#if it wasn’t clear I’m asking for recs

[kitten4sannie]

𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

pairing: dilf next door! yunho x fem! reader

genre: neighbor au, fluff, smut

summary: you try your next door neighbor on for size when your date cancels on you last minute.

w.c: 3.8k

warnings: yuyu is in his late 40s 🙂‍↕️, controversial spider-man takes LMAO, wine drinking (they are tipsy at most!), brief play fighting, (mostly) dom switch! yuyu but he also whimpers and whines 🙂‍↕️, subby switch! reader, big dick yuyu agenda ‼️, praise/pet names only, teasing (only a lil bit while he talks reader thru it uwu), brief spit kink, kissing, dry humping, fingering, face sitting, size kink >:))), bulge kink, creampie 💕

a/n: hihi i’m back! this fic is dedicated to my dearest bestie tasha @ildangtaek i love you so very much :(( and happy birthday againn i hope your special day was as lovely as you are <33 there really wasn’t much inspo for this i just ❤️ dilfs with my whole kitty esp when it’s yuyu uwu enjoy xx

p.s: thank you so very much for 7k followers! it’s still so unreal to me 🥹💕

song recs: new light — john mayer, boy is mine — ariana grande, plants — crumb

“So…you’re not coming…?” you asked your potential date through your speaker phone, slowly sitting back down in front of your vanity mirror, your puzzled reflection staring back at you. 

You listened to his vague explanation about how he wasn’t quite ready to take this next step with you, whatever that meant. All you were going to do was eat dinner and chat, not exchange marriage vows. He hung up before you had the chance to tell him how silly he sounded. Sulking, you shuffled into your bathroom to undo all the effort you put into looking like a five course meal for an undeserving stranger. 

Halfway through washing your face, you heard your oven timer go off. You completely forgot about the pizza you had made in a rush for you and your date to share. Pulling it out of the oven with a small sigh, you couldn’t help but stare at the unopened bottle of wine on the counter. It would’ve been entirely too easy for you to just get drunk, eat the entire pizza, and cry yourself to sleep afterwards, but a tiny voice inside the back of your mind told you to invite your cute neighbor over instead — even if he was a lot older than you. Would that be so bad? 

The phone only rang for a second before Yunho picked up. “Y/N, hey! What’s up?” Was it uncouth to answer right away or to let it ring for a while longer? He wasn’t sure what the younger crowd preferred nowadays, but he was sure that he wouldn’t let an opportunity to chat with his pretty neighbor slip away. 

“Hey, Yunho!” you began, rolling a metal slicer through the thick crust of your homemade pizza. Your neighbor always sounded so happy when you called him. You could practically hear his imaginary tail wagging. Was he like this with everyone? “What are you up to?”

Yunho’s voice sounded a bit farther away and somewhat strained when he spoke again. “Just fixing up my garden. Oh! My honeysuckles finally bloomed!”

“Already? That’s great!” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. He was so cute. “So, uh, long story short, my date canceled on me after I made us pizza...There’s wine too.” You bit into your bottom lip, wondering just how desperate you were about to sound. 

“What a dickhead. Why would anyone cancel on you? I mean, you’re so–” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “Cool, you know…” Yunho set his gardening trowel down onto the fresh patch of dirt in favor of bonking himself lightly on the side of the head. 

“Thanks, Yun,” you giggled, curling a lock of hair around your finger. You swallowed down your doubt before it overtook you. “Did you wanna, like…hang out?”

Maybe Yunho didn’t fumble, after all. “I’d love to, Y/N.” He looked at the freshly bloomed flowers sitting in front of him. It was fate. “I’ll be right over, okay? Wait for me~” 

“See you~” you replied, matching his tone. Once you hung up, you looked down at the comfy hoodie and sleep shorts you had slipped into. You only had a few seconds to wonder if you should change or not before your doorbell rang. 

Yunho’s honey brown eyes widened upon seeing you, his cheeks growing warm. “H-hey, Y/N!” He nervously shuffled his feet, his scuffed Converse squeaking against the rubber doormat. He moved his arm in an odd way; it was clear he was holding something behind his back. 

“I know it’s not technically a date, but I thought I should bring you something…” 

Yunho held out a bouquet of freshly picked honeysuckles, ones that were delicately tied together with some pretty lace. You looked down at them in disbelief, gently taking them into your arms. Tears threatened to leave your eyes when you tilted your head back up to meet Yunho’s gentle gaze. “Thank you so much…I…Are you an angel?” 

A big cheesy smile spread across Yunho’s face. “Just your friendly neighborhood gardener.” 

And with that, you moved aside to let him in, mirroring Yunho’s infectious smile.

-

“Nice place,” Yunho approved in an oddly soft tone, looking around your cozy living room. Taking a sip of wine, he meandered over to your impressive media cabinet, scanning all the various movies that neatly lined the shelf. “I haven’t seen a DVD in ages…” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I didn’t know you were old school.” 

You let out a small snicker, pulling out one of the DVDs to run a finger along the smooth edges. “I’ve always preferred physical copies. Digital just isn’t the same…” You met his wholehearted gaze, your heart skipping a beat. “You know…?” You were so close to him, you were able to notice his pronounced smile lines as soon as his lips curled up. 

“You’re speaking my language, kiddo.” Yunho took another sip from his glass, looking off to the side. He shook his head absentmindedly, reminiscing about something. “Everything was so much better in the early 90s…” 

You pouted, gently elbowing him through his shirt. “Hey, I wasn’t even born yet.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” He took in a sharp breath, holding it for a second. Once he let it out, he just about deflated like a balloon. “I’m old…aren’t I?” 

Scoffing, you mindlessly flipped the DVD around in your hands. “We’re all aging.” You hoped you weren’t looking too deeply into his eyes. “Why does it matter what step you’re at?” 

Yunho was captivated. He hadn’t felt this kind of acceptance in quite some time. “I’ll try to think of it like that,” he voiced softly, reaching up to pat the top of your head. “Thank you.” 

A simple head pat from your seasoned neighbor shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, heat creeping up on your cheeks, the DVD creaking in protest inside your tight grasp. “Y-you better.” 

“O-oh?” Yunho was caught off guard by your bold words, surprised by his body’s immediate response to it. He slowly lowered his glass, trying to casually hide his half-chub from view. “I will then…” 

You tapped your finger rhythmically against the DVD, delighted with the sheepish look on the older man’s face. You wanted to attribute your growing confidence to the alcohol settling inside your stomach, but you knew you would’ve tested the waters either way. And with that, you reached all the way up to pat the top of his head. “Good.” 

There was an electric current of sorts lighting up the edges of Yunho’s brain — one that would spark sooner rather than later. Before he could say anything that might scare you off, he finally took a look at the DVD you had been holding. “Is…is that the original Spider-man?” 

“Thought you would never notice,” you giggled, his long fingers overlapping yours when you handed it to him. “I have one and two. Three doesn’t exist in my mind.”

Yunho was sure he met his perfect match. “We’re watching them,” Yunho decided for the both of you, his eyes widening with excitement. “Right now.” 

You leaned in a bit closer to him. “What are you waiting for? Put it in.” 

He leaned back. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” 

-

It took finishing the cheap bottle of wine and movies together for you both to finally let totally loose around one another, though your matching flushed cheeks and sweaty palms weren’t a result of being tipsy. It was simply a side effect of being around each other. You were so engrossed with one another, that you didn’t even bother turning the TV off, simply letting the DVD icon freely bounce into each corner of the screen for what seemed like hours. 

Yunho couldn’t quite finish chewing the crust of his slice of cold pizza before he explained with his mouth full, “Peter knowingly killed Harry’s father. Harry following in the footsteps of his dad and becoming the Green Goblin was inevitable.” 

“You having delusional takes was inevitable,” you shot back, getting so worked up over this nonsensical argument that you almost choked on your own slice of pizza. “I should’ve known that as soon as you said Spider-man 2 was mid.” 

Yunho pressed closer to you, gently reaching up to squish your cheeks together. “Aww, someone’s grumpy.” 

Your body was beginning to overheat. He was so close to you, and he smelled so good, fresh like cool eucalyptus, and warm like burning sage. You almost couldn’t focus on getting under your older neighbor’s skin, your words coming out a bit garbled when you provoked him, “Harry was a terrible Venom, by the way.” 

Yunho let out a sharp, offended gasp. “You take that back!” he demanded jokingly, pretending to lunge at you, his hands instead stopping short of touching your shoulders, his breath getting caught inside his throat when you decided to actually lunge back.

“Never!” It was surprisingly easy to take down someone who was almost twice the size of you, but you knew internally Yunho was letting it happen. You almost wished he would give you the same treatment. 

Yunho fell back against the couch cushion, his limbs sprawled out, except for one of his thighs, the one you were haphazardly sitting on. He began blocking your feeble attempts to tickle him, not putting a whole lot of effort into getting you off of his lap. “Admit it was peak cinema, will you?” He sounded out of breath, but not for the right reason. 

“Maybe if you admit I’m right,” you sighed out, not stopping your pursuit until you finally had his obnoxiously long body pinned underneath your significantly smaller one. Now straddling his hips, you closed your fingers around his wrists to keep him still. You were hunched over now, only a few inches away from Yunho’s reddened face, feeling him move against you, causing friction in between your thighs. You quickly bit into your bottom lip, your brows joining ever so slightly. Yunho wasn’t answering you, just looking up at you with his big glossy eyes. It was driving you crazy. “Lemme hear you say it…” 

Yunho blew a few dyed dirty blond locks out of his view. Everything was moving so fast a second ago, and now, it felt like slow motion. He watched as your zip-up hoodie slipped down one of your shoulders, immediately distracted by your thighs once he readjusted his own. Your tiny shorts were riding up, leaving little to imagination. “You’re right,” your neighbor exhaled out, his soft breath hitting the bottom of your chin. 

Yunho sure had a big smile for someone who had just lost an argument, fake or not, and that’s when it hit you, or poked you, rather. You had been sitting directly on Yunho’s clothed cock, now feeling it throb against your exposed core through the thin material of your shorts. This sudden discovery could no longer go unnoticed. “That’s…what I thought,” you huffed, dragging your hips forward in a slow, methodical manner, drawing a long, airy moan out of your older neighbor. 

“I-if you do that, I’ll, nnngh–” Yunho tossed his head back into the couch, feeling your equally sweaty hands slipping off of his wrists, your palms pressing into his warm chest. His hands were drawn to your hips like magnets, enclosing around them, his fingers so long and slender that they touched at the small of your back. “This is what you wanted all along, huh? You should’ve said something, kiddo…” 

“Aren’t you the one who got hard five minutes into our date? Don’t think I didn’t notice,” you teased him back, trying to distract him from the fact that you were actively leaving a wet patch on Yunho’s tented pants. 

“So, it is a date,” the older man breathed out, squeezing the soft flesh of your hips in between his fingers from underneath your hoodie, purposely dragging you across his manhood, before staying still, like he was testing the waters. “Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You just about melted from his sudden display of dominance over your body, now needing more, as though you were just introduced to a new drug. “Sh-show me…how lucky you are.” He waited silently below you, quirking his head to the side, before you realized. 

“Please.” 

“Good girl.” It seemed like his hips began to move without his permission, rolling them up into you, his movements disjointed and sloppy. Desperate. He was desperate for you, his lovely little neighbor, the one he had spent countless days and nights yearning for. “Fuck, is this okay…?” he still found himself asking you from underneath his breath, needing more confirmation, despite actively making you grind against him like it was going out of style. 

“Yeahh,” you gasped, just as you completely relinquished your feigned control, Yunho manually guiding your hips along his trapped, aching cock, the frantic pursuit of friction only fueling the already raging fires inside the both of you. “Need more, actually…” 

“More?” Each small sporadic moan he heard coming from above was like music to his ears, more and more arousal shooting through his heated body and straight into his cock. He truly couldn't take it much longer, unless he wanted to bust inside his jeans like a loser. “Tell me…Tell me what you need, baby…” 

Of course, your cute, seemingly innocent neighbor would be the type to make you ask for it. Your cheeks stung, especially now that he wouldn’t stop trying to catch your wandering gaze. “Touch me, Yun...”

“Touch you…? Touch you where?” 

Chewing at your bottom lip, you pulled your tiny shorts up by the waistband, your pussy on full display for him.  “Here, please…” 

“Fuckin’ hell…” One of Yunho’s hands left your hips, gingerly pulling said shorts to the side to reveal your glistening cunt. Yunho had dreamt of this moment for ages, and now that he was finally living it, he was absolutely ready to give his all for the angel sitting on his lap. “Jesus Christ...All of you is so pretty...so perfect.” 

“I’m all yours,” you whispered under your breath, running your hands down his warm chest.

Yunho felt his brain short-circuiting in real time. “Fuck, you have no idea how crazy that makes me.” 

The man’s cock pulsed from underneath you, leading you to bite back a moan. “Show me.” 

“Then, sit on my face, angel.” 

Once you were angled above him, Yunho pulled the shorts you soaked up by the inseam, emphasizing the shape of your pussy for his own amusement. He rubbed the pads of his index and middle finger along your clothed lips, knowing he found your clit with his thumb when you let out a sharp gasp. “Right there, hm? Did I find your cute little clit, baby? 

“Uh-huh…” 

He rolled your clit around in slow, teasing circles. “Want me to find your hole next?” Your sheepish, yet eager nods only fueled Yunho’s already raving arousal. 

The unmistakable sound of fabric being ripped was registered by your senses first, before you watched your tiny torn pair of shorts disappear into the depths of the fluffy carpet beside the couch. The cold air that had hit your bare cunt was quickly replaced by your eager neighbor’s warm tongue. “Oh…!” 

Yunho greedily lapped up your arousal into his mouth, mapping out the entirety of your cunt with his lips and tongue, the bottom half of his face already shining with your wetness. The man eventually spread you open with two slender fingers, watching your hole flutter around nothing. “Found it…” He was so overcome with lust, that he sent a wad of spit into your cunt, before plugging you up with his tongue. 

“Yunho, oh my god–” You reached down to hold onto the sides of his head, your fingers curling around his dirty blond locks. 

It was when your hazy eyes met that Yunho began to tongue-fuck you in a vigorous manner, each and every impossibly wet sound your slick cunt made only furthering your neighbor’s desire to make you fall apart. He only ceased his worship to groan, “Fuck, do you get this goddamn wet for everyone?” 

Your thighs were starting to shake. You were close. “Just you, Yunho…” Now that the man was looking back up at you with those big puppy dog eyes, you couldn’t help but tug at his hair. “You look like you wanna say something, baby.” The small, uncharacteristically whiny moan he let out encouraged you to take matters into your own hands, rubbing your cunt along Yunho’s spread-out tongue, your puffy clit routinely bumping into his curved nose. He let out another pretty-sounding moan. It made you smile. “C’mon…use your words…” 

“Cum on my face, please,” he voiced urgently, his lips still pressed to your wet cunt. 

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” you gasped in agreement, only able to grind yourself across Yunho’s tongue a few more times, before he cemented his hands around your waist, forcefully bringing you down onto his mouth. 

Yunho couldn’t make out any of the words coming out of your mouth, too focused on the heavy moans you were letting out in between them. Your clit throbbed against his hot tongue, and once he licked down to your spasming hole, he felt the warm spray of your release hit his tongue. Savoring the taste of you on his swollen lips, he gazed up at you with pride. “That’s my girl.” 

With your legs shaking and your heart pounding, you climbed off of him, watching him sit up and lean back against the couch, his aching cock still trapped inside the confines of his pants. You couldn’t help but lick at your own lips. “Take it out, Yunho…”

Yunho obliged, hastily undoing his leather belt. His sizable cock smacked heavily into his abdomen upon release, leaving a trail of pre-cum behind on his t-shirt. A prominent vein traveled up from the base of his cock to the thick tip where it was an eye-catching shade of pink. It matched the flush on his cheeks and ears. 

Despite being confident about his size, there was a nervous glint in his eyes. “What do you think…?” 

“Pretty…” You were sure you were drooling. 

Chuckling in relief, Yunho patted one of his spread thighs. “Come here, princess. See how pretty it is up close.” 

And you did just that, perching yourself on top of Yunho’s lap like you belonged there. Yunho still couldn’t believe his luck. Not only did he have the privilege of rewatching his favorite movies with his pretty neighbor, but he somehow ended up with you on his cock. He was determined to make it worth your while. “You like being on top, huh?” 

“I just didn’t want to put all the hard work on you,” you pouted, gently running your finger around his tip to collect his arousal, giggling at the way he jolted against your touch. 

“Oh, because I’m like 20 years your senior? Think I can’t handle all this?” he asked under his breath, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass from either side. 

Mewing from his touch, you aloofly licked his pre-cum from your finger, making the man whine in response. “I think you should prove it, Yun,” you whispered near his lips, leaving a chaste kiss against them.  

Yunho’s thick tip entered you first, your cunt slowly stretching open to accommodate his size. “I’ll show you, baby…” Feeling you tense up against him, Yunho made sure he took his time with you, pushing into you inch by inch, diligently studying your face for any sign of discomfort. He did all of this, only for your greedy cunt to swallow up his cock to the hilt. 

You didn’t even know you could feel this full. You were positive he was inside your guts. “Yunho, fuck– it’s so big,” you gasped into his neck. A small puff of air hit the side of your flushed face. 

“You’re just tiny, sweetheart. You can’t help it,” he whispered against your skin, rubbing your lower back in gentle circles. His teeth nipped at your earlobe. “But, you can take it, yeah?” 

You gave him a small nod, but that wasn’t good enough for the man. He pressed his forehead into yours, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “I want to hear you say it, Y/N.” 

When he let out a small breath, you took one in, clutching the sides of his face. “I can take it, Yunho.” 

Yunho began to move before you had the chance to properly ride him, holding your soft hips, using them like handlebars. “Y/N, baby, you’re so tight…” Each thrust he made was purposeful, deep, like he wanted to reach the innermost part of you, and leave his mark there. You were so warm, so hot inside, the man was sure he was going to melt if he continued, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I’m going to make you mine…” 

You choked out a moan, tightening your grip around him. 

“Yeah?” His lips ghosted along your jaw. “That’s what you want?” 

“Please,” you begged Yunho, digging your nails into his back. 

Yunho simply couldn’t hold himself back any longer, not while he had you like putty in his arms, your body limp, completely and utterly at his mercy. “There we go, baby…Don’t worry that pretty head about anything, just focus on this cock.” And he made sure you felt each and every inch of it, figuring he was hitting your cervix from the way you gasped for air like there was none left. 

“Fuck..!” you cried, delirious with pleasure. “I’ll cum, I’m gonna cum, Yunho, please, don’t stop–”

His hips matched the quick, wavered desperation of your voice, pounding himself in and out of your squelching cunt. “Fall apart for me, princess…Let me feel it…” He slipped his free hand between your heated bodies, giving your clit a few vigorous rubs with his calloused thumb. 

You couldn’t speak, simply opening your mouth to let out a soundless moan, your body jolting away from his touch. “That’s it…that’s it, my love, let go,” he sighed against your lips, his thumb still swiping over your sensitive clit, his throbbing length reaching places you never could without his help.

Just as your warmth spilled out of you, Yunho held you still within his firm grasp, his forehead resting against yours. He was almost completely out of breath, a few drops of sweat cascading along his temple. “Inside…?”

You nodded desperately. “Inside, please…” 

Yunho indulged in your mutual desire, pressing his hand down against your tummy to feel the space he took up inside you. He filled you to the brim with his hot white release, so much so that it spilled past your joined bodies and dripped out onto the couch. 

He managed to give you a small sheepish smile when your eyes met. “You’ll really be mine after this, won’t you, kiddo?” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching up to caress his cheek. It was warm to the touch. “Good thing you live right next door.” 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[5rozebub5]

Am I the only one that has serious trouble finding good Batfamily fics that include Steph and Duke but don’t include them getting/already being randomly adopted by Bruce for no reason?

Like I have no problem with that headcanon, it’s literally what fanfic is for, this isn’t meant to be criticism. I just don’t personally agree with it and it is very often not tagged whatsoever

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[be4chywritez]

red red wine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

the week leading up to Quinn proposing to you, and the chaos that follows him.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

One Week Before

You stand in the kitchen of the lake house, absently scrolling through your phone while Jim and Ellen sit at the table, chatting over their morning coffee. Quinn is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jack and Luke beside him, all three listening in as you think out loud.

“I think I’m gonna get my nails done,” you say, mostly to yourself, glancing up from your screen. “I found this cute place nearby on Instagram. Might go check it out.”

Quinn freezes. Luke and Jack do the same, exchanging quick glances before all three of them force identical, strained smiles.

“Here?” Quinn asks, a little too casually.

You nod and turn your phone to show Ellen the pictures. “Yeah, thought it’d be nice to get a little pampered. Ellen, want to come with?”

For a split second, her eyes flick to Jim before she shakes her head with a warm—if slightly nervous—smile. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I think I’ll stay back, got a few things to tidy up around the house.”

You frown slightly, glancing between them. “I mean, I don’t have to go either. I could just hang—”

“NO!”

The entire Hughes family responds in unison, voices overlapping in a loud, comically panicked outburst. Even Jim, who’s been silent all morning, leans forward, wide-eyed like you just suggested setting the house on fire.

Quinn is the first to recover. He clears his throat and plasters on a quick, reassuring smile. “No, honey, you should definitely go. Treat yourself.” He waves a hand toward the door, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant. “Have a nice day out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Okay…?” You drag the word out, suspicious, but slide your phone into your bag anyway. Grabbing your keys, you head for the door, throwing one last curious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Luke lets out a long breath. “Close call.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “She almost caught on already. We need to be more careful, boys.”

Downtown is quiet, the main street lined with flower boxes and little local shops. Lakeside Nails sits nestled between a café and an old bookstore, its windows decorated with delicate white lettering.

A nail tech waves you over with a friendly smile. “Hi! You must be my one o’clock.”

“That’s me.” You settle into the chair as she sets up.

“I’m Maya. What are we doing today?”

You pull up a photo. “Something like this? Just a clean, neutral look.”

Maya nods approvingly. “Pretty! So, just a little solo pampering trip?”

“Sort of. I’m staying at the lake house with my boyfriend and his family. Thought I’d take a little break and explore.”

Maya hums, focusing on your nails. “How’d you two meet?”

You smile, thinking back. “Through mutual friends. He was quiet at first, but then he made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know… I just felt comfortable with him.”

“Those are the best ones,” she says with a grin. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “He really is.”

When you walk back into the lake house, Quinn is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glances up as you come in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. “Let’s see the nails.”

You plop down beside him, holding out your hand. He takes it, running his thumb lightly over your fingers. “Looks good,” he says, approving.

“Glad you think so.” You lean into him as his arm wraps around you, the warmth of his touch settling you into an easy quiet.

The rest of the evening is simple—pasta and salad for dinner, laughter when Quinn drops a handful of cherry tomatoes and watches them roll across the counter. Later, you curl up under a blanket with an old movie on, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. The house is peaceful, filled with the soft flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you. The way his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing everything. Like he’s counting down.

Five Days Before

You wake slowly, the warmth of morning light filtering through the curtains. Quinn’s arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, his breathing steady and close. He stirs, his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, rolling over to face him. His eyes are still half-closed, messy hair falling over his forehead. You trace your fingers along his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don’t realize how he looks at you—like you might disappear if he blinks.

“Honey, we’re on breakfast duty,” you remind him.

Quinn groans, shoving his face into your collarbone, stubble tickling your skin. He mumbles something, voice muffled.

You laugh. “No, we can’t let your brothers do it. Unless you want the house to burn down.”

Another grunt, but this time, he shifts, reluctantly getting up. You follow, falling into your usual morning routine.

As you pull on a sweater, he watches from the bathroom mirror, hoping you don’t dig too far into his sock drawer.

Hoping you don’t find the velvet box.

You don’t, thanks to a the higher power, but it only puts more pressure on Quinn to pop the damn question.

Four Days Before 

The lake house hums with its usual morning energy—Jack and Luke bickering over who gets the last pancake, Ellen moving around the kitchen with effortless ease, and Jim sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper like he’s immune to the chaos around him.

Quinn, however, is focused on one thing.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you sit at the kitchen table, scrolling absently through your phone. Every few seconds, you look up to add something to the conversation, laughing as Luke launches a grape at Jack’s head. Quinn should be listening, should be jumping in with a comment of his own, but instead, his mind is caught on a single thought: How do I get her to buy the dress?

The dress—the one he wants to see you in when he finally asks the biggest question of his life. He saw it a few days ago when you were flipping through your phone, showing Ellen some boutique you wanted to check out. You hadn’t bought anything yet, just admired a few pieces before getting distracted by something else.

Now, with only four days to go, he needs to make sure you pick the one.

Quinn exhales through his nose and glances toward his brothers. Perfect.

Jack notices first, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Quinn silently glare at him. What? he mouths.

Quinn jerks his head toward the living room, signaling them to follow. Jack and Luke exchange a glance but don’t argue, trudging after him as he disappears down the hallway.

Once they’re out of earshot, Quinn turns to them, hands on his hips like he’s about to give them the most important assignment of their lives.

“Alright, I need you two to do something for me.”

Jack immediately groans. “Oh my god, what now?”

“It’s important,” Quinn says, leveling them with a look.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Like, life-or-death important? Or are we talking Quinn-important, which means it’s about the love of your life?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, do we need to prepare a eulogy?”

Quinn ignores them. “I need you guys to get her to buy a dress.”

Both of them stare at him.

“A dress,” Jack repeats flatly. “You dragged us away from breakfast for that?”

“Not just any dress,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels stupid saying it out loud, but if there’s anyone who can pull this off without making it suspicious, it’s these two. “She was looking at this one the other day. It’s perfect for when I—” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, clearing his throat.

Luke catches on first. His eyes widen slightly before he grins. “Ohhh. You mean the dress.”

Jack still looks lost. “What—Oh. Ohhh.”

Quinn nods.

“Okay, so you want us to, what? Trick her into buying it?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.

“Not trick her,” Quinn corrects. “Just… steer her in the right direction.”

Luke grins. “You want us to gaslight her into thinking she needs it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did,” Jack says.

Quinn sighs. “Can you two just do it?”

Luke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q, we got this. She’ll be buying that dress by the end of the day.”

Jack cracks his knuckles. “Time to be annoying.”

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Quinn warns.

Luke grins. “No promises.”

–

You hadn’t really planned on buying anything today.

The town’s little boutique district is charming, with its cobblestone paths and flower boxes hanging from the windows, but you were mostly browsing—taking in the sights, enjoying the crisp summer air, and, apparently, getting bombarded with very strong opinions from Jack and Luke.

“I’m just saying,” Jack starts, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, “you’ve been talking about wanting a nice dress for a while.”

“Have I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Luke, walking on your other side, nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. All the time. Constantly.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Jack ignores you. “And look at this!” He gestures dramatically toward one of the boutique windows. “A whole store dedicated to dresses! What are the odds?”

“Crazy,” Luke deadpans.

You give them a suspicious look. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re great,” Jack says. “But you’d be even better if you had a new dress.”

Luke nods. “The best version of yourself, really.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quickly. “We just care about you. And your wardrobe.”

“Especially that one dress you liked the other day,” Luke adds casually. “That was a good one.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Jack elbows Luke. 

He gives you a pained smile, “intuition?” 

Luke sighs dramatically, turning toward you. “Look,, all I’m saying is that you should try it on. No pressure. No commitment. Just try it on and see how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. ���Worst case? You hate it, and we all move on with our lives. Best case? You look amazing, and you thank us forever.”

You roll your eyes but, against your better judgment, let them lead you inside. The boutique is small but elegant, with soft lighting and carefully arranged racks of clothing. A sales associate greets you warmly, and before you know it, Luke and Jack are pushing you toward the exact dress they’ve clearly been scheming about.

You sigh, running your fingers over the fabric. It is beautiful.

“Just try it,” Luke urges. “For science.”

“For science,” Jack echoes.

You huff a laugh. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, you both owe me coffee.”

“Deal,” they say in unison.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the dressing room, smoothing your hands over the fabric. The dress fits perfectly, hugging in all the right places, flowing just enough to feel effortless. You glance at your reflection in the boutique mirror, tilting your head slightly.

“Well?” Jack asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Luke grins. “Yup. That’s the one.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet, we just helped you find your new favorite dress,” Jack points out.

You sigh. “Fine. But you’re still buying me coffee.”

Luke claps his hands. “Worth it.”

Meanwhile, back at the lake house, Quinn gets a text.

Luke: Mission accomplished.

He exhales, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Three more days.

Three Days Before

The morning sun spills through the windows of the lake house, casting warm golden hues over the kitchen. You hum softly to yourself as you pour a cup of coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. Ellen is at the stove flipping pancakes while Jim reads the newspaper at the table, occasionally sipping his coffee. Jack and Luke sit across from him, bickering over who gets the last piece of toast.

Quinn stands by the fridge, looking unusually tense as he scrolls through his phone. You don’t think much of it—he’s always been the quiet, deep-in-thought type—but there’s something about the way he keeps glancing at you that makes you pause.

"Morning," you say, leaning against the counter as you take a slow sip of coffee. "What's up?"

Quinn's head snaps up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second, he looks almost guilty.

"Uh—nothing. Just checking something." His voice is too quick, too casual, and you narrow your eyes.

Before you can push him further, Ellen calls over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, could you grab the syrup?"

You nod and step toward the pantry, but just as you do, Quinn leans closer to Ellen and whispers something.

You freeze mid-step.

It’s barely audible, just the faintest murmur of his voice, but you catch it. Ellen’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral.

Jim, who’s been mostly uninvolved in the morning chaos, suddenly folds his newspaper with a snap and clears his throat. Jack and Luke immediately stop arguing and sit up straighter, the air shifting ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "Okay, what was that?"

Quinn immediately shakes his head. "What was what?"

"The whispering. The weird glances. Why do you all look like you just got caught committing a crime?"

Jack lets out a bark of nervous laughter. "Pfft, what? No crime here."

Luke elbows him, and he winces. "We were just—uh, talking about, um—"

"The weather," Jim supplies, nodding sagely.

"The weather?" you repeat flatly.

"Yup," Quinn says, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it aggressively like that’ll somehow sell the lie.

You cross your arms, skeptical. "And what, exactly, about the weather required a top-secret family meeting?"

Ellen waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, just—just how lovely it's supposed to be this weekend! Perfect for, um, outdoor activities."

Jack nods. "Yeah, so perfect. Like, suspiciously perfect."

Luke elbows him again.

You squint at them, taking a slow sip of your coffee, watching as they all sit a little too still, looking a little too casual.

Something is definitely going on.

But before you can press further, Quinn suddenly steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Hey, didn’t you want to go into town today?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.

You blink up at him. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Perfect," he says quickly. "You should go. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

Jack and Luke nod in unison. "Yes. Enjoy. Take hours if you need."

Your eyes dart between them. They are terrible liars. But you sigh, deciding to let it go—for now.

"Fine," you say slowly, grabbing your bag. "But if I find out you guys are hiding something from me—"

"You won’t!" they all chorus at once.

You stare for another long beat before shaking your head and heading for the door.

As soon as it closes behind you, Quinn lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Luke whistles. "That was way too close."

Jim chuckles. "You boys need to step up your game. She's sharp."

Quinn groans, rubbing his face. "I know. And we still have two more days of this."

Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, bud. You're gonna need it.

Two Days Before 

The lake stretches out before you, calm and glassy under the moonlight. It’s late—too late to still be outside, but the warmth of summer lingers in the air, and neither of you wants to go in just yet.

You sit beside Quinn on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, bare feet skimming the cool water. The night is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees.

Quinn hasn’t said much in the last few minutes.

He sits close—so close that your shoulders press together, his warmth seeping into you. His hand is resting between you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but is too lost in thought to do it.

You nudge him gently. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhales, a soft, slow sound. "Just thinking."

You tilt your head, watching him. His profile is illuminated by the glow of the moon, sharp angles softened by the night. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten slightly against the dock.

"About what?"

He hesitates, then turns to you. "The future."

Your chest tightens, a warmth blooming there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I was just thinking about... where we'll be, years from now." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What it'll look like."

You smile, leaning into him. "And? What does it look like?"

He glances down at his hands. "Us," he says simply. "Still together. Maybe a house. Maybe a dog." His lips twitch. "You always talk about wanting a golden retriever."

Your heart stutters.

"You actually listen when I say that?"

His brow furrows. "Of course I do."

There’s something so earnest about the way he says it—so completely sure.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I like that version of the future," you say softly.

Quinn looks at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy sitting behind them. For a second, you think he’s about to say something—something big.

But instead, he squeezes your hand.

"Me too."

He presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, then rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, breathing him in, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.

Neither of you says anything else.

But Quinn’s already made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he finds the perfect spot.

And in two days, he asks you to be his forever.

One Day Before 

The lake stretches endlessly before you, a shimmering expanse of deep blue beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze tugs at your hair, and the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulls you into a peaceful state. The water is calm, only disturbed by the occasional ripple from a passing jet ski or the soft lapping against the side of the boat.

You inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you lean back against the cushioned seat. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like time has slowed down.

Jim sits at the helm, hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the open water. His expression is relaxed, a rare sight considering the chaos that usually follows whenever all three of his boys are together.

Ellen sits beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose, a soft smile on her lips as she watches the water shimmer.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she muses, her voice light with contentment.

You nod, shifting slightly to soak in more of the sun. “Yeah, it really is.”

It’s not often that you get moments like this—just the three of you. Usually, Jack and Luke are wreaking havoc, Quinn is rolling his eyes fondly at their antics, and everything is a blur of chirps and laughter. But today is quiet. Peaceful.

You glance around the boat, taking in the emptiness where Quinn should be.

Your chest tightens slightly.

This morning, when you asked him if he was coming, he had been vague—mumbling something about needing to run an errand and promising he’d see you later. You hadn’t pushed, but now, with the afternoon stretching on without him, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Ellen asks gently, tilting her head toward you.

You blink, realizing you had been staring at the empty seat beside you. Forcing a smile, you nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Ellen hums knowingly. “Quinn will be back soon, don’t worry. He’s probably just making sure whatever he’s doing is absolutely perfect.”

Jim chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Sounds about right.”

You frown slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ellen and Jim exchange a quick glance, but Ellen’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh, honey,” she says, reaching over to pat your hand. “We always know something you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of warmth and comfort. You soak up every moment—the way the sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds, the sound of Jim’s easy laughter, the way Ellen insists on reapplying sunscreen to your shoulders even though you swear you’re fine.

And for a little while, you let yourself forget the strange feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Quinn is on a mission.

Your absence is a weight he feels in his chest, but he knows this is worth it.

His boots crunch against the forest floor as he makes his way through the secluded clearing he stumbled upon earlier. The air smells like pine and fresh earth, the quiet only disturbed by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It’s perfect. Tucked away from the main trails, surrounded by towering trees, with a small opening where the lake peeks through.

This is it.

Carefully, he unrolls the string of photos he printed last week, each one capturing a frozen moment in time—the two of you at your first hockey game together, laughing with noses pressed close; a blurry snapshot of you mid-laugh, taken when you weren’t looking; a quiet moment in bed, tangled in the sheets with sunlight painting your skin.

Every single one tells your story.

His hands shake slightly as he fastens them to the branches, adjusting them until they drape just right.

“Dude, this is insanely romantic,” Jack mutters behind him.

Quinn steps back, hands on his hips as he surveys the clearing. The photos sway gently in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight. Everything is almost perfect.

Except for Jack, who is standing in the middle of the setup like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so weird,” Jack complains, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know why I have to be her.”

Quinn sighs, rubbing his temples. “Because I need to make sure everything looks right, and you’re the closest to her height.”

“That’s actually so offensive,” Jack deadpans. “I don’t even know how, but it is.”

Luke snorts from behind the camera. “Just shut up and stand there, man. You’re ruining the vision.”

Jack groans dramatically but doesn’t move. “You owe me for this, dude. Big time.”

Quinn ignores him, stepping closer to adjust the positioning. He takes a deep breath, trying to picture you standing there instead of his little brother, who is doing a horrible job of being still.

“This is where I’ll kneel,” Quinn murmurs, mostly to himself. He drops down, testing the angle, the feel of the moment. His heart races, imagining the way you’ll look—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, the way your breath will hitch right before you say yes.

Jack stares down at him, unimpressed. “I feel like I should be flattered, but mostly I feel like an idiot.”

Quinn huffs, looking up at him. “Can you at least pretend to be in love with me?”

Jack stares blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “Dude. Dude. I cannot take this seriously.” He turns to Luke, who’s adjusting the camera settings. “Are you getting this? The absolute desperation in his eyes?”

Luke barely glances up. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making this worse?” Jack gestures at the setup. “Quinn is professing his undying love to me right now, and I’M the problem?”

Quinn groans, running a hand over his face. “Just shut up and look moved or something.”

Jack schools his expression into something vaguely serious and stares dramatically into the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, voice overly soft. “We’ve been through so much together.”

Luke nearly drops the camera laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes.

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”

Jack smirks, but he does settle down a little, standing a bit more still as Quinn makes the final adjustments.

After a few minutes of adjusting the lighting and the placement of the photos, Luke finally lifts the camera. “Alright, let’s get a test shot.”

Jack sighs dramatically but stays put. Quinn watches as Luke moves around, snapping photos from different angles. He frowns slightly, tilting the camera to check the preview.

“It looks good,” Luke says slowly, adjusting the focus. “But I think we need—Jack, stop standing like that.”

Jack scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like a dude who is about to ask another dude to prom,” Luke deadpans. “You look so uncomfortable.”

Jack throws his arms out. “Because I am uncomfortable! I am literally standing in the middle of a fake proposal, playing the role of my brother’s girlfriend.”

Quinn shakes his head. “Fine. Just—stand normal.”

Jack exhales sharply but follows instructions, his posture finally settling into something less stiff.

Luke snaps a few more photos before nodding. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the shot.”

Quinn steps back, taking in the clearing one last time. The photos, the lighting, the atmosphere—it’s all exactly how he pictured it. His heart pounds as he exhales, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you will be standing here.

Tomorrow, you will be the one in front of him when he kneels.

And tomorrow, you will say yes.

Jack claps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, Romeo. Can we go now? I have literally never felt more single in my life.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness behind it. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Luke stretches, shoving the camera back into his bag. “You better make this the best proposal of all time, bro. Because if we went through all of this for nothing—”

Quinn grins, confidence settling in his chest. “She’s gonna love it.”

Jack sighs dramatically. “You owe us.”

Quinn just laughs, already imagining how perfect tomorrow will be.

That night, you’re curled up in bed when Quinn finally slips into the room. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he slides beneath the covers, pulling you into his arms.

“You have fun today?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hum, half-asleep. “Missed you.”

His chest tightens.

He buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “Missed you too.”

You sigh softly, relaxing into him.

Quinn stays awake long after you drift off, heart thudding with anticipation.

One more night.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Proposal Day

The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow over the lake house. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air as you lean against the counter, watching the Hughes family settle into their usual breakfast chaos.

Jack is the first to steal the last piece of toast off Luke’s plate, and Luke retaliates by flicking a grape at his forehead. Quinn sighs, stirring his coffee like he’s debating whether it’s worth intervening. Ellen is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Jim nurses his coffee at the table, reading something on his phone.

Ellen turns toward you with a smile. “I was thinking,” she starts, “since everyone’s here, we should do a nice family dinner tonight.”

Luke perks up. “Ooh, like a fancy dinner? Do I have to wear a button-up?”

“Yes,” Ellen says firmly.

Jack groans dramatically. “Can I at least wear my nice hoodie?”

Jim barely looks up. “No.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee. “A dinner sounds nice.”

Ellen nods. “Good, because I already bought all the stuff.”

Quinn finally speaks, glancing at you. “You should wear that dress you got.”

You arch an eyebrow. “The one you definitely weren’t scheming to get me to buy?”

Jack and Luke both snicker, and Quinn glares at them before turning back to you, feigning innocence. “What? I just think you’d look really nice in it.”

Luke leans in conspiratorially. “You should do it. Mostly because if you don’t, Quinn will spend the entire dinner sulking and staring at you like a sad puppy.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Jack smirks. “Nope. That’s how we end up with emo Quinn, and nobody wants that.”

Quinn groans. “I hate all of you.”

Ellen hides a smile as she flips another pancake. “You love them,” she corrects.

Quinn sighs, shooting you a hopeful glance. “So, the dress?”

You shake your head, amused. “Fine. But if I do, Luke and Jack owe me dessert.”

Luke claps a hand over his heart. “Done.”

Jack nods. “Easiest deal of my life.”

Quinn smiles to himself, satisfied. One step closer.

Dinner starts out promising enough. The table is set, the food looks amazing, and the sunset paints the lake in warm hues. It should be perfect.

And then… things start to go sideways.

First, Luke—being Luke—tries to help bring the dishes to the table and nearly drops the salad bowl. In his panic to save it, he elbows Jack, who’s carrying a basket of rolls. The bread goes flying, one roll landing directly in Jim’s drink.

“Nice,” Jim mutters, plucking it out with a sigh.

Ellen shakes her head, clearly unimpressed but used to this kind of chaos. “Can we go one meal without something ending up on the floor?”

Jack, unfazed, shrugs. “Technically, it landed in Dad’s glass.”

You try to hold back a laugh as Quinn pulls out a chair for you, but the moment you sit, you realize something is… off. The seat wobbles, just enough to be noticeable, and before you can react, one of the legs gives way entirely.

“Shit—”

You barely manage to catch yourself before fully hitting the ground. Quinn moves fast, steadying you before you can completely fall, but the damage is done. Luke is doubled over laughing, and Jack is wheezing so hard he can’t breathe.

“I—” Jack tries, but he’s laughing too hard to finish. “I swear—we didn’t—touch—that chair—”

Quinn glares at them before looking at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, face burning as you straighten up. “Just my pride taking a hit.”

Ellen sighs. “That chair was wobbly this morning. I told you boys to fix it.”

Jack wipes a tear from his eye. “Well, now we know it was definitely broken.”

Dinner resumes, and for a few blessed minutes, everything is normal. The conversation flows, the food is delicious, and you almost forget about the earlier chaos.

Until Luke, in all his wisdom, decides he needs more steak sauce. He reaches across the table, miscalculating just how close his elbow is to your glass of wine.

The second the glass tips, it’s over.

Red wine splashes everywhere—your dress, the table, Quinn’s sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, pushing back from the table as the cold liquid soaks into the fabric.

Luke freezes. “Oh—oh, shit. Oh, no—”

Ellen is already up, grabbing napkins. “Luke.” Her voice is the kind of exasperated that only comes from years of dealing with sons who can’t sit still. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke looks at you with pure panic. “I—I can fix this—”

Jack leans back, shaking his head. “Man, you just ruined her dress.”

“I know!” Luke groans, looking like he genuinely feels terrible. “I’ll—uh—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Quinn, who’s been silent through all of this, takes one look at you and then turns to Luke with the calmest voice imaginable.

“Get up.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“Get. Up.”

There’s a long pause before Luke, sensing the very real possibility of Quinn throwing him into the lake, slowly pushes his chair back and stands.

Quinn doesn’t hesitate—he grabs Luke’s napkin and dabs at your dress, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I told you not to sit next to her.”

Luke throws his hands up. “How is this my fault?!”

Ellen sighs again. “Alright, alright, it’s just a little wine.” She turns to you. “Honey, let’s go see if we can salvage your dress.”

You follow her inside, but despite her best efforts, the stain refuses to come out.

You sigh, looking at Ellen through the mirror. “Ellen, I think it’s unsalvageable.”

She looks up at you, guilt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

When you return downstairs, Luke looks like a kicked puppy, eyes glued to the floor. Quinn scans your dress, his jaw tightening.

“Goddammit, Luke,” Quinn mutters.

You step beside him, nudging Luke lightly with your foot. “It’s fine, really,” you say softly.

Quinn exhales, rubbing his jaw before looking at you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Right now.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the lake. The sound of crickets hums in the background as you and Quinn walk in comfortable silence, his fingers laced through yours. The chaos of dinner fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him.

Quinn exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… today didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

You squeeze his hand. “You had a plan?”

His smile grows slightly. “Believe it or not, yeah. Kind of.”

You smirk. “Well, that was your first mistake.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

You keep walking, but the farther you go, the more familiar the path becomes. It’s only when the trees thin, revealing a quiet clearing, that you realize where he’s leading you. Your steps slow as you take it in.

Strung between the branches, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and the fairy lights Quinn must have set up earlier, are dozens of photos—memories captured and preserved in time.

Your breath catches as you step forward, reaching out to gently touch one of them. It’s a picture from your first hockey game together, noses nearly pressed together as you grinned at the camera. Another of you mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. One from a lazy morning in bed, sunlight spilling across your tangled limbs.

Every single one tells your story.

You turn back to Quinn, your chest tight with emotion. “You did all this?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I—I wanted you to see what I see. Every time I look at you, it’s just… it’s all of this. Every moment, every memory, everything that makes us, us.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he continues, voice quiet but steady. “I had this whole idea in my head—this big, perfect moment. The dinner, the dress, the way tonight was supposed to go.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “And then Luke knocked wine all over you, and Jack wouldn’t stop chirping, and everything kind of fell apart.”

You smile, tilting your head. “Sounds about right.”

Quinn looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah. But then I realized… this is perfect.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he’s realizing it in real time. “The chaos, the interruptions, the fact that nothing ever goes exactly how we plan it. That’s us. That’s our life.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then lets go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. And suddenly, he’s kneeling before you, a small velvet box in his palm, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“I don’t need the perfect moment,” he says, looking up at you. “I just need you.”

Your heart pounds, your vision blurring as you try to take in everything at once—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers tremble just slightly around the box, the way the entire world feels like it’s tilting on its axis.

“Marry me?” he asks, voice soft but sure.

You let out a shaky breath, a laugh breaking through the tears already forming in your eyes. “Quinn, of course I’ll marry you.”

A breath of relief escapes him before he grins—grins in that rare, open way he only does when he’s truly happy. He stands quickly, slipping the ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

You bury your face in his shoulder, laughing through your tears. “God, I love you.”

His grip tightens around you, his voice warm against your ear. “Love you more.”

By the time you and Quinn make it back, hand in hand, the Hughes family is waiting—Jack and Luke perched on the couch, Jim leaning against the counter, and Ellen practically bouncing in place.

Jack spots the ring first. “Oh my god—”

Ellen claps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You said yes?”

You hold up your hand, and the room erupts.

Jack groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I can’t believe this. Quinn won at life.”

Jim claps Quinn on the shoulder with a proud nod, and Ellen pulls you into a tight hug, murmuring how happy she is for you both.

Luke hangs back, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes darting toward you before dropping to the floor. His face is tight, like he’s been debating something in his head.

You don’t give him the chance to overthink it. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Luke stiffens in surprise before slowly relaxing, exhaling a breath. “I—I really didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” he mumbles, voice small.

You smile against his shoulder. “I know, Luke. It’s just a dress.”

He hesitates before hugging you back, his grip a little tight, like he’s still worried about the whole thing. “I felt really bad.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving a really good speech at the wedding.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—I can do a speech?”

Quinn sighs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I never said that.”

Luke smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Jack groans. “Oh god, this is gonna be unbearable.”

Quinn shakes his head, pulling you back to his side. “I should’ve proposed in private,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Nah. This is perfect.”

And as the Hughes family falls into their usual rhythm of chirps and laughter, as Quinn’s hand tightens around yours, you know that nothing—no chaos, no spilled wine, no wobbly chairs—could have made this moment any better.

beachy’s notes: hello babes please please, please send me fic requests

[rowdydevs]

𝓕𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇵​​🇪​​🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇱​​🇾​ ​🇧​​🇴​​🇽​

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲!𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐇𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲!𝐉𝐉 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝙹 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕.

cw | smut, swearing, pet names, jealousy, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, choking, fingering, squirting, fighting, mentions of blood, oral (male receiving simultaneously), threesome (<- rafe and jj don't kiss - sorry 💋), anal, spanking shower sex, name-calling

𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓻: 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓮𝓫𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮-𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓭 💕🩷

The air at the rink was crisp, carrying the faint scent of ice and sweat. Rafe stands on the opposite side of the boards, his helmet hanging loose from the blade of his hockey stick. His eyes stay locked on the beautiful figure gliding effortlessly across the rink.

You move gracefully, shifting like water, making everything else disappear. You leap and bend, turning like a top—fiercely athletic, leaving him in awe.

He couldn’t look away, not even if he wanted to.

The sound of your blades carve into the ice, rhythmically, unlike his own. It wasn’t just your skill that had him in a daze. It was your sheer focus, the ease with which you did the effortful, effortlessly. It was how you smiled when you landed a jump he couldn’t even begin to compute.

“Holy shit…”

“I know, right?” Rafe responds, JJ’s words hitting him like a slap. He blinks his blue eyes a few times, his head snapping to the left. His teammate stands next to him, his chin resting lazily on the butt of his stick, staring at the same figure skater with addled eyes. Rafe exhales, realizing he’s been holding his breath. He drags his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “Fuck, man. She’s somethin’ else, huh?”

JJ doesn’t respond, too consumed with watching you. Your body turns into a triple toe loop in the air, executing it flawlessly. Rafe looks back at you, feeling a strange mix of admiration and the sting of something else as he catches onto JJ’s mutual desire for you.

“No way she goes here–” JJ mumbles dreamily.

“Nah, I haven’t seen her around campus,” Rafe replies, his voice a little tighter now. He follows your movements on the ice, eyes scanning the sheet, knowing you’d be stepping off any second—his pulse quickens, hands clammy inside his gloves.

The door swings open beside them; a few of their teammates spill onto the ice before you can even get off. They lose you in the crowd, looking around big bodies as they move toward the door themselves.

When the boys fan out of the ice, the skater is gone. Rafe’s eyes scan the arena, catching JJ's search as well, making him more frantic. “Who are you lookin’ for, bud?” Rafe snips, making JJ scoff in disgust.

“Nobody,” JJ answers, letting his lips curl in a smirk.

“You’re such a bitch, dude,” Rafe cracks disgustedly, shoving JJ against the boards.

“I’m a bitch…” He points his gloved hand at his chest, cocking an eyebrow at Rafe. “Comin’ from you, that means shit,” Maybank laughs as he shakes his head.

“The fuck does that mean?” He asks as he slashes him tauntingly with his stick, making JJ throw a punch, nailing Rafe’s arm.

“You know exactly what that means–” JJ's voice trails off as he watches you round the arch of the rink, walking toward the two of them, skimming through your phone. You look up, smiling at the two of them.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak, but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and tongue. JJ steps forward, tripping slightly on his own skate blade, muttering a rushed, “Uh, hey,” before Rafe can get a word in.

“Hi,” you giggle and tilt your head slightly in amusement, looking up at the two men in passing.

Rafe clears his throat, forcing himself to recover, catching your attention. You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes again. “That was… Umm. What you were doing out there was amazing,” he praises.

“Yeah, seriously,” JJ adds a little louder, not to be outdone. “Olympic level, shit. You’re probably the best skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah,” Rafe’s eyes narrow on JJ before returning to you. “I couldn’t do that if I tried.”

Your cheeks warm up at their sweet words. You turn toward them, taking a step closer, making them both blush. “Thank you–” You drag out the word, hoping they’ll fill in the blank with their names.

The names come out in a jumbled mess as the two boys speak over the top of each other. JJ slaps Rafe in the gut with his glove annoyedly, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Rafe Cameron,” Rafe repeats himself with a smile.

“I’m JJ,” he jumps in. “JJ Maybank. And you are?”

You introduce yourself, the sound of your name leaving your lips seemingly making the burly boys swoon. Rafe’s pulse quickens as he watches you smile up at his teammate. “Do you skate here often?” Rafe asks.

“No,” you shake your head and smile, “I go to Harvard… They didn’t have any ice time–”

“Harvard?” JJ questions.

“Mhmm… Just borrowing your ice—”

“You busy tomorrow, sweetheart,” Rafe cuts in, catching you off guard. JJ’s lips tightened, brows furrowing as he looked over at his teammate, frustrated with the forwardness he wished he had at that moment. “We have a game if you want to come. I can put some tickets aside for you.”

“Your game?”

“Yeah,” they both say simultaneously, causing them both to roll their eyes in frustration with each other.

“It’d be awesome to have you there,” JJ smiles as he turns back on the charm.

Their coach's whistle rips through the area, tenseing them both. “Cameron; Maybank. Ice, now!”

“I’ll think about it,” you smile as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, still smitten despite their awkward delivery. You walk away from the two, your figure skating skirt teasing them with each step. The two boys stand back in a daze, watching you until you fall out of sight.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉

“So,” JJ asks, breaking the silence as he tosses a tennis ball lazily, catching it in his hand as he feigns nonchalance. “What’s the move here?”

Rafe flicks his wrist, stickhandling the ball on the carpet as he does the same. Rafe chuckles and shakes his head before looking over at JJ. “You mean my move, yeah?”

JJ snorts in annoyance. “Didn’t say that. Fix your fuckin’ ears, bud.”

“Why is this complicated, huh? I walked out of the locker room first. I saw her first–”

“By a second,” JJ mumbles.

“And?” Rafe asks as his annoyance builds, his stick blade snapping against the puck a little harder.

“Calm the fuck down, Cameron,” JJ taunts as he throws the tennis ball across the room, whizzing by Rafe’s head, making him flinch before hitting the wall, bouncing back to him.

The boys fall silent, focusing on their distractions in hand, trying to mind-read what the other is thinking.

Rafe drops his stick, plopping down on the couch across from JJ when he sees him take out his phone, doing the same himself— he watches as JJ scrolls aimlessly, with a suspiciously focused expression.

Rafe studies your feed–a mix of professional skating shots, pictures at your university, and sexy shots with your friends from your nights out in Boston. He couldn’t stop— each new photo made you seem perfect.

“You’re stalkin’ her profile, you dog,” JJ mumbles, his eyes still locked on his phone.

“Nah…”

“Nah…” JJ mimics Rafe’s tone, his eyes shooting to him and then back to his phone. “Don’t even try to lie. You got that stupid fuckin’ little look on your face.”

“Fine. Maybe. But you can’t tell me you’re not doin’ the exact same thing.”

JJ shrugs, challenging Rafe with his glare. “At least I own it.”

They sit in silence for another moment, the tension building between them until one breaks again. “She didn’t accept my friend request…” Rafe mutters, his voice just above a whisper.

“Same.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know it’s me–”

JJ cackles and grabs the bill of his hat, pulling it over his face in exhaustion with Rafe. “How many Rafes do you know, man?” JJ sneers before letting out a sleepy yawn. “Stupid fucking bitch ass kook ass name,” JJ grumbles just above a whisper.

“You good?” Rafe laughs.

“Never better, Rafe.”

Rafe rolls his eyes in annoyance, continuing to flip through your account. “We don’t even know if she’s comin’...”

“True… You DM her?”

“No,” Rafe says firmly, shooting JJ a side-eye. “Did you?”

“Nope,” JJ’s reply comes out quick and unreadable.

“You’re lyin’,” Rafe scoffs.

“You’re projecting.”

“Big word for you, Maybank,” Rafe chuckles cruelly.

And the truth is, they’re both dying to text you. They knew it was risky—that it would come off as desperate at the very least… as if they weren’t.

Rafe taps his thumbs against the edges of his phone, nerves rising. Fuck it, he thinks as he opens Messenger anyways, shooting his shot.

Rafe: hey its rafe. Just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you earlier. I’m just wondering if you give lessons? Askin for a friend.

He hits send before he can think about it anymore, throwing his head back in instant regret, wishing he would have said something else.

Across the room, JJ’s doing the same thing.

Hey, it’s JJ. I hope you’re havin a great night. I don’t think we mentioned it but the game starts at 8 tomorrow if you're still thinking about it. Hope you can make it

Both boys sit back in their respective spots, trying to act casual. “So,” JJ hums after a moment, turning his head to watch TV, “what are you workin’ on over there?”

Rafe throws his hand behind his head, lounging a little more into the couch. “Doin’ the discussion board for English–”

“Fuckkk,” JJ groans as he picks up his phone, doing the same. ‘Same’, meaning triple-checking to see if you responded to his message or not.

His eyes widened on the screen as he sees the announcement for one new message.

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐ 𝓀𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓃𝓀

The buzz of the game is electric–a sea of maroon and gold–all packed in the bleachers. The student section’s alive with fans, but Rafe only has eyes for one person. You were there, just like you said you’d be, casually dressed in a sweater and jeans, and he swears he’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

Rafe skates onto the ice for warm-ups, forcing himself to focus, but it’s useless. His eyes drift from the game to you. You smile at him, making his heart skip a beat.

“Goddamn, dude,” JJ snaps as the boys nearly collide, his tone teasing but laced with venom nonetheless. “Watch where you're goin’, huh?”

“Please…” Rafe huffs.

“Woah… Look who’s here,” JJ smiles, pointing at her playfully like it was some kind of personal victory.

Rafe’s grip on his stick tightens. He glances toward you again, catching the way you giggle and smile at your friend, hoping you’re saying something about him.

When Rafe turns back to JJ, he sees the same thing mirrored in his teammate’s face. The boys stand there for a moment, the sounds of pucks hitting the boards and teammates shouting fades into the background.

“We’ve got a game to play, Maybank. Focus on that, yeah?”

“Sure, Cameron. You first, huh?” JJ chirps as he passes the puck to Rafe a little harder than usual.

Rafe glares at him, but their coach’s whistle slices through the air before he can retort.

They skate to their positions, consciously trying not to look at you. The first puck drops, both boys know one thing: the competition on the ice isn't the only battle tonight.

The situation took its toll on both; Rafe's focus was broken each time he caught a glimpse of you; meanwhile, JJ’s game was nothing short of reckless in an attempt to impress you. Until it finally paid off, JJ gave the Eagles a 1-0 lead 54 seconds into the third period with a power-play goal, scoring on his own rebound.

The student section erupts with cheers. Rafe glances at the stands, watching you cheer, banging your gloves against the glass, following JJ as he celebrates with his team, feeling a flare of jealousy burn in his chest.

After that, Rafe played like a man possessed: sharp passes, clean footwork, calculated shots until he scored a goal of his own. Of course, the celebration happened against the boards right in front of the student section— Rafe riding that high until the last possible second.

During the third period, everything came to a head. The teams were playing more aggressively, post-whistle trash talk started to become a little more targeted.

Rafe and JJ’s chemistry, usually the glue holding the team together, began to crack. Missed passes, botched plays, and a growing animosity between them became impossible to ignore.

“Rafe! JJ! Pull it together!” The coach screams from the bench, red-faced and furious.

The rival team starts to notice, too.

One of their forwards, leaning on his stick during faceoff, smirks, “What’s the matter, boys? Trouble in paradise?”

Rafe’s mitts tighten around his stick, his blood boiling at the comment and the fact that he let it get this bad.

“Fuck off—”

“Saw you two bitchin’ at each other. What, you fighting over her?” He nods toward the stands. “Pretty little thing.”

The puck drops, and the action starts again, Rafe quickly scoring on a power-play goal from the slot, adding another point to the board.

Before he can celebrate, he gets shoved from the back, sending both teams into a frenzy. Rafe drops his gloves first, lunging at the forward, his fist connecting with his jaw. JJ was right there with him, shoving a rival defenseman to the ice, yelling something incoherent as the refs blow their whistles, trying to pry the teams apart.

The defensemen shoves JJ, sending him back, knocking Rafe in the process. “The fuck are you doing?” Rafe shouts at JJ.

“Me? What are you doing?” JJ fires back, getting in Rafe’s face. “You’ve been skating like shit all night!”

“You’re the one showboating, bitch!” Rafe shoves JJ back; Maybank uses the contact to send the two of them to the ice. The crowd gasps, and the opposing team watches on in confusion as the coach loses his shit from the bench until the two get ripped apart.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” JJ hisses, jerking his arm free from Rafe's grip.

“I’m embarrassing myself? You hit me first!”

“I TRIPPED,” JJ snaps.

“Un-fuckin-likely,” Rafe spits as the two boys get thrown into the penalty box.

They sit there in silence, glaring at each other before one of the boys from the other team skates by, tapping on the glass with a smirk.

“Yo, what’s her name, boys?”

Rafe bites down on the finger of his glove, pulling it off, giving him the finger as he skates back to the center line.

“This is all your fuckin’ fault,” Rafe mutters, his voice low but sharp as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“My fault?” JJ shoots back, kicking out his skates as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Not my fault you can't find the fuckin’ goal, Rafe”

Rafe snorts and laughs. “Oh? You hogged the fuckin’ puck every chance you got just to show off for her.”

JJ laughs bitterly. “At least I have somethin’ to show off. Got two goals, bitch. You got one.”

“I got two, too, you dumb fuck. Is you’re head that far up your ass?”

JJ laughs wickedly, letting his head fall against the glass. “You’re easily forgettable, man. My bad-”

“Check your fuckin’ ego, bitch. We can go round two in here.” Rafe’s stomach drops, JJ’s quickly doing the same. “Wha-What the fuck?” Rafe stammers. “She’s leaving?”

JJ lets out a frustrated sigh. “Yup. And it’s on you, asshole…” He mumbles as the ref skates over, opening the door.

“Me? Maybe if you hadn’t been such a jealous prick—”

“You’re the one who couldn’t handle a little competition!” JJ snarls, cutting Rafe short as they step back onto the ice. Rafe pokes out his stick, tripping JJ slightly as he skates back toward the bench. “Do that again. I fuckin’ dare you,” JJ hisses.

“Calm down,” the ref warns as he skates between them, cutting the tension for a moment.

“I’m going after her,” JJ mumbles as he crashes down on the bench.

Rafe raises an eyebrow. “Good luck with that. You don’t even know where she lives.”

JJ looks across the way, smiling to himself. “Actually, I do.”

“What?”

“She gave me her address last night,” JJ answers smugly, elbowing Rafe tauntingly.

“Well, joke’s on you, pussy. She gave it to me, too,” Rafe smiles that same devilish smile, elbowing him back a little harder making JJ hiss out a sharp breath.

“Game on, Cameron.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

“Hopefully, that beaters faster than your skatin’, bitch!” Rafe scoffs as he shoves open the arena door.

“Says the guy who gets lost in a fuckin’ parking lot. Good luck finding her place first, dumb fuck,” JJ fires back before pushing past Rafe, sprinting to his Bronco.

“Fuck,” Rafe huffs, not prepared for a foot race, his dress shoes pounding against the asphalt as he closes the gap between him and his Audi.

Rafe slams his car door shut, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he peels out of the parking lot. It’s a short drive, only a few blocks, but it feels like forever. His ringed fingers twist around the leather steering wheel, anger rising with every red light he hits.

He pulls into the parking lot, muscles tightening as he hears JJ’s SUV screech to a stop; he doesn't even need to look back to know the race isn’t over. Rafe charges to the front door, tearing it open before running to the elevator, rapidly pushing his finger against the up button.

“Ohhh fuck you,” JJ groans as the elevator shuts just before he can reach it, settling for running up the stairwell instead. The elevator crawls upward. Rafe pulls the door the rest of the way open impatiently before sprinting down the hall, watching as JJ barrels toward him in the other direction.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” Rafe growls, his voice low and lethal.

“Out of my way,” JJ snaps, shoving Rafe’s shoulder as he reaches the door.

“Oh, hell fuckin’ no,” Rafe shoots back, grabbing JJ by the arm.

The shoving turned into grappling, the boys wrestling to the floor. “I was here first!” Rafe grunts, trying to pin JJ against the ground.

“Like hell you were!” JJ barks, shoving the bigger boy off him.

The noise echoes through the hallway—shoes scraping, muffled swears, and the occasional thud, so chaotic you hear it from the other end of the door.

Both boys freeze mid-struggle, their hands still gripping each other’s suit jackets when you open the door. They turn to you, seeing you standing there wide-eyed, dressed in a satin robe, stunned and silent.

“Uh…” JJ starts, but his voice cracks as he struggles to his feet.

“We–Umm. We just…” Rafe stammers, releasing JJ as he stands up, combing his messy hair back as JJ fixes his tie.

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, lips twitching as you fight back a smile. “That was fast,” you say, your voice light and teasing. “You both smell like hockey, you know?”

Their cheeks flush in embarrassment. Rafe hangs his head and nods as JJ looks away–the boys trying their best to collect themselves.

Rafe lifts his head, his pretty blue eyes resting on yours, replaying your words before his face lights up. “You… were waiting?” Rafe asks, his words still breathless from the struggle.

You nod, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I figured you’d both get here eventually. Though I wasn’t expecting this.” You giggle, gesturing to their sweat-soaked bodies and disheveled game-day suits.

JJ scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Rafe before looking back at you. “We just… We both just want to–”

“Talk,” Rafe adds, quickly cutting JJ off.

“Talk?” You ask as you quirk an eyebrow. “You just wanted to talk to me?”

Rafe and JJ exchange a look, suddenly at a loss for words. You sigh, stepping back to open the door wider. “Let’s talk then...”

The door closes behind them; Rafe and JJ shuffle in awkwardly. Your space is cozy–warm lighting, a comfy couch, and the faint scent of a vanilla candle wafting through the air.

“So,” you ask as you sit down on the couch. Your robe falls open slightly, showing off your upper thigh, the top swooping low, giving them just a tease of cleavage. Rafe’s eyes fall to a lusty haze, JJ’s lashes fluttering as he swallows thickly. “What’s going on, boys,” you ask through a half-laugh. “What was that about?” You gesture toward the hallway.

“It’s because of you,” JJ says bluntly, though his tone softened. “We both… like you.”

“Both of you?” You ask with a smile.

“I mean… You were talking to us both,” JJ sulks under his breath. “‘Course we do—”

“Look,” Rafe says, “I think we both got carried away. But the thing is… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

JJ nods in agreement. “Same. You’re incredible. I just didn’t expect him to get in the way,” JJ gestures toward Rafe, letting his annoyance bleed through.

“Fuck off,” Rafe mumbles. “We both know who saw her first—”

“You two are impossible,” you giggle. “I mean, I knew you were competitive, but this?” You wrinkle your nose teasingly. “Did I mention you both stink?”

Rafe winced. “Sorry about that, sweetheart.”

JJ looks at you sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry, pretty.”

“Mhmm…” You hum. “And you,” you whisper as you stand up from the couch, walking over to Rafe, watching as his breath catches in his chest. You run your thumb along your tongue before smudging the little bit of blood off his gashed cheek. “You're bleeding. Did you know that?”

He shakes his head ‘no’ and bites his lip, looking down at you with a smile. “Here’s the thing,” you say, your voice quiet as you lean closer. “I didn’t want to pick between you.” You keep your eyes set on Rafe’s as you reach over, grabbing JJ by his suit jacket and pulling him closer.

The boys blink, their heads tilting slightly as their brain plays catch up with the words leaving your lips. “What?” They mumble in unison.

“I like both of you,” you whisper. “I don’t think I could choose. At least… not right now. Are you gonna make me?” You tease.

“N-No—” JJ stammers

“No. Fuck no,” Rafe pushes out the reply JJ’s too flustered to get out himself.

“—But you two just wanted to talk, huh?” You flirter as your fingers toy with the satin bow at your waist, tugging at it.

“Absolutely not,” JJ blurts. His jaw falls slack as the delicate material falls to a puddle at your feet. Rafe and JJ exchange glances, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. “Holy shit, you're serious…” JJ’s voice comes out needy and hoarse.

Rafe let out a slow breath, his mind racing as his eyes fall down your body.

You take Rafe by surprise, pressing your lips against his. As soon as you do, he’s fighting off his suit jacket between messy kisses, the two of you working on the buttons of his dress shirt.

Rafe smiles against your lips as his shirt falls to the floor, quickly pulling you closer, pushing his skin on yours.

You reach over, grabbing JJ by his tie, pushing Rafe back slightly, and just as you turn, JJ’s mouth finds yours. Your fingers scratch into JJ’s damp hair, tugging him closer as he tilts his head, letting his tongue slip inside your mouth as Rafe works on his pants.

Rafe pulls down his boxers and hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you off JJ’s lips and back onto his. His tongue dips in your mouth before sucking off yours. Rafe slows down slightly, letting the rough pad of his finger circle your nipple, making you whimper against his lips.

JJ steps closer, his hard cock brushing against your thigh; his lips find your neck, sucking down harshly as your tongue swirls with Rafe’s.

“Shower... Now,” you mumble as you pull away from Rafe, pressing a kiss against JJ’s lips next.

“Yeah, Princess?” JJ asks, but before he can snatch you away, Rafe takes you into his big arms, picking you up off your feet.

“Start the shower, Maybank,” Rafe hums smugly against your lips as he gets you to himself for a minute. JJ scoffs, rolling his eyes before heading toward the open bathroom door. You scratch your nails into Rafe’s hair as he deepens the kiss, rolling your body into him, feeling your wetness transfer to his hot skin as JJ turns on the shower.

“Hurry the fuck up, man,” JJ mutters as Rafe saunters over, taking his time with you. “Set her down,” JJ snips as the two of you pass through the threshold into the bathroom, making Rafe chuckle darkly–heat already swirling around, the sounds of water pouring out the head and panting breaths filling the small room from your kiss.

Rafe pulls back, looking at you half-lidded, the pupils of his blue eyes blown with lust as he mumbles a simple. “No,” to JJ with a look on his face lets you know he means it.

You lean in, brushing your soft lips against his. “This isn’t gonna work if you don’t share,” you whisper.

“Do I have to,” Rafe hums.

“Yes, you fuckin’ have to,” JJ answers for you, his brows pinched together in disgust.

“I’m listenin’ to you. I'm not listenin’ to him,” Rafe replies as he steps with you into your walk-in shower.

“Share,” you chuckle breathily. Rafe sucks his teeth and rolls his eyes, setting you down on the cool tile floor.

You shiver from the chill as you adjust to the temperature; Rafe and JJ’s hands are all over you fast. They alternate between kissing your lips and kissing your neck, handing you back and forth as your hands run down their broad chests, dipping into the divots of their cut abs.

You pull away from their lips, reaching over for the soap. The boys do the same, their slick hands gliding over your curves with ease–toying with your tits, squeezing your ass, teasing your inner thighs, both too hesitant to play with your pussy just yet.

That all changes when your fingers wrap around her cocks, pulling to the tip, making low moans rumble in their throats. Their hands quickly bump into each other, fumbling to get to your pussy first. Rafe smiles against your lips as he takes the win, circling your clit. You gasp against his lip as JJ slaps your ass.

“Co’mere,” JJ hums, beckoning you off Rafe’s lips and onto his. JJ’s hand sneaks between your ass checks, the tip of his finger rubbing over the tight rim of your ass as Rafe stuffs two long fingers in your pussy. Rafe rolls his thumb on your clit, curling his fingers in your soaked pussy.

Your thighs start to tremble uncontrollably, breathing a little quicker as Rafe’s skilled fingers work on you.

Your moan bounces off the wall as Rafe pushes a third finger inside you, quickly sending you over the edge. Your body flutters around his thick digits as you come undone.

He slips his fingers out of your slick cunt, bringing them to his lips before sucking them clean.

“Holy shit,” JJ mumbles in disbelief as his pretty blue eyes follow you to your knees. Rafe looks down at you as well, breathing heavily, his muscular chest heaving with every deep breath.

“Is this okay?” You ask as you look up at them through wet lashes, your fingers ghosting up the bottom of their dicks to the tip just like you did before, this time just inches from your lips, making them both take a step closer in anticipation.

“Is this okay?” Rafe laughs as he repeats your words, his long, thick cock throbbing in your hand.

“Mhmm,” you whisper as you lean closer to him, letting your tongue flick up his fat tip, catching a bead of precum before it can get washed away.

“Fucking perfect, princess,” he mumbles as his lips part, mimicking your own. He belts his large fist in your hair, pulling you closer. You wrap your lips around his tip, making his muscles flex as you take more and more. “Good fuckin’ girl,” Rafe praises as you gag on as much as much of him as you can get.

You bob a few times back and forth on his length as your other hand palms JJ’s balls, rolling them in your slight hand.

You push away, turning your head toward JJ, before wrapping your lips around him. Your hand continues to stroke Rafe’s cock, drawing out deep moans from them both. You curve your tongue around the bottom of JJ’s dick, tracing to the tip before swirling around his crown, making him clutch the tile wall for support.

Rafe grabs your wet hair, pulling you back to him, thrusting into your mouth, causing tears to spring in your eyes, the water from the shower quickly carrying them away as JJ fucks your fist with the same vigor.

Their moans and breathing get louder and heavier, the two men moving closer until you're practically bouncing between the two of them: stroking, sucking, swirling, kissing, until they’re both mumbling orders telling you to open wide.

You lay out your pretty pink tongue–ropes of pearly white cum quickly panting your face and tongue as they finish in succession; one after the other.

The boys breathe heavily, heads thrown back to the ceiling as the water washes away the rest of the mess on your face, you, swallowing the rest.

“Goddamn,” JJ groans in satisfaction as he helps you to your feet, quickly pulling you into a tender kiss. Rafe fingers lace in yours, tugging you to him for the same.

“What do you want from us, baby?” Rafe asks.

His tongue slides against yours as his large hand traces between your thighs, cupping your pussy in his big hand, making you whimper against his soft lips.

“Fuck, Rafe…”

“You make such pretty sounds, princess,” he whispers as JJ cuts off the water.

“I want both of you,” you smile against his lips.

“Yeah… I can feel that,” Rafe chuckles deeply, feeling the silky wetness of your arousal on his fingers. “What do you want, pretty?”

“Yeah, princess,” JJ murmurs as he walks behind you, finding the sweet spot on your neck as his large hands grab your hips. You giggle breathily as the two boys sandwich you together; the heat of their big bodies keeping you warm. “How do you want us?”

“Just like this…” You whisper against Rafe’s lip as you arch your back slightly, pressing your ass into JJ’s hard cock.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks with an airly rasp, speaking to you like he’s living in a dream. “You want me to cum in your pussy?”

“Mhmm–” You mumble. “I want you to cum in my pussy. And you,” you whisper as you reach your hand back, hooking around the JJ’s neck, kissing him over your shoulder. “I want you to fill my ass—”

“—Holy fuckin’ shit,” JJ mumbles under his breath, riding the same high as Rafe.

“Corner of the bed; I’m gonna ride Rafe. And you’re gonna take care of me. Think you can do that, baby?” You ask JJ as your lips brush against his.

“I can do whatever you want, princess,” JJ mumbles as he pulls you into his arms this time, lifting you off your feet.

The three of you move into the bedroom; Rafe reaches for you fast, doing exactly what he’s told.

You straddle his lap, grinding your slick cunt against him as you kiss him deeply.

You jump and squeak as JJ’s large hand cracks down on your ass again, spanking your bare skin hard enough to leave behind a stinging heat that has you aching to be filled.

JJ rubs his large hand over it, soothing the pain as you circle your hips on top of Rafe, driving him insane.

You push Rafe to his back, the man quickly grabbing your wrist, taking your fingers in his mouth, biting and sucking as JJ bends you over slightly, thumbing over your taunt hole just like before, running a line of spit down on your body.

You reach between your thighs, clutching Rafe’s thick cock in your fist, stroking as your lips meet his.

JJ taps his swollen tip against your ass before gliding his dick through your soaked slit, using your slick as lube.

You trace Rafe’s velvety tip around your drooling hole as Rafe looks between your legs, eyes dazed as your pussy swallows him whole. “So fucking wet,” he moans through panting breaths, your eyes fluttering shut as you take him all.

Your nails sink into Rafe’s muscular chest, breasts moving with you as you bounce on his cock. Rafe bites his bottom lip between his teeth, trying his best to keep his eyes on you, fighting to keep them from rolling back.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe mumbles–his voice fucked-out and hoarse–muscular body glistening from the shower still. He raises his hand, pressing it against your stomach, feeling himself work in and out before letting his hand fall lower.

You gasp and moan as his thumb finds your clit, rolling on top as JJ pushes his girthy tip into your tight hole.

“Sh-Shit,” you whimper, feeling your eyes glass with tears at the burn and the stretch, the men pushing your body to the limit.

Rafe wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you down to his lips as JJ spits on what’s left of his cock before gliding the rest of the way in as Rafe swallows your moans and cries.

Your body trembles in Rafe’s arms as you adjust to two men, filling you fully. “You okay, princess?” Rafe asks softly against your lips.

“Mhmm… So fucking good, baby,” you hum, feeling him smile against your lips.

“You like me better,” he breathes, his voice barely heard over your panting breaths and JJ’s. “Don’t you, pretty?”

“Are you gonna tell on me?” You whisper.

“Maybe,” he smiles as he grabs hold of your hips, lifting you slightly before fucking up into your pussy nice and slow.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you mouth as you look down at him. He shrugs teasingly, looking at the space between you, watching the way your wet pussy drips down his rock-hard shaft, running down his balls onto the mattress below.

“Mine,” he mouths back smugly, making you smile; JJ’s none the wiser.

JJ starts to stroke nice and slow, too, wrapping his hands around your body, taking two fistfuls of tits.

The two boys start to move in and out, hitting all the right spots, your pleasure so strong you feel like you could pass out.

Rafe drives his heels into the floor, throwing his hips up into you again and again, the angle making your toes curl, your hands reaching up to grasp JJ’s wrists for support.

“So fuckin’ tight,” JJ mumbles, warm against your neck. He snaps his hips. His toned body clapping against your ass with each stroke, making your vision blur.

The sounds of your pleasure fill the room as they keep a brutal pace, sending you closer and closer to the edge.

Your eyes slam shut; body unable to take much more. Rafe grabs your wrists, forcing your hands onto his chest again. He reaches up, gripping your cheeks with a single hand, making your heavy eyes lift open on his.

“I know you’re gonna cum, baby. So am I. Cum with me,” he mutters as their movements get messier and rougher.

“Fuck,” you scream as your body gives way, pussy gushing and pulsing around Rafe’s throbbing length, your climax pulls the boys with it, the two cumming hard, filling both holes to the brim.

You tumble down on the bed, falling into Rafe’s arms as JJ clutches your hips tightly, pushing himself as deep as he can go.

Rafe turns your cheek, lifting your lips to his for a gentle kiss, the two of you breathe heavily together as the three of you come down from your highs.

Rafe smiles in satisfaction, burying himself in your neck, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“You’re mine, princess.”

⊹ 💌 ⁺ ˳ ✿ . ♥️ ࿐

dividers | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[oaksgrove]

The Codebreaker

pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Reader

synopsys: You had always kept your distance from the team—focused, distant, and hidden behind a mask. But when a mission goes wrong and you get gravely injured, the team is forced to confront what they’ve never seen: the person behind the mask.

warnings: Angst, injury, near-death experience, trust issues, emotional tension, some swearing, Ghost being protective, emotional revelations, Ghost and Reader’s situationship…

word count: 1798

No one in the 141 knew much about Phantom.

You were a ghost among ghosts, a shadow wrapped in tactical gear. A tech expert, the best they’d ever seen—able to slice through encrypted networks like butter, reroute enemy drones mid-air, and turn any battlefield into a controlled digital playground. If the mission required intel, misdirection, or cyber sabotage, Phantom had it covered before anyone even finished asking.

But off the field?

You blended into the background, as if you were part of the walls. Not unfriendly, just… distant. Spoke only when necessary, never rude but always concise. Answered when asked, nodded when acknowledged, but never lingered in conversations longer than needed.

You weren’t cold, just hard to grasp.

A constant presence but never the center of attention.

The others noticed, of course.

Soap had once muttered to Gaz, "He doesn't take up space."

And he was right.

You never interrupted, never inserted yourself into banter or stories. When you were in the room, you were invisible in a way that had nothing to do with their tactical skills. You occupied the corner of the rec room with a laptop, earbuds in, or sat with a sudoku book in your hands, solving puzzles in complete silence. Always listening but never there in the way the others were.

Even in base, You never exposed their face or body. Gear came off only in private, always ensuring no one caught so much as a glimpse of skin. High-collared undershirts, gloves, layers—never a stray detail out of place.

The team accepted it without question.

Phantom, how you were called, was an expert at keeping unknown.

And everyone just assumed you were a man.

Soap had tried, on multiple occasions, to break through that quiet shell, determined to make some kind of dent.

"Do you ever relax, Phantom?"

"I’m relaxed now."

"Christ, mate, that’s sad."

Phantom hadn’t reacted, just kept solving their sudoku puzzle.

Gaz had once thrown a pack of gum at you during a mission debrief, just to see if you’d catch it without looking. You had, effortlessly, then tossed it back without a word.

Price trusted you without hesitation. He never questioned the silence, never pushed for more than they were willing to give. If Phantom said something was secure, it was secure. If Phantom gave a time frame, Phantom met it.

And Ghost?

Ghost understood you in a way the others didn’t. He never pried, never asked. He knew what it was like to live behind a mask, to carry a name that wasn’t really a name.

Phantom wasn’t close to the team—not in the way they were with each other. But they were part of it. A constant presence, woven into the unit’s rhythm.

And that was enough.

Until the mission where everything fell apart.

"We’re in and out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary noise" Price said, voice steady as he laid out the plan.

A cartel base deep in hostile territory. High-value intel buried in their systems, locked behind multiple layers of encryption. The team needed Phantom to get in, extract the files, and be out before anyone knew they were there.

Easy.

For them, at least.

"I’ll crack their network before we breach," You said, tapping at your wrist console. "Should have access to their security feed before we even hit the ground."

Price nodded. "Ghost, Soap—you’ll be Phantom’s cover. Gaz and I will clear the outer perimeter. We move fast. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Good. Wheels up in ten."

Phantom did a final check of their gear, making sure their mask was secure, their gloves snug against their fingers. The mission was simple.

They’d done riskier ops before.

So why did something feel… off?

The op started smoothly.

You breached the cartel’s network before your boots even hit the ground, feeding the enemy false security reports and rerouting camera feeds. The team moved through the compound like shadows, taking down targets with ruthless efficiency.

They reached the objective with zero complications.

Too easy.

You worked fast, fingers flying across their portable console as they pulled the files. They barely glanced up when Ghost muttered, "Make it quick."

A few more keystrokes—then a small confirmation beep.

"Got it."

Price’s voice came through comms. "Extraction point secure. Move."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

The moment they stepped outside, the alarms blared.

"Shite," Soap cursed.

Your blood went cold. "That’s not me. I disabled their systems—"

Gunfire erupted before they could finish the sentence.

The cartel had known they were coming.

A goddamn trap.

"Move!" Price barked, his voice sharp through comms.

The team pushed forward, cutting through enemies as they raced toward the extraction point. You stayed low, recalibrating your wrist console to jam the cartel’s reinforcements.

Everyone was so focused on the fight that they didn’t see the sniper.

Not until it was too late.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your chest.

You staggered, breath catching, as your body folded under the impact. Their gloved hand pressed to their vest, but it was already warm, slick. Blood. Too much of it.

Distantly, you heard Soap’s frantic voice through comms.

"Sniper! Tech's hit—shit, they’re down!"

Boots pounded against the ground—Ghost, closing in fast.

"Stay with me, mate," he ordered, voice tight as he dropped beside them. "Keep your eyes open."

You tried, really tried, but breathing wasn’t working right.

Every inhale rattled, wet and sharp, drowning them from the inside. Panic clawed at their ribs.

Ghost’s hands were on their mask.

"Gotta get this off," he muttered.

A sharp pocket knife was pulled from his belt—a sleek line drawn across your mask—then cool air hit your face.

Ghost froze.

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you felt like drowning.

Pain swallowed you whole.

It was the first thing you felt, the first thing that told you—you were alive. It burned, sharp and relentless, twisting inside your ribs like a serrated knife. Every breath rattled, wet and broken, lungs struggling to work through the thick haze of agony.

Something beeped steadily nearby. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, cold and sterile. The weight of blankets pressed down on you, too heavy, too confining.

Hospital.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the IV in your arm. The world blurred and steadied, the dull light above flickering as you forced your gaze to shift.

You turn your head sluggishly, and that’s when you saw them—you weren't alone.

Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap.

They stood around your bed, too still, too silent.

Their usual confidence, their sharp-edged ease—gone. In its place was something heavier. Something unfamiliar.

"How bad?" you rasped.

Soap let out a breath—sharp, unsteady. "You almost died, lass."

Lass.

The word lodged deep, piercing more than the bullet had.

Right, they knew now.

Something cold curled in your stomach.

Price’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. "Shot went through your lung. We barely got you out."

You swallowed, gaze fixed on the IV in your arm. "It doesn’t change anything."

A scoff. Bitter. Tired. Ghost.

"Yeah, it does."

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t a reprimand, or an accusation.

They were quiet. Weighted.

Gaz ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Bloody hell, Phantom. We didn’t know what to think."

They were still processing it. Still recalibrating everything they thought they knew. Phantom could see it in their faces—the way their eyes traced over her now, like they were seeing her for the first time. Like they were realizing how much they didn’t know.

"Should’ve told us," Price murmured, not unkindly.

Not a command. Not even a question. Just… something else. Something you didn’t know how to name.

You wet your cracked lips. "Would it have made a difference?"

Ghost’s jaw tightened, gaze darkening. "You wouldn’t have been bleeding out on the ground with a mask suffocating you."

Silence.

Cold. Heavy.

Soap let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked… lost. Frustrated. "Do you even trust us?"

The question settled like a weight on your chest.

Did you?

You had spent years making sure no one got close enough to ask. It had always been easier that way—no questions, no attachments, no complications.

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Price’s voice was quieter now, steady. "Look, we’re not mad. We just—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "We care, kid. That’s all."

Gaz nodded. "You’re family, Phantom."

Family.

The word dug into your ribs like shrapnel.

Your fingers curled into the stiff fabric of the blanket, lungs too tight, throat raw.

Soap sighed, rubbing his temples. "Christ, lass. We thought we lost you." His voice cracked. Barely noticeable. But it still struck like a bullet between your ribs.

Ghost was silent. Arms crossed, shoulders tense. His usual unreadable mask firmly in place—except for the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve.

Like he was holding something back.

Like he was holding himself together.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to people giving a damn about whether you came back or not.

"I’m here," you muttered, unsure if it was meant to reassure them or yourself.

Ghost’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable but piercing.

"Yeah," Ghost murmured. "Barely."

You wanted to joke, to brush it off, but there was no dodging this.

Not when you had seen the way they’d looked at you the moment you woke up.

Not when the usual mate had been replaced by lass and she.

Soap let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Y’know, I should’ve guessed. You were always too fuckin’ quiet. The real mystery is how we didn’t clock it sooner."

You raised a brow. "Because I made sure you didn’t."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well, I’m starting to think we should’ve pried a little harder."

"You would’ve gotten nowhere," you muttered.

"Yeah, I’m getting that."

There was a long pause, thick with something unspoken.

Then, Ghost shifted closer, standing at the side of the bed. "You’re one of us, Phantom." The words were calm, certain. "Doesn’t matter what’s under the mask. Never did."

Your throat tightened.

Price sighed, stepping forward and placing a careful hand on your shoulder—solid, grounding. "We’ve got your six, Phantom. Always."

Gaz nudged your foot lightly, the closest thing to a brotherly shove he could manage with you stuck in a hospital bed. "Next time, don’t scare the shit out of us, yeah?"

You exhaled a soft, tired laugh. "No promises."

Soap groaned. "Jesus. We’re doomed."

Laughter rippled through the room, something lighter breaking through the tension.

You let your eyes drift over them—these men who had been her teammates, her squadmates, but were now something else entirely.

Family.

It still felt foreign. 

strange even.

But maybe, just maybe…

You could learn to live with it.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[bitchesuntitled]

Fresh Meat

Joel Miller x F!Reader wc: 3,452

Summary: Finally deciding to get your first tattoo, you go to the best in the business - Joel Miller. Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+, No outbreak AU, Joel is a tattoo artist, Explicit Language, random female character(iykyk), reader has shoulder length hair, unprotected PinV, fingering(f!receiving), Joel Miller has a filthy mouth(I blame Pedro’s gym picture for this) , I went off memory on tattoo aftercare, reader is getting her first tattoo A/N: First, thank you for your eyeballs and help on this one @beefrobeefcal, @noxturnalnymph, @jennaispunk, and @strang3lov3. Second, this is a very belated birthday present for @jay-zzle who I have screamed about more times than I can even count. It all started with her making a random post looking for Pedro Pascal character fic recs and here we are over a year later! I would not even be writing if it weren't for her. I love you, I'm so very glad we met and I’m so happy you are in my life ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist||AO3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

The thought has crossed your mind plenty of times. It wasn’t as if your family was against tattoos. It was just a lot to consider, between marking your body permanently, and the pain of a needle stabbing into your skin hundreds of times. What if you wake up one day, look at yourself in the mirror and hate it? What then? Laser removal is more expensive than a tattoo and, from what you’ve heard - even more painful.

You’ve done the research, asked the right questions and on your twenty-seventh birthday, you finally decide to bite the bullet and do it. You’re getting tattooed by the Joel Miller. He’s been in the tattoo business for over thirty years now. You studied his line work extensively, scrolling through his Instagram page for hours on end. His name is in tattoo magazines around the world claiming to be one of the best in the business. You steady yourself before grabbing the door handle, feeling the cool steel against your palm, before pulling it open to hear a ding above your head.

“Afternoon, sweetheart,” the platinum-blonde woman says, giving you a friendly smile. “What can I help you with?”

“Uh, J-Joel?” You stammer, eyes wide looking around the shop, colorful pieces of art plastered on the walls, the faint sounds of buzzing surround your ears like a mosquito searching for a spot to bite, “I’m su- supposed to meet-,” you clear your throat, shaking your hands against your sides, gripping the strap of your purse that rests across your body tightly, letting out a nervous chuckle, “Sorry, nervous. I have an appointment with Joel.”

“Ah!” She smirks, clicking around on the computer in front of her. “You must be his three o’clock! Girl, you got lucky with that cancellation. He’s been completely booked for the next six months!” She adds with a laugh, lightly smacking the counter before leaning her tiny frame against it. “Joel!” Her voice booms, “Your three is here!”

“Ah, fresh meat!” Joel’s voice echoes down the hall. “Think she can handle it, Miko?”

“I think so,” she shrugs, smiling while eyeing you up and down. “This your first?”

“Yeah,” you murmur shyly, eyes glancing at your shoes, kicking nervously at the checkered floor.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she beams proudly, “Joel will take good care of you!”

—

You sit in the chair, glancing around the walls of the room. Multiple magazine cutouts praising Joel’s work are hung in black frames, and beautiful artwork is scattered throughout the space. You notice a sticker plastered on the wall that says No Weenies Allowed and let out a soft laugh.

“So you’re wantin’ it behind your ear?” Joel asks. You jump at his sudden presence, stepping into the room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he smirks, “Didn’t mean to spook ya.”

“It’s okay.” You state, feeling your face heat up. “Uhm, yeah, I was hoping to get it behind my ear, like right here.” You rub the spot behind your ear with a single finger, dangerously close to your hairline. The messages you and Joel had swapped back and forth; he had mentioned possibly needing to shave some of your hair to do the tattoo.

“Ya mind?” He asks, sitting on a stool before you, studying where your finger sits.

“Go ahead,” you murmur, moving your hand away to make room for him.

Joel reaches toward your neck, gently brushing your hair back to examine the spot behind your ear. His hand rests gently against the side of your neck, covering most of it. Your breath hitches, feeling the warmth radiating from his palm. He hums, stroking his thumb against the spot behind your ear.

“Good news,” Joel smirks, his big brown eyes looking into your own, “Shouldn’t have to shave any of your hair.”

“Th- that’s good!” You stutter with a shy smile as his thumb continues stroking the spot behind your ear. “Is it a good spot for my first?” You ask, feeling your face get hot again.

“S’perfect.” Joel whispers, “No need to be nervous. I’ll take good care of ya.” He adds with a playful wink.

—

“A’right,” Joel starts, putting on a pair of black latex gloves and grabbing a razor. “You’re not allergic to anything, right?”

“No.” You squeak out, glaring at the comically small razor in his hand. “I thought we didn’t have to shave my hair?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He grins, “Jus’ gotta get the baby hairs off your neck. Won’t touch any a’ that beautiful hair on your head.” He grabs a bottle off the small table beside the chair, squeezing a small amount of the cool liquid out behind your ear before gently gliding the razor across your delicate skin.

“I noticed the ‘No Weenies Allowed’ sticker, but what if I am one?” You ask, a soft giggle escaping your lips. He moves to throw away the razor in a container labeled sharps on the wall.

“Nah, you’re a tough one,” he laughs, turning slightly to look at you, giving you a wink, “Can feel it in my bones. Gonna put the stencil on ya next.”

“Where did you get that, anyway? " you ask, pointing at the sticker in an attempt to distract yourself from the shiver running down your spine as he rubs more of the cool liquid onto your skin with a paper towel. His knuckle nudges against the side of your chin, turning your head slightly to the side, and he gently places the stencil against that spot behind your ear, smoothing it out firmly with the pads of his fingers.

You can feel your face growing warmer again. You knew Joel was attractive by the pictures you’d seen of him, but in person? The ink etched into his skin, the dark brown of his irises, the broad expanse of his shoulders, his gentle but firm touch against your skin, the easy way he can soothe your nerves, the way he walks you through the entire process, there’s no wonder why they say he’s the best in the business.

“My kid got it for me! Thought it’d be perfect for the shop.” He states, gently removing the stencil and fanning your neck with his hand. “Gotta let that dry for a bit.”

You let out a soft sigh, waiting for the stencil to dry, listening to him prepare the small table beside him. His fingers gently tap against your neck. “You can go ahead and look in the mirror. Make sure you like the spot; if you don’t, we can move it.”

You stand from the chair, walking towards the mirror, and turn your head trying to glance at the stencil placement.

“Shit,” Joel grunts, standing up “Wasn’t even thinkin’. Sorry, sweetheart, here.” He stands behind you with a mirror. He brushes your hair back, placing the mirror for you to see the stencil more clearly. Your smile is beaming as you see the outline on your neck, chancing a look at Joel in the mirror. His eyes meet yours, a soft smile on his face as his broad body stands so close behind you. “Like it?” He asks. You nod, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Just gotta get a couple more things ready.” He states, walking back to his stool, “Go’head and sit back down.” His biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt as he shakes a bottle full of black ink, squirting the ink into small containers on the table. Your mouth feels dry, watching him move around like an expert within the little corner of his shop. “I have to show you that this is a brand new needle,” Joel instructs, showing you the packaging of a needle. Your smile falters, eyes widening, staring at the needle, nodding dumbly as he opens it and places it within his tattoo gun.

“Okay,” he announces, fiddling with the tattoo gun in his hands, starting and stopping it randomly, “ya ready?”

You take a deep breath in, slowly letting the air escape your lungs before nodding. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you murmur.

“Go ‘head and turn your head towards the wall for me, darlin’,” Joel says, his thick fingers lightly pushing your chin in the direction he wants you to go.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths in and out, awaiting the feel of the needle against your skin.

“Here we go,” Joel murmurs in your ear, you hear the buzzing of the tattoo gun grow closer, feeling a slick ointment pressed into your skin, wincing when you feel the sharp needle pierce your skin. “Doin’ okay?” he asks, taking note of the grimace on your face.

“Doing okay,” you breathe out, resting your hands against your stomach, focusing on the rise and fall of your tummy. The needle strokes against your skin, creating a permanent fixture on your body for the rest of your life. The slight tinge of pain creates a wave of goosebumps to ripple across your flesh. Joel hums softly in your ear to the tune playing on the radio as he moves the needle with precision. Your nipples harden under your shirt, your face warming with embarrassment, hoping with everything in your being that your bra has enough padding to cover the traitorous peaks of your breasts.

“Doin’ good for me, sweetheart,” Joel murmurs, swiping the towel against your neck. “Just a couple more lines, and then we’ll be done.”

“Okay,” you squeak out, careful not to nod as he speaks, “This doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks, a cocky lilt to his voice, “Told ya I’d take good care of ya.”

“Yeah,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “Kinda feels good.”

“Careful now, you’ll get addicted!” He chuckles into your ear. The buzzing stops, and he wipes the towel against your neck again. “A’right, all done,” Joel murmurs, turning your chin towards him. Your breath hitches as you look into his deep chocolate eyes, pupils dilating before your eyes as his gaze travels down your neck to your chest. Clearing his throat before instructing you, “Take your time getting up, okay? Don’t need ya passin’ out on my floor thinkin’ you’re all fine an’ dandy.”

You give a slight nod of your head, averting your eyes from him quickly. Joel takes his gloves off and starts cleaning things off the small table.

“Ya a’right?” He asks softly, glancing over at you.

“Yeah, just worried about the passing out thing.” You murmur, holding in an anxious laugh.

“C’mere,” Joel instructs, holding out his hand. You grab it to help hoist yourself up from the chair. He keeps a firm but gentle hold of your arm, walking you towards the mirror. “Here, darlin’,” he gently coos, holding the mirror up behind you so you can see the permanent art on your body.

“Oh my god, Joel,” you breathe, feeling a lump in your throat, “It’s beautiful!”

Joel can’t contain his smile behind you, his pearly whites on display as he continues to watch you studying the art on your skin. You stumble forward towards the mirror, feeling a slight rush of headiness. Joel grips your hip, pulling your back flush to his front.

“Sorry,” you giggle, your hand shooting up, trying to cover the grin on your face. “I think I got a little too excited.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Joel hums, his thumb sneaking up the hem of your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your hip. Your heart races from his simple touch. You glance in the mirror, watching as his eyes travel up and down your body. “This okay?” He asks, cocking his brow, his hand resting against your stomach, fingers tracing soft patterns above the waistline of your jeans. You nod dumbstruck, glancing away from the mirror to look at the door. “S’okay, baby,” Joel huskily whispers in your ear, “No one’s gonna come back here.”

He slowly blows on your new tattoo, feeling the cool air against your heated skin; a small whimper escapes your lips, back arching against his chest, your ass pushing against his groin. You can feel the outline of his stiff erection through the denim of his jeans. Joel lets out a soft groan, pulling you impossibly closer to him, his hand skimming down to the button of your jeans.

“Still okay?” He coos, teeth nibbling against your ear.

“Joel,” you whine softly, your hand grasping against the arm holding you, the other reaching behind you, slipping your fingers between the thick curls on the nape of his neck.

“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he growls into the crook of your shoulder, “You did so good getting your first tattoo.” One of his hands moves, gripping your chin and turning your face to crash his lips into your own. His tongue sliding between your lips, swirling the thick muscle around your mouth, claiming the soft moan that rolls out of your throat into his mouth.

“Fuck,” you gasp, chest heaving, your lips catching the corner of his mouth as the hand that was rubbing gentle patterns into your skin deftly works the button and zipper of your jeans open, slipping his hand down to feel the cotton of your underwear. Your hips buck as his thick fingers press firmly against your cloth-covered clit, a whine erupting out of you.

“Shhhh,” Joel smirks, nosing your temple, “Look in the mirror, baby. Did someone figure out that a little pain is nice?”

Your eyes close, head leaning back against his shoulder, warmth spreading throughout your body, wiggling against him as his fingers continue to rub circles against your swollen clit.

“I said look in the mirror,” he grunts, gripping your chin harshly forcing you to look at the mirror. A gasp escapes your lips, eyes widening as Joel’s dark eyes stare at you in the mirror. “You gonna let me fuck you, pretty girl?” He asks, firmly grinding his bulge into your ass.

“Yes,” you breathe out, swallowing thickly. Joel smirks, kissing your jaw. “Fuck,” you whisper, your thighs beginning to shake from the delicious pressure Joel’s putting on that bundle of nerves.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he softly groans against your skin. His lips placing soft kisses and gentle sucks against the crook of shoulder, making sure to be careful of your new tattoo. “So glad that fucker cancelled so you could come in,” Joel sighs, sliding his fingers under the band of your panties. “So fuckin’ wet, sweetheart,” he hums. “This all for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, trying to catch your breath. You can feel the band in your stomach about to snap. “Joel,” you mewl, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to try and keep quiet, “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” Joel smirks, his index and middle fingers ghosting along your weeping hole as his thumb continues its pleasurable rhythm against your nub.

“More,” you beg, gripping the arm that’s down your pants, nails biting into his forearm. “Please -fuck- more. So close.”

“You gonna come, baby?” Joel husks against your hairline, “Come all over my fingers?”

You let out a pathetic whine, hips bucking into his hand and pleading desperately for more before feeling his thick fingers plunge into your tight heat.

“Fuck me, pretty girl,” Joel growls, moving his fingers in a syrupy slow rhythm, “Pussy’s just beggin’ to be filled, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimper, the band in your tummy getting tighter and tighter as Joel continues to spew filth into your ear. His fingers crook up, reaching that spot that very few before him have been able to find, bumping against it on every stroke in and out of your sex. “Oh god,” you moan out, “Joel, please, faster.” You can feel your walls clamping down against his fingers, just needing that extra bit more to throw you over the edge. Joel pumps his fingers in again, holding them at that spot, firmly swiping them back and forth.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna- I’m gon-” cutting yourself off as that band finally snaps, gushing all over his hand.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smiles, slick lingering between your thighs and sliding against your tummy as he removes his fingers, bringing the soaked digits to his mouth, sucking them clean with a lewd -pop- as they leave his mouth. “Taste so fucking good.”

You giggle, in shock, unable to believe that just happened. First tattoo and you got fingered by Joel Miller? You would mark this birthday a success as is.

“Now,” Joel says, clearing his throat, gently brushing your hair to the side, “In all seriousness. You need to make sure you keep this clean,” he states, you hear the jingle of a belt buckle and a zipper being undone before he’s grabbing your jeans and underwear, slipping them down your legs. “Mmmm,” he hums, peeking down to get a good look at your ass, gripping the root of his cock, swiping the tip between your soaked folds. “Feel so good, baby.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, glancing toward the door again.

“Uh-uh,” Joel tuts, gripping your chin to force your vision to focus back on the mirror. “You keep lookin’ here, a’right?” Your eyes bore into his dark orbs, nodding. “Good girl,” he grunts, notching himself at your entrance. “Just keep lookin’ in the mirror, don’t worry ‘bout anythin’ else,” he instructs, pushing his thick length into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp quietly, hands reaching out, landing on the mirror before you.

“Oh fuck, pretty girl,” He grunts, gripping a handful of your hair. “Look at ya,” he sneers in the mirror, taking in the fucked out expression on your face, “This what ya needed? This cock inside your tight little pussy?”

You whimper, feeling him saw in and out of you at a punishing pace.

“Where was I?,” he grunts, his hips smacking against the flesh of your ass, “Thas right, keep your tattoo clean.” Joel pulls his hips back, glancing down at his glistening cock. “Fuck me,” he whispers in awe. “Three times a day should be good,” he huffs, thrusting back into you, tugging on your hair. “You listening, baby? Shit’s important.” 

You nod, trying to focus on his instructions.

“Need ya t’put a small amount of aquaphor on it during the day,” he groans, “Just enough t’keep it moist. Not a whole bunch though, don’t need your new ink as wet as this pussy.” Joel chuckles, watching the way your ass ripples as he slams back into your squelching cunt. “It gets itchy? Smack it - don’t - fucking - scratch - it.” He punctuates his instructions with powerful thrusts between each word. “Don’t fuck up my art, baby.”

“O-o-oh god,” you mewl, feeling your walls flutter around his length.

“Repeat it.” Joel commands, sliding his fingers down to your throbbing clit. “Need t’know you were listenin’, baby.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, taking a shuddering breath. “W-wash it, three -ungh- three times a day, a-a-and put on aquaphor.”

“How much aquaphor?” Joel asks, snapping his length into you sharply.

“Small amount, not a lot.”

“Not a lot like what?” Joel chuckles, gripping your hair tighter. His fingers swirling circles around your bundle of nerves.

“M-m-my pussy,” you moan, feeling so close to falling off that ledge of ecstasy.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Joel grunts, “Know you’re gettin’ close. Can feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock, baby.” You moan softly, nails sliding against the glass of the mirror, the walls of your pussy growing tighter with each of Joel’s thrusts, feeling a wave of pleasure wash over you, finally tipping you off that ledge. 

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, loosening your hair in favor of gripping your hips tightly, pulling you roughly towards him half a dozen more times, chasing his own climax before he erupts, hot ropes of his come paint your inner walls. “So fucking good, baby.” He huffs, his head landing between your shoulder blades. Sweat clinging to both your bodies, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll go over tattoo aftercare again,” Joel grunts, pulling out of your wet heat, twin groans escaping both of you, chuckling against your shoulder blades, “Don’t want ya missin’ anythin’ important I might have told ya.”

“Don’t think I could.” You smirk, giggling, feeling him fumble behind you, “Not with that sort of lesson.”

Joel turns you around, kneeling down to grab your pants. “Hey wait a minute. In our messages you said this was your birthday present to yourself, right?” He asks, smiling up at you.

“Uh, yeah.” You nod, avoiding his eyes, face warming while remembering your nervous rambling to him as he helps you right your clothes. “It’s today, m-my birthday is today.”

“Well then,” Joel stands, his hand gripping your jaw to tilt your face to his, giving you a tender kiss, “Happy fuckin’ birthday, sweetheart.”

NPT for those who seemed interested: @whocaresstillthelouvre @vichons @pinkypromisepascal

Thanks for reading! If you liked please comment or reblog letting me know!

[puppym3]

felix x reader ─── two-time thing

synopsis - after everything that happened last time, you couldn't bare to see him face-to-face, but after restless nights and finding him in your dreams, you made it to his bed.

wc: 9.1k

silly tags: MDNI! 18+, bsf!felix, afab!reader, definitely pining, angst, questionable dreams, idiots to (eventually) lovers, realization of feelings, awkwardness, other members appear, pt 3 will come!!, pt 1 -> here - PT 3 -> here

MDNI!! smut warnings under cut!!

WARNINGS: smut, lots of kissing, lowkey dry-humping, grinding, masturbation (m. rec), hair pulling, handjob, a lot of sounds are made

Fight or flight? No doubt you chose flight.

You weren't sure how long you stayed in your room, but the tension was so thick throughout the entire house that you couldn't dare to step out of your comfort place.

Embarrassment clung to your skin like a second layer, suffocating and unrelenting. You, too mortified to face reality, had trapped yourself in your room.

Your friends had noticed, of course. You couldn’t completely cut yourself off without them catching on, especially when meals became a problem. The reliance on others for basic needs was humiliating, but the thought of stepping outside your self-imposed prison made your stomach churn.

Chan, ever the nurturing friend, complied without question at first, bringing you food with a furrowed brow and soft reminders. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay in here,” he’d say gently, setting the plate on your desk before retreating without prying too much- though the concern in his eyes lingered long after he left.

Lee Know, on the other hand, was less forgiving. When you’d sheepishly asked him through text for a favor, he left you on read without a single reply. The message was clear: get your act together.

Then there were Seungmin and Han. Unlike the others, they weren’t content to just drop off food and go. Seungmin, sharp-eyed and intuitive, had crossed his arms and leaned against your doorframe one afternoon, his voice tinged with amusement but lined with curiosity. “You wanna tell me what’s really going on?” he’d asked, his tone deceptively casual. When you shook your head, he’d sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

Han was less subtle. He’d plopped down outside your door once, knocking rhythmically until you opened up just a crack. “C’mon,” he coaxed, grinning mischievously. “Whatever happened can’t be that bad. Spill it.” You’d slammed the door in his face before he could say more, your face burning.

But tonight was different.

"So you like pulling hair, hm?" A deep voice drawled, the words barely a whisper before the tug on your hair sent a jolt through your entire body.

Your knees hit the floor, the sharp sting of the impact radiating through your legs, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat that coursed through your veins. Felix stood above you, his dark eyes gleaming with an amusement that made your pulse quicken. His hand remained in your hair, pulling your head back with an ease that made you feel entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me, is that all you want from me?" His voice was low, teasing, almost dangerous. The question lingered in the air, thick and charged, as if daring you to admit something you weren’t sure you wanted to say.

You wanted to answer, wanted to insist that wasn’t the case at all. You couldn’t think like this about Felix. He was your best friend. He always had been. But the words stuck in your throat, none of the words formed in your head being able to come out. Instead, a single, breathless "Yes" escaped, and it felt like your whole world tilted.

"If I’d known sooner," Felix murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear, "I would've just given you what you wanted right away. Saved us both the trouble, huh?"

Heat flushed your skin. Shame mixed with something more dangerous, as his words settled into your chest like a weight. The rough pull on your hair made your breath catch. He didn’t have to speak again for you to understand the power he wielded over you in that moment.

"You thought you could hide it, didn’t you? Pervert."

The word hit like a slap, but it only stoked the fire burning deep inside you, a dangerous mixture of arousal and guilt. The feeling was intoxicating, suffocating, leaving you dizzy.

Your eyes flew open, your body jerking awake with a gasp as if you'd just surfaced from deep water. The darkness of your room enveloped you, but it did little to soothe the wild thrum in your chest. Your skin was sticky with sweat, the sheets clinging to you in uncomfortable heat.

Felix’s voice lingered in your ears, a faint whisper that refused to leave you. The echo of his touch, his hand in your hair, was still present, the warmth of it searing your scalp and making your body ache in places you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the hell?

Your heart hammered in your chest, too fast, too loud. You couldn’t get his words out of your head: Pervert. The way he had looked down at you, amused, like he knew exactly what you were feeling. The power, the control. It was all wrong, and yet the heat between your legs told a different story.

"God," you whispered hoarsely, your body betraying you as you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to will the ache away. It was irrational, unwanted, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop thinking about Felix. Your best friend.

You shifted in the bed, throwing an arm over your face in a feeble attempt to block it all out. This was all your mind playing tricks on you. Your subconscious messing with you because of that stupid night, the one when you'd been curled up against him, your fingers brushing through his hair absently. The sound he made when you tugged at the strands had been so soft, so unexpected, that it had sent a bolt of heat straight to your core.

You hadn’t meant to pull his hair. You hadn’t meant to like it. You hadn’t meant for anything that followed to happen, either. But there was only so long you could tell yourself it was a mistake before it stopped feeling like one.

That night. That night when you’d asked- no, pleaded with him to let you watch. It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue, a momentary lapse in judgment. But it wasn’t just a mistake.

It wasn’t just one.

That was the part that made your chest tight with panic, the feeling that it had already happened once, and now you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

No. You wouldn’t let yourself do this again. You couldn’t.

It was just a dream, you repeated aloud, as if saying the words would make them true. Just a dream.

But even as the words left your lips, you knew they didn’t make sense. The ache, the heat, the guilt, they were real, and they felt dangerously real.

Just a dream.

-

You tried. You really did.

You buried yourself under your blankets, squeezed your eyes shut, and willed your mind to drift anywhere but back to him- to Felix’s voice, his touch, the ghost of his breath against your skin. But the harder you tried to suppress it, the more it clawed its way to the surface, relentless and consuming.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did on nights like this.

You rolled onto your side, gripping the sheets in frustration, your heart still unsteady. The dreams had unsettled you in ways you weren’t ready to confront. It wasn’t just the weight of his words, the way they had sent a shiver down your spine, it was everything else. The longing. The loss. The quiet, aching realization that you missed him.

Not just his touch, not just the confusing way your body had responded to him in your dream. You missed him.

His laugh would make his eyes sparkle, and always broke through the heaviest of silences. The way he clung to you without hesitation, throwing his arms around your shoulders or draping himself over you like it was second nature. You used to roll your eyes, shove him off playfully, but now? Now you felt cold without the weight of him, without the warmth of his presence filling the space beside you.

And you’d been avoiding him.

You’d kept your distance, hoping that space would clear your head, but it only made it worse. The days felt empty without his voice in them, without his brightness cutting through your usual gloom. Now everything seemed unbearably quiet.

A choked sound slipped past your lips before you even realized you were crying.

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you curled into yourself, gripping the pillow like it could somehow fill the space Felix left behind. You felt stupid. Weak. But no matter how hard you tried to push the feeling down, it only swelled, filling your chest with a pressure you couldn’t escape.

You missed him. You missed him so much it hurt.

You hated this. You hated yourself for feeling this way, for wanting him so badly when you weren’t even sure what it was you wanted. For running away when all you really wanted to do was run straight to him.

Why couldn't you have just said nothing that day? Why did you have to make a mess of things and then disappear? Why did you have to ruin everything with a few stupid words?

"Lixie..."

Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, the words a strained, choked whisper.

"I miss you."

-

The next morning, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. A dull grey had settled over the world, the clouds hanging low in the sky, the air heavy and damp.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You were exhausted, having barely slept a wink, and the last thing you wanted to do was get up.

But there was a nagging sense of guilt, a persistent feeling that you should at least try. So, with great effort, you dragged yourself out of bed.

The house was quiet, the silence broken only by the distant patter of rain against the window. The kitchen was empty, the countertop clean and bare, as if nobody had touched it.

You stood in the empty kitchen, fingers ghosting over the cold countertop. The house was eerily still. No clatter of dishes, no muffled voices from the other rooms, no muffled music playing through the walls, nothing.

Felix wasn’t here.

Your feet moved before your mind caught up.

The hallway was dim, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying you as you stopped in front of his door. It was cracked open, just enough for you to push it the rest of the way without much effort.

The moment you stepped inside, his scent wrapped around you.

Warm, familiar, Felix.

A mix of something subtly sweet; maybe vanilla, and the faint trace of his cologne. It was so distinctly him that your chest tightened painfully, a strange feeling simmering under your skin.

Your gaze drifted over the room, taking in the familiar chaos. His desk was cluttered, papers scattered haphazardly, some crumpled at the edges like he’d been frustrated while working. His PC sat idle, a dark screen reflecting the dim light filtering in through the rain-streaked window.

And your eyes roamed to the other side, you saw them.

An array of different kinds of photos all together on his desk.

Your breath caught as you stepped closer, fingers hesitantly brushing over the small collection of photos.

It was you. Both of you.

Photos you don't even remember taking, one of you and him dressed for a formal night, a photo strip you guys took at a mall together, a picture of you sleeping on him.

He had kept these.

You swallowed hard, a wave of something you didn’t know how to name crashing over you. You didn't know what this meant right now, sure, it was normal to keep photos of your friends, but so close to his desk? A place he spends a lot of his time at?

Slowly, you turned away from the desk, eyes landing on his bed. The blanket on his mattress was messy, like he’d left in a hurry, and the sight of them made your stomach twist.

You shouldn’t. And you knew you shouldn’t.

But the weight of everything was too much, the pull of him too strong. Before you could second-guess yourself, you were crawling into his bed, sinking into the warmth of his space, his scent enveloping you completely.

Had he been sleeping well? Hopefully, he had some peace at night compared to you.

Or did he spend his nights thinking of you as well? Did he miss you too?

Did he stare at your photos until his eyes started to hurt, and then close them, wishing he could fall asleep and see you instead of the back of his eyelids?

Was it wrong to imagine him like this? To think about him the same way he had thought about you?

You weren’t sure. Maybe, probably, definitely.

But in the safety of his room, surrounded by his scent, the thought was too tempting to ignore.

Felix was your best friend. He had been since forever. And yet, you couldn’t help but think about him like this. The way he had looked at you, the way his fingers had curled around your chin, his gaze focused on you. The way his breath had hitched, the way he had pulled his lower lip between his teeth. The way his cheeks flushed.

He was beautiful. You knew that, you always had, but the thought never felt this... dangerous.

And he had looked at you. Just, only at you.

Like you were the only thing he could see. Like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he wanted to devour you, and it scared the shit out of you.

It was stupid. Irrational.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his sheets, his scent overwhelming you in the best and worst way possible. It made your skin burn, your stomach twist, your mind spiral into places you shouldn’t let it go.

It wasn’t just missing him anymore.

It was wanting him.

The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating in its intensity. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting down on your lip, desperately trying to will the feeling away. But it was useless.

You could still feel the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had brushed against your skin, the way he had looked at you, really looked at you. Not as a friend. Not as someone he’d known forever. But as something else. Something more.

The memory of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, but it only made things worse. The ache was unbearable, sharp and all-consuming. Your body was betraying you, responding to something you weren’t ready to admit to yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, barely a whimper, and before you could stop it, a sob ripped through your chest.

Tears burned hot as they slid down your cheeks, frustration and guilt tangling into something unbearable. What was wrong with you? Why were you like this? Why did you have to ruin everything by feeling this way?

Felix was your best friend. Your best friend.

And yet, here you were, crying into his pillow because you wanted him so badly it hurt.

The sound of the door creaking open barely registered at first.

"Y/N?"

You froze.

The sound of Felix’s voice cut through the haze of your emotions like a blade, sharp and inescapable. It shouldn’t have been this way. You shouldn’t be in his bed, gripping his sheets like they were the only thing tethering you to the world. You shouldn’t be crying over him, missing him so desperately that it physically hurt.

You shouldn’t want him.

But you did.

And now, standing at the foot of the bed, Felix was looking at you, really looking at you, his damp hair from the rain clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted in shock. His eyes, warm and deep, flickered with too many emotions to decipher.

“Shit,” he breathed.

His voice was unsteady, like he wasn’t sure what to say, like he was trying to understand why you were here, curled up in his sheets, looking at him like he was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He said your name again, softer this time, laced with concern.

You forced yourself to sit up, your fingers trembling as you swiped at your tear-streaked cheeks. The weight of his stare was suffocating. What are you even supposed to say? That you missed him? That you had spent nights aching for him, haunted by the way he used to fit into your life, into your space, into you?

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. "Sorry."

Felix’s brows furrowed. That was the last thing he expected you to say.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was quiet, but there was something else beneath it. Something careful. Something dangerous.

You hesitated. “I… I was looking for you.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Felix’s expression softened, his sharp features easing into something more familiar, something more him. He took a step closer, then another, hesitance flickering in his eyes like he was afraid you might bolt.

You didn’t.

Instead, you stayed still as he slowly, cautiously, sat down on the edge of the bed beside you.

The space between you was barely there, just inches separating your leg from his, the warmth of him reaching you before his touch did. The tension was suffocating, thick enough to drown in. It was the closest you had been to him in weeks, and the reality of it sent your pulse into a dizzying rhythm.

"Y/N…"

The way he said your name; gentle, almost pleading, made something inside you splinter.

He turned his body toward you, leaning in slightly, his voice softer than the rain against the window. “Are you okay?”

You wished he hadn’t asked.

The moment the words left his lips, something inside you gave way, cracking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but it was useless. The flood was already coming.

A choked sob tore from your throat, your body betraying you as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. You shook your head, barely able to breathe through the tightness in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, broken and raw.

And then Felix moved. No hesitation as he reached for you, pulling you against him in one fluid motion, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt effortless. Like this is where you were meant to be.

His warmth consumed you instantly, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding you even as your own breath came out uneven and shaky. He smelled like rain and something distinctly him, vanilla, musk, and home, it made your head spin.

You clung to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie like he might disappear if you let go. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, his skin warm against your cheek. The scent of him, the weight of his arms around you, it was everything you had missed, everything you had craved but refused to admit.

Felix let out a breath against your hair, his grip tightening, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your back. But you could feel it, the way his heartbeat wasn’t steady, the way his own breath was just slightly uneven.

Was he feeling this too?

Was this affecting him the way it was breaking you apart?

"Lix…" Your voice came out in a desperate whisper, muffled against his skin.

His arms flexed around you, just for a second.

"Don't-" he sighed, his tone heavy with something you couldn't quite place, "-don't say anything now."

He sounded tired, almost resigned, like he had finally come to terms with something he couldn't fight.

"I want to be selfish for a moment," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine, "just for a little while."

Your heart thudded against your ribs, too fast, too loud, a painful reminder that this was real. That he was holding you, that he was whispering against your hair, that he was breathing in your scent, and god, this wasn't supposed to be this way.

It wasn't supposed to be this painful.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself not to let more tears fall, not now, not when you were already clinging to him like a lifeline.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that, tangled in each other's arms, his hands tracing patterns against your back.

The rain continued to fall, a soft patter against the windows. The faint glow of the sky had shifted, the grey giving way to a warm orange hue as the sun dipped below the horizon. You weren't quite sure what happened in that time, the exhaustion finally kept up to you and the feeling in his arms was too good, and soon, sleep was pulling you under.

But just before the darkness took over, Felix spoke again, so quietly you could barely hear it, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

"I missed you, too."

-

The first thing you registered upon waking was warmth.

The steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a state of half-consciousness. For a moment, you forgot where you were, caught in the hazy in-between of dreams and reality. Then, the scent of him filled your lungs, the slow, even heartbeat under your palm grounding you, and it all came rushing back.

You were in his bed.

Your breath hitched as the realization settled. He was still right next to you, you were still curled into him, his arms still loosely draped around you like he had never let go.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You barely dared to move, afraid of shattering whatever fragile moment this was. But the ache in your chest, the longing you had buried so deep, was unbearable. You wanted- no, needed to be closer. Just a little more.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck, your nose brushing against his collarbone. His scent surrounded you, overwhelming and intoxicating, a cruel reminder of everything you had missed. Your fingers hesitated for only a second before they moved, ghosting along the hem of his hoodie before slipping underneath, meeting the warmth of his skin.

You could feel how he tensed under you.

It was barely perceptible, just the smallest hitch in his breath, the subtle tightening of his fingers against your waist. If you weren’t pressed against him, you might’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed still for a moment, waiting. His breathing remained steady, deceptively even, as if he were still asleep. But you knew better. You knew him. The way his fingers twitched, the way his chest rose just a little too sharply, the way his lips were parted just so... it was all too careful.

Felix was awake.

But now, you couldn't afford to care. Your fingers, still under his hoodie, traced the bare skin of his stomach, featherlight, barely there. The muscles beneath your touch tensed slightly, his breath faltering for half a second before evening out again.

He was pretending.

You swallowed back a laugh, feeling emboldened by the way his body reacted despite his act. Slowly, you tilted your head up, your lips barely grazing the line of his jaw, soft and unintentional, or at least, that’s how you wanted it to seem. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallowed breath, and the smallest noise, something between a sigh and a hum, escaped his throat.

That was all the confirmation you needed.

“Felix,” you murmured against his skin, your voice low and sweet, testing, teasing.

His grip on your waist tightened, a fraction too firm, and this time, he didn’t bother to hide the way he inhaled sharply.

You smiled against his jaw. “Are you asleep?”

Nothing.

No response.

Just silence and the pounding of both your hearts in the space between you.

Your lips ghosted down, soft and unhurried, tracing the line of his throat. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, fast and uneven, betraying him in a way his stillness couldn’t. Your hand slid higher under his hoodie, your fingertips brushing over the warm planes of his abdomen, teasing along the defined lines.

Then, just as your lips met the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, Felix finally broke.

A sharp inhale, a barely contained shudder, and then—

“Y/N.”

His voice was rough, breathless, like he had been holding it back for too long.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and he was staring back at you, heavy-lidded, filled with something unreadable yet entirely unmistakable. His lips were parted slightly, his breath uneven, and the way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt him shift, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers grazing your skin beneath your shirt. His touch was deliberate, careful, like he was grounding himself. Or maybe grounding you.

“You knew,” you accused, voice barely above a whisper.

Felix’s lips curved into something dangerously close to a smirk, but there was something softer beneath it, something hesitant.

“Of course I knew,” he murmured, his thumb stroking absent patterns against your hip. “You’re not subtle.”

Heat curled low in your stomach, and you hated how easily he could turn the tables with just a look, a touch, a word.

His eyes flickered to your lips.

Your breath caught.

Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, Felix whispered, “What are you doing?”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping his hoodie as if that would steady you. You didn’t have an answer. Or maybe, you had too many.

But right now, in this moment, none of them mattered.

Because all you could think about was how close he was, how his hand was splayed against your skin, how his lips were right there, and how neither of you seemed willing to pull away.

How easy it would be to just lean in.

Your breath trembled, shaky and desperate, as you leaned in, just enough for your lips to graze his, barely a whisper of a touch. But it was enough. The moment they made contact, a sharp, electric shiver shot down your spine, spreading heat through your entire body. Felix’s breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, he stayed still, holding his breath, as if unsure how to respond.

But the moment you started to pull back, his fingers dug into your hip, pulling you back toward him with a quiet urgency that sent your heart pounding. His lips parted, and the sound that escaped him; a relieved sigh, broke you completely. It was so raw, so needy, and it undid you in ways you hadn’t expected.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently, guiding him closer as you let him pull you in. The soft strands slipped through your fingers, and you could hear him, so close to you, making those quiet, broken, desperate sounds that made everything inside you burn. The heat in your stomach twisted, a knot of need that only seemed to grow tighter as his hand slid higher along your back, pulling you flush against him, pressing you harder into him like he couldn’t get enough.

The second kiss wasn’t tentative. It was hungry. A deep, urgent collision of lips and tongues, slow but with a hunger that left you both breathless. His lips moved against yours, teasing and tasting, savoring. When you sighed into him, something broke, both of you, releasing any last semblance of restraint.

His grip on you tightened, turning desperate, pulling you impossibly closer. His lips parted against yours, moving over you with an intensity that sent a wave of heat crashing over you. You moaned quietly, fingers framing his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks before your hands tangled deeper into his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to taste him, to lose yourself in him.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, raw and broken, as he exhaled shakily against your lips. His fingers slipped under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending waves of fire over your skin as they traced the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of heated promises. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut, his breath a shallow, uneven rhythm. He was barely holding back.

“Y/N,” he rasped, and the way he said your name; like it was the only tether keeping him grounded, sent a shiver straight through you.

Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, your mind spinning as you forced yourself to break away. Your forehead pressed against his, and for a brief moment, you tried to gather your thoughts, but the haze of heat clouded your mind, leaving nothing but need, nothing but him.

What the hell were you doing?

Felix was your best friend. Your sweet, goofy, sunshine of a best friend. But right now, there was nothing sweet or goofy about the way he looked at you.

You were now- somehow, straddling his lap, your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips swollen from his kisses. And Felix- Felix looked absolutely wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as he stared at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His hoodie had slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin, flushed with heat, and the sight of him like this; disheveled, desperate, waiting, had your stomach twisting with pure, aching want.

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out before you could stop it, your voice shaking with everything you were feeling. Because you knew.

You weren’t stopping.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and that was it. That was all it took for the last fraying thread of restraint to snap.

You crashed into him, and he met you with just as much desperation.

The kiss was nothing like before. It was raw, all heat and hunger, lips moving together in a mess of gasps and teeth and need. His hands were on you in an instant, gripping your waist, sliding up beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your back like he needed to feel every inch of your skin against his.

You gasped into his mouth, and the sound made him shudder beneath you, his nails pressing into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. The friction sent a dizzying wave of heat through you, making your stomach tighten, making you crave more, more, more.

Your hands roamed, desperate to touch him, to make him fall apart beneath you. You dragged your nails lightly down his scalp, and the noise that left his lips; low, needy, wrecked, shot straight through you, pooling molten heat between your legs.

“Fuck, Felix,” you breathed against his lips, your voice barely a whisper, but he heard it. You knew he did, because he groaned, his hands gripping your waist harder, grinding up into you without thinking. The feeling of him beneath you, warm and hard and completely lost in you, sent a sharp thrill through your veins.

Your lips parted, and he took the opportunity, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and slow, tasting, savoring. The way he kissed you; like he was drowning in it, in you, had you whimpering into his mouth, had your fingers fisting his hoodie, holding on for dear life.

“Shit-” He pulled back just enough to breathe, but his forehead was still pressed against yours, his lips hovering over yours like he couldn’t bear to be too far away. His voice was hoarse, ruined, his breath warm and heavy against your mouth. “Y/N…”

He couldn't seem to say anything else.

You swallowed, the ache between your legs growing more insistent by the second. Your body was burning, aching for him, and the fact that he was so hard beneath you, grinding up into you without hesitation, only made it worse.

You could feel the way his body tensed, the way his hips moved against yours, slow, experimental. His breaths were coming out in shallow pants, his lips parted, and his expression... he looked completely and utterly wrecked.

Your heart stuttered as it hit you all at once.

This was why you had kept him at a distance, why you had refused to let yourself linger too long in the warmth of his presence, why you had forced yourself to ignore every stolen glance, every lingering touch.

The realization crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You liked him.

Not just as your best friend. Not just in the way you always told yourself was innocent. No, this was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than you cared to admit. And now, with him beneath you, his lips swollen, his breath ragged, his body trembling with want, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Felix was wrecked. But so were you.

A shaky exhale fell from your lips. You didn't want to think. Not now, not when everything was falling apart. All you wanted, all you could think about, was him.

Felix was unraveling beneath you. And you, God, you weren’t any better.

His hands trembled against your skin, his grip on you tight, unrelenting, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths, his swollen lips parted, so aching.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, it felt like your heart was working overtime—what you were feeling in other places wasn't any better. And yet, when you shifted in his lap, when you rolled your hips against him, just to see, just to feel, Felix gasped, his head tipping back, a low moan falling from his lips.

“Y/N-” His voice wavered, his fingers digging into your waist. “Fuck, don’t-”

He cut himself off with a shuddering breath, his body tensing, his eyes screwing shut. You feel him trembling beneath you as you did it again, slower this time, you could feel your clothed core rub against the length of him with an unhurried, intoxicating friction. It caused your swollen clit to drag deliciously against the fabric of both of your clothes, causing you to throw your head back.

His hands flew to your thighs, gripping hard, as if to steady himself. A sound tore from his throat, breathless and wrecked, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, so desperate it made your entire body burn. So deep that it brought a chill up and down each vertebra of your spine.

“Shit-” His fingers flexed against your skin, his breathing erratic. “I can’t- I can’t fucking think when you do that.”

The confession sent a heady rush through you, and made something dark and hungry curl in your stomach. You wanted more. You wanted to hear him fall apart even more. You leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded beneath your mouth.

A soft whine left his lips, his hips jerking up into yours without warning, and the feeling, the friction, had you moaning softly into his skin. His fingers gripped your thighs, digging into the soft flesh, and the slight sting, the thought of his grip leaving a mark had heat pooling low in your stomach.

A sharp knock at the door sent a jolt through both of you, the sound cutting through the thick haze of heat that had settled in the room.

“Felix?”

Chan’s voice was muffled through the wood, but it was clear, steady, completely unaware of the way you and Felix were currently tangled together, breathless and trembling.

Felix went rigid beneath you, fingers twitching against your thighs before they fell away entirely, like he’d just realized where they were. His wide, dazed eyes snapped up to yours, his expression shifting from desperate hunger to sheer panic in a matter of seconds.

You barely had time to process the loss of his touch before Chan spoke again.

“Have you seen Y/N?” A pause. “She wasn’t in her room when I checked, and I- oh, uh, I brought breakfast for everyone.”

Felix made a choked sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a quiet curse.

Your stomach dropped.

Your face burned, your breath still coming in short, uneven pulls as reality came crashing back down on you.

Felix looked just as wrecked, just as breathless, his chest still heaving beneath you, lips swollen and parted like he was still stuck somewhere between the moment you’d shared and the one you were currently panicking through.

You had to move. You had to get up, act normal, open the door, something-

But then you shifted, and the second you felt the hard press of him against you, felt the way your own body was still burning from the friction of before, you realized something else entirely.

You couldn’t leave like this.

Felix must have come to the same realization at the same time, because his hands shot out, gripping your waist, holding you still before you could make it worse. His jaw clenched, his eyes screwing shut as he inhaled sharply through his nose, trying- failing to steady himself.

A quiet curse slipped from his lips.

You swallowed thickly, your heart hammering as Chan’s voice rang out again, a little more hesitant this time.

“Felix?”

Felix’s throat bobbed, his grip on you tightening for a fleeting moment before he forced himself to speak, voice hoarse and uneven.

“Uhm- yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

There was a pause.

“…Are you okay?”

Felix glanced at you, but you felt like you were on fire.

“Yeah!” He cleared his throat, scrambling for composure, but the breathless edge to his voice betrayed him immediately.

Felix’s grip on your waist tightened, as if desperately begging you not to move.

Chan hummed on the other side of the door, completely oblivious. “Alright, well, hurry up and come eat. I got enough for everyone. And please- please," he paused for a moment, trying to find the right words, "just call Y/N, it's not good for either of you to keep fighting.”

A beat of silence. Then-

The sound of retreating footsteps.

You both exhaled at the same time.

It took a second for the tension to shift, for the weight of what had just happened to sink in.

And then-

Felix groaned, dropping his head back against his pillow, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

You swallowed, staring at him, your entire body still burning from the inside out.

He was still hard beneath you.

And you- well, you weren’t exactly in a better state.

You licked your lips, nerves twisting in your stomach as you tried to force yourself to move, to think, to figure out how you were supposed to get out of this mess without making it even worse.

Felix beat you to it.

“We can’t leave like this.” His voice was low, strained.

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “I know.”

A pause.

His throat bobbed. “I-” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your waist like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I can- figure something out. Just- just give me a second.”

He was trying so hard to be responsible about this, to be rational, to get through this without making it worse.

But your mind was still spinning from before, still drowning in the memory of his body beneath yours, the sounds he had made, the way he had looked at you like he couldn’t think about anything else.

And maybe that was why the next words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can take care of it.”

Silence.

Felix froze.

Your stomach twisted at the way his breath hitched, at the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he wasn’t sure he had heard you correctly.

His eyes found yours, searching, disbelieving.

“…What?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “Just- just let me, please.”

Something flickered across his expression, something hesitant and utterly wrecked. You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the questions, the uncertainty, the sheer disbelief at what you had just suggested.

But when he spoke, his voice was quieter this time, more vulnerable.

“But..." he swallowed, his eyes searching your face, "you won’t run away after?”

You paused, something in his voice making your chest ache.

How could he think you would do that? After everything?

But then again, hadn't you pushed him away first? Didn't he have every right to think something like that from you?

Guilt simmered in your chest, you couldn't run this time.

"No, I won’t run," you said softly.

Felix held your gaze, and for a brief moment, it seemed like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

"J- Just this once... then..?" His voice wavered, unsure, hesitant, but you could tell how much he wanted this. How much he had been waiting for this.

Just this once?

You don't know why, but even though you've heard those words before, this time they left a sharp sting in your chest.

You couldn't tell if it was guilt or not. Maybe it was the idea that he just saw this as a one-time thing. Or I guess, two-time thing now.

You shook the thoughts away, letting out a deep breath as you slowly got off of him, moving into a spot in between his legs and crouching down, and his head raises at the sudden change in position.

You don't have much experience when it comes to giving handjobs, so you were just going to follow what he did last time with the addition of a few things that you researched yourself. You had already seen him do it up close, the way his fingers tightened around the base of his shaft before sliding upwards in a slow movement. He had taken his time with himself, drawing it out and keeping it steady, the movements practiced and sure.

His breathing grew a little more ragged when he realized where this was heading. He started to sit up, his expression wary, a protest rising to his lips. But the moment his hand dropped to cover himself, your fingers found his. You could feel them twitching.

He fell still.

Your chest tightened.

His lips parted, a small gasp escaping, eyes fluttering closed as you let your hand hesitantly outline the trace of his length, replacing his hand. Your hand slid upwards, mimicking what his other hand did.

You didn't look up, didn't dare meet his eyes. But you could feel the weight of his gaze.

It's the same, yet different. This time you are touching him, it's you making him feel that way, the soft gasps falling from his lips, the way he's biting back a moan, it's because of you. You try to copy the things you saw him do, tightening your grip just enough and letting the pressure slide slowly upwards. Your heart skips at the sound of Felix's breath stuttering, the way his muscles tense, the way his fingers dig into his thighs, holding on, struggling not to react too much.

His lips were parted, his breaths coming in shallow, uneven pulls as your hand moved against his clothed length in an unhurried, almost lazy pace. You kept your eyes down, unable to bear seeing what was in his eyes. Unable to bear seeing the look you'd put on his face.

Felix wasn't unaffected either. You could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the way his thighs twitched when you stroked his cock through his pants, the way he gasped and whimpered softly. You were suddenly very aware of just how close you were, your fingers moving beneath him, brushing his own every few moments as he moved. The air in the room had changed, shifted.

You were acutely aware of every sound, every hitch of breath, every shaky exhale, of the heat coming from his skin and the scent of his skin so close, and it was like every one of your senses had sharpened.

"Uhm..." you hestitate, wondering how to ask without embarrassing yourself too much, "can- can I?" You asked shyly, gesturing to his pants and hoping he'd get the idea, and when he doesn't respond for a while you looked up to see his face filled with confusion.

You exhaled, feeling your cheeks burn as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes, trying not to stare too long at his swollen lips, his mussed hair, at how utterly disheveled he looked, and tried to make your voice more clear, "can I touch you... like- without... the pants?"

His throat bobbed, his Adam's apple dipping before his lips parted to say something, but it took him a while before he finally managed to let out a choked sound. "O- Oh-" his voice faltered, cracking under pressure. He took in a shuddering breath, nodding hesitantly. "Y- Yeah- Yeah, okay."

You swallowed, shifting in your spot between his legs as your hands went down to tug at his waistband, letting your knuckles brush against his skin as you pulled his pants lower, feeling a flutter of heat low in your stomach.

He was watching you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. His breath was coming in short, uneven pulls as he leaned back, bracing himself against his hands. You couldn't help but glance at his chest, watching it rise and fall with every unsteady breath. He looked... vulnerable, almost soft in the dim light of his bedroom, like this, in a way he never usually did.

His jaw was still clenched tight, and he swallowed, the bobbing motion of his throat drawing your eye for a moment before you dragged your gaze back down.

Your fingers trailed along his waist, feeling his muscles tense under your touch as you finally pulled his pants down enough, freeing him from the restraints of his clothes.

He was aching, and hard, the tip swollen and pink. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him, at the memory of last time and everything you felt then.

You started slow, like he did. Letting your palm glide smoothly over his tip, his hips stuttering into the air at the contact, letting out a broken noise, and when you didn't move your hand any further, he let out a breath. His body was wound up like a coil, every muscle taut and rigid, waiting for your next move.

Your grip tightened, stroking upwards in a slow movement that drew a low groan from deep within his throat. He gasped, his chest heaving, his breaths ragged and uneven.

"God- fuck, you-" he let out another strangled moan, his voice strained and raw.

His hips rocked into the air, thrusting up to meet your palm, his movements needy and desperate. The sound of him panting beneath you was sending shivers down your spine, sending heat coursing through you like electricity.

He was reacting way more than last time, every touch, every brush of your skin against his sending him into a spiral of pleasure. It was intoxicating, watching him lose himself under your hands, hearing him gasp and whine, his moans and groans like music to your ears, knowing you're the one doing this to him, to make him lose control, to fall apart at your fingertips, knowing how much power you had over him at that moment.

The knowledge left you lightheaded, dizzy with a rush of heady power as you sped up your hand just slightly. He was completely and utterly lost, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly, his fingers twisting in the sheets as he struggled to breathe, to hold himself together. You felt the tension in his thighs, heard the sharp hiss that escaped through clenched teeth, felt the tremors running through him.

You felt your clit pulse, the sore feeling causing you to squeeze your thighs together. It felt so good. You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, soaking your underwear.

It wasn't long before he was teetering on the edge, his head thrown back against his pillow, eyes screwed shut, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together.

"Felix..?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire, the sound of your name falling from his lips only serving to make you throb harder, the feeling between your thighs almost too much to handle.

"Yes-" his voice was raw and rough, broken as it was forced from his throat, a groan cutting through the silence, a desperate whimper escaping him as he finally let himself go. "Yes, I'm so fucking close-"

It didn't take long before he was shaking apart beneath your touch, a shuddering moan leaving his lips as his back arched, his hips bucking up into the air. He came undone with your name on his lips, his fingers twisting in the bed sheets. The way he sounded as he came was the most beautiful thing you've ever heard. His voice was hoarse and shaky as he whispered your name like a prayer, as he trembled and shook and let himself unravel under your touch.

He fell apart and came undone, spilling himself on his own stomach with your name on his lips. The sight made something warm and fuzzy pool in the pit of your stomach, something you'd never felt before, something you'd never let yourself feel. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from the way he looked in that moment. It was so intense, so intimate. It felt so real and raw, and it hit you in a way you never expected it to.

Your gaze drifted lower, your heart stuttering at the sight of his mess, his stomach painted with white. You were transfixed by the sight, unable to stop staring even as he shuddered beneath you, gasping and trembling as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. He collapsed back on the bed with a sigh, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His hair was plastered against his forehead, his face flushed and sweaty, but he looked so extremely hot nonetheless. His lips were swollen and parted as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, completely blown from arousal, from how good you'd made him feel.

The sight had you aching for release. You bit back a groan as your cunt throbbed.

He watched you with glazed eyes as you leaned over and grabbed the towel you'd seen on the ground. You pressed it gently against his stomach to wipe him.

It's like he didn't care if you'd seen it or not, he was completely undone, boneless, his entire body still buzzing, still high from his release. He let out a soft hum when he felt you touch his stomach. He was so warm. He looked like a cat who got what it wanted.

Felix let out a content sigh as you wiped him down, his body loose and pliant beneath your touch. His head was still tilted back against the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, but when you shifted to move away, he blinked up at you, something soft and almost hesitant in his gaze.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I-” He swallowed, his fingers twitching where they rested by his sides. “I can help you, too.”

Your breath caught.

The air between you shifted again, his offer sending a rush of heat through you, settling low in your stomach. The way he looked at you, all earnest and drowsy and still so, so beautiful- it had you aching all over again.

"But-"

You hesitated, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. It wasn’t that you didn’t want it. You did. But now that the haze was clearing, now that the heat of the moment was cooling just slightly, reality started creeping back in.

Too much time had passed.

You couldn’t still be in here when breakfast had already been announced.

You forced yourself to swallow down the nervous lump in your throat, shaking your head as you pulled away. “No, it’s fine. We should-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound as normal as possible. “We should clean up. Breakfast is waiting.”

Felix stilled for a second, his expression flickering- hurt, then understanding, then something else entirely.

He didn’t argue.

But you saw it- the way his face fell slightly, the way guilt settled in his features. Like he thought he’d done something wrong.

You reached out, squeezing his wrist briefly.

“It’s okay,” you murmured.

He nodded, but you could tell he wasn’t fully convinced.

Still, he got up, following your lead as you both cleaned yourselves up. You made sure to go first, slipping out of his room quickly so it wouldn’t look suspicious.

The moment you stepped into the dining area, a chorus of voices erupted around you.

“Oh my God, she lives.”

“Finally out of your room, huh?”

“You good? You were MIA for a while.”

You barely had time to sit down before a hand smacked your back playfully. Jisung grinned at you from across the table, a knowing glint in his eyes. “We were just about to plan a funeral for you, what happened?”

You swallowed thickly, your face burning. “I was sick,” you blurted out, the first excuse that popped into your head.

Jisung’s brows shot up. “Sick?”

Hyunjin snorted. “What, like love sick?”

Your stomach flipped, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. “No, dumbass. Just… sick.”

Jisung hummed, unconvinced, but he let it go in favor of stuffing his mouth full of food.

The table returned to its usual chaotic energy, playful banter bouncing back and forth between the members. You joined in where you could, laughing when Changbin and Minho bickered over the last pancake, Chan stepping in, telling them they had to leave it for Felix. You felt a little lighter now that the focus had shifted off of you.

But then, you felt him before you saw him.

Felix.

Emerging from his room, freshly cleaned up, hair still slightly damp, eyes sweeping the room before they landed on you.

Your stomach clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

He looked normal. He looked composed. Like nothing had happened.

But the second his gaze met yours, you knew.

You clenched your thighs together instinctively, forcing yourself to look away, shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth as a distraction.

Felix sat down across from you, grabbing a plate, acting as if everything was normal.

But you could feel it.

The tension still lingered, simmering beneath the surface, waiting.

And you had no idea how long you could keep pretending it wasn’t there.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

tags for beauties : @loverbangchan, @reignessance, @imperfectlyperfectprincess1, @armystay89, @ihrtlix, @lovestaysblogs, @jeyelleohe, @celebration88, @velvetmoonlght, @honeyybbuubblleess, @skzswife, @c9b7luv, @lixies-favorite-cookie, @yeetfellx, @lailac13, @amortiff, @crazylinofangirl, @sunshinesfreckless, @darkwitchoferie, @sanriomilk, @st4rv3lly, @skybluelixie, @potentialgay, @ana006banankica-blog

[chansdoll]

현진 ─── the night we met 2

♡ pairing ៸៸ fratboy!hyunjin x afab!reader genre ៸៸ fluff, angst(ish) ៸៸ cw ៸៸ college!au , kissing , oral (f. & m. rec.) ♡ synopsis ៸៸ hyunjin asks for your forgiveness after the incident in the library. [ 3.9k words ] part one here a/n ๑ this is just to tie up loose ends from the previous part // a bonus smut scene. smut scene is at the end so its skippable if you'd like. also i am so sorry if this seemed rushed. i have covid and i feel like its affecting my ability to produce good writing :( ♡ masterlist

winter break passed, leaving behind a mixture of restlessness and anxiety about returning to campus. you’d buried yourself in family dinners and late-night movies, trying to distract yourself from the gnawing thoughts of hyunjin. but no matter how hard you tried, his face—and that moment—lingered in your mind like an unfinished sentence.

the day you returned to campus, the weight of reality hit like a freight train. you tried to focus on unpacking, on preparing for the semester ahead, but the knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts.

when you opened it, hyunjin was there, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. his expression was unreadable—equal parts hesitant and determined.

“can we talk?” he asked softly.

your first instinct was to slam the door, but the look in his eyes stopped you. there was something raw and unguarded there, and as much as you wanted to hate him, you couldn’t deny the tiny part of you that needed answers.

you stepped aside reluctantly, letting him in. he stood near the door, as if afraid to intrude further.

“i owe you an explanation,” he began, his voice steady but laced with guilt. “i know what you saw in the library. and i’m not going to lie—it looks bad. it was bad. but it’s not what you think.”

you crossed your arms, leaning against your desk. “then what was it? because from where i stood, it seemed pretty straightforward.”

hyunjin winced at the sharpness in your tone but didn’t shy away. “the girl you saw… her name’s mira. we used to date. it ended a while ago, but she reached out recently, saying she wanted to talk and clear the air between us. i didn’t think much of it, so i agreed to meet her.”

he paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. “when we were talking, she said she still had feelings for me. i told her i didn’t feel the same way, but… she kissed me. i didn’t expect it. i didn’t even know how to react at first. i was caught off guard.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you didn’t exactly seem to be fighting her off.”

“i froze,” he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. “and i hate that i did. the moment it happened, i knew how bad it looked, and i should’ve stopped her sooner. but it didn’t mean anything to me, i swear. i pushed her away afterward, but by then, you were already gone.”

silence hung between you like a fragile thread, and hyunjin took a tentative step closer.

“i should’ve come to you right away, explained everything,” he continued. “but i didn’t know how. i was afraid you wouldn’t believe me—or worse, that you’d believe me and still think i wasn’t worth trusting.”

you felt a lump rising in your throat, a war waging inside you. his words sounded genuine, but the memory of that kiss was still fresh, a bitter sting you couldn’t shake.

“why should i believe you now?” you asked quietly.

hyunjin met your gaze, his dark eyes filled with earnestness. “because i care about you. i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t. i know i messed up, but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix it—to earn your trust back.”

you bit your lip, torn between anger, hurt, and the flicker of hope his words stirred. 

you studied hyunjin’s face, searching for any hint of dishonesty. his eyes didn’t waver, and the weight of his words hung heavy in the room. still, the ache in your chest wouldn’t let up so easily.

“i don’t know, hyunjin,” you said, your voice quieter now, the edge in it dulling. “i want to believe you. i really do. but that doesn’t erase what i saw or how it made me feel.”

he nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as though he’d been expecting that response. “i get it. i do. and i don’t want to pressure you into forgiving me right away. i just… i needed you to know the truth.”

you turned away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. the silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of your heater. “this isn’t just about the kiss,” you admitted, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “it’s about trust. and i don’t know if i can just snap my fingers and have that back.”

hyunjin exhaled sharply, as though your words had hit him straight in the chest. “i don’t expect you to,” he said. “but i’m willing to work for it, if you’ll let me. even if it takes a long time. even if it means starting over.”

you turned back to him, unsure of what to say. his sincerity was disarming, but the weight of your emotions made it impossible to make a decision in the moment.

“maybe,” you said carefully, “i need time to figure out what i want.”

hyunjin nodded again, though disappointment flickered in his eyes. “take all the time you need,” he said softly. “i just hope you know how much you mean to me. i’ll wait, no matter how long it takes.”

you swallowed hard, his words tugging at something deep inside you. “okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

hyunjin gave you a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “i’ll leave you to think,” he said, stepping toward the door. “but if you ever want to talk—or even just yell at me—i’ll be here.”

he left without another word, the door clicking softly behind him.

as soon as he was gone, you sank onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. you wanted to cry, to scream, to let it all out—but instead, you sat there, staring at the space where he’d been standing moments ago.

your heart was at war with your mind, but for some reason you just couldn’t let it go–let him go. 

you watched the door for a long moment after it closed, hyunjin’s words echoing in your mind. he’d been honest—at least, it felt like he had—and his remorse seemed genuine. still, the hurt was fresh, and the memory of him with someone else still stung, even if you two weren’t an established couple.

but deep down, you couldn’t ignore the tug in your chest, the part of you that didn’t want to let him go.

before you could overthink it, you got up and swung the door open. hyunjin was just a few steps away, his head down, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“wait,” you called softly.

he froze, his shoulders tensing before he slowly turned around. his eyes searched yours, hesitant, as if he didn’t dare to hope.

you stepped into the hallway, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the vulnerability of what you were about to say. “i’m not saying i’m not hurt,” you began, your voice steady but soft. “and i’m not saying this won’t take time. but… i don’t want to lose what we have.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. “you mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, feeling your chest tighten. “i do. but you have to understand, hyunjin, trust isn’t something i can just flip a switch on. you’ll have to earn it back. and i need to know you’re willing to do that.”

“i am,” he said immediately, his tone firm and unwavering. “i’ll do whatever it takes. i just—thank you. for giving me this chance.”

you offered him a small, tentative smile, still guarding your heart but allowing a flicker of hope to shine through. “don’t make me regret it.”

“i won’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i promise.”

the two of you stood there for a moment, the air between you heavy but no longer suffocating. slowly, hyunjin reached out, his hand hovering just over yours. you hesitated for a brief second before letting him take it, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

the weeks following your decision to reconcile with hyunjin were a quiet, steady process of rebuilding. things didn’t instantly return to what they were, but there was a new foundation to work from—one based on honesty, slow steps, and open conversations. hyunjin had shown you through his actions that he was serious about making things right. it wasn’t just about words anymore; it was about proving his commitment.

at first, it felt like a delicate dance, both of you carefully navigating the space between you. you found yourselves texting more frequently, and the conversations were different this time—deeper, more thoughtful. he would ask you how you were feeling, not just about school but about life in general. and, in turn, you asked him about the things he usually kept private: his passions for art, his childhood memories, his fears.

there were moments where you still hesitated. small things would trigger a reminder of the hurt you’d felt, and in those moments, you would pull back slightly, needing time to recalibrate. but hyunjin respected that. he never rushed you, never pressured you. instead, he was patient. every time you would let a wall down, he would respond with kindness, not with expectations but with understanding.

one evening, after a quiet dinner at your place—just the two of you—hyunjin turned to you with a soft smile, a quiet sincerity in his eyes. “i meant it, you know,” he said, his voice steady but carrying that vulnerability you had come to know. “i’ll keep proving i’m worth your trust.”

you met his gaze and nodded, your heart opening in a way it hadn’t before. "i know," you said softly, a genuine smile curving on your lips. "you’re doing just that."

it was the small, everyday moments that slowly reknit the trust between you two. he would walk you home after late study sessions, his hand resting casually on the small of your back, a simple, comforting gesture that reminded you he was still there. you would study together at the library, him occasionally glancing up from his books to catch your eye with a smile that made the weight of midterms feel lighter.

in time, the hurt that once lingered began to fade, replaced with a deeper connection. you shared more—your thoughts, your dreams, your fears—and hyunjin reciprocated with an openness that made you feel closer to him than ever before. you realized that he hadn’t just kissed the other girl on impulse; there had been something else beneath that action, something he had to reflect on and learn from.

one afternoon, as you and hyunjin sat on a park bench near the art building, you turned to him, watching him sketch the sunset. the golden hues of the sky reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, you simply took him in—how much he had grown, how much you had grown.

"you’ve come a long way," you said quietly. "and i have, too."

he glanced up, meeting your gaze, his lips curving into a soft smile. "yeah. i think we both have."

you leaned in slightly, the space between you two comfortable and easy. hyunjin's fingers brushed yours, and for the first time in a while, there was no hesitation—no uncertainty, just the trust you had both worked so hard to build. you knew, without a doubt, that you were on the path toward something real, something lasting.

as the weeks turned into months, your relationship deepened. you celebrated the victories, like making it through tests or a successful art exhibit hyunjin had been part of. and you supported each other through the challenges—nights when stress weighed heavy, when old fears resurfaced, but you faced them together. 

it was one night, after you two came stumbling into your dorm, both a little tipsy from wine and full from the dinner he paid for, when hyunjin decided to take the next steps with you. he clung to you as you both maneuvered around your dorm, giggling and muttering sweet words in your ear. 

it wasn’t until you felt his hard on pressed against your back that you realized just why he was being so touchy. 

hyunjin’s arms circled your waist from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. his hands, firm yet gentle, explored the curve of your hips, making your pulse quicken.

"you’re so beautiful," he murmured softly, his voice low and full of adoration. his lips brushed the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

you turned in his arms to face him, your cheeks flushed from both the wine and the intensity in his gaze. his eyes, dark and full of unspoken emotion, searched yours, silently asking for permission.

“hyunjin…” you whispered, unsure of what to say but unwilling to pull away.

he cupped your face, his thumb tracing your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart race. "tell me if this is too much," he said softly, his forehead resting against yours.

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your hands finding their way to his chest. “it’s not too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

his lips danced with yours, and you were both tangled on the bed, hands roaming each others bodies within mere seconds. hyunjin rubbed the back of your thigh, his hands barely grazing your skirt. “are you sure? we don’t have to, you know.” 

you nodded, running your fingers along his hair, then caressing his cheek. “im not quite ready to go all the way, but.. that doesn’t mean we cant do anything, right?” you tilted your head as you asked, a small smile on your face. hyunjin grinned and nodded, giving your thigh a squeeze. “right. we can do whatever you want.” his eyes searched yours, slightly hopeful. 

he wanted you. he wanted to make you feel good. 

“ill tell you if i want to stop,” you said quietly, before leaning in and connecting your lips with his once again. 

hyunjin’s hands continued their exploration, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he was memorizing every inch of you. he kept his movements deliberate, mindful of your boundaries, but his eagerness was evident in the way his breath quickened and his lips grew more fervent against yours.

his fingers traced the edge of your skirt, sending shivers down your spine. when his hand slid under the fabric to rest against the fabric of your panties, you gasped, your body instinctively arching closer to him. he paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours, gauging your reaction. he slowly rubbed your clit through your panties, letting out a choked groan feeling the wet patch. 

“tell me if this feels good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low.

“it does,” you whispered, your fingers tightening their grip on his shirt.

his hand slid under your panties, making you blush and squirm. he broke eye contact to look where his hand was, between your legs. your wetness greeted him immediately, coating his fingers and making his movements slick and quick. “so wet,” he dipped his middle finger against your entrance before bringing his fingertips back up to your clit.

you moaned, too flustered and worked up to respond to him. however, you did open your legs more for him, making him smirk. he leaned down, pressing kisses to your neck. he fought with his inner conscience, debating on if he should move forward with what he was wanting to do. 

he gave your lips one last kiss before sitting up and pulling his hand out from your panties. you whined from the loss of contact, but the sight in front of you just spurred you on once more. he sucked your essence off his fingers, pulling off them with a wet pop. “fuck, you taste good..” he kneeled in front of you on the bed, rubbing your thighs. “can i go down on you, baby?” 

you squirmed at the boldness of his words, but you nodded. within an instant your skirt was tugged off your legs, along with your panties. hyunjin’s mouth watered as he pried your legs apart, exposing your wet, needy cunt to his gaze.

 without hesitation, he laid on his stomach, kissing your inner thighs before planting a kiss right on your mound. he leaned down and inhaled your scent briefly before licking a stripe along your slit. you shivered, the delicate stroke of his tongue making your head spin. 

you had never been in this position before, so vulnerable. and you had definitely never felt these sensations before. it was almost too much for you to handle in one night. 

hyunjin gave each of your lips a soft suck before his tongue flicked on your clit, making your thighs shake and snake around his head. you let out a whine, your back arching. hyunjins arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you down and against his eager face. 

you squirmed, almost running from the intensity of his tongue’s movements. he wrapped his full lips around your clit, giving it a small suckle. you cried out, throwing your head back. he smirked against your sensitive flesh, burying his face into your cunt and suckling more for you. 

within mere moments, you came undone, your thighs clamping around his head, daring to suffocate him between your thighs. “o-oh my god,” you panted, your thighs trembling intensely. 

he licked you clean, humming at the taste of your nectar before releasing from your lips with a wet pop. he sat up, and ou tugged him back down immediately, needing more kisses. you were all dazed from your orgasm and greedy for more of his touch. he chuckled against your lips, petting your hair gently. “you okay?” 

you nodded, your eyes glassy and twinkling with lust. you felt his length prodding against your thigh, and you looked down to see it. the size of it made your tummy twist. hyunjin knew where you were looking, and the sight of you acknowledging it made his cock twitch against you.

“you’re.. so.” you trailed off, licking your lips and looking up into his eyes. “yeah,” he lay next to you, rubbing circles on your hips. “i can help,” you said eagerly. you wanted to make him feel good as well. 

he smiled a little, then nodded, laying back as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. you swallowed nervously, looking him over. he slowly pushed his pants and boxers down, making his cock spring up against his slightly clothed tummy. he looked up at you, sensing your nervousness. 

he reached down and stroked himself, looking you over. “have you.. done this before?” he asked, his tone soft and unjudging. you blushed, shaking your head. you knew you wanted to help him, but admittedly, you had never messed around with a guy before. you didn’t even know where to start. 

he nodded in understanding, his hand slowing on his shaft. “show me.” you said, just above a whisper. “show me how.” 

hyunjins stomach flipped at your words, and he got impossibly harder. he nodded, reaching out for your hand. “okay.. wrap your hand around like this,” he guided you, his hand wrapped around yours as he showed you how to grip and stroke his cock. it was hot, hard, but also strangely squishy.

you quickly got the hang of it, and he let out a low groan, his head falling back into the pillow. “f-fuck, like that,” he muttered, watching your hand pump up and down with more and more confidence. your fist reached all the way up to his tip, gripping and massaging it deliciously. he let out a louder groan this time, his hips bucking. 

you blushed, his reactions making heat and wetness pool between your legs again. you felt proud that you were able to make him feel so good with your hand alone, but you wanted to push your limits, you wanted to use your mouth on him too. 

so, you leaned down, catching him by surprise. you cautiously licked the bead of precum off his tip, making him shudder. “you don’t have to,” he cupped your cheek, making you nuzzle his palm. “i want to,” you objected, leaning down and licking his tip again, lightly digging your tongue into his slit. you swirled your tongue around, gauging what he liked and what brought you the best reactions. 

it didn’t take long for you to have his cock head fully in your mouth as you stroked him. you suckled just the tip for him, your hands stroking the rest of his length. “fuck, you’re a natural,” he muttered, his eyes rolling back as he braced himself for his orgasm. “gonna make me cum already.”

his words spurred you on, and you redoubled your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and suckling with more fervor. 

he growled, his hips bucking as he tried to hold back his orgasm. “i-im cumming,” he warned you, his cock twitching in your mouth/hands. you pulled your mouth off, still stroking him through his climax. he fucked your fist, his hand gripping your forearm as he rode out his high. a slew of profanities and babbles left his lips.

his load spurted onto your hand and his tummy, making quite the mess. 

for a moment, hyunjin lay there, boneless and spent. however, he didn't want you to sit there with his mess on your hand, so he reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your tissues, helping clean himself and you up.

you both cleaned yourselves up and put on any remainder of clothes that was needed, then you lay together, cuddling for a bit before he spoke up. “did you like everything? it wasn’t too much, was it?” 

you shook your head no, smiling up at him. “not at all. it was perfect. thank you.” you beamed, rubbing his chest. he tightened his arm around you, kissing the top of your head. “good.” 

the soft glow of the early morning light crept through your dorm curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. you lay nestled in hyunjin’s arms, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you. for a moment, the world outside your little bubble didn’t exist—no classes, no deadlines, no worries. just the quiet, comforting presence of the boy beside you.

“stay a little longer?” you murmured, your voice still groggy from sleep.

hyunjin glanced at the clock and chuckled softly. “i think i can manage that. besides,” he added, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “i don’t think i’m ready to leave just yet.”

you smiled, closing your eyes as his fingertips traced gentle patterns along your arm. this felt right—easy, natural, and full of something unspoken yet undeniable.

the two of you spent the morning like that, exchanging quiet words and lingering touches. hyunjin opened up about his childhood memories and his dreams of hosting his own art exhibit someday. you shared your aspirations, your fears, and the small, silly details that felt too trivial to tell anyone else but seemed to fascinate him.

eventually, the world started to intrude, as it always does. your phone buzzed with notifications, and hyunjin’s reminder alarm went off, signaling that time was running short. he groaned dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder.

“duty calls,” he sighed.

you laughed softly, nudging him to sit up. “i guess so. but thank you… for everything.”

he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “thank you for trusting me. for letting me be here with you.”

as he laced up his sneakers and prepared to leave, hyunjin paused at the door. his gaze met yours, and there was something in his expression—vulnerability, affection, and a promise unspoken.

“i’ll see you later?” 

“definitely.” 

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin

part 2 taglist: @anniexx17 @gnabnahcbby @skzam03 @stayjinnie @ppeachyttae @merve0320 @micr0c0soms @stay-forever4419 @fallenangel7777777 @hyyunjinnn

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?” 

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.” 

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him. 

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question. 

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up. 

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor. 

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble. 

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.” 

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead. 

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.” 

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options. 

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.” 

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf. 

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.” 

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable. 

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.” 

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.” 

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast. 

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides. 

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees. 

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid. 

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.” 

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them. 

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.” 

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again. 

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?” 

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see. 

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare. 

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much. 

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory. 

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission. 

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?” 

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks. 

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?” 

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out. 

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.” 

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily. 

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.  

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix. 

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back. 

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met. 

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs. 

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?” 

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.  

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper. 

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.” 

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?” 

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.” 

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?” 

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece. 

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork. 

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down. 

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.” 

“Why only sometimes?” 

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve. 

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit. 

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?” 

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.” 

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.  

“No? Why’s that?” 

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.” 

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?” 

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.” 

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?” 

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?” 

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway. 

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.  

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table. 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?” 

“I’m coloring my family.” 

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.” 

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!” 

“What? Why’s that silly?” 

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!” 

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?” 

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?” 

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.” 

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!” 

“It is! You can’t tell?” 

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head. 

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?” 

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe? 

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?” 

She bobs her head animatedly. 

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.” 

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?” 

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do. 

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!” 

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age. 

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask. 

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling. 

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.” 

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green. 

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.  

“White!” 

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?” 

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.” 

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?” 

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone. 

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.” 

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him. 

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope. 

“Your dad is very right about that.” 

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!” 

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying. 

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”  

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior. 

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze. 

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.” 

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.” 

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.” 

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts. 

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.” 

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.” 

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?” 

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs. 

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?” 

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.” 

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child.  “That okay?” He asks you. 

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure. 

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.” 

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously. 

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad. 

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open. 

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care. 

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction. 

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.” 

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee. 

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you. 

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti. 

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple. 

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love. 

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them. 

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?” 

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.” 

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise. 

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.” 

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.” 

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside. 

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful. 

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap. 

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him. 

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.” 

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk. 

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light. 

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.” 

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.” 

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door. 

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours. 

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.” 

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.” 

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him. 

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?” 

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell. 

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope. 

“I’m gonna look for frogs.” 

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers. 

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.” 

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile. 

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!” 

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.  

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.” 

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.” 

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape. 

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.” 

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.  

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his. 

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.” 

“Better help her look then.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness. 

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.” 

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time. 

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer. 

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?” 

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”  

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.” 

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.” 

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.” 

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features. 

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?” 

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side. 

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door. 

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!” 

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.” 

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds. 

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

[kitten4sannie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞

pairing: mafia! ot8 x undercover officer! reader (fem)

genre: mafia/organized crime au, drama, angst

w.c: 3.3k

ch. summary: after countless months of preparation and ensuing anxiety, you finally revisit the infamous Black Pirates, but from the other side of the law, and it’s almost as if you’ve never left.

ch. warnings: not too many….uhhh very light depictions of violence, a bit of blood, a bit of manhandling (not the sexy kind), mingi is unhinged (?) and has a gun lmao, no smut this time but just you waittttt

a/n: hi thereeeee i cannot tell you how excited i am to share this with you all 🥹 this is my first mini series and i’ve never tackled anything this big before so please be patient with me when it comes to updates~~ (also this chapter will be the shortest of them all given it’s the intro hehe) but aaaaaaa i’m so happy we can go on this journey together >w< now sit back, relax, and enjoy ~ and if you like, please pleasee share your thoughts and feedback with me <33

song rec: scene 1 - value ~ ateez, concrete jungle ~ bad omens

fic masterlist

“Are you ready for this?” 

All you could hear was your heart thumping inside your ears, unable to focus on your Commander in Chief’s loaded question, tuning into the sounds of keyboard tapping and faceless chattering about the current crimes and cases that were plugging up the figurative drain of your local prescient, rather than what he was saying to you. Were you ready to infiltrate one of the most prevalent crime families your law enforcement agency has come to know and loathe over the better part of the year? Not as their friend, but this time, as an enemy? They had half your city in the palm of their hands and were itching to take it over, pushing the drug and gun trade into overdrive, washing countless loads of dirty dollar bills, and in turn, leaving you and your agency to clean up the mess they left behind — and what a mess they always made. Bullets, bodies, and broken dreams. Crime and punishment. Officers, regulations, and yellow tape. An endless game of chess that nobody ever seemed to win. The perpetrators of this game, their faces never left your mind, etching their likeness inside the grooves of your memory even after being away from them all for so long, at least, until now — if you stopped being such a goddamn pussy and answered your boss. 

“Y/N…? You can back out if you need to…” He gave you an apologetic smile. “Given your history, I know it might be a lot on you. We can always put somebody else in instead.” 

“No..!” you suddenly protested, bringing a closed fist near your mouth as you forcefully cleared your throat. “With all due respect, sir, I’ve been preparing myself for this since you helped me…change course and join the academy.” Realizing you were digging your nails into your palms, you relaxed your grip, leaving red idents behind. “And, of course, when we realized what the Kim Estate was actually doing behind closed doors.”

“It certainly wasn’t tennis,” the seasoned man chuckled softly, leaning back slightly inside his fraying office chair, rubbing at his eyes from underneath his reading glasses, not aware of how prominent his eye bags were becoming. He let out a small sigh. “Y/N, I have a lot of trust in you. Going back into that world as an undercover operative is not a walk in the park under any circumstances, but this…they have proven to be unpredictable. I’ll ask you once more. Are you sure you can handle this case?” 

In all honesty, you were never too sure what you could handle, both in your professional and personal life, but the uncertainty never stopped you from diving in headfirst. And this, this case, being one of the dominos that would knock them all down, well…it was simply too delicious to pass up. 

You stood up, bowing your head to your superior, before giving him a knowing nod. “I’m ready, sir.” 

-

Your closest friend back in your police academy days and fellow undercover partner, Yeonjun, was the first person you spotted upon exiting your boss’ office, well, specifically his bright red hair, slowly navigating past the maze of desks and whispering coworkers to make it over to him, privy to the looks some of them gave you as you slipped past them — though it didn’t phase you anymore. Your past did not define you. At least, that’s what your therapist had been telling you the past few years. 

“Hey, partner,” Yeonjun greeted you with a smile, reaching out to hand you a paper cup full of freshly steeped coffee, leaning back to sit down on the crowded surface of his desk. “Tomorrow’s the big day. You ready?” 

You took the steaming cup, your jaw tensing as the bitter liquid hit your tastebuds. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Choi.” You always thought of someone else when you uttered that surname. He was the complete opposite of your partner here: calm and collected, soulless when he wanted to be and full of love the very next moment, erratically ticking between the two like a malfunctioning metronome. You hated him for it. 

“Hey, it’s just Yeon, now. Come tomorrow, I won’t be my normal sexy self.” He pulled his freshly printed fake ID out of his t-shirt pocket and held it up to your face, replicating the toothy smile he had inside the picture. “Well, still sexy, yeah?” 

Chuckling, you leaned in, studying the fake ID, impressed by how real it looked. “Very sexy, Yeon, but remind me why you dyed your hair red? Is it the quarter life crisis settling in?” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, tucking his ID back into his pocket. “Ha-ha, funny. I just thought I should look the part if I’m going in as some renowned hacker.” 

You pushed a few files out of the way to lean against Yeonjun’s desk beside him. “Have you been studying up on your skills then?” 

“Of course, I have. I know I joke around a lot, but I’ve  dedicated my life to this, Y/N…” 

You looked down at Yeonjun’s hand, the one that rested on the desk in between you, his fingers drumming against the surface. “Good, because they don’t play around…”

The drumming stopped. Yeonjun turned his head to look at you, a flicker of light inside his brown eyes, like he was trying to understand you. “Do you…ever think about your life before the academy? Before this? Do you wish you could go back?” 

You bit into your lip, gazing past Yeonjun’s hand at one of the files that contained information about the very people you would be betraying. “I…just want to be good. Do what’s right…That’s why I left all of that. It’s why I’m here now.” 

He leaned over slightly until his shoulder pressed into yours, using his pinky to nudge at yours. “Not many would do what you’ve done, y’know. Giving up their way of life for something like this.” 

You nudged back, staring into the half empty cup of coffee you were still holding onto. “Not many people are this stupid.” 

“Not stupid.” Yeonjun pretended to clink his empty paper cup against yours, giving you a soft smile. “Brave. You’re the key component of this entire operation, Y/N. That’s huge. You’ll make a difference. Isn’t that what this is all about?” 

“Maybe…you’re right,” you replied softly, once again distracted by the folder from before, the one that was slightly open just enough to reveal the image of a man with slick back hair, dressed in quaint Victorian style clothes, with a big bow wrapped around his neck. Kim Hongjoong, owner of the Kim Estate and leader of the Black Pirate Organization. You knew him all too well, and all his closest cohorts. Would they recognize you? You hadn’t seen them since you were a young girl, forgotten by most and lost inside a system that didn’t care about you, except for the ambitious young man that swore he would one day be sat atop his ivory tower with those that followed his path. And now there he was, living the high life inside his big shiny mansion, sipping on fine wine, while you were still forcing down bitter instant coffee day after day, surrounded by people that looked at you, but never really saw you for what you were, whatever that was. Maybe Hongjoong knew. 

“Y/N…? You’re staring off into space again…” Yeonjun whispered near you, getting up from the desk once you came back to Earth. “Anyways, it’s late, and we have a lot to do tomorrow. We should get going.” 

“You’re right, we need as much rest as we can get.” You stretched out your legs before standing back up, just now noticing that you were the only two left inside the workspace, the light from your Chief’s office still peeking out past the dusty blinds. Maybe your Chief knew. 

Packing up your briefcase, you smiled at Yeonjun. “Should I dye my hair too?” 

Yeonjun pouted, resting his own briefcase against his hip. “That’s my thing.” 

-

Particles of dust and dirt filled your lungs, joining the blood that you began to choke on. It hurt to breathe, but your body carried on supplying oxygen to your lungs, not giving you a choice in the matter. You rolled over onto your back to face the night sky, your teary eyes focusing on the twinkling stars and the bright blue moon that loomed over the town, storm clouds rolling past until they blocked out the pretty view. Heavy rain began to pour down, soaking you to the bone. Even though you were losing the will to live, you still held onto the silver pair of scissors that you used to prove a point, even though it might’ve cost you your life. That was still something. However, your dear mentor still stood over you, his neck being clutched tightly by his trembling fingers, crimson slowly slipping past them. 

“See what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you? Ungrateful brat,” he choked out in between shallow breaths. Frustrated, he let out a gurgled growl, tossing his bloodied shank onto the dirt road beside his feet. You could’ve sworn you saw tears slip down his flushed cheeks, but then again, it was raining. “I didn’t want to do this…but you gave me no choice.” 

His closest companion took a step forward to securely grasp his upper arm, urging him, “Sir, we need to get you to the nearest hideout. I won’t let you bleed out like this.” 

The disheveled man’s other trusted subordinate placed a gloved hand on one of his shoulders, squeezing into it with urgency. He surveyed you past his foggy glasses, pushing them up the slope of his nose. His eyes were once filled with a sense of endearment when he looked at you, but now, they held contempt. “She made her decision, sir.” 

The struggling leader turned his head to look back and forth between his dear followers, then at his men who all waited behind them, their rain-streaked faces contorted with conflicted apprehension. They stood perfectly still like statues, until the all too familiar sound of sirens rang out in the distance. That’s when they all scattered, like rats, escaping from the flashing lights and disappearing into the dark of the night.  

Your soon to be killer was the last one to leave, looming over you as though he was Death himself, beads of rain, sweat, and blood dripping from his chin and down onto your face below. “Just one question, darling…” He held his neck tighter than before, growing dizzier from all the blood loss. “Why?” 

A small, self-satisfied laugh painfully bellowed from your chest, causing you to grab at your stomach where it had been sliced into. “The blade cuts both ways, sir. I was just following your lead…” You weakly lifted your hand up in the air, as though you wanted to reach him, but simply couldn’t. “Why aren’t you proud of the monster you created?” 

The man began to beam at you, but the corner of his lips stretched to an unfathomable degree, as though he had carved a smile into his own face. He lifted his chin up just enough to rid himself of the shadow that was cast over him, his brown eyes now void of anything, simply black. Soulless. “Oh, darling…the monster was always there. I simply dug it up.” 

You suddenly woke up and sat upright in your bed, your entire body covered in a layer of sweat, leading you to desperately kick off the comforter that had trapped you inside the sweltering heat. Upon realizing you were no longer caught inside a warped memory from your adolescence, you looked down at your stomach, lifting up the edge of your shirt to see if your scar was still there, sighing softly when you saw the jagged patch of skin. 

Your past doesn't define you. He doesn't define you — none of them do. And, now, you had the opportunity to create your own definition, and get a little revenge while you were at it. 

-

“Do we ring the doorbell…?” Yeonjun asked from beside you, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, getting a bit dizzy from trying to take in all of the glory of the Kim Estate. 

You were too busy studying the faded stains of blood left on the stone floor below to notice how out of character Yeonjun was already behaving, not that you could blame him. A similar prick of anxiety was already embedding itself into your mind, but you waved it away as soon as it made itself present. “We may be entering a lion’s den, but we won’t behave like them. I’ll knock.” 

Yeonjun nodded swiftly, clutching the handle of his messenger bag tightly inside his sweaty hand. “Hopefully they don’t eat us alive.” 

You gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, making sure you didn’t disturb the positioning of the micro earpiece that was sitting just behind your tragus. “They won’t, as long as we prove our worth.” 

You grabbed onto the obnoxious ivory door knocker, and just as you were about to make your presence known, you found yourself being yanked into the mansion by someone much bigger than you, Yeonjun’s squeaks of protest becoming background noise as soon as the man slammed you against the nearest wall. What felt to be the cold barrel of a compact handgun pressed up into the bottom of your chin with a click, your assailant’s focused, deep-set eyes boring into your own. “Is this how you welcome all your guests?”

“Not all of them…some I leave dead on the doorstep before they can even get a chance to beg on their knees,” the man muttered in a distinctly gravelly voice, a small chuckle bubbling out of his throat. Usually, the people he dealt with would be pissing themselves at this point, but it just seemed to be another day for this strangely familiar visitor. 

You could almost see your partner out of the corner of your eye, already on his own knees, his distinctively red hair being held onto by a nameless man in a 3-hole knit balaclava. It was then that you angled your head up slightly to get a good look at your old friend, feeling the barrel push harder into your skin. “Every guard dog has to have their fun, right? And, if you blew my head off now, well, where’s the fun in that?” 

“You’re right, doll.” The tall man’s plump lips quirked up into a smirk, slowly dragging his gun past your chin, down your neck, and along the softest parts of your body, poking and prodding at you in an attempt to humiliate you. “Should I see how many new holes I can give you? Fill them all with hot lead?” 

“At least buy me a drink first,” you said through gritted teeth, trying not to show any discomfort when he pushed the loaded gun roughly into your abdomen, directly into your scar, not that he could’ve known it was there. 

He seemed to enjoy your pained response, leaning his head back to let out a sudden laugh, one that was short and abrupt like a bark. “You’re one crazy bitch…” The man licked over his plump lips. “I like that.” 

It was just then that somebody else entered the foyer, their presence so distinctly powerful, the lot of you couldn’t help but notice before he even stepped foot in the room. “Is that any way to treat a valued guest, Mingi? I thought I trained you better than that.” 

Mingi immediately de-cocked the gun and brought it behind his back, tucking it away inside the waistline of his tailored pants. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Seonghwa patted Mingi’s shoulder with a gloved hand, giving him a small nod of understanding, before turning his attention to you and Yeonjun, the both of you cautiously standing with your backs against the paneled wall. “I do apologize for my guard dog. We try to keep him on a tight leash, but sometimes…he gets loose.” His shifting eyes formed half crescents. “You understand.” 

Yeonjun glanced over at you for guidance, and you responded with a small smile, before nodding your head obediently at Seonghwa’s words, Yeonjun following your lead. “It’s not a problem.” 

Seonghwa clasped his hands together, shaking his head slightly, a strand or two of raven hair falling past his forehead from where the rest of it sat perfectly still. He couldn’t seem to understand why he was experiencing a bout of deja vu. “Where are my manners?” He pressed his palm into his chest, and gave a small bow. “I’m Park Seonghwa, the second in command, if you will, here at the Kim Estate.” 

Yeonjun bowed back instantly, pushing his dyed hair behind his ears as he stood up straight. “My name’s Yeon. That’s what I go by online.” 

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raised up slightly. “Ah, I know you.” He chuckled to himself, glad that he was able to pinpoint the air of familiarity, but still annoyed that something wasn’t quite right. “You’re that hacker that’s going around and fucking with the local government, aren’t you?” 

Yeonjun was glad he didn’t eat too much that morning, otherwise he would’ve already thrown it up by now. He brought a peace sign up to his face and smiled. “That’s me, professional shit-stirrer at your service.” 

As more men began to trickle into the foyer to see what all the commotion was about, Seonghwa slowly turned his attention back to you, the true object of his frustration. It’s like he had seen you many times before, in a dream, perhaps? In the casino they ran behind closed doors? Or maybe you were one of the many playthings that were brought in to appease the voracious appetites of his degenerate cohorts. Either way, Seonghwa both loved and loathed the way you were already inside his mind, like you had already lived there, and your existence had simply been unearthed by the sands of time. 

“And, you are…?” he asked in a slow, calculated manner, his head tilting to the side. 

“I’m a diamond expert,” you explained vaguely, motioning to the large suitcase of supplies you were holding. “I can see the value of most things from a mile away, much like your dear leader.” 

Hongjoong was already aware of your arrival. You could feel it in your bones. 

Seonghwa brought a closed fist to his chin, nodding at your words, still not completely sure why he felt so uncomfortable. “But, who are you?” 

Your bubbling amusement was starting to rush to the surface, unable to keep yourself from smiling. And, just like that, you reunited with your dear mentor, except on opposite sides of the chess board. You were delighted everyone was there to witness the beginnings of your awaited rematch. “Why don’t you ask him? I think he’ll have an idea of who I am,” you replied giddily, prompting you to motion your head to the man that stood above the rest of you. 

You felt something stir within the men that looked at you, as though what had been hidden for so long had finally come to light. You weren’t a ghost, much to their surprise — well, at least, not yet. You were, of course, taking a gamble with your life, and your partner’s as well, but risks were meant to be taken, rules were meant to be broken, and strings were meant to be cut.

As though right on time, Hongjoong dug his nails into the mahogany railing of the expansive landing, his free hand unconsciously adjusting the bow that was wrapped securely around his neck. He understood the most out of all them. Value. You looked up to him, moving your fingers as though you were using a pair of scissors. 

“Remember now?” 

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[badathumanemotions]

Good Boy

Spencer Reid x Reader MDNI Masterlist Category: Smut CW: Light Angst, Puppy Play, Sub Spencer, Collars, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (F. rec), Vaginal Sex, Breeding. WC: 6,376 Spencer is being short with you and you put him in his place. (Not Proof Read)

Spencer had been off for the last couple of days. Not just stressed, but moody and unusually snippy, especially with you. It wasn’t like him to be short-tempered, let alone with you, but every little thing seemed to set him off lately.

You’d given him space at first, figuring he needed time to sort through whatever was bothering him. But the attitude hadn’t stopped, and your patience was running thin.

You leaned back in your office chair, the glow of your laptop illuminating the quiet room. The sound of the front door closing signalled Spencer’s return from the grocery store. Without looking up, you called out, “Hey, did you grab the almond milk?”

“Yes,” came Spencer’s curt reply, sharper than necessary.

You frowned, glancing up from your work. His tone hadn’t gone unnoticed, and after two days of his snippiness, your patience was starting to wear thin. “Everything okay out there?” you called, keeping your voice calm.

“Everything’s fine,” he snapped, followed by the sound of a cabinet door shutting harder than it needed to.

You pushed your chair back with a sigh, making your way into the kitchen. Spencer was at the counter, aggressively stacking items on the shelf with an air of irritation that felt entirely unwarranted.

“Fine, huh?” you asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

He glanced at you briefly before returning to the groceries. “Yes. Fine,” he repeated, his words clipped.

“Right.” You watched him for a moment, taking in the way his jaw clenched and his fingers trembled as he shoved a box of crackers into place. His irritation was almost palpable, though it clearly had nothing to do with you—or at least, it shouldn’t have.

“Spencer, talk to me,” you said, your tone soft but steady.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he replied, still not looking at you. “Why does everyone always have to make everything such a big deal?”

Your eyebrows lifted at his choice of words. “Everyone?” you repeated. “Who’s everyone, exactly? Because I don’t recall making anything into a big deal.”

He froze for half a second before continuing with the groceries, clearly realizing his misstep. “Forget I said anything.”

You straightened, no longer leaning against the door frame. “No, I don’t think I will,” you said, stepping into the kitchen. “You’ve been snapping at me for two days now, and I’ve let it slide because I know work’s been rough. But I’m not your punching bag, Spencer. If you’re upset, you need to say so. Otherwise, this little attitude of yours needs to stop.”

He turned to face you then, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and guilt. “I said I’m fine,” he insisted, though the tension in his voice made it clear he wasn’t.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice firm now. “Look at me.”

His eyes darted to yours reluctantly, and you could see the flicker of conflict in his gaze. He was digging in his heels, and it only made your resolve strengthen.

“Last chance,” you said, stepping closer. “Either tell me what’s going on, or we’re going to handle this another way.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening again. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he muttered finally, the stubbornness in his voice enough to push you past your limit.

“Alright,” you said, your tone calm but unmistakably authoritative. “Then we’re done talking. You’ve been brimming with misplaced annoyance, and since you can’t seem to control yourself, I’m going to handle it for you.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his defiance faltering as your words sank in. His eyes widened slightly, the hint of challenge quickly giving way to submission as he realized where this was going.

“Finish putting those away,” you instructed, your voice low and steady. “Then we’ll deal with your behaviour properly.”

Spencer’s defiance started to crack when you caught his eye. You could tell he was trying to soften you up with that look—the one that always got him out of trouble. His big, doe eyes widened slightly, his lashes fluttering as he looked up at you. It was his signature puppy-dog eyes—and you knew exactly what he was trying to do.

He stepped closer, his voice taking on that quiet, almost childlike quality. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words soft and apologetic. “I didn’t mean to be snippy.”

You stood firm, arms crossed over your chest. “Spencer,” you said, your tone resolute. “This has been going on for two days now. You don’t get to just apologize with those eyes and expect me to let it slide.”

He leaned in a little, his lips pouting just enough to make it clear he was trying to charm his way out of trouble, those puppy-dog eyes fixed on you. “Please,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but you weren’t giving in. “What happened to my good boy?” you asked, your voice dropping into a firm, almost disappointed tone. “This attitude? It’s not like you.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped a little at the words, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more uncertain. The pout deepened, and he dropped his gaze, clearly feeling the weight of your words.

“Good boys don’t act like this, Spencer,” you continued, your voice cool but with a trace of affection. “You’ve been a bad boy, and now you’re going to be punished for it.”

He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes flickered up to yours again, a faint blush rising on his cheeks. The blush wasn’t from embarrassment—it was the warmth of something else, something you knew well. His gaze lingered a little longer, and you could see how hard he was trying to hold himself back, but the arousal in his eyes was undeniable.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter this time, as though he was willing to accept whatever came next.

You nodded, keeping your voice calm but firm. “Good. You know the rules. You’ve earned your punishment.”

Spencer’s blush deepened as he nodded obediently. “Yes, master.”

You took a step closer, giving him a final look. “Finish what you’re doing. When you're done, come find me. We’ll take care of your punishment then.”

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he placed the last of the groceries in the cabinet. It was a quiet task, but his mind was far from focused on it. The weight of your words hung heavy in his thoughts, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of anticipation building in his chest.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he finished closing the pantry door, and gave the kitchen one last glance. His stomach twisted in knots as he straightened up, wiping his hands nervously on his pants.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, standing still in the kitchen as his heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t want to disappoint you, but the thought of what was coming next made him feel vulnerable. He didn’t want to be punished, but part of him knew it was exactly what he deserved. He had been snippy, and now he had to face the consequences.

With a shaky exhale, he finally moved toward the study. His footsteps were soft as he crossed the hallway, and as he reached the door, he paused, running a hand through his hair. The sound of his breath felt louder than it should’ve been as he stood on the threshold, his eyes casting a quick glance inside.

You were sitting at the desk, your posture relaxed, but there was an undeniable air of authority around you. Spencer swallowed hard, feeling a rush of both fear and excitement coursing through him. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, but stayed a few feet away, not sure how to approach you.

Spencer softly called out your name, his voice quiet, almost uncertain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to look too eager, but his body was already betraying him, the flush of arousal still lingering under the surface.

You didn’t look up from your work, not even acknowledging his presence at first. You let the tension build, letting him stew in his anxiety for a few moments before finally speaking. “Strip,” you said simply, not bothering to look up from the documents in front of you.

Spencer’s pulse quickened at the command, his hands moving almost of their own accord to the buttons of his shirt. He fumbled slightly, his fingers trembling as he began to undo them one by one. The fabric parted, revealing his pale, slender chest.

His eyes remained on the floor as he slipped the shirt off, letting it fall to the ground behind him. His breaths grew shallower as he reached for the waistband of his pants, the anticipation of what was to come making his heart race.

The silence in the room was unnerving, the only sound the rustle of fabric as he undressed. You remained focused on your work, not looking up, as if he wasn’t even there. It was a thrilling kind of power play, one that Spencer knew well, and it never failed to get his blood pumping.

He stepped out of his shoes, socks following suit, and then worked on his belt. His pants pooled around his ankles, and he stepped out of them, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. The fabric was tented, a clear indication of his arousal, and he knew you had to be aware of it.

With his heart racing, Spencer took the final step of obedience and pushed his boxers down, letting them fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them, leaving himself completely bare before you. The air was cold against his skin, making his nipples pebble and his cock jut out even more. He was fully exposed, vulnerable and at your mercy.

You finally looked up from your work, your eyes raking over him, taking in every inch of his trembling body. You nodded in approval, then pointed to the floor beside your chair. “Kneel,” you said, your voice still firm but with a hint of warmth.

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He took a step forward and sank to his knees, his hands resting on his thighs as he awaited further instruction. He felt the coolness of the hardwood floor against his knees. His eyes remained downcast, his breath shallow and fast as he awaited for what you had in store for him.

You reached into the drawer of your desk and pulled out the leather collar that signalled his role in your games. It was black and simple, yet held a significant meaning between the two of you. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as you held it up to him, the metal tag jingling slightly as it dangled from the leather strap.

You fastened the collar around his neck, the cold metal of the tag brushing against his skin. The leather was smooth and cool against his throat, a stark contrast to the heat that flushed his cheeks. He felt the weight of the collar settle into place, it was a symbol of his submission, a physical reminder that he belonged to you.

“Good boy,” you murmured, the words sending a shiver down his spine. You returned to your work, not looking up, just letting the anticipation build. Spencer felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. This was a dynamic that played out between the two of you often, one that allowed him to shed his usual layers of intellectual armour and just be.

His cock pulsed in anticipation, the blood rushing to the tip as he waited for your next move. You knew just how to push his buttons—how to make him squirm and crave your attention. The silence stretched out, the air in the room filling with tension, and still, you did not look up from your work.

You felt his eyes on you, his need palpable, and a smug smile curved your lips. This was your favourite part, the moment when you had all the power. Spencer’s breath grew shallower, his chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale and exhale.

Finally, you reached out, your hand coming to rest on his head, stroking his hair gently. Spencer leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly as he felt the tension in his body melt away. It was a simple gesture, one that could be interpreted as comforting or patronizing in other contexts, but here, it was a clear assertion of dominance, of care.

You began to pet him, your fingers running through his soft hair, guiding his head downward. Spencer didn’t resist, his body moving instinctively as he felt the urge to be closer to you, to be held and controlled. His forehead came to rest on your thigh, and he let out a soft sigh of relief. The weight of your hand remained on him, grounding him, reminding him of his place.

But as quickly as it had come, you removed your touch. Spencer whined, a soft sound of protest escaping his lips, his eyes flying open to look up at you. The loss of contact was sudden, and it left him feeling needy.

"What's the matter?" you asked, your voice deceptively calm. "Does the little puppy want more?"

Spencer whined again, his eyes pleading. You knew exactly what he needed, but you weren't going to give it to him just yet. "Bad puppies only get what they're given," you reminded him, your voice firm.

With a deep breath, Spencer nodded, his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and excitement. He knew you weren’t just playing a game; this was his chance to make amends, to show you that he could be the obedient one when it mattered.

You leaned back in your chair, watching him closely. “Good boy,” you murmured, and his cock twitched at the praise. “Now, show me how much you want to be my good boy. Hump my leg, Spencer. And remember, no cumming until I say so.”

You leaned back in your chair, watching him expectantly. Spencer took a moment to compose himself, then, with a soft whine, he leaned forward. His cock was already erect, bobbing slightly as he positioned himself closer to your leg. He pressed his forehead to your thigh, his hands gripping the fabric of your pants for stability.

He began to rub the hot flesh of his cock against your leg, his movements tentative at first. The fabric of your slacks was a barrier, but you could feel the heat of him, the way his cock slid against you with a gentle, needy insistence. The whine grew louder in his throat as he picked up the pace, his hips rocking slightly with each stroke.

The friction was minimal, a mere tease of what he craved, but it was enough to make his body respond. Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed, and his breath grew more ragged as he lost himself in the sensation. It was a simple act of submission, one that never failed to make him feel so alive, so present in the moment.

You watched him with a mix of amusement and desire, the way he moved with such unbridled need against you. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps that matched the rhythm of his hips. The sight was undeniably arousing.

You could feel the warmth of his cock through your pants, the gentle pressure increasing with every thrust. He was lost in the moment, his body moving on instinct, driven by a deep craving to please you. His movements grew more frantic, his breaths more desperate. You knew he was close to the edge, but you weren’t ready to let him come just yet.

Reaching down, you placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements. Spencer whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, his eyes flying open to meet yours. “Not yet, pup,” you said, your voice a gentle reprimand. “You’re not allowed to cum until I give you permission. Remember?”

He nodded, his eyes wide and desperate. You could see the effort it took for him to hold back, his body trembling with the need to release. The sight made your own desire flare, but you remained in control, stroking his shoulder soothingly.

"Good boy," you said again, your voice a gentle purr that made his cock throb.

Spencer nodded, his breath coming in shallow pants as he leaned into your touch. The fabric of your pants was rough against his skin, but the warmth of your leg beneath it was a comfort. He took a moment to compose himself, then started again, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he rubbed his cock against you.

You could feel the tension in his body as he held back, his muscles straining with the effort. The whine grew more insistent, his need for release palpable. Each stroke was a silent plea for more, for the sweet release that only you could give him.

You watched him, the sight of his naked body, so vulnerable and eager, making your own pulse race. Your hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping his collar gently but firmly, reminding him of his place. “That’s it, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. “Just like that. Show me how much you want it, how much you need it from me.”

Spencer’s hips rocked against you, his cock sliding against your leg with a wet sound that filled the room. He was so close, his entire body quivering with the effort to hold back. You could see the muscles in his abdomen contracting with every stroke, the desperation in his movements as he sought the relief he so desperately needed.

You leaned down, your hand moving to grip the base of his cock, holding it firmly in place. “Easy, pup,” you murmured, your voice a gentle reprimand. “Remember the rules. No cumming.”

Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, and he nodded, his breath hitching. His body was tight, wound up like a spring, and you knew he was just moments away from breaking. You watched him, his face a picture of pure need as he struggled to maintain control.

With a smirk, you decided it was time to give him a little more. You undid the button of your slacks, sliding the zipper down. Spencer’s eyes snapped open at the sound, his gaze dropping to the opening of your pants as you reached inside.

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down to give him a glimpse of your damp folds. He licked his lips, his eyes glazed over with lust. You knew he was dying to touch you, to taste you, but he remained obedient, his movements against your leg never faltering.

With a smirk, you began to stroke yourself, your fingers slipping through your wetness with ease. Spencer’s eyes followed every movement, his own breathing growing more ragged with each pass of your hand over your clit. The sound of your wetness filled the room, complimenting the quiet whimpers escaping his lips.

You watched him, enjoying the way his cock bobbed with each stroke he gave it against your leg. It was clear he was desperate to taste you, to feel you, but he remained still, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for permission. The power play was intoxicating, the control you had over him in this moment.

With a sly smile, you decided to give him a taste of what he wanted. "You've been such a good boy, Spencer," you murmured, your voice dripping with desire. "You've earned a little treat."

Spencer's eyes widened he watched, entranced, as you offered your glistening fingertips to him. "Taste," you said simply, your tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky hand, he reached up and took your fingers into his mouth, his tongue eagerly lapping at your essence. The taste of you was intoxicating, making him even more desperate to please. He sucked gently, savouring the flavour as you watched him with hooded eyes, your own arousal clear in your expression.

Then, without another word, you stood up, pushing your chair back. You stepped out of your shoes, then slowly slid your pants and panties down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles. Spencer’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of you—bare, open, and ready for him.

You sat back down on the chair, spreading your legs wide, giving him full access to your wet, waiting pussy. The leather was cool against your skin, contrasting the heat radiating from your core. Spencer stared for a moment, his eyes dark with lust before shuffling forward knees, his cock bobbing eagerly.

"Eat me out, Spencer," you ordered, your voice a seductive purr that sent a thrill down his spine. "And be a good boy keep humping my leg."

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He leaned in eagerly, his tongue flicking out to trace the folds of your sex. The salty sweetness of your arousal filled his senses as he lapped at your clit, the movements of his hips against your leg becoming more insistent. Each stroke of his cock sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he could feel the precum leaking onto your skin.

You watched him with hooded eyes, your hand still on his neck, guiding him closer to your heat. His tongue was rough and hungry, exploring you with an intensity that made your toes curl. You could feel yourself growing wetter with each pass of his tongue, your hips lifting slightly off the chair to meet him.

Spencer lapped at you with a fervour that was almost animalistic—like a starving animal ready to feast. Each stroke of his tongue was desperate, eager to taste more of you, to please you in the most primal of ways. He knew his punishment was coming, but for now, he was lost in the task of making you come, of serving you.

Your thighs quivered under his touch, your grip on his neck tightening as his tongue delved deeper. He nuzzled into your folds, his nose pressing against the base of your clit as he licked and sucked with a rhythm that made you gasp. You could feel your orgasm building, a pressure that grew with each flick of his tongue.

Spencer's movements against your leg grew more urgent, his hips jerking as he felt your thigh muscles tense. He knew you were close, and the anticipation was driving him wild. The warmth of your cunt washed over his face, and he breathed you in, the scent of your arousal making him light-headed. His own cock was aching, but the promise of your climax was all that mattered.

As you felt yourself approaching the brink, your grip on his neck tightened, your hips bucking into his mouth. You moaned out, "Good boy," your voice thick with need. The words sent a bolt of pleasure through Spencer, making his cock throb against your leg. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision, eager to taste your release.

Spencer’s own hips were moving faster now, his cock sliding against your skin in a slick, desperate dance. The sound of your moans grew louder, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. He could feel the tension building in your body, the way your thighs tightened around his head. It was intoxicating, the power of knowing that he was the one giving you so much pleasure.

With one final, hard suck on your clit, you shuddered, your body arching as the orgasm crashed over you. Spencer's eyes went wide as he watched you, your face contorted in ecstasy. His own need was almost overwhelming, and he had to grip the base of his cock with a firm hand to keep from spilling his seed on the floor.

The head of his cock was a dark shade of red, the precum slick and plentiful. He could feel his pulse beating in the vein that ran along the underside, the desperate throb of his cock made him whimper. Yet, he held back, his eyes never leaving you as he waited for your command.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. You looked down at him, a smug smile playing on your lips. You knew just how much he was fighting the urge to cum, the way his hand tightly gripped the base of his cock, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the effort.

Pride filled your chest at the sight of him, so eager, so obedient. You leaned down, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His eyes searched yours, desperate for approval, for a sign that he had done well.

"Such a good boy," you whispered, the words a warm caress that sent a shiver down Spencer's spine. "I'm so proud of you for being such an obedient pup." His cock throbbed against your leg in response, the need to cum almost painfully intense. He had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and yet, in this moment, with your praise, he felt more loved than ever.

Your kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of your lips to his, a silent praise for his submission. Spencer’s eyes closed, and he melted into the kiss, his body relaxing slightly. But you didn’t let it linger. You pulled away, leaving him panting and needy.

With a single word—“Follow”—you stood, the leather of the chair protesting with a soft squeak. You turned and walked out of the study, your bare ass swaying slightly with each step. Spencer’s eyes followed you, his hand dropping to his cock involuntarily before he caught himself.

He scrambled to his feet, his knees popping as he straightened up. The room spun briefly, a side effect of the intense need that had been building in him. But he didn’t hesitate, his eyes locked on your retreating form as he followed you into the hallway. His cock bobbed with each step, the cool air of the house making him even more sensitive.

When he walked into the bedroom, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. You were completely naked, on your hands and knees in the centre of the bed, your ass in the air. The light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over your skin, highlighting the curve of your back, the swell of your ass, and the wetness glistening between your thighs.

You looked over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched him approach. "You were so good for me, pup," you say seductively. "Come claim your reward."

Spencer didn't hesitate for a second. He practically leaped onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his desperation. He positioned himself behind you, his cock brushing against your wet folds. You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and heavy with need.

With a low growl, he slammed into you, the force of his entry making your eyes roll back in your head. He didn't pull out at first, just rutted into you with quick, short thrusts that had you gasping for breath. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your pussy clenching around his shaft, eager to keep him deep inside.

Spencer's hands gripped your hips, his nails digging into your skin as he fucked you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. His teeth were bared, and his eyes had taken on a wild, desperate look as he chased his own release, his hips snapping forward with each punishing thrust.

The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his grunts of exertion. Each impact sent shockwaves of sensation through Spencer's body, making him feel more alive than he had in what felt like an eternity.

His balls slapped against your clit with every deep, hard thrust, the rhythmic sting adding to the crescendo of pleasure that was building within you. It was an incredibly satisfying sensation, one that had you pushing back into him, urging him deeper, faster.

Spencer’s breath grew ragged as he claimed you, his hips moving in a steady, punishing rhythm. He could feel your body tightening around him, your muscles clenching in a silent plea for more. He was lost in the heat of the moment, his mind a blur of need and desire.

The idea of breeding filled his thoughts, an animalistic instinct that took hold and consumed him. He could feel the urge to fill you, to mark you as his own, to claim you in the most primal of ways. It was a driving force that went beyond the confines of their usual role play, reaching into the depths of his soul.

“You’re going to breed me, aren’t you, pup?” you panted, pushing back against him. “You’re going to fill me up with your seed and make me yours, aren’t you?”

The words sent a bolt of lust through Spencer’s body, his cock hardening even further. He nodded, his voice a low, animalistic growl. “Yes,” he managed to get out. “I’m going to breed you. I’m going to fill your tight cunt with my cum until you’re overflowing, until you’re begging for more, until you can’t think of anything but me fucking you, breeding you, claiming you as mine!”

You moaned at his words, the idea of it making you wetter than you already were. Your pussy clamped down around his cock, the walls spasming as he fucked you harder. The sound of his voice, so raw and unfiltered, was like a drug, pushing you closer to the edge.

But as much as you loved hearing him talk this way, you knew you had to reestablish your dominance. With a swift move, you pushed yourself up onto your knees, taking hold of his leather collar. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his pupils dilating with anticipation as he felt your grip tighten.

With surprising strength, you yanked him, pushing him onto his back on the bed. The snap back in power dynamics had him panting, his cock slipping out of you with a wet sound. He stared up at you, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his orgasm at bay.

Straddling him, you lined his cock up with your entrance, then slammed down onto it, taking him fully inside you once more. Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. You began to ride him, setting a pace that was just shy of punishing.

Your hips rolled and bucked, each movement sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. You could feel the head of his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, making your toes curl and your eyes water. Spencer’s hands found your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he met your rhythm, thrusting up into you with a ferocity that had you gasping.

You leaned forward, your breasts swaying with each movement, your nipples brushing against his chest. The smell of sex was filling the air, a heady mix of your arousal and his desperation. You lowered your mouth to his ear, whispering, “You’re going to fill me up, aren’t you, puppy? You’re going to breed me like a good little boy, until I’m leaking your seed all over the bed.”

Spencer’s hips jerked in response. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, the need to cum almost unbearable. You could see the desperation in his eyes, the way his body tensed beneath you.

With a wicked smile, you leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest as you whispered, “Claim me, Spencer. Make me yours. Fill me up until I’m swollen with your cum. I want to feel you in every part of me, forever marked as your bitch."

The words were like a trigger, and Spencer’s eyes lit up with a fiery need. With a snarl, he bucked his hips upward, slamming into you with a force that had the bed frame groaning in protest. Each thrust was punctuated with a needy grunt.

You could feel your own climax building again, the delicious friction of his cock against your walls driving you wild. Spencer’s eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive as he pounded into you.

"I've been such a good boy, please, can I cum?" he whined, his voice high and needy. The desperation in his tone sent a thrill through your body, making your pussy tighten around his shaft.

"Beg for it," you said, your voice a low, seductive purr. Spencer's eyes widened, and he did as he was told, his voice a desperate wail as he pleaded for his release. "Please, ma'am, I need to fill you up. I need to claim you, to make you mine. Please let me cum."

You smirked at his desperate pleas, feeling the power of your dominance over him in this moment. With a single word command, "Cum," you gave him the permission he so desperately craved.

Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hips jerking up to meet yours as he released his load into you. The sensation of his warm seed filling you up was intense, sending you hurtling over the edge into your own orgasm. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, milking him for every last drop as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

Feeling him cum in you only added to your pleasure, the warmth and wetness spreading through your core, mixing with your own juices. You moaned deeply, your head falling back as you basked in the feeling of his possession. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a low growl, his body shaking with the force of his climax.

As the aftershocks of your shared orgasm began to subside, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his, your breaths mingling as you both panted. His cock was still twitching inside you, the aftermath of his release sending delicious tremors through your body.

You slid off of him, his cum spilling out of you and onto the bed, a warm, sticky mess that neither of you seemed to mind. You both collapsed onto the mattress, limbs tangled as your bodies cooled down.

The room was quiet now, the glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. Spencer lay against you, his head resting on your chest, the collar still snug around his neck—a tangible reminder of the dynamic you shared. His fingers traced aimless patterns on your hip, and while his body was relaxed, there was a faint tension in the way he held himself, like he was still carrying something unsaid.

You combed your fingers gently through his curls, waiting for him to speak. You knew Spencer well enough to know he needed time to gather his thoughts, especially when something was weighing on him.

Finally, he let out a small sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sincere.

“For what?” you prompted gently, your tone free of judgment but firm enough to encourage honesty.

“For snapping at you earlier,” he admitted, his fingers stilling on your hip. “For the last couple of days, really. I’ve just been… overwhelmed.” He paused, his voice faltering slightly. “And I didn’t know how to handle it, so I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

You tilted his chin up so he could look at you, your gaze steady but warm. “It wasn’t fair,” you agreed, “but I’m glad you’re telling me now.” You ran your thumb along his cheek, offering him a soft smile. “I need you to talk to me when you’re feeling like that, Spencer. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

His eyes flickered with guilt, but also relief. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just hard sometimes. I don’t want to feel like I’m burdening you with my problems.”

“You’re never a burden,” you said firmly, your hand cupping his face. “We’re a team, remember? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes shining with emotion. “I’ll try to be better about it,” he promised, his voice earnest. “I don’t want to push you away.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But I need you to be open with me, even when it’s hard. Can you do that?”

He swallowed hard, but his nod was resolute. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Good,” you said, your tone softening. “That’s my good boy.”

A faint blush rose to his cheeks at the praise, and he nuzzled against you, his arms tightening around your waist. You continued to stroke his hair, letting the moment settle into something tender and comforting.

“Thank you,” he said after a while, his voice muffled against your skin. “For being patient with me. For… everything.”

“Always,” you replied, your voice filled with quiet affection.

As the last vibrations of pleasure faded away, you reached up to unbuckle the leather collar around Spencer's neck. He flinched slightly at the touch, his body still hypersensitive from his intense climax. You took the collar off gently, setting it aside on the nightstand.

A soft blush rose on his cheeks, and he hid his face against your neck, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, but the way you held him made it feel natural.

“Are you comfortable?” you asked after a few minutes, your hand brushing along his side.

He nodded, his voice muffled. “Yeah. Just… don’t let go yet.”

“Never,” you promised, pulling the blankets up around you both. “I’ve got you.”

Spencer let out a contented hum, relaxing further into your embrace. The weight of the past few days had lifted, replaced by warmth, trust, and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

[ashrayus]

PLSSSS MORE FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS OF JASON TODDDD!

DUDEE!!!! really happy u asked but also omg this got long agaiN who would have thought (!) i added summaries this time tho :)

here is part one of my fic recs XD

andd heres the new ones!! pls give them some love if u read them :D

Dick and Jason:

how lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill by sunlitlemonade

There were blood drops dripping down his fingers to the ground. The puddle was big enough for it to have spread around more than half the tub. His breaths shuddered, they were shallow and waning. But he was breathing and Dick’s world centered around that.

starting strong with Angst go read all of sun’s fics i always die and get revived <333 pls mind the tags on this one

cast on/cast off by hellsreluctantheir

“This is surprisingly non-destructive for Jason,” Dick comments, lightly. In the parking lot, Jason pulls a grenade out of one of his pockets, yanks the pin, and tosses it through the roller door and out of sight, before tearing out of the parking lot in chase of the truck. “Well, for a minute there,” Dick amends. He takes a step back towards the alley the batmobile is parked in, giving Bruce a quick glance. “We following? “No,” Bruce says, as the grenade goes off. “He’s cleared the warehouse. We can get into the office.” Dick sighs again. But Jason knows he can call in if he needs help.

time loop!!! read most of this writer's fics and fell in love with them all,, go read fr

bloodstained by hellsreluctantheir

“I know where the clinic is, asshole,” Jason said. The wad of gauze he was using to keep pressure kept slipping against his shoulder. The knife had caught the space between two panels, split to allow movement. Lucky shot. “Ok, let me make sure you get there without passing out from blood loss,” Dick said, a deliberate evenness to his tone, like he was doing his best to accomodate someone who was being completely unreasonable. Shithead. “I’m not going to pass out,” Jason said, ignoring the fact that he was actually feeling pretty unsteady on his feet. He caught himself with his good shoulder on the entry to the bathroom, took a deep breath. “What would Daddy Bats think if he knew you were here, trying to help me?” “I assume something like, ‘Wow, Dick, you’re such a good brother, trying so hard to make sure Jason is ok even when he’s being a complete idiot about it,’” Dick sniped.

heres another one from them. jasons scars and dick. andd another one next

brothers in arms by hellsreluctantheir

It wasn’t like none of them went undercover. Jason practically lived there. And he’d punch anyone who tried to make it a sob story for him, to cluck over the times he’d been alone in a pit of vipers, act like it was some tragedy. But given half a minute to think about it, Dick somewhere completely cut off from everyone but Bruce, no allies on hand, surrounded by enemies. Angry as he was at the lie, there was something about that he just fucking hated. or Thinking your brother is dead and then finding out he's been alive the whole time really has a way of making you rethink the relationship.

Shelter by Ptelea

Two safe houses, two nights dealing with the aftermath of fear toxin, multiple conversations, several meals. Written for Sholio's September 2020 Comfort Fest for a prompt from Musesfool. Warning-wise, there's nothing graphic here but there are definitely references to past canon trauma for both the characters.

the way they are written here <33

Rotten Fruits by couldyoublameme

“I’m fine,” Dick assured gently, sitting up slightly. “Just a bad night, is all.” It’s a familiar phrase he has used so often. Whenever the addiction crawls back into his mind, a parasite he can never truly get rid of. The family knows what it means. Knows what the ‘bad’ is. Knows what to do. “Oh,” Jason says. “Why?”

absolutely murdered me. pls do mind the tags

You Can Do Better Than That by AlexaAffect

All Jason could hear was his own ragged breathing. He desperately gasped for air, each breath more exhausting than the last and his lungs and throat burned with the effort. In. And, he needed a second longer with every breath he took, out. His arms had been suspended for the last… 15? minutes? Jason had quit keeping track of the time, he’d been too preoccupied trying to hold himself upright, trying to ease his position, switch it up, anything to prolong the guaranteed death. “Red Hood?” That was Dick’s voice. Huh. So they had found him fast enough. Or alternatively; Dick finds a kidnapped Jason shortly before he asphyxiates.

this fic is just oddly comforting to me idk. very precious

Equivalent Exchange by Lysical

Apparently favors don't expire on death. --"What do you want, Dick?" "For you to be happy, Jay." Dick leaned over and pinched his cheek. Jason reached up and swiped at him, scowling. "And world peace."

ADORABLE and fun

Just for Now by Lysical

Jason was back in Gotham and the timing couldn't be worse for him to need assistance on a case. He didn't want to see any of the Bats and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Nightwing was the worst option for Oracle to pick to help him out.

To Reconcile by CasualDanger

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?”

he ain't heavy, he's my brother by someplacewarm

Dick's been putting off meeting with Jason for a while now, but when a distress call comes through, he has no choice but to answer. Or the one where Dick and Jason talk, fight, get high and cuddle. In that order.

making gold out of it by vmkhoney

Dick talks himself back down on the bathroom floor, clinical and detached. (For someone whose primary skill is manipulating his body, it’s not very often that he feels connected to it.) - Or, five years after Blockbuster, Dick begins teetering on the ledge of processing what Catalina did to him.

a wonderful dick grayson fic, and jason is there being a good brother. mind the tags

What Hurts You by blueyeti

Dick comes to Jason's aid when he's injured in a fight, or at least he thinks he has.

jason has no scars!! and thats also sad

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. aka; How Dick Grayson finds out Jason Todd is alive. A story about healing.

a rather long one for my standards XD (very short attention span) but this made me sit down and read. very fun jason

Bruce and Jason:

Saltwater and Desperation by bacondoughnut

Jason's not sure how he even manages to get himself out of the harbor. He's just glad Bruce is there when he does. Not that he'll ever, ever admit as much out loud.

same writer, love this jason (and bruce) so much

Insomnolence by navree

It's not like he slept much as a kid anyway; this is just a return to the status quo. He's not overly tired, and even if he's been sleeping less than his already limited amount throughout April, that's still not any of her business. Bad memories are already bad enough even before they spend the next few years in the aftermath becoming nightmares.

navree being The bruce and jason writer for me all of their fics are so o(- (

Ash Into The Wind by navree

This is his dad in there, the first man he ever called Dad, at any rate, and even after everything, booze and jail and Bruce and death and then death again, there's never going to be a part of Jason that isn't gutted that he's dead. One night, a wraith in a red helmet slips onto the grounds of Blackgate Penitentiary to steal one specific thing.

another one from them

Trapped by lurkinglurkerwholurks

BatFam Week 2018, Day Two. Prompt: Trapped Yes, the prompt is "trapped" and it's a Jason fic. I'm so, so sorry. (Not really, though.) Please see tags for potential triggers.

binge read this writers fics recently they write them so nice

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies

Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance.

Jason and Batfam:

Names and Neapolitan by Muddell

“Goddamnnit Robin,” Hood is there, pulling him into his arms. Robin sees that helmet, he sees the green eyes, the dark hair, he sees open, gray, Gotham sky, and hears tires squealing, and then he sees stone. He sees the cave. Bruce is there. Alfred is there. Dick is there. And Hood is there. Robin rolls in and out of consciousness. He reaches out, snatches the smell of copper and the touch of leather, and he holds Hood’s hand and he does not let go. He’s allowed to say it now. “Jason,” he says. “Don’t leave.” Or, following Dick telling Tim about his older brother, to Tim actually knowing him.

read a couple fics from this writer all so good!!!

Six Ways to Sunday by Muddell

Jason catches Duke hiding a headache and says, is anyone going to deal with that?

same writer!! really love their jason

Settle Down and Sleep by OberonBronze

A series of vignettes about seeking comfort. Damian tries his hand at being a comfort animal; Tim shows up at Jason’s place for an impromptu sleepover; Jason bonds with his older brother after a damaging fear toxin trip; Dick and Bruce have a long-overdue conversation.

really liked jason and dick in this :)

Tuck Me In by OberonBronze

Bruce Wayne and his long-standing habit of tucking his kids into bed.

think how great it is to fall asleep (and how terrible it is to wake up) by mikkal

Jason was fifteen, barely five foot, and underweight for his age when he died. When he came back to his body, suddenly he was too tall, too scarred, too much, too different. And he just... never got used to it. (Or: 5 times a Bat noticed/discovered his body dysphoria post resurrection)

Stranger Danger by alchemistsarego, whumpinaheartbeat (alchemistsarego)

There was never one particular moment that Damian registered that he was losing consciousness. Everything simply flashed from one thing to the next, even though some part of him understood that time had been passing in between. He had been sitting upright, rolling his eyes at something someone had said, then he was on the ground being pinned by some unknowable weight. All at once the weight was gone again, replaced instead by something not only lighter, but much warmer too. A blanket? No, a jacket.

jason and others:

Past Experience by Rookblonkorules

He thinks he might be dying. Again.

clark and jason :)

Bats in the Belfry by endlessnepenthe

Hal idly wonders how long he has before he's found. Probably not very. The Bat's freaky like that. (Or, Hal goes to Gotham and discovers that Batman's brand of freaky isn't exactly one of a kind.)

jason and hal jordan??! and slade? and magic.

[pedgito]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | You end up in the backseat of Joel's car, for a few reasons.

author's note | a sequel to drive. sorry the insistent posting, a girl's head is full of words and ideas and they gotta go somewhere. unbeta'd but i went through this five times, i pray there's no typos.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, girthy age gap (early 20s, late 50s), car troubles, silent yearning, internal conflict, still sad hot grieving dads gone wild, is this real love or a mid-life crisis, teasing, daddy kink, degradation, unprotected piv, eating from the back, the slightest hint of ass play, all of this is definitely bad for his knees, joel is a gentleman first always

word count — 5k

Joel hands you the keys to his car without a single hesitation.

Your eyes widen, still rousing from your sound sleep in an unfamiliar home, an unconventional way to spend your night as you’re standing in front of the man who made you come without a single touch on his behalf. 

The shame never surfaces, replaced with a strong surge of confidence. 

“Are you sure?”

“Can you drive stick?”

You nod, closing your fingers around the keys placed in your palm.

“I’m sure,” he responds with ease, hair wet from a fresh shower and combed back, dressed in a fresh set of clothes while you’re still stuck in your clothes from the night prior.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t give you a distinct feeling of exhilaration, shaking with a subtle excitement as he follows you closely to his car, slightly hesitant as you adjust yourself in the driver’s side until you’re comfortable, his hand curling around the open window to close the door.

With the early drive, it was clear open roads and the quiet hum of nature, and Joel’s wordless encouragement to enjoy yourself, only driving recklessly enough that it makes your heart race for a moment before you’re reminding yourself that it isn’t your car—as fun as the joy ride is.

“How often do you let strangers drive your car?” you ask as your drive has tripped over the halfway mark and transitioned into more busy streets.

“Strangers? Never,” he tells you, “Pretty girl like you? Also never…well, ‘til now.”

“Careful,” you warn him playfully, patting the steering wheel gently, “I might come back for her,”

“Just her?” There’s a hint of something unrecognizable in his tone, not able to put your finger on it, but you turn to him briefly, a kind smile on your face, utterly relaxed. 

“Just her,” you jest, hardly meaning the words, knowing the chances of ever seeing Joel again were slim to none and frankly, you were settled with that fact.

He’d given you a night, healed what had been ruined, and didn’t judge you once.

Joel would be a fond memory, though one you would revisit often.

–

You're engrossingly aware of the watchful eyes as the engine roars into the parking lot of your dorms, slowly and simmering to a low roar as you turn off the ignition and pass the keys into his waiting hand before you reach for the handle, a noise of disapproval coming from Joel’s throat.

You bite your lip to subdue the smile as he exits the car and swiftly jogs to your side, opening the door and lending a hand to help you out, Joel nods politely as you laugh despite your efforts.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks curiously, leaning gently against the open door.

“It’s just, so…gentlemanly,” And nothing you were used to, always settling for less—it wasn’t what you deserved, you knew that, but your pickings were slim and frankly, it sucked, “—I’m being rude, sorry—thank you.”

Joel goes silent for a moment, his gaze watchful as you shift from foot to foot and adjust your bag and wrinkled clothes, meeting his eyes briefly again with a smile that breathes nervousness. 

How the hell was he supposed to admit he wanted more of you?

Fuck it, he was going for it.

“I’m picking you up next weekend,” Joel asserts, your eyes widening with genuine curiosity.

“I’m–oh—okay?” you agree like it was instinct, “I guess I can shift around some plans?”

Not that you had any.

“Perfect,” His charm is unmatched and your initial reaction is to laugh, mostly out of disbelief but there’s a hint of joy in your face as you look at him, “I’m gonna kiss you now, alright?”

You clear your throat habitually and nod, a shaky jerk of your head as the entire world fades away, his palm curving around the side of your neck as he leans into you, a gentle press of your lips. 

It was respectful, quick, the moment leaving you before you can even recollect it was happening, eagerly chasing his lips as he parts from you.

“So, now you touch me?” 

Joel chuckles lowly, feeling his lips brush yours as he nods.

“S’not how I wanna, but I’ll settle.” The words make you want to melt away, “Next weekend, Saturday. Six in the evenin’, I’ll be waiting here.”

"Six in the evening," you repeat, the words tasting sweet on your lips where Joel’s had just been, laying your words on thick as your fingers drag down his chest. "Is that all, daddy?"

Joel makes a noise, unintelligible but his eyebrow twitches in amusement.

“Cut the shit,” he warns, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing over the tip of your chin as he taps it admonishingly, “Can you give me your number?”

Caught up in the moment, you had nearly forgotten.

“Fuck—yeah, I guess that is a good idea, isn’t it?”

A quick exchange and Joel is on his way, disappearing from view and leaving you with the nothing but wistful feelings inside and judgemental eyes at your back.

And the week crawls by, each day stretching into eternity as Saturday approaches.

You find yourself checking your phone more than usual, a small smile forming whenever Joel's name appears on your screen with some mundane question or comment that somehow feels significant.

As easy as asking how your day was or the wish of a hopeful good one, filling a void that you didn’t realize you were missing, waking up with the expectant text and falling asleep with the promise of hearing from him the next morning.

It’s not supposed to feel this way, especially not with a man like Joel.

He’s troubled, clearly clouded by life. Older, wiser, more experienced.

This was undoubtedly a mid-life crisis, but you couldn’t even feel offended.

It felt fucking amazing, the obvious need in his eyes as he watched your fingers play between your legs, how lustful he looked—it was bound to drive you insane if you let it.

-

Saturday finally arrives, and you spend an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear. 

You wanted something casual but alluring, something that says you didn't try too hard. It was the same giddiness that approached with any first date you had, hopeful despite the amount of times you’ve been disappointed. You settle on an outfit that feels right against your skin, something that gives you confidence. And truthfully, easily accessible.

If there was one thing for certain, you were determined to get his hands on you.

Joel arrives two minutes before the hour, hearing him halfway down the block and biting away the amused expression as he pulls to a stop at the stairs that led up to your dorm building, windows rolled down and watching as he reached over the console to open your door from inside, the force of his fingers pushing it open as you quickly take a seat, his arm leaning over your lap to yank the door closed, smelling of a subtle cologne, familiar to the first night you had met him.

"Hi," you say, a little breathless despite your attempt to seem casual.

His eyes catch yours, and there's that smile again—the one that makes your stomach flutter in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying. It's the kind of smile that makes you feel seen, genuinely, rather than the men who look straight through you.

"Hi yourself," Joel replies, his voice low and warm. He doesn't immediately pull away from the car door, his proximity making the small space between you pulsate with tension, "You look nice."

As he shifts the car into drive, his forearm flexes, and you catch yourself staring at the veins mapped beneath his skin, wondering how they'd feel under your fingertips.

The thought sends heat crawling up your neck, aware of his eyes as they trade between the road and you, exploring the exposed skin of your neck and thighs, hands tucked between your legs for warmth but the edges of your skirt rolling up your thigh, looking enticingly indecent.

Joel would get through this date before touching you if it killed him.

But, even you can feel his resolve weakening with each passing minute.

It was unfinished business.

“So, where are you taking me?” you ask curiously, talking gently over the low hum of the radio as he reaches for the dial to lower the volume at the sound of your voice, “Or was this just a ruse to get me alone again?”

Your tongue catches between your teeth in a delicious smirk that makes his insides stir, shaking his head as he neck strains with the turn of his head, your chest presses against the pressure of the seatbelt as you shift in your seat, spreading your legs apart to sit straight, hands curling over the edge of the leather.

The long, winding road you were going down felt like it was stretching on for an eternity, blanketed by trees and overgrown foliage, lit by the headlights of Joel’s car and the quickly setting sun, casting an ominous shadow of his features as he finally chuckles, relieving the tension. 

“Those boys never treat you right, do they?” He can see how they’ve tainted your perspective, settling for whatever satiated the moment, even if the sex was lousy and the food was cheap.

“All a girl wants is a nice meal and an orgasm, is that too much to ask for?”

The words flow so innocently Joel has to grip the steering wheel to resist the urge to slide his hand between your thighs and discover just how bad that want is.

As you come around the bend, there’s a strange rattle to the engine that catches both of your attention and a look of disdain and annoyance on Joel's face as he regrettably pulls off to the side of the road.

“She’s out to get me,” Joel swears, the car stalling as he safely pulls off into a shaded area.

“Does this happen a lot?” You ask, feeling a tinge of disappointment at the date going ary, knowing it would be just your luck.

“Only when it’s an inconvenience it feels like,” Joel admits, “S’probably an easy fix, though. Pop the hood for me, sweetheart?”

Joel exits the car and heads toward the trunk, grabbing a few supplies as you reach over the driver’s side and pull the lever, leaving him to catch the sight of your ass in the air as you peer over your shoulder, receiving a dangerous look of warning before he laughs.

“Can I help at all?” You ask innocently, suddenly appearing to pop your head out of the passenger window as he peers around at the sound of your voice.

“You like gettin’ dirty?” Joel asks, not inclined to order you to stay in the car if you were genuinely eager to lend a hand, responding with an enthusiastic nod that has plenty of unaddressed double meanings, not enough time to address them at the moment.

"I'm not afraid of a little grease," you say, stepping out of the car. 

The evening air is cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the car's stuffy interior.

Joel's already got the hood propped open, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle. You find yourself studying the way his hands move with practiced confidence over the engine, the slight furrow of concentration in his brow. It was all so natural.

"Hand me that wrench?" he asks, pointing to the small toolbox he's placed on the ground.

You crouch beside it, fingers hovering over several tools, fidgeting until you find the correct tool and stand to hand it over, replacing it with the flashlight he offered silently.

“Oh, such a prestigious honor,” you say jokingly, clicking the flashlight with your thumb as you smirk, shining the light over the spot his hands were working at.

“Just hold it steady,” he orders casually, surveying the area until he finds the culprit, or at least what he thinks it could be.

“Yes, sir,” you agree playfully, body pressing against his own purposefully as you invade his space.

Unphased, he effortlessly removes the spark plugs and gives them a quick wipe down with a rag, only appeasing the car enough for the night—hopefully, at least.

He silently reaches for the flashlight and trades the appropriate tool and spark plug into your hand, waiting expectantly with watchful eyes. You hesitate, turning the spark plug over in your palm. It's heavier than it looks, coated in a film of oil that makes your fingers slick.

"You want me to...?" your voice trails off, uncertainty creeping in.

"Put it back where it belongs," Joel says, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "Don't worry, can't mess it up too bad with me watchin' you."

His confidence is contagious. 

You lean in, the scent of motor oil and his subtle cologne mingling in a strangely intoxicating way. Your hands aren't as steady as his, but you manage to position the spark plug correctly, glancing up for approval. It shouldn’t surprise you that his eyes have trailed, the skirt showing a peek of your ass as your bare thighs pressed against the cool metal of his front bumper.

"Now twist it in, gentle but firm," he instructs, his voice dropping lower, eyes locked on the site of your soft thighs and the peek of your panties and your carelessness that you were exposing yourself to him currently, dutiful to your destined task at hand, working through the motion with ease as his voice comes through again, “yeah—just like that, sweetheart.”

"Like this?" you ask, voice deliberately innocent as you twist the spark plug into place, making sure your movements are slow and deliberate. The position is awkward, forcing you to bend further over the engine, your skirt riding up another dangerous inch, shirt following as he glances at the peek of your spine and curses under his breath, gripping a flashlight that was no longer pointed at the engine.

Joel clears his throat, stepping closer under the pretense of supervision.

Your fingers work the spark plug into place with growing confidence, twisting until you feel the satisfying resistance of a proper fit.

"There," you announce, unable to keep the pride from your voice. "How'd I do?"

Your smile is beaming as Joel shuts the hood, peering up at his pensive face as you hear the sound of metal against metal as the flashlight rests against the car, his hand smoothing over your backside to fix your skirt back into place, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek with the gesture.

He was touching you and he hadn’t fully realized it or that he’d broken his own rule. 

You don’t dare speak, afraid he might recoil.

"Perfect," he says, his hand lingering just a moment too long against the fabric of your skirt, like he’s trying to convince himself to let you go, "You're a natural."

The compliment heats your skin, though you know it's just a spark plug—nothing complicated.

Still, there's something about the approval in his eyes that makes your stomach flutter.

Aside from that, the feeling of the grease on your fingers is slightly unpleasant, something that Joel notices in your face as he nods toward the backseat, “I’ve got a clean rag in the back, go on and grab it while I start ‘er up,”

You nod and follow his order, hearing the tell-tale roar of the engine and noise of delight from Joel as you lean into the backseat and search the seat for the fabric before coming up blank, squinting to search the dark floorboard as you hand slips, tumbling down with a yelp as Joel is quick to turn the car off, pushing out of the driver’s side and suddenly his hands are at your hips, his knee fitting in beside your thigh as he pulls you back, unable to hold back the laugh at your own clumsiness.

Another touch, the feeling of him crowding behind you sends your mind reeling.

“I can’t fucking find it,” you say with a dramatic sigh, pushing back against his groin from where you’re crouched, acting completely innocent as you blindly pat around for the rag, “Joel, do you see it?”

His hands tighten at your hips, a moment of tension settling between you as your body pressed against his. The innocent search for a rag suddenly feels like anything but—his fingertips are against your hips, squeezing into the flesh and you’re feeling particularly coy.

"It's, uh..." Joel clears his throat, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that makes your skin prickle with awareness. His hands are warm, one reaching past you to feel on the floor for the fabric, "should be right there under the seat."

You feel him shift behind you, the hard press of denim against the back of your thighs as he stretches to retrieve the rag, fumbling until his fingers catch. The car suddenly feels impossibly small, the air thick with something unspoken.

"Got it," he murmurs, but he doesn't immediately move away.

Sure enough, the blue fabric contracts brightly in the dark, resting in his palm.

He doesn't immediately hand it to you, though.

Instead, he slowly pulls you both upright, your back still to his front, the two of you half-standing in the open doorway of the car, your eyes fixed on your hands as you wipe them clean of any grease or oil, ignorant to the internal battle happening in Joel’s mind as he hovers behind you.

You lean more of your weight to one side, hip cocking out slightly as you lean down momentarily to toss the dirtied rag away, fumbling hastily with your skirt to readjust your clothes.

Joel shifts behind you, and you can feel the tension in his body—restraint barely contained. 

His hand returns to your hip, this time with purpose, thumb tracing small circles against the exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up still.

"You're doing that on purpose," he says, voice low and rough against your ear.

It's not a question.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his gaze from the corner of your eye. "Doing what on purpose?"

His jaw is tight, eyes darker than usual as they flick from your face to where his hands rest on your body.

“What is it, Joel?” you ask with innocent curiosity, though you know exactly where his words would land, his actions speaking for themselves, “What’s bothering you?”

“Don’t play clueless, sweetheart,” Joel retorts, “ain’t becoming of you,”

“Last I checked, you barely know me,” you respond with a similar bite, turning to face him now, chest to chest, “frankly, the whole saint act isn’t very attractive when all I have to do is get on my knees and beg for daddy—I mean, should I?”

He’s pensive, neck pulsing as he swallows and you shrug, “Whatever—you’re bandaging up my knees then—”

You start to sink slightly, but his hand catching around the expanse of your throat stills you, gasp slipping from your lips as it pushes the air out, eyes locked with his own, his tone taunting, “Yeah,” he nods slightly, eyes squinting as he deciphers your suddenly meek expression, “you gonna let me fuck you out here? S’fuckin’ pathetic, can’t let me treat you like a lady? Take you on a nice date first?”

“Tell me you don’t want to,” you reply softly, choked up with the pressure on your neck, slackening slightly as you land softly against the side of the car, both of your crowded by the open car door, “like you haven’t been touching me all night, what happened to your rules?”

“Different touches, kiddo,” he smoothly corrects and you nod mockingly, a smile slowly morphing on your face, hand move slowly to palm him over the front of his jeans, hard as fucking rock and warm, fingers curling over the thick waistband with a grin that continues to grow, a semblance of wonder on your face.

“Like this?” you ask, squeezing at his cock and his hand leaves your neck, arms bracketing your head as they curl around the frame of the roof behind your back, watching the careful ascent of your hand as it slides underneath his shirt, curling around his abdomen and your blunt nails digging into the skin, earning a soft grunt, “Or, like that?”

You let the moment linger, trailing touches.

“Fuck me out here,” you plead into his mouth, hand back on his jeans and working them open with deft fingers. You don’t give him time to protest before your palm is under the fabric of his briefs, skin to skin and touching him how you know he wants but won’t ask.

He shifts, breath short and hot. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” His voice is low, a rumble against your cheek as he leans in closer, like he might kiss you or devour you whole.

Both would be fine.

His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s all teeth and heat, hands mapping your body with a kind of frenzy. “Goddamn,” he mutters roughly, like it’s a revelation. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You smile wickedly, arching into his touch, “How do you want me, daddy?”

“Get your ass in the backseat, hands in—,” you move accordingly, giggling at his forceful touch as you lean inside, stopped short of your knee touching the seat as he keeps you upright, fingers curling around the damp, sticky fabric of your panties, glistening as he shifts your skirt up, “and—fuck, there’s my goddamn meal.”

You giggle airly, moving your legs as he drags the fabric down and doesn’t give you any time to react before he’s spearing you open with his tongue, growling into your cunt as he presses you forward, raw hunger in every movement. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, but you crave it, tangling your fingers in his hair as you reach for him from behind, dragging him closer still.

“Fuck,” he groans into you, voice vibrating through every nerve, “ain’t nobody out here to hear you—wanted this so bad and you’re quiet as a mouse,”

It isn’t purposeful, your moans are soft but genuine, eyes drifting shut as he licks through your pussy, feeling the gentle graze of his tongue over your clit as his fingers dig into your flesh tighter.

“Talk to me, baby,” he encourages, a gentle slap to your ass as he squeezes your cheeks and surprises you with a gentle bite to follow the sting before he’s diving back into your cunt, two fingers alongside his expert tongue, “how’s it feel?”

“So good, daddy—oh, fu—” Two fingers, fully engulfed, walls squeezing tight around him and you’re surprised by the sting of it, thick digits a precursor to his even thicker cock, desperate to have him inside of you, “s—so good, I want you to—tofuckme right h—here, please—please?”

The words spill out, moaning as his fingers curl against a particular spot deep inside of you, vision blurring as your teeth bite into your forearm. It’s overwhelming—too much and not enough. You push back against his face, finding leverage in the chaos of limbs and fabric until his name is spilling from your mouth, coming with a weak moan as he licks through your slick, the deft sound of his jeans shuffling down his hips as he’s pushing you further inside the backseat, ass still raised as one of his knees settle into the cushion.

He moves his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of kisses, hot and wet, sucking at the skin just above the waistline of your skirt before straightening up enough to pull it off you completely.

The car cocooned with heat and want, both of you desperate to touch now that Joel’s resolve has disappeared, encouraged by your unabashed need, he’s still finding himself hesitant.

“Don’t worry,” you quell, reaching for the hand tight at your thigh, turning your head back to catch sight of him, his eyes roaming the expanse of your body “I’m clean—safe, it’s not like you have to worry about—”

“M’not,” he chuckles slightly, “I’ve been outta commission for a while—just...wonderin’ if you’re sure about this, don’t want you think I’m just preyin’ on you—”

You shrug, indifferent but your laugh is breathless, high with anticipation and impatience. “I’m preying on you, Joel,” you say. “Now please—”

The words hang between you, a palpable plea that dissolves his resistance and has him settling into you from behind, the weight and press of his hips and hands a burning promise.

He pushes forward slowly at first, teasing your entrance with shallow nudges, driving you wild until there isn't any more space between your bodies and he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, every inch of him thick and pulsing as pleasure overtakes the sting from earlier, Joel makes a choked noise as if to return the sentiment.

“Christ,” he groans through gritted teeth, both hands finding leverage at your hips as he thrusts into you hard and fast, setting a dizzying pace.

It makes your brain melt, any rational thought disappearing as you moan lewdly into the cushion of his backseat, shifting with every sharp thrust, fingertips pressing into the interior of the other door to meet Joel’s eager, forceful thrusts as you push back.

“Fuck, you’re tight, honey,” he mutters, the words a low rasp in your ear as his rhythm grows more frantic, desperate. His grip tightens on you, pulling you closer with each stroke until it feels like your bodies might combine.

You writhe beneath him, desperate for more— the friction, the heat, the way he fills you completely, satisfyingly so. “Don’t stop, daddy,” you plead, and it’s not even a coherent thought anymore, just a raw need that spills out between gasps and broken, pathetic whimpers.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh as he obliges, hips snapping against yours as he pistons into you with an urgency that leaves you breathless. It’s brutal but perfect, the windows fogging up around you as the car rocks under the force of him.

His voice is distant as he speaks, but somehow entirely overwhelming, “Knew you wore this for a reason,” His grip on the fabric of your skirt is tight, pushed out of the way to get a clear view of your cunt as it sucks him in, “beggin’ daddy to look up your skirt, weren’t ya?”

You nod weakly, gasping as he thrusts into you pointedly, somehow more forceful, “You’re makin’ it real hard to be a gentleman ‘round you, baby—use your fuckin’ words.”

“Yes, f—yes, I was,” you whine softly, his thumb grazing over your puckered hole, a soft test of your limits.

“Was what?” he growls, voice thick with hunger. He grips your hips even harder, angling up to hit the sensitive spot that makes your vision blur with each stroke. 

The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on too much but just as it nears, Joel yanks you back from the edge and pulls out, swiftly guiding you onto your back, squeezing into the backseat with you enough that he can easily slot himself back between your legs and push inside, this time slow and deliberate.

“I wanted—to, oh—to t—tease you, daddy,” you admit, “I’m s—sorry.”

Joel chuckles at that, a satisfied nod as he guides your hand up around the back of his neck, his hand finding the small of your back and angling you up slightly, “You’re gonna look at me when I’m fuckin’ you senseless,” Joel demands against your mouth before sealing it with a feverish kiss.

You feel weightless as he pounds into you, gripping tight at the back of his neck as your lips part, moaning into his mouth as he swallows up your cries with his tongue, “This what you want?” Joel breathes, his warm breath mingling with yours. “You want daddy to fuck you until you cry?”

You nod frantically, clenching down around his cock in response.

“Let me fuckin’ hear it,” he orders, his own grunts becoming more frequent, restraint waning.

“Yes—yes, daddy, please,” you say softly, weak as the sensation of his fingers fit between your body, his fingers dragging over your clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a practiced precision that you’ve never felt before.

“Then fuckin’ take it, baby” he growls, grinding against you with a relentless rhythm that has you seeing stars, eyes prickling with tears as your orgasm crests unexpectedly, your voice pitching high as you cry out Joel’s name. He groans as you tighten around him, his thrusts jerky, close to losing it completely.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and you watch his eyes roll back, jaw going slack as he comes hot and thick inside of you. He groans deep in his chest, slamming into you one last time before collapsing against you, bodies slick with sweat.

His breath is hot against your neck, and he gives a final shudder before pulling back slightly, still buried inside you. There’s a beat of silence as you both catch your breath before you’re giggling softly against his ear where he’s slumped against you and he huffs a weak chuckle of his own, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, voice teasing but edged with something real, something raw that makes your heart skip a little too fast under your ribs as he pulls out of you, a devastating loss. “I think you’re tryin’ to kill my old ass,”

You shrug once more, “A beautiful way to go, don’t you think?”

His hand is gentle now as he nods with a smile, skimming down the side of your body as his eyes meet yours, “I hope you’re still hungry,”

“Starving,” you respond in a sultry tone as Joel makes a face, amused but unimpressed by your antics, “Yes—I am,” You try again, clearing your throat, “hungry.”

“Like I said, a piece of work,” he laughs, shaking his head at you, and you feel that warmth blooming in your chest again, “c’mon—get in the front.”

You scramble slightly, watching as he readjusted his jeans and you search for your discarded underwear, luckily finding it with little issue as it was tucked between the crack of the seat.

“Can…I drive the rest of the way?” you ask sheepishly and Joel’s eyes crinkle at the edges with a subtle grin before he’s tossing you the keys.

“Careful with her, probably gonna have to give her a tune up over the weekend,” he tells you, fixing the button on his jeans.

“Need any help?” you ask eagerly, walking backwards toward the driver’s side.

“From you?” he asks in a teasing tone, “Of course, sweetheart."

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Chapter Eighteen (M)

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Hybrid!AU, themes of the supernatural and the occult, religious themes, violence, hurt/comfort, horror, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count; 17.4.k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hi everyone!!! Happy summer and OMG SEOKJIN IS COMING HOME SOON. I got another update for you all! Got your typical angst, the ghostbusting trio, some fluffyyyy toothrotting romance, and of course, the return of Sexy Yoongi ;) AH! Thank you for waiting patiently for this update, loves, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this update 💜

As an additional warning/reminder, for the smut: the scene is explicit, and is only intended to be read by those over the age of 18. Please practice safe sex, and readers please have discretion!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“I suppose I did this to myself,” Y/N miserably stuck her head under the inferno-hot water pelting from her showerhead, wondering if she tried hard enough, she could drown herself. “Stupid.”

Scrubbing at her eyes furiously, she attempted to focus on bathing, watching her body wash swirl down the drain. It was useless, however, to prevent her mind from replaying the events that had unfolded immediately after Taehyung’s arrival back home. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she leaned her forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall, picturing it all again. 

“Hey Tae! You’re home!” Y/N called, the Kodiak hybrid flinching an inch into the air, her voice surprising him. He spun around, looking alarmed and like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Y/N waved him over, only able to see his head over the SUV, and Taehyung pushed a hand through his hair, squaring his shoulders. Lifting an eyebrow, about to ask what was wrong, she felt she was plunged into an icy lake when he stepped towards her. 

Taehyung, his camera bag in his hand and eyes laser-sharp, had his clothes in disarray, and purple, splotchy love bites all over his neck. Y/N couldn’t find a single word in her brain that made sense to describe how she was feeling as he stood before her, one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, which were wrinkled and pulled over his hips haphazardly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Taehyung cleared his throat nonchalantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary with him. Y/N simply stared, realizing her palm was still mid-air from when she waved at him, and with a jolt, she limply dropped her arm. “You should go in. It’ll be dark soon.”

“I’m… van. Materials for tomorrow, loading them up,” Y/N answered, all choppy and like a rusty robot. “Where… were you? Did you go to the park, or…?”

Taehyung lazily assessed her, his thick eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones as he glanced down at her insecure form. Clicking his tongue, he lifted his camera bag in the air, as if the answer was obvious. 

“Yeah. Then I stopped at the rec center. Why?” 

Y/N was proud, at the very least, that she didn’t break down after his answer, flat and distant. Deciding, out of spite and feral jealousy, that two could play at that game, and Y/N composed herself into dismissal, shrugging. If he wanted to pretend his neck didn’t look like a rabid hyena attacked it, so would she. 

“No reason, just wondering. Can’t wait to see what you’ve been working so hard on these past few weeks,” Y/N chirped, and though it was cheap, she relished in the minute flinch Taehyung offered in response to her words. “I’m gonna head in now. I have a few more things to do before I go back to the Sanders’ tomorrow. Yoongi ordered Chinese food for dinner, it’s in the fridge.”

With that, Y/N flashed Taehyung a tiny smile, Taehyung’s bitten lips parting a couple of centimeters, but not saying another word as he watched her stroll towards the house, her bruised heart thundering painfully in her chest with every step. 

“Stupid!” Y/N repeated, banging her forehead against the tile. “Childish bullshit.”

Y/N had icky guilt swimming around in her gut along with the greasy egg rolls she had choked down on her way to the bathroom, ignoring Yoongi’s requests for her to sit down for dinner. Taehyung really didn’t deserve her treating him so coldly just because the Kodiak hybrid had gone out on some kind of date, even if he was lying about it to her face. But when it came to him, someone who was just as allergic to confrontation and sticky conversations as she was, Y/N found that slipping into a tug-of-war of passive aggression was all too easy with Taehyung.

The water in the shower was becoming cold, Y/N cursing, switching the tap off and wrapping herself in a towel. Gut too sour to stay up any longer, she simply slid into her pajamas, promptly collapsing into bed. Distantly, she could hear Hoseok’s loud voice in the parlor, the dim murmurs of the TV, and Jeongguk stomping around his bedroom above her. The sounds were familiar and comforting, but didn’t stop her thoughts from lingering on her Kodiak hybrid. Y/N thought it was high time for her to swallow the bitter pill and perhaps confess her true feelings to Taehyung, even if he was falling for someone else. That way, at the very least, she could begin to mend one of the shattered sections of her heart. 

“You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?” Jeongguk accused the next morning, Y/N bristling and not even bothering to flick him off. 

After all, she hadn’t, between tangled thoughts of Taehyung and the reminder that she would have to clear the evil spirits from the Sanders’ home the following morning, she was tossing and turning all night. 

“We can’t all look like rockstars 24/7,” Y/N replied sarcastically, gesturing to his typical black jeans/black graphic tee combination. That day, he was wearing a Megadeth concert tee, which Y/N found darkly fitting for the scenario they were about to find themselves in. “How are your scratches?”

“Already healed. Not even a scar. What, do you want me to take my shirt off again?”

“Don’t be a smartass today, it’ll push me right over the edge,” Y/N threatened, jabbing a finger into his solid chest, Jeongguk smirking around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Hurry up and smoke that. Joon doesn’t like waiting.”

With that, Y/N hauled herself into the van, scowling once more at a highly amused Jeongguk, shutting the door so the smoke wouldn’t choke the life out of her and her wolf hybrid. Massaging her sore under eyes, she tripped her way to the passenger seat, smiling weakly at the fuzzy throw blanket that was already placed there for her. Namjoon, fiddling with the radio, assessed her out of the corner of his eye, his lips tugging downwards. 

“Heard you didn’t sleep well,” Namjoon commented, Y/N sighing, both buckling into her seat and bundling up with the blanket. “Are you sure you’ll have enough energy to do the ritual? We can always reschedule it for Wednesday.”

“No, no, I’ll be alright. I want to get it over and done with, the family has been in that hotel room for far too long,” Y/N straightened in the seat from her original slouch, so her words seemed more convincing to her perceptive hybrid. “I told Jeongguk not to be a smartass today. The last thing we need is provoking the spirits while we try to banish them.”

“I already spoke to him about that, too. He’s going to do his own ritual, apparently, while you and I focus more on the cleansing. Is that okay with you?”

Y/N had a feeling that the plan the two of them cooked up was an attempt to get Y/N as far away from anything too dangerous as possible. With Jeongguk doing whatever it was he was planning, likely some kind of exorcism tactic he was familiar with, he’d be the one in the line of fire. Additionally, with Namjoon teaming up with her, she’d have him beside her if things started to go sideways. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. I hope no one gets hurt this time,” Y/N shivered, sticking her hands close to the vents to heat the digits up. “You’re still gonna let me do some things of my own, right? To help close the portal?”

“Of course, we’re a team,” Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows, reading the vulnerability in her expression. 

The van teetered back and forth when Jeongguk yanked the side door open, taking up his usual spot in the back in the booth, scrolling on his phone distractedly. Y/N watched, over her shoulder, him prod along the base of his antlers, one of his eyes twitching as he caught on a tender spot, teeth biting down on his lip ring. She was going to ask if something was wrong, but decided against it when he recovered smoothly, digging through the gear back he packed. 

The first fifteen minutes of the drive were peaceful, Y/N humming along to the radio. However, a fleeting thought had her squeaking loudly, startling Namjoon beside her and making him sharply step on the brakes. 

“What?!” His eyes were wide, silver ears pressed to his skull, Y/N fumbling for her tote bag. 

“I forgot to give you guys your first paycheck! Judy says you two can be official employees at the shop, if you want, and you’ll get paid for all of our consultations, investigations, and cleansings,” Y/N stuck Namjoon’s check in the visor above his head, twisting her torso so she could send Jeongguk’s sailing his way, the elk hybrid catching it with a stunned look on his face. 

“Next time, wait until we’re parked, kiddo. The wolf almost drove off the road,” Jeongguk scolded, though he hastily tore open his envelope to check out how much he had been paid for his labor. 

“Sorry. I’m just excited! Do you two want to start coming to work with me regularly? I can try and move my hours around to accommodate your book club hours on Mondays, Joon,” Y/N felt more bright than she had in hours, a faint dimple appearing in Namjoon’s cheek as he tried to squash down his excitement. “I could do Tuesday through Thursday, and then whenever we’re needed for consults.”

“Are you sure you can change your work days? I could just come in with you on Wednesdays and Thursdays,” Namjoon appeared sheepish, eyes glued to the road and his tail swishing over the side of his seat. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Judy really likes you two, I’m sure if it meant you being there three times a week, she wouldn’t have a problem coming in on Mondays to cover my previous shift.”

Namjoon quieted down after that, his cheeks coloring all the way to the hoops threaded through his earlobes, Y/N grinning at him and noting Jeongguk’s silence as well. 

“Jeongguk, you can just do the consults if you want. You don’t have to stock shelves with us if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’ll come. Got nothing better to do,” Jeongguk quickly replied, caught off guard as he set his first paycheck– a pretty generous one, at that– aside. Humming in satisfaction, Y/N squirmed in her seat, getting comfortable so she could center herself for the remainder of the ride to the Sanders’. 

Y/N’s eyes snapped open as soon as she sensed Namjoon pulling into the driveway. Y/N wasn’t surprised that she knew, without a doubt, that they had arrived; her ability to feel and distinguish energies had been becoming stronger by the day. Mercifully, it was fairly sunny that day, so even if the house was surrounded by a subtle darkness, at least the sky wasn’t filled with oppressive clouds. 

“Ready?” Y/N fixed her gaze on the front door, determination flooding through her when she remembered Tommy’s terrified and exhausted expression, the shadows curling around Namjoon, and the three bleeding scratches tearing into Jeongguk’s back. 

“Remember. Don’t use names, don’t address any of the entities specifically,” Namjoon recapped seriously, catching the Zippo lighter Jeongguk tossed him mid-air, likely for the plethora of candles located in the bag the wolf hybrid was holding in his free hand. “Got the stuff from the church?”

“Church?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, looking from him to Jeongguk with great curiosity. 

“Yeah, the one in the town square, the Catholic church. We went there for some items the day we went out to replace the camera,” Jeongguk shook his gear bag in front of Y/N’s face, a playful look in his eyes. “Holy water, blessed salt, medallions and whatnot. We’re marrying the Christians to the Pagans today.”

“Ah, I see…”

“Think of it this way,” Jeongguk cut her off, surprising her by placing a tattooed hand on her shoulder heavily. “Whatever I can’t get rid of with the stuff from the church will probably respond to your practice. Right?”

“Right,” was all Y/N could say, trying to savor the elk hybrid soothing her, his fingers squeezing over her shoulder once before letting her go and pulling the van’s side door open. “Be safe, okay, sweets?”

“Mm-hmm. You too,” he smirked confidently, leaping out of the vehicle and heading straight for the front door of the house. 

“We’re gonna start outside,” Y/N blinked once Jeongguk disappeared into the house, turning her attention to Namjoon. “Then when we’re inside, we’ll start at the top floor, go to the basement, and end with the ground floor– it confuses the spirits, gets them out faster.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon inelegantly stumbled out of the van, the clumsiness of the action making Y/N giggle, breaking up the tension that she was feeling. “Ouch.”

“Uh-oh, are you okay?” Y/N sobered up a tad, Namjoon’s ears drooped as he used his free hand to massage his elbow. “Break a bone?”

“I’m sturdier than you give me credit for,” Namjoon muttered, a cute pout tugging at his lower lip. “Want me to place these candles somewhere?”

“No, they’re for inside,” Y/N shook her head, feeling Namjoon follow her to the window where ‘The Watcher’ usually lingered, frowning at the cloudy glass. “All I wanna do out here is bury the spell jars I made in the four corners of the yard and make a boundary with the incense and herb bundles.”

“I can bury the jars,” Namjoon volunteered helpfully, stopping Y/N mid-stride by grabbing her wrist, diving his fingers into her tote bag for the glass bottles. “But stay close to me while you burn the herbs. Promise?”

“Okay, Bug,” Y/N held out her pinky finger, the wolf hybrid staring at the digit quizzically. Snorting, she reached for Namjoon’s hand, linking her pinky with his, loving that she was the first person to show him how to pinky promise. “I promise!”

True to her word, Y/N stuck closely to Namjoon– not just because she wasn’t a promise-breaker, but because Namjoon’s intimidating height and mass made her feel safer the closer she was to him. Focusing, she used Jeongguk’s lighter to spark up the bundle of herbs, inhaling the scent of burning rosemary, sage, and cedar. The two of them worked silently and with purpose, making a slow counterclockwise circle around the property, Y/N shivering as she felt energy push past her and outside of the boundary her and Namjoon were creating. 

She knew Namjoon could feel what she did as well, with his ears twitching and an occasional sideways glance to her while she fanned smoke around the yard. In stark contrast to the last time she was at the Sanders’ home, Y/N felt confident and sure of herself. 

Though almost all of her focus was on the cleansing, she couldn’t help but think of how Jeongguk was faring inside. Her and Namjoon completed their circle around the yard, ending up back at the window, and Y/N felt a significant change in the energy– she could no longer sense the ickiness of something ancient watching her, but she spent a few more moments waving smoke around the glass pane anyways, Namjoon waiting patiently beside her.

 “Let’s go inside. We’re done out here,” Y/N murmured quietly, in the zone. The wolf hybrid, once again, held her hand while she climbed up the slick, wet concrete porch, though Y/N wondered if the reason he tended to do that was because he himself was quite clumsy and needed the reassurance of stability. Either way, it was endearing.

As she pushed open the door, the first thing Y/N noticed was the line of salt sprinkled along the threshold. Because it was still early morning, the house was full of blue light, and didn’t seem as scary as it had when they conducted the night time investigations. Namjoon knew exactly what to do already; so he started straight for the staircase, Y/N swallowing and shadowing him, ears picking up the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy combat boots stomping around up there. 

Y/N didn’t have to tell Namjoon how to set up the candles, as they had gone over that part of the ritual at length previously. She simply lit another bundle of herbs in Ms. Sanders’ room, making sure she got every square inch of the bedroom. It appeared that Jeongguk had already tackled that room; salt on the windowsills, medallions placed in various locations, and the odd wet patch on the floor that Y/N suspected was sprinkled holy water. 

“Feels good in here,” Y/N commented to Namjoon, though admittedly, she was already getting worried about the two children’s rooms. “Time to move on?”

Namjoon nodded, letting the candle he set on Ms. Sanders’ dresser melt down completely. Glued to him, they met Jeongguk in Tommy’s room, where he was chucking holy water into the open closet, his ruby rosary clutched in his other fist. Softly, he was mumbling something in Latin, Y/N relieved that he seemed to be just fine. As directed, Namjoon placed a candle within the closet, crouching on the floor and watching Y/N thoroughly fill the area with herbal smoke, the heaviness of the room easing up second by second. 

Between her silent prayers and Jeongguk’s audible ones, the trio was in Tommy’s room for about twenty minutes before Y/N could breathe easy for the first time in the space, the sun shining more brightly through the windows, and Jeongguk’s constant prayer paused, chewing on his lip ring contemplatively. 

“Is it…?”

“Closed,” Jeongguk answered Namjoon resolutely, wiping sweat from his brow. Y/N agreed with him, the closet felt perfectly normal after their combined efforts, so she shut the cracked window in the room to seal the boundaries in place. “The portal’s dormant. All that’s left is making sure we push the rest of the entities out and I think the family can come back safely.”

Without thinking about it, Y/N had a fistful of the back of Jeongguk’s tee-shirt when they finally entered Julie’s room, just in case the entity in there decided to harm him again. The elk hybrid didn’t seem to notice, simply resuming his Latin monologue and chucking holy water at the walls. Gently, Namjoon took the herb bundle from Y/N, taking up the task of filling the room with the cleansing smoke while she clung to Jeongguk. 

She had practiced over the past few days extending her protective shield to others, in a way that wouldn’t completely zap her of her energy and cause her nose to bleed, so Y/N took a deep breath, Jeongguk keeping her tethered to earth as she imagined the shield around the three of them. With her eyes closed, she could hear the tiny intake of breath Namjoon made from across the room– Y/N wondering if he could sense what she was doing– but Jeongguk didn’t even flinch, dutifully focusing on making a line of blessed salt along each windowsill while Y/N held onto him. 

To the great surprise of all three of them, there wasn’t an aggressive, angry demon that came flying through the room to try and stop their efforts, so as the minutes ticked by and all that could be heard was Jeongguk’s prayer, Y/N let go of his shirt carefully. Y/N didn’t want to entertain the thought that things seemed too easy, so she pushed the thought out of her mind, and instead, she helped Namjoon wrap things up with the smoke cleansing and candle lighting on the ground floor. 

“These candles can be lit while no one’s here, right?” Jeongguk leaned against the wall in the kitchen, where she and Namjoon were finishing their tasks. 

“They’ll be out before we leave. They’re just tealights,” Y/N stubbed out the herb bundle she was holding onto, taking in a lungful of sweet-perfumed air. The Sanders’ house felt like an entirely different home; airy, bright, and Y/N could hear early spring birds chirping under the window that a malevolent energy used to haunt. “I just want to make sure all the windows are shut before we leave, do one last walk-through… but your plan seemed to work really well. Who would have thought that Pagan and Christian practices mesh so well?” “You’ll soon realize I’m almost always right about these sorts of things, kiddo,” Jeongguk smacked a fresh pack of Marlboros against his wrist bone, pulling a cigarette out of the carton with a smirk. 

“Okay, don’t get cocky,” Y/N grouched, shouldering by him and rolling her eyes at his smoky chuckles, breezing through the house for her final walk-through. “Don’t smoke in here, please.”

“No shit,” Jeongguk called after her, watching her figure disappear up the stairs. “Nothing went wrong?”

The second half of his statement was directed at Namjoon, who was packing away spare materials into Y/N’s tote bag on the kitchen counter, the wolf hybrid’s bitten ear flickering with annoyance. 

“You’d know if something did,” Namjoon replied simply, slinging her bag over his shoulder, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. “Start the van while you’re outside.”

Jeongguk distractedly shook the keys to the vehicle in his free hand, already striding towards the front door, Namjoon shaking his head at the elk hybrid’s nonchalance. He himself, however, couldn’t believe how successful the three of them had been, and a strange emotion Namjoon couldn’t tag a name to welled up inside of him when he looked around the house. 

Namjoon might have not had the same kind of ability to sense energies in the way Y/N could, but there was a marked difference to how he was able to move around the house, breathe a little more freely, and the primal– still very new– instinct to protect Y/N from some kind of unseen threat eased up the on the chokehold it had on him. Even then, when he was more than confident that they had banished all of the negativity, he found himself hanging back in the living room, listening to Y/N’s light footsteps from above, waiting for her to come back down and join him outside. 

“Joonie?” Y/N’s voice floated down from the stairs as she hopped down them, surprised to see him waiting before her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Do you think it’s okay I said your name?”

Namjoon blinked, watching her chew her lips and glance at Jeongguk outside, in the distance smoking his cigarette by the van. Namjoon didn’t know when he had gotten so used to the handful of nicknames that Y/N had for him, and was shocked that after only two hours of her not uttering one of them, he realized how much he liked that quirk of hers. 

“I think it’s alright, now,” Namjoon recovered, shaking away the bizarre emotions he was feeling. While he was interested in the unexplained, that didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed unexplainable things happening to himself. Y/N’s mouth opened, but it was her growling stomach that interrupted her words, heat flooding her cheeks. “Want to stop for some lunch before we go home? There was a ‘hot pot’ place on the way here I saw you eyeing.”

“I’m either deeply unsubtle, or your perception is on another level. Weren’t you driving?” Y/N accused, making her way to him with a shy grin. 

“It’s a mixture of both,” Namjoon confessed, refusing to hand over her tote bag while she opened up the front door and locked it for the final time. “What is hot pot, though?”

“Oh! You get to pick out a broth, and then all of the noodles, vegetables, and meats you want, then you cook it right at your table! I think you’ll like it, you really wanna go?”

Namjoon nodded, waving smoke out of his face from Jeongguk’s still-burning cigarette. 

“Yeah, we need to eat,” Jeongguk pried into the conversation, his fingers dancing around the base of his antlers again. “That shit will suck the life out of you.”

Once in the van, Y/N felt loopy satisfaction, sending a text to Ms. Sanders while Namjoon drove to the hot pot restaurant. 

Y/N: We just finished the cleansing, with great success! You and the kids should be able to move back in now, and please contact me anytime you need, we’ll be there for you. 

Sighing, Y/N glanced at Namjoon, a faint dimple in his cheek that told her he was quite pleased with how things turned out, her heart squeezing in her chest as she poked his sweater-clad bicep– his bushy tail wagging in consequence. 

“I’m proud of you two. I’m happy we’re a team,” Y/N admitted seriously, Namjoon clearing his throat nervously at the praise. And when Y/N peeked at Jeongguk, he wasn’t rolling his eyes, he was actually smiling at her, teeth and all, even if there was a glint of teasing mischief across his features. 

“I hope you can handle spicy food. I’m getting the Sichuan broth,” Jeongguk announced, neither of the hybrids acknowledging her praise, but Y/N knew that they appreciated it based on their facial expressions. “And I’m not going to share my order of pork belly.”

“As long as you don’t hog the dipping sauces, we won’t have a problem,” Y/N snorted, relaxing back into her seat, looking forward to sharing a triumphant meal with the two of them.

“Ugh, I’m bored,” Y/N complained to the ceiling, slouching on the stool at work with absolutely nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. 

Namjoon and Jeongguk were unable to join her at work until the following week, when their paperwork allowing them to be legally employed went through, so she was alone in the dead metaphysical shop. Additionally, she pouted about going home after her shift– all of her hybrids were so busy lately, it was rare that she had quality time with all seven of them at once.

In the two days that followed the cleansing, a whirlwind of events happened all at once. Hoseok had indeed taken up employment at the rec center coaching the junior track team, and spent several hours there organizing things for the spring season and getting acclimated with his upcoming responsibilities. Besides him, Yoongi actually decided to take up coaching part-time as well, even after all of his insistence that he didn’t necessarily want to, so he was gone just as frequently as Hoseok. 

Jimin was often occupied outside preparing the garden beds for fast-approaching spring, exercising horses, or tending to the grounds, and while Y/N helped as often as she could, there were only so many hours she could take digging in the frigid dirt and dodging chickens nipping at her heels after a day at work. As for Namjoon and Jeongguk; the two of them were predictably busy with their own hobbies, the wolf hybrid catching up on the book club assignments he was behind on, and Jeongguk obsessively watching videos about paranormal equipment. That left her with Seokjin, who she spent most of her time with, and Taehyung, who was either hardly at home or avoiding her like a poisonous spider.

Sighing, Y/N twirled a pen between her finger tips. With the house cleansing out of the way, she had no more excuses to try and avoid patching things up with Taehyung, or at the very least, attempt to have some kind of productive conversation with him. It broke her heart that it seemed that the home Taehyung had grown to truly love wasn’t something he found comfort in at the moment, so it was her main priority to swallow her pride and restore things to normalcy.

She thought back to the early winter, prior to Christmas, when Taehyung was his happiest. Getting into his photography, sharing his work with her and the others at the expos, hanging out with her and Yoongi in the music room on Fridays while they had their piano lessons and he would listen to records on the floor. Frowning, she reached for the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies she brought along with her for the post-lunch lull she was enduring, which she had been using the past few weeks to try and glean anything enlightening about his behavior. 

Y/N tried to read a chapter of each guidebook simultaneously, so she was finishing up the last few pages of the eighth chapter– one on dietary preferences– for Kodiak hybrids before she’d move onto the next for not just that one, but the six others, as well. The chapters on various diets were entertaining, for sure, but Y/N realized that her boys pretty much ate whatever was in front of them, regardless of the ‘preferences’ listed in the guide books. For instance, elk hybrids allegedly favored fresh, light, vegetable based foods; but Jeongguk was one of the biggest meat eaters in the house. She hadn’t noticed Taehyung having a particular, all-consuming craving for salmon, either, so if anything, the chapter was plainly  useless. 

Yawning while turning the page, she choked on her own spit when she read what the next chapter was so boldly titled: Mating, Heats, Ruts. Immediately beginning to sweat, much like how she did when she found out what scenting was, she scanned the front windows of the shop, making sure no one was strolling towards the entrance to browse for spell candles. 

“What on god’s green planet are heats and ruts?” Y/N panicked, though truthfully, thanks to her past as a vet, she knew exactly what they were in the animal kingdom. She had a nervous feeling that they weren’t so different in the hybrid world, either. “Oh Jesus…”

Hastily, she blew past the chapter title page, hesitantly beginning to read and forgetting all about ‘balanced diets for your hybrid’. For the thousandth time, and likely not the last, she was faced with new information about hybrids she probably should have already known by then. 

Mating: Some hybrids will find what they will consider to be their ‘mate’ within their lifetimes. Depending on species, these hybrids will mate ‘for life’ more often than not. The instinct to mate is triggered by the hybrid seeing another as their ideal counterpart. Like their fully animal counterparts, the purpose of ‘mateship’ is for reproduction, but because hybrids are human as well, love and romance is another consideration that the hybrid will factor in when selecting their mate. It is debated whether or not hybrids have control over choosing a mate, some experts claim that is entirely instinct-based, others believe that the hybrid will select a mate once they deem their selection worthy. 

For Kodiak hybrids, specifically: the species is known to be serially monogamous, meaning that unless they chose a mate that they intend to stay with for life, they will select a different partner to spend their heats/ruts with each cycle. For those who have mated, jealousy can be a very big issue when it comes to their mate. 

Heats/Ruts: Hybrids, when they reach sexual maturity around the age of eighteen, will develop seasonal heats/ruts; the season during the year at which the cycle will happen depends on the species. Typically, heats/ruts can be handled alone by ‘unmated’ hybrids by the hybrid themselves, and will often seclude themselves from their adoptive guardians. Other hybrids seek out a partner to help them through this cycle to ease discomfort, but it is species dependent, as well as dependent on the hybrid’s personality and temperament. 

There have often been many cases where a hybrid will not experience an intense heat/rut until they feel comfortable in their environment, but this behavior is seen in exotic hybrids or ones with skittish/distrustful personalities. 

As for hybrids that have selected a mate, their heats/ruts will be unbearably uncomfortable and cannot be handled by the hybrid alone. The mated hybrid will feel excruciating pain and discomfort if unable to complete their heat/rut without their mate, and can be threatening to the hybrid’s health and wellbeing. It is important for adoptive guardians who may have a mated pair of hybrids to give them the space to work through the cycle. 

Heats/ruts typically last 2-3 days at their height, but days leading up to and after the cycle can leave the hybrid sensitive as well. For more information on how to make your hybrid comfortable during their cycles, refer to page 809. 

Kodiak hybrids typically experience their heats/ruts during May-June.

Y/N’s mouth was dropped open and rather dry, reading the pages frantically three times over. Warmth flushed her from head to toe, not exactly surprised none of the boys brought up that aspect of their natures– and it wasn’t like she ever asked. Although she was surprised, and just a touch annoyed, Yoongi at the very least never said anything to her. Fanning herself, she pulled up multiple tabs on her phone, scribbling a messy note on an old receipt. 

Seokjin/Yoongi: Ruts any time of year. Lasts between 4-5 days

Hoseok: December-early spring. Usually monogamous. 3-4 days

Namjoon: Mid spring- early summer, but also for two weeks in the second half of winter. Monogamous, mate for life. 4-5 days (excluding the winter rut)

Jimin: Winter. Strictly monogamous. 3-4 days

Taehyung: May-June, serially monogamous. Rut can last anywhere from two days to two weeks

Jeongguk: August-early winter. “Courtship” is important. Rut can last days on and off, sometimes for up to several weeks depending on hybrid. 

Y/N was boiling hot all over once she finished jotting down her notes, overwhelmed and embarrassed. Before she could get ahead of herself, or even ashamed that she didn’t know about these specific things about the boys, she crumpled up the sticky note and shoved it deep into her tote bag. She had stressed early on to each of them to tell her if they were ever uncomfortable or needed something, so she concluded (shakily) that since none of them brought up their ruts, maybe they hadn’t experienced them full-force yet. Greedily chugging water from the bottle Yoongi packed her, she narrowed her eyes at the picture of him she stuck to her work computer monitor, swearing to back him into a corner and get him to spill. 

Trying to think about literally anything else than her hybrids and their ruts, she pushed the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies aside and returned to what she was working on for Yoongi’s birthday. The hand-written symbols on the page, ones that were once unfamiliar to her, became a form of artistic expression thanks to her leopard hybrid, and had been erased and rewritten dozens of times by then. Y/N knew she was a perfectionist, but her dissatisfaction with herself had never been so frustrating. Both envying and admiring Yoongi’s raw natural talent, she scanned the page of sheet music, filled with notes she was trying to arrange into a pretty composition of her own.

There was, of course, the struggle of picking a suitable name for the piece as well. There was a list of titles she was playing with, but none fit the vision she had for the composition exactly. Humming, she erased a section of the very last measure, deciding to end the song more gently than she originally planned. Minutes ticked away at lightning-speed while she wrote and rewrote notes, and before she knew it, her shift was up and not a soul came into the shop to disrupt her process. 

By then, she supposed she had to be satisfied with the piece; Yoongi’s birthday was the next day. There would be time for her to practice during the day, as she had taken it off from work to celebrate, Yoongi would be spending half of his birthday at the rec center setting up things for the junior basketball team’s spring season. Hastily scooping up all of her books, she locked up the shop, wondering who would be waiting for her at home.

“Hello?” Y/N fumbled for her phone buzzing away in her pocket, simultaneously stumbling into her car. 

“Y/N! Christ, what are you, in a tunnel or something?” Ben responded immediately, making Y/N snort. 

“No, I’m getting in my car. Just locked up the shop. Can you hear me now?” Adjusting her grip on her phone, she realized she was covering the microphone with her scarf. “How are things?”

“Good, it’s getting warmer finally, huh?” 

“Not warm enough. Hoseok is killing me complaining about the cold all the time. Seokjin might hate it more, but he doesn’t complain nearly as much!”

“That fox is a character. Everyone’s doing well, though? How about the new jobs you told me some of them are getting?” 

“It’s only day two, but I think the three that picked up work at the rec center are enjoying it. I miss them though…” Y/N pouted, Ben chuckling through the receiver. “Namjoon and Jeongguk are going to start coming to Judy’s with me next week. And Yoongi’s birthday is tomorrow, so I’m excited for that!”

“Big plans?”

“Mmm… maybe not by your standards. Something that suits him, though. I’m taking him out on a date.”

“Romantic. He’ll love it, I’m sure,” Ben agreed with her. “Then again, you could get him a frying pan and he’d treat it like a diamond.”

“Stop,” Y/N groaned, embarrassed. “So, I read something interesting today about hybrids.”

“This ought to be good. What did you find out this time that was obvious to all but you?” Ben teased, Y/N sticking her tongue out at him even though he couldn’t see. 

“Okay, Mr. Wonderful. I learned about mating and ruts. I didn’t realize that was a thing for them,” Y/N snapped, Ben dissolving into thick laughter, which irked her further. “What?!”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I can just picture the fucking look on your face reading that in one of those guidebooks you are hoarding,” Ben took a breath, Y/N similarly imagining how red in the face he was getting from laughing at her. “Any comments?”

“Well, yeah. Why the fuck haven’t any of them brought it up?”

“Do you discuss your menstruation or ovulation with them? Why would they, Y/N? It’s kind of a personal thing.”

Y/N flinched, once again struck by Ben’s ability to cut to the chase when she was being a little ridiculous. 

“Fair, I suppose,” Y/N squeaked. “I mean, I thought the scenting was a tricky subject to breach.”

“Well, if you’re curious about it, you could always just ask Yoongi or Seokjin, if you’re feeling especially bold,” Ben said, with a teasing lilt. Y/N was a touch mortified. “They love you, they’re not going to shy away from that conversation. I’d avoid bringing it up to that elk hybrid of yours, I think he’d make fun of you more than I am.”

“Another valid point,” Y/N muttered, not wanting to give Jeongguk another round of ammunition to amuse himself with at her expense. “Whatever. Whatever! Maybe I’ll ask Yoongi or Seokjin, or maybe I’ll just wait until they bring it up. I feel like I’ve got bigger fish to fry at the present.”

“I’m sure. You got hybrids, ghosts, and romantic feelings for all of your housemates. You’d make millions on reality TV.”

“Thanks, Ben. Remind me to drop your call next time.”

“See you at brunch on Sunday!” Ben signed off cheerfully, Y/N rolling her eyes and throwing her car in drive.

A slightly-cloudy sky peeked through the windows of the house the day of Yoongi’s birthday. Y/N had shown him, as well as Hoseok, off that morning, the two of them bound for the rec center. The fox hybrid was trying to get Yoongi to wear a pointy birthday hat that was leftover from his birthday, but Yoongi scrambled towards the car before Hoseok could slap it on his head. 

Y/N had only a few hours to practice her new composition before Yoongi would be back and they’d head out for the dinner reservation she made, so after downing some coffee while staring at Jimin cutting down some dead saplings in the backyard, she made her way to the music room. Feeling somewhat stealthy with the sheet music tucked under her arm, she passed by Seokjin’s room, the pipes in the wall clanging together telling her he was probably bathing. 

The feeling of sitting at the piano bench without Yoongi beside her had Y/N frowning. She had grown ever so attached to his warmth and presence, his gentle, reassuring guidance while she’d play. Huffing, she placed her sheet music on the stand, rolling her wrists like Yoongi would, and began to practice. 

For her first composition, it wasn’t half bad. It was nowhere on the level of what Yoongi could come up with, but he had years of composing on her, so Y/N tried not to compare herself to him too harshly. Once again, she changed the ending of the song with her lip tucked between her teeth, worried that she might not ever get it right– on top of that, she still hadn’t picked a name for the piece and she was running out of time. 

She was in the middle of playing through the song a sixth time when she was interrupted by the jiggling of the music room’s handle. Before sitting down at the piano, Y/N hadn’t locked the door just in case someone wanted to come and find her, so with minor embarrassment, she halted her playing, glancing at the door expectantly. When the door swung open, she held her breath, recognizing the curly head of black hair right away, a shard of ice piercing through her heart. 

Taehyung’s steps into the room faltered, headphones askew on top of his head, as soon as he caught scent of her and realized he wasn’t alone. Beautiful eyes going round, his rounded ears flattened while a feral rumble of shock rolled through his chest, going quite still. Gawking at each other, Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, eyes shifting from her to the collection of CD’s on the shelf. Fingers frozen over the ivory keys of the piano, she watched the Kodiak hybrid inch towards the shelf with urgency, probably trying to get the hell out of dodge. Y/N’s body moved before her mind did, launching her off the bench and across the room. 

“Tae, hi,” she blurted, knowing that he could hear her with his Kodiak set of ears, the rounded brown appendages fluttering with the sound of her voice, a Nirvana CD clumsily slipping out of his grasp and clattering to the floor. “Whatcha up to? I didn’t know you were home.”

Taehyung, moving like he was stuck in molasses, slid the headphones off of his ears to hang loosely around his neck, facing Y/N fully. Quickly, she ducked down, scooping the CD off the floor and offering it to him with a friendly expression. Her heart was pounding, ready to bite the bullet and have a real conversation with him no matter what it took. Taehyung’s shoulders relaxed downwards a few inches, his sweater slipping over his wrist as he took the CD, switching off the device he had clipped to his jeans. 

“They didn’t need me at the rec center today,” was his response, swallowing. “I just decided to stay here… I thought you had work on Thursdays.”

“I usually do, but I took today off!” Y/N watched Taehyung nod, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. With the direction of the conversation already, Y/N was feeling queasy; and with the way that he kept glancing at her chest, she could tell he could hear her heart threatening to burst into pieces. “Uh… come here, look! I wanted to show you some pictures I took this week around the shop. The town square looks so pretty right now, the grass is just starting to get green!”

Y/N thought on her feet, grasping for Taehyung’s wrist, which he let her take as well as tow him to the leather loveseat, apparently too stunned to protest. There was electricity zapping through the hand wrapped around his sweater-clad wrist, and considering she hadn’t touched Taehyung in so long, it had her emotions kicking into overdrive. 

“Y/N…”

“Sit here, please? I’ve wanted to show you for a little while. It won’t take long!” Y/N hoped her tone wasn’t dripping with utter desperation, but something flickered in Taehyung’s carmine eyes, softening them, so he heeded her request and sat beside her stiffly. 

Squirming in satisfaction– the small victory boosting her confidence somewhat– she flicked through her phone, still holding onto Taehyung all the while. Finding the folder of amateurish shots of around her workplace, she placed her phone in Taehyung’s limp, open palm, the Kodiak hybrid’s sharp canines biting down on his lower lip. 

“Do you want me to do a shoot here?” Taehyung asked with confusion, his deep voice making her shiver imperceptibly. 

Y/N peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, chest squeezing painfully at the sight of his gorgeous face, entirely focused on the pictures he was scrolling through. Dropping her gaze, she briefly glanced at his neck, the bruises she saw there days ago long since faded. However, the memory in her mind’s eye remained, drying up her mouth. 

“Would you want to? I can take you there soon, the cherry blossoms in the courtyard will bloom in the next few weeks,” Y/N prayed they were moving a step forward, Taehyung humming lowly, continuing to scroll through her camera roll. Y/N had nothing to hide, so she let him, hoping to continue chit-chatting. 

“Yeah, maybe when the flowers bloom, then. For the spring expo.”

“Sounds like a plan, Tae,” Y/N hesitantly leaned her shoulder into his, her hip colliding with the CD player strapped to his belt. “Ooh, any music recommendations for me lately?”

Taehyung’s chest rumbled again, the sound animalistic and raw, and Y/N wasn’t used to hearing it so often those days. Resisting the desire to tuck some of his curls behind his ear, Y/N waited for a reply, Taehyung avoiding eye-contact by examining the pictures on her screen. 

“I’ve just been listening to grunge, like always. Someone showed me an artist named Mac Demarco recently, which you might like.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of him. An indie artist, right?” Y/N wondered who exactly showed him new music, itchy jealousy crawling all over her skin.

Taehyung didn’t answer, his thumb stilling over the touchscreen of her phone, intensely staring at the picture he paused on. Curious, Y/N peered over his shoulder to see what captured his attention so thoroughly, a tiny squeak leaving her mouth at what she saw. Taehyung had scrolled so far through her camera roll that he reached the mirror selfies she had taken the night of Hoseok’s birthday, after she finished her makeup and shimmied into her dress. 

Originally, she sent the pictures to the Santos twins, but she never intended for other eyes to see her so scandalously posing in front of her bathroom mirror, so she was definitely mortified that Taehyung was gawking at them, Y/N clearing her throat sharply. Taehyung wasn’t broken out of his trance until she repeated his name several times, her phone clattering to his lap as his eyes focused on her again, his irises dark and predatory. 

“Taehyung, um. I wanted to talk to you. Last weekend, when you came home from the rec center… I was short with you. I’m sorry,” Y/N’s palms were sweating, Taehyung’s expression surprisingly not wiping blank like she expected it to. “I hope I didn’t imply that you need to tell me where you are at all times, or felt like I was coming down on you or upset with you.”

“I– um, I didn’t think that,” Taehyung’s voice was rough, the corners of his mouth turning down as he angled his body towards her. 

“Oh, okay. Again, I just wanna stress, you don’t have to ask me for permission to go where you want, alright? I miss you, though, Tae.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting around the room like he was trying to find a response written on the wallpaper, bouncing his thigh up and down. 

“Miss you too,” Taehyung admitted quietly, winding the hem of his sweater around his finger tips. “A lot.”

Y/N’s eyes began to sting, the raw vulnerability coming off of him in that moment tangible and heavy. His words were profound to her, and if anything, it gave her courage. Not knowing if she’d ever be brave enough again to hurtle off the edge of no return, she reached for Taehyung’s hand, tracing a thumb over the vintage silver ring on his index finger; this time, Taehyung was the one to shiver. 

“Uh, so Tae. Hm. You know…”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Taehyung’s phone was ringing in his pocket, but he promptly ignored it, so Y/N scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment, attempting to continue when the buzzing stopped. 

“Right. So, you know I really care about you–”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. 

Grimacing, Taehyung dove his free hand into his pocket when it began to go off again, sending the call to voicemail blindly, Y/N losing confidence by the second. 

“Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I really care for you, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately, but I need you to know–” Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. “Why don’t you get that? It seems like it might be important.” Y/N swallowed down the last of her declaration: I need you to know I love you. 

Ticked, Taehyung dug his phone out of his pocket, Y/N catching the caller ID before he picked up. Someone named ‘Diana’ was eagerly trying to reach him, ice water being dumped over Y/N’s flame, her heart stopping dead in her chest when Taehyung let go of her hand and answered the phone. 

“Di, what’s up?” Taehyung held a finger up to Y/N, jaw tense, Y/N flinching at the sound of a raspy female voice coming through the phone pressed to the side of his face. 

It was like she had become a balloon rapidly deflating, like the string tying it together was pulled free. Palm tingling now that Taehyung’s hand wasn’t resting in hers, she sat there completely flabbergasted.

“No, I’m not coming by the rec center today, Di. I’m developing the photos we took in the darkroom at my house, they’ll be ready next week. I don’t know if I’ll see you this weekend…”

Y/N had heard enough. Knees knocking together, she stood from the couch, Taehyung’s eyebrows pulling together in confusion, ignoring Diana’s whines on the other line. Speedily collecting her sheet music from the piano, she gave Taehyung a wave and a half smile. 

“You finish your call, I gotta get ready for Yoongi’s birthday dinner tonight. Talk later?” Y/N was proud that her voice wasn’t shaky or full of pain, Taehyung blinking at her and his expression finally wiping blank again. He gave her a thumbs up, looking out the window as she left. 

“Yeah, I know Di. I saw you last weekend, though.” Taehyung’s tone was beyond agitated as she shut the soundproof door, not wanting to spend one more second listening in on the conversation. 

She was there, right there. About to tell Taehyung how she truly felt about him, to push past all of the angst between her and him, all for her hopes to crash around her with an interruptive phone call. Any confidence she had to confess her feelings to him was dashed and divided as soon as she heard the Kodiak hybrid call the woman on the phone Di. Taehyung had never given Y/N a nickname before, and that realization had her thinking that perhaps she had overestimated how he felt about her. Perhaps, to him, she was his guardian, someone off-limits romantically, someone that he would deem inconceivable to have those sort of feelings for. Y/N was the type to race, barrel, and fly into conclusions, so she had no trouble believing these spiraling thoughts as she locked herself in her bedroom.

Running her fingers through her hair, yanking the roots, she tried to take deep, centering breaths, like the ones Namjoon taught her how to do. Thankfully, after a few rounds of clutching her bedpost and breathing like a yoga instructor, it seemed to do the trick. Staring at herself in her vanity mirror, she came to one more, positive, at least, conclusion: at least Taehyung wasn’t upset with her, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so avoidant anymore. 

Sighing raggedly, she checked her watch, swearing colorfully. Yoongi would be home shortly, so she’d have to move her ass like it was on fire to get ready for the dinner reservation she planned. Putting Taehyung out of her mind, as difficult as it was, she changed gears when she glanced at the silvery dress she picked up for the occasion, which happened to be one of Yoongi’s favorite colors. While she was turning on the shower tap, her phone chimed in her pocket, Y/N forgetting that she managed to swipe it out of Taehyung’s lap when he answered Diana’s phone call. 

Yoongi 👼🏻: On my way home. 

Y/N: Okay, birthday boy ❤️

Yoongi 👼🏻: 🙄❤️

Surprisingly, there was about half an hour to spare by the time Y/N had finished getting ready. Throwing a light sweater over the satiny dress she pulled on– mostly to prevent Seokjin from having a stroke that she was scantily dressed in early spring weather again– she made sure her hair and makeup was how she wanted it and set out to find her leopard hybrid. 

In the hallway, the scent of greasy pizza hit her square in the face. Suspecting that Hoseok probably had Yoongi stop by Sal’s for some dinner before she and the leopard hybrid left for the night, the sounds of an action movie blaring in the parlor had her snickering. For beings with superior hearing, her boys loved to jack up the surround sound. Pausing by the staircase, she could hear Yoongi playing piano upstairs, probably waiting for her. Giddy, she skipped up the stairs, holding onto the old carved banister with reverence. Yoongi seemed to be playing the song he composed for Y/N, making her blush and nearly swoon into the music room. 

Yoongi was seated on the bench where she was perched just hours ago. Dressed sharply in black dress pants and a matching dress shirt, the monochrome outfit highlighted the glimmer of his accessories– rings, bracelets, earrings, and of course, the sparkly chain clasped around his throat. His triangular ears immediately twitched towards her direction even if his face didn’t, his tempo never faltering even when she started heading right for him, a tender smile on her face when she ended up behind him. Ducking, she pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, in between his spotted ears, giggling when his tail tickled the bare skin of her thighs. 

“You look nice,” Y/N purred into his hair, breathing in his shampoo. It was then when Yoongi stopped playing, craning his chin upwards to nuzzle his nose into her neck, making a similar purr to hers. “Happy birthday, Yoongi!”

“Ugh. I’m old,” Yoongi complained, his eyelashes tickling the skin of her throat. 

“No you’re not. You’re just 30, the same age as Seokjin,” Y/N poked his shoulder, sliding her palm along his back as she rounded the bench, sitting on his free side. 

“Silly girl, furthering my point. He’s old, too,” Yoongi grouched, ears turning back when Y/N swat at his forearm reproachfully. “Don’t whack me, it’s my birthday.”

“You’re sending some mixed signals about that, angel,” Y/N snorted, feeling his hand curl around her hip, fingers sliding along the satin material sensually. “Excited for dinner?”

“You keep hyping it up, are they going to bring out a cake and sing to me?” Yoongi asked, trepidation coloring his gravelly tone. 

“Oh shit, do you want me to call and ask if they can do that?” Y/N joked, pretending to pick up her phone and dial the restaurant. Promptly, Yoongi snatched her phone away, stuffing it into the pocket of his dress pants. “Kidding. I just hope you like the food.”

“I’ll eat anything,” Yoongi shrugged, pink blush dusting his cheeks as shy purrs filled the room. 

“Wanna play ‘Moonlight Lovers’ before we go? I practiced for you,” Y/N changed the subject, cozy tucked into his side. 

“Did you?”

“Mm-hmm. I promised, didn’t I?” Y/N teased, humming when Yoongi planted a kiss on her jaw bone. To his dismay, she got up from the bench, making haste to the opposite end of the room. “You’re gonna sing while I play?”

“Sure, but? What are you doing, silly?”

“Look forward, angel!” Y/N pointed straight ahead, encouraging her leopard hybrid to tear his scrutiny from her fumbling with a telescope-like device in the corner. Slowly, he did. 

The lights were low, so Y/N was pleased that the projection lamp displayed the image of the pearly white moon perfectly onto the wall beyond the grand piano. For a small fee on the internet, she was able to give Yoongi the full moon whenever he wanted, and he was a stunned, a still figure on the piano bench when she returned to his side, snuggling back into him. 

Y/N didn’t wait for a response to the surprise, instead launching straight into the jazzy first bars of the song with practiced ease, grinning when Yoongi’s sock-clad food pressed over hers on the sustain pedal. Clingy as ever and seemingly recovering, Yoongi rested his chin on Y/N’s shoulder while she worked her way through the first few measures, nuzzling closer to her when she shivered at the ticklish sensation of his ears against her skin. 

The world existed and it was just her and Yoongi, his voice quiet when he began singing the first verse, Y/N following along in her head since she had memorized the lyrics by then. Not knowing where his body began and hers ended, it was a miracle she was able to concentrate playing on tempo. The pace picked up at the refrain just before the chorus, and Y/N pushed past her nerves to join Yoongi in singing. 

And we met under the moonlit sky

It was you, of all, who caught my eye

When you’re gone, I’m incomplete

No one but you

Has been this sweet

And under the moonlit sky

Across seas, you and I 

Never again, will say goodbye

Y/N didn’t consider herself to be a world-class singer by any means, but with the way Yoongi’s arm tightened around her back, she could tell that he liked the sound of it, his own voice cutting off momentarily when she first began to harmonize with him. She played the rest of the song like that, Yoongi still tucked into the crook of her neck, his eyes closed.

Soaking in the moment, something in his chest unfurling and threatening to burst free, he clung to Y/N, spellbound as she perfectly played the last few measures of the song, gentle silence ringing out in the room when she finished. Unable to move, speak, or breathe, Yoongi went limp when Y/N kissed his forehead, letting him process. 

“Perfect,” Yoongi managed, squeezing Y/N around her middle, filled with both nostalgia and joy, the artificial moonlight projected in the room somehow feeling so real. “You really must have practiced hard.”

“What can I say? I had the best teacher ever,” Y/N replied, bashfully, happy to hold Yoongi as long as he wanted; even risking missing their dinner reservations. 

“I’m proud of my student. She’s come a long way,” Yoongi murmured, straightening up but still maintaining his possessive hold on her. Melting at the pure adoration on her face, Yoongi couldn’t help but cup the side of her face. “My mom would have loved you.”

Y/N’s face grew hot, Yoongi felt it under his palm, her lower lip wobbling. 

“Really?”

“Maybe not as much as I love you, but yeah, she would have. You two have the same heart,” Yoongi smiled, not feeling an ounce of sadness like he usually did on his birthday the previous three years. “Wanna know a little bit more about her before we go? We still have time.”

“Please?” Y/N’s expression grew eager, Yoongi finding it adorable, pinching her nose playfully. 

“Her and I lived in a tiny apartment above The Black Lodge, courtesy of the owner– Barry was his name– I suspect that Barry might have been in love with my mom. Barry was old-school, though, and never acted on anything considering a lot of guys his age thought human and hybrid relationships were taboo,” Y/N pouted, but Yoongi shook his head and rubbed circles on her waist with his thumb. 

“Anyways, yeah, we lived in a one-bedroom above the bar courtesy of Barry. My mom always insisted I take the bedroom, and she’d fall asleep on a loveseat in the living room watching old Marilyn Monroe movies. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, ever, just like you. She smoked those long, skinny cigarettes and her favorite drink was a Manhattan. My mom could write a song in twenty minutes, I don’t know how she did it. She would sing like her voice came up from the Earth’s crust and flowed through her mouth. And her perfume… she’d always wear something floral to remind her of the spring, when I was born.”

“Your mom sounds glamorous, like a movie star. I bet she was beautiful, too,” Y/N’s voice was dreamy, thick with emotion. She pictured a woman just as striking as her Yoongi, with the same spotty ears and tail, the same lithe, graceful figure. 

“Mm, she was,” Yoongi agreed, distantly wishing he had a picture of her to show Y/N. “Alright, we should head out. You can ask me more questions on the way there, if you want.”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that Yoongi had opened up to her so much over time. There was something so wonderful about knowing someone on their deeper levels, especially a loved one, so Y/N cherished every tidbit of information Yoongi would offer her. Blissfully, knowing truly nothing could ruin her mood, she let Yoongi wait outside and order the taxi while she bid goodbye to the others in the parlor. 

“Y/N, pretty, one of these days you’re gonna catch a cold,” Seokjin accused from his spot on the floor, wrapped in a throw blanket himself, staring pointedly at her bare legs. Y/N simply shook her head, bending low, and kissed his cheek softly, a feline chirp of pleasure leaving his lips and his orange eyes glowing in the dim light of the living room. 

“We’ll be back in a little while. Please don’t eat the birthday cake until then,” Y/N drove that specific point home by looking directly at Namjoon, who was sheepishly gnawing on his fingernails on the couch, his book forgotten in his lap. 

“Pick me up some?” Jeongguk lifted an empty carton of Marlboro reds in the air, tapping it hollowly, Y/N scowling. 

“What’s the magic word, sweets?”

“For fu-” Jeongguk coughed when Namjoon sharply thwacked the back of his head with his book. “Please.”

“I have half a mind to buy you some nicotine patches,” Y/N muttered, accepting a jolty, goofy hug from Hoseok on the leather recliner. “Not to stir the pot, but once again, Jimin. You’re in charge.”

A series of exasperated groans filled the room as Jimin preened at the responsibility, nodding once at Y/N importantly. Taehyung, all the way at the back of the room by the window overlooking the backyard, was busy fussing over his camera, even if his ears were angled to the sound of her voice. 

“I’m the eldest, shouldn’t I be in charge?” Seokjin sulked, his dark ears downturned just like the full corners of his mouth. Y/N simply snorted, knowing he was just pouting on purpose, giving him one last hair ruffle before starting to the foyer. 

“I’ll be back soon, my sweet boys, alright?” Y/N blew the six hybrids a kiss, the various reactions of amusement and embarrassment making her feel warm and fuzzy as she made her way to the leopard hybrid waiting for her on the porch. 

“I used to walk by this place on my way to the barber,” Yoongi remarked when the cab dropped them off at the restaurant, Y/N lacing their fingers together and admiring the way the city lights reflected off of his hazel eyes.

“Oh yeah? The one who gave you crazy haircuts?” Y/N mussed Yoongi’s long locks, smiling at him widely. “Speaking of. Never cut your hair short, please.”

“Why not, you like it like this?” Yoongi smirked devilishly, letting Y/N tug him into the restaurant.

“Yeah, it suits you! Don’t touch it, I’ll be really mad,” Y/N threatened, approaching the hostess’ booth. “Hi, we have an 8:00 reservation under the name Y/L/N.”

The restaurant Y/N found for Yoongi’s birthday was a jazzy hole-in-the-wall, the dining room filled with dim candle light. The place almost looked like a 20’s speakeasy, decked out with cushy red velvet booths, black tables, and old lamps scattered about. Y/N knew where Yoongi’s sight immediately went: the glossy grand piano beside the bar, where a gentleman in a suit was playing something slow and seductive. Still holding his hand, Y/N pulled Yoongi after the hostess, delighted with the intimate booth they ended up in, with a perfect view of the piano. 

“This is a lot nicer than The Black Lodge,” Yoongi said dryly, still glancing around curiously, his nose twitching. “What kind of food do they have?”

“Italian, baby. We’re in the North End,” Y/N giggled, nudging his shin under the table and passing him a menu. Yoongi pouted at her teasing, immediately flipping the menu over to check the drink list. “After we eat, we can get some pastries to bring home!”

“You better hide them from the wolf, he’ll eat them all,” Yoongi warned, though Y/N had to admit, he was right. 

“I’ll just get extra,” Y/N shrugged, the waitress promptly coming by to take their drink orders. Yoongi picked out a red wine, so Y/N went ahead and ordered the bottle, which had him squirming in his seat uncomfortably. “You don’t like being spoiled, angel?”

“Just not used to it,” Yoongi shook his head, his ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. “But… this is nice. You’re pretty good at planning birthdays, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I should turn the talent into a business,” Y/N smirked around the lip of her wine glass, the Pinot Noir coating her throat like velvet. “What are you thinking about getting to eat?”

“Hmm… I feel like you can’t go wrong with steak,” Yoongi fiddled with his earrings, scanning the menu thoughtfully. 

“I think I’m gonna get the ravioli,” Y/N announced, stomach already growling, Yoongi’s acute hearing picking it up and making him snort. “Stop laughing!”

When the waiter returned, he mercifully brought bread and oil, which Y/N happily snacked on with her wine, enjoying both the music and alone time with Yoongi. 

“How’s the coaching gig?”

“I don’t know yet. The season doesn’t start until next week, all I’ve been doing is trying to figure out how to make practice plans. I’m not even sure I’m coach material.”

“Of course you are. You’re the best player on your own team, and kids love you. Besides, you taught me how to play piano in just a few months, you’re a natural born teacher, Yoongi,” Y/N shot down his doubts immediately, Yoongi looking away from her, shy. “I mean it! You’re patient, encouraging, and you keep me motivated. You’ll do really well.”

“You trying to butter me up?” Yoongi scoffed, tracking his index finger around the rim of his wine glass, eyes narrowed playfully. 

“Is it working?” Y/N shot back, leaning slightly across the table, getting a few inches closer to his face. “Besides. It’s rewarding to make you proud.”

“Is that right?” Yoongi cocked his head, eyes dropping to Y/N’s hand, where she was tracing the bracelet around his wrist delicately. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Y/N exclaimed innocently, withdrawing her touch and sitting back with a wink, sipping her wine again. 

“So, everything went well during your thing with the wolf and elk?” Yoongi changed the subject, a wicked gleam still in his eyes. 

“Surprisingly, yes. I wish I could have filmed Jeongguk speaking in Latin for you. It was like watching an exorcism movie,” Y/N joked, Yoongi shaking his head in amusement. “The family moved back in yesterday. Next week we’re going to meet with them and make sure the cleansing and banishment did its job.”

“Well, I think a ‘congratulations’ is due,” Yoongi refilled both of their wine glasses, Y/N giggling when they clinked them together. 

The man who was playing the piano finished his song, the intimate restaurant breaking out in polite applause. Y/N specifically looked for a restaurant like that one, one where diners could get up and play if they desired. It seemed Yoongi was realizing what was going on, an elderly woman getting up from her booth and ambling towards the piano with her martini. Her and Yoongi snickered when the woman began to play ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, vocalizing into the microphone a tad off-key. 

Before Y/N could make a comment, their food arrived, which was a good thing since the wine was starting to make her feel flushed and ready to tackle her handsome date. The liquid courage was something she needed, though, as she began to anticipate the surprise she planned for Yoongi, sneaking a look at him while he was mid-bite of his steak. The meal passed by amicably, Yoongi letting her feed him a sliver of ravioli across the table, Y/N happy that she was able to treat Yoongi to a nice birthday dinner after three years of him likely not celebrating the day at all. 

“Espresso?” The waiter returned to collect the plates once they were done, Y/N nodding, hoping to draw out the dinner just a little longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the old woman at the piano begin to get up from the bench, Y/N digging through her purse and standing, causing Yoongi to lift an eyebrow at her. 

“Be right back,” Y/N breathed, setting off in the direction of the piano before her nerves could get the better of her, sheet music in one of her hands. 

She could feel eyes on her as she approached the bench, clearing her throat and setting the music on the stand, thankful that the piano was similar to the one she had back at home. Clearing her throat, she scanned the restaurant once, finding Yoongi across the room, staring at her with utter confusion and anticipation. Smiling at him, she leaned towards the microphone. 

“I hope you’re all having a nice evening,” Y/N began, trying not to cringe at the sound of her own voice. “I wanted to play a song I wrote tonight for someone special to me, on his birthday. This song is called ‘Soul Recognition’.”

With that, Y/N took a deep breath, easing into the first few measures. While at first, she expected to feel nervous and shaky, the mere reminder that Yoongi was watching her play had her relaxing and getting into the flow. Even though she was focused on the sheet music in front of her, she could feel Yoongi’s eyes on her from the other side of the room– that unspoken connection she had with him the very inspiration for the song’s title she had finally decided on. 

Yoongi didn’t even register the waiter returning with two small cups of espresso, completely spellbound watching Y/N play a song she composed for him. Completely taken off guard, unaware that his mouth was wide open, all other noise in the restaurant dimmed completely while he drowned in her melody. The song was sweet, yearning, gentle, Y/N’s hands gliding over the keys smoothly, and the lights of the restaurant reflecting off of her shimmery dress and making her look like a star. Overcome with an intense feeling in his chest, not unlike the one he experienced earlier in the music room, Yoongi stopped breathing and the Earth stilled on its axis. Something clicked into place as he watched her, something both primal and cosmic, and all he could think about was making her his completely. 

Yoongi didn’t even hear the applause all around him when Y/N finished her piece, the ending joyful and full, all he could do was stumble out of the booth, smacking cash onto the table and urgently crossing the restaurant. Y/N’s eyes went wide, bashful for some reason, meeting Yoongi in the middle. Before she could say anything, her face was in Yoongi’s hands, his lips crashing down on hers desperately, making her whimper in surprise. Y/N could taste something in his kiss, something different, important, and she was floating from it. Not caring about the people watching or the increase in applause at their spectacle, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, kissing him back just as passionately. 

Yoongi pulled away all too soon, his eyes glassy, and pulled Y/N into his side, happy purrs vibrating through his chest. 

“Did you like it?” Y/N asked meekly, a little dazed from the kiss, letting him guide her out of the restaurant with haste. Stopping outside, next to a bakery with the smell of chocolate flooding out into the street, Y/N offered Yoongi the hand-written sheet music shyly. 

“It was beautiful,” Yoongi’s voice was thick, overwhelmed. “I loved it. You’re perfect, baby.”

Yoongi cupped her face again, kissing her cheeks with reverence. Her insides igniting, she hummed with satisfaction, his approval and proud tone of voice making the weeks of striking out composition wise worth it. 

“Let’s get those pastries before we go home. You’re not leaving my sight tonight, though,” Yoongi warned her, grabbing a hold of her hand, dragging her to the entrance of the bakery. The way he warned her was full of dark promise, almost feral, Y/N deciding she couldn’t care less about the pastries. 

Y/N hardly had time to place the ginormous box of pastries on the kitchen island before Yoongi was hauling her away, making her squeal as he slung her over his shoulder. The house was mostly dark, but it sounded like a few of the hybrids were still watching movies, so the way the leopard hybrid was so brazenly carrying her up the stairs had her cheeks on fire. 

“Yoongi!” Y/N whisper-shouted, the hybrid grunting and pushing the door to his bedroom open, setting her down as soon as they were inside. “W-what are you– the others!” 

Y/N watched Yoongi close and lock his door, distractedly pushing a towel under the threshold, as if that would do anything. A low, bone-chilling growl ripped through his throat at her mention of ‘the others’ Y/N’s gut tightening at the sound. 

“It’s still my birthday, you’re still going to spend the rest of it with me, right?” Yoongi’s voice dropped an octave, stalking towards her slowly, Y/N backing up until her knees hit the foot of his bed, staring up at him nervously. “Won’t you?”

“Yes, Yoongi,” Y/N whispered, entranced. With the sound of his name coming from her lips, Yoongi had that feeling again, one that was taking over him completely. 

Cocking his head, his gaze dropped to the cardigan slipping over her shoulders, reaching up to push the material off of her, the garment falling to the floor. Shivering at the temperature of the room on her bare shoulders, Y/N swallowed thickly, waiting for him to make the first move. There hadn’t been an instance where she had been intimate with Seokjin or Yoongi while the others were in earshot, and the idea of being listened to had adrenaline pulsing through her veins, shamefully. 

“Yoongi,” Y/N squirmed under his scrutiny, taking in every inch of her in the cocktail dress that left little to the imagination. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet,” Yoongi sighed, as if the thought somewhat disappointed him, a fingertip sliding slowly up the side of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. “Think you can do that?”

“Anything for you,” Y/N admitted without hesitation, watching his expression soften. Deciding to act on her own, Y/N leaned forward up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Yoongi’s neck, giving a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Love you.”

Yoongi shuddered, cupping her hips, letting her kiss him gently, Y/N pouring all the love she had for him into the gesture. He returned it in kind, pulling her impossibly close, swiping his tongue along her lower lip heavily. Y/N was already failing at his request for her to be quiet, tiny mewls falling into Yoongi’s mouth, making him smirk against her. Winding her fingers in his hair, Y/N pressed her body even closer to him, feeling his chest rumble beneath her. 

“Lay down, baby,” Yoongi mumbled against her lips, lightly pushing on her hips, causing her knees to buckle and her to collapse backwards on his bed. 

She watched, heat flashing over her skin, as Yoongi stared down at her, methodically unbuttoning his black dress shirt, the sight of his chest being revealed bit by bit drying up her mouth. Planting her feet on the bed, she brought her knees together, attempting to rub her thighs together for friction, Yoongi’s pupils dilated at the sight. 

“Eager?” Yoongi teased, pushing his dress shirt off his shoulders, licking his lips. He couldn’t deny that he, himself, was nearly bursting at the seams. 

“Always,” Y/N looked up at him through her eyelashes, ready for him to pounce on her. “Come here.”

Grunting, unable to hold himself back, Yoongi was on top of her in a heartbeat, his lips crushing hers, Y/N arching upwards into his chest, tracing her hands all over his silky, feverish skin. Flicking her tongue against the roof of his mouth, Yoongi made a choked noise of pleasure, pressing his hips into hers. 

“I love you, baby,” Yoongi murmured, tucking his face into her neck and sponging the sensitive flesh with kisses, Y/N writing beneath him. “Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, hmm?”

Yoongi sat back on his heels, Y/N sitting up slightly and putting her arms in the air, waiting for Yoongi to strip the fabric from her body. Mouth watering at the sight of the swollen petals of her lips and the glazed look in her eyes, her pounding heartbeat was music to Yoongi’s ears. Sliding his hands up her thighs, Yoongi got a hold of the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head, Y/N’s face on fire when she remembered she didn’t wear a bra with her outfit. Yoongi, however, groaned thickly, pushing on her hips again, making her fall back against the pillows with a squeak. 

Immediately, his mouth was on her chest, Y/N biting down on her fist when his lips wrapped around a nipple, whimpering as his sharpened canines scraped over the sensitive bud. Yoongi was usually a talker in the bedroom, but the mood was different that night, like he was trying to taste every inch of her. Gliding her free hand through his hair, Y/N made pathetic, small noises as he had his way with her chest. 

“Y-yoongi,” Y/N felt her lace underwear sticking to her center already, though truthfully, they had grown damp the moment he kissed her in the restaurant. Tongue passing over one of the ridges of her ribs, Yoongi hummed in response, enjoying being completely tangled up in her. 

Gasping sharply, she felt Yoongi cup her through her panties, lips returning to her mouth, his tongue rolling against hers sensually. Swallowing the noises she was making, Yoongi growled at the wetness seeping through her panties, tracing a circle around her clothed clit. Y/N cried out, her embarrassment clear as day on her face when she realized the sound was anything but quiet, Yoongi lowly chuckling against her throat.

“Quiet, baby,” Yoongi reminded her, though he did absolutely nothing to encourage her to actually be quiet when he pushed the gusset of her panties to the side and dipped his fingers between her soaked folds. Hips bucking into his hand, Y/N looked at her leopard hybrid imploringly, eyebrows pulled together as he touched her. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi groaned, easily sliding a finger into her sopping cunt, Y/N clawing at his chest and leaving red scratches in her wake. “Missed this pussy…”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the mewls she was making, especially when he added a second digit to join the first, thumb pressing down sharply on her clit. Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, frustrated she couldn’t be as vocal as she wanted to be, she bit down on Yoongi’s shoulder when he curled his fingers into her G-spot. 

He worked her up slowly, the lewd sounds of her wetness slipping into his palm driving him absolutely crazy. Biting down on Yoongi’s shoulder didn’t work for long as the coil in her abdomen began to tighten, a shuddering moan filling the bedroom, Yoongi hissing and withdrawing his fingers from her cunt, a dismayed whine falling from Y/N’s lips. Before she could complain, Yoongi was pulling her panties off of her body, balling them up, and while her mouth was still open, Yoongi pushed the fabric into her mouth. Eyes bugging out of her head, Y/N was trembling beneath the leopard hybrid, who appeared quite smug that he managed to gag her. 

“There we go, huh?” Yoongi cooed, stroking through her folds again, Y/N yanking at the belt loops of his dress pants and unintelligibly groaning something. “What’s that? Wanna cum?”

Y/N nodded eagerly, Yoongi’s dark, condescending chuckle making her ears burn. Contrary to his question, he didn’t slip his fingers back into her weeping cunt, instead he teasingly traced her entrance, Y/N throwing her head back in frustration. Yoongi was close to losing his own patience, hastily ridding himself of his pants, tossing them somewhere behind him. 

Saliva soaking the fabric of her ruined panties, Y/N ached to take the gag out of her mouth, but Yoongi shot her a warning look, so she simply squirmed on the bed and nearly choked on the panties when he settled his hips against hers, rolling them. Yoongi nearly collapsed at the friction, and Y/N keened at the sensation of his bulge colliding against her tacky core, desperate for him to be inside her already. 

“That’s a good girl, behaving,” Yoongi mumbled into her ear, kissing just below it while a free hand squeezed at her breast. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the gag out soon. Wanna hear you when you cum for me, baby.”

Feeling wetness gushing out of her in response to his filthy words, she tried to implore him to get on with it with her eyes. Rolling his hips against her again, the two of them writing together like desperate teenagers, Y/N ran her hands down Yoongi’s toned back, the leopard hybrid sharply biting down on her clavicle when her fingertips brushed the base of his tail, his hips stuttering. 

“F-fuck, Y/N,” Yoongi whined, Y/N never hearing him sound so needy. Using her fingernails, she lightly scraped through the silky fur, Yoongi finally snapping. 

Shucking his boxers off, Y/N’s mouth filled with saliva as she watched his erection spring up from the material. Distractedly, Yoongi peeled her panties out of her mouth, Y/N gasping for air when he hooked one of her legs around his waist. Again, Yoongi kissed her, a flurry of tongue and teeth, needing to taste her, to consume her. Y/N could hardly keep up, holding him tightly around the neck, the coolness of his silver chain hitting her in the face as he lined himself up. Breath catching, she moaned into Yoongi’s plush lips as he pushed in, his teeth gritting at the tight fit. 

“Fuck, baby,” Yoongi panted, planting one of his palms beside her face for leverage, the walls of her cunt spasming around him as she got used to his size. “So good–”

“Please, please,” Y/N whimpered, trying to keep her tone in check so he wouldn’t gag her again. Yoongi’s ears fluttered at her sweet, ruined voice, the grip he had on her thigh hooked around his waist bruising. “Baby…”

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Yoongi knew what she wanted without her having to vocalize it. Slowly, he rolled his hips, the drag of her walls around his cock intoxicating, both of them breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. It was the look on her face that had Yoongi control dissolving into nothing, the look of complete and utter love, and with a snarl, he tucked his nose into her neck, snapping his hips more harshly into hers. 

“Baby, my baby,” Yoongi moaned into her throat, tasting sweat on her skin. Wild, being driven crazy by the muffled cries she was trying to keep in check with a hand pressed over her lips, Yoongi found himself babbling and unleashing the emotions he was feeling the entire night. “I love you so much. My mate.”

Y/N gasped, and it had nothing to do with how his cock was hitting every sweet spot inside of her, it was his words. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Y/N kissed him, relishing in the feline purrs of elation he was making. 

“M-mate?” Y/N managed breathlessly, arching into him when his pelvis brushed against her clit with each stroke, his lips in her hair. 

“Mm-hmm. Mate, you’re mine,” Yoongi mumbled deliriously, the pitch of her moans telling him she wasn’t going to last much longer. “Forever, baby.”

With a hand around her throat, Yoongi pinned her to the mattress, the speed of his thrusts picking up, a feral sort of possession beginning to take over him darkly. By then, he didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard what they were doing, focused solely on pleasuring his mate. With the weight of his palm on her throat and the way he angled the tip of his cock directly into her G-spot, Y/N was clenching around him unexpectedly, the strength of her orgasm taking the wind out of her. 

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, my sweet mate,” Yoongi lightly squeezed the sides of her throat, not far behind her, truthfully. “Shit. I’m–”

“Yoongi,” Y/N’s voice was broken, her skin covered in a thin coat of sweat, and when she leaned up to kiss him again, Yoongi was gone. Hips stilling, he came with a ruined moan, Y/N shivering at the sensation of his hot cum filling her, pressing shaky kisses to the side of his face as pleasure tore through him violently. 

Collapsed on top of her and not entirely sure he could move, Yoongi tried to catch his breath as Y/N tenderly ran her fingers through his hair, her own chest heaving beneath him. The feeling he had earlier in the day, the unfurling of something from inside, he realized what it was the second she finished playing the song she wrote from her. Y/N was his mate, and he admittedly should have figured that out sooner, but the realization had all the stars in his sky lining up. There had never been a time where Yoongi felt closer to his animalistic side rather than human, which he used to be afraid of showing to Y/N. But there she was, accepting of him with wide open arms and unconditional acceptance. His mate could be no one but her. 

“Am I really… your mate?” Y/N asked hesitantly, after several minutes of enjoying post-coital bliss. She didn’t really care that Yoongi’s heavy body was crushing her, simply letting him hide away from the world in the crook of her neck, here he was still mouthing away at the skin. Pausing, Yoongi pulled away slightly, worry creasing his brow. 

“Does that bother you?” Yoongi asked carefully, Y/N blanching and immediately shaking her head. 

“Absolutely not, why would it? I adore you, Yoongi,” Y/N insisted, brushing sweaty hair out of his face. Relaxing again, Yoongi purred, nudging the tip of her nose with his. 

“‘M tired,” Yoongi mumbled, Y/N wincing when he pulled out of her, blindly reaching for a towel on the floor to mop up the mess between her legs. “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

“Is that another birthday wish, angel?” Y/N teased, Yoongi grumbling and rolling off of her, gathered the crumpled quilt at the foot of his bed and pulled it up over the two of them, effectively keeping Y/N there. “Too tired to quip back?”

“Smart mouth,” Yoongi offered, opening up his arms and looking at her through lidded eyes. “Lemme hold you.”

Snickering, Y/N wiggled closer to her leopard hybrid, resting her cheek on his chest, pouting at the red lines she left on his skin. Tracing them softly, she pressed a kiss to one of the marks, Yoongi’s arms snaking around her middle. 

“Thank you for writing me a song,” Yoongi broke the silence, holding her tight. 

“Thank you for writing me one. It’s about time you had one too,” Y/N replied, Yoongi’s chest shaking with quiet laughter at the response. Yawning, she felt sated, lax in his arms, and while she was in for an interesting morning encountering the others, it was one of the furthest things from her mind. “Love you.”

Yoongi didn’t respond with words, instead, he kissed the top of her head, drawing patterns over her waist until her breathing evened out, making sure she was asleep before he allowed himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep. 

Sunday was the day of the week Y/N had laundry duty, and she was knee-deep in dirty socks. Thankfully, she had a helper with her, even if the rest of her housemates accused him of somehow helping Y/N ‘cheat’ at laundry duty. Grimacing at a particularly dirty pair of socks, she tossed them into the wash, Seokjin helpfully tossing scented laundry beads into the machine with a smile. 

“Did you finish your book for tomorrow’s meeting, honey?” Y/N asked him, Seokjin wrinkling his nose at one of Jimin’s muddy socks. 

“Yeah, it was a pretty quick read this week,” Seokjin replied, a cute grin on his face when Y/N shut the washer’s lid, leaning against it leisurely. “This week isn’t going to be as busy for you, is it?”

“No, thankfully. Last week was nuts,” Y/N sighed, placing the detergent back on the shelf. “I told you I switched around my work days, right? I’m going to do Tuesdays-Thursdays, not including the odd consultation here and there.”

“I remember you telling me, yes,” Seokjin tickled her sides, wanting to see her smile. “Four day weekends, that’ll be nice!”

Squeaking, she felt Seokjin unexpectedly pick her up by her hips, spinning her around and setting her on top of the dryer. Now eye-level with him, Y/N blushed, straightening out the collar of his loose tee-shirt. 

“It will be. More time to spend with you,” Y/N agreed. More time for her to spend with all of them. Seokjin handed her a pair of jeans to fold– Yoongi’s, by the look of them, making Y/N pause and think about her leopard hybrid again. 

Ever since Yoongi called her his mate, there was little else she thought about. Not only that, but it had her thinking about ruts again; when Yoongi would have his, she would be the one he would spend it with. Going stiff, she halted her folding, Seokjin raising an eyebrow at her while he placed a folded graphic tee of Jeongguk’s on the shelf. 

“Something on your mind, pretty girl?” Seokjin’s tail wound around his leg curiously, Y/N jolted out of her thoughts. Seokjin, out of all of her hybrids, was one of the easiest to confide in. Recalling her phone conversation with Ben, she decided to ask her burning questions after all. 

“Yeah, actually. Can I ask you a couple of things? About hybrids,” Y/N twitched on top of the dryer, all of Seokjin’s attention on her at once. He nodded straight away, predictably. 

“Um, how do I put this…” Y/N started, embarrassed. “You know what? Screw it. I wanted to ask about ruts. Is there a specific, um, I don’t know. Procedure to go through? Like if one of you wants a partner to help you through it, who do I contact?”

Seokjin’s neck colored bright red, apparently not expecting questions like that. An array of reactions played across his handsome face: bashfulness, disbelief, and pure shock. 

“I– I don’t know about the others, pretty, but when mine happens, I,” he swallowed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, I’d hope that you would be the one to help me through it. I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

Taking a second to process that, Y/N grew hot, Seokjin uttering the last part of his response as if the idea of spending his rut with anyone else was completely repulsive. 

“You wouldn’t?” Y/N clarified stupidly, Seokjin making a feline noise of annoyance. 

“Of course not. You’re the only one for me, pretty,” Seokjin drove home, squeezing her knee. “As for the others… Well, when their times come, I’m sure if they need something, they’ll tell you. Mmm?”

“So… how do you know when it will happen?” 

“Honestly, the instinct, or ruts in general I should say, usually don’t  kick in full-force for us until we meet someone we feel strongly about romantically. Prior to that, it’s usually just a week or so of secluded ‘downtime’, if you will. Mine has never been strong enough to need a partner, but I suspect that will change now that I’m with you…” Seokjin explained, Y/N hanging off every word.

“Because of me?”

“Well, yes,” Seokjin pinched her cheek. “Of course.”

“Okay. That answers my questions at the moment,” Y/N mumbled, skin still on fire. 

Seokjin snorted, recovering smoothly from the bombshell she dropped on him, stepping forward to kiss the tip of her nose. Eyes fluttering shut, she soaked in his clean scent, appreciating the way he never teased her about matters surrounding her lack of knowledge on hybrids.

“Alright, let’s finish up in here. I’m gonna teach you how to make sourdough today, remember, pretty girl?” Seokjin pushed another pair of jeans into her lap, winking. 

The woman standing in front of her, Namjoon, and Jeongguk seemed like an entirely different one from the one in their memories. Ms. Sanders– Erika– no longer had purplish circles under her eyes, her posture wasn’t shrunken, and she flung the front door to her house open with confidence. Stunned, her and her two hybrids lingered on the concrete porch, the woman eagerly gesturing them inside. 

“Oh my goodness. I don’t know what to say. The house is like a completely different home,” Erika rushed out, Y/N breathing in the crisp, fresh air in the living room with deep satisfaction. “I cannot thank you three enough. Whatever you did worked completely.”

“So, everything has been going well since last Wednesday when you moved back in?” Y/N sought to confirm, sitting beside Jeongguk on the couch and accepting a mug of tea from the young mother gratefully. 

“Tommy’s nightmares stopped. Julie’s coming out of her shell again. I haven’t seen a single shadow, or heard any knocking on the walls. I can’t believe it,” Erika gushed, glancing at the three of them like they were her saviors. Jeongguk, beside her, fidgeted in his seat in reaction to the attention, while Namjoon stood off to the side, sipping his mug of tea with pink ears. 

“I’m so happy to hear that. I brought you a few things, just to give you an added layer of protection. I made these amulets for you and the children to wear when leaving the house, and Jeongguk has added some incense from the church to this bag for you to burn as well,” Y/N handed the mother a gift bag, which she accepted gratefully. 

Jeongguk explained how and when to use the incense, and Namjoon answered a few questions about the investigation, but after the tea was finished, Y/N and her hybrids took that as their cue to leave. Erika was in the middle of giving Y/N a very tight hug when the sound of footsteps came bounding down the stairs, making the three of them pause by the door. Tommy appeared in front of them, looking well-rested and healthy, holding onto his toy robot and staring up at Namjoon with complete awe. Y/N watched, stunned, as Tommy threw his arms around Namjoon, pressing his cheek into the wolf hybrid’s stomach, Jeongguk’s smoky chuckle filling the room as Namjoon went statue-still, hesitantly patting the young boy’s back. 

“Oh, I mentioned he loves wolves, didn’t I?” Erika clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes misty but expression joyful. 

Y/N’s eye caught the top of the stairs, where Julie was leaning against the banister. The teenager nodded, just once, at her and Jeongguk, her subtle thank-you to them. Once Tommy managed to peel himself from Namjoon, the three of them were leaving the Sanders’ home for the final time, the small family waving at them from the living room window as they pulled away in the van. 

“Ow. Shit,” Jeongguk hissed from the backseat, Y/N flinching at the sound of his strained voice and promptly flying from her seat beside Namjoon to see what was wrong with the elk hybrid. 

To her horror, there was blood leaking from his hairline into his face, and he was poking around the base of his antlers again. Or antler, she realized, as one of them had fallen from his head and clattered to the floor, blood staining the van’s carpet.

“Oh my god! What happened?!” Y/N rushed over to him, cupping his face frantically. “Did you bump into something? What am I gonna do?”

Jeongguk grabbed her wrist, grimacing. 

“I’m fine, kiddo. Remember when I shed my velvet? I shed the antlers in the spring. They’ll grow back. It just hurts like a bitch when they fall out,” Patting her wrist, Jeongguk winced when the second antler fell to the floor, more blood spilling onto his forehead. “You can let go, I’m not dying.”

Reeling, the spots where his antlers once were gory and painful looking. As per his request, she released his face, staring at the antlers on the ground. Bending, she picked them up, Jeongguk clicking his tongue at her while he dabbed his face with a tissue. 

“Just chuck those out the window,” he muttered indifferently, Y/N scowling at him. 

“Absolutely not. What if I wanna keep them? They’re pretty!” Jeongguk stared at her like she grew a second head. 

“What, are you gonna make a lamp out of them or something?”

“No, you jerk. I don’t know, maybe I’ll put them on my altar,” Y/N held the antlers away from him, worried he’d try to take them out of her grasp. “You don’t look nearly as threatening without them, by the way.”

Indeed, now the only thing on the top of Jeongguk’s head were his tapered chestnut-colored ears, which were twitching cutely at the sound of her voice. She wondered when his antlers grew back, if he’d look like Bambi, his doe eyes and all. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want with them,” Jeongguk held his hands up, but there was faint color on his high cheekbones. 

“I will,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, marching back to the passenger seat. Namjoon glanced at the antlers in her lap with minor interest, amusement clear as day on his face. “Wanna get hot pot again before we go home?” Namjoon ended up really liking the restaurant, and she felt like having a celebratory lunch. 

“With me looking like this? Are you serious?” Jeongguk was incredulous, gesturing to the blood caked in his hair through the rearview mirror.

“Why not? Fits your goth agenda,” Y/N teased, Namjoon absolutely losing it beside her, eyes scrunching up into crescent moons. 

“Goth agenda? Are you trying to push your luck today?”

“Yes,” Y/N sang, noting that Namjoon was already driving in the direction of the restaurant. “And I’ll continue to.”

Yoongi wiped the sleep from his eyes, blindly stumbling towards the music room before he went downstairs for his coffee. He was in the middle of composing something new to teach Y/N, and wanted to retrieve his book of blank sheet music to work on over breakfast. Truly still waking up, he didn’t notice that Taehyung was in the room until he caught a whiff of the Kodiak hybrid’s scent. Pausing at the threshold of the door, Yoongi was surprised Taehyung didn’t flee the room as soon as Yoongi walked in. The Kodiak hybrid appeared deep in thought, the record he was playing on the turntable scratching uselessly on the label, like he had already listened through that side already. 

“Uh… hey,” Yoongi greeted him, noticing the tired look on the other hybrid’s face. Not expecting a response, since Taehyung pretty much avoided him since finding out about him and Y/N, Yoongi shrugged, heading to the piano to scoop up what he needed. 

“How’s Y/N lately?” Taehyung startled Yoongi by speaking gruffly, the leopard hybrid not understanding where he was going with that question. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? You live under the same roof,” Yoongi raised his eyebrows, Taehyung snorting sardonically. 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Taehyung pushed a hand through his dark curls, Yoongi rolling his eyes. Yoongi was fed up with the Kodiak hybrid’s behavior, how it was affecting Y/N, and how oblivious the kid was in general.

“And why do you think that is? You avoid her like the plague. She’s just giving you the space you’re practically begging for,” Yoongi crossed his arms across his chest, tail curling around him agitatedly. 

“I just– I don’t know. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, I met someone, but she’s…” Yoongi let the wheels begin to turn in Taehyung’s head, trying not to be impatient. “She’s–”

“She’s not Y/N,” Yoongi finished bluntly, not sufficiently caffeinated enough for that conversation. Taehyung flinched like he was electrocuted, looking at Yoongi with alarm. 

“What do you mean?” Taehyung accused, heart racing. 

“What do you mean, Taehyung?” Yoongi threw his hands up, exasperated. “Avoiding her, trying to distract yourself with someone else. You need to just admit it to yourself, or you’re gonna develop an ulcer.”

“Admit what?” Taehyung spat, aggravated, standing and sizing up the leopard hybrid. 

“That you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @goooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @missyoueverysingleday @cathy-1997 @prybts @doublebunv @milopenne @steadycreationangel @rinkud @breadcheeksseokjin @nikkiordonez12

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[dedeinthewild]

ollie bearman x reader, tripping over thin air

~ from hand scribbles series (tell me an oddly specific situation/state of mind and I'll rec/write a fic about it)

"Hey, be careful! Wouldn’t want you tripping over more air!"

situation : "trying to be nonchalant and mysterious in front of ur crush and tripping on air and falling face down"

Her.

Three letters—the signature of both a blessing and a curse for Ollie Bearman.

Maybe it wasn’t that dramatic from his point of view. After all, the Brit was one of the sweetest and most easygoing guys on the grid, and his relationship with that girl felt like the most natural thing in the world. But without even realizing it, when a distant switch flicked in his head—one he never even thought existed—she became his biggest problem.

They had been through everything together. Ever since they met, it was clear they completed each other perfectly, in their shared similarities and their many differences, bringing a lighthearted atmosphere wherever they went. Whether it was grabbing a questionable kebab from the little spot near the school where he had studied after training with Thomas, or heading off for a weekend getaway together—sometimes with Kimi, or the friends they had in common.

And the best part? There was never any need to impress each other. No last-minute outfit upgrades, no spraying on the most expensive cologne, no planning vacations in luxury resorts or dining in Michelin-starred restaurants. Because all they needed was their bond—that invisible thread that tied them together, woven through sweet smiles and effortless laughter.

But that switch had flipped in Ollie’s head, and from the moment it did, he couldn’t ignore the voice reminding him that he had fallen for her. That he wanted only her by his side.

And that was a massive problem.

Because when you’ve known the simplicity of friendship—the unspoken words, the inside jokes that make you laugh in a crowd of a million—you also know that most people who fall for their best friend, especially one they spend so much time with, feel like it’s the end of the world.

In a way, it was the end of the world for the Brit. He stopped texting her as freely as before, second-guessing every word at least a thousand times. His laughter turned nervous when she was around. He found himself trying to impress her at every chance—only to earn the sharp, teasing remarks that were so characteristic of her.

He felt the pressure.

Whether it was about friendship, life goals, or simply the championship he was competing in.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he needed to prove himself—not just to the world, but to her. And if that meant playing it extra cool, then so be it.

"You’ve been awfully quiet," she said, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket, a scarf wrapped around her neck, and a small bag of M&Ms tucked in one of them as they walked along the row of team tents.

"Me?" Ollie furrowed his brows, rolling the family pass Hitech GP had given him between his long fingers as they waited for his little brother’s British F4 race at Brands Hatch.

"You have. Which is weird, because you never shut up," she teased.

"Maybe I’m just focused."

She looked up at him, her gaze meeting his deep brown eyes. He was much taller than her.

The wind had tousled her hair, which still looked impossibly soft despite being tied back in a small bun. She tucked her chin deeper into her scarf, shielding herself from the crisp autumn air that made spectators in England’s racing season prone to sore throats.

"Or maybe you’re just stressing."

"About what would I be?" he asked, wetting his lips, his thick accent making her nose scrunch up in that way she always did when he spoke.

"I don’t know, maybe the championship," she said with a shrug. "Hadjar, for example."

"Isack? What has he got to do with me?"

"I’m just assuming, it’s cool," she relented, shrugging again as the wind picked up. Mechanics rushed to secure the team tents as the cars rolled in from qualifying, and the first drivers jumped out for a quick debrief before the afternoon race.

"So what’s your pre-race ritual these days? Aside from stressing," she asked with a playful grin, her eyes flickering toward the rising stars of the sport—the same eyes that had led him straight into the most dangerous trap of all.

"Oh, you know, just the usual. A little stretching, mental prep… getting in the zone."

She frowned slightly.

Was he really just making small talk? Missing her playful cue entirely? And what was that tone?

"Mental prep." "Getting in the zone."

"Mmm. And the ‘zone’ is working for you?" she teased, confused by his behavior.

"Clearly," the driver answered with a fake, cocky grin just as, in the distance, Thomas and Leo Robinson approached, helmets in hand, coming to say hi.

And then it happened.

The great curse that bore the name of that girl—with her sweet smile, her youthful eyes, and the carefree spirit of someone who lived life as if nothing was too big to weigh her down.

Ollie’s foot caught on absolutely nothing.

No cracks. No cables. No loose pavement. Nothing. Just pure, unfiltered betrayal.

And so, his six-foot-something frame lurched forward, as if shoved by an invisible outfielder standing on the sidelines, watching his demise with a chest full of satisfaction.

Anyone else, sensing an imminent fall, would have thrown out their hands, relying on reflexes developed after too many childhood tumbles.

But not him.

He thought he had it.

He didn’t.

"Oh my…"

It was happening both too fast and unbearably slow, and she had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. The thud of his body hitting the asphalt was so loud that a few mechanics turned around to check if whoever had fallen was still in one piece.

"…Is ‘tripping over air’ part of the ritual?" she asked as Thomas walked up, giving her a playful nudge on the shoulder.

"Yes. It’s for balance," the younger Bearman quipped, watching his brother—who had fully surrendered to fate—lie face-down on the ground, one cheek pressed against the cold pavement. A lifeless sprawl, as if he were the tragic victim of an unsolvable crime.

He knew.

He had just eaten pavement in front of the entire paddock. And, worst of all, in front of her.

"Mmm. Seems very effective," she grinned, offering him a hand.

Ollie refused.

As if the last shred of dignity he had left begged him to get up on his own, brushing the dust from his knees with great determination.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, a smug grin plastered on her young face, and he knew—he knew—that she would never let him live this down.

"Maybe that’s why you lost traction in the last race. Should’ve tripped in the garage before quali—" Thomas smirked, setting his helmet down on a cart in their team’s tent while Leo sipped from his water bottle.

"You are literally the worst person I know."

As the boys kept talking, she walked a few steps behind them, hiding her laughter in the warmth of her scarf while a painfully embarrassed Ollie scrambled to come up with an excuse for what had just happened.

As if she didn’t already know.

As if she couldn’t see that it was just a dumb, desperate attempt to prove he was on the level of those fighting for a championship, the ones who passed their driving tests on the first try, the ones who could always be there for the people they loved.

He had nothing less than them.

And she knew it.

Just like he did.

Just like they both knew that, sooner or later, for one reason or another, that switch would become something more than a curse.

And it would finally become what they both truly wanted—something that didn’t need to impress or prove itself.

"Fuck."

Thomas and Ollie turned, just in time to see her stumble, struggling to keep her balance with wide eyes—realizing, too late, that the invisible outfielder wasn’t done messing with them.

"Hey, be careful! Wouldn’t want you tripping over more air!" Ollie taunted.

She flipped him off in response.

this is such a me thing... (requested!)