost fell into the room and Sihtric was fast to kick the door shut behind him, then picked you up and threw you on the bed.

'I wanna fuck you so hard,' he breathed while mounted on top of you, lips lightly touching while he grinded his hips against yours, 'lovingly though,' he chuckled.

'Then fuck me hard, Sihtric,' you whispered with a smile and teasingly traced his jaw with your fingertips, 'lovingly or not.'

The next morning you woke up in Sihtric's arms, and you both figured you needed a shower after you ended up having sex once again the night before.

'You go first,' Sihtric murmured, still half asleep.

'No, you can go,' you smiled while you tried to keep your eyes open.

'Well,' Sihtric said and paused to yawn, 'maybe we should shower together then.'

'Maybe we should,' you giggled, your hands roaming his naked body under the sheets.

'Oh, you want it to be that kind of a shower?' Sihtric smiled, then rolled over and picked you up in his arms with ease and carried you into the fancy bathroom.

'Should we… film something?' you asked almost shyly.

'Do you want to?'

'Yeah, I mean now that I won't get paid for that photoshoot, you know,' you shrugged lightly, 'I need to earn some money.'

Yesterday after dinner, and after another wild sex adventure, Sihtric had told you that you should consider making exclusive content for your OnlyFans, while also making stuff on your own terms and selling it to the studio you have a contract with. That is exactly what Sihtric did and it worked for him, being in control of his own footage and who he works with while also having a safe environment to work in. It was a new way of working for you and you needed to get the hang of it, and you figured why not make a short video with Sihtric as your first exclusive OnlyFans content, as the demand for you two together was clearly there.

Sihtric was up for it, without a doubt, and he was quick to grab his tripod and the camera he always travelled with and used to shoot his own footage whenever he felt like it. Within minutes he had it set up and rolling, starting the shoot with you from behind, completely naked and sensually leaning in to feel if the running water had a pleasurable temperature. And everything that followed after was just as hot and steamy as you hoped it would be, and only a few hours later you had the ten minute long video uploaded to you page, which quickly gained the interest of many and you saw the number of your paid subscribers increase with each passing minute.

And so you figured that maybe Sihtric was right. Maybe this would be a good way for you to work and make money while still enjoying it, as you had full control over who you decided to work with, if with anyone. Because, like Sihtric, you could also just make solo content. And with that newfound motivation and confidence, you went home the next afternoon, after having shared the bed with Sihtric a few more times though.

'Thanks for everything,' you said after he had dropped you off at your home, 'for looking after me and helping me and all that. It means a lot.'

'Anytime,' Sihtric smiled, 'you take it easy. Focus on making your own content and I promise you will be just fine. And only work with those you are comfortable with, okay?'

'Like you?' you chuckled.

'Sure, like me,' he laughed softly, 'I'm always just a text away, sweetheart,' he said and pulled you in for a hug, then kissed your cheek to say goodbye and you promised each other to stay in touch this time.

While you and Sihtric texted on a regular basis since your trip, you found out after a few weeks that your OnlyFans content wasn't just popular amongst the porn consumers, but suddenly a lot of fellow adult movie stars wanted to work with you privately as well. And one of them being very persistent was Masema. Masema was all about making money, and he knew that right now you were one of the people who he could make a lot of money with. You knew he wanted to work with you again ever since that movie you made with him, but it seemed that after he saw your short video with Sihtric, and the success it had, he had only gotten more eager. 

He suggested shooting at least two videos, one for his page and one for your own, and maybe some explicit photos as well. You liked his idea and you couldn't lie either, you wouldn't mind shooting some footage with him, so you decided to accept his request. You met him a few weeks later at his insanely fancy house again, while dressed in one of your signature short skirts with knee high boots and a faux leather crop top.

'It's good to see you again,' Masema flirted right away with his soft spoken voice as you both had a seat on that famous loungeset near his pool.

'Good to see you too,' you smiled and couldn't hide a faint blush on your cheeks.

He looked insanely good, as always, wearing tight black jeans and a black shirt. You didn't feel the same way about Masema as you felt about Sihtric, but you weren't completely unaffected by his good looks and his smooth voice either. And Masema clearly knew the effect he had on basically every lady he met with for work, and he used it to his advantage. He thought you were hot, but he wasn't in love with you, yet he'd go out of his way to try and make you believe you were the only one for him to make you want him more and more. And so he lightly brushed his fingers against your arms and shoulders while you had some small talk, setting you on fire with each touch and making you so desperately needy for him.

'So you're good with the idea?' Masema made sure to double check.

'Two videos, right?' you recalled, 'one blowjob, which will be exclusively for my page, and one of us just fucking for your page, right?'

'Yeah,' Masema nodded, 'that should do it.'

You agreed and Masema took your hand, 'So what are you up for first, pretty girl?'

'I think we should film that sex video first because we both know you're going to ruin my make-up when you shove your cock down my throat,' you said deadpan, to which you both burst into laughter seconds after.

'Yeah, I'll apologise in advance for making you cry,' Masema said softly and took your chin as he leaned in, 'but you do look so fucking sexy all ruined by me like that,' he trailed his fingers down to your neck, 'and it makes me so fucking hard.'

'Shouldn't you save that talk for the video?' you purred.

'We better start filming then,' Masema murmured with a cheeky smile.

He took your hand and led you back inside and up the stairs. He had a large spare room set up, from where he filmed most of his videos, and it had a comfortable looking bed and a large couch against the wall. The entire room was painted a fresh white and it was cleaner than a dentist's office, which showed you how professional Masema actually was underneath his rugged and stern look.

'I'm surprised to see no chains and leather stuff,' you chuckled as Masema switched the camera on which he had set up already.

'I got another room for that, gorgeous,' Masema smiled, 'but I know you're not into that, or at least not as experienced yet, so I have no business taking you there.'

'You have another room?'

'Yeah,' he scoffed with a laugh, 'why do you think I have so many bedrooms? I have one room that's just where I sleep, and all the other bedrooms are more or less different sets for shooting at home.'

'You don't really shoot at studios then?' you frowned.

'Absolutely not,' Masema shook his head, 'I did it with you that one time, but it's not something I usually do because I want to be in full control of what I do. And as soon as I got well known and respected enough to be in control of that, I designed every room here to be a different space. This industry is nasty, sweetheart,' he sighed, 'it's better to be in control of your own footage, trust me.'

'Y-yeah,' you cleared your throat and sat down on the large bed, 'Sihtric told me the same thing. He also prefers to make his own content.'

'Sihtric,' Masema mumbled, 'yeah, he got his business well arranged too it seems. But you know all about that, don't you?' he smirked.

'What's that supposed to mean?' you chuckled.

'We all saw that livestream you did with him,' he said as he neared you, 'and that shower video you uploaded a few weeks ago. I gotta ask… are you two dating?'

'What? No,' you blushed, 'we're not dating.'

'You make a lot of footage together.'

'Yeah, but… we're not dating. He's been helping me set up a safer place too, like you did here for yourself. He's looking out for me, you know?'

'That's kind of him,' Masema said half-heartedly.

'Yeah,' you smiled, 'he really is the sweetest guy I know. No offence.'

'Well, fuck,' Masema laughed, 'you're in love with him, aren't you?'

'Oh, shut up,' you laughed and slapped his muscular chest.

'Fine,' he leaned in, smoothly taking your chin again, 'you could belong to me, you know?' he lied.

Masema was not a guy to settle down, but he enjoyed knowing he could probably steal a girl away from someone. And Sihtric was competition in the business, so if he could hurt him somehow, he'd do it.

'I don't belong to anyone, Masema,' you said quietly while your heart skipped a beat at his touch.

'I don't care if you belong to someone or don't,' he whispered and traced your lips with his thumb, 'because regardless, I'll make you forget about everyone else when I fuck you.'

Masema smiled darkly and winked, then moved away to start filming while you moved off the bed and took your position on his white couch, leaning back relaxed and seductively to welcome him over. Masema joined you by sitting next to you, and you started off easy by making out sloppily until he had you so needy, you sat in his lap and grinded his thigh desperately, to which he smiled darkly once again. He truly had corrupted you that first time, making your shy and innocent side disappear as soon as he kissed you, seeing you change into the needy girl you were for him, and he loved it.

'Good girl,' Masema smiled as he looked up at you, sitting back with his arms spread across the backrest, just watching how you tried to get off on your own.

'Please,' you whined after a few minutes, 'Masema,' you breathed, 'fuck me, please.'

'Beg for it,' he said sternly and didn't move an inch.

You then moved off him and down on the floor in front of him, looking up with pleading eyes as Masema got up and towered over you. He took your chin firmly as he leaned in.

'I said beg.'

'Please,' you mumbled with a dazed smile, 'fuck me, please.'

'Good girl,' he whispered, 'take off my belt.'

He stood back as you obeyed, taking off his belt and unbuttoning his jeans while your mouth nearly watered, but you knew you couldn't suck him off now, you had to save that for later. There was no oral pleasure planned for this video, just sex.

Masema took off his shirt and you kissed your way up his toned torso, leaving red lipstick smudges all over his skin and he picked you up before you could kiss his lips again. He threw you on his bed and tore your panties off along with your skirt. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards the end of the bed where he stood, and he wrapped his hand around your throat pleasantly while he pulled his cock out and spat on his hand before he gave himself a few good strokes.

'Beg,' Masema said curtly.

'Fuck me, please,' you said with your cheeky laugh as you squirmed desperately on the sheets, 'please.'

You spread your legs for him, and he teasingly slapped your wet pussy with his hard cock a few times before he entered you. You arched your back and moaned with pleasure as soon as he began to thrust into you so deeply, easing you into it at first, but before you knew it he fucked you so hard into the mattress with his hand still wrapped around your throat and the other holding your waist almost bruisingly as he had his way with you.

'Fuck,' you moaned, 'ah, god, yes, fuck me.'

'You dirty slut,' Masema growled and only went harder while you clenched the sheets in your hands, not holding back or having to fake any moans and gasps while you were ravaged in all the right ways until you could barely remember your own name.

You climaxed fast but Masema kept going, promising he'd make you cum twice while he continued to ravage you. He tossed you around the bed, taking you in different positions and spanking your ass multiple times.

'I'm going to cum again,' you whined as he fucked you hard and fast.

'I told you,' he breathed, 'that's okay, sweetheart, cum for me.'

'Fuck, fuck,' you nearly screamed and clawed at the pillows your face was pressed into, 'oh, please, fuck.'

'That's it,' Masema moaned, 'that's it, that's it, cum for me.'

You came with another loud moan and Masema pulled out shortly after, he stroked his cock almost violently while he pulled you to sit up and he grabbed your face with his free hand.

'Open,' he said with a low grunt.

You did what he asked while still half dazed and allowed him to cum on your tongue as you had stuck it out for him.

'Good fucking girl,' Masema said hoarsely as he stroked himself through his high, and he then kissed you before he switched off the camera.

In between filming that first video and the second one, Masema took good care of you by making sure you were all cleaned up and comfortable while you both recovered. You were dressed in one of his comfortable oversized shirts while Masema wore his black jeans again. You had made your way downstairs to the kitchen together, where he made you some "dinner". You quietly looked at the salad he was preparing as you sat on one of the barstools, and you suddenly missed the pizza and tacos you had with Sihtric after you had sex with him that afternoon you had walked away from the photoshoot.

Masema was very kind and wanted you to be comfortable, but you secretly longed to be with Sihtric now. Masema was not as lighthearted and also very strict about his working out and diet, while your other co-star was just as good looking and not strict at all. With Sihtric it was always comfortable and you could truly be yourself, but Masema's personality was so different that you always felt you had to stay in work-mode around him, so you never really had any deep conversations or got to know each other better. Which was fine too, but you couldn't resist texting Sihtric to let him know Masema was making you a salad while you missed the fast food you had shared in the hotel weeks ago.

To your disappointment Sihtric didn't reply and left you on read, which was an odd thing for him to do because he usually replied within minutes. You tried to not think much about it and, luckily, Masema was nice looking company too so you just observed him while he served the food. You both ate in silence, which was almost awkward, and after that you helped him load the dishwasher which was just as awkward. And the time you spent together in his living room was just as awkward for you as the previous moments had been. You and Masema had chemistry during sexual activities, but other than that there was genuinely no vibe.

'So, ready to shoot?' Masema asked about an hour later, much to your relief.

'Ready when you are,' you smiled.

You went upstairs again and both undressed, and you shot what was probably the sloppiest blowjob you had ever given someone in your life. The result was filthy but you were proud, because you knew this would earn you some good money. You both fixed yourself up separately and got dressed again, but as you wanted to leave you both suddenly saw the weather outside had turned rather dangerous as rain and wind was gushing forcefully.

'It's not safe to drive,' Masema said as he stood in the front door with you, 'you should stay until it clears up.'

'But that's tomorrow morning,' you said and showed him the weather app on your phone.

Masema was quiet for a moment as he stared in the dark distance, mindlessly tracing his fingers across his bare chest.

'Well,' he said softly, 'I guess it's better to stay the night then.'

You agreed, not entirely reluctantly, but you'd rather sleep in your own bed. Or with Sihtric. And the difference between both men became evident again once you laid in bed together, on the opposite sides of the mattress and with your backs turned to each other after having said good night.

You grabbed your phone and saw there was still no response from Sihtric, which unsettled you. You decided to upload the video that was shot for you OnlyFans, so it could spread across the viewers while you were asleep, and you tried to go to sleep then. You tossed and turned in bed for a while as Masema was already snoring next to you, and you grabbed your phone again after a few long minutes, checking to see if Sihtric had texted you back already. But there still wasn't any reply, and with a lump in your throat you decided to text him again.

You: thinking of you, handsome xx

You saw Sihtric read your message immediately upon sending, as he was in his own bed, contemplating to text you before you reached out again. He ached, badly, knowing that you had been with Masema that night and having seen the video you shared had simply crushed him. He knew it was just work, and that's all it was, but he couldn't get over it and it frustrated him beyond words. Maybe this business wasn't for him anymore, he pondered before he finally wrote you back, and then threw his phone across the room and cried himself to sleep.

Your eyes teared up when Sihtric's message appeared, and you wept silently while you laid next to Masema in the dark and quiet room.

Sihtric: missing you deeply, angel, so much I feel it could kill me.

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