#it's a small thing but it's one thing you can do today

[smutoperator]

Nation's Little Slut

Lee Jieun (IU) x Male Reader (+4 more guys)

Legends Special Edition

Tags: airtight, anal, belt spanking, blowbang, bukkake, degrading, double penetration, fire, gangbang, gape, inverted facefucking, mouth/nose covering, object stuffing, pet play, (lots of) piss, rough sex, spanking, suspension, toilet sex, upside down, vibrator

Word count: 5872

To the general public, IU cultivates a bright, cute, and innocent image, letting her amazing talents do the talking and conquering audiences through her songs, earning the nickname of "Nation's Little Sister" over the course of the years.

Behind closed doors, however, things are much different.

"I've been waiting for a while to do this; I feel my birthday is the perfect day for this special performance," IU says as she orders the cleaning of her ample studio before her special event takes place.

IU is a little anxious, but at the same time, extremely excited to take on this challenge, as she welcomes you and your crew to the studio while on her knees. "Good morning, guys," she says. "Good morning, birthday girl. Are you ready for something special?" you reply to her, asking IU a question. "Of course, I'm more than ready," IU answers, albeit deep in her heart she isn't exactly fully ready.

"Shall we start?" you ask IU. "Of course, do it as you want," she answers. The guys surround her, smiling as they look at IU's small frame. You grab her neck, pushing her up as your crew quickly rips her outfit apart, making IU moan. One of the guys already takes her bra off, leaving IU with just her panties and her sneakers on.

"Are you sure you guys aren't going too fast?" IU asks. "No, now go slow and get on your knees," you tell her. IU obliges, dropping on her knees at your commands. "You'll like it; you're 32," you say to her, referencing one of her biggest hits but changing her age to her current one. "Get ready to blow these five birthday candles," you then continue.

IU smiles as she sees the crew of guys pulling their cocks down their pants. Five huge candles—no better birthday gift than this to the nation's little sister. Well, today she won't be it; she'll rather be vying for a different title: the nation's little slut. Heck, maybe the nation's biggest slut.

The first cock soon finds IU's mouth, quickly making her gag as she already gets her face fucked. "You're going to take every single one of them like a good girl," you say to her, coming from behind and grabbing her tits as IU gets her beautiful face plowed. "Many more to come," you say, the next guy grabbing her small head and going even harder.

"Use all your hands, get those dicks hard," you command IU, who sucks and jerks off all the cocks that come in her sight. "Keep going, blow those candles," you tell her as your cock finally finds her mouth for her first time. IU tries to keep a fast pace, you slapping your cock against her tongue as she keeps switching between sucking and jerking off all those cocks, you now slapping your shaft in her hair.

"Don't stop," you keep commanding IU as she gags on all those five massive cocks. "That's good, but I know you can take it deeper," you say to her as you grab IU's small head and shove your shaft deep in her throat, pushing her limits. "Wow, you can really take a cock like a champ," you say to IU, praising her deepthroat skills as she holds your cock for quite a long time in her mouth, following suit as she deepthroats the other guys.

The longer the blowbang goes, the better IU gets. "That's the noise we wanna hear," you say as IU makes gagging sounds, her tits getting groped as she just can't stop sucking those big cocks. "Keep opening that mouth," you command her, IU now taking the poundings on her face with such ease.

You and your crew slap your cocks in IU's sexy face. "Keep your eyes open," you say as the five shafts hit her from all directions. IU feels amazing, watching all those hard poles ready for her and feeling like a goddess worshipped by a bunch of horny men. She goes for a no-hands blowjob, bobbing her head in each shaft before you shove yours down her throat like a sword. She takes it with ease and then rubs your shaft all over her pretty face, continuing to deepthroat all the guys countless times.

"That slut is incredible; no wonder she has the whole country in the palm of her hands," you say, praising IU's incredible cock-sucking skills. "Don't stop, get those cocks wet for your pussy and ass," you say to her, IU following it to perfection as she rotates, gagging on each cock. "That's what I wanna see," you praise her one more time as she keeps going back and forth between all those cocks.

You grab IU's head, making her go from one cock to another, enjoying the hot sounds coming from her mouth as she sucks all of them. The guys jerk themselves off, enjoying as IU gets crazier and crazier. "Come on, get that dick, don't choke," you tell IU, fucking her face. "That's what I'm talking about," you say as she handles it with ease, your shaft bulging under her cheeks.

"Make her gag," you say as one guy fucks IU's face. Another one holds her nose, but IU seems to just be gag-proof; she was truly born to take cocks. As many as possible, not even flinching as she keeps moving from one cock to another. "Come on, baby," you say, slapping IU's ass as the blowbang keeps going.

"I think it's finally time," you say as you get ready to move to the next round. If it depended just on IU, she could go all day blowing those candles, but that was just the warm-up. You grab a rope from your suitcase, getting IU up and grabbing her neck. "Are you ready to be our little bitch?" you ask her.

IU gets stripped naked, keeping only her socks and sneakers on. You wrap the rope all over her body, putting her upside down with the rope tied to a support in the ceiling. Her tits get a special treatment, as they get crushed between lots and lots of rope, popping out beautifully. Finally, you attach a massive Hitachi vibrator to her pussy to stimulate her as she gets suspended upside down, all the blood of her body rushing to her head.

Speaking of heads where all the body's blood is rushing to, you and your crew of guys are hungrier than ever, your cocks ready to use Korea's most famous slut even further. IU starts moaning, trying to move as her body is completely immobilized. She looks down at the floor, a little scared, but doesn't even have time to react as you grab her body through a piece of rope wrapped around her navel and shove your cock straight down her mouth.

IU's body moves as you slowly stick your cock in her mouth, getting on your knees and grabbing her tits as you fuck her face, enjoying the gagging sounds of her mouth. "Come on, guys," you say, inviting the rest of the crew to do the same, laughing as each guy that comes next fucks her face even harder. "Look at the sounds, she really likes it," you say as the face-fucking session picks up some steam, all the guys surrounding IU jerking their cocks off waiting for their turns.

"There you go," you say as one of the guys shakes his cock inside IU's mouth, making her drop some saliva to the floor. "Yes, baby, spit all over those cocks," you tell her. "Stick that tongue out," you then follow as you take another turn in her mouth.

One of the guys lies on the floor and starts pumping his cock upwards into IU's mouth. "Damn, you guys are really using her," you say, laughing and enjoying IU getting her face plowed from down low. "Already training to fuck that pussy?" you ask, jerking your cock off to the scene as IU takes a nice throat pounding.

You decide to go next, trying that same position but a little slower. Saliva comes out of IU's mouth as your cock hits the perfect spots inside her warm hole, trying to push deeper and making her gag. She sticks her tongue out as you pull out a bit before resuming as you grab her head and attack her throat as if you were attacking her pussy.

The guys rotate as they give IU a very unusual unusualface-fuck session. You slap your cock against the entrance of her pussy, enjoying a bit of the massage the vibrator gives her. You then eat it out as you get on your knees and fuck her face at the same time, using your tongue as a supplement for the vibrator while spanking her ass.

IU keeps gagging on your friend's cocks and getting her face fucked while you play with the vibrator around her pussy. "Fuck, that's a good girl," you praise her as she drops more saliva onto the studio's floor. You rub your cock against her face. "Put that tongue out," you tell her. "How does it taste?" you ask her, but her answer is just a bunch of unintelligible sounds.

"We got more things lined up for you, little girl," you say do IU as you put an end to the facefucking session, turning her face red with another push of your cock deep in her throat, IU sticking her tongue afterwards as she loses a bit of her air.

"You're gonna love what we have in store next for you, girl," you say to IU. "Are you ready to get fucked hard?" you ask her. "Yes, sir," she answers. "I can't hear you, say it louder," you reply. "Yes, sir," IU says, raising her tone before you shut her up with your cock. You adjust the rope's position, putting her back facing the right direction, but spreading her legs wide open in a full split, tying them up to the ceiling of the studio as her pussy is now ripe for the taking.

IU moves her feet a bit, the only part of her body not completely immobilized. She looks down to her pussy and then in the direction of your crew, moaning a bit, the dark skin surrounding her throbbing clitoral area contrasting with her pale skin. You get close to her, putting your hands in her pussy and making her moan. "That's so beautiful," you say as your friends fight for every inch of her body like a bunch of horny demons surrounding a goddess.

You take first dibs on IU's pussy. To your surprise, she's quite tight, her pussy still feeling like new despite her already being in her 30s. "Hmmm, hmmm," she softly moans as you give your first thrusts inside. "Let's go, guys, get that pussy," you say as you give room for the next guy, who already comes pumping her pussy hard. "Good girl," you say to IU, getting behind her and choking her and groping her tits.

IU lets out a couple of muffled moans as her suspended body swings with the hard thrusts your crew gives her. One guy after another, they all get a piece of her tight pussy, IU doing everything in her power to take it like a champ. "OHHHHHH," she screams, closing her eyes as one cock hits her cervix. You take your turn next. "Open your eyes," you command her. "AHHHHH, YEAH," IU screams, the heat in her pussy turning up as you attack her even harder.

IU's pussy keeps getting passed around. "AHHHH, AHHH, AHHH," she moans, getting choked as she gets fucked, having no control over her body as one horny dude after another keeps going inside her. And that's just the beginning.

You grab a stool and slide your body under IU's, shoving your cock inside her asshole. "FUCKKK," she screams as her tight butthole gets impaled by your massive meat. "AHHHHH," she screams, you already pumping hard upwards from the get-go. "Open that ass," you tell her.

Another dude comes in and stuffs IU's pussy, double penetrating her for the first time. "YES, YES, YES," she screams, a little overwhelmed by the pair of cocks splitting her in half. "AHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she continues to scream, closing her eyes as you anchor a hot DP, pumping her ass nonstop until the next guy finds his way into her pussy, which is already completely wide open. "Fuck, you've got such a nice tight ass," you tell IU as the DP continues.

IU grinds her teeth as she keeps getting choked and double stuffed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she says repeatedly. "Come on baby girl," you say, letting another guy anchor the DP now and taking your cock in her pussy. All IU can do is moan and close her eyes. "RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, YES, YES, YES, MAKE ME FUCKING CUM," she begs as your cock makes her pussy squirt for the same time.

"OH MY GOD, PLEASE, GIVE ME MORE," IU continues to beg as your crew only ramps up the intensity of the DP. "FUCKKKK," she loudly screams, getting treated like a fleshlight whose only purpose is to get stuffed from all sides. You and your guys keep taking turns, another dude now taking the anchor role. "OH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," IU keeps repeating.

"You need more cock, slut?" you ask IU. "Yes, I do," she answers as the cocks keep going in and out of her eyes. "Come on, baby, open your legs," you say as you take another turn in her cunt. "AHHHH YES," she screams, you making her body bounce like crazy. "Oh shit, that's so much cock," she says, and you guys seem determined not to stop. The more "fucks" that come from IU's filthy mouth, the harder you and your friends fuck her.

"MORE, MORE, I WANT MORE," IU begs as she gets double stuffed. "Are you ready to cum?" you ask her, the whole switcheroo still going harder than ever. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," IU curses, you groping her tits and choking her as she gets stuffed, treating her like a ragdoll.

"Do you wanna cum?" you ask IU again. "YES, I DO, PLEASE, MAKE ME FUCKING CUM," she screams as you shove your hands in her pussy, making her squirt. "Are you cumming?" you ask her. "YES, SIR, I'M CUMMING," she answers, making it rain all over your cock while the other guy takes a couple of hard stabbings in her butthole.

"AHHHHHH," IU screams as her legs tremble and her body convulses into a hard orgasm. You come in and fuck her ass one final time, providing what would be the end of that suspended DP session as IU screams with her holes extremely sensitive now. Her formerly pale skin now turns completely red as she gets utterly ragdolled, truly earning the nickname of nation's little slut. "Is that what you like?" you ask her. "YES, SIR, I LOVE BEING USED LIKE A FUCKTOY," she answers.

After a few more turns from you and your friend in her pussy, you finally take IU out of her suspended position. She's so wasted she can't even stand on her feet when she gets back on the floor. "It isn't over yet," you say to her.

"You like it rough, don't you? You like being punished, little slut?" you ask her. "Yes, I love being punished like the good slut I am; that's the perfect birthday gift you guys are giving to me," IU says. "Good, I love using you like a bitch too," you reply to her.

You grab IU's neck one more time, fingering her pussy as you start spanking her whole body. "Hmmmm," she moans as you get rougher with her. "I'm ready to punish you even further, you fucking slut," you say, covering her eyes and pushing her towards another guy, who spanks her tits.

"Get your ass up," you tell IU, as one of the guys brings a belt from your suitcase, IU getting hit hard by it. "OHHHHH," she screams with a smile on her face. You grab the belt, using it to tie her arms up, and another guy stretches her mouth, and another one spanks her boobs. You bend IU over, ready for her to get spit roasted in a standing position. "Arch that ass," you tell her.

You tie IU's fingers with a piece of toilet paper. "You're gonna burn, bitch," you tell IU, grabbing a lighter and lighting up the paper. She tries to run, a little scared. "Ask for a cock before your hands are on fire," you tell her. "Please, please, give me a cock," she begs, feeling scared.

IU keeps begging as the fire keeps burning the paper. "Beg harder," you tell her. "PLEASE, PLEASE, GIVE ME A COCK," she screams, you finally shoving her face against a cock. "Good girl," you tell her, switching a tied-up IU between the shafts of your friends. "Who got the best cock in the room?" you ask her. "You, sir," she answers.

"Then suck it," you tell IU, shoving your balls in her face and fucking it hard as you spank her body. Your crew surrounds her, IU getting all the cocks slapping in her face once again as she starts losing her breath. You grab her hair and hold her nose, IU getting another round of facefucking as her face turns redder and redder.

"May I have your cock, please, sir?" IU asks, begging. "I can't hear you," you say to her. "MAY I HAVE YOUR COCK, PLEASE, SIR?" she asks. You stuff your cock in her mouth for more deepthroating, hitting her tits as you plow her face.

IU bends just enough to leave the room open for one of your guys to shove his cock in her pussy, you keeping your feet in her back as she gets fucked. "Rule number one: face down, ass up. Please stay like that, you fucking little cunt," you instruct her. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHH," she screams and smiles as she gets her ass spanked hard.

IU drops further to the floor, going from her position with both her hands and feet planted on the floor to completely on her knees. "Get on your knees and kiss my feet," you tell her, IU obliging as she gets pounded hard in her pussy. You take full control of her, grabbing her panties and shoving them down her mouth, muffling her moans as you attack her pussy in a mating press position, one of your friends stomping her head with his feet.

"Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm, hnmm," IU moans with her panties in her mouth. You pound her pussy hard, spanking her whole body too and spitting on her whole. You pull out and then take her panties from her mouth to her pussy. "A useless cunt for a useless cunt," you say to her, shoving your cock in her asshole next.

"AH FUCK," IU screams as she gets anally penetrated. "YES, YES, PLEASE FUCK MY ASS," she begs, you taking it really hard as IU stays with her legs over her head. You shut her mouth with your hands, spanking her body as you shove her panties deeper in her pussy.

"It's an anal buffet, guys, only in the ass, please," you command to the guys as they take turns inside IU's butthole, quickly getting it very gaped and used up. "OH FUCK," she screams as she gets treated like a fuckdoll. "THAT'S IT, FUCK ME HARDER," she begs. "Shut the fuck up," you tell her, shutting her mouth as one of your friends vigorously fucks IU in her ass.

The anal pounding keeps going. "MORE," IU begs as her pink anus gets abused nonstop. "We're gonna spread that ass wide open; you're not gonna shit for a whole week," you promise to her. IU only closes her eyes and takes the heat, her face redder than a jalapeño at this point. You grab another piece of toilet paper and try to shove it inside her pussy. "Damn, it's so tight I'm struggling to fit in alongside your stupid panties," you say to her.

You lit the piece of toilet paper on fire. "Guys, we are fucking her so good her pussy is on fire," you announce. IU gets scared as the fire slowly approaches her vaginal entrance as you pound her ass. "What is your best hole?" you ask her. "My fucking asshole," IU answers.

You take the toilet paper out just as the fire approaches IU's pussy. "Please fuck my asshole," she begs, another guy taking his turn on her now and spanking her hard. "AH, AH, AH, AH, YES, YES," she screams, him choking her and hitting her face and legs nonstop. You go next, shoving IU's hair in her face and covering her mouth for another round of rough anal before grabbing it and putting her on all fours for more ass-fucking.

"Please, please, use my asshole," IU begs as she gets a nice pounding that makes her little tits bounce while you take her ass in an animalesque doggy-style position, hitting it fast and hard. You mount on top of her, stomping on her head as she gets anally destroyed.

You drop IU to the floor, and one of your friends slides immediately under her body, sticking his cock in her pussy. You waste no time and take your cock in her ass, spanking her back as IU gets back to being double penetrated, but this time another cock also fills her mouth, making her go airtight.

"You look so stupid with all these cocks in your holes," you mock IU as you stuff her ass hard. The guy at the bottom grabs her body, pushing it in his direction as he pumps her pussy hard. You tease IU, getting your cock in and out of her ass multiple times. "HMMM, HMMM, HMMM, HMMM," she moans while gagging on another dude's cock before they suddenly turn into hard screams as he pulls his cock out to jerk off a little to the scene.

The cowgirl DP keeps going for a while. "OH FUCK, AHH, AH, AH, YES," IU screams, her mouth quickly getting shut as she goes airtight a little more. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you can hear her screaming with a cock stuffed in her mouth as you pound her ass hard while her face gets stuffed too.

You grab IU by the piece of rope still tied on her body, using it to control her. "Tell me who's your boss, you fucking slut," you say to her. "It's you, sir," IU says as it gets muffled in her mouth. Soon, you pull out of IU's ass, watching as your crew takes care of her and stuffs both her holes. You now get in front of her, but instead of stuffing her mouth with your massive cock, you decide to shove another piece of toilet paper in her mouth, toying with her as this time you threaten to set it on fire but ultimately decide not to.

You enjoy IU's muffled moans as she keeps getting double stuffed, watching your crew make good work of her used-up fuckholes. IU gets disciplined hard, her getting treated like a pet. "Come on, bitch," you say, spanking her ass and finally shoving your cock in her mouth.

"OH FUCK," IU screams as one guy shoves his cock hard in her ass. You just pull yours out of her mouth, spanking it and leading her to make some weird sounds before you shove it back inside, enjoying the loud screams. IU now lets out every time a new cock gets inside your asshole, your hard meat in her mouth unable to stop her. "OHHHHH SHIT," she continues to scream, one guy after another taking turns in her ass, the lucky guy in her pussy just pumping it for a good 10 minutes right now. "Come on, bitch, scream for us," you tell her as you laugh at her being used like a fuck toy. "FUCK," IU then screams. "Fuck what?" you ask her. "MY PUSSY, MY ASS, MY MOUTH, EVERYTHING, I'M A USELESS CUNT, A STUPID SEX DOLL," she proclaims.

"Flip her around," you tell the guys as they just can't seem to stop manhandling IU in a cowgirl DP. After so much fucking, hitting, and spanking in her stupid holes, IU is completely numb, taking a little time to turn around as she puts her legs up and gets her ass pumped from down low now. "Quicker," you command her. You can't resist her enticing, wide-open cunt popping out, and you quickly stuff it full of your cock.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," IU moans as she gets stuffed in a reverse cowgirl DP now. Another dude sticks his cock in her mouth, getting the nation's little slut fully airtight. "I can't hear anything," you say as IU's moans get muffled, the guys using every inch of her body to please themselves, one dude jerking himself off using her feet, another one rubbing his cock in her hair.

"Right there, right there," IU commands as she keeps getting double-stuffed. "Open it up," you command as the guys now take turns in her very used-up pussy. IU just moans softly, taking all these cocks like a champion. "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," she repeatedly moans, fingering herself and getting ready to cum.

"Come on, cum on these cocks," you tell IU as she starts to get increasingly more sensitive. "Yes, yes, please, make me fucking cum," she begs, you touching her tits while she gets pounded by two of your studs. You wrap the belt around IU's neck, treating her like your pet as she gets stuffed full of cocks.

"Open your mouth, you stupid cunt," you say to IU, stuffing your cock in it and spanking her body as she gets put under a full nelson while getting double stuffed. "AHHHHH," she screams, you quickly shutting her up with your cock as her face turns redder and redder, you enjoying her muffled moans all over your cock as you grab her head and fuck her face.

You keep spanking IU's face as the guy fucking her pussy also chokes her. You then cover her mouth, trying to take IU's air as much as possible. The DP keeps going harder and harder; IU turned into a fuck doll as your crew rotates inside her pussy like a buffet.

You decide to take your turn in IU's pussy as well. "What am I doing to it?" you ask her. "Fucking it while I get fucked in the ass," she answers. "You look so stupid getting stuffed like that," you mock her. "AHHHHHH," IU screams, you pinching her tits and fucking her pussy harder and deeper than everybody else.

"Come on, guys, one last round in her ass," you say as you get on the floor next. "Come here too and sit on this cock," you tell IU, pumping her hard from down low as she tries to ride it. "OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK," she screams as she gets pounded, the guys coming from behind and stuffing her ass. "FUCK," IU keeps screaming, but quickly goes airtight again. She's been fucked for a while now and can barely say any words besides cursing as she keeps getting stuffed full of cock from all sides.

"AHHHHH YES, YES, YES," IU keeps screaming as both your cock in her pussy and one of your crew in her ass pound her hard. "What do you say, slut?" you ask her. "Thank you, sir," she answers, almost collapsing as her holes get more and more gaping. You attack her pussy nonstop, making her moan like a bitch as the cock-in-the-ass rotation also keeps going. "AHHHHHH," she continues to scream. "Come on, be a good girl," you say to her.

"Say it again, bitch," you command full obedience from IU. "Thank you for using my fucking holes," IU answers. "I can't hear it, bitch," you reply. "THANK YOU FOR USING MY FUCKING HOLES," she screams loud and clear. "Yes, that's what I wanna hear; you deserve a reward for that," you say.

"Open your mouth, you filthy cunt, get on your knees and get ready to take your reward," you say as you give the green light for one of your friends to grab IU's hair and take her out of the DP. IU closes her eyes as you grab a permanent marker and start writing on her forehead. "Look at you, a stupid cumslut waiting for all that cum," you tell her as the word "SLUT" gets drawn on her forehead.

"Let's make it clear what you are," you say to IU as you finish writing it. "Now tell us what you want," you continue. "I want some cum, please," she begs. "Please, please, cum in my face, give me all that hot cum, please," she continues to beg on her knees.

IU keeps begging as your crew starts jerking their cocks off close to her face. "All over my face, please, give it to me," she says as the first rope of semen covers her face. You put toilet paper in her mouth, lighting it up as you make her beg for the next load, IU asking for it with her mouth getting muffled as she receives another pair of shots in her face. "Oh, thank you," she says, one guy slapping his cock on her face.

"Lick what dropped to the floor before you get mine," you command to IU. As she licks the cum from the other guy, you surprise her from behind, fucking her in the ass one final time. "OH FUCK, OH FUCK, OH FUCK," she screams as you drill her hard for about 10 seconds before turning her in your direction. One more guy ejaculates in her face. "Oh yeah, more cum for me," she says, celebrating, before you prove to her that the best was saved for last, giving her an enormous blast of sperm right in her eyes.

"I think that's it for today, guys," you say as you take a picture of IU's bukkaked face, all the cocks surrounding it proud of their work. The other guys leave, you staying alongside IU in the room and telling her a few words.

"We aren't done yet; we have to clean it up," you say to her.

"I can do that," IU answers you. "No, you didn't understand; I'll be the one cleaning it up," you tell her. "What do you mean?" she asks. "I'll show you," you answer.

You drag IU using the belt on her neck. "Come here, my stupid little pet," you say to her. IU crawls across her studio, you laughing at her as you arrive at the bathroom. "Suck it," you tell her, IU bobbing her head on your cock and spitting on it to get it hard again.

You open the toilet lid, making IU stare down at it. She sticks her tongue out, giving you the green light as you pee on it. You urinate on the toilet, IU trying to catch a bit of your pee raining down, before you get behind her and fuck her ass doggystyle, IU on all fours as you grab the belt and start using her like your pet.

"I love fucking that ass," you tell her. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she starts screaming. You increase your pace, groaning like an animal. IU gets pounded so hard she can barely stand on her feet, her cheeks clapping nonstop. You shove her pretty face down the toilet, trapping it with the lid as you flush the toilet down with her face in it, rubbing your cock in her face to show her your ownership of her, before peeing a little bit more and shoving her face down one more time, bringing it back to grab IU through the mouth as you pound her like an animal.

You sit on the toilet, pushing IU's face against your cock as you make her deepthroat it. IU promptly gags, barely able to breathe after being fucked so rough. "You need more cleaning," you say to her, letting IU briefly eat her ass before you grab the toilet paper, shove it in her head, and fuck her against it.

"FUCK MY ASSHOLE," IU screams so loudly you can hear it through the toilet paper in her mouth as you fuck her while she's on all fours. You remove the paper, putting one of her legs in the shower's support and attacking her ass hard. I'm completely numb after so much rough pounding. "Oh, fuck," is all she can say as you hold her nose while fucking her and then stretch her mouth.

"Thank you for using my fucking asshole, sir," IU says as you sit on the toilet seat and let her ride your cock a bit before fingering her pussy and making her squirt. "Cum, cum, cum," you say, slapping her cunt a couple times and enjoying her squirt.

You drag IU back to her studio, you bending her over as you fuck her hard in the ass. "Spread, keep that ass open," you tell her. You mount on top of her and stomp on her pretty face, punishing her for being a stupid slut. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," is all she can say; each thrust for her now is a pain in the ass, her hole completely sore. You grab her hair, manhandling her like an animal, before shoving her to the ground and attacking her ass nonstop in a hard drilling that almost breaks IU in half. "AHHHHHH YES," she screams as she gets pounded into oblivion.

"OH SHIT, OH SHIT," IU continues to scream as the pounding keeps going. "Oh shit, what?" you mock her, tightening the grip of the belt on her neck as she gets anally drilled like a sex doll, her hair getting pulled hard.

"Get back on your feet and show me your camera," you say to IU as you reference her ass, her obliging and spreading it and showing you her massive gape after so much fucking. You direct her towards the mirror as you enjoy seeing the view of her gaped asshole. She then winks her gape for you just as you point your cock to her spread ass, peeing on her gape and making her moan as you turn it into your personal urinal.

"Now turn around, get on your knees," you tell IU, pissing all over her face next and cleaning any remnants of cum and ink from her face. "Now you're fully clean," you say as IU opens her mouth to catch some of it, you peeing so hard you cover her whole body full of your yellow liquid.

"Happy birthday. I guess that's it for today; the U in IU now stands for urinal," you say as you finally get yourself ready to leave her studio.

"Yes, baby, you can come back any time to my studio and turn me into your urinal," IU says.

[mooncleaver]

Love's Quiet Surrender

To love without judgement, without the need to change him. Not just whenever he makes you laugh or smile, but all of his darkness. His past, his anger, his sadness. You do not desire for him to become someone else because you understand that he is enough as he is. "You can be anything you want and I'd still be here to love you." It was your promise, sealed with a gentle kiss on his lips.

ღ  pairing: bucky barnes x wife!reader

ღ  warnings: maaybe steamy and also sad, small thunderbolts spoilers, writing errors soooorry

"Buck?"

Your voice echoes in the warmly lit apartment. It's just some minutes past midnight, and in the air a gentle thrum permeates. A kind of stillness filled with exhaustion and comfort at the same time.

"Yes, baby?" Bucky answers almost immediately.

Even though he calls out from your bedroom, you can hear the fatigue beneath his tone. It's almost unnoticeable—he always tries to be put together whenever he talks to you and you hate it—but years of being by his side made you a whisperer or his tell tale signs. From the low lilt of his voice to the slight slur at the end of his sentence, you're no stranger to when Bucky needs to sleep.

Your husband had arrived home late today, presumably working on the whirlwind that was impeaching Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. He comes come disheveled these days, hair tousled with an aching frown on his lips—one you always try to kiss away. You can tell that this is all weighing down on him. The pressure, the bureaucracy, the slinking around your words to be sharp and polite at the same time. And the damn paperwork. It was endless. You don't think you've ever seen this much paper lying around your home and it was the 21st century.

Amongst all the papers and packets that your husband has very much not read yet, you he's been making talks to Valentina's assistant, Mel. He told you about what happened at the gala, how he attempted to convince her to switch sides. Did it go the way he expected? Mm, sort of?

It was endearing, in a way. Bucky always tried to be earnest, though sometimes it's difficult for him to spell out the right words—the right cues. You felt bad for the pout he sent your way as you giggled at his retelling. It took a few words and some kisses to convince him that he was not that awkward, and that you were sure Mel would give him something at least. The way Valentina was moving right now, there was bound to be a reason.

The man had since retired to your bedroom after some heavy coaxing. Bucky was adamant on staying out to help you clean up (he felt guilty for dropping chili sauce on your precious counters), but you didn't let him continue his sentence, knowing just how tired he was. You ushered him back, promising to join the man with an extra minute of head scratches if he followed your words. That seemed to do it, as he finally made his way to the bedroom with a small chuckle echoing.

While you were wiping down the counters, your eyes glanced towards Congressman Gary's dossier on de Fontaine. Less than the actual words on the paper, you focused on the mush of red staining the pristine white. You shook your head at the sight. Unfortunately, you don't think you've ever seen your husband finish a packet from top to bottom.

Not knowing what to do with it, you decide to just ask him. Though you think he’ll most likely tell you to throw it and every other coming packet down the trash, seeing how things are going now.

While trekking your way to him, you can hear him shuffling around in your bed, no doubt leaning onto it for a semblance of support.

When you finally arrive at your destination, the sight that greets you is nothing less than breathtaking—you say this to just about anything that Bucky does.

He's now dressed only in his white tank, evidence of the previous chili-dog accident thrown away into the laundry basket (to which he later promises to scrub it out, of course). He's got his legs spread and was, just as you had thought, leaning back on his arms against the bed. This angle lets you stare at the up and down motion of his breathing, the muscles flexing with tension. And God if this were any other night, you'd take him right then and there.

Once you're finally satisfied with your ogling—which you purposely timed in a way that lets your husband know it was much more than a simple glance—you finally speak.

"You left your packet on the counter. Didn't know if you wanted me to put it away 'cuz of the stain on it or…"

You trail off, giving him a sheepish smile as you leaned against the door with your arms crossed. Bucky's whole body just falls at the mention of the packet, his metal arm running a hand through his hair in quiet frustration. He looks done with it. It's like he's fighting the sleep right out of his eyes, and the dim bedside lamps don't help as it only accentuates a certain gauntness in his skin. Goddamn, he was trying to real hard here, but there was always an itch at the thought of only relying on the legal system. Valentina was a cunning and powerful woman. Bucky just couldn't see how a packet would overturn her entirely.

Without opening his eyes, his hand pats the top of his thigh, and you are compelled to follow that rhythm. You take quick but quiet steps to close the distance, finding yourself standing in between his legs while your hands fall on his broad shoulders. You're careful when you place your right hand down where his skin meets metal. Though he says it doesn't hurt as much as it used to, you always believe in treating his scars with the utmost kindness and care. He moves instantly, leaning forward to drag his hands down the curve of your waist before gripping the back of your thighs like he never wanted to let you go.

When he looks up at you, you see the smidge of defeat in his eyes, and the tired smile he sends your way just makes you want to cradle the man in your arms for eternity.

"Don't think this old man is cut out for this type'f thing, sweetheart." Bucky mutters almost inaudibly.

He tips his head back as he quietens, as if the weight above his head is too heavy to carry.

Despite the joke on his age, there's a small drop on your heart. It's different when Bucky says he's tired. It's because he's been doing life for a very long 110 years. You've always encouraged him to pursue everything he wanted, from the smallest thing like learning how to cook his favorite dishes to bigger ones like campaigning to be a congress member. So when he says that he doesn't feel fit to continue, a piece of your heart breaks because you understand how hard he tries. To move on, to become a better man.

You lift your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pushing forward lightly to let him rest on your stomach so it doesn't ache.

You shake your head while combing through his hair, pushing the loose strands behind his ear while gently replying, "Silly, everybody starts somewhere."

Bucky shakes his head against your waist, and you have to hold back a giggle at the sensation and the gesture. Sometimes your husband does things that are very childlike, and not only is it absolutely adorable, but it reminds you that he is just a human like everybody else.

"Feels like I haven't even stepped foot while everybody else is on the goddamn finishing line." He mumbles. Its nearly inaudible, but you can hear loud and clear the weight behind those words.

"That's not true." Your protest is as much convicted as it is true, and you make them known as you pull away from his grip, grabbing his shoulders to straddle him. Both your knees are bent beside his thighs, setting comfortably on the edge of the bed. It's an extremely familiar position—in many contexts. But it's the most intimate to you. Vulnerable. To be mere breathes away from his face, all of you and all of him meeting in the middle.

You know what he says isn't true because Bucky doesn't do things half-assed. He worked his way up on a very, very difficult campaign, rising above in a world that doesn't always make space for him. He has made it so far, from the Winter Soldier to Congressman Barnes. It hurts you that despite everything, he still has doubts about himself.

Even when he's hurting he holds you in his arms so gently, one arm propping behind your back while the metal one is stationed right on your neck, trailing down to your waist to join the other. Bucky pushes his face into your neck, molding it perfectly into the crook that was made for him. You run your fingers through his hair in response, wishing to relieve all the built up tension.

He breathes in your scent, nosing the skin like that mere contact could calm him down. And you feel the way he deflates beneath you, breath tensing—anticipating—as if he were scared of what he wanted to say next. The words he uttered then were so soft, yet so convicted at the same time. It sounded like he already knew it would happen. "If I went back out in the field.. would you be angry?"

Your fingers came to a pause, lips dropping into a small pout. The man slowly lifts his head up again to see why you've gone quiet and he can't help but give you a small kiss to soothe the upset.

Despite the slightly uncomfortable shift in your chest, you couldn't say you were surprised about his confession. Bucky had always been a man of action more than he was with words. He carries his promises in the way he moves. To repent, to love, to forgive. His silence spoke more than any word ever could. So it's not new to you that his sense of justice is rooted in physically fighting for it. Though you hated seeing him hurt, you loved it even more when he had that gratified smile and a look in his eyes that showed you he was proud of the man he became. You could never stop him from doing what he thought was right.

Toying with the chain of his dog tags you sighed, shaking your head in acceptance, "Worried maybe.. but never angry."

Bucky took your right hand off his chain and placed it on his cheek, softly urging you to look him in the eyes. He wanted to hear you say that right to his face. To look at the truth, the hurt and the apprehension. He wanted to understand you beyond the words that came out of your mouth.

"You mean that, sweetheart?" He kissed your palm like it was glass, savoring every line and crease as if it was heaven beneath his lips. He stopped particularly longer when he met your ring finger, where a golden band had sat comfortably for years.

Bucky was ready to see the light dim in you—he knew you didn't enjoy seeing him go back out there after everything he went through. He was ready to use everything in him to spark it again, to save whatever trust you had left in you.

But he was utterly surprised to see the pure acceptance in your eyes. That kind of willingness to stay beside him along the ride, no matter the bumps and distance in between. You looked at him like you were ready to weather the storms and carry the weight of the world with him—if not for him.

Because this is what love is. Love gives and lets go without seeking recognition, without seeking for something in return. You love because you have the capability to—to make space and celebrate another flourishing in your presence.

Being with Bucky was never about what you could get, but what you could offer him.

And so in love's quiet surrender you learn to accept without condition. To love without judgement, without the need to change him. Not just whenever he makes you laugh or smile, but all of his darkness. His past, his anger, his sadness. You do not desire for him to become someone else because you understand that he is enough as he is.

"You can be anything you want and I'd still be here to love you." It was your promise, sealed with a gentle kiss on his lips.

And suddenly it wasn't just him against the world. Wasn't just the darkness creeping into his life, never with mercy, never with kindness. There was you at the end of the tunnel, holding out your hand for him. A chance at salvation.

You could be that for him. A saving grace, a friend, a lover. You'd be anything for him if it meant you could see that rare sight of his smile again.

There is no future without him in it.

He tightens his grip around your waist, arms snaking their way beneath your pajamas to touch the skin. Not the bruising, desperate kind, but a touch that grounds him in the moment. That allows him to feel every single emotion following your confession. You arch against him lightly, laying your palm against his clothed chest when the cool metal of both his arm and the ring on the right meet your skin. But it only makes you smile into his lips, remembering that small yet incredibly meaningful detail.

He wears his wedding ring on the right instead of the left.

Bucky told you that it was because he wanted to always feel the weight on his skin. Not the phantom one on his left, but that real, wrapping sensation, so that he'd never forget one of the happiest moments of his life. So he’d never forget that there was someone waiting for him.

Bucky continues to kiss you with leisure, humming in satisfaction when your hands run up and down from the base of his neck to the top of his head. He pushed your body impossibly close, wanting to feel each and every part of you.

When he is finally satisfied with your loving, he pulls away to face you and you see that mischievous look return to his eyes. He leans in yet again, trailing little pecks that trace your jawline before asking,

"Even if I was a paperboy?"

Now this brings an unexpected laugh out of you.

You know for a fact that Bucky actually used to be paperboy back in the 30s. It's a story that you hold safe in your heart, a glimpse of a reality lost to time. You remember the first time he told you about it back before the two of you got married and the pure elation you felt. Although you knew paperboys did exist, it never settled in your head that they were real real. More than that, you never pictured that your very own husband was one back in his days.

With your head thrown back in glee, Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of you. He loved your smile, even more when he was the reason for it. His clear blue eyes took in the very image of you, everything from the hearty breathes you were releasing, the crease of your lips to the way your throat bobbed. He would trade the world for the sound of your laughter and the stars for that glimmer in your eyes.

"Oh I can just imagine little Bucky riding around the neighborhood in his overalls and newsboy cap. I bet you made eeeveryone fall for how cute you were."

It was meant to be a tease on your husband's charming nature, but deep down you genuinely believed that to be true. And you were proven right when he shrugged in response, that annoyingly handsome smug smile settling deeply on his face.

"How'd you think I sold out everytime, doll?"

It's times like these where you see the light come back into his eyes. The nonchalance, the proud puff in his chest. He has such a beautiful smile. The most beautiful.

The surge of love you felt propelled you to wrap your arms around his head, pushing his face to rest on your plush chest. "You were a charmer weren't you?"

"Born and raised, ma'am." He mumbled against the soft fabric of your top. His hand drifted down to the bottom of your ass, caressing in a silent promise for the coming night.

You chased after it, placing your hand on top of his and then dragging your fingers up lazily, tracing the vein on his bicep. It teetered on his shoulder now, where you could feel him shudder and then flex beneath. With this gesture you felt the utter pride and masculinity showing. "You're not even denying it!" You exclaim as his lips move away from that comfortable spot on your chest to press a thousand pecks on your neck and then cheek. His beard—the one that you begged for him not to shave off—ticked you pleasantly. Once he realizes this fact though, he cheekily shakes his head, and you squirmed to get away only for him to snake a hand behind your head to softly guide you back to his lips.

You sighed against him, closing your eyes to savor the feeling. "The man of my dreams."

"You dreaming of me?" It took him a while to answer you, too occupied with tasting your sweetness. He whispered the tease right beside your ears, his lips mapping the shell as he softly nipped your earlobe.

"Every night Bucky."

WOWWWW thunderbolts Bucky changed my life you guys (hello prince hair). I initially wanted to write a playful little moment with him but got a tiiiny bit emotional 😅

ALSO ITS CANON TO MEEE that Bucky used to be a paperboy. I literally couldn't stop laughing at the thought

masterlist

dividers by @enchanthings-a

[rotationalsymmetry]

Some thoughts on this: the problem with "where are you from originally" (for anyone who doesn't know this yet) is it can come across as "so, you seem to be not white, what are you anyways?" which is just a ruder (implications of "you don't belong here") way of asking someone's race/ethnicity, which is not a small talk question because it's not light and neutral. "Did you grow up around here" as far as i am aware does not have any of those associations.

In general how much people like small talk and other social interactions kinda like that has a great deal to do with social power. People tend to not like it when they're forced into it or might end up listening to someone else's obnoxious opinions while not getting to state their own (for instance, being trans and being in situations where it's socially acceptable to complain about they/them pronouns but not really socially acceptable to express too much frustration about, for instance, people endlessly complaining about they/them pronouns. Hypothetically.) And...in general the younger someone is, the more they're used to always being on the less powerful side of an interaction, and ditto for the more disabled someone is. What I mean is: I think sometimes the barrier to learning small talk that people need removed before they can feel OK about it is not feeling like it's OK to just not do it when you don't want to. Things tend to be a lot more appealing when they're voluntary.

So it can help to start with excuses for ending the conversation or not engaging. I'm not the best at this, but something like: "it was nice meeting you/catching up with you, I have to (do work thing/use the restroom)" or, I'm not thinking of the words right now, but that thing where you're at a social event with many people and you say you want to walk around talking with a bunch of other people. (It's normal at many kinds of social events to only spend a couple minutes talking with each person -- or only spend a couple minutes talking with each person until you find someone you want to spend a long time talking to.) In a work context when you obviously don't have work to do right then, that might be something like "sorry, I'm really tired today, I'm not really up for chitchat." (That's not a real apology "sorry", that's a smooth things over "sorry.")

Small talk is generally considered a nice thing to do and can help build relationships and also make routine interactions more pleasant, but it's not doing any of that when one person really doesn't want to do small talk, so it's ok to dodge out of it (or keep it to, like, one exchange) when you really don't want to do it.

I'm trying to figure out a good way to say "you really should actually learn the basics of small talk" with sounding like I'm biased against autistic people.

[luvyeni]

WHAT’S IS YOUR DESIRE ๑. ( 박종성 )

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── what you truly wanted in life ? what you truly desired ? it was money , to not live such a miserable life .. and jay , jay was willing to give you that in exchange for one thing , what he truly desired … everlasting love…

( 対 ) jay park + fem. reader wc. 4k genre smut · contains! vampire!jay , murder , misogyny ( not jay ) unprotected sex , oral (f) , blood , biting mature content. / back to library

you woke up 5 minutes before the alarm went off , something you always did — so you can contemplate whether you should jump out the window of your beat up second floor apartment or get up and go to your job and be verbally abused by your boss.

you’re soon interrupted by the alarm going off , your empty stomach rumbling from not eating enough to make you drag your body out of bed to shower for work — you weren’t gonna jump .. at least not this morning , the day was still very very young.

getting dressed in the same clothes you always wore for work , you sigh — it’s grey much like your mornings; slipping into your raggedy heels that hurt your feet but you couldn’t afford another pair right now before making your way to your small kitchen , opening the fridge — which was depressing in itself.

you pulled out the carton of milk for some cereal , it was empty. “that’s fucking great.” you gritted through your teeth. “another bill this week.” you tossed the carton into the trash. “guess i’ll pick up something cheap on the way.” you pack your stuff , making a reminder to add going to the grocery store when you got paid this upcoming friday; along with rent , gas and water.

you hold the cheap coffee and muffin in your hand as you walk through the office to your desk. “yn!” your boss's voice booms through the office , some people pretend that they didn’t hear , not looking up. some look at you with sympathy knowing this happens everyday at least 3 times. “s-sir.” you don’t have a chance to sit down before he’s storming out his office , eyes trained on you. “are you a fucking idiot?”

“hu-huh?” he huffs slamming his hand on your desk. “i asked , are you an idiot?” he repeated. “i ask for the files for the presentation to be printed out and stapled and put in the conference room for the meeting today with the new investors — i go check the conference room and you know what i see?” he says but you don’t answer thinking it’s a rhetorical question. “are you deaf?”

“well — i see nothing!” he shouted. “there’s nothing on the tables why didn’t you do it?” he was looking for an answer. “well sir , you didn’t tell me to do that.” you said , his eyes darkened. “are you saying i’m lying , you’re my assistant who else would i fucking ask!” he shouted. “if we lose this investor you’re out of a job.” he said. “sir i’m sorry i’ll do it now.” you said , taking the paper. “i’m sorry.” you repeated. “just go.” he said , and you obeyed, basically running to the copy room.

“he totally asked me to do it.” you heard someone whisper as you made your way to the conference room. “i just didn’t want him to yell at me.” you wanted to shout. “she’s used to it , it probably doesn’t even bother her anymore.” you sighed , walking into the empty room. “could this day get any worse.” and as if god himself heard you , your stomach rumbled , you just laughed. “of course.”

“sorry is this the right room?” you turn to the man , with his expensive suit. “excuse me?” you responded. “the meeting? is this the right room?” he had the same furrowed brows like your boss. “oh yes , we’re waiting for the investor now , he’s supposed to be here soon.” you began to pass the papers out. “is he not prepared?” the man asked. “oh no he’s prepared , this was my fault , i stupidly didn’t print the files out , the investors prefer that and he’s trying to impress th— i’m sorry who are you?” realizing you were casually talking to him. “i’m — mr. park!”

your boss was now wearing a smile as he greeted the man. “you’re late.” the man said. “i’m sorry man , you know how it is.” he turned to you. “someone forgot to make copies.” you lowered your head in shame. “but she was here before you.” it just clicked who you were in the presence of. “yn.” he chuckled. “have you greeted mr. park?” you bow politely. “good morning sir , i’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” jay looked you up and down , causing you to shift a bit , his eyes were cold , but he nodded. “yn go.” your boss shooed you off , you shuffled out of the door , closing it behind you before making your way to your desk , finally sitting down.

jays eyes followed you out, even watching you as you sit down at your desk , rubbing your temples. “don’t mind her that girl can never do anything right , probably would’ve fired her if she wasn’t such a nice piece of ass to look at , yeah her clothes are a little shabby but i can’t be picky can i.” jay turned to the guy , who was half your age sitting down , his belly hanging over his pants. “yeah.” he said sitting down — he already knew how this was gonna go. “let’s get started.”

you look through the glass window , seeing your boss stand up along with the man , shaking his hand with a smile. you stare at the muffin that was thrown in the trash before you could eat it. “what a waste of money.” you whisper to yourself ; the door to the room opening both men stepping out. “i hope to hear from you in a few days.” your boss said , the man looked at you, your boss staring bitterly. “yn , stop staring and get up and wish him goodbye.” you turned to jay and he looked at you like he was waiting to see what you do ; you began to get up but he stopped you , he saw how badly your worn down cheap shoes hurt your feet. “no need . you have a nice day.” he said walking away without another word.

“how stupid can you be?” your boss gripped your arm , pulling you up. “when i say do something you do it.” he yelled in your face , you nodded and he let you go , you fell back in your seat. “gosh you can’t do anything right.”

the day seemed to go by so slowly; all you wanted was to go back to your broken down apartment ; eat the chinese food that you pray is still good , climb into your lumpy bed and sleep — then again what’s the point you’ll have to do it again the next day. you tried not to think about that as you packed up for the evening. “hey yn , we’re going out for drinks.” you coworker said ; you couldn’t even afford dinner right now , let alone drinks. “i’m okay , i’m really not feeling good.” they nodded , not bothering to push it , they probably didn’t care. “yn i need you to come in early tomorrow.” your boss opened the door to his office , you went to open your mouth and protest , but he slammed the door closed. “guess that means i’ll have to get up even earlier to catch the bus.”

you make your way out of the building; walking down the street to the bus stop; unaware of the eye on you. “that’s her boss” the driver said , jay looked up from his phone , watching you limp down the block. “follow her , make sure she doesn’t notice.” he said , the driver started the car , following you — he followed you all the way to your run down and sketchy apartment complex , watching the three guys try and stop you as you go in but you just ignore their attempts, walking into the building. “boss are you gonna get out? do you know her from somewhere?” jay shook his head. “no.” he said. “but i want her.”

he walked through sunghoons , no interest in the dancer around him , he had one thing in mind ; you. “he in there?” he stopped by sunghoon who looked upset , probably had something to do with his “ fiancé .” but that had nothing to do with him. “what? oh yeah , you know how easy it was to get him to come here.” the pale man smirked. “all heeseungs girlfriend had to do was say she was your secretary and he came running here.” jay nodded. “good , thank you.” sunghoon nodded back. “don’t make too much of a mess.”

he made his way to the room in the back , where the walls were sound proof , taking off the suit jacket and handing it to his guard. “it’s expensive , don’t need to get it dirty.” he opened the door , where the man was already getting drunk. “jay man wassup!” the man shouted like he was friends with him. “can’t believe you called me down here , i was shocked when your secretary called.” the man slurred. “man does she sound fucking hot , i would love to get to meet her , you must get no work done with her around.” good thing heeseung didn’t hear that , he’d tear the man limb from limb before jay got a chance to do anything. “this scotch is good.”

“it’s a $1000 bottle.” jay said. “damn , if this goes well , i’ll pay you back , i signed those papers already , i’ll have yn look them over tomorrow.” the man patted jays back. “no need to pay back.” jay smiled. “oh thanks man.” the man said. “but you can give me something.” he said staring at the man. “yn.” the man stared at jay , before bursting out in a fit of laughter. “her? sure take her .” he said it like it was nothing. “she’s useless to me , i was already gonna fire her tomorrow , found a new and hotter one — i mean look at her , she’s shabby , a poor girl with no future , sure she’s hot and now that she’s gonna be jobless in the morning maybe she can get a job here , as a dancer , put that body to use seeing as she can’t do work right.”

jays blood boiled listening to him speak about you like that — he just snapped , grabbing the drunk man , slamming him up against the wall. “man what the hell?” the man shouted , trying to push jay up against him , but jay was too strong. “you know i really dont fucking like you.” he said. “but you have something i want .” jay pushed down on the man’s neck , he could hear the blood flowing through the man’s body. “well a few things.”

the man was getting a little scared. “wh-what? yn i said you can have her.” he said. “oh that’s not it.” jay said. “i’m taking your company as well.” jay said , the man began to fight back , but he could barely move. “fu-fuck you , like hell are you getting my company.” jay chuckled. “well it doesn’t really matter , seeing as you already signed it over to me , and you won’t be alive to do anything about it.”

before the man could do anything it; jays finger went straight across the man’s neck, his eyes widened in pure horror. “there won’t be anyone to mourn you , so this just makes me even happier.” jay smiled menacingly , right before he sunk his sharp fangs into the man’s jugular , drinking straight from his neck , the almost lifeless man barely put up a fight before falling to the ground , blood still seeping from his neck.

waiting for the man to stop twitching; before wiping his mouth , leaving out the room. “make sure the body is completely gone , tell sunghoon i’m sorry for the mess , he pissed me off.” he said holding the papers in his hand , exiting out the back where the car was already waiting for him. “did it go well boss?” jay nodded silently. “why did you need this company ?” the driver pulled off. “i didn’t.” jay said , his shirt red from the blood.

you ran like your life depended on it as you looked at the clock on your wrist. “fuck.” you said; not only are you not gonna be early like your boss demanded , you were gonna be late — your alarm on your phone didn’t go off , and then the shower was cold. you barely got out the door.

you made your way to your job ; fully prepared to be yelled out — even fired. “there she is.” it felt like the entire office was watching you; the whispers that followed you made you uneasy as you made your way to your desk , the curtains that were normally open , were closed… that couldn’t be good. “um the boss wants you.” your co worker seemed confused. “oh okay.” you sat your things down. “thank you.” fearing this was the end , it felt like blood was in your throat as you knock on the door. “come in.”

you push the door open; confusion washing over you. “uh…” you said , standing before you was the man from yesterday. “yn.” he said , but this time he smiled at you. “sit , please.” you look at the seat , slowly making your way to the seat. “sit.” you did , folding your hands in your lap. “i-i’m a bit confused.” you lowered your head. “i could understand why.” he said. “you were a bit late today , you okay?” you nodded. “just a bunch of inconveniences.” you confessed. “that’s understandable.” he said. “you probably have a bunch of questions.”

“where is mr. kim?” you said. “oh he unfortunately stepped down.” he said. “while going over the agreement my lawyers found a bunch of interesting things that warrant me to make a few phone calls.” jay stood from his chair , your breath hitched. “and the board thought it would be better if he stepped down .”

“so now you’re in charge?” you asked , gulping as he sat on the desk right in front of you. “not just in charge , i own it.. he surprisingly signed it over to me. ” he said. “b-but don’t you have to run your own company?” you didn’t dare to look him in the eye , almost scared to. “well this is only temporary , i’ll get someone to take over , while i work from the sidelines .” he talked with some much confidence. “don’t worry this won’t affect you , but i guess you’re a bit glad he’s gone?” you gave a little nod. “good.” he said , his leg brushed against yours , you coughed nervously , standing up quickly. “you don’t have to worry about me , i’m a good worker.” you said. “i wasn’t worried.” he said — after he was done he’d promised you’d never work a day in your life again.

“what happened?” there was a crowd around your desk as you made your exit. “no-nothing.” you sat down. “just went over the schedule.” you said. “what the hell is going on , where is kim?” you shrugged. “don’t know.” jay made you promise not to say anything , even though you didn’t understand why seeing as it wasn’t a big deal , but you agreed. “this is so weird.” they all began to walk away , leaving you alone , the curtains were still covering the windows , except the one next to your desk , you could see him working on his computer — he looked up at his you , like he could feel you staring, smiling at him before going back into his work… and for the first time since you’ve started working here you let out a little smile.

“yn? drinks?” your coworkers asked , you were about to decline like usual when jay opened the door. “not tonight.” he said coldly, turning to you. “i need you to stay back for a bit.” you sighed , you knew it was too good to be true , he was just gonna yell at you like the other. “have a good night.” he sent them on their way , before turning to you. “come.” he beckoned you into his office. you stood up , hesitantly following him inside his office. “i’m sorry for whatever i did.” you said , lowering your head.

“yn you are not in trouble.” he said. “you haven’t even done anything , i haven’t asked you to do anything today.” you think about it , you haven’t done anything , he even told you to go to lunch early. “yn sit down please.” he said , you sat down in the seat , picking at your stockings. “yn.” he said softly. “yn look at me.” he said a little bit more firmly , you looked up at him. “here.” he sat a box on the desk. “what is it?” you asked , he opened the box , revealing a pair of heels — a very expensive pair of heels , a pair of heels that would leave you homeless if you even could scrounge up the money for it. “mr-mr. park — jay.” he interrupted you. “call me jay.”

“i can’t accept these.” you said. “why not?” he asked. “because these shoes are expensive,” you said. “i’m not asking you to pay me back.” he said , taking the shoes out the box. “those shoes hurt your feet , i see you limping around , i can sme- i can see the blood on your stockings from the blisters.” he said , sitting down on the chair across from you. “you don’t deserve that.” he bent down , grabbing your foot. “mr-mr. park.” he didn’t say anything , taking your old shoe off putting the brand new expensive one on. “see they fit perfectly.” he said , letting your foot go to do the other one , they were gorgeous , you don’t think you’ll ever own anything like this again.

“how do i thank you for these?” you say , he didn’t say anything for at least a minute. “what?” you ask , he sat back in his seat , his shirt was rolled up , tie undone for the day. “yn are you happy?” he asks suddenly , you’re taken aback. “am i happy?” you repeated , the man nodded. “i- i mean i guess , yeah i’m happy.” you say with uncertainty in your voice. “you don’t have to lie to me.” he says. “i can see that you’re struggling a lot.” you gulp. “i’m gonna be fine sir , i promise.” and he knows you will — because he’s gonna change your life.

you stand up , already feeling the pain in your feet melt away. “there’s no need to worry about me.” you say , going to turn. “ yn.” he started , you stopped in your tracks hearing his low voice behind you. “what is something you really want , something you truly desire in this life ?” he said. “happiness ? love ?” he was right behind you , you could feel his breath on your neck. “money?” your body twitched. “it’s money , i know , everyone desires wealth.” he said. “even i did , and that's why im where i am today,” he said. “and are you happy?” you asked him much as he had asked you. “i’m wealthy,” he said. “that’s not what i asked sir , i asked are you happy?”

“i’m lonely.” he confessed , you turned around. “what i desire cannot be obtained , not in this life , not in the next.” you said. “but i’m sure you can get what you’re looking for.” you said. “good night sir.” you go to open the door. “i can give you money.” he said. “i can give you what you desire.” you stood there. “and you can give me what i desire.” he said. “everlasting companionship.”

what was he proposing right now? “um sir , this is inappropriate.” you said. “no one is here,” he said. “and you’re free to leave.” he smiled once he seen you not move. “yo-you can’t buy me , i’m not an object.” you said. “did i say you were? i like you yn.” he said. “like me? you met me once yesterday.” you scoffed. “and that’s saying something , that one meeting was all i needed.” he said , you bit down on your bottom lip. “i’m not trying to buy you , i’m trying to give you what you truly want in life.”

“in return , you stay by my side , forever.” there he goes again with those words. “what do you mean forever , you genuinely believe you could be with me until we both die.” it seems like you saying that shocked him. “die?” he scoffed bitterly . “something like that.” your brows furrowed. “what does that mean? something like that?” you said , his face seemed stoned now , like he didn’t want to tell you. “sir — jay what does that mean?” he didn’t say anything , and you were about to reach for the door , when he grabbed your wrist. “don’t go.”

“you’re scaring me.” his face softened. “that’s the last thing i want to do.” he said. “then tell me what you mean , something like that.” you realized his hand was still on your wrist — and it was cold , like really cold. “do you get it now?” he said , looking you dead in eyes. “no , no i don— ah!” his mouth was near your neck , stopping you in your movements completely. “do you get it now?” out the corner of your eyes you can see his eyes were now glowing red. “oh my god.”

this is it , where you were gonna die. “i told you the last thing i want to do is scare you.” he said. “i don’t want to harm you either.” he let your arm go , now looking at you again , his eyes back to their original color. “i want you.” he whispered. “i saw you and i knew you were the one for me.” he said. “mr-mr kim , what did you do to him? you did something to him , didn’t you?” you stuttered. “i did what i needed to do , trust me he deserved every bit of it.” you gulped , he just confessed to killing your boss and to being a vampire. “i want you , only you.” he said. “i don’t want to see you struggle ever.” his hand caressed your cheek. “but i have to turn you.”

“turn me?” you asked. “into what you are? into a vampire?” he nodded. “yeah.” he said. “you’ll never have a bad day again , i will make sure of it.” it felt like a dream , like you’d wake up back in your bed. “this is unbelievable.” his lips crashed into yours , his hand holding your cheek , the other gripping your waist. “answer me.” he pulled away with a sigh , pressing his forehead against yours. “answer me now before i can’t control myself anymore.” he growled.

“do it , please.”

that’s was all he needed before he was pulling you down on the couch , slouching in between your legs. “gonna make you feel good.” he pulled down your stockings. “gonna make you see stars.” he lifted up your skirt. “si-sir.” his eyes darkened. “call me that again and i’ll fuck you and turn you right now.” he growled , pulling your panties down. “such a pretty pussy , gonna get used to eating you out every day." he said, licking your folds , you moaned.

the starved man before you held your thighs on each side of his head as he ate you out. he ate like he hadn’t eaten in days ; it felt so good, you could barely think. “ja-jay.” you gasped out, throwing your head back against the couch , the heel of your feet , digging in his back. “fuck jay i’m gonna cum!” you screamed. his nose was pressed against your clit he continued to lick your folds , tasting your juices. “it’s been a while , hasn’t it?” he smirked , his fangs now visible. “you came so much.” he licked the insides of your thighs. “so messy.”

“ye-yeah.” you stuttered , he chuckled. “no need to worry about that.” he said. “i’ll make sure to fuck you every single night.” he said , turning you around. “make sure you’re always satisfied.” his clothed cock pressed against your ass. “you’d like that?” he pulled your skirt up. “to be fucked every night.” you heard the unzipping of his slacks. “full of my cock , right before you feed.” his sharp teeth on your neck , you whined. “please bite me.” he cursed. “good girl.”

he pushed himself inside you; his thick cock filling you up. “mine.” he said , his teeth quickly piercing your skin , your eyes rolled to the back of your head , gripping the couch as he drank from your neck , his hand holding your head to the side. “jay!” you screamed as his fucked you , drinking your blood. “ah fuck!” the venom from him entering you as he fucked you through another orgasm.

he pulled away , his thrust not slowing down. “oh fuck.” he cursed , bringing his own wrist to his mouth biting it , the blood dripping from his wrist , as he brought it to your mouth. “drink it.” you brought your lips to his wrist , allowing the blood to flow into your mouth and down your throat. “that’s it -fuck- good girl , i’m gonna cum.” he groaned , his other hand gripping your waist. “fuuuck.” he hiss as he came , pulling his wrist from your mouth. “jay.” you gasped , feeling his cum seeping deep into your womb.

he stood back , admiring what he did to your body , his bite mark was embedded into your neck , he bent back down , whispering into your ear. . “i’m taking you home with me tonight.” that was the last thing you heard before everything faded to black.

he allowed you to sleep , picking up his phone to dial his driver. “sir.” he answered. “i’m ready for you now , ask the maid to prepare a bath for her.” he said. “okay sir , and for her first feeding.” the driver said. “she’ll be super hungry when she wakes up.” jay thought about it for a second. “damn should’ve kept kim locked up and allowed her to tear him limb from limb when she woke him.” he sighed. “i guess we’ll figure it out when she gets up.” he said. “ok sir , the car is pulling into the garage now.”

“and make sure to clear her schedule for future , she’ll quit when she’s ready , but she isn’t to return until she can control herself.” he picked up your sleeping body.

“gonna give you a good life , no matter who i have to kill for it.”

©️LUVYENI

[bucketsorbueckers]

Paige Bueckers Day

Paige X Azzi

one shot - dual POV - 5.5K words

warnings: NONE. this is pure fluff. inspired loosely by spring into summer by lizzy mcalpine

Summary: They named a day after her. Put her face on a billboard. Turned her hometown into a headline. And still, in the hours before her first WNBA game, all Paige Bueckers can think about is the one person who said she wouldn’t be there—the only person she really wants to see in the crowd.

A/N: wrote this right after the announcement of paige bueckers day and literally couldn’t stop spiraling about how soft it could all be . i know azzi probably isn’t there today but in my delusional little brain? she is. she always is. also shoutout to the anon who asked if i’m capable of writing happy things—this is me trying. pls tell me if it counts <3

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The truth is, when she first heard the news, she didn’t think it was real.

KK had sent her a text. No preamble. Just a link and a blurry screenshot of a city proclamation that maybe, maybe, had her face on it.

She assumed it was a joke. One of those strange internet jokes she was always just slightly outside of. Designed to stir people up or make them laugh, depending on which corner of the internet you landed in.

But the longer she stared at the post—and the verified seal on the city’s website—the harder it became to deny that, somehow, this was very real.

Her hometown, Hopkins, Minnesota, was renaming itself for one day. 

To Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

There was even a line in the official proclamation—something about athletic excellence and community pride—followed by the words: “Hereby declared: Paige Bueckers Day.”

She read the line twice, then once more, because it felt like her brain had forgotten how to process the English language.

Welcome to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.

It was the kind of thing that sounded like a prank. Or a punishment. Possibly both.

She called KK.

“Tell me this is fake,” she said, skipping hello entirely.

KK didn’t even try not to laugh. “Pack your bags! We’re going to Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, girl.”

Paige sat down on the edge of her bed, like maybe that would steady her. “I haven’t lived there in years.”

“You don’t have to live there to belong to it,” KK said, voice taken in a slightly more serious tone. “They’re proud of you.”

She was quiet for a second. “They renamed the whole town.”

“Only for one day.”

“Still,” she said, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“You’re playing your first pro game in Minnesota. They wanted to do something special.”

Paige stared at the wall, at the framed photo of a lake that could’ve been anywhere. “A gift would’ve been fine.”

KK laughed again, softer this time. “You’re such a freak about this stuff.”

“I’m not a freak.”

“You are. You deflect. You downplay. It’s, like, your love language or something.”

Paige didn’t answer, just pulled her knees up and rested her chin on top of them. Her new apartment was quiet in the way new places always were—climate-controlled and just a little too clean, like no one had ever really lived inside it.

“They’re putting up signs,” KK added. “Like, real ones. Metal. Highway font. I think there’s even a parade.”

“Oh my God.”

“Just don’t wear sunglasses and a hoodie like you’re in witness protection, okay? Let people be happy for you.”

Paige sighed and let herself fall back onto the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow.

She was proud. Of course she was. Proud and grateful and maybe a little in disbelief that it had all led to this. Her first pro game. In Minnesota, of all places. In a stadium that used to feel too big for her dreams and now felt too small to hold them.

Still, there was something terrifying about being celebrated like this. Like you were already the person they thought you were. Like there wasn’t still so much to prove.

“I’ll try,” she said finally.

“Try harder,” KK said, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll save you a corn dog.”

“You think this is the State Fair?”

“I think it’s Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, and anything can happen.”

Paige smiled despite herself, then hung up and laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. 

It was early. The Dallas skyline still dark and soft around the edges, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only person awake in the world. Azzi was probably still asleep.

She’d never been a morning person. Not even at UConn, when early lifts and bleary-eyed conditioning were part of the daily ritual. Paige used to wake first and sit in the stillness for a few minutes before nudging Azzi’s shoulder, watching her groan dramatically and pull the covers over her head like they were shielding her from the cruelty of time.

Paige glanced at her phone, then set it back down without unlocking it.

She wasn’t going to text. Not yet. Not when Azzi had just gotten back from vacation the night before and finally had the rare luxury of a morning without alarms or obligations.

Still, she missed her. In that quiet, persistent way that didn’t knock you over so much as settle in—background noise that never really faded. It had only been a few weeks—three, technically—but it felt longer. 

At UConn, they’d been wrapped into each other’s lives so completely, it had been hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Same practices. Same flights. Same off days spent curled up on the couch, a half-watched show playing as their legs tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Back then, distance had been theoretical. Something that happened to other people. Now it lived in time zones and FaceTimes and the way Azzi’s voice cut in and out on bad WiFi. It felt like they were running parallel. Close enough to see each other’s outlines, but just far enough apart not to touch.

Paige rolled onto her side, her hand brushing the place on the bed where Azzi wasn’t. It was one thing to miss someone in theory. It was another to fall asleep reaching for them, and wake up with nothing but sheets.

With a sigh, she opened her phone, ignoring the flood of texts about the latest announcement. The headlines, the reposts, the dizzy blur of congratulations from people. 

At the top of the list was one from Dijonai. Three minutes ago. She guessed no one in Dallas could sleep. 

they really gave me the teammate that’s got cities renaming themselves 😭 couldn’t just give me a hooper, huh? had to be a whole cultural moment  lmk when the parade is. proud of you fr.🫶🏽

Paige snorted, a real laugh catching in her throat before she could stop it. And then her eyes dropped to the only pinned message.

Azzi.

Last text: 12:03 a.m. sorry babe. its been an impossible day. call you tomorrow. love you

Paige read it twice, even though she’d already memorized the shape of it. The lowercase softness, the familiar apology. She knew Azzi meant it, knew she would call, just like she always did. But still. It stung in that quiet way absence always did. Not sharp, just dull and constant, like pressing on a bruise to make sure it still hurt.

She didn’t text back. Not yet.

Then she scrolled up. Past the memes, the check-ins, the goodnights. Until she found the one she kept reading even though she already knew it by heart.

The third, or maybe fourth, apology Azzi had sent since calling to say she wouldn’t be at Paige’s first WNBA game: 

i hate this. i really do. i just can’t say no. not this time. it’s a huge opportunity. and if i skip it, it might not come around again. i’m sorry. i wanted to be there more than anything.

Paige had read it in the middle of Trader Joe’s. Standing in front of a pyramid of honeycrisp apples, her cart half-full and suddenly too heavy. She’d stared at the screen for what felt like forever, then set her phone face-down and walked out without buying a single thing.

She’d told Azzi it was okay. That she understood. That she was proud of her. And all of that was true. It was just also true that it wrecked her a little.

Not because Azzi was choosing something else. But because they were finally learning how to choose themselves. How to want things separately. How to grow without growing apart.

She closed her eyes.

It was so much easier when they moved in tandem—same goals, same team, same mornings and nights stitched together. Now everything was a little more delicate. A little more sacred. Because the love was still there. But the space between them was starting to mean something, too.

She groaned, rolling over in bed, looking out the curtains she had left open. The city lights twinkling as the sky warmed. The morning breaking through. 

She missed Azzi. In the soft, persistent way that lingered in empty spaces—in the quiet before practice, in the stretch of her own bed, in the apples she never bought. But she knew things were fine. 

They were Paige and Azzi.

Even with states between them, even with calls that came too late and texts that came too early, even with the ache that never really went away. They were still them.

And that was enough for Paige Bueckers. 

It always had been. 

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With the game opener days away, practice had become more intense. Not in a bad way, just in the way it does when you know everything’s about to count a little more.

The drills ran sharper. The passes came faster. Everyone moved like they were trying to outrun nerves without admitting they had any.

And Paige felt it too. In the tightening of her chest before scrimmage. In the way she tied her shoes a little slower, a little tighter, like maybe that would help her stay grounded.

She wasn’t scared, exactly.

Just… aware.

Aware that all of this—this new chapter, this team, this new city she called home—was real now. No longer a thing she could imagine or plan for. It was happening. With or without the comfort of the familiar.

And ready or not, she’d have to step into it.

She was the last one off the court, staring out at the paint like it held the answer to some impossible question.

Nai came and stood beside her, arms crossed loosely over her chest, gaze following Paige’s like they might both see the same thing if they looked long enough.

“What’re we lookin’ at?” she asked, voice low, like she didn’t want to scare the thoughts away.

Paige shifted her weight, one sneaker scuffing lightly against the hardwood. “Just thinkin’.”

Nai tilted her head, a rare softness flickering across her features. “You nervous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Paige shrugged. “Not nervous. Just… awake.”

Nai laughed, low and scratchy. “Girl, I’ve been awake since you showed up with a whole damn ZIP code named after you.”

Paige groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna remind you daily. Until they take the signs down. Might steal one, hang it in the locker room.”

She sat beside her on the court, stretching out long legs, unbothered.

“You’re allowed to feel weird about it,” Nai said after a beat. “Big things feel weird.”

Paige let the silence sit for a second before answering. “It’s just a lot, I guess. And I’m used to having someone around who knows what to say.”

Nai nodded, not pushing. Just sitting with her.

Then: “Azzi?”

Paige glanced over. “She can’t make it.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah,” she said. “But she believes in me. That helps.”

Nai nudged her shoulder. “I believe in you too, Paige Bueckers, Minnesota.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please stop.”

“Absolutely not.”

And for the first time that morning, the knot in her chest loosened, just a little. Because maybe this new life didn’t have to look like the old one to still be good.

After practice, there was a wave of notifications on her phone. Mentions, texts, a new batch of graphics with her face on them.

But only one that mattered.

One missed call. Azzi Fudd.

Paige had to physically stop herself from abandoning all her stuff in the locker room just to call her back. Instead, she moved on autopilot: packed her bag, got through treatment, said goodbye to her teammates (who had cracked one too many jokes about Paige Bueckers, Minnesota), and made her way to the parking lot.

As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, she exhaled. Long and slow, like she’d been holding her breath all day and didn’t realize it.

She didn’t even start the car. Just pulled her phone from the cupholder, the screen lighting up in her hand like it knew where she was going. She hit Azzi’s name and held the phone to her ear, already smiling.

It rang once. Then again. And then: 

“Paige, hey,” came the voice she’d been waiting for, soft and warm, and instantly home.

Paige leaned her head back against the seat. “Hey,” she breathed. “You called.”

“Of course I did,” Azzi said. “You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?”

Paige’s throat tightened. “No. I just—miss you.”

There was a pause, and then Azzi said it in the way she always did. Gentle. Certain.

“I miss you too.” And just like that, the space between them felt smaller. Not gone. But less like a canyon and more like a bridge.

“Now,” Azzi said, voice curling at the edges with a smile Paige could hear, “how was practice?”

They slipped easily into their rhythm. The one they’d built across dorm rooms and hotel hallways, FaceTimes in airports and calls stretched out across time zones. A back-and-forth that felt less like catching up and more like coming home.

When the conversation lulled, Paige could hear the soft rustle of sheets, the subtle shift of weight. Azzi settling into bed on the other end of the line.

“So,” she said, drawing it out like she already knew the effect it would have. Paige could hear the smirk without needing to see it. “Paige Bueckers, Minnesota, huh?”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the seat.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” Azzi said, absolutely delighted. “And I’m never letting that go.”

“It’s for one day,” Paige muttered.

“Still counts.”

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s very on brand.”

“I’m serious. The mayor cried.”

Azzi laughed, the sound low and lovely and a little sleepy. “Of course he did. You’re a hometown hero. Let people love you, P.”

Paige went quiet for a second, the praise sitting warm in her chest.

She closed her eyes and imagined Azzi there with her—knees tucked to her chest in the passenger seat, hair still damp from a shower, reaching over to lace their fingers together.

“I wish you were here,” she whispered.

“I know,” Azzi said. “I do too.”

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It was two days before the game, and Azzi had been a bit…quiet.

Not distant, exactly. When they talked, it still felt like them. Familiar and warm in that way nothing else was. But the responses came slower. The calls shorter. They hadn’t FaceTimed since earlier in the week, which wasn’t like them.

Paige told herself not to read into it. That people got busy. That schedules conflicted. That even the people who knew you best were allowed to disappear for a day or two.

Still, something buzzed under her skin. Not worry, not quite. Just that quiet hum of noticing.

She’d sent a photo earlier. Something dumb from practice. Normally, Azzi would’ve replied within minutes. With something that made her laugh. With a heart. 

Instead: nothing. Just the message, sitting there, delivered but unread.

She locked her phone, shoved it deep in her bag, and tried to let it go.

But the truth was, she missed her. Missed her in the specific, impossible way that made everything feel a little dimmer. Like she was walking around in half-light, just waiting for Azzi’s voice to flip the switch back on.

“Didn’t know Paige Bueckers brooded,” Nai said, eyeing her from across the locker room.

“I’m not brooding,” Paige argued, her voice landing a little sharper than she meant. She caught herself, exhaled. “Just…thinking.”

“Pretty much the same thing,” Nai said with a shrug, tugging her hoodie over her head.

Paige leaned back against the bench, letting her shoulders drop. “Was it tough?” she asked after a beat. “The first few years…for you and Lyss?”

Nai didn’t answer right away. She sat down beside her, elbows resting on her knees.

“Yeah,” she said eventually. “It was. Different cities. Missed calls. One of us always waking up while the other was crashing.”

Paige nodded, like her body already understood it even if her heart didn’t want to.

“But we figured it out,” Nai went on. “Not all at once. Just…piece by piece. It wasn’t about being perfect. It was about showing up. Even when it sucked. Especially when it sucked. 

Paige looked at her. “How’d you know it was worth it?”

Nai cracked a smile. “Because I’d rather miss her than not love her.”

The words landed heavy and easy all at once, like something that had been lived through instead of just said. Paige swallowed.

Paige glanced at her. “That ever scare you?”

Nai shrugged. “Sure. But love’s never been about convenience.”

Paige sighed, leaning back against the locker. 

“I guess I just hate that she’s missing this,” she said quietly. “Even if I understand why.”

“You can hold both,” Nai said. “Doesn’t make you ungrateful. Just makes you human.”

Paige nodded, grateful for the wisdom. They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need filling.Then Nai nudged her knee. 

“Anyway, stop brooding. It’s messing up your aura.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Nai chuckled, standing up and stretching. “I’m just sayin’,” she said. “Sometimes the best shit shows up when you’re not lookin’ for it.”

And then, she was gone. 

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Paige woke up on Paige Bueckers Day—which was still a sentence that didn’t feel real—with one thought running through her head:

She was about to play in her first WNBA game.

It was the thing she’d dreamed about since she was a kid. Not just in the casual, it-would-be-cool kind of way. But in the way you build your whole life around. The way you say no to normal things, and yes to everything that hurts a little, because someday it might be worth it.

And now someday was here.

She lay still for a moment, her heart already beating a little too fast, as if her body knew what the day meant before her brain had caught up. The dream hadn’t vanished, it had just changed shape. From posters on her bedroom wall to press conferences and shootarounds and teammates with names she used to scream at the TV.

From something imagined to something real. And weirdly, the real part was the scariest.

Because once you’re in it, once it’s yours, you don’t get to chase it anymore. You just have to live it.

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone and blinked at the brightness, thumbing through a few unread texts.

The newest was from DC.

Her name was on a billboard.

An actual, honest-to-God billboard. Bold letters, dramatic lighting, probably wedged somewhere between a life insurance ad and a reminder to buckle up. She hadn’t seen it in person yet—just the photo Nai sent, which was blurry and aggressively zoomed in, like she’d taken it from the passenger seat of a car moving too fast. 

The text just read: 

u famous famous now

Paige stared at it for a long beat, then let the phone fall back onto the sheets beside her.

Some days, all of this still felt like a story she’d made up as a kid. Except now, other people were reading it too. Out loud. On billboards.

She sighed and picked the phone back up, thumb dragging lazily across the screen until she found it.

A message from Azzi.

good morning, superstar. sorry i missed your call last night. i was wiped. but i’m thinking about you. a lot. today’s huge. proud doesn’t even cover it. love you.

Paige read it once. Then again, slower. She smiled, small and private, like the kind you save just for yourself.

Proud doesn’t even cover it.

She let that settle in her chest for a moment before typing out a reply. Something short. Something honest.

miss you. love you. wish you were here.

She hovered for a second before hitting send.

And then she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, planted her feet on the floor, and stepped into the kind of day she’d been dreaming about her whole life.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The bus ride to the arena was loud. Jittery voices bounced around the aisle. Half nerves, half adrenaline. The kind of energy that couldn’t sit still.

Paige sat near the window, headphones in but nothing playing. Just the hum of white noise, her own breath tucked in between.

She was trying to focus.Trying not to think about how she hadn’t heard from Azzi since last night.  No text. No call. Just silence where there was usually something. And maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was travel, or timing, or just one of those things. But it still found its way under her skin.

She finally hit play on a song, turning the world down a notch, and stared out the window. Trying to remember the girl who used to dream of this moment. And trying not to wonder why it suddenly felt like something was missing.

Beside her, she felt someone's presence, turning to find DC.

“G’mornin’, Bueckers,” she said, dragging the word out like a tease. “Big day.”

Paige pulled one headphone out. “You don’t say.”

Nai leaned back, one arm slung over the seat. “You got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The I’m not nervous but also haven’t blinked in four minutes look.”

Paige huffed a laugh, soft but real. “I’m fine.”

Nai didn’t push. Just leaned back, stretched her legs out like she owned the whole row.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few beats before Nai said, offhand, “Funny thing about quiet days.” Paige glanced over. Nai didn’t look at her. “They don’t always stay that way.”

Then she yawned, put her hood fully up, and returned to her seat by Lyss. 

Azzi’s POV

Azzi checked her phone again, even though the time hadn’t changed in the last thirty seconds.

The plane was starting its descent, and her stomach did that thing it always did during turbulence, flipped, like it wasn’t entirely sure about gravity.

But if she was being honest, turbulence was easy compared to keeping secrets. 

She was terrible at keeping them. Especially from Paige.

They talked every day. Multiple times. Sometimes about nothing—what they ate, what their teammates said, which reality show they were secretly watching without the other—but sometimes about everything. The big stuff. The heavy stuff. The I don’t know how to do this without you kind of stuff.

Which made this particular silence feel loud.

She’d texted last night, told her she was proud. Told her she was thinking about her. Both true. Both incomplete.

What she hadn’t said was that she was sitting on a flight confirmation and a suitcase she packed two weeks ago. 

Paige thought she wasn’t coming. Azzi hated that part.

But the surprise had become its own kind of promise. A way to show up when it mattered, even if it wasn’t how they used to. No more shared hotel rooms or warm-up playlists made for two. 

Just this: effort and timing and showing up in ways that took more planning than they used to, but meant more, too.

The plane dipped lower, and she pressed her forehead to the window, watching the city come into view, familiar and strange at the same time.

Somewhere down there, Paige was probably staring out her own window. Probably thinking too much. Probably trying not to.

Azzi smiled, small and quiet.

She has no idea.

Paige’s POV

The Target Center.

She’d been here a hundred times, maybe more. But never like this. Never as a player.

Always a fan. A kid in the stands, craning her neck to see past grown-ups, gripping nachos in one hand and possibility in the other. She knew the echo of the place. The way it swallowed sound and spit it back louder. She knew how the court looked from every angle except this one.

Now she was walking through the tunnel, jersey on, sneakers laced tight, her name stitched across her back like it had always belonged there.

It hadn’t hit her fully. Not yet. But it was starting to.

She wasn’t thinking about the billboard. Or the headline. Or the fact that somewhere out there, people were calling this Paige Bueckers Day like that was a normal thing to say.

She was thinking about the game. About the first possession. The first pass. The rhythm of the offense. Where her feet needed to be and how fast she could get them there.

There was a small part of her, tucked somewhere under all that focus, that still ached for the familiar shape of Azzi beside her. But it was quieter now. Sort of. 

Warmups were underway. And what started with shaky knees, hands that wouldn’t quite settle, was slowly morphing into something steadier. The ball hit her palm just right. The court stopped feeling like a stage and started feeling like home again.

Her body knew what to do. Her mind was catching up. 

The nerves didn’t disappear. They just shifted. Got quieter. Folded themselves into her rhythm. And she focused. Because today wasn’t just a game. It was the first day of the rest of the life she always wanted. 

Azzi’s POV

Her heart thudded.

That old, familiar rhythm she’d never been able to shake.

Paige, Paige, Paige.

She grinned as she climbed the stairs of the Target Center, hood down, hair pulled back like she had nothing to hide, even though she absolutely did. There was something electric about walking in without Paige knowing. Like slipping into a scene before your cue.

The ticket had shown up in her inbox two nights ago, sent from Dijonai with a single message: Got you. Front row. She’s gonna lose it.

Azzi could only hope. 

The man at the security checkpoint scanned her ticket, gave her a polite nod. “You’re good. Down the hallway to your left. Courtside.”

Azzi walked slowly, her hand brushing the railing as she went. She adjusted the jersey as she walked. BUECKERS across her back. Not subtle. Not even close. But subtle hadn’t felt right today.

She’d ordered it two weeks ago, expedited the shipping like a lunatic, even though she told herself she wasn’t going to wear it. It felt too obvious. Too loud.

And then today happened. And there was no version of this where she didn’t want Paige to see it. 

The hallway opened into light and noise and movement, and she stepped out into it like she’d crossed a threshold. The court was already alive, players jogging through layup lines, shoes squeaking, the low thrum of music pulsing under it all. 

And then, she saw her. Paige.

Not just Paige the way the world saw her—face on billboards, name in lights, the kind of talent that demanded attention—but her Paige. Hair pulled back. Jaw set. Moving with the kind of focus that made everything else feel blurry.

And for a second, Azzi forgot how to be casual. Forgot how to sit. Forgot how to breathe normally in a room where Paige Bueckers existed like that, on fire, and also entirely in control of it.

She found her seat, second row, directly behind the bench. Lowered herself slowly like she was afraid to make a sound. And watched.

Paige didn’t see her at first. Which made it easier to look. To really look.

She looked like everything Azzi had ever believed in. Everything she’d ever rooted for. The kind of person you hoped the world wouldn’t break. And somehow, despite the spotlight, the pressure, the weight of expectations that would’ve flattened anyone else, Paige had made it through.

Achieving everything she ever wanted, and still keeping her goodness intact.

Azzi’s chest tightened. The pride of it. The ache of loving someone so much you could barely sit still in your own skin.

Azzi had just been pulled into a conversation with a younger girl who had recognized her, eyes wide as she asked about playing in college, about shooting form, about favorite sneakers. Azzi had leaned in, smiling, answering every question. 

She wasn’t facing the court when it happened. But she felt it. That pull. That electricity she knew too well. She turned, slowly, and there Paige was. Staring straight at her.

Azzi’s heart jumped, then took off sprinting. She grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. Couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t have wanted to.

And on Paige’s face: that flicker of surprise, like the world had just tilted an inch and she was trying to find her balance again. That heartbeat behind the eyes.

Azzi didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. She just held her gaze.

Happy Paige Bueckers Day.

Paige’s POV

A water break was finally called. 

She grabbed her towel and drifted toward the sideline, eyes skimming the lower rows of the arena. Not searching, just taking it in. The blur of signs and navy and white. People wearing her jersey. Not unusual. Not today.

And then her gaze snagged on one.

A girl in the second row, just behind the bench, chatting with a younger fan. Baggy pants. BUECKERS stitched in bold across her back.

Paige didn’t think much of it at first. People wore her jersey now. That was still weird, sure, but not surprising. Not today.

But there was something about her. The way she sat. The way she tilted her head mid-conversation. A familiarity Paige couldn’t quite place but couldn’t shake either.

Her heart moved before her brain did.

Azzi.

No. That wasn’t possible. Azzi had told her she couldn’t make it. That the timing didn’t work. That she was proud, but far away. And yet…

Her heart thudded, like it was screaming: You know this.

And then the girl turned.

Paige’s heart stopped. Or stuttered. Or maybe just launched itself into her throat. 

Azzi, courtside. In her jersey. Sitting like she had every right to be there. Which, to be fair, she did. But Paige had been so sure she wasn’t coming.

For a second, Paige didn’t move. Just stood there, towel in hand, caught between disbelief and something else she didn’t have words for yet.

And then Azzi smiled. Not a small, polite smile. Not the kind you give for cameras or fans or polite conversation. No, her whole face lit up, bright and sure and unapologetically happy to see her.

It was, objectively, the prettiest smile Paige had ever seen.

And for one terrifying second, she genuinely didn’t know how she didn’t sprint across the court, hurdle the row of folding chairs, and pull her into the kind of hug that knocked them both over.

“Told you quiet days don’t always stay quiet,” Nai murmured, bumping Paige’s shoulder as she passed.

Paige turned, eyes narrowed. “You knew?”

Nai raised both brows, unapologetic. “Helped.”

Paige stared at her. “You helped her do this?”

Nai grinned. “Watching you mope all week was painful. But this?” She gestured toward the stands, where Azzi was still seated like she’d always belonged there. “So worth it.”

Paige shook her head, trying not to smile. Trying harder not to look again. Failing completely.

Warmups ended, and Paige knew she probably shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it.

Couldn’t help but follow the invisible string that always pulled her to Azzi, no matter the distance, no matter the day.

She walked straight toward her.

She knew the arena was watching. Cameras. Fans. Commentators already sharpening their angles. Some would call it unprofessional. Say she wasn’t locked in. Use the moment to prop up whatever criticism they’d already decided on.

But if she was being honest? She didn’t care. Because Azzi was here. She was here. And that mattered more than whatever version of her someone might try to write later.

Paige reached her, stepped into the space like it had been waiting for her, and wrapped her arms around the love of her life. She buried her face in Azzi’s neck, let herself breathe.

“Az.”

Just one word. An exhale. A prayer. A thank-you so full it shook in her chest.

Azzi held her tighter. Didn't say anything right away. Didn't need to.The world could wait. Just for a second.

She smiled against Paige’s skin the way she had since she was sixteen. Soft, hidden, private.The kind of smile that belonged to them and no one else. 

Paige and Azzi.

Always circling back. Always finding each other, like gravity had opinions. Like the universe held a soft spot for their kind of love and girls who didn’t know how to stay away.

There was never a moment where they said we’ll always choose each other. They just kept doing it.

“Should you be doing this?” Azzi whispered, lips brushing just beneath her ear.

And Paige laughed, low and unapologetic. “It’s Paige Bueckers Day, baby. Pretty sure that means I can do whatever I want.”

[cheol-e-kat]

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐜.𝐬𝐜

the unknown sender one

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕

summary: seungcheol keeps getting nudes and he hasn't a clue from who, but maybe you do

genre: rivals to lovers, college au

word count: 1.8k

He loved that you pretended to hate him. Every time you had given him side eye in class or avoided him at a party - all fake. Every time he watched you pointedly flirt with someone else in front of him - it was just an act.

He wasn’t jealous, though. Because no matter what you did, no matter what the little performance was for the day, he knew exactly who you really wanted.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

It had started with dirty messages. 

At first he had no idea who was texting him, but they were fun. 

How could he be mad at someone who told him in detail all the ways they wanted him to fuck them - all the random moments in a day when they would rather be sucking his cock than doing whatever they were doing. 

He didn’t think it would last very long, maybe a few days or a week at most. 

But he was surprised when they continued. There were the normal dirty texts, but then there was a photo early one morning. First one photo and then a second one. 

The first was of panties, blue mesh with little white polka dots. 

He had chewed his lip lightly before messaging back. 

[seungcheol]

v cute

Then there was the second photo that had made his cock stiffen. 

He didn’t know what to say because this time whoever it was sending the texts and photos was sitting, wearing the cute panties. Her gorgeous thighs open, and her fingers dipping down between her legs, pushing the crotch of her panties to the side to reveal her very wet pussy lips. 

[unknown]

just for you

His mouth was like cotton. His brain was mush. He could barely think of his own name, much less a message to respond. 

He had jammed his phone in his pocket and left for class. In all reality, he had no idea how he even made it to the right class. 

He barely took notes. You were sitting next to him, thanks to assigned seating and no other reason. 

He was surprised when you even glanced his way during break. 

“No notes today?“ You quipped. 

He shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know.”

You watched him for a moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled, still thinking about whoever was wearing those blue panties. 

You bit your lip gently. “Do you want to borrow my notes later?”

It was the second unexpected thing to happen to him. You - his rival in almost every class who made no secret of how you couldn’t stand him. You were offering to share your precious notes. 

He glanced at you then. “What?” He asked softly in surprise. 

You sighed. “Do you want to borrow my notes?” You repeated yourself slowly, dragging out every syllable. 

He didn’t care - he just nodded. 

“Okay, but it’s only because you look like someone broke your brain or something,” you muttered with a small smile. 

He nodded because that was accurate. Someone had broken his brain. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

And they seemed to enjoy it because it became like a morning ritual. Two photos. 

Until one Saturday morning it changed. 

There was just one photo. 

No panties for him to imagine. 

Just her naked pussy. And her fingers shoved inside herself. 

He replied almost immediately. 

[seungcheol]

that’s not fair

He watched the little dots on his screen. 

[unknown]

what’s unfair is that u never show me anything in return 

He scoffed. “What the fuck?” He muttered. It wasn’t that his dick wasn’t hard - it definitely was. 

[seungcheol]

ur asking to see my dick??

He waited again. 

[unknown]

yae cheol show me ur gorgeous cock i know it’s better irl than anything i can imagine

She sent another photo, her breasts, her pussy, everything, like she was waiting to be fucked. 

He bit his lip gently, reading the message over again and staring at the photo. 

[seungcheol]

fuck ur beautiful […]

how do you imagine it?

[unknown]

srsly

[seungcheol]

ya srsly […]

tell me

[unknown]

big and thick […]

perfect pink head that i want to lick and suck and tease 

He groaned as he slid his hand under the waistband of his underwear, pumping his cock roughly.

He was used to a few messages here and there, but not an actual conversation. 

[seungcheol]

i want you swallowing me

[unknown]

mhm i’d love you to fuck my mouth […]

nice and rough

He bit his lip, knowing he was on the edge. 

[seungcheol]

want to fuck your pussy too […]

cum inside you […]

fill you up

[unknown]

knew you were nasty […]

so fuckin perf

He was so close to coming. He shoved his underwear off and sat up to snap a photo of himself. Whoever it was, she wasn’t wrong about him. The only thing she missed was the way precum was dripping down his shaft. 

He hit ‘send’ and finished himself off. He took a photo of that too - his still hard cock standing stiff and his cum covered stomach. 

He sent it. 

[unknown]

fuck ur still hard […]

i want u inside me […]

want you fucking me full bby

He grinned as he used his tshirt to wipe his clean up his cum. 

[seungcheol]

i’d have to know who u are first

[unknown]

u do kno me tho

He chewed his lip lightly. 

[seungcheol]

yea but not really

[unknown]

you’ve seen my pussy 

He grinned. 

[seungcheol]

so i should go around looking for the pussy that matches the photos??

[unknown]

no. you should not 

He had never asked who it was. He kind of liked not knowing, or at least knowing it could be almost anyone. 

[unknown]

maybe we could meet

It had been going on for weeks. 

[seungcheol]

you really want to meet?

He waited for an answer, wondering if she was serious. 

[unknown]

maybe […]

see you later cheollie 

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what that meant. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He met you later that day. For whatever reason you’d decided that working together was smarter than competing, so you’d been meeting for the last few weeks to share notes and practice exams. 

He sat in the normal spot where you met, north campus library, fifth floor, near the windows. 

You were a few minutes late, apologizing as you sat down. He smiled, wondering why you cared about being a few minutes late on a Saturday. 

“Good morning?” You asked as you opened your laptop. 

He nodded. “Yeah, you?”

You nodded, smiling. “Really good,” you murmured. 

He blushed slightly - there was something about the way you said it was a really good morning that made his dick twitch. It felt familiar somehow. 

You sighed softly, typing away. He yawned, waiting for you to tell him which exam you wanted to review. 

You glanced at him. “Cute.”

“I was up late.” He shrugged. 

“Oh yeah? What’s her name?”

He snorted. “Her name is beer pong.”

You glanced up, smirking. “So you’re good?”

He nodded. “Pretty good, yeah.”

You smiled. “Hmm, just pretty good or actually good?”

“Actually good.”

You nodded. “Would you maybe want to come to a party with me then?”

You continued to surprise him. Since when had you ever wanted to be seen anywhere with him. 

“Why?”

“Because there’s someone more annoying than you who I really want to beat,” you said with a smile. 

He rolled his eyes. 

You sighed and looked at him. “Okay, look, please, Seungcheol? I just need a partner for like a few rounds, and if we win, I’ll owe you,” you said, your voice was just the tiniest bit whiny. 

It was cute.

He chewed his lip lightly. “Owe me how?”

“One social favor of equal or lesser value,” you said sweetly. 

It was bizarre, but so was everything else. So he agreed.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

He had seen you out before, and he had maybe been stupid enough when he first met you to try to talk to you, thinking that being competitive over grades didn’t extend to social things. And you shot him down blindingly fast.

But tonight was different. 

You invited him over to pre-game before the party. He had stopped questioning anything you did by then.

After a few shots, of course, he followed you into your bedroom. And when you were straddling his lap, kissing him, your hands tangling in his hair, all he could think was that you were on the cusp of fucking.

Until you leaned back, grabbing his hands and guiding them to your thighs, pushing up your skirt. He swallowed hard when he saw.

No underwear. He looked up at you, biting his lip. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

You smiled, leaning close, lips brushing his cheek. “You wanted to meet, right?”

He squeezed your thighs gently. “You?”

“Mmmh, me,” you whispered.

He hummed. “And I thought you hated me.” He fell back on your bed. 

You traced your hands down his chest. “No, you’re just annoying - smart and so annoying.”

He grinned softly, his hands tracing high on your hip and down lower, his fingers skimming just above your pussy. “How’d you even get my number?”

You sighed softly. “You gave it to me first year.” Your hands covered his, pulling them up to your breasts.

He moaned. “Come here,” he whispered, pulling your hips towards him, wanting to eat you from below. He’d been thinking about your pussy all day, not even knowing it was yours, now he wanted to drown in you. 

He licked up into you, tasting you. 

You moaned. “Fuck, don’t stop,” you whined.

He grinned, adding his fingers, like he had any plans to stop what he was doing to you. 

He loved the sounds you made, all the soft whines and the way you whispered his name. Every word was needy and sweet.

And then you came - you leaned forward, bracing yourself against the wall, mewling his name. “Oh fuck, please - please don’t stop.” You were gasping. 

He grabbed your thighs harder, holding you in place, wanting to taste every drop. And when he let you go, he pushed you back onto the bed, pulling off his shirt and yours. He kissed and licked your tits, sucking them roughly, wanting to leave marks.

When he leaned up, he kissed you and felt the way your legs went around his waist. It was the most perfect feeling. 

He leaned up, looking at you, tracing his fingers along your cheek and jaw. “So perfect,” he whispered. 

You smiled. “You too.” He felt the way your hands traced along his pecs and down his stomach. 

He ducked back down, kissing you more, loving how sloppy and messy it was. 

And when you were both finally naked and his cock was buried in your pussy, he couldn’t help the way he snapped his hips. Or the rough contact his pelvis made with yours. You sounded so wet, he couldn’t help himself. The way you came was so good. So fucking good. 

And when he was finally spent, he felt like he melted against you, pulling you close. He needed to feel your skin against his, even while he slept. 

You were definitely his now.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

a/n: because cheol is always on my mind ^^

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥

angst - [ a ] || fluff - [ f ] || smut - [ s ]

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight |୨୧| cold fire (cheol only - attorney au)

|୨୧| drabbles:

co-worker & spanking [ s ] |୨୧| gamer boy [ s ] |୨୧| professor one [ s ] | valentine's day [ f ] |୨୧| 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚌.𝚜𝚌 [ s ] #kat_drabbles

|୨୧| fluff:

profound, not sudden [ f ]

|୨୧| oneshots:

bisou bisou request #001 [ s ] ||

|୨୧| series:

obvious affection [ pt. 1 f ] [ pt. 2 f & s ]

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ]

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇. 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊 [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ]

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 [ master list ] [ pt. 1 s ] [ pt. 2 s ] [ pt. 3 f & s ] [ pt. 4 f ]

|୨୧| seungcheol bingo [ all s] :

knotting + marking |

professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) |

monster |

spanking (neighbor seungcheol) |

big dick + hate sex |

forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) |

voyeurism + punishment |

coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) |

bodyguard + drunk confession |

anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing (all up to you part i) |

big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) |

sexual frustration + ex sex |

|୨୧| omegaverse (a/b/o):

alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] ||

never let you go [master list] [part 1 f & s] [part 2 f ] ||

[ taglist ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @thepoopdokyeomtouched [e - multi/priv] ☁︎ @tokitosun [ e - one/multi ] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [ e - drabbles/one/multi/master list ] ☁︎

☁︎ @living0livia [c.sc - e ] ☁︎

[synity]

DID I EARNED YOUR LOVE, MY DEAR?

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*Single parent romance, slow-burn, Domestic Life, soft love, Romance, CEO AU, YN as a Lawyer, Drama, Rich Man Trope, Emotional Healing, Emotional Angst, Soft Male Lead, Domestic Bliss, Wholesome short Smut*

The sun was beginning to set behind the tall buildings, casting long shadows over the busy park. The squeals of children echoed as they ran across the grass, their parents trailing behind with strollers or iced coffees. Somewhere on a wooden bench, Y/N sat a tired but elegant figure, dressed in business-casual slacks, hair pinned back in a loose bun, watching her daughter tug at her coat sleeve.

"Mommy, can I have ice cream, please?" her daughter pleaded, big brown eyes wide and hopeful.

Y/N sighed softly, offering a strained smile. “Sweetheart, not today. You already had sweets at daycare, remember?”

“But that was a cookie,” the little girl argued, crossing her arms with a pout. “That doesn’t count.”

Y/N chuckled under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Between meetings, case files, and chasing her deadlines, she hadn’t even had time for lunch or for herself. Being a full-time lawyer and a single mom wasn’t just exhausting it was isolating. No one really understood the weight unless they were living it too.

She looked down at her daughter, heart softening. “I know, baby. I just Mommy doesn’t have the money for extra things today, okay?”

“Okay…” came the soft reply, barely audible. The pout deepened as the little girl looked longingly at the ice cream truck a few feet away.

Just then, a shadow appeared beside them. Y/N turned, instinctively cautious, until her eyes landed on a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit. His hair was swept back neatly, eyes warm but slightly amused, and his wrist well, it gleamed with the unmistakable shine of a Rolex Daytona. Behind him on the street, a Lamborghini Veneno, sleek and silver, shimmered in the dying sunlight.

“Excuse me,” the man said, voice smooth and deep. “I couldn’t help but overhear... ice cream dilemma?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Um”

He smiled. “Would it be alright if I offered to treat your daughter to one? Just one scoop. No pressure.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “Do we... know each other?”

He chuckled softly. “No. Sorry. That must’ve sounded strange.” He crouched slightly to her daughter’s level. “Hi, little one. I’m Seungcheol.”

The girl looked up at her mom, unsure.

Y/N hesitated. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to teach her to take things from strangers.”

Seungcheol nodded, standing back up respectfully. “That’s a good instinct. You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”

She arched a brow. “How do you know that?”

He smiled, almost sheepishly. “I recognize you. Y/N, right? You handled the civil case against KJH Tech a few months ago. Brilliant defense.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, recognition dawning. “...You’re Choi Seungcheol. CEO of Empire Group.”

“In the flesh,” he grinned.

Now that he’d introduced himself, her daughter lit up. “Mommy, is he a superhero?”

Seungcheol laughed. “Something like that. I do fight a lot of evil board meetings.”

Y/N let out a reluctant laugh, softening just a little. “She’s only four. You don’t have to charm her.”

“Too late,” her daughter said, already stepping toward the ice cream truck. “He’s already charming.”

Y/N stared at her daughter, then at Seungcheol, whose expression was full of restrained amusement.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

“Just helping a tiny negotiator get her dessert. Shall we?” he offered, and with a small sigh, Y/N followed them toward the truck.

Moments later, the three of them sat on the bench. The little girl had her rainbow sherbet. Seungcheol had declined one for himself, though he sat comfortably beside Y/N, jacket unbuttoned and shirt sleeves rolled up.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Y/N said softly, watching her daughter swing her legs happily.

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted to. I remember what it’s like growing up wanting something and being told no because of adult stuff. Sometimes... one scoop of ice cream can mean a lot.”

She glanced at him again, this time with less wariness. There was something honest in his words something deeper.

“You have kids?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. Not yet. But I do have a little nephew. And a lot of lonely days in empty penthouses.”

That caught her off guard. She smiled, just slightly. “Is that your way of saying you’re lonely?”

He glanced at her, playful yet sincere. “Maybe.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the pink sky fade into purple as the city lights came alive.

Y/N glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late.”

Her daughter was licking the last of the rainbow sherbet from the paper cup, cheeks sticky, eyes sleepy.

“I’ll call a cab,” Y/N said, standing up and brushing off her slacks.

Seungcheol rose too. “Actually, if you’re comfortable, I could give you a ride home. I’m parked right over there.” He gestured to the Veneno, gleaming under a streetlight like something out of a dream.

Y/N hesitated. Every cautionary instinct in her head flared but he had been nothing but respectful, kind, and patient.

Her daughter looked up hopefully. “Can we go in the shiny car?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even know his middle name.”

“Mr. Choi enough,” the little one declared.

Y/N sighed. “Fine. But I’ll sit in the back with her. And if you drive like you’re in a Fast & Furious movie, I’m reporting you.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

The ride was... surprisingly quiet. Classical music played softly through the speakers not what she expected from a man with that much horsepower. Y/N watched her daughter doze off beside her, head resting on her lap, while Seungcheol navigated through the city with one hand on the wheel and a soft calm over his features.

“Do you always drive this slow?” she teased.

“I drive like I have something to lose,” he answered, without looking back.

That silenced her.

They arrived outside her apartment complex modest, clean, with flower boxes on every balcony.

Seungcheol turned off the ignition but didn’t unbuckle.

“Thanks for today,” Y/N said, lifting her daughter gently into her arms.

“Of course,” he replied, stepping out to open her door. “Listen... if it’s not weird, I’d like to see you both again sometime.”

Y/N blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “you seem like someone I want to know.”

“I’m a single mom. I barely have time for myself.”

“Then maybe I can help change that,” he said softly.

She looked at him, long and hard, then smiled faintly. You’re persistent.”

“I’m rich and lonely. I have time.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “Good night, Mr. Choi.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

As she walked away, he watched her not with desire, not with pity, but with genuine interest. For the first time in years, he felt pulled by someone not because of their beauty or charm... but because of the quiet strength she didn’t even know she had.

A few days passed.

Then, a knock at her office door.

Y/N looked up from her files to see the receptionist peek in.

“Someone’s here for you,” she whispered. “And... he brought coffee.”

Y/N frowned. “I didn’t order—”

Before she could finish, Seungcheol stepped in, holding two cups and a paper bag.

“I bribed your assistant,” he said simply.

Y/N blinked. “How do you know where I work?”

“You told me you were a lawyer,” he said. “I googled.”

“You stalked me.”

“I researched.”

She sighed but couldn’t hide her small smile. “What’s in the bag?”

“Chocolate croissants. And patience. I figured you skipped breakfast again.”

She stared at him, then at the food, then back at him.

“You’re not going to leave until I accept it, are you?”

“I own half the city. I have nowhere else to be.”

Reluctantly, she took the coffee. “Thanks.”

He didn’t sit. He didn’t push. He just said, “Take care of yourself, Y/N. That little girl needs her superhero in full form.”

And then he left.

That night, she stared at the untouched croissant on her kitchen counter. And for the first time in a while... she smiled to herself.

Two weeks had passed.

Y/N had been busier than ever with a heavy case load, long evenings, and rushed mornings. But amidst all the chaos, something had changed. A slow warmth lingered in her chest at the thought of Seungcheol. She didn’t know what to call it yet. Interest? Curiosity? Hope?

Her daughter still talked about him every night before bed “the ice cream friend.” She even drew a picture of the three of them, taped it to the fridge, and gave him bunny ears. Y/N hadn’t taken it down.

So when her phone buzzed that Friday afternoon, she wasn’t entirely surprised to see his name.

SEUNGCHEOL: “I have a plus two ticket to the Seoul Skyline Gala. No pressure. But there will be cotton candy. For the both of you.”

She laughed under her breath.

Y/N: “Cotton candy is bribery.”

SEUNGCHEOL: “Bribery only works if I know your favorite color too. Purple?”

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N: “Fine. But only for her.”

SEUNGCHEOL: “Then I’ll see you at 7.”

She had no idea how he did it, but when she stepped outside with her daughter in a cute little dress, a full black sedan was already waiting. And inside it?

Seungcheol, in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, standing beside the car, adjusting his cuffs.

“You clean up well,” Y/N commented.

“I had to match my dates.”

He reached out his hand not to her, but to her daughter, who took it gleefully and skipped beside him. Y/N blinked. Her chest clenched, and she didn’t know why.

The Seoul Skyline Gala was a rooftop event filled with glittering lights, classical music, and elite guests. But none of that mattered.

Because the moment Seungcheol placed cotton candy in her daughter’s hands and knelt down to her eye level, everything else disappeared.

He wasn’t a billionaire CEO.

He wasn’t a man in a suit and Rolex.

He was just... kind.

And safe.

Y/N stood beside the glass railing, sipping champagne, watching them laugh together.

“Thank you,” she said when he returned.

“For what?”

“For being kind to her. For not treating this like some... weird conquest.”

Seungcheol looked at her gently. “I don’t chase people, Y/N. I just… stay close enough so they know I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes softened.

He continued, voice lower. “What happened to you?”

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“You carry yourself like you’re holding glass under your skin.”

She looked away. “My ex-husband cheated. He left after five years. Claimed he wanted more. Said I was... too much of a mother and not enough of a wife.”

Seungcheol's jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I spent the next two years proving I didn’t need anyone. That I could do everything alone. And I can. But it’s... exhausting.”

He stayed silent for a moment, then asked gently, “And now?”

“Now?” she whispered. “I’m scared to trust anyone who makes things feel easy again.”

Seungcheol reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a napkin. He carefully folded it, then gently dabbed at the tear on her cheek.

“I’m not easy,” he said. “I’m just consistent.”

That night, as he dropped them off again, her daughter fell asleep in the back seat pink cotton candy still clutched in her small hand.

Y/N turned to him before stepping out.

“She’s growing attached.”

He didn’t look away. “So am I.”

It happened on a quiet Saturday morning.

Y/N had taken the day off for the first time in weeks, letting herself rest in the little cocoon of her apartment. Her daughter was drawing in the living room, soft music playing in the background, the kind only comfort knows.

Then her phone buzzed.

SEUNGCHEOL: “You said she liked pancakes. I’m outside. No pressure.”

She opened the door, and there he stood, again — navy sweater, hair tousled, holding a paper bag with a sheepish smile.

“Blueberry or banana?” he asked.

“Both,” she smiled back.

He stepped inside. No fanfare. No grandeur. Just warmth.

They sat on the floor, three plates between them. Her daughter perched in Seungcheol’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then it happened.

She looked up from her pancakes, pointed her tiny fork at him and said, “Appa, can I have juice?”

Y/N froze. So did Seungcheol.

A hush filled the room. Her chest tightened not from fear, but from the weight of what it meant. She turned toward him, ready to apologize, but he only smiled.

A slow, warm, careful smile.

“Of course you can,” he whispered, standing up to grab the juice box from the fridge like nothing happened.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That night, after putting her daughter to sleep, Y/N sat in the living room, knees pulled to her chest, eyes distant. She hadn’t cried not yet but the emotion pressed tightly against her ribs.

Then came the knock.

Seungcheol stood at the doorway again. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

She let him in wordlessly.

They sat beside each other, not touching, not speaking until Y/N finally let her shoulders fall.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said. “I thought I was doing okay on my own.”

“You were,” he answered. “You are. But you don’t have to be alone to be strong.”

She turned her head, looked at him.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice trembling. “What if she gets used to you? And you walk away too?”

He met her gaze with all the gravity of a man who had already made up his mind.

“i would never leave you.”

His words were so soft they barely existed. But they anchored everything inside her.

Then and only then she let herself fall forward, into his chest. His arms wrapped around her instinctively. Gentle. Firm. Present.

Her voice was muffled in his shoulder.

“She called you Appa.”

“i heard,” he whispered.

“does it scare you?”

He pulled back, just enough to look at her face. Then leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her forehead reverent, unhurried.

“No,” he said. “It makes me want to earn it.”

The mornings started to feel warmer.

It wasn’t the weather it was Seungcheol. Showing up with freshly brewed coffee, tying her daughter’s shoelaces while whistling a tune, helping with homework at night, or building a bookshelf in the living room while she cooked.

He never asked for anything in return. Not even her heart.

But he was earning it one small, selfless act at a time.

Y/N caught herself smiling more. Laughing at the dumb dad jokes he told over breakfast. Resting her head on his shoulder while they watched late-night documentaries neither of them could finish.

Even her daughter had changed. Brighter. More talkative. She beamed every time Seungcheol entered the room.

One night, after a quiet dinner, Y/N said, “You know you don’t have to do all of this.”

Seungcheol only looked up with those warm, steady eyes. “I know. But I want to.”

It was on a Friday evening that the past tried to claw its way back.

Y/N had just returned from the grocery store, balancing bags in both hands, her daughter trailing behind. When she turned the corner toward her apartment, she froze.

Her ex was standing at the door.

Tall, sharp, polished like the lawyer he always was. Cold eyes. Crooked smirk.

“You blocked my number,” he said casually. “Figured I’d come by instead.”

Y/N stepped in front of her daughter instinctively. “Leave.”

“I just want to see her.”

“She’s not a visit. She’s a person.”

He stepped forward. “You’re not the only parent—”

“Is there a problem?” The voice came from behind. Deep. Calm. Seungcheol.

He was dressed down in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a small cake box the one her daughter loved from the bakery downtown. But there was no warmth in his eyes now. Just protective fire.

Her ex blinked. “Who are you?”

Seungcheol set the box down carefully on the bench.

“I’m the man who shows up. The one who’s here every day. And the one you’ll step away from if you know what’s good for you.”

For the first time in a long time, Y/N saw fear flicker in her ex’s expression.

“This is between me and her,” he snapped.

Seungcheol stepped in front of Y/N, eyes unflinching. “No. Not anymore.”

He didn’t leave her side after that.

Not that night. Not the next day. He even made a point to speak with her lawyer, just in case. Not because he wanted to take over but because he cared.

Y/N finally let herself cry in the safety of his arms, whispering, “Thank you… I didn’t know I needed that.”

Seungcheol brushed her hair back gently, kissing her temple.

“You deserve someone who makes you feel safe.”

She stared up at him, heart thudding. “You really aren’t going anywhere, are you?”

He smiled that soft, unshakable Seungcheol smile. “Not unless you make me.”

Seungcheol had barely stepped out of his fifth meeting of the day when his phone buzzed quietly on the glass table.

Y/N [2:12 PM]: “Don’t forget to eat something, Cheol. We miss you.”

His heart softened. Sweat trickled down his temple as he slipped off his suit jacket, loosening his tie. The conference room was quiet now, just him and the lingering scent of espresso. He stared at her message longer than he needed to.

He hadn’t been home in two nights. Back-to-back board meetings, investor dinners, press releases. His company was merging with another global enterprise, and he had no choice but to carry the weight of the entire operation on his shoulders.

But no matter how many zeros were in his bank account, nothing tugged at his soul quite like missing time with Y/N and her daughter.

No their daughter. He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but that’s how it felt.

That night, Y/N sat at the kitchen table alone. Her daughter, Minji, was drawing little hearts on a napkin with a pink crayon. The house was quieter than usual.

“Mommy,” Minji asked, head tilting. “Is he busy again today?”

Y/N forced a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind Minji’s ear. “He is, baby. He’s got very big responsibilities.”

“But he said he’d read me the new penguin story.”

Y/N's heart squeezed.

Just then, the door clicked.

Minji jumped to her feet, eyes wide. “daddy!”

Seungcheol stood in the entryway, hair messy, still in a suit but without the tie, holding a large penguin plushie.

“I heard someone was waiting for storytime,” he smiled breathlessly.

Minji ran into his arms, knocking the plushie down. Y/N watched in surprise as Seungcheol sank to his knees, scooping her up.

“I told you I’d make it. I always keep my promises,” he whispered, brushing a kiss on Minji’s forehead.

He looked up at Y/N, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and love. “And I missed you too.”

A few days later, Seungcheol had a major shareholders gala. The venue buzzed with elite guests, journalists, and flashing cameras. Y/N had decided not to attend Minji wasn’t feeling well.

But Seungcheol couldn’t stop thinking about them.

He pulled away from a conversation about crypto integration to check his phone. No message. He frowned.

When he returned home late that night, the lights were dim. Y/N was asleep on the couch, Minji curled beside her. A cup of untouched chamomile tea sat on the side table.

He knelt next to them, brushing his fingers through Y/N’s hair, then gently covered them with a blanket.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here tonight,” he whispered.

Before leaving for his morning flight the next day, he left a box on the kitchen counter.

Inside: a silver bracelet with Minji’s name engraved, and a note:

“You’re the rhythm to my days. The reason I work this hard. I’m yours, always. -Cheol”

A week later, Seungcheol hosted a staff appreciation dinner. Y/N and Minji arrived to support him, and the sight of them made him grin like a fool.

He bent down to Minji’s level. “You look like a princess.”

Minji beamed. “And you’re the king”

One of his board members leaned down. “And who is this young lady to you, CEO Choi?”

Minji answered for him.

“I’m his daughter!”

A ripple of surprised smiles went around the table.

Seungcheol didn’t even flinch. “Yes. She is.”

That night, in their bedroom, Y/N turned to him, emotional.

“Cheol... you didn’t have to say that in front of everyone.”

He gently cupped her face. “It’s not a secret, Y/N. I love you both. You're my family. Even when I can’t be around all the time, you’re the reason I do any of this.”

She teared up quietly, leaning into his chest.

Minji peeked from the door, rubbing her eyes. “Can I sleep with you two?”

Seungcheol smiled, opening his arms. “Always.”

That night, the CEO who ruled boardrooms with his cold gaze lay tangled in soft limbs, with a little girl snoring against his chest, and the love of his life resting on his shoulder.

Even in his busiest days, he never forgot where home truly was.

Y/N was hesitant at first leaving Minji with her brother Mingyu wasn’t something she did often. But after the whirlwind of deadlines and meetings, Seungcheol insisted she take a night off.

“Mingyu’s a pro,” Seungcheol said with a grin, slipping on his coat. “He’ll keep Minji entertained and safe.”

Mingyu, ever the charming and easygoing older brother, flashed his signature smile. “Don’t worry, sis. I got this. We’ll have fun. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded enthusiastically, already clutching her favorite storybook.

As soon as Y/N stepped out, the house shifted into a quieter rhythm. Mingyu immediately made a fortress of cushions and blankets in the living room, transforming the space into a mini castle.

“Princess Minji, your knight has arrived!” Mingyu announced, brandishing a toy sword.

Minji giggled, eyes sparkling. “I’m the queen!”

The two spent hours building the fortress, reading stories, and watching cartoons. Mingyu even attempted to bake cookies with hilarious results as the kitchen ended up covered in flour.

At one point, Minji tugged on Mingyu’s sleeve. “Can we play the dance game now?”

Mingyu laughed and pulled her up. “Only if you promise to win.”

Their laughter echoed warmly through the house, a soft contrast to the elegance awaiting Y/N just miles away.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol had planned every detail to perfection.

The restaurant was a hidden gem an exquisite rooftop venue overlooking the city skyline, bathed in soft golden light and the shimmer of stars.

Seungcheol took Y/N’s hand as they stepped onto the terrace. She was stunning in a simple yet elegant dress, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air.

“Cheol,” she whispered, heart fluttering, “this is beautiful.”

He smiled, pulling out her chair with a gentleman’s grace.

As they dined on delicate dishes, their conversation flowed effortlessly about dreams, struggles, and the small moments that made life extraordinary.

Then, as dessert arrived a delicate chocolate soufflé adorned with fresh berries Seungcheol stood.

“Y/N,” he began, voice steady yet filled with emotion, “from the moment I met you and Minji, my world changed. You’ve given me a family, a home I never knew I needed.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box.

“I don’t want to imagine my future without you in it. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in Y/N’s eyes as she nodded, unable to speak.

Seungcheol slid the ring onto her finger a simple band with a sparkling diamond that caught the light like her smile.

Back at home, Mingyu was settling Minji into bed when her phone buzzed.

A picture popped up Y/N’s hand glowing with the ring, and Seungcheol’s smiling face beside her.

Mingyu clapped his hands excitedly.

Morning After

Sunlight spilled softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the quiet house. Y/N woke slowly, the sparkling ring still snug on her finger, a gentle reminder of last night’s unforgettable moment.

Beside her, the soft breathing of Minji filled the room. Carefully, Y/N sat up, smiling as she watched her daughter sleep peacefully, the peacefulness a stark contrast to the storm of emotions in her heart.

The door creaked open and Mingyu slipped inside, holding two steaming mugs of coffee and a sleepy but excited Minji trailing behind him.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” Mingyu whispered, setting the mugs down on the bedside table.

Minji climbed up onto the bed, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Mama, Mama!” she squealed, pulling at Y/N’s hand. “Is the pretty shiny thing new? What’s that?”

Y/N looked down at her hand, then at her daughter’s eager face, and laughed softly.

“Yes, it’s new. Daddy gave it to me. He asked me to marry him.”

Minji’s eyes widened in awe.

“Really? Like a princess and a prince?”

Y/N nodded, brushing Minji’s hair back.

“Exactly like that. And you, my little princess, are part of our family forever.”

Minji beamed, wrapping her tiny arms around Y/N.

“I’m so happy, Mama.”

Mingyu chuckled from the doorway, leaning casually.

“You two look really good together. Seungcheol’s lucky.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing Minji’s hand.

“This is just the beginning.”

The Wedding Day

Sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bridal suite, painting everything in hues of soft gold and warm pink. Y/N lay on the plush chaise lounge, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. Today wasn’t just a celebration it was a milestone she’d never dared imagine for herself: marrying Seungcheol, the man who had broken through every wall she’d built around her heart, the man who loved her and her daughter fiercely.

The room was quiet except for the soft murmur of the makeup artist’s brushes and the gentle hum of the city beyond. Y/N’s gown hung on a nearby rack an elegant ivory masterpiece embroidered with delicate lace and tiny pearls that shimmered faintly. It was perfect, like a dream she was only half awake for.

Her fingers traced the intricate fabric, and a warm smile tugged at her lips. She thought back to the very first time Seungcheol had truly seen her beyond her guarded exterior at the park with Minji, her daughter. The memory made her heart ache with how far they had come.

A knock came at the door. The florist arrived with a final bouquet of gardenias and white roses, their scent delicate yet intoxicating. She inhaled deeply, feeling grounded.

“Are you ready?” the makeup artist asked softly.

Y/N nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Downstairs, the garden was transformed into a scene from a fairy tale. White chairs lined both sides of a long aisle adorned with soft petals. Elegant chandeliers hung from the branches of ancient oaks, casting a magical glow. Friends and close family mingled quietly, their faces bright with anticipation.

Seungcheol stood at the altar, every inch the composed and charismatic man everyone admired. His tuxedo fit him like a second skin, crisp and tailored. But the moment his eyes found Y/N’s as she appeared at the end of the aisle, the strong CEO melted away, replaced by a man utterly vulnerable and utterly in love.

His breath hitched the tiniest bit as she moved toward him, the soft click of her heels a steady rhythm that matched his pounding heart.

Their vows were exchanged with shaking hands and tears. Seungcheol’s voice was thick with emotion.

“I vow to protect you, Y/N, and to love your daughter as if she were my own. To be the man you deserve, the one who lifts you when the world gets heavy. I promise to build a home with you not just of bricks and mortar, but of trust, laughter, and endless patience.”

Y/N’s voice wavered as she replied, “You’ve given me hope when I thought it was lost. I vow to stand beside you, through every joy and every storm. To cherish you and our family with all my heart.”

Seungcheol slipped the ring onto her finger with reverence. “Forever starts now.”

The reception that followed was filled with laughter, music, and dancing. Minji ran around in a tiny flower girl dress, her eyes bright with happiness. Y/N watched Seungcheol dance with her daughter, his stern demeanor completely replaced by tenderness.

The night wrapped itself around the happy couple like a soft blanket, and soon, it was time to retreat to the honeymoon suite.

Wedding Night

The suite was breathtaking a spacious sanctuary decorated in creamy whites and soft golds, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. A fire flickered gently in the marble fireplace, casting a warm glow. The bed was draped with silk sheets, and rose petals were scattered like a delicate carpet.

Seungcheol closed the door behind them, turning to Y/N with a softness that took her breath away.

“Today was perfect,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But tonight… tonight is ours.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened. She stepped closer, her fingers tangling in the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

“I’ve waited for this moment,” she whispered.

Their lips met, tentative at first, then with growing hunger. Seungcheol’s hands explored the curves of her waist, pulling her flush against him. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of them the past pain, the battles fought, and the walls broken down all faded away beneath the heat of their connection.

He guided her to the bed, every movement deliberate and gentle, his eyes never leaving hers. His touch was reverent, like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held.

As he undressed her slowly, revering every inch of skin revealed, Y/N felt cherished beyond words. There was no rush, no pressure only an overwhelming tenderness that made her feel safe and adored.

Seungcheol’s kisses traced the lines of her collarbone and shoulders, his hands memorizing the softness of her skin. When he finally entered her, it was slow and deep, a perfect rhythm that spoke of intimacy and trust.

They moved together, their breaths mingling, hearts beating in sync. Every whisper, every sigh, every touch wove them closer two souls intertwining in a dance as old as time.

Seungcheol’s voice was low in her ear. “I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”

Tears of joy glistened on her cheeks. “I love you too.”

Hours passed like minutes, the night holding them in a cocoon of love and devotion.

Months after the wedding, the small bundle of joy arrived a son, perfect and whole, a living testament to their love and resilience.

Y/N held him in her arms, exhausted yet radiant. Seungcheol stood beside her, tears streaming silently down his face as he kissed her temple.

“Our family,” he breathed.

Minji peered shyly from behind the curtains, eyes wide with wonder at her new baby brother.

Seungcheol pulled Y/N close, whispering promises for their future. “We’ll protect them. We’ll build a life filled with love and laughter.”

Y/N smiled through her tears, knowing that whatever challenges came, they would face them together. For now, their hearts were full of love, hope, and the beautiful life they had created.

[cvnt4him]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well, I’ve been a silent fan for a while and I really appreciate and love your work so I wanted to request how Katsuki and/or izuku would would react to reader flashing them during or after a heated argument If you could :)) you decide if you want it to be smut or not, Thank you!!

ty for your love and support! I giggled while reading this lol

Katsukiᡣ𐭩

during an argument.

Katsuki was really heated this evening and you certainly hadn't made anything better with your bickering. It's not as if you yourself were upset, you were just nagging a bit. Katsuki, as someone who is normally really clean and good at picking up behind himself, just trudged through your front door shedding his shoes in the living room and flopping down onto your couch. Not greeting or saying hello to you, not offering to help or take a load off of you. Nothing.

You understand he's been working today but a hello would've been more than enough for you. You've just missed him a bit more than normal that morning and wanted to feel his touch. You spoke only a word to him about how you felt and he was already giving you an attitude. You could only scoff at his sass and angry voice. Most of the time when he got angry you'd get angry, but this time you couldn't handle him.

You really didn't feel like arguing or just yelling back at him. With a blank face you just stared at him as he spat words out at you while he sat back against the couch. You sigh to yourself and simply lift your shirt and allow your boobs to freely fall out. Katsuki who was staring directly at you watched your every movement as he spoke, not expecting you to do that he suddenly stops speaking.

You raise one brow and try your hardest not to snicker at his surprised expression, a dust of pink brushing his cheeks. You heard a small breath leave his slackened jaw as he stared you up and down for a couple of minutes. You pull your shirt down and clear your throat before addressing him.

“ now then.. are you done? Jesus, katsuki, all I wanted was a hello and for you to not throw your things-”

Before you could finish your sentence he was quick to get up and throw you over his shoulder. You yell out and question what he's doing.

“ if yer so keen on talking over me; let's see if you can even get a word out when I'm through with ya.”

Izukuᡣ𐭩

after an argument.

You just wanted to feel appreciated was all, you did your best with dinner and looking well for him only to get nothing in return. You wish you hadn't had blown up on him, and it really did break your heart having him yell at you...but goodness that angry expression he had, the way he grit his teeth and breathed heavily. You could see a tinge of regret behind his eyes, he isn't one to normally snap so easily.

The two of you took a bit of a break from each other, just taking 5 minutes in separate rooms to cook off. You were never really angry, sure a bit upset but you just wanted your husband. That need for him never went away it only grew.

Izuku, ready to apologize, walked back into your shared bedroom to address the situation. He felt he'd gone too far and that arguing and him raising his voice wasn't necessary. Things could've been resolved in better ways by simply talking them out.

As you heard your husband out, watching as he spoke with his hands as well as his apologetic voice. You simply smiled at him, watching as his sad eyes had trouble staying connected to yours. Your hands slowly brang themselves up to your shirt and you lifted it just as slowly allowing you to tease him a bit. He immediately stopped talking and his eyes flickered from your eyes straight to your bare chest his jaw falling slack as his eyes widened. A small noise leaving him as he completely forgot what he was talking about.

You remove your shirt as a whole and walk towards him in only your underwear, his hand immediately flying to your sides as he gulps down struggling to look at you.

“ I know another way....you can make it up to me.”

“...deal.”

[pagesfromthevoid]

Future Fest | b. f. | 2

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

She briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted. 

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Author's Note: My hand slipped

Part 1 | Talk to Me! | AO3

Bob is sitting to the side with Phoenix, anxiously shaking his leg. He’s been checking his phone every five minutes it feels like, waiting for a text from her. They’ve been at the Hard Deck for an hour or so. He’s pretty sure the school let out at four, but he wasn’t positive. Maybe she’d forgotten; he’s kicking himself for not getting her number instead. 

“I can’t believe we go to a school thing and Baby on Board here manages to snag a teacher,” Hangman complains, hitting the cue ball across the table. He stands up straight, motioning to him. “C’mon. Look at him. No offense, I mean.”

“You really gotta stop saying ‘no offense’ when you say shitty things, Bagman,” Phoenix comments, rolling her eyes.

“She’s got a point,” Bob finally offers, looking up from his phone. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, keeping them in place. But he knows he has a shit eating grin on his face. “You’re the one that went out to lunch –I just happened to have stayed back. Right time, right place.”

“Don’t get cocky on us, Bobby,” Hangman warns, pointing the pool stick at him. “She hasn’t even texted you yet, has she?”

Bob deflates some, nodding sheepishly. Then, as if the universe wanted him to have a win, his phone buzzes.

Hey! It’s your new favorite teacher :) 

He grins at the text, unable to help himself. Hangman groans in the background, but Bob isn’t paying any attention to him now as he focuses on what to say. Then he decides to be honest –it only made sense.

Glad you texted me. I was starting to kick myself for not getting your number lol.

There’s a beat, and he stares at the screen and the little bubble that pops up as she’s typing. 

I’m pretty sure if I didn’t text you, my kids would have found out and murdered me. They’re so nosey lol

“You gonna play, Bob, or you gonna sit there and make eyes at your phone?” Fanboy teases, coming around to throw his arm around his shoulders. “Let’s see what your new friend is saying –,”

But Bob moves out of reach, holding his phone away from his friend as he stands up. “Knock it off –I’ll shoot later. I’ll be back in a sec.”

They all holler after him as he moves his way through the crowd and out the back doors. He considers, for a moment, if he should just call her. Would that be weird? He doesn’t really like texting; there could only be so much behind the words and it’s easy to misunderstand. And truthfully, he wants to hear her voice again.

He caves, and she picks up the first ring.

“I think you must have been able to read my mind,” she says from the other end of the call, and he can just see the pretty smile on her face. “I was just thinking I wanted to hear your voice.”

He blushes, running a hand over his jaw as he grins to himself. Then he sits on one of the chairs outside the bar, kicking his feet out. “I’m glad I’m not the only one, then,” he admits with a small chuckle. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Chaotic,” she admits with a laugh of her own. And Bob swears he’s never heard anything so sweet. “Once you left, the kids lost their damn minds on me. They’re so nosey –I couldn’t get them to focus at all.”

“I got the impression they’re a bit nosey,” he agrees, leaning back in the chair. “Are they always following you around, or was today a special sort of day?”

She sighs in a wistful sort of way, and he imagines her sitting in her living room. Maybe she’s relaxed after a long day, maybe she’s winding down. “Today was a special sort of day, but I do usually have a group that eats lunch with me every day. They were especially mad that I kicked them out.”

“I’ll have to make it up to them,” he offers without a second thought, sitting up again as Rooster comes outside. The pilot gives him a questioning thumbs up and Bob returns it with a smile. “I can bring lunch for them sometime, if you’d like.”

“Lieutenant Floyd, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to earn brownie points by being so nice to my students.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “Is it working?”

“It is,” she admits, and he covers his mouth because he knows he’s smiling like a damn fool. Even if she’s not here to see it, he can’t help it. “Let’s have that date before we start bribing my students to like you though.”

“I can make that happen,” he concedes, leaning forward now to rest his arms on the tops of his knees. “How’s Friday sound? I can pick you at six –there’s a nice little place on the water. The sunset’s always real pretty there.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” she agrees. “I’ll text you my address. What should I wear?”

“Anything you want.”

She hums at this, and he wonders what she’s thinking. But the thought is banished when she speaks again. “Well, I’ll see you on Friday, Lieutenant Floyd. I have to finish grading these essays before then, or our date will consist of you helping me grade.”

“I can do that too,” he offers without missing a beat. 

“I…really believe you would do that,” she admits with a soft laugh. “Text me, though. Seriously. I can’t chat on the phone, but I…I would like to keep talking to you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says confidently. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

He hangs up the phone and stares at the screen with what’s probably the dopiest grin possible. Bob stays there for a little while longer, texting back and forth with her until Fanboy comes out and forces him back inside.

I want to say duty calls, but all that really means is that they need me to drive them home –have a goodnight. I’ll see you soon

There’s not a beat missed when she replies back,

I can’t wait, Lt. Floyd. Goodnight.

There’s a little blue heart at the end of the text, and Bob swears that it makes his heart lurch in his chest. He’s already a smitten fool for a girl he just met; the team is going to give him so much shit.

*****

She’s not pacing exactly, but she’s definitely not standing still as she waits for Bob. 

She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous; they’ve been texting back and forth all week and she called him at least twice after the initial chat. But she is, and so she’s finding things to do so she doesn’t sit and stew in her nerves. Touching up her lipstick, switching out the jewelry she’s wearing, changing her shoes…until there’s a soft knock on the front door and she takes a quick breath in.

“I got this,” she reassures herself, slipping her sandals back on, then opening the door. 

Bob is standing there with a bouquet of flowers. He’s not in his uniform today; just a light blue flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans. But she can’t help but think he’s just as handsome as the first time she saw him. 

She’s distracted, and he clears his throat, but there’s a sheepish smile on his face as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure what flowers you liked, so I got probably one of everything.”

“These are beautiful,” she finally manages to say, taking them in her hands. “You can come in –I’ll put these in a vase then we can go.”

He follows her to the kitchen, where she fumbles around for a moment until she finds a vase big enough. She can feel his eyes on her for a moment but when she turns around, he’s looking at the photos on the wall just outside the kitchen. She comes up behind him, pointing at one of her as a little girl, with bright pink hair, and a younger boy with a green mohawk.

“That’s my little brother and I when we went back to Seattle for the first time since moving here,” she explains with a fond smile. “We weren’t supposed to be going anywhere, so my mom let us dye our hair and cut it up for the summer. My grandma got sick though and we had to go up there to help…My mom got the nastiest looks in the airport.” 

“You miss it up there?” He asks, looking down at her.

“Sometimes, but it’s too cold for me now.”

He nods in agreement as she motions for him to follow again, grabbing her purse. “I was stationed briefly up in Bremerton, at Naval Base Kitsap. It rains…a lot.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she laughs, shutting the door behind them. “Cold and wet. If it wasn’t so pretty, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live here.”

He opens the passenger door of his truck without hesitation, holding out his hand to help her in. She blushes at the motion, smiling to herself as she settles into the seat. 

The drive isn’t long, and when they arrive, they’re seated out on the deck, right on the beach. The sun is just setting, and she thinks it’s the most magical thing she’s seen in years. Then, he pulls out her chair for her there as well. She wants to thank his mother for raising a proper gentleman, because she can’t remember the last time anyone pulled out her chair for her or helped her get into the car. 

“Where are you from, Lieutenant?” She asks after the waiter takes their drink order.

“Montana,” he offers with a grin. “And you can just call me Bob.”

“Bob from Montana,” she repeats, nodding as if she suddenly understood a lot about him. “That does explain the accent –that midwestern chivalry too. Were you a cowboy before you were an officer, Bobby?”

He leans back in his seat a bit, watching her with that same grin he gave her at lunch the other day. “I did work on my family farm –can’t say I was a cowboy, though.”

“Shame, I bet you’d look cute in a cowboy hat.”

He blushes at that, and she laughs as she lifts her wine glass to her lips. “What made you wanna join the Navy? Isn’t Montana landlocked?”

He nods in confirmation, looking over at the water for a moment. “My dad, and his dad, and his dad before him –they were all military. It wasn’t even a second thought to join. But I wanted to work with planes, so the Navy had my best chance at that.”

“How often do you deploy?” She asks, and it’s a question she doesn’t really want an answer to, but she knows she needs to get it out of the way now before she’s hooked. Though, it might be too late.

“I just recently got back from deployment,” he explains, leaning his elbows on the table to look at her. His tone has shifted some, a bit more serious than before. “I’ll be here for a while, I think –they’re having our squad train a few teams of pilots on a new weapons system.”

“So that bodes well for a second date,” she offers, trying to ease any tension or concern he might have.

His smile says it all as he nods. “I think it does, yeah.”

The rest of the evening goes just as smoothly, conversation flowing easily between the two of them. They talk and eat, sharing a variety of things about themselves. She tells him about her favorite books, both personally and the ones she likes to teach. He tells her about his favorite movies and what he did before he moved to California. They don’t have a lot of things in common, but she tells him she’s interested in the things he talks about and is open to trying new things –but he has to be the one introducing them to her. He shares the sentiment, a grin on his face.

By the time the check comes, neither of them want the night to end.

“C’mon,” he suggests, taking her hand in his.

She follows without question, distracted by how large his hand is compared to hers. How calloused it is, which she knows is because of his work. There’s a brief moment where she considers how they would feel on other parts of her body, and the thought makes her flush as he pulls her down the boardwalk to the beach.

They slip off their shoes, leaving them up on the boardwalk in hopes they’re there when they get back. Feeling a little more bold, she pulls herself close to his side as they walk, other hand moving to hold onto his arm. Bob looks down at her, and even in the dark, she can see the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“I’m having a great time tonight, Bob,” she sighs when they stop, sitting down in the sand. She rests her head on his shoulder, still holding his hand, and looks out over the water. “Thank you for this.”

He squeezes her hand gently, and she can feel him looking down at her. “Thank you for saying yes. I’m not…usually one to ask a pretty girl out the moment I meet her. But I’m glad I did.”

She looks up at him, and they lock eyes for a second. A fondness is in his eyes —more than just a passing date or two, but actual care —and she smiles. There’s a charge between them; a tension that they both know all too well. It’s just up to them now to decide who's going to give into it first. 

“I’d like to kiss you,” he admits, and she can’t help but let out a laugh. Because of course he’d ask; he’s too sweet not to. 

“I’d like it if you did too,” she promises. 

And that’s all it takes for Bob to lean in and close the gap between them. He’s soft, but a bit urgent, like he’s afraid if he stops, he’ll never get to kiss her again. But when she reaches up and touches his cheek, deepening the kiss, he slows down just enough to let her enjoy the feeling of his mouth on hers. 

He tastes sweet —and a little salty, though that could be the ocean sticking to their skin. His hands find her waist, and he’s pushing her back into the sand. Her tongue traces along his bottom lip, a silent question of more. And he accepts, half on top of her, as she tangles her tongue with his.

She thinks she’s definitely hooked now. There’s no way she’s not; his weight against her, his hands on her hips. He tastes like honeysuckle and vanilla, and she briefly considers that if he asked her, she’d go anywhere he wanted. 

When they finally pull apart —half because they need to breath and half because neither of them want to push this any further in the sand —he rests his forehead against hers. That boyish grin is plastered on his face, and her lips are swollen from kissing. They’re staring at each other like they think they both hold the stars in their eyes. 

“Can we skip to the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend?” She asks, voice soft as they sit up slowly. 

“After one date?” He points out, but not because he doesn’t want to. But because he’s surprised she does. “I…yeah. Absolutely.” She stares at him expectantly, grinning at him until he catches on. Then he nods quickly, fixing his glasses like it’s a nervous habit. “Sorry, yeah —I’d…I’d kill for you to be my girl, if you’d want that?”

“I do like the sound of being called your girl,” she admits, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently. “I definitely want that, Bobby.”

He nods again, unable to help the smile that’s spreading across his face. Then he’s kissing her again, like his life depends on it. But she’s laughing into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“My girl,” he whispers against her lips when he pulls away. 

“Your girl.” 

[rottingghosty]

Wayne Enterprise DILFs | DP x DC

this just in local 23 year old forgets they wear glasses and i’m at work lmao

in this prompt / au ish kinda thing, danny’s around i would say late 20s so he gets along well with the younger bat clan members because he’s just an honorary family member at this point. he’s also an enabler to bruce and thus a retaliation had to be made (im a firm believer that danny gets tall and buff when he gets proper nutrition and is built like a tank)

☁️☁️☁️☁️

Danny squints at his notepad, the words were small and blurry enough that not even squinting helped clear up whatever was written on it. He’d forgotten his glasses— something that occurs occasionally when he’s trying not to be late to work and it always ends with him struggling. Beside him was Bruce who seemed to equally be squinting at the tablet but at an arms length compared to when Danny brought it up to his face.

“I think this is why my kids keep telling me to get my eyes checked.” Bruce mumbles and Danny can’t help but let out a small snort in amusement. Danny’s aware of how often Bruce’s children nag on the older man about getting his eyes checked now that he’s ‘getting up there in years’ as one Tim Drake said.

“Tell me about it, my youngest— Eleanor but we call her Ellie always nagged on me until I finally went to our family doctor to see. She turned out to be right but I forgot my pair today.”

His pair that were gently coated in ectoplasm since apparently normal glasses couldn’t help with his heightened senses that his ghostly side leaks over to his human side and it’s why he needed them. Frostbite had been eager to get him a pair, something that Danny wanted to be upset about but the gentle yeti was too caring for Danny to deny him.

“Don’t worry about it chum, I’m sure we’ll figure out what’s on the schedule for today.” Bruce says and Danny gives the man an encouraging smile.

“Danny.” Tim’s voice says with a heavy sigh and instinctively Danny wilts like a flower and hangs his head low. That was Tim’s ‘disappointed but being polite about it’ tone and Danny hates that tone because it means Danny made a mistake. Mistakes made by Danny must be made better by Danny by doing something like joining the Wayne family dinners or even— he shivers— modeling for when one of the Waynes can’t do a photo shoot.

“Tim.” He curtly replied as Tim shook his head and placed his hands on his desk.

“Please tell me you didn’t forget your glasses today.”

Danny pressed his lips together.

“Well.”

“Danny.”

He huffs as he picks his head up and crosses his arms, leaning back against the comfortable couch in Tim’s office because that man took power naps like it was his third job. Danny isn’t stupid, he knows the Waynes are the vigilantes that go out but he dutifully ignores that fact and doesn’t say anything because he likes this well paying job even if he’s really a bodyguard posing as a secretary for Bruce.

“I may have misplaced them today.”

Tim groaned loudly in response as Bruce’s lips curled in amusement, Bruce waited for Tim to turn away from them to slide Danny a hundred dollar bill which Danny silently pocketed.

He wasn’t going to snitch out his boss that the reason Danny and Bruce Wayne were seen at an aquatic center to help teach kids to swim that ended up with Bruce ‘tripping’ and falling into pool nearby was because a kid ‘pushed’ him. Really, Tim should know better than to think Danny was going to say no to acting undercover so Bruce can get clues about a case he was working on.

It’s Batman! He’s not going to deny Batman. Even if the two completely scrapped whatever schedule was made to do their own thing.

“I’m telling Alfred. We’re also getting you glasses old man, I’m not accepting any excuses anymore!”

Both Bruce and Danny gave offended gasps.

It’d be later in weeks time where Danny would be on the phone with Jazz, coffee cup in hand as he spoke to her about any recent things and how life was.

“So are you going to tell me why people in Gotham and on the internet are calling you a DILF?” Jazz asks and it causes Danny to choke on his sip of coffee, the heat burning briefly before he managed to croak out a weak.

“What- Who… Tim.”

His work phone rings and all he sees is a message from Tim with a simple smiley face as if the man didn’t drop multiple photos of Danny, Ellie and Dan (whose faces are thankfully blurred) on the internet as revenge. Especially when Danny sees the caption.

Tim Drake ✔️@ceoTDW

Wayne Enterprises loves supporting single fathers! I’m sure you’ve noticed Bruce Wayne’s secretary but are you aware he’s a single father raising his son and daughter? Here’s our photo shoot with him to celebrate one of our loved employees!

How cruel Timothy Drake-Wayne. How cruel. It’s even worse when he sees fucking Gotham Gazette make an article about how people have voted that Danny is a DILF alongside Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox. As well as the fact that W.E. ‘collects’ attractive employees to boost morale. What the fuck who wrote this— Vicki Vale.

“I’m never going to show my face again.”

Jazz laughs in response.

[himasgod]

hey so can I have scenario where Lilia vanrouge realises he has found his first romantic true love in his s/o? (Like his past confessions to his previous loves didn’t work out and he was always so busy in the past. And then he finally gets a yes in this reader s/o). He makes s/o smile all the time, and his s/o is always doing little things for him like if he’s getting tired in the sun, s/o gives him a paper umbrella from their bag so the sun isn’t hitting him anymore? (Normally he’s the one taking care of others).

LILIA X READER

Where he realizes he has found his first true love in you

"Yes."

Such a simple word.

A word that had slipped through his fingers so many times across the centuries, like trying to catch moonlight on his palm.

Lilia had lived long enough to watch stars fade from the sky and rise anew.

He had waltzed through wars and lullabies, raised a prince, led armies, sung songs to lull mortals and fae alike into slumber.

Love?

Oh, he'd been fond of many.

He’d admired beauty, laughed with companions, flirted with charm so natural it melted resistance like sugar in warm tea.

But the truth was simpler, harsher: his confessions had always been too late, too soon, or too lost in the wake of his duty.

A warrior. A guardian.

A noble fae with too many burdens and not enough time.

He never blamed them—those he'd once looked upon with fondness. They saw him as a figure of legend. Or a friend. A commander. A ghost of the past. Not one had returned his feelings in full.

Until you.

You, who had stumbled into his life with no reverence for titles or age-old legacies.

Who laughed at his dad jokes and gently tugged him back down to earth when he floated too far into memory.

You, who didn’t care that he had danced with queens or outlived empires.

And it wasn’t the moment you agreed to go out with him that shattered something inside his ancient heart—it was every tiny moment after.

Like today.

Sunlight poured through the trees as you both walked together in a quiet corner of Diasomnia. The heat was mild for most, but Lilia had always been more comfortable under moonlight than midday sun.

He thought nothing of it—he’d simply endure.

But you noticed.

Without saying a word, you reached into your bag, pulled out a small delicately folded paper umbrella—hand-painted with lavender blossoms and starbursts—and popped it open above his head with a soft shk.

"There," you said, adjusting it with a little smile.

"Can’t have my favorite bat getting crispy."

His laugh came unbidden—light, airy.

"Crispy, am I? What a fate for a soldier of centuries."

"Even ancient warriors deserve little shade," you replied, matter-of-fact, and took his free hand like it belonged to you.

He stared at you for a long moment, the paper umbrella filtering light into a soft halo around your hair casting gentle shadows across your cheek.

His heart ached.

Something he hadn’t felt in centuries.

He had loved the world, yes.

He had loved many things.

But this… this was the first time someone had ever noticed his weariness before he even mentioned it.

The first time someone had taken his hand like it wasn’t a ghost of the past, but something very real, very now.

Very yours.

The paper umbrella, the gentle hand in his, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him—not with awe or reverence but affection.

That was the moment he knew.

You were his first true love.

Not a passing infatuation. Not a wistful longing across a battlefield or court dance. This was not born of adrenaline or mystery—it was slow, kind, human.

And fae.

And real.

He said, voice unusually quiet.

“Did you know… you’re the first person who ever said yes to me?”

You blinked.

“What?”

He chuckled, but there was a crack in it. A little tremor like the first drop of rain on a long-dry plain.

“I’ve lived so long. Far longer than anyone should, perhaps. I’ve confessed before. And every time… well, it wasn’t meant to be. I never begrudged them—it just… was. And then there was you.”

“You said yes. And more than that—you stayed.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Of course I stayed. Why wouldn’t I?”

He smiled then, but it was different.

“I think you’re the only person who’s ever really… seen me. Not the general. Not the legend. Just… me.”

You leaned into his side under the soft shade of the umbrella.

“I don’t see a legend when I look at you, Lilia.”

He tilted his head.

“No?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, right where his smile lived.

“I see you loving me. I see... my eyes loving yours trough the glimpse of them”

And that did it.

He pulled you in close, umbrella tipping slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder and let out a breath.

Lifting his head. Looking into your eyes.

Kissing your lips softly while caressing the back of your neck.

For someone who had always been the one comforting others, always the one standing strong and smiling and never quite needing—

—for once, he let himself be held.

He let himself be loved.

[xxxnekomii]

title: highlight compilation of toji’s shy girl’s first time on stream!

description: toji invites his partner to join him on stream :3

category: amateur / homemade

——————

since this doesn’t have a lot of context, i’m thinking of streamer toji who doesn’t necessarily do full nsfw streams regularly, mostly he does gaming streams with a sort of nsfw twist :3

——————

toji’s fans have clipped a highlight compilation of your first time on stream into a 25 minute video. it’s more wholesome than some might expect. toji’s in his recording room, which fills the camera frame with soft ambient lighting and the gentle whirr of an electric fan. the title of the stream “introducing my girl on stream” is enough to send chatters into a frenzy as they flood into the chatroom.

timestamps: 00:50 she comes into frame!

when you do finally enter the camera frame in your soft pyjamas toji chuckles as the chat explodes in messages which moves too fast to read. money donations ping in but toji isn’t interested in reading them today. instead, he helps you settle in his lap with one arm wrapped around the front of your waist.

you introduce yourself shyly, a little overwhelmed by the various windows opened on toji’s monitors.

timestamps: 01:30 toji shows her the streaming set up

“see, i told you she was real,” says toji as you give a small wave to the camera. toji spends a short while showing you his set up, teaching you how to read the chat and when donation pings came in. his left hand finds itself under your shirt, rubbing your tummy as his right hand guides yours using the mouse. to the viewers, it’s strangely intimate and brings in a throe of donations saying “you two are so cute together”, or “i wish i had this”.

timestamps: 4:46 THEY’RE KISSINGNEJJG

at some point throughout the stream toji’s unable to keep his hands off of you for any longer after subtly feeling you up from under the desk. instead you’re now straddling his lap with your chest pressed up against his solid torso as he eagerly makes out with you. he’s turned his chair to the side, so while the viewers can’t see how he kisses you, they can see how his hands help rock your hips against his thigh.

timestamps: 6:37 THINGS ARE GETTING STEAMY

at this point there’s no stopping either of you. donations are pinging in are ignored as toji rolls your hips on his thigh, one hand lazily supporting your waist. soft moans begin to slip out as you grip the armrests for support.

“oh baby are you getting needy?” he says when you mewl his name in desperation. “come on gimme another kiss,” he says as he pulls you in. you whine as he gives you a slap on the ass over your pyjama shorts.

“let’s get you sorted then hm?”

timestamps: 12:55 HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO HOT i could barely focus while editing.

toji helps you out of your pyjama shorts and panties, tossing them to the ground and to your delight he finally pulls out his throbbing cock for you to sit on. it doesn’t take long for toji to be bouncing you up and down in his lap like a dollie as you squeal with pleasure.

“god baby you’re making a mess,” says toji as you hold onto his broad shoulders. “i guess it’s my fault for working you up under the table,” he says as you babble out something about him not being able to keep his hands to himself.

“you know i can’t help it baby,” he replies as he thrusts up once into you. “i just want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“you’re doing so good for your first time on stream baby,” he continues as your voice starts to waver - a telltale sign for him that you were getting close. he could feel you getting close too, your drooly pussy quivering.

toji’s barely keeping an eye on the stream, but he can still hear donations rolling in.

“hear that? they think you’re doing a good job too.”

he catches you in a brief kiss. your brain fizzes with pleasure.

“show them how good you can be, yeah? i know you’re close.”

timestamps: 19:04 shes so cute when she cums + toji fucks her through it

when you finish over toji, your back arches and your hips try to buck away from toji as you squeal his name. your hands push at his biceps.

“fuck baby, don’t run,” he huffs out, tightening his hold on your hips as he continues to bounce you up and down. his favourite part is fucking you through it, and your overstimulated reactions make him cum every time without fail.

“t-toojiii!” you whine as he lifts you up and down on his length like one of the toys he sometimes uses on stream. god toji loves hearing your voice when he does this. he wonders if you know that he holds himself at the edge just to see you twitch and mewl.

your nails have marked his biceps in short pink streaks by the time he finally finishes deep in your throbbing pussy. he lets out a husky groan as you squeeze around him and strokes your hair when you lean forward into his chest.

timestamps: 23:01 stream ending

toji tilts your head up into a gentle kiss again as he squeezes your ass in one hand. “that feel good baby? you made such a mess,” he murmurs. you nod lazily, rolling your hips once to surprise him.

“brat,” he mutters, pinching your ass.

“thanks for watching guys, sorry i couldn’t read out that many donations today,” says toji as he runs a hand along your back.

“i hope you guys enjoyed, we’re gonna go clean up now,” continued toji. “wave goodbye to chat baby.”

you try to sit up and give a weak wave and catch the chat messages in the corner of your eye.

nekomii: no round 2???

honoured_1: fuck that was so hot

jell-o_cat: you should stream with her more often !!!

“alright see you tomorrow night, bye.”

———————

woo i hope you guys enjoyed this!! it was super fun to write because i love streamer/cam tropes

halfway through i wondered if i should make reader the streamer instead but i told myself to commit haha

at the same time i kept thinking about how there would probably be some crazy parasocial responses in chat if this was irl, but luckily it’s only fiction teehee

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

A PLEASANT INCONVENIENCE.

bob reyonds x implied fem!reader

wc. 827 synopsis. your cat likes to run out of your apartment when you return home. today she makes it further than usual but is luckily stopped by a stranger. // had a teeny tiny, small and shit idea so wanted to write it. he's not living in the compound in this and idk the logistics. its fanfic, it doesn't have to canonically make sense

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Fairly often you’d find yourself chasing after your escapee, your cat always seeming to dart out of your apartment at the most inconvenient times.

Like now. 

You’re standing outside your apartment, a collection of grocery bags and packages and cat food boxes by your feet as you jam your keys into the door — opening it slowly so as not to hit your cat in the face. Past experiences teaching you that was her favourite spot to sit; to sit and wait so that she could squeeze past and dart out the door.

Though today, you don’t see her face between the gap like you often do, and you mistakenly believe she’s given up trying. So with that thought in mind, you open your door fully to take your bags inside, kicking in your packages to speeden the process. But you’re far too slow. 

She speeds out of your apartment, darting down the corridor like she’s planned the escape route for some time — skillfully outrunning you. Up ahead you hear the elevator ding open and your heart drops, worry setting in that she’s about to be gone forever. 

You round the corner and see a man holding her, his cup and prescription bag dropped to the floor, strawberry milkshake spilling onto the worn carpet. 

“Oh my gosh,” you pant, hand holding your heart as you walk closer. “Thank you for catching her,” your arms extend towards your cat, silently asking to take her back.

He smiles briefly, eyes diverting away tentatively. “It’s not a problem,” the stranger chuckles in a friendly manner and passes your cat to you — stroking over her back as if he couldn’t resist one last touch. “What’s her name?”

“Shelly,” you smile, giving her a quick cuddle.

“Shelly— tortoiseshell— tortoise,” he grins lazily. “That’s clever.”

Your smile widens as you nod. “You know your cats.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckles softly as he bends, picking up his things from the floor. “I get cats, they get me.”

It’s always a good sign when men like cats.

You look down to the floor, noticing the small patch of soft pink on the floor. “I’m really sorry about your drink, can I pay you back?”

“Oh,” he looks down at the leak and back up to you. “No, no. Don't worry about it. It’s nearly finished anyway.”

“Okay,” you smile and nod a singular time. “I left my door open, so I should really get back. Thank you again for catching her.”

He stands awkwardly in place, his body language confusing. It looked like he was eager to get away yet still somehow stick around so you can continue chatting. 

And you felt that way also. He was nice to talk to. Though you’d just have to hope you’d bump into him again soon, you weren’t so keen on keeping your apartment door open for the whole of New York.

“Anytime,” he mirrors your prior response, an expression quite similar to your own. “I’m Bob.”

You return by sharing your name, being met with yet another smile. “Do you live on this floor…or?” you ask, subtly happening upon the reason for his visit.

“I uh, yeah I do,” he points up ahead, gesturing to the way you just came. “Just round that corner, actually.”

“Oh?” you hum, head cocking at him. 

You slowly turn on your heel, silently pivoting as if you wanted to continue chatting on the move. He follows suit, leisure footsteps to match yours — both walking slower than usual like you were trying to elongate the conversation. 

“I haven't seen you around before,” you state and meet his eyes briefly, each of you only lasting a second before you both have to turn away.

“Well,” Bob chuckles. “I usually just stick to my apartment,” he looks down at his feet and then up to you, looking at the side of your face.

You feel the weight of his eyes on you and you twist to meet his gaze, but it falls again, diverting away. And so you smile downwards, looking bashfully at your cat in hand.

“Do you not like the city?” you ask, eager to keep the conversation rolling.

“I like it,” he nods, eyes casting down as he reaches into his pocket for his keys. “Just enjoy the quiet sometimes.”

You found yourself wishing for your apartment to be on another floor. To be able to chat with Bob a little more, but you reach your apartment, and it seems he does too. 

You step towards your door and turn to look at him again, finally meeting one's eyes. 

“See you around?” he gingerly questions, hesitant tone making him sound insecure in the belief that you’d meet again. 

“I’d love that.”

Bob nods, a small, earnest smile forming as he sticks his keys into the door beside yours, his apartment proving to be far closer than you anticipated. Never did you think such a pleasant encounter could come from such an inconvenience.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[erindrinkstea]

You're dead to me

Fully Masked! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader

TW: Violence, Death, Murder, and Mental Health Themes.

Description:

When Angstrom sent those variants of Invincible through a portal to a wasteland, he accidentally sends Fully Masked! Mark Grayson to a different world.

A world where Mark Grayson dies but you still live.

Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist

Note: Don't worry Mark, I love your Mom too.

"We'll just torture you instead. Duh."

"..."

Seeing all these twisted versions of himself made him sick to his stomach. But he understood. He truly did. They didn’t have you. They didn’t have her. And without his mom… without you by his side, he could’ve ended up the exact same way.

That’s why he had done the terrible things in this world. Why he’d committed atrocities he never thought himself capable of. Because he was alone. Because the two people who grounded him—his mom and you—weren’t there.

He didn’t care about the crown.

He didn’t want a throne.

The Viltrum Empire meant nothing to him.

All he wanted was his family.

The only two constants that ever made him feel human. Made him better. Happy.

So when Angstrom came to him and whispered about another world—one where his mom was alive, and you were too—how could he not listen?

But it was a lie. A cruel, soul-crushing lie.

His mom was nowhere to be found. And you… you were dead. Crushed. Torn apart. Just like in that nightmare he could never wake up from. Just blood and broken pieces of the only person he loved.

Tracking down the version of himself responsible was easy. Killing him was even easier.

Painfully so.

"What…?!"

He recoiled, startled as multiple green portals suddenly bloomed in front of them. His jaw clenched as Angstrom's devices flared and sucked each of them into their own vortex.

When he blinked next, he wasn’t in his world anymore.

But he wasn’t with the others either.

Wherever he landed, he doubted this was part of Angstrom’s plan.

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Today marked three years since Mark Grayson died.

You gave Debbie a soft smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

She had always been so kind to you, even with everything she’d suffered.

“How are you doing? And how’s Oliver?”

It hadn’t been easy—Omni-Man going rogue. Nolan killing his own son. And then, months later, coming back with a baby in his arms, begging for forgiveness.

Debbie hadn’t forgiven him. But she had agreed to raise Oliver. Because the boy had no one else. His mother was gone, and Nolan couldn’t stay.

Debbie had hesitated. But the moment that baby reached out with curious little hands and cooed at her, she melted. He reminded her too much of her own son—the one she lost too soon.

“Oliver’s growing so fast. Just yesterday, I could still carry him. Now he’s already got friends at school.” She sighed, tired but proud.

“Mom! Is that sis?”

Oliver’s voice rang out as he raced into the room. He had started calling you ‘sister’ after all the time you spent caring for him. You never minded.

“Oliver,” you smiled, catching him in a hug as he tackled your waist.

“I CAN FLY!” he announced, eyes wide. “I tripped on the stairs yesterday and floated instead of falling!”

Your breath caught. “Really?” You looked up at Debbie, who nodded with a small smile.

Just like his brother.

You remembered the first time Mark floated instead of falling—he’d looked so proud, so thrilled. That memory felt sacred now.

“That’s amazing,” you told Oliver.

“I know, right?” he grinned, puffing up with pride. So much like Mark.

You swallowed the ache in your chest. God, please don’t let him turn out like Nolan.

“How about you help your mom clean the house with your powers? I’m just going to take a quick walk.”

A lie, of course. You just didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Okay!” he chirped, bouncing off with Debbie, who caught your eye and gave a subtle nod. She understood.

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

Mark drifted above the unfamiliar skyline.

This wasn’t his world.

It wasn’t the one from before, either. Somewhere new entirely.

Strangely, no one tried to stop him. No heroes. No threats. Just… wide-eyed stares and hushed gasps as he flew overhead.

People weren’t afraid. Just surprised.

He wasn’t a villain here, it seemed. Not yet.

Maybe this version of him had done something right for once.

He stayed in the air, keeping low, keeping quiet. He was tired—sick of the bloodshed, of the failures, of chasing ghosts.

He just wanted to go home.

But this world… something about it felt different. Warmer.

And he had a gut feeling he wasn’t here by accident after all. Maybe it was fate.

He could’ve missed it. Could’ve flown right past, too focused on his goal—too desperate to find a way back home.

But then, in a split second, his eyes caught something. Someone.

A figure.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

“...Darling?” he breathed, voice soft, disbelieving. His body stopped mid-air, frozen. He just hovered there, staring at the figure walking below.

God. It was you.

You were alive.

“Darling,” he whispered again—and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His direction shifted instantly, diving toward the one person he had torn worlds apart for.

You didn’t see him coming. You were too caught up in your grief, still walking slowly down the sidewalk, tears silently streaming down your face.

You were wiping at them, frustrated, exhausted.

"My love?"

That voice.

You froze in place.

Not again. You thought the hallucinations had stopped. Thought you were healing.

But here you were, hearing him again—hearing that voice you would have given anything to hear just one more time.

You didn’t turn around.

You couldn’t handle the disappointment.

“I can’t do this,” you muttered, voice cracking as more tears welled up. “Not today.”

Your hands went back to your face, desperate to rub away the hurt.

“Easy there,” a voice said gently, a presence stepping in. “Stop rubbing so hard. Geez, your eyes are all red. What made my lovely girl cry so much?”

You froze again.

Hands—not yours—brushed against your cheeks, careful and warm. Soft thumbs wiped away your tears like they had all the time in the world.

It felt so real.

Too real.

“You, you idiot,” you hiccupped, unable to hold it in. “It’s your stupid death anniversary. You couldn’t even give me one day of peace.”

Your sobs were broken, helpless.

The man—Mark—blinked at you like that was news.

“So… I’m dead here, huh? he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Makes things a bit easier.”

You cried harder. “You’re not real. And it hurts. It’s not fair.”

“But I am,” he said softly. “I’m real. And so are you.”

His hands were still cupping your face with that same gentle care he always had. His eyes searched yours with aching tenderness.

He looked… different.

Worn. Tired.

Hair a little longer. Shoulders a bit heavier.

But still him. Still your Mark.

The warmth. The love.

That unmistakable feeling that wrapped around you like a blanket in winter.

“You’re dead,” you said again, as if reminding yourself.

He hummed, nonchalant. “Not anymore. You were dead too, remember? But now you’re alive.” A dark glint passed through his eyes. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way. No matter what.”

His voice was calm, certain. Steady in a way that was both comforting and unnerving.

“Now,” he said, lips curling into a half-smile, “how about we go see Mom? It’s going to be one hell of a reunion, don’t you think?”

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Was this real?

It had to be.

“Mark…?”

──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────

[darnell-la]

note: this is a very short fiction with dub con. if you don’t like anything of that sort, please do not read!

“She’ll be fine, just keep going,” Bucky encouraged Bob to continue his thrust, though y/n slightly pushed at the younger man’s lower body. It’s been a long night, and the alcohol is making y/n’s head spin. That wouldn’t stop Bucky, but Bob, on the other hand, was too sweet.

“I think she may pass out. Maybe we should-“ Bob tried to say slow down, but Bucky slapped the back of his head. “Either you keep going, or I’ll start,” Bucky said with a straight face, only making Bob look at him with his eyes now glowing.

“I’m not here to steal her from you, Robert, but one thing you’ve gotta understand about women is their games. She teased us all night, drank, and allowed men to touch her and flirt with her. She made her move, and now it’s ours, isn’t that right, y/n?”

Bucky lightly grabbed a handful of y/n’s hair and made her look up at him. “S-Sorry, I wasn’t-“ y/n tried explaining herself, but Bucky shushed her by letting her hair go with a small push.

“Yeah, shut it. I know what kind of girl you are. Dealt with them for too many years, and I promise you, I won’t disappoint you in becoming the man you want. Now, fucking take him while I get undressed,”

Bucky walked off to the bathroom that was inside his room, while Bob continued to thrust his hips, gradually getting faster until he was slamming into her.

The wind being knocked out of y/n’s body made Bob’s mind fuzzy. The man had too many mixed emotions about feeling bad for her drunken self, but also wanting to take advantage.

She had made him so many tonight, and she knew she was doing it. Even though they’ve never dated, talked about dating, or even made moves on each other, Bob always thinks she shouldn’t be vulnerable and pretty around other men. He wanted her to himself — And, of course, to Bucky, the man who gives him some sort of confidence.

“H-He’s gone, just please — Please give me a break,” y/n tried to keep herself together as her walls began to flutter around his cock. “I can’t do that, y/n, and you know that. You should’ve just kept your distance today. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to be in this position,”

Y/n whined as she released around the man, not being able to hold it anymore. Bob wasn’t exactly a person she’d thought she’d have sex with because of his shyness and awkwardness, yet this was one of the best orgasms she’s ever had.

Y/n continued to plead until Bucky made his way back out from the bathroom. He was naked, cock throbbing with a smirk on his face.

“You’ve been doing good, Robert. You’ll deserve a treat someday,” Bucky said as he rubbed the back of Bob's back. Y/n caught a quick glance at Bob’s face and saw how hard he blushed at Bucky’s comment.

“And, for you? Oh, you’re getting a treat right now,” Bucky said as he grabbed y/n’s face to guide his cock towards her mouth. “Bucky, it’s too big-“ y/n tried her best to plead, but that wasn’t enough.

Bucky’s cock filled her mouth in seconds, barely letting her breathe. “Oh, yeah,” Bucky groaned as he forced himself deeper into y/n’s throat. “I-I didn’t know she could do that,” Bob awkwardly stuttered as his hand traced up her body to caress her face.

“Oh, there’s a lot more she can do, isn’t that right, princess? I bet she can take two at once in a different position. We’ll find out some other time, yeah?”

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - off the record (part three)

part three ; iced oat milk latte, no sweetener

warnings ; jungkook being a bitch, oc planning his murder once again </3

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; hi, hello, bonjour, hola, ciao!!!! before we get into this whole mess, i want to start by apologizing for the hunger games reference… i fear i am rereading the series and all i can offer up is metaphors and similes having to do with katniss everdeen

anyway! we get a tiny tiny peek into a nicer jk (before he snatches that back up in his paw real fast), we meet monroe in all her political glory, and we also meet Rosalie!!!!! she is kinda maybe important (i mean, did you even look at the index… homegirl has an extra dedicated to her) so pay ATTENTION to those good ol context clues

ok that’s all i have to offer besides hugs n kisses. MWAHHH

playlist here

series masterlist here

Mondays in Washington D.C are a bloodsport.

You’re essentially Katniss Everdeen with a college degree, wielding a Macbook Air and a slightly chewed Pilot G2 instead of a bow and arrow, and tragically, there’s no Peeta tossing you bread.

You’ve accepted your role in the arena — not because you’re necessarily winning this specific Monday (though rewriting a headline three times while simultaneously ghosting two former sources does deserve some kind of medal), but because in this moment, you recognize just how good you are at your job.

This Monday, with Jenna sitting across from you in the cafeteria, a small, satisfied smile curved upon her lips and an iced green tea creating its own little puddle on the table, you feel like you’ve just shot an arrow through the Gamemakers’ roast pig.

“You,” she says, pointing at you with a manicured finger, “are single-handedly keeping CNN afloat.”

You arch a brow, leaning back into the faux leather chair, “Just me? Not the seasoned journalists or the guy in graphics who hasn’t taken a day off since the Obama years?”

“Okay, yes, but they didn’t just lock down the most exclusive interview of all time while also managing two live hits in one afternoon.” Her eyes are sparkling as she takes a sip of her watered-down concoction. “Honestly, if I were five years younger and less emotionally stable, I'd be deeply threatened by you.”

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. You’ve always admired Jenna; beyond her credentials, which includes three promotions before the age of 30, she also knows how to wield power with elegance.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” she settles her drink back down on the table. “You have been on fire lately. Monroe, the security reform story, that exclusive with Whitford’s aide… I’ve gotta say, you’re giving me a run for my money.”

The cafeteria isn’t busy at this time of day. There’s a few lingering presences, some interns loitering by the salad bar while they talk about happy hour plans neither of you will be invited to.

Your 1-on-1’s with Jenna have always been incredibly informal; the two of you opt to sit in the lunchroom, discuss any updates to stories you’re chasing down, and she pretends that she needs to edit anything you write even though she trusts you more than her own husband.

“Well, Monroe kinda fell in my lap,” you shrug. “Sheer stroke of luck.”

Jenna laughs, a full-bellied one that makes you feel like maybe you can breathe a little today. Hell, maybe you’ll take that “mental health walk” you keep scheduling on your calendar but happen to neglect every time it rolls around.

“I don’t even care,” she shakes her head. “I needed something real meaty this month. If I have to greenlight another story about the president’s favorite dog breed, I will walk into the Potomac.”

“Tell me again why you keep me around?” you tease.

“You might be the only person left who doesn’t make me regret going into journalism.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Jenna.”

She takes the hair tie off her wrist and pretends to launch it at you, and you both fall into a fit of giggles before she sits up suddenly like she just remembered she left her curling iron on. “Oh! Before I forget, the gala’s Friday.”

You pause in your tracks. Full record scratch, pause, tape spooling, rewinding. “The what now?”

“You know, the White House Correspondents gala. Annual festival of denial. Open bar, basically prom for people who peaked at Model UN? Ringing any bells?”

It’s actually ringing so many bells you feel like you’re in church. It’s Washington’s annual act of self-congratulation. Officially, it’s the White House Correspondents’ Dinner Afterparty, but everyone calls it what it is: White House Prom. A glitzy, overfunded fever dream where senators and editors and press reps drink bourbon under chandeliers, interns get stuck holding coats, and everyone pretends they haven’t been arguing over bylines all year.

A night where policy meets pageantry and somehow always ends with someone crying in the bathroom over budget cuts.

You groan obnoxiously. “God. Is that already here? I thought we canceled it after last year’s incident.”

“You mean when a Reuters editor sang ‘WAP’ on a table? Yeah, no. Tradition lives on.”

“I swear if I have to talk to one more sweaty political aide about how much they ‘respect the hell out of my work,’ I’m going to fake an international assignment.” True story, unfortunately.

You watch behind Jenna as the interns file out of the lunchroom after playing with lettuce and gossiping for five minutes straight.

“Still at the Hay Adams?” you follow up.

“Ballroom this year,” Jenna confirms. “Bigger space.”

You nod, mostly to yourself. It’s not mandatory, but it’s expected. Like flossing. Or staying neutral on Twitter.

“Yippee,” you grit out in faux excitement. “Lucky us.”

Jenna hums, then leans in with the type of expression normally reserved for the latest staffer-on-staffer affair. Your spine automatically mirrors her posture, because this is Washington and you can never predict what’ll come out of her mouth, even if it’s just about someone's bad Botox.

“Also, I probably shouldn’t be saying this yet..” she trails off, inspecting her nail polish, then glancing around as if the interns never fled the room. “...But you’re being considered for the next internal bump.”

You blink. “Bump?” Cocaine at this hour seems like overkill.

“Promotion,” she clarifies. “Senior Correspondent.”

Your whole body locks up, brain short-circuiting for a second before kicking into high gear.

You can’t tell if this is because of the Monroe thing or the Whitford aide or the years you’ve spent out-scooping your colleagues while surviving on six hours of sleep. Probably all of the above.

Either way, your heart is breakdancing. You’re really trying to look like it isn’t.

“That’s…” you nod slowly. “Cool.”

Cool. Cool? That’s what you go with? Jesus Christ. You sound like a hungover intern.

“Would you want to interview for it?” she asks amusedly.

Would you—

Okay. No. No squealing. No weird excited noises. No blacking out. Breathe and say something coherent that conveys hunger, capability, and an IQ higher than 119.

“I’d be open to it,” you say, like a person who hasn’t already mentally rewritten her resume and picked out what she’s wearing for the panel interview.

Jenna smirks knowingly. “Nice. I’ll let higher-ups know.”

“Does… anyone else know?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. You don’t necessarily know who you’re alluding to. Maybe Emma, maybe that guy Paul who sits two rows away from you and is always blasting NPR in his AirPods.

“If you’re asking if we’re evaluating anyone else for this, the answer is I don’t know,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “But… they do need my approval to go through, and I haven’t put anyone up for review yet.”

The ‘except for you’ is silent.

She pushes back her chair, grabs her mostly waterlogged green tea, now just a cup of sadness and regret. You follow her lead, still feeling slightly shell-shocked in the best possible way.

Walking out of the worn-down cafeteria with her, shoes tapping against the tile, mind already spinning with possibilities, you feel oddly at peace.

And maybe that’s why you love Mondays in D.C so much.

Not because they’re easy or slow or remotely tolerable.

But because sometimes, they remind you of exactly who the hell you are.

And that, makes the bloodsport kind of worth it.

The chair squeaks every time you shift, which wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t the only sound in the room.

The White House has many rooms. Historic ones, important ones, also some where actual history is made. This is not one of those rooms. This is one of the weird, vaguely depressing interview rooms they trot out for second-tier people. You know, deputy communications directors, committee aides. That one Assistant Secretary who went viral for being hot, then immediately got canceled for a tweet he wrote in 2011 about dogs wearing pants.

An overpriced chandelier slightly swings above you, lighting the space aggressively. Your chair is wooden, tilted approximately 97 degrees like it wants you to develop scoliosis.

Still, you made it. You’re here. Not even fashionably early. Stupidly early.

You blame the adrenaline. Your meeting with Jenna earlier left you jittery, and no, it had nothing to do with the four Celsius’ you ingested. The notebook in your lap, which currently looks like it’s been through six war rooms, is overflowing with questions — some carefully workshopped with Jenna, others you came up with alone while brushing your teeth this morning.

Your leg bounces. You flip a page, then flip it back. Your eyes fight to look at the clock without looking at the clock.

This is fine. You like prep time. You thrive on prep time.

The door creaks open behind you, and your heartbeat does a weird little thump thump behind your ribs. Your body refuses to swivel in the chair in case it’s her.

Here we go. Monroe. Congresswoman. Possibly the key to that promotion Jenna has promised you on a silver platter. Maybe, if you’re really lucky, Jungkook got hit by a car and you’ll be running this interview slot on your own. Time to sit up straight, flash your professional smile, channel your inner Barbara Walters and—

“Wow. Early. Didn’t know that was your thing.”

You slump completely into your chair.

Did the car you just imagined hitting him take a wrong turn?

You don’t dare turn to look at him, instead pretending to be incredibly invested in the chicken scratch on your notepad. “Wow. Late. Makes sense that’s your thing.’

The door closes behind him, and you hear him set his bag down by the entrance. “You know she’s not supposed to be here for another five minutes, right?”

You roll your eyes so hard you give yourself a minor headache. “That’s five minutes of prep time.”

There are approximately seven billion people on this planet. This is the one you’re stuck sharing a congresswoman with.

God is testing you.

Jungkook rounds your chair, and for a moment you prepare for impact — some offhand comment, a smug smile, a challenge disguised as a compliment. Standard procedure.

But instead, something cold and plastic materializes right in front of your face.

You blink away the blurriness of the object in front of you.

It’s a coffee cup. In his hand. Inches from your nose.

“What the fuck is that?” you ask, recoiling slightly like he just tried to hand you a live animal.

He sets it down on the table in front of you with dramatic flair. “Your coffee.”

You stare at it. Then at him. Then back at it. “You don’t even know what I drink.”

He doesn’t flinch at that. “Isn’t it still that iced oat milk latte thing? No sweetener?”

Your soul briefly detaches from your body.

“How—”

“You used to order it every day before Public Policy, and then show up with it half-empty already,” He shrugs casually like that isn’t deranged information to remember. “It stuck.”

What the actual fuck is going on?

He takes a sip of his own drink — hot, probably black, the beverage of overconfident men who think bitterness builds character. “Still think you’re weird for drinking something that tastes like oat-flavored water with no sugar, but hey. To each their own.”

You’re still staring at the cup.

“Why did you bring me this?” you ask, voice flat, because this feels off-brand. He’s not… nice. He’s Jungkook. He’s that dude you just imagined getting run over by a car, and then the car backed up and ran over him again while you smiled gleefully. “Is it poisoned?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I stopped at the cafe and asked for the rat poison special. It’s just a little something to take the edge off.”

You level him with a look. He grins wider, those two bunny teeth poking out beneath his top lip. Bastard. He’s so… so.. (and when you find the right words, you’ll scream them from the rooftop.)

Then he finally sinks into the chair next to you and stretches out like this is a coffee date and not a battle for professional supremacy.

“I want a fair game,” he states matter-of-factly, eyes flicking toward the empty seat Monroe will soon occupy. “Need you caffeinated for that.”

You don’t respond. You’re too busy internally malfunctioning.

Because here’s the thing: he shouldn’t know that. About the oat milk (or the existence of it in general.) The lack of sweetener. The whole personality trait of a drink you depend on like a life jacket.

He shouldn’t remember.

Yet there it is. Sitting on the table, condensation gathering.

You cross your leg over the other and force yourself to look unimpressed. “You really came in here with a performance-enhancing latte to try and make me nervous?”

He smirks. “Is it working?”

Absolutely.

“Only because I’m wondering when the side effects kick in.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, and you hate the way your stomach sort of flutters. Like it forgot whose side it was on.

You pick up the cup anyway. Take a sip. Might as well see if he remembered the extra shot of espresso—

Damn it.

It’s perfect.

It’s exactly what Jenna brings you each morning.

There’s so much more you want to say but it all shrivels up on your tongue and dies.

He nods toward the cup. “Well?” he asks. “Up to your standards?

You pause mid-sip, raise a brow. “It’s drinkable. Could use a little poison though.”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” he smiles widely, although you and him both know that was the farthest thing from a compliment.

“Don’t get used to it.” You let the straw clack gently against the lid. “I’m sure you’ll say something idiotic in the next thirty seconds to cancel it out.”

You think he’ll fight you on it like he’s been fighting you on everything since the first time you met. But he just smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, “Probably. But you’ll still drink the coffee.”

“Mm. Haven’t decided just how disturbed I am that you remembered my order from college.”

“I’m disturbed you’re still drinking it,” he shoots back. “Sounds like it tastes like shit.”

You’re about to launch into some detailed rebuttal involving Jungkook’s questionable taste in everything from shirt choice to headline structure to coffee orders when you hear the rusty doorknob turning.

This time, however, it’s not Jungkook barreling through the entrance.

Congresswoman Monroe hovers under the threshold of the room, stepping into it cautiously. At the noise, you and Jungkook both shoot up from your chairs like students caught gossiping mid-lecture.

She’s maybe mid-40s, though her face suggests she made a very lucrative deal with time around 31. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail, wearing a navy pantsuit that probably costs more than your entire student loan debt.

She pulls off her Celine sunglasses in one fluid motion — what is it with people on the Hill wearing sunglasses indoors? �� and tucks them into her bag, giving you both a long once-over. You feel quite small under her gaze, despite her being shorter than you.

“Wow,” she raises a brow, “Look at that. The youth still believes in chivalry.”

You want to extend a hand to her for her to shake, but decide against it when you calculate the distance still between you two. “It felt appropriate. It’s nice to meet you, Congresswoman. We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.”

She snorts at that, clearly entertained, “Well, I believe it was my overachieving press rep who lured you here, not I. He seems to have a way with words to convince two of the biggest outlets to speak to me off the record.”

Ah, yes. Who could forget the ever-so-eloquent Mark? You hope he’s doing better than when you last saw him.

“It’s no problem, really,” Jungkook reassures. “I know this story is fresh, so we’ll take anything.”

Monroe seems to accept that answer, striding forward and taking her seat across from you two with ease. You and Jungkook share a quick look before sitting back down, both your notebooks flipping open almost immediately. You want to say you know exactly where to start, but considering the circumstances, nothing feels sufficient.

She crosses her legs, leans back in her chair and looks between the two of you as if pondering which one of you will be brave enough to speak first.

Clearly, it won’t be you.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around his pen thoughtfully, like he’s John Hancock about to sign the Declaration of Independence, “Walk us through how you and Delgado got involved in the first place.”

You resist the urge to groan out loud. Classic Jungkook; start at square one, build some cute little narrative arc, win hearts and minds while you’re over here looking like you’re the world’s most submissive little sidekick. He’s laying groundwork like this is some Netflix docuseries and he’s the charming narrator.

You have approximately twelve smoking-gun questions and a left eye that’s starting to twitch.

Before Monroe can answer, she raises a hand. “Confirming this is off the record, right?”

Both you and Jungkook shoot your hands up in defense, as to prove there’s not some top secret recorder clutched in your palms. You answer quickly, “Completely.”

She gives you a look like she doesn’t fully believe you, but she’s too tired to care. Then she shakes her head in approval, crossing her hands and placing them atop her knees like she’s preparing to read from some memoir. “Well, it started like they always do. Good intentions but terrible, terrible execution.”

You immediately start scribbling, handwriting resembling of someone who’s having a medical emergency.

She goes on, “He said he needed to review the vote count with me. Said it couldn’t wait. Silly me for thinking he meant actual numbers.”

Your brain is already fifteen steps ahead, questions lining up in your head like little soldiers. You’ve done enough research on the story to know this much is true: it was more than just one night.

“So.. you weren’t aware there were eyes in the hallway when you left his office later that night?” you cut in before Jungkook can deliver a follow-up, because no way is he getting the juicy stuff first.

Monroe snorts, “I was aware of a lot of things. Surveillance interns weren’t one of them.”

Jungkook glances up from his Moleskine. “Intern had good timing.”

“Depends on who you ask” she responds drily.

“So when did it actually start?” Jungkook shifts forward in his chair, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. “A one time incident doesn’t usually come with three months of scheduling overlaps.”

Jungkook: 2. You: 1

“It doesn’t..” Monroe pauses, half for dramatic effect and half for introspection. “But clearly you’ve had some time to look at my calendar, so why don’t you tell me when you think it started?”

“Honestly,” you begin, flipping pages in the back of your mind, trying to remember that article you read three hours ago that dictated the timeline with color-coded graphs and blurry pictures. “I think it was back in June? July?”

She doesn’t answer that, just hums thoughtfully.

“Care to clarify how far back?” Your hand betrays you, reaching for the iced coffee on the table in front of you that has boiled down to some sad mixture of water, oat milk, and espresso.

Her lips twitch. “Far enough that I should’ve known better.”

You set the coffee back down after a prolonged sip. Beside you, you feel Jungkook’s beady little eyes trained on you. “Who else knew?”

“And who else was covering it up?” Jungkook jumps in.

It becomes a full-on ping pong match. You’re not even waiting for answers before volleying the next question. There’s something about an agreement, about Mark having an inkling, talk of going public before actually getting the chance to. You’re incredibly disappointed this isn’t on the record — this is the spiciest conversation you’ve had in years on the Hill. Jungkook seems just as intrigued as you, his own notepad filling up faster than quicksand.

It’s a dual — a bloodless one, for sure, but still mildly entertaining. Your cramping hand and the part of you that wants to scream every time he throws in a follow-up that actually adds value makes things slightly more complicated, though.

Worse: he’s enjoying this. Visibly.

And, okay, you’ll admit this much — you’re enjoying it too. Just a little. In the way you enjoy debating and working with someone who’s actually worth your time. In the way your competitive little brain lights up like oh, this again? Yeah, let’s fucking go.

You ask something else — who’s to say what it’s actually about? You just had to get it out before he did — and Monroe chuckles. “You two always like this?”

She seems quite amused by the two of you.

You open your mouth to say no, because professionalism or whatever. But then Jungkook shrugs and replies, “Sometimes. We’ve gotten better.”

No, you haven’t, but right now that’s neither here nor there.

“Well, at least I know I’m in capable hands,” Monroe beams at you two, the first real sign of human emotion you’ve captured from her since she sat down.

Capable is one way to put it, that’s for sure.

He looks over at you again (you might have to get a restraining order. This is now the tenth time and you’re starting to get scared.) It’s more in a this is fun, isn’t it? way. Which, ugh. Maybe it is. You’d never admit it but the absolute thrill of chasing a story with someone who also appreciates the highs that come with this job, while still trying to one-up each other? Yeah. It scratches a very specific, very messed-up part of your brain.

Still, he doesn’t get to win.

You lean forward, diverting back to the story at hand. “Just to clarify, did he ever explicitly threaten you with exposure if you ended things?”

Monroe’s gaze sharpens. “He didn’t need to. You don’t get involved with someone like Delgado without knowing he’s always got a spare knife somewhere.”

You write that line down so fast your pen nearly flies out of your hand. Jungkook mutters under his breath, “Jesus.”

The buzz of a timer goes off, jolting you and Jungkook upright like someone just yelled “Ten-hut!” to both of you. Monroe seems satisfied with that noise, opening her bag and retrieving her sunglasses from the depths, perching them on the bridge of her nose. “Well, that’s all we’ve got time for today, I presume? I’m sure Mark will be in touch soon for follow-ups.”

In some way, you think you’ll miss her. She might be the only congresswoman on the Hill that doesn’t have some 30-inch ruler up her ass.

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up on command, outstretching his own hand for her to shake. You follow suit like a lost puppy. She shakes both of your sweaty palms before acknowledging you both silently and heading towards the door, slamming it shut behind her.

In unison, you and Jungkook slink back down in your respective chairs, still in some weird post-interview daze. You’re not even looking at him. Not even a glance. Because glancing means acknowledging, and acknowledging means reacting, and you don’t do that.

Except, okay. Maybe you glance. Briefly. It’s for intel.

Weirdly, you don’t hate the way it feels to share something with him this closely. You both got exactly what you needed — the honest truth, a story that’s so compelling Shakespeare couldn’t even spin up this kind of narrative.

You don’t dare acknowledge that thought either. You bury it deeply. Somewhere right next to the memory of him bringing you your coffee.

When it’s nighttime in Washington D.C, it’s like a different dimension opens up and swallows the Earth.

Bars are filled to the brim with overexcited interns and senators on the prowl for their next cheating scandal. Coats are tossed across barstools like forgotten souvenirs. Chalices of beer are raised in the air as if people returned from a long day at the frontlines.

There’s some kind of magic that comes with it, like anything can happen because you’re finally not at your desk.

You’ve just turned off the lamp on your desk when your phone starts buzzing with urgency. See: magical. Anyone who knows you knows better than to call on a weekday night.

The only person who doesn’t know better, would be Rosalie, your best friend from college. Even the buzzing feels distinctly like her. As in, it’s probably not life or death but it’s definitely dramatic and may or may not have some form of light alcoholism attached to it.

You glance down at your phone screen, contact photo still the same blurry selfie she took freshman year wearing a tiara and threatening to drop out because your dorm had “zero aesthetic.”

You hesitate for exactly one second. It’s late. You’re tired. Your brain still smells like that cursed interview room from earlier and your notes from Monroe are a chaotic mess of arrows, question marks, and multiple phrases in all caps.

But, then again, it’s Rosalie. And when Rosalie calls, something ridiculous always follows. Like night after day. Like impulse after Amazon Prime.

Plus, you kind of want to give into the magic.

You swipe to answer, pressing the phone to your ear and scooping your bag onto your shoulder. “You’re either drunk, shopping, or about to fake your own death again. Which is it?”

Her voice bursts through the speaker, words rushing out. “Okay, rude. First of all, I never fake anything except for, like, orgasms and excitement about family obligated dinners. Second of all, surprise bitch!”

You furrow your brows in confusion, moving towards the exit of the CNN press room. “What?”

“I'm in D.C!” She shrieks like this is some normal update and not a major plot twist.

“You—what?”

“Like right now. I’m here. I just landed. I’m with Daddy.”

The first time you met her, she also referred to her father as ‘Daddy.’ It deeply troubles you, but you’ve come to learn there is literally no other way to name the man who’s a diplomat with a literal castle in Scotland.

“You were in London this morning,” you deadpan, struggling to do the mental math on time zones and emissions and mileage. You step out into the hallway, leaning against a cold wall.

“Yes, and now I'm here, on the hunt for a martini. It’s called globalization, babe.”

You cover your face with one hand and let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. Rosalie has been your best friend-slash-financial cautionary tale-slash-roommate since freshman year at Columbia. Your first true peek into what money could look like when it wasn’t tied to survival. She grew up with private jets and trust funds and the kind of skincare routine that requires a prescription and personal esthetician.

You grew up with coffee from a deli and a FAFSA login engraved in your mind.

Somehow, your friendship works.

Maybe it was the way she made everything feel like a movie. Or the fact that she’d once threatened to sue your econ professor on your behalf because the “curve is misogynistic.”

But mostly, it was how she always made space for you.

Even if that space is currently filled with credit card debt, half-finished Master’s degrees, and a shocking amount of vintage Balenciaga.

You sigh, already smiling. “Rosalie, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just told you! I’m with Daddy, he had some kinda thing. International diplomacy or rich people drama, I don’t know, I tuned out. But I’m here, I miss your face, and you sound like you’re one day away from a nervous breakdown.”

She really does know you like the back of her hand.

“I literally am.”

“See? All the more reason to get drinks. I’m thinking an extra dirty martini for me, a vodka soda for you..” You can practically hear the puppy dog eyes she has on display right now.

“I could be convinced.” You readjust your bag on your shoulder, staring solemnly at the end of the hallway.

“Okay, this is me convincing you,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “I’ll pay.”

Perk #2000 of having a rich best friend.

“You got me there.” You’re now fully laughing, the sound echoing off the hallway, phone still pressed to your ear like you’re back in college, sneaking calls in between lectures to give unsolicited advice to her on her most recent love interest.

“Come onnnn, let’s be messy.” She pleads. You glance again down the ominous hallway. Your shoes are killing you today. Your brain is fried, eyes burning after hours of staring at words and headlines and formatting.

Still, none of it sounds that bad when you think of Rosalie and a really crisp vodka soda with two limes.

“Text me the place,” you’re already bracing for impact. “But if you order anything that comes with edible glitter again, I’m leaving.”

“You’re the best,” she exhales a breath as if she’s been holding it the whole time you’ve been on the phone, “Love you!”

There’s a disconnecting sound on the other end of the line, and you bring your phone down from your ear to stare at it in front of you. Nighttime in D.C always feels like this: the first lick of ice cream on a summers day, a comforting hug from a parent after months of separation, toes digging in the warm sand. Magical, and full of possibility.

The moose head is definitely judging you.

Mounted above the bar like a taxidermist’s wet dream, it stares down at you with cold, glassy eyes and antlers the size of a small aircraft. It’s wearing a sequined top hat for reasons unknown, and honestly, it’s the most stable thing in the room right now.

The bar name Rosalie texted you an hour earlier serves cocktails with unpronounceable bitters and has dim lighting that makes your outfit look ten times better than it actually is (and also doing a hell of a job at concealing your under eye bags.) The high-top table you two are perched at smells faintly of citrus zest, her YSL perfume and spilled liquor.

Even the leather booths and black matte menus screams place that is trying way too hard to stay afloat in D.C’s nightlife climate. There is a very specific brand of person who goes to these bars, and you and the moose are both trying to figure out if you fit the bill.

To your dismay, your vodka soda is alarmingly strong, which is unfortunate because you ordered it specifically as a keep-it-together drink. Sober-adjacent. Instead, it tastes like the blonde bartender at the front is going through the world’s most devastating breakup.

You’re a quarter through it and already considering whether food would be helpful or if you'll just end up eating three-dollar-sign fries you didn’t mean to order.

Across from you, Rosalie’s swirling her (extra) dirty martini, rambling on and on about her recent trip to London. Something about the fog or the rain. You watch her as she animatedly speaks, fur-trimmed coat moving with every flick of her wrist.

“Okay…” she says, one olive skewered dramatically on a stick between her fingers. “This city is like, aggressively serious. Everyone looks like they’re walking to a meeting even at 8 PM at night. What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, swirling your own black straw around the rim of your drink, trying to dilute the vodka, “Probably some senate fundraiser going on a block away.”

Rosalie gasps, “That is so unsexy. Vibes here are rough.”

Only Rosalie would refer to the nation’s capital as ‘unsexy.’ You respect the brutal honesty; she’s not entirely wrong. The city is overrun by middle-aged fathers and misogynistic women. If that doesn’t scream unsexy, you’re not sure what does.

“You picked the place,” you mock, rolling your eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I was going for hot, mysterious energy, not—” she gestures wildly around the room. “—whatever this is.”

You look around. There’s a man in a vest swirling around an old-fashioned and a woman arguing with headphones on while sipping from a wine glass. “Rosalie, this is the most you bar I’ve ever been to.”

She almost turns as pale as a ghost. “This can’t be my brand.”

You can’t help but laugh, sinking deeper into your chair. It could be argued this is her entire brand; picking out places that will hand you a check worth more than your electricity bill for three months.

“So,” she begins, dramatically perching her chin in her hand, “how’s your glamorous life at the White House? Any closer to marrying a diplomat’s son?”

“Unfortunately not,” you take a sip of your vodka soda and grimace. “However the other day I did make prolonged eye contact with an intern. Although he might’ve been 20, so unsure if that counts.”

She nods like that checks out. “Oof. That’s not a good sign. Are you on any dating apps?”

Her expression twists in excitement, clearly holding out for some cute politically correct love story. You don’t have the heart to tell her that the only thing you’ve shown affection to in the past few months is a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

“Nah, you know me,” You stare down at your drink as you speak quickly to avoid her piercing gaze. “Enough about that, though. I heard you were maybe, kind of, accidentally starting a wellness brand?”

Rosalie perks up a little at that, although you can tell she doesn’t necessarily appreciate the segway from your dating life to her varying business ventures. “Well, Daddy’s investors wanted me to pick a niche, which is so toxic, because I believe in trying anything once.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

Rosalie’s business ventures have ranged from ‘mildly unhinged’ to ‘legally gray.’ In the last three years alone, she’s tried to launch a gemstone-infused bottled water line (now banned in three countries), an app that was supposed to match influencers with “friends” for Coachella, and a cashmere dog sweater subscription box that somehow lost her family $12,000 despite only having five customers — three of which were her own dogs.

It’s safe to say her being enrolled in graduate school was the unrivaled alternative.

She once asked you to invest in one of her projects. You bestowed upon her $5 and a random penny that had two heads on it.

“I’m a woman of many multitudes,” she explains with alarming speed. “You can’t put me in a box. One week I’m into adaptogens, the next I want to sell lingerie to housewives. You know how I get.”

“Rosalie,” you let out a noise resembling a snort. “This is all deeply unserious.”

“Exactly.” She plucks an olive off the wooden toothpick, popping it in her mouth. “But it’s fine. Daddy said if I stop spending money, he’ll really consider funding my wellness brand. So right now I need to chill the fuck out and realign my values.”

You don’t think she really understands what it means to realign her values.

“So… you’re basically unemployed.”

She gasps, slapping a hand over her heart. “How dare you use that word.”

You grin into your drink. It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with her. Even if she lives in a totally different universe. Even if she has never once felt the need to check her bank account before ordering a $22 cocktail.

Her lips press against the rim of her glass before she places it back down hesitantly. “You know, you really should get back out there.”

You should've known better than to assume this topic of conversation was done.

Out of the corner of your eye, you make eye contact with the moose. His (and you’ve decided it’s a male, bedazzled hat and all) eyes swallow you whole.

You tilt your head back towards the high ceilings to avoid catching Rosalie’s or the moose's eyes. “I’m perfectly fine in here.”

She doesn’t acknowledge your pun. “When’s the last time you’ve even had sex, you little virgin?”

Ha ha.

You actually laugh out loud. Which is probably not the response she was hoping for but — be serious.

When was the last time you had sex? Does emotional disassociation count?

Because if you’re going by strict technicalities, it was that one-night stand a few months ago when Emma dragged you out, told you to just “pick a guy,” and you went with the first one who made a semi-decent joke and could name one recent foreign policy.

It was… fine. Forgettable in the way dry toast is.

You’re pretty sure he called you babe halfway through and you pretended not to hear it because you were already nauseous from the amount of vodka sodas you consumed that night.

“Sex is a social construct used to avoid real human connection.”

You smile indignantly at your best friend, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s satisfaction rippling through your body. Try arguing with that one, Rosa—

“How long are you going to avoid real human connection before you end up all alone, surrounded by ten cats and all my wellness supplements?”

Okay, rude. A wake-up call at this hour isn’t really necessary. She sounds much too invested in this for your liking.

Statistically speaking, you are on track to die with your phone in one hand and a highlighter in the other. But also? You kind of don’t care.

You're good at exactly two things in this life: 1) your job and 2) being right, neither of which you plan on giving up any time soon. You’re not about to emotionally babysit a man who wears loafers without socks or tells you he’s “big on communication” but flinches when you ask what his ex’s name is.

Relationships are cute for people like Rosalie, who have time to dabble in them. You are booked out for the foreseeable future.

“You know I don’t care about that stuff.” You decide that’s an appropriate response to her worrying. “I just.. value my alone time. And you’ve seen how hard I work. I don’t have time to date.”

“What about your coworkers?” she muses casually. “Surely one of them, with the same work ethic as you, is a good option.”

You nearly choke on your drink so violently that the moose head looks concerned.

“What?” Rosalie blinks at you with full sincerity. “I’m just saying—it seems efficient. You could like, hold hands while rage-writing about the president.”

You stare at her blankly. “I’d rather go on a silent meditation retreat with Mitch McConnell.”

“You’re being dramatic. Walk me through the options,” She sits up straighter, voice rising at the end of her sentence.

“Okay…” you exhale, already regretting everything. “There’s Andrew, but he clips his nails at his desk and I can’t unhear it. It’s like ASMR for serial killers.”

She grimaces, tapping her polished nail against her glass. “Ew.”

“There’s Gavin, who’s technically married but also keeps asking if I’ve ever been to Greece in spring, so that feels like a no.”

Now that you’re running through the roster out loud, it’s pretty devastating.

“Paul.”

You say the name with hope attached to it, and Rosalie leans forward in anticipation, like she’s already envisioning her maid of honor dress and your pastel wedding invitations. “But.. he calls Slack ‘the Slack’ and that gave me the ick. Plus, he also listens to NPR, so that’s another minus.”

Rosalie groans and sets her forehead down on the table like this is your fault. “God, your workplace is bleak. What’s the point of being employed if you can’t seduce someone with a respectable title?”

“Believe it or not, I do actually work so I can get paid.” You take a sip of your drink, which has simmered down to a pool of vodka and watered-down soda.

She lifts her head from the table, “Not one hot little office romance? A private kiss in an elevator? Anything to feel alive?”

She’s really overestimating the Hill’s penchant for romance.

You give her a long look. “I write about current events. That is my version of a hot little office romance.”

She snorts, then tilts her head at you knowingly. Uh-oh. You know that look. It’s the look she gave you in college before she asked if she could set you up with her cousin, the 7th Earl of Douglas. “Wait.. do you still work with that guy?”

Your stomach drops. Like an elevator going down one floor too fast. “What guy?”

You’re playing dumb, which is not usually your move. But you are. Aggressively and visibly.

Rosalie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You know, that guy from college. What was his name.. Jungkook?”

Damn her. You really need to stop telling her your work stories. Not that it matters anyway. She’s known him the same unfortunate amount of time you have.

You shift slightly in your seat. It’s a tiny readjustment but you’re fidgeting, leg crossing the other way, hand playing with your straw like it’s suddenly fascinating.

You absolutely do not glance at the moose for help.

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

Rosalie arches a brow. “He’s still as hot as he was back then. I saw his post on Instagram last week. Those cheekbones still working overtime, eh?”

You force a laugh, struggling to banish any and all flashes of his cheekbones that are currently flitting through your mind like pages of a scrapbook. They are oddly nice. But knowing him, he probably gets cheek filler or something. “I guess. If you’re into that whole overly symmetrical thing.”

“Who isn’t into it?” She picks up her martini glass, taking a massive gulp.

You can’t respond. You’re too busy hyper-focusing on your vodka soda and trying not to remember a very specific Friday night freshman year. One where you walked into some random room at the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity house with jungle juice in one hand, only to—

Nope. Not going down that road.

Following in her footsteps, you take a big sip of your drink. Rosalie doesn’t notice the way your leg is slightly bouncing under the table. Or if she does, she’s sparing you the embarrassment. “I always thought he’d go into modeling or something,” she tosses her jet-black hair over her shoulder. “Didn’t peg him as someone who would go into politics.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “even the devil wants press credentials.”

“Bet he still looks good in a suit though.”

Now it’s your turn to drop your head onto the tabletop.

Sure, maybe there are people out there with actual problems. Real ones. People who’ve lost their homes, who don’t know where their next meal will come from, who aren’t currently sipping overpriced vodka sodas while side-eyeing a moose in a hat. Compared to them, this whole moment is an insult.

And yet, in this precise, horrifying pocket of time, you genuinely can’t imagine a worse fate than Rosalie fawning over Jungkook like he’s a misunderstood bad boy.

If you’re being all Psychology 101 about your feelings (which you got an A in, so you are), you’re still annoyed about the coffee he brought you earlier. How dare he remember things about you like he’s some poor excuse of a friend. You don’t want to be seen, or be known, especially by him.

You lift your head up, sip the last of your drink, ignore the knot forming somewhere behind your ribs.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat and force the tightest smile your face can manage without cramping. “tell me more about those edible face masks you texted me about last week. Those sounded questionable.”

But Rosalie is a martini deep, so she leans forward across the table before you can finish the pivot. Her fur coat bunches against the edge, nails curling. “So, is there any chance he’s going to be at work tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Jungkook.” She looks at you like you're the crazy one. “Will he be there?”

You squint at her, like maybe if you narrow your eyes hard enough, the words will rearrange into something more coherent. “It’s a weekday. I assume so, unless he’s decided to pursue his dream of becoming a shirtless travel vlogger.”

“Perfect,” she leans back against the chair now. “I’ll be here a few more days.”

“I—what? Wait. Hold on. No.”

She pouts dramatically. “Why not?”

You sputter, and you feel your right eye beginning to twitch. “Wha—Why not?? Rosalie, what do you mean why not?”

“I mean,” she looks genuinely baffled. That makes two of you. “I’m single, he’s single, you work with him… you can’t not set us up just because you’re being weird.”

You’re about to flip this table over. “I’m not— what? I’m not being weird.”

She plays with the toothpick that used to hold her olives. “You do this thing sometimes where you act all chill but then your eye starts to twitch.”

You stare at her, openly horrified. “Rosalie, I do not. No—okay, look. First of all, I do not matchmake. That’s not in my skillset. I can barely order dinner for two without freaking out.”

You abruptly realize your hands are clenched in your lap, and the inside of your cheek is sore from how hard you’re biting it.

Okay — maybe you should let her fuck him. She’s an adult. You’re not her keeper, and thank God you’re not his either. You have no legal or emotional stake in this whatsoever.

But then you think about it for more than six seconds and suddenly the idea feels… bad. Like ethically bad. Cosmically cursed. Like watching someone about to pet a tiger because it looks “soft.”

Besides, why would you want to subject her to that kind of torture? Why would you offer her up to the emotional rollercoaster that is Jungkook when you’re barely surviving it yourself? Honestly, it would be cruel. A hate crime.

She gazes at you. You are going to start screaming spontaneously any minute now.

“Okay.. but like, why can’t you just help me out here?”

You sit there poker-faced. Your brain — already operating at half-capacity thanks to the vodka soda and the emotional trauma of this conversation — halts all function. You open your mouth, praying something logical will come out. A thoughtful excuse. A real reason. Maybe even a full monologue about professionalism or the fact that he drives you insane on a daily basis.

Instead, what tumbles out is, “Heard he gave someone on the Hill a STD.”

Silence.

It’s like every patron in the bar took a vow to participate in a well-timed moment of silence.

“Wait, what?”

You swallow thickly, saliva going down like molasses. “Yeah. I mean, don’t quote me or anything. But, you know how it is. Rumors.”

The words feel like wet socks in your mouth.

You eye her carefully, waiting for the inevitable laugh. But it never comes. “Oh,” she says, drawn out like she’s having a That’s So Raven-level flashback. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t— “

She stops herself. Bats her eyelashes. Smiles quickly. “So, you were talking about my edible face masks?”

You go along with it. You’re not about to ask what she almost said.

You both brush past it like the moose above you isn’t watching in real-time.

Stirring your straw around the edge of your glass, you become aware of how warm the bar feels, how loud it’s gotten, how your face is doing that thing where it tries to stay neutral but ends up folding in on itself.

You don’t know when you became a liar. As a White House correspondent, your entire career was built on integrity and ethics. This is new territory for you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She can obviously have him. She can have his cheekbones and his annoying woodsy cologne that makes you irrationally upset and his coffee-bringing habits.

Take it all. Godspeed, Rosalie.

Something about being in the office with a minor hangover feels like a crime against humanity. A petty offense punishable by being trapped under fluorescent lights while liquor seeps out of your skin.

Every time Paul from two rows over makes eye contact with you, you feel a fresh wave of nausea roll through your body like a bad remix of last night’s (multiple) vodka sodas.

You don’t even know what he wants. Maybe he heard how you eliminated him last night from your list of potential suitors at the office. He probably can also smell the vodka dripping from your pores but that’s a separate story.

Your night, as it would only happen, ended with four more vodka sodas after the first one had been downed and topics of conversation that should never be repeated in a public setting. Apparently you also tried to steal the moose’s hat. So, yeah. Not really doing your finest this Tuesday morning.

You try to focus on your inbox, which is currently ten emails deep and pulsing with the words URGENT and MONROE EDITS. Tentatively, you open one. Close it. Open another. Realize it’s the same email. Close it again.

All higher brain power has been disabled until further notice. It’s just rotating between memories of Rosalie’s fur coat, the moose head, and the vague threat of vomit in the back of your throat.

Unfortunately, Jungkook sneaks his way in there too.

Which, no. You are not going to sit and think about whether Rosalie ended up DMing him. You’re not donating energy to the possibility of her sliding into his messages with a “hey stranger.” You’re not even remembering the comment she made on the curb outside while waiting for her Uber about “needing to reconnect with old friends.”

Everything is totally fine. (And you’re on the right track — your Advil is starting to kick in.)

“You look like you died at a party and were revived by the ghost of hangovers past,” Emma says as she plops into her chair next to you, placing her chocolate chip muffin on the desk. She had already been here when you arrived ten minutes past 9 AM, but retreated to the cafeteria for a breakfast pick-me-up.

You can’t even crane your neck to look over at her. “I think I’m being judged by Paul.”

Emma leans to peek over her desk. “He’s wearing those weird loafers again. He doesn’t get to judge anyone.”

“I think I’m sweating vodka.” You keep going down your list of woes.

Emma snorts at that. “Rough night?”

Another email gets opened but promptly exited out of. “Very. Met up with my college best friend.”

“The rich girl?” She pushes her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, re-opening her laptop.

“Yup,” you sigh. “Still rich.”

“Goals.”

You nod in agreement, fingertips hovering over your keyboard. “I wanted to be her when I was 19. Still kind of do.”

“If I had her money, I’d have fake boobs and a villa in Greece. I’d never answer an email again. I’d float off the grid on a yacht,” Emma muses dreamily, placing her chin in the crook of her palm.

“Instead, I’m here,” your mouth opens with the beginning stages of a yawn. “Rotting, in need of electrolytes. If I know her as well as I think I do, she’s probably getting a massage right now.”

Emma lets out a noise that resembles the familiar sound of laughter, opening up a new window on her laptop to resume her previous tasks. You stare blankly at your own screen. It mocks you with a NBC article you plan to tear to shreds and a to-do list you’re checking off just to say you did something, like the sheer motion will jog your brain into gear.

The cycle goes as such: open a new tab, skim an article, close it, reopen it ten seconds later because you already forgot what was said.

There’s this new policy rollout you’re chasing that’s somehow both deeply boring and disastrous. Two weeks ago, you had dinner with Kara Devlin, a junior legislative aide and some overachiever from Brown, and you pried as much intel as you could from her like a raccoon rummaging through garbage. She had given you a whole lot of nothing, but there was one quote you’ve been holding hostage.

Your eyes brush past a few local blogs. The Times. Politico. That one freelancer who insists on formatting his substack like a ransom note.

And then, you land on Fox. It’s not like you’re looking for suffering, but you might as well round out the masochism.

Your finger slowly moves down the touchpad of your laptop, scrolling down. Half of your mind is still hungover, the other half is trying to remember if you actually did Doordash those electrolyte packets to the building or if you just thought about it aggressively.

The article’s whatever. The usual. Misleading title, blurry infographics, some ominous use of the word “patriotic.” You’re on complete and utter auto-pilot, eyes glazed over in mild disgust, until—

Jungkook Jeon, Contributor.

Your finger freezes on the scroll pad. Aggressively go back up to the top. You sit up so fast you nearly dislocate your vertebrae. Your attention is piqued — not because he has any insight you particularly care about, not for policy clarity, but so that later, you can roast the living hell out of whatever lazy, metaphor-mixing nonsense he’s about to pass off as journalism.

You reread the opening lines again. Something about bipartisan stalling, vague reference to committee strategy, a few recycled phrases.. blah, blah, blah.

There’s a giggle that’s threatening to bubble up from your chest. It’s like the universe knew you needed this. You leisurely continue to scroll, unable to control the smile on your face.

Wait.

What did that line just say?

Your brain turns on like someone flipped the light switch in a haunted house.

There’s a quote nestled in the middle of the article. In big, bold letters, signed off with the name Kara Devlin.

Your smile gets wiped off your face in three seconds flat. Leaning into your screen, you murmur the quote under your breath: “The strategy for the senate is not to all agree to the same policy, but see how many back out due to its democratic ties. That’ll reveal where everyone’s intentions lie.”

No, no, no. That’s your quote. That’s Kara Devlin’s direct words, told to you under the flickering lights of a diner in Maryland after acceptable work hours. It’s now sitting in Jungkook’s article, chopped up and thrown in like seasoning.

Your hangover drops so far down the totem pole it’s practically underground.

You sit back in your chair, hands firmly gripping the armrest, mouth slightly open like you just witnessed a murder but aren’t sure who to call.

Three things immediately occur to you:

The writing is fine. But you would have tightened it, maybe removed some passive verbs, flipped the framing..

His quote placement is clunky. It’s shoved in there as if it’s not the backbone of the piece.

WHAT THE FUCK.

You reread the quote so many times it burns into your retina. Fuck Kara Devlin. Even after you paid for her three appetizers and her milkshake, she turned around and gave it up to Jungkook. She’s a slut (politically).

Emma glances over. “You okay over there?”

You’re too busy calculating how fast you can walk over to the Fox press room without murdering someone on the way to respond.

“Helloooo? Earth to [Y/N]?” She waves her hand in front of your face.

Your voice takes a second to boot back up, like an old car on a cold morning. “He used my quote.”

“Who?” she asks, dropping into the tone she uses for gossip.

You reluctantly swivel the laptop screen towards her like you’re presenting the murder weapon. “Jungkook. He wrote this piece and used my quote from Kara Devlin.”

Emma narrows her eyes at the article, lips moving as she whispers the words on the screen under her breath. Once she’s done, she gasps in horror, “Kara? Like the girl you took out to dinner?”

“The very one.”

“Oh, god.” She pushes your laptop away from her in disgust. “Even after you emotionally groomed her into trusting you?”

“Okay, maybe don’t say ‘emotionally groomed.’ But yes. Her.”

“Are we sure it’s the same one?” Emma offers.

“Of course I’m sure!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I was sitting right there across from her as she droned on and on about some other policy issue until this just fell in my lap.”

“Damn,” Emma shakes her head, lets out a tsk.

“How the hell did he even get his hands on it?” You slump in your chair, hands now covering your face.

Emma shrugs unknowingly. “Did Kara get hacked? Maybe Jungkook planted a wire in your bag?”

Both are plausible.

You groan loudly, “It’s not even just the quote that kills me. The placement is ludacris. He just shoved it in there like it’s… like it’s a garnish. It’s chives, Emma. He used my quote like chives.”

Emma winces, “That’s deep.”

“Now his stupid little name is tied to that quote.” Not to mention, you’ll also have to go on a wild goose chase for a new one.

Emma begins to unwrap her muffin that was lying untouched, “Do you want me to go slash his tires? I’ll wear a mask.”

“I’m not saying yes,” you mumble, “but I’m also not saying no.”

She drones on about her master attack plan, while you sit glued to your seat. Fine, you’ll admit it — this little cat-and-mouse game you and Jungkook play has always been fun. It’s fun in the way verbal sparring is, or how lighting a match just to watch it burn could technically be considered a hobby.

It’s not like you haven’t gotten your licks in before — stolen a quote here, intercepted a question there, once maybe ‘accidentally’ deleted his name off a media RSVP list.

But Kara Devlin was yours. She was earned.

Emma is still mid-rant about slashproof ski masks and the technical logistics of a ‘light’ tire slash, when you glance at the clock in the corner of your screen.

And then time slows.

It’s 10:02 AM.

Ten. Zero. Two.

Your pulse spikes, hair on the back of your neck standing up. You freeze completely like maybe time will reverse itself out of pity.

“Emma,” you cut her off mid-sentence. “I gotta go. Meeting. 10:30 AM.”

She blinks at you. “Oh! What kind of meeting?”

You’re already shoving your notebook into your bag with the panic of someone being chased, breathlessly speaking. “Legislative aide. Some Senate bill, I don’t know. It’s across the lawn, you know how long it fucking takes to get there.”

Emma pulls a face. “Oof. That’s rough. If you speed walk, you’ll make it by 10:25.”

You stuff your laptop into your bag too, nearly drop your phone, do a full spin because you can’t find your badge and then find it pinned to your pants pocket like a dumbass.

“Okay,” you mutter. “Okayokayokay. No time to dwell. I’ll process the theft later, either in therapy or in the bathtub with wine.”

Emma’s holding back a laugh, “Well. Let me know if you need company while you do that.”

God, she’s great. What an upstanding woman.

With that, you’re gone, storming out of the press room. Your bag keeps smacking your hip, hangover faintly lingering. You speed past a group of interns who part like the Red Sea, interrupting their morning gossip session.

You are an organized and professional woman who has simply spiraled about a journalist stealing your source and forgotten about a government meeting. It happens.

Today is going great. Perfect. Fantastic.

You burst through the glass doors, sun suddenly too bright on your skin. The air smells like fresh landscaping.

Usually, you love this part. This little stroll across the lawn, the strut in front of a stunning backdrop of democracy and white buildings that gleam. Normally, you take it all in.

Not today though. Today, you are head down, hair sticking to the nape of your neck, puffs of air inhaled into your lungs at an alarming rate. You break into a half-jog across the lawn, cursing your choice of shoes and the existence of time itself. Somewhere in the distance, a tourist points at you, probably thinking you’re someone important. You are not. You’re just late.

You're almost there, you can see the building rearing its ugly head. You’ll have about five minutes to fetch some water but it’ll do. Honestly, you’ve made great time, so that’s something to celebrate.

And then — you hear it. Your voice, off in the distance, echoing across the expanse of the lawn,

Weird. Not totally impossible, but unsettling.

You blink a few times, slow your pace, and instinctively whip your head in a few different directions like you’re the supporting character in a horror movie who’s about to get the axe.

Did you die? Did the hangover finally win? Is this what the afterlife is, a loop of your own voice haunting you across the lawn?

It really does sound exactly like you.

You peer up at the sky, as if God or maybe Jenna is pulling some weird power move. Like surprise! Time for a self-awareness ambush. Let’s listen to you talk for a change!

You slow to a crawling speed, confused and slightly nauseous. This could be a hallucination.

But then… you see it.

On the steps of the west wing entrance, past the security gate, near one of the stone benches, you spot a man with broad shoulders, back facing you. Watching something on a laptop that contains your voice.

You walk even slower than humanly possible, tiptoeing as you get closer. You realize he’s watching the press pool from a few weeks ago. You don’t remember which one exactly, they all blend together.

The inconspicuous man chuckles to himself.

Who the hell is that?

You take a few half-steps forward like getting closer will make any of this make sense. Just a casual stroll, nothing to see here. A curious taxpayer.

Squinting a little harder as the sun hits at an odd angle, you see a notepad perched in his lap, pen in hand.

That’s kind of sweet. Someone clearly looks up to you. Maybe it’s that intern you made prolonged eye contact with.

Oh. Oh.

He picks up his pen again, and you see them. The tattoos that litter his knuckles, clear as daylight.

You know those tattoos. You’ve known those tattoos since freshman year of college.

They look a lot like Jungkook—

Jungkook is sitting on the steps of the West Wing in broad sunlight, watching your press pool questions on his laptop like he’s studying you.

A gasp escapes you, and you slap a hand over your mouth but it's too late.

His head jerks around so fast he almost flings the notepad off his thighs. Those eyes widen when he locks them with yours, like a deer in headlights.

There’s probably a good two seconds that go by where you just stare at each other. Frozen in this very weird, dramatic standoff. Stuck in that horrible moment of recognition, like when your ex appears in your Hinge likes or you walk in on your sibling watching a thirst trap.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” you ask slowly, voice sharp and cold.

He flinches at your tone. “Jesus Christ, could you not sneak up on me like that?”

You creep forward, inching toward him like you’re hiding a knife behind your back. “Sneak up on you? You’re the one sitting on the steps in broad daylight studying my voice like a weirdo.”

Jungkook shuts his notebook quickly, “I’m not studying it—”

“Oh, really?” you snap, marching closer. You’re hovering over him now, your shadow looming on his body. “So you just casually watch old press briefings, skip to my questions and take notes for fun?”

Jungkook stands now, placing his notebook next to his laptop on the step. “Okay, relax. I was prepping.”

It’s annoying how much taller he is now that he’s face-to-face with you.

“Prepping?” you echo. “Prepping for what, exactly?”

“I was seeing how you phrase your questions,” he replies flatly. “It’s not illegal. You’re not copyrighted.”

You laugh sarcastically. You don’t know what compels you to stand there and say more. By all means, you should flip him off and walk away. Let him watch. Never think about it again. But you do the opposite. “Are you kidding me right now? You stole a quote from my source —which by the way, fuck you for that— and now you’re out here trying to take notes on my question phrasing?”

He shrugs casually. “What do you want me to say? You’re good.”

Yeah, you know. It’s how you got into Columbia. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet somehow it does because he’s the one saying it, enough to stun you.

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t get to plagiarize my source and then compliment me.”

He walks down a step, still towering over you. “I didn’t plagiarize. I just published what I found.”

Your ears are ringing. “That’s your justification?”

“Wasn’t theft, just initiative.”

And it’s the way he says things like this, like the world exists to conform to all his desires, that sends you spiraling into a cocktail of blind rage and envy. When you’ve been losing things to Jungkook for as long as you have, you live in a constant state of acceptance that never really ends. It’s in how you brace yourself whenever his name is on lists outside of bulletin boards, how you sometimes catch yourself expecting to lose before you’ve begun trying.

All you can muster up is a heaving sigh before you reach down and slam the laptop shut, pausing your own voice mid-question.

He looks mildly offended. “Was that necessary?”

You gape at him, words barely forming, because the audacity is just so constant with this man. “What are you even doing here?” you gesture to the area. “Sitting here like some creepy ghost?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Don’t you dare use the constitution on me right now.”

“I like sitting here,” he says innocently. “I think here.”

You deadpan. “You… think here.”

“Yes.”

“In public.”

“God forbid I like to remember what this place is supposed to be about,” He raises his hands in defense.

“Oh good lord.”

“It helps,” he continues, completely ignoring you. “When I’m burnt out or pissed off or just need a minute to think, I come here. It reminds me why I got into politics in the first place.”

You scoff. “Which was..?”

He looks back toward the Capitol dome, eyes squinting like he’s about to say something that belongs on one of those mugs from the White House gift shop that you got your mom four years ago. “To do something that actually mattered,” he says. “To write about the government in a way that reminds people they’re still human. That we’re all humans.”

Now this monologue reminds you why you hate the guy. Who cares if he’s handsome or insightful or tall? He has deduced your career to a Pinterest-esque quote about journalism.

“Wow.” You start to slow clap, the sound of your palms slapping echoing across the lawn. “So poetic. Inspiring, really.”

He cocks his head, waiting for you to finish being theatrical.

“And also,” you put your claps away. Better to save them for your chat with the legislative aide, which you really should be getting to. “to apparently steal my tone, quote my sources, and stalk my voice.”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like I said, you’re good. Sorry I noticed.”

You clench your jaw, body buzzing. “Whatever. Enjoy your little identity theft picnic.”

You spin on your heel and march off toward the building you were actually supposed to be at. Your steps are fast, eyes trained ahead.

Even as your fists are clenched, you can’t stop the thing rising up behind your ribs. The stupid, aching realization that Jungkook has been watching you.

Like you’re the only one worth keeping up with.

You hate it all. You should demand CNN to scrub all footage. But none of it really matters because what you hate most viscerally, is that your brain whispers something treasonous like: at least he gets it.

Your face burns, heart pounding as you push past the wooden doors of the old building in the West Wing.

You hope the wind swallows him whole. And maybe his stupid notebook too.

masterlist + ask

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