#it's just something i felt the need to express

[haqiqxt]

sometimes a woman just needs to gather her thoughts before she walks back into a burning flame she once was rescued from. i should also preface, it’s taken her years to feel absolutely nothing. you say there’s a feeling you long for that you haven’t felt—am i meant to read your mind? what is it? love, longing, inspiration, or a challenge or none? because these are simply words that yes, are written by me { whoever or whatever me means to you } but sometimes the essence of a personal touch like hearing or seeing is what may revive what’s flatlined. you ask what do my eyes hide? i’ll leave that for the interpretation of others maybe even you— and my smile? she only appears sometimes, almost rare that when i do smile i’m aware i’m smiling and immediately my thoughts are back in action. and my odd days? perhaps they tug away at the weights on my shoulders, in between the corners of my room where no one can truly hear me regardless of how loud i am. what do my normal days hide too? solace and routines. boring yes but i fear that i no longer can do uncertainty with anything anymore.

i’m talking in metaphors, which honestly i’ve come to hate because so much can be misconstrued in words—especially ours. but i still write all the time. i did stop for a while, but one day i remembered that muse i would write about isn’t the only muse to exist. maybe there are other forms of art in life that i could write about that aren’t a literal, physical, breathing human man whom i can no longer express myself to. though may not be as deep, but sometimes they do deserve a second thought. just like you.

we’re just going in circles, but why does this still make me giggle? why am i choosing to let you consume me again? every time i think about the after of it all and how much i literally felt my heart physically fall out of my chest and watched it still beat on the floor. how much i tried to erase you from everything, but all i kept getting were signs, one after another. part of me believed i was never going to escape it, ever. and so i became a bystander in my own life. i had no energy to hold myself anymore. to walk through life as though love— so genuine, and endless, yet soft, and complex, oddly transformative, yet sacred and vulnerable, persistent till now, unpredictable, and beautiful love—was right here and now it’s gone. as if i let you, let us, excuse ourselves. but then i remember—we’re juxtaposed, or so we were told to be. ironic as such, why you may ask? in every other aspect, we’re the most likely the first to call out injustice. this is injustice. this is madness. it’s okay to say you miss this, my dear. i do too. sometimes, when i watch movies, or go for a drive, or even sit at dinner, i remember the feeling. and sometimes, i’ll pause—close my eyes—to really feel the presence that my soul craves, that deep ache for something i can never quite touch. no matter how much i’ve sliced and diced myself, at this point, i feel like i have no limbs. i tried so hard to carve you out, but in doing so, i took myself with it. it’s something about the way we were, something so real, even if we can never be again. a haunting, almost, that lingers in the quiet spaces between my thoughts, reminding me that even in the absence of us, we are still somehow connected.

anyways, what is this all for — i really don’t know. but there’s a been a lot of times where i’ve read your words and thought to myself if only you knew.

[blairenqs]

୨୧ NOT A LITTLE KID ✧ AARON HOTCHNER

───── IN WHICH 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖾 !

𝖻𝖿!𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟣.𝟨𝖪 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ 𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP with aaron hotchner wasn’t easy—especially when you worked under him at the bau.

balancing your personal and professional lives was already hard as it is, but the fact that you were significantly younger than him made things even more complicated.

you weren’t new to the team, but your age set you apart from hotch, making you feel like you had something to prove.

you were good at your job—your record spoke for itself, but you couldn’t shake off the insecurity that came with being treated as the “kid” of the team.

and then there was aaron. at home, he loved you tremendously, in ways you’d never imagined someone like him could. but at work.. it was different.

he wasn’t just protective of you—he was way too protective. he often sidelined you during the more dangerous parts of cases or paired you with someone else, as if he didn’t trust you to handle things on your own. —READ MORE!

you confronted him about it before, but aaron being aaron, always brushed it off with the same frustrating explanation, “i just want to keep you safe.”

you accepted that excuse for a while. you knew he loved you, and you wanted to believe that his intentions came from the right place.

but the doubts had started to creep in, and lately, they were getting harder and harder to ignore.

the latest case pushed you to your breaking point. it was one of the harder kinds of cases—an unsub moving from city to city, leaving a trail of death in his path. the team had been running on a little under three hours of sleep for days, barely resting as you chased lead after lead.

when it finally came time to catch the unsub, you’d been ready. you’d spent hours reading over the profile, mapping out the unsubs’ movements, and preparing for every possible outcome.

but when aaron pulled you aside before the team left, your stomach sank—already knowing what was coming.

“i need you to stay at the station and work with garcia,” he said, his tone firm and strict.

your heart dropped. “what? why?”

“because someone needs to handle communications,” he said, avoiding your gaze. “we can’t afford any possible slip ups.”

“aaron—you know garcia can handle that,” you said, your frustration growing bigger by the minute. “i’ve worked just as hard on this case as everyone else. i deserve to be out there.”

“it’s not about what you deserve,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “it’s about what’s best for the team.”

“don’t do this,” you said, lowering your voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “don’t sideline me again.”

his jaw clenched, and for a split second, you thought he might reconsider. but then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “this isn’t up for discussion. stay here.”

and with that, he walked off, leaving you standing there with your hands clenched into fists and your chest tight with frustration.

you wanted to listen. you really did—but as the minutes ticked by and the team moved in on the unsub, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to be there.

so when the opportunity came, you made the decision to join them on field grounds.

the takedown was difficult but ultimately successful. the unsub was taken into custody without any casualties, but not before a few difficulties.

you stepped in to help morgan in a crucial moment, your quick thinking helping to trap the unsub before things could escalate.

but instead of feeling proud, you felt the weight of aaron’s anger the moment his eyes locked in with yours across the scene.

back at the station, you could basically cut the tension with a knife. everyone was on edge, knowing what was coming and you knew it was only a matter of time before aaron confronted you.

sure enough, as soon as the team regrouped, he called your name.

“can i speak to you for a moment?” he said, his tone short and terrifyingly serious.

you hesitantly followed him to a quieter corner of the station, well aware of the eyes that followed you. when he turned to face you, his expression was unreadable, but his voice was undoubtedly angry and sharp.

“what the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, keeping his voice quiet but firm. “i gave you a direct order, and you deliberately disobeyed me.”

“i was thinking i could help,” you said, struggling to keep your voice steady. “and i did help.”

“you put yourself and the team at risk,” he said, his jaw clenching. “this isn’t a game, and it’s not about proving a point. when i give you an order, i expect you to follow it. is that clear?”

your chest tightened, and you nodded stiffly, unable to meet his gaze. “crystal clear.”

the rest of the team was silent when you returned. you could feel their eyes on you, their pity as radiant as the tension in the air.

spencer gave you a sympathetic smile, which only made you feel worse.

the flight back to quantico was unbearable. you sat in the farthest corner of the jet, staring out of the window and doing your best to ignore the feeling of anger and humiliation in your chest.

morgan tried to comfort you, sitting across from you with his usual smile. “hey, don’t let him get to you, kid. you know how hotch is—he’s just worried about you.”

jj chimed in, her voice gentle. “he wouldn’t have reacted like that if he didn’t care.”

you forced a small smile but didn’t respond. their words didn’t help. this wasn’t just about aaron yelling at you—it was about everything.

it was about the way he treated you at work, like you couldn’t handle yourself. like you weren’t capable like the rest of your team. weren’t enough.

when aaron approached and tried to sit beside you, you turned your body away, instead moving your gaze on the window. he didn’t say anything, but you could feel the weight of his presence, his silence louder than words.

by the time the plane finally landed, you already decided not to ride home with him. jj offered you a ride, and you accepted it without hesitation, ignoring the way aaron’s eyes followed you as you walked away.

when you got to the apartment you shared with aaron, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, the events of the day replaying over and over in your mind.

the sound of the door opening a little while later made your heart clench, yet you didn’t look up.

aaron’s footsteps were quiet and hesitant as he approached, stopping a few feet away. “can we talk?” he asked softly.

you didn’t respond, your silence speaking louder than words.

“i’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “for yelling at you. for making you feel—”

“it’s not just about the yelling,” you interrupted, finally looking up at him. your voice was quieter now, but the hurt in it was impossible to miss.

his brow furrowed, concern written into every line of his face. “then what is it, honey?”

“it’s the way you treat me at work,” you said, your throat tightening as the words came out. “like i’m some fragile child. like i can’t handle myself. you don’t treat spencer or anyone else that way.”

“that’s not what i think of you,” he said quickly, stepping closer.

“then why do you do it?” you asked, your voice trembling. “why do you act like i’m this reckless kid who constantly needs to be protected?”

he sighed, his shoulders slumping as he sat onto the coffee table in front of you.

“because i’m scared,” he admitted, his voice coming out as a whisper. “when i see you out there, i can’t separate who you are to me from the job. i know i should, and i know it’s not professional—but i can’t. and that’s not fair to you.”

your eyes searched his face, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. “aaron, i need you to trust me. i need to know that you see me as capable, not as someone you need to protect all the time.”

“i do trust you,” he said, reaching out to lock your hands in his. “more than anyone. but i’ve been letting my fear get in the way of showing that, and i’m sorry—you’re just as qualified as anyone else on the team.”

his thumb caressing over your knuckles, his touch warm and grounding. “you’re not irresponsible. you’re not immature. you’re one of the strongest, smartest people i’ve ever met, and i’m lucky to have you—not just on the team, but in my life.”

your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes. “i just don’t want you to regret being with me because of who i am. because of my age.”

his grip on your hands tightened, his gaze warm and unwavering as he cupped your face into his hands. “i don’t regret a single thing about us. and i never will.”

his lips met yours in a soft, gentle and grounding kiss, the kind of comfort that made you feel safe and seen in a way words never could.

“i’m so sorry honey,” he whispered against your lips.

“i know,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his. “just.. don’t baby me, okay?”

he smiled, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “deal.”

as he pulled you into his arms, he teasingly mumbled, “for the record, disobeying me again isn’t how i’d recommend proving your point.” you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, rolling your eyes as you muttered, “noted, agent hotchner.”

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. i miss hotch sm like bring him back now pls. also i’m considering transferring to forensic psychology.. idk if that’s smart or the dumbest decision ill ever make ☹️

[fellominaarcher]

you belong to me - yoo jimin/karina

⤷ stripper!karina x gp!fem reader

⤷ smut (minors dni)

⤷ trigger warning: adult content, p in v (unprotected), violence, strip club (?).

⤷ note: this shit is terrible and this is my first gp smut :/

That’s the problem. Y/N is a frequent visitor at this elite strip club. What started as an innocent getaway out of curiosity about the whole concept of a strip club had led her to meeting Yoo Jimin — or as she goes by on stage, Karina.

Her stage name.

If she were to count, this would be her ninth visit in two months. That’s quite frequent, even for a regular customer at this club. In fact, she had spent the most money here recently. Entrance fees. Drinks. Snacks. Strippers.

But that’s not a problem for the current vice president of a certain corporation.

Until a certain dark-eyed dancer with a mean expression — a well-known performer here who attracts the most customers — entered the picture. Also the co-owner of Hellfire Club, she had successfully seduced and captivated the usually quiet Y/N.

“Hey!” a man — more specifically, a male waiter at the club — called out. “You again! Eyeing Karina again?” he teased as he took a seat next to her at the bar.

Y/N shot him a side glare, letting out a soft groan, a little infuriated by the sudden interruption of her little moment. She continued sipping her cold whiskey.

The waiter’s eyes followed Y/N’s gaze to where it was glued — Karina. His boss. One of the highest-ranking dancers at Hellfire. He hummed knowingly. “Just ask her out. You drive her home sometimes, and sometimes she even takes you into her room,” he chirped, offering his slightly unwanted opinion.

“My boss is gorgeous. I don’t blame you,” he added.

Still no response from Y/N.

Yes, there are rooms above the strip club. Private rooms for the highest-ranking strippers to entertain customers they’re interested in — for private performances and more.

“I’m just a customer. It’s delusional to think that a stripper might be into you just because of how often you come here,” Y/N finally spoke, taking another sip of whiskey. Good thing she’s a strong drinker.

Rarely drunk. Always in control. But when it comes to her nights with Karina, she’s drunken and weak — knees wobbling at the touch of her hands. The feeling of Jimin’s body.

It’s addictive, really. In fact, Y/N and Karina are almost like friends now — sharing bits of their personal lives and daily routines. They’ve even had lunch together twice after unexpectedly bumping into each other on the street. Y/N found it entertaining and surprisingly easy to talk to Karina.

Sometimes, she hoped Karina felt the same — that their conversations were more than just casual small talk, that Karina found it just as comforting and effortless as she did.

Most of Y/N’s nights at Hellfire were filled with sinful whispers and breathless moans shared with Karina, indulging in carnal needs that translated into physical desires neither of them could resist.

The male waiter scoffed at Y/N’s earlier words. “I’m just saying. It’s not like I’m asking you to marry her right away,” he teased. Y/N fell silent because, as irritating as he was, he wasn’t wrong.

Her gaze drifted back to Karina, and her jaw clenched, brows knitting together. It was a sight she wasn’t expecting — and certainly not one she wanted to see.

Karina was sitting at another table with another regular, Juyeon — the chaebol guy. The waiter, noticing Y/N’s change in expression, leaned closer. “Oh, that’s Juyeon. He’s been coming in a lot these past few weeks,” he informed her as she leaned against the bar, eyes locked on the scene before her.

Karina hadn’t noticed Y/N had arrived to pick her up for the night. She was too busy leaning in to hear Juyeon’s words over the heavy bass pounding against the club’s walls — and Y/N’s heart.

Juyeon said something funny, making Karina chuckle softly — the kind of laugh that wasn’t forced. The kind that made her eyes sparkle. The kind that made Y/N’s chest tighten.

“Why not? I like dad jokes too,” Juyeon grinned, earning a small smile from Karina.

She nodded slightly, scooting a bit away from him. It was midnight, and all Karina wanted was to leave the club, go home, and rest. But Juyeon’s presence made that harder. He had shown interest in her recently, and tonight was no different.

A few older men — the usual types with gold bands around their fingers and families waiting for them at home — beckoned for Karina to continue dancing for them. She was too exhausted to entertain their sleazy smiles and wandering eyes tonight.

Juyeon, however, wasn’t giving up. He wanted to see Karina on the pole, to have her undivided attention — even if it meant outspending everyone else just to get her alone in a private room.

“This is hard to watch,” Y/N muttered, downing the rest of her whiskey in one swift gulp.

Karina, on the other hand, felt suffocated. She needed to escape, even if this was her own club. The co-owner, barely sincere in her performances anymore, was growing weary of showing herself off to men who didn’t really see her.

“Please, Karina, just for a ni—” Juyeon reached out, grasping her wrist.

A loud crash shattered the tension in the room.

Gasps echoed through the club, the DJ immediately cutting the music, leaving behind an awkward silence punctuated by the faint scratch of the halted track.

Karina’s eyes widened, both hands covering her mouth in shock.

Juyeon dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, clutching his head tightly as blood trickled down his face.

Y/N stood over him, her hand still clenched from smashing her whiskey glass against his head. Thin beads of sweat lined her hairline as she gritted her teeth, glaring down at him.

This was her territory.

Karina stared at Y/N, utterly stunned. Relief flickered within her — someone had come to her rescue. But she wasn’t expecting this. Not here. Not in her club.

“Don’t you ever dare look at her again,” Y/N stated coldly, her voice laced with quiet fury. She wanted to blame it on the whiskey — maybe it was the Laphroaig clouding her judgment — but deep down, she knew better.

This wasn’t the alcohol talking.

This was possession.

Juyeon swayed, his vision blurring as he groaned in pain. Blood dripped sluggishly down his face, and he gritted his teeth, trying to regain his balance. Karina's eyes flickered between him and Y/N before she finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

She didn't care about Juyeon. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Without hesitation, she grabbed Y/N’s wrist and pulled her away. The murmuring crowd had already begun to close in, eager to watch the chaos unfold, but Karina had no intention of cleaning up Y/N’s mess. Let someone else deal with it.

Y/N let herself be dragged, though Karina’s grip was tighter than necessary—possessive, almost. They weaved through the dimly lit hallways of Hellfire Club, the heavy bass of the music still thudding in the distance. The scent of whiskey, sweat, and expensive perfume clung to the air, but all Y/N could focus on was the heat of Karina’s hand on her skin.

The moment they reached the private room, Karina shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind them. The muffled echoes of the club faded into silence.

Then she yanked Y/N’s hand from her own grasp.

“That was uncalled for! Why’d you do that?” Karina’s voice was sharp, a mix of frustration and something else — something raw, something shaken.

Y/N stood tall, but her gaze stayed on the floor. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, her breathing uneven. What the hell had she just done?

She hadn’t planned to smash that glass against Juyeon’s head. It wasn’t premeditated. It wasn’t logical. It was instinct.

Because the moment she saw Karina laughing with someone else, leaning in close, touching someone who wasn’t her, something inside her snapped.

"I hope you're not expecting me to apologize," Y/N finally said, lifting her head to meet Karina’s eyes. Her voice was low, rough, laced with something dangerous. "I don’t think I did anything wrong at all."

Karina’s breath hitched.

The way Y/N was looking at her — it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was darker than that, deeper than that. Possession. A claim, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

And the worst part?

Karina wasn’t sure if she hated it.

Her own gaze softened, but the conflict still lingered in her chest. Y/N had come to her defense. Protected her. But the violence — it wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t supposed to be like that.

Letting out a quiet sigh, she took a step forward, closing the space between them.

“Are you… okay?” Karina murmured, her voice gentler now.

Her fingers ghosted toward the back of Y/N’s head, hesitant, searching.

Y/N didn’t move. She didn’t flinch.

But her dark eyes never left Karina’s.

"I fucking hate anyone who touches what's mine." It's a matter of statement, stated by Y/N.

The tension between them crackled like fire in the dimly lit room, burning too hot, too fast, and neither of them could stop it now.

She just stood there, letting Karina’s fingertips barely ghost over her scalp, her body thrumming with something electric.

Without thinking properly, Y/N tugged Karina's closer into her by her arm and her gaze drifted down on Karina's eyes then kissable pinkish lips. Y/N gulped at the closeness between them and she took a deep breath as she grew needy for the beautiful woman.

Y/N leaned in and capturing Karina's lips in a deep yet gentle kiss. She could taste the lingering sweetness from Karina's pinkish gloss on her tongue and she pulled back carefully, her eyes opening again as she bored into Karina's eyes.

Karina melted into the kiss, she didn't hate that and she was kinda looking forward to fuck Y/N again whenever Y/N decided to be a customer again in Hellfire Club.

"Oh baby, you're in a big trouble," Karina whispered and she was fighting the smile that was threatening to form, "Seeing you like that was hot, though." She placed her hands on Y/N's chest and pushed Y/N to the bed.

Karina crawled in the bed right after pushing the taller woman, she got on top of Y/N and straddled her hips then looping her arms around Y/N's neck and her lips immediately pointed their way towards Y/N's lips.

Kissing again and invading Y/N's mouth as her wet tongue pushed into so she could make the kiss all better. More steamy.

Y/N was happy to be here and she had been looking forward to spend the night with Karina whether it is driving the co-owner of Hellfire Club to home or spending the night between Karina's legs. The latter is so much better.

Y/N broke the kiss because she can't no longer hold the grin and she gazed into Jimin's half lidded eyes and her hands roaming over Karina's curves, "I don't like saying sorry but if I have to this is how I'll say 'sorry', Karina," Y/N spoke, her voice is almost a whisper.

Karina smirked as she listened to Y/N's and she let out a soft chuckle, "Sounds toxic. If you fight with your girlfriend and you'll say sorry through intimacy?" Karina questioned Y/N in a teasing manner and leaned in again to give a quick peck.

"Manipulative." Karina added.

Y/N captured Karina's mouth again, kissing her deeply as she began to strip off her skimpy outfit. Y/N tossed the pieces aside carelessly, her hands eager to explore every inch of Karina's silky skin. She cupped Karina's breasts, thumbing her nipples until they pebbled under her touch.

Karina gasped into the kiss, arching into Y/N's hands. "Mmm, that feels good. But you're wearing too many clothes."

Y/N chuckled, nipping at Karina's bottom lip. "Let me take care of that for you, gorgeous."

She reached for the buttons of her own shirt, fumbling slightly in her haste to be naked with Karina. Once she had shed her shirt, she tugged off her pants and underwear, baring herself fully to Karina's heated gaze.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Karina breathed, her eyes roaming over Y/N's body.

Y/N's cock twitched at the praise, already hard and aching for Karina's touch. She stepped closer, pressing her body against Karina's as she kissed a trail down her neck and chest. She lavished attention on Karina's breasts, suckling and licking until Karina was writhing with need.

Karina tangled her fingers in Y/N's hair, holding her close as she moaned her pleasure. "Please, Y/N. I need you."

Y/N knew exactly what Karina needed. She slid her hand between Karina's thighs, stroking her wet folds and teasing her clit. Karina spread her legs wider, giving Y/N better access.

"Yes, just like that," Karina panted, her hips rolling into Y/N's touch. "Make me come, baby. I want to feel good for you."

Y/N obliged, curling her fingers inside Karina's tight channel as she sucked hard on her nipple. Karina cried out, her body tensing and shaking as she came hard around Y/N's fingers.

As Karina came down from her high, Y/N gentled her touches, stroking and petting her soft skin. She peppered kisses along Karina's body as she murmured words of possessiveness.

Karina looked up at her with hazy eyes, a lazy smile on her face. "That was amazing. But I think it's time for round two."

Y/N grinned, feeling her cock throb in anticipation. "Whatever you want, baby. I'm all yours." said Y/N and this woman made her feel weak already.

Karina reached down, wrapping her hand around Y/N's shaft and giving it a firm stroke. Y/N groaned, pushing into her grip. "Fuck, that feels so good." It feels so good and she threw her head back.

Karina pumped her hand along Y/N's length, teasing the tip with her thumb. "I love your cock, Y/N. I want you to cum for me." Karina teased Y/N seductively.

Y/N thrust into Karina's hand, desperate for more friction. "It's all for you, baby. I only get hard for you."

Karina guided Y/N to the bed, pushing her down onto the mattress. She straddled Y/N's hips, rubbing her wet folds along Y/N's thick cock. "I need you inside me, Y/N. I need to feel you fill me up." Karina's voice is softer and quivering now.

Y/N reached between them, positioning her cock at Karina's entrance. She rubbed the tip along Karina's slick folds, teasing them both. "Are you ready for me, baby? I'm going to make you feel so good." There's a bit of push and pull dynamic between them.

Karina nodded, sinking down onto Y/N's cock with a low moan. "Oh fuck, yes. You feel so good inside me." She moaned out and Y/N thought it was one of the sexiest sound to hear.

Y/N gripped Karina's hips, thrusting up into her tight heat as Karina rode her. They moved together in a steady rhythm, bodies glistening with sweat as they lost themselves in the pleasure.

"Fuck, that feel so good," Y/N panted, her hands roaming over Karina's body. "You're mine, Karina. Only mine."

Karina leaned down, capturing Y/N's lips in a searing kiss. "Yes, all yours," she breathed against Y/N's mouth. "Now make me come on your big, beautiful cock."

Y/N did as she was told, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor. She changed the angle of her hips, hitting that special spot inside Karina that made her see stars.

"Yes, right there," Karina cried out, her walls clenching around Y/N's shaft. "Fuck, I'm going to come!" Y/N exclaimed in pleasure.

Y/N felt her own release building, her body tensing as Karina rode her harder and faster. They came together, bodies shaking and crying out each other's names as they found their pleasure.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together on the bed, basking in the afterglow of their intense sex. Y/N held Karina close, pressing soft kisses to her hair.

Karina smiled against Y/N's chest, snuggling closer. "I think I need to have more taste of you. I don't even allow my regular customers to be around me this often, you know." Karina stated as a matter of fact.

Y/N chuckled and both of them are taking a few minutes to recuperate before they have to leave this place. Y/N and Karina both knew that this is never going to be the last time for them to meetup like this.

[whitecompri]

Going to Market With Your Hedgie

(Sonic, Shadow, Silver, Scourge)

Pairing: Sonic x Reader; Shadow x Reader; Silver x Reader; Scourge x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Mild Suggestive Themes

Sonic

He had been bothering you for about three days to take him along to the market. When you asked why he was suddenly so interested, Sonic simply said he wanted to keep you company and, if possible, buy a soda for himself. In the end, you couldn’t resist the lost puppy look he was giving you and ended up taking him to the market.

At the moment, you had your back turned to your shopping cart, evaluating the price of some essential household items. That’s when you felt the familiar breeze that hit you whenever the speedy hedgehog ran. You only managed to hear his quick steps and the sound of him breaking the speed of sound inside the market. You decided to ignore it at first—he was probably just grabbing the soda he had asked for.

However, you narrowed your eyes when you felt the breeze and heard the noise at least three more times. Turning around suddenly, still holding the items you were choosing, you saw him—completely at ease, leaning against the shopping cart, a sly little smirk on his face.

When your eyes focused on the cart, you could only sigh. He had filled it with packs of sausages, hot dog buns, and a ridiculous amount of ingredients to make chili. On top of everything sat the can of soda he had promised to grab.

"Sonic... are you trying to make me go broke?" You stepped closer to the cart, looking at the prices. "Look at this—no. You’re putting half of this back."

"Aw, come on, [Y/N], don’t you want to make your favorite hedgehog happy? I promise I’ll share the chili dogs with you."

You could only sigh and scratch the back of your neck. In the end, at least he had already decided what dinner would be that night... and for the next few days too.

Shadow

Shadow preferred not to express when he needed to go to the market for his monthly groceries. Usually, he only accompanied you when you went, but if he ever ran out of supplies in the middle of the month, he refused to say anything or admit that he needed to go shopping.

Noticing this, you started paying attention to when his coffee beans, chocolate, or skincare products were running low. That way, whenever you saw something was about to run out, you’d call him to go with you to the market—even if it was just to restock what was missing at home.

Today was no different. You walked through the aisles with your shopping basket in hand, looking for the coffee section. Shadow kept pace beside you.

Then, at one moment, you noticed he suddenly stopped. He stood there for a few seconds, impassive, then shook his head slightly before quickly returning to your side.

"Did you see something you want?"

"No."

"You can tell me, Shads, I’ll get it for you."

"Nonsense. We came here just for the coffee beans."

"Yeah, but I don’t mind getting something extra for you. Come on, tell me—what did you see?"

He hesitated for a moment, crossing his arms, then tilted his head toward the store’s freezer. Following his gaze, you spotted the frozen food section and saw some Hot Pockets on sale. A small smile appeared on your lips.

"Shadow, whenever you want something, you can just say it, okay?" Giving him a reassuring smile, you walked over to the freezer, grabbed several of the frozen snacks, and placed them in your basket.

"Now, let’s go get your coffee." You resumed walking through the aisle toward the section where you could find what you needed.

"Thank you, [Y/N]." Shadow murmured, making you smile like an idiot and blush slightly at the rare display of gratitude from the hedgehog.

"Anytime."

Silver

Silver excitedly scanned the market shelves alongside you, helping you find the best prices. It was common for the white hedgehog to accompany you on your monthly shopping trips—he was always helpful and loved coming along to carry the bags or grab something from a high shelf using his powers.

For Silver, nothing was better than spending quality time with you, which was why he always went and returned with a huge smile on his face. Today, he was being especially attentive to everything you needed—reminding you of items running low at home that weren’t on the shopping list and picking the most budget-friendly brands.

Feeling grateful, you decided to do something special for him.

"Silver, I’m done getting what I needed. I just need to check this one last product—why don’t you pick something for yourself?"

You felt warm inside when you saw the sparkle in his eyes.

"Really? Anything?" He looked at you hopefully.

"Yes, feel free to choose whatever you want."

His smile grew even wider. Thanking you, he immediately used his powers to levitate and disappeared into the market.

You finished selecting your item, placing it in the cart, and started looking for Silver. But before you even reached the end of the aisle, you saw him floating back, carrying several products with his psychokinesis.

He gently placed them into the cart before landing back on the ground with a bright smile. You blinked in surprise, glancing at the items he had picked.

You had expected him to grab sweets, snacks, or the usual junk food people typically go for.

But now, looking at his choices, you couldn’t hold back the soft giggle that escaped you. Your cart was now filled with neatly packed vegetables, fresh fruits, and leafy greens.

"Is something wrong? Did I pick too much?" He watched you, slightly worried about your reaction.

"No, not at all. I just thought it was adorable."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, you chose healthy food. I wasn’t expecting that—I thought you’d grab something completely different."

Silver chuckled quietly at your comment.

"Well, these are all essentials, right?"

"Definitely. Honestly, I never really bought much of this stuff myself." You admitted your lack of a healthy diet.

"Then how about we eat them together? What do you say, [Y/N]?"

His words made you feel warm all over again.

"I’d love that. Thank you, Silver."

He let out a soft laugh, walking by your side as you headed to the checkout to pay for the groceries.

Scourge

Honestly, you didn’t want to take Scourge to the market. It was always a battle to keep him from filling the cart with the junk food he loved. But when Scourge wanted something, he was absolutely insufferable.

He acted deeply offended that you didn’t want to bring him along. Said he wouldn’t let you run your hands through his quills anymore. Even threatened to smoke inside the house if you didn’t take him.

In the end, with a deep sigh and a hand to your temple, you gave in, telling him to get in the car. He slid into the passenger seat with that smug grin of his, sunglasses perched on his face.

At the market, you left him in charge of the shopping cart while you went to grab some cleaning supplies for the house. When you returned to where you had left him, he was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed, placing the cleaning products in the cart, but as you did, you started noticing items that definitely weren’t there before. Energy drink cans. Instant noodles. And… a toy car? You had no idea what he planned to do with that.

As you dug through the cart, you found even more questionable purchases. Your brow furrowed when you spotted an expensive bottle of whiskey hidden at the bottom. And then—your face heated up as you found a few condom boxes stuffed underneath everything else.

Shaking your head, you turned to the side and spotted him standing there, a massive bag of potato chips in hand.

“Ey, Babe. You got everythin’ ya need? C’mon, let’s skedaddle.”

You grabbed the bottle of whiskey and held it up, giving him a pointed look.

“Huh? What’s the big deal? Just a lil’ somethin’ nice for yours truly.” He flashed you a grin.

“I thought we agreed to only get the essentials for the house.” You kept your voice firm.

“Eh, deals ain’t set in stone, sweetheart.” Scourge was impossible sometimes.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt his hand gently take yours—surprisingly soft and warm.

“Aw, don’t gimme that look, [Y/N]. I got some cash on me.” His voice had an almost sincere tone, and for a second, you nearly apologized for being upset.

But then—

“…And later, ya can show me just how grateful ya are.” His tone turned unmistakably suggestive.

“Scourge!”

He only chuckled, clearly entertained. You had no idea what to do with him anymore.

[sylusonychinus]

Teacher I need help

Parings: Professor Sylus x Fem Student Reader

Professor Sylus isn’t just a respected academic—he’s the kind of professor students either fear, admire, or obsess over. He carries himself with a quiet authority, a man who doesn’t suffer fools but respects sharp minds. His lectures are captivating yet ruthless, filled with cryptic metaphors and challenges meant to weed out the weak-willed.

And then, there’s you.

From the moment you first spoke up in class—countering his argument with your own well-reasoned perspective—Sylus knew you were different. You weren’t intimidated by his presence. If anything, you thrived on the challenge. Your debates became a staple of the lecture hall, drawing lingering stares from your peers, but the real battle was between the two of you.

At first, it was just that—an academic duel. A game of wits. But then came the stolen moments:

The day you stayed behind after class, questioning a passage he had barely referenced in his lecture. The conversation stretched into an hour, then two. When you finally left, the air felt heavier, as if something had shifted.

The time he caught himself watching you—not just listening, but watching—as you defended your argument, eyes alight with passion. The realization hit him like a slow-burning ember, dangerous yet impossible to extinguish.

The whispered “impressive” after you shut down another student’s weak rebuttal. It was the first time he had ever acknowledged your skill so plainly, and for a split second, you saw something in his expression—something unguarded.

Then came the close calls.

The brush of fingers when he handed you back a book you’d forgotten. The way he always seemed to pause before dismissing you from his office. The moment in a dimly lit hallway when you found yourselves too close, too alone, too aware.

Neither of you speaks about it, but the tension is unbearable. He keeps his distance, and so do you—because this is dangerous. Because this shouldn’t happen.

And yet… the way his gaze lingers on you in class tells you it already has.

[gallifreyan85]

Cup Runneth Over

pairing: mentor!Agatha x reader

summary: during your lessons, agatha likes to push. one day, she goes a bit too far.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Agatha’s basement was chilly. Even in the summer the walls and floors stayed cold, and it was the slow beginning of winter now. You sometimes wondered if that was because stone needed time to absorb heat or because of some magical barrier that separated the room from the rest of the world. Your attention was pulled away to what was in front of you by Agatha’s displeased voice, snapping you back to reality.

“I said concentrate.” she said, her expression a mix of frowning frustration.

She was standing in front of you, expectant, looking more annoyed by the minute, and the two of you had been down there for at least an hour and a half.

“Go again.” she said, so you rose your hands and tried, really, you did-- but the magic just wasn’t listening. It crackled, you felt it shoot through you, briefly, and then poof- nothing. Agatha sighed. Her hands dropped to her sides as she circled you, and you could see she was growing impatient. You didn’t like disappointing her, but today things just weren’t going your way. No matter how much you tried.

“Okay, this clearly isn’t working.” she muttered, stopping abruptly in front of you, “What are you doing, hm? Where’s your mind at? You’re supposed to be concentrating—”

“I am—” you tried, but she just laughed.

“Oh, you are? If this is what you call concentration then I don’t want to know what it looks like when you’re distracted. Go again.”

“Agatha-”

“Again. Now.”

You shifted your feet, rose your hands, let them linger above the old tome in front of you, a single writing quill on top of the darkened covers. And it did not budge. You held your breath, tried again, focused on it--

Nothing. Not an inch of movement.

Agatha chuckled from beside you. It wasn’t happy, a sort of mocking, desperate, I-should-be-giving-up-on-you chuckle. It made your insides hurt a little. You kept your hands in front of you, still trying, trying--

Still nothing.

“If you can’t even move a single feather how do you think you’re going to break a real binding spell, hm?”

You sighed. But when you lowered your hands, Agatha tsked. You looked up.

“What?”

“What do you think you’re doing? We’re not done here. Let’s go, come on. Again.”

You almost groaned.

You were tired. Cold. Standing here for almost two hours, not feeling the tips of your fingers, trying to make a dammed feather move from being bound to a damn book. And she was right.

Of course she was. If you couldn’t do this then how on earth would you ever break yourself out of a spell if someone tried to bind you?

“I can’t do this.” you said finally, “I need a break.”

Agatha looked at you, her blue eyes narrowed. “A break?” she echoed, her voice raising an octave, “Oh, you want a break? You think your captors will give you one, hmm? You think they’ll be all nice to you and say ohh, pumpkin, here’s something warm for you to drink—” you felt a twinge of hurt at the nickname used mockingly, “here, rest for a moment, get some sleep then try again. No—”

You tried to interject but she went on, now talking heatedly.

“You won’t get a break if you’re in trouble, pet. You’ll only get more tired, more hurt, and the more you wait-- the more your chances of survival go down. Now suck it up and get back to it.”

You stared at her, unmoving for a moment.

She glanced away, back around the room, and added, lowly,

“And be grateful that I’m letting you practice on something as easy as this. A true lesson would be binding your hands together and watching you try to break yourself free.”

“This isn’t easy—”

“It’s not supposed to be easy! You think you can learn anything from me giving you pretty spells to practice on? No. You gotta do the real work.”

“But you just said it was—”

“Don’t talk back to me. Try again.”

“No—”

“Again. Now, pet. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You huffed, now feeling just as frustrated as she looked, and slowly rose your hands again. Your fingers trembled slightly, your breathing shallow. You concentrated. Tried. Thought. The magic was there, thrumming through your blood, you felt it move down your arms, through your wrists, your fingers, and then--

It stopped.

You closed your eyes. Lowered your hands. You could already hear Agatha talking to you in the background, briskly asking what you thought you were doing, that this was supposed to be a quick lesson, not two hours wasted of her time, of your time, and you tried to block out her voice, the reprimands, the constant flow of words that made you feel even worse but they just kept coming--

“Two hours—”

And coming.

“--the simplest spell, and you can’t even—”

And coming.

“Hopeless--”

“Stop,” you tried, your voice coming out quiet.

You weren’t even sure she’d heard you. She just kept talking at you, again and again, and--

“Agatha, just stop it—I need a moment--”

“You need to toughen up, dear. You think the world is gonna wait for you? Give you a moment to collect yourself? Well think again—”

“No, I just—”

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I’m even doing this.”

And that was the bit broke you. Pushed you over the edge you'd been teetering on for the past half hour.

You stopped, let your hands fall back down, head bowed in defeat as you felt the first of your tears gather in your eyes. You’d been holding them back, not wanting to cry out of frustration, not wanting to give up, but it seemed you couldn’t anymore.

“Fine.” you made out, not liking the way your voice did an odd sort of wobble,

“T-then don’t. Find someone else to mentor. You’re r-right. I’m hopeless.”

And you sat down, crumpled into the nearest chair, let your face fall into your hands, and cried.

Agatha stared.

For almost a minute there was silence, apart from the sound of your hitched breaths, uneven breathing and muffled sobs. You wondered, in the back of your mind, if you had this coming. You hadn’t been doing as well as you usually did in the past few weeks. Maybe it was the stress, or the outside cold, or the onslaught of foreign words and symbols and objects and spells that the two of you had stared to cover, but it had finally gotten to you. Half of you was expecting her to straight up leave when you started crying-- you could already hear her practiced grumbling in your head as she made her way upstairs, but surprisingly, that didn’t happen.

If you’d been looking up you would have seen the barrage of emotions that crossed her face when you first sat down, the confusion, the reluctance, the surprise. She sighed softly, letting her shoulders slump. Most of her anger dissipated at the first sign of your tears, and she was starting to feel bad.

Her. Feeling guilty.

She didn’t like that.

She hated that.

But somehow, begrudgingly, she hated the image of seeing you so sad, crying into your hands, more. She frowned.

“Stop crying.”

You of course, did not.

She groaned internally. “You can’t get all weepy every time someone raises their voice at you.”

Nothing. Just more quiet sniffles from you and the occasional whimper.

She didn’t know how to approach. She wasn’t good at this, the comforting, the coddling. But she didn’t want to be like her mother--Her hand gingerly settled onto your shoulder.

She sighed.

Long.

Like this was painful for her.

“Pet…”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t show any indication that you’d even heard her, so she tried again, a little softer this time.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry. I didn’t—” she paused. Cursed herself for a moment. “I didn’t mean that. You… you aren’t hopeless.”

You gave a sort of strangled sob in response.

Sighing, she kneeled down in front of you—kneeled, and gently tilted your head up, pulling your hands away from your face. Her heart twisted at the sight of your tear-streaked face, your watery eyes.

“Oh, hun…” she whispered. “Look at me. You aren’t hopeless. You think I’d let you stick around if you were? Waste my time on you if I thought you couldn’t do it?”

“M’ stupid.” the words left you before you could stop them. Something in her burned.

Agatha’s eyes darkened, her tone serious.

“No. Don’t let me hear you say that again. Ever. You are not stupid.”

You sniffled. “But I keep doing it wrong.”

Agatha stayed quiet.

Gods help her, she really wasn’t good at this. What does one say to a crying student? But you weren’t just that. Of course not.

“Listen, hun…. You’re… You just need some more practice, okay?”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“And I wasn’t trying to make you cry, darling, I just want- I need you to know that in the real world, it’s not like this. When someone attacks you they don’t give you time to breathe. You need to keep that in mind.”

Another sniffle. “I k-know. I just don’t think I can… not right now. I’m sorry.” you mumbled tentatively. Agatha studied you for a moment. She looked into your eyes, trying to think of a way to make you feel better without completely ruining her reputation. You somehow always managed to make her say or do something ridiculously soft.

She sighed. Softer this time. Not in anger, but resignation.

“Come on.” she said, aiming to get up.

She offered you her hand, and you stared at it, unsure.

“I’m trying to be nice here, pet. Don’t make me use magic to get you upstairs.”

“You’re not…mad at me?”

She chuckled, a half scoff.

“Mad? I’m frustrated maybe, that you keep forcing me act all-- feely-- but no, I’m not mad.”

And before she could stand up you took her hand.

But you didn’t get up.

You slid off the chair and onto the floor with her, pressing you face into her shoulder and holding on tight. She stilled.

“Great. And now you’re—” her voice was gruff but she didn’t push you away. “I don’t do hugs.”

You clung on tighter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do it right.” You mumbled.

Her hand, previously above you, hovering uncertainly, settled onto the small of your back. And in contrast to her words her touch was soft. Gentle. Like a mother’s warm embrace. You melted into it. Closed your eyes. Let yourself relax.

She let herself slowly rub your back. “You know, pet…” she started softly, “Magic doesn’t just require power.”

You listened, feeling your tears slow, your soft sobs turning into quiet sniffles.

“Real magic, one that works the way you want it to, it requires knowledge. Training. Understanding what you’re doing. And you… you have potential.”

You stilled at that. She thought that? That you--

“I do?” you murmured, and she angled her head down a little, a knowing smirk ghosting across her features.

“Oh, you think I just let anyone into my home, and teach them magic, hm?”

“I-- well no, but-”

“But nothing, darling. You have potential. I can feel it in you. It’s strong, powerful, simmering beneath the surface. What you need to do is learn to channel it. You have to be the one controlling it, not the other way round.”

You sniffled. Wiped your eyes. She glanced away, still holding you close, and murmured,

“You know, it took me years to figure out teleportation.”

You frowned a little. Looked up.

“Really?”

She laughed, a quiet, soft laugh, a hint of something resembling self-deprecation there.

“I know what you’re thinking, but yes. Even someone as amazing as me can struggle with magic. It’s not easy. If you’re doing it right it probably isn’t.”

“So how did you do it?”

“A lot of failed attempts and knocking into things. It wasn’t a fun time.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips. She gently flicked your head, a scoff ready on her lips.

“Don’t laugh at me, pet. And if you tell anyone—”

“I know. I know. You’ll do something I won’t like.”

“Exactly.” she said back, but her voice held a hint of warmth that hadn’t been present before.

She adjusted her arms a little better around you, and you ducked your head.

“We’ll take a break, since it seems you need one.” she said, “But just ten minutes, you hear me? And then we’re going back at it again.”

Your heart sank a little. You didn’t want her to yell at you again.

“Agatha?”

“Yes?”

“Can you… be a bit nicer this time?”

She smirked. “What, this isn’t nice enough for you? Do you know what I’d be doing if you were someone else, pet? This would not be happening and they’d be looking for a new teacher.”

You looked down, but she tilted your head back up towards her, warm fingers gently touching your cheek.

“But not me.” you murmured.

You needed to hear it. Some reassurance, a rare thing from her, but still…

“No.” she said softly. “Not you. You’re… different.”

“Special?” you smiled faintly, hopeful.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but yes. Maybe. Just don’t think you can get used to this.” she said, “Got it?”

“Got it.”

She shot you a brief smile. “Good. Now about those pathetic attempts you called trying, that’s not the right way to cast a spell. It’s not the right way to cast anything.”

“Can you show me one more time?”

You were hesitant, but to your surprise she nodded quickly, and extended her hand.

“Give me your hand, dear.”

You did.

She took it lightly, guiding your movements gently, positioning your fingers in the right way.

“There. And now…” she leaned down to whisper in your ear, softly, quietly. “Focus. Feel it. Don’t think about your hands, think about the outcome. See it in your mind--”

Her hand, still on yours, guided your movements gently.

The feather moved the slightest bit.

You gasped in genuine excitement. Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get all giggly on me now, pet. Keep at it. C’mon.”

You focused. Pictured it floating away from the book covers, unbound, gliding through the air at your command. Maybe it was Agatha’s hand top of your own, or your thoughts going too fast, but--

It wasn’t as graceful as you’d imagined. It just flopped, rather violently to one side, and the tip of the quill dug itself into the wood of the table, pointing upwards like a tiny knife-- stuck.

Agatha tilted her head in consideration.

“Not very sophisticated,” she drawled, her hand leaving yours, “but it’s something.”

You exhaled, relieved, feeling a bit more hopeful now.

“Can we take that break now?” you smiled sheepishly.

Agatha rolled her eyes, but she was already on her feet, coat swishing and halfway to the stairs.

“Come, pet.” she said, disappearing out of view into the living room.

You followed. Hurried after her. Settled in the kitchen, and made yourself a cup of tea. She didn’t tell you anything else, nothing sweet or kind or hardly reassuring as her words could be, but you caught her watching you from the corner of her eye as she studied some book in the living room. So what if those supposed ten minutes turned into twenty, and you came back down with another mug of hot tea, and a plate of cookies?

She watched you in silence, that schooled aloofness back on her face, as you slid the plate towards her, a shy grin on your lips. She looked down at it. Back at you. Completely disinterested.

When your smile began to falter, she took one off the plate, but into it, and huffed, shaking her head.

“Don’t think this counts as a bribe, pet. I’m still gonna make you do it over again until you get it right.” But there was an unmistakable grin on her face that you simply couldn’t miss. You took another sip of your tea, shoved half a biscuit into your mouth, and stood up to try again.

A/n: Hellooo. Thank you for reading. This scene has been stuck in my mind for a long time and I just didn't have the will to write it out, finally did. For all you new followers (💜) I don't usually post fics this often but AAA has really jogged me back into the writing mood so I'm making the most out of it before my new semester starts, or, trying to. The title is from the song Cup Runneth Over by Kiki Rockwell. I just feel like all her music has this witchy vibe so I thought I'd use it. Also feel free to say if this is too long, I try to keep my fics between 1-3k words. Love y'all!! <3

[weneeya]

worried m.list | rules

pairing. jason todd x reader

note. omg i love jason sm of course i'd do that ; worried jason is adorable, my boy is doing his best <3

You were supposed to be here. He left you alone in your apartment before he left for his night patrol. So why weren’t you here anymore? Where were you? Jason thought he was about to go crazy. He was searching everywhere, calling your phone, but you weren’t answering at all.

Yes, he came back earlier than usual, but it was a reason to disappear, was it? What if something bad had happened while he was gone? Jason was making the worst scenarios in his head. Until he heard the sound of the door opening. He turned around and you arrived in the living room, a bit surprised. 

You didn’t have the time to say anything that Jason was standing in front of you, a visible frown across his eyebrows. “Where the hell were you?!” His voice was too loud, too angry ; you didn’t like that at all. You slowly raised an eyebrow at his tone, feeling the slight irritation growing inside of you. 

“My friend needed me, so I left to see her.” You explained but it didn’t calm Jason at all. “You know Gotham’s not safe at night. What if you got attacked, or worse?” He was clearly angry, but it simply made you angry too. You weren’t a child, you didn’t need him to act like he was your own father. 

“Quit yelling at me, would ya?” Your tone was harsh, and it caught him off guard. He wasn’t so used to any reaction like this from you, so he was taken aback. He was about to answer when you pointed at his chest, looking into his eyes. “I don’t need you to protect myself, Jason. I’m a grown adult!” And in those words, you left the living room to get locked up in the bathroom. You really needed a shower. 

Jason stayed alone in here, standing up and a bit lost about what just happened. Did he get too far? He knew you were strong enough to defend yourself ; he loved you for that. But he couldn’t help it ; he was always worried when he knew you were alone in the streets at night. He meant what he said: Gotham wasn’t safe at all, and he knew what he was talking about. 

He saw so many people get hurt without any reason, and he was just so scared to lose you. Anger was his only way to express those feelings, but making you mad was the last thing he ever wanted. So he sat on the couch and waited for you to get out of the bathroom. It took you long minutes, and he was almost falling asleep. Or at least, he would have if he wasn’t thinking so much about what he wanted to tell you. 

When you joined the living room again, your gaze met his figure and you rolled your eyes. You sat next to him in silence, hating this stupid sad look on his face. You hated to see it, but he needed to understand what was wrong. Jason took your hand softly in his. “Look at me, please… I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to react like this.” You turned around, meeting his eyes ; and he knew he wasn’t lying. There was too much sincerity in it for that ; you knew him by heart. 

You stayed silent, waiting for him to keep going for a moment. He breathed out softly, leaving a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “I was just… worried. I’m always so scared when you’re alone out there. I know you’re strong ; but those guys can be crazy.” And how could you blame him? You knew Jason got through hell because of one of them. You finally completely turned to face him, grabbing both his hands between yours. 

“I’m not angry because you’re worried. I am because you yelled at me like I was completely dumb and not careful.” He slowly nodded at your words, understanding that he didn’t react the way he should have. Your hand gently moved to his cheek so you could stroke it with your thumb so slightly. Jason leaned onto your touch, eyes now closed at the feeling. 

You felt like home for him, and he’d rather die than having to lose this feeling once more. He left a soft kiss against the palm of your hand, making you smile lightly. “I’d be careful with my reactions,” he told you, looking back at your eyes. You leaned forward a little, leaving a small peck against his lips. “And I won’t leave without telling you where I am.” 

A silent agreement, so things could work. Jason was making so many efforts for you, all the time ; the less you could do was to do some efforts too. Moreover, Jason was clearly worth it. The boy needed a comfort and safe place to calm his home ; and you were ready to be this for him.

thank you for reading!

[isak-dot-gov]

Okay so please hear me out on this one, Paige x reader wife where they are just newly weds and on their honeymoon. Reader is not really good with her navigation skills and her and Paige are now driving around somewhere, lost. I kinda want this fluff but idk HAHA I think it’d be cute when Paige finds her wife upset but consoles her telling her that it’s okay. Something like this. I hope you give this one a try. I badly need a Paige x reader wife 🥹🥹🥹🥹

-💕

Lost

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Wife!Reader

Word count: 1219

Summary: On your honeymoon in the Maldives, you get the two of you lost while driving and grow increasingly frustrated, snapping at Paige despite her gentle suggestions.

My Masterlist :)

The Maldives was everything you’d imagined it would be: turquoise water glimmering under the golden sun, palm trees swaying gently in the warm breeze, and endless skies that seemed to melt into the horizon. It was the kind of beauty that didn’t seem real, the kind you only saw in postcards and travel magazines. But you were here, living it—living a dream come true with Paige by your side.

Your honeymoon had been nothing short of magical so far. Lazy mornings tangled up in soft sheets, breakfast brought to your overwater villa, spontaneous dips in the ocean, and long walks along the shore, hand in hand as the sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange. It was perfect.

But today?

Today felt like a nightmare.

Your knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as you tried to focus on the small map on your phone’s screen. The road ahead twisted and turned, bordered by thick, lush greenery that was breathtaking in any other circumstance—but right now, all it did was add to your growing frustration.

You had planned everything for today. A scenic drive to a secluded beach, a cozy picnic with fresh tropical fruits, and then maybe even renting a boat to watch the sunset from the water. It was supposed to be effortless, romantic, and memorable. But instead, you had taken one wrong turn after another, and now you were utterly, hopelessly lost.

From the passenger seat, Paige shifted, casting a glance at you. “Babe, are we—”

“We’re not lost,” you snapped, cutting her off before she could even finish. You didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but the knot in your chest was growing tighter with every wrong turn.

Paige raised her hands in surrender, her expression unreadable for a second before she let out a small, amused hum. “Okay, okay. Just asking.”

You gritted your teeth and kept your eyes on the road, even as guilt gnawed at the edges of your irritation. Paige wasn’t trying to criticize you—she never did. But the longer you drove in circles, the harder it became to ignore the creeping sense of failure settling in your stomach.

She trusted you to figure it out. The problem was, you didn’t trust yourself.

You glanced at the map again, trying to make sense of the winding roads and unfamiliar names. The signal was weak, and the little blue dot marking your location seemed to lag behind, only adding to your frustration.

“It’s gotta be... this way,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the wheel as you took another turn.

Paige tilted her head, peering out the window. “Didn’t we already pass that tree?”

“No,” you said firmly, even though you weren’t sure. You pressed a little harder on the gas, determined to find the right path before Paige could second-guess you again.

Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. The towering palms and thick jungle foliage all blurred together, each stretch of road looking frustratingly similar to the last. The cheerful playlist you had put on earlier—a carefully curated mix of love songs and island vibes—now felt grating. Even the sun, which had been shining so perfectly all day, seemed to mock you, dipping lower in the sky as time slipped through your fingers.

“Maybe we should just stop and ask for directions,” Paige suggested gently.

“No,” you shot back, shaking your head. “I’ve got this.”

“Babe—”

“I said I’ve got it!” The words came out sharper than you intended, your voice carrying an edge of frustration that you couldn’t rein in fast enough. The second they left your lips, you regretted them.

Silence.

Paige didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift in the air between you. She turned her gaze out the window, her posture relaxed but quiet in a way that made your chest ache with guilt.

You kept driving, stubbornly following the map, but with every turn that led nowhere, the weight in your chest grew heavier. The pressure of wanting everything to be perfect, of wanting to prove that you had everything under control, was suffocating. You blinked rapidly, trying to push away the prickling at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t going to cry over this. Not now.

But when you turned into yet another unfamiliar road and found yourself at a dead-end—a small cul-de-sac surrounded by towering palms and absolute nothingness—you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You slammed the car into park, gripping the steering wheel tightly, your hands trembling.

Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just sat there, watching you carefully.

“Hey,” she finally said, her voice softer now. She reached out to place a hand on your arm, but you pulled away, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words barely audible as the tears spilled over. “I just... I wanted everything to be perfect, and now we’re lost, and I ruined it.”

Paige’s expression softened, all traces of amusement gone. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to you fully, her warm hand resting on your shoulder.

“Look at me,” she said softly.

You shook your head, covering your face with your hands.

“Baby, please,” she coaxed, her tone so gentle it only made you cry harder.

Reluctantly, you let your hands drop, turning to her with tear-streaked cheeks. Paige’s blue eyes were filled with nothing but love as she reached out and cupped your face in her hands, her thumbs gently wiping away the tears.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she said firmly. “You hear me? Nothing. We’re on our honeymoon, and we’re together. That’s all that matters.”

“But I—”

“No,” she interrupted, pressing her forehead against yours. “Stop blaming yourself. So we got a little lost—who cares? We’re in paradise, and I’m with my favorite person in the world. I don’t need everything to be perfect because you already make it perfect.”

Her words hit you like a wave, breaking through the wall of frustration and self-doubt you had built up. A fresh round of tears slipped down your cheeks, but this time, they weren’t just from frustration—they were from relief.

“I just wanted to do something right,” you whispered, your voice small.

Paige let out a soft laugh, her lips pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You do everything right, babe. Even getting lost with you is better than being anywhere else without you.”

A watery chuckle slipped past your lips, the tension in your chest loosening. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“Good at what?”

“Making me feel better,” you sniffled.

Paige grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Well, I guess it’s my job now, huh? Wife duties and all.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your heart feeling a little lighter. Paige kissed you softly before pulling back and taking your hand in hers.

“Let’s take a minute, okay?” she suggested. “We’ll figure out the map together, and if we still can’t find our way, we’ll call the resort. Or better yet, we’ll park somewhere and enjoy the view. Deal?”

You nodded, squeezing her hand. “Deal.”

With Paige by your side, the world didn’t seem so overwhelming anymore. Even lost in the middle of the Maldives, with the sky turning soft shades of twilight, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

“Stay Where I Can See You”

Bakugo Katsuki X reader

Summery: During a UA mission, Bakugo panics when you suddenly disappear. After finding you cornered by a villain, he takes them down but realizes his fear wasn’t just about the mission—it was about you. Overwhelmed, he kisses you, finally understanding his true feelings.

Bakugo had scoffed when Aizawa gave that order, arms crossed over his chest. “Tch. Like she needs protectin’.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem for you,” Aizawa had replied flatly, staring him down until Bakugo begrudgingly accepted the responsibility.

Now, standing in the dimly lit warehouse where their mission had led them, Bakugo kept his sharp crimson gaze locked onto you. You were moving stealthily ahead, eyes scanning the area for threats, your communicator active as you relayed information back to the team. Everything was going smoothly.

Until it wasn’t.

One second, you were there. The next—you weren’t.

Bakugo’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched, heart hammering so violently in his chest it felt unnatural. Where the hell did you go?

“Oi, where are you?!” His voice came out harsher than he intended as he activated his comms.

Silence.

A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. He gritted his teeth, hands sparking with tiny explosions as panic threatened to take over. He wasn’t the panicking type—hell no—but this wasn’t just some random mission partner. This was you.

He took off running, eyes darting frantically through the darkened corridors, mind racing with possibilities. Had someone taken you? Were you hurt? The thought made his stomach churn.

“Shit,” he muttered, shoving open a rusted door that led to an adjacent storage area. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you.

You were pressed against the wall, a villain looming over you, knife in hand. Your expression was tense but not fearful—you were waiting for an opening.

Bakugo didn’t wait.

Before the bastard could react, an explosion blasted him backward. Bakugo lunged, slamming his fist into the villain’s gut before knocking him out cold. His breath was heavy as he turned to you, fury and something else swirling in his gaze.

“The fuck were you thinking, dumbass?!”

You blinked at him, catching your breath. “I had it under control.”

“Like hell you did!” His voice cracked, and that’s when you noticed it. The slight tremor in his hands, the tension in his jaw—he was scared. Not angry, scared.

Something inside you softened. “Bakugo…”

“Don’t,” he growled, stepping closer until you were caged between the wall and his broad frame. His hands gripped your shoulders, firm but not rough. “You—you can’t just disappear like that.”

Your breath hitched at the proximity, the heat radiating off of him. His gaze darted between your eyes and lips, frustration and something deeper warring in his expression.

Then, as if something in him snapped, he crashed his lips onto yours.

The kiss was desperate, fierce—like he was trying to make sure you were still here, still breathing, still his. His hands moved to cup your jaw, fingers threading into your hair as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His lips were hot, demanding, but softened when you kissed him back just as eagerly.

You clutched the fabric of his hero suit, pulling him impossibly closer. His breath hitched against your lips, a low groan rumbling from his chest before he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured, voice raw.

You managed a small smirk despite the way your heart pounded. “You gonna kiss me like that every time I scare you?”

His grip tightened slightly. “Shut up.”

But as he kissed you again, slower this time, you knew you had your answer.

[4linos]

he confesses to you.

maknae line x fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, tiny mentions of an ex boyfriend

wc: 4870

a/n: my gift to you after all that angst 😙🫶

HAN

It was a quiet afternoon, the kind that seemed to stretch on forever in the best possible way. You and Jisung were sitting side by side in his cozy studio, a room filled with equipment, soft lighting, and the kind of peaceful energy that only his music could create. The air was thick with the gentle hum of his latest tracks, each one a piece of his soul poured into the beats, melodies, and lyrics that spoke so much louder than any words ever could.

You had been friends since high school, and over the years, your bond had only grown stronger. But after your breakup with your ex boyfriend a few months ago, you found yourself retreating, unsure of what you wanted or needed. Jisung had been there for you, though. He never once pushed you, just patiently waited until you were ready to spend time together again, like old times. You started hanging out more, laughing and joking like you always had, and it felt like you were finally coming back to yourself.

Today, you were in his studio, just like old days, but this time, there was something different. Jisung was showing you his music, something he’d never done before. He was always so private about his work, but today, he seemed eager to share it with you. He clicked through various tracks, his hands moving quickly over the controls as you listened, genuinely impressed. There were songs that you could tell had come from deep within him, songs that carried emotions he’d never been able to express out loud. The vulnerability in his voice as he spoke about each track made you admire him even more.

“You’re really good, Jisung,” you said, grinning as he hit play on another song. “These are amazing.”

He smiled sheepishly, clearly proud, but still a little shy. “Thanks. I’m glad you like them. I’ve been working on some new ones, too.”

Your eyes wandered over to the screen as he scrolled through his list of tracks. That’s when you saw it.

A song titled “Y/N.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You had no idea what to expect, but you didn’t want to seem too eager. You leaned in slightly, looking up at him. “Wait, stop. What’s this one?”

“Wait, Jisung, stop.” You reached out and lightly tapped the screen, causing him to freeze, his fingers hovering over the laptop.

He paused, his face going slightly pale as he realized what you’d seen. The song title was simple, just your name, and as soon as you recognized it, you felt your heart skip a beat. Jisung looked uncomfortable, his eyes wide with panic.

“Uh… it’s nothing, really. Just ignore it,” he stammered, clearly flustered.

You weren’t about to let it go, though. Curiosity and something else, something deep in your chest pulled you to take control of the laptop. “No, I want to hear it,” you said, your voice soft but insistent.

Jisung’s face turned bright red, and he made a move to grab the laptop, but you held it out of his reach. “Jisung, come on. You’ve been showing me everything else. Let me hear this one.”

He hesitated, glancing between you and the screen, and then let out a deep sigh, knowing he couldn’t stop you. “I never meant for you to hear that,” he muttered under his breath. But it was too late. You clicked the folder, and the song began to play.

As the first notes filled the room, a soft melody played, calming and gentle, like something that had been buried in Jisung’s heart for a long time. The lyrics began, and your heart stopped. You recognized the words, each one resonating deep inside you. They were words you’d never heard him say out loud, words filled with emotions he had never shared before.

The lyrics spoke of longing, of wanting to be with someone but holding back because of circumstances. They were filled with the kind of raw emotion you hadn’t realized he carried. You could feel the weight of the song, the unspoken confession that had been hidden in his music all this time.

Jisung’s face was buried in his hands, clearly mortified. You could hear his quiet apologies, but you were too focused on the song to respond right away. The lyrics continued, and with each line, it became clearer and clearer, this was his confession. A confession he’d never been able to say aloud when you were with your ex-boyfriend.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you listened, each word feeling like it was meant for you. You never expected this, never thought Jisung had carried such deep feelings for you, especially not after everything that had happened with your ex. The music swirled around you, pulling you in, and you realized that your feelings for him, which you’d buried for so long, were coming to the surface with the song.

Before you even realized it, a few tears had escaped, running down your cheeks. Jisung had been your friend for so long, and yet, in this moment, you saw him in a way you never had before. He had loved you for so long, and you had been too blind to see it.

Jisung finally gathered the courage to look at you, and when he saw the tears in your eyes, he froze. His heart dropped in his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I never should’ve… I didn’t mean to make you cry. I—”

But you cut him off gently, your voice shaky but steady. “No, Jisung. It’s not that. It’s just… I never knew. I never knew you felt like this.”

Jisung’s eyes widened, his expression a mix of relief and worry. “You… You’re not mad? I didn’t mean to make things weird between us. I just… I was too scared to tell you before. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. And when I found out you were with him, I couldn’t—”

You took a deep breath, wiping away your tears, and looked him in the eyes. “Jisung, I never knew you felt this way. I always thought… I always thought I was the only one who had these feelings for you.”

Jisung blinked, his mouth slightly agape, unsure if he’d heard you right. “Wait, you—?”

You nodded, the weight of your own confession settling in. “Yes. I’ve always liked you too, sung. Before he and I broke up, he gave me an ultimatum. He said I had to choose between him or you. And I chose you, Jisung. Even if I never said it before, I’ve always cared about you. More than I should’ve, maybe.”

Jisung stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. The world seemed to stop around you both as you took in each other’s words. The silence between you felt heavy, but it was also filled with something else something hopeful, something new.

Finally, Jisung’s lips curled into a soft smile, his eyes shining with relief and happiness. “You… you chose me?” His voice cracked slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, a gentle smile on your face as you took a step closer to him. “I did. And I’m so sorry for not saying it sooner. I was afraid, too. Afraid of ruining what we had. But now I… I just don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Jisung’s expression softened, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into a tight hug. You let yourself relax against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the overwhelming sense of relief that flooded over both of you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “Thank you for choosing me.”

You smiled into his shoulder, your heart feeling fuller than it had in a long time. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I finally got the chance to say it.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the music and the quiet of his studio, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place.

felix

The kitchen smelled warm, rich with the scent of chocolate and sugar as you stood beside Felix, his easy presence making the cozy space feel even cozier. He had insisted on teaching you how to make his famous brownies, a recipe he'd perfected. You weren’t a baker, but with him guiding you, it felt like an adventure.

You watched Felix carefully, admiring how effortlessly he moved around the kitchen. His arms brushed against yours as he handed you the mixing spoon, and each touch made your heart race in a way you weren’t sure how to handle. Felix had always had that effect on you.

Over the months of friendship, you’d gotten close, laughed together, shared your thoughts, and spent countless hours talking. But no matter how much time you spent together, you couldn’t bring yourself to confess the feelings that had been growing quietly in your chest. Felix, as always, was the charming, flirtatious one occasionally brushing his hand against yours, giving you teasing smiles, making flirty comments. It left you both in an unspoken tension, one that neither of you had dared to address, but both of you felt it.

Today, though, as Felix stood close behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist to guide your hands through the brownie batter, the air felt charged with something different. His warmth radiated through you, and you couldn’t help but blush as his chin rested briefly on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

"You’re doing great," Felix murmured, his voice so close to your ear it made your heart skip. You could feel the muscles in his arms flex as he helped mix the batter, the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in the air around you.

"Thanks," you whispered, your cheeks burning, not just from the heat of the oven but from his closeness. Felix’s presence always had that effect on you. His occasional lingering touches, the way his gaze would soften when he looked at you, it made it harder to ignore the feelings that fluttered inside you.

As the batter began to thicken, Felix’s hand slid down to the bowl’s edge, brushing against your fingers in a way that felt deliberate. You couldn’t stop your breath from catching in your throat. You turned to him, your voice stumbling out, "Felix—"

Before you could finish your sentence, a small dab of brownie batter landed on the tip of your nose. You blinked, surprised, then looked up at him. Felix grinned mischievously, his eyes sparkling with playful energy. He had the same carefree, teasing smile that always left you both charmed and nervous at the same time.

Without thinking, you scooped up a bit of batter with your finger and smirked. "You’re going to regret that," you said quietly before gently pressing the batter onto the tip of Felix’s nose.

The moment your finger made contact, he let out a surprised laugh. The kitchen filled with the sound of it, the warm, carefree laughter of two friends caught up in a simple, fun moment. Felix, however, was quick to retaliate, and before you knew it, the both of you were in a full-blown batter fight. You each scooped handfuls of the gooey chocolate mixture and playfully splattered each other with it. The room was filled with laughter that came from the heart, the kind that felt so easy and light between the two of you.

But soon, the chaos quieted. Felix caught you by the waist, pulling you against him, his hands firm but gentle. You looked up at him, breathless from the laughter, but as his gaze softened, you felt the shift between you both. His fingers lingered on your waist as he pulled you even closer, his lips just inches from yours. The playful air from moments before seemed to vanish, replaced by something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. You could feel his heart beating against yours, fast, just like yours, and in that fleeting moment, the world around you seemed to disappear.

Without any further hesitation, Felix leaned in, his lips gently pressing against yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative as if he was unsure if it was the right thing to do, but when you didn’t pull away, when you melted into him, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more filled with the intensity of everything left unsaid. It was like the kiss itself was a confession, a moment where all the emotions between you both could finally be released.

When he pulled away, his breath shaky, Felix’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His heart hammered in his chest, and you could see the hesitation on his face, as though he feared he had just ruined everything. The fear in his eyes made your own heart ache, but you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m sorry,” Felix muttered, his voice almost too quiet, “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I didn’t know if you felt the same, and I… I thought maybe I’d ruined our friendship.”

His words hit you like a wave, and your heart stuttered in your chest. You took a step back, your hands shaking slightly, but you couldn’t let him doubt what you’d both just shared. You smiled softly, trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach. "Felix…" you whispered, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. "You didn’t ruin anything."

Felix blinked at you, his expression full of confusion, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head, taking a step closer to him.

"I’ve liked you for so long, Felix," you admitted, your voice a little breathless. "I’ve been too shy to say it, and… and I didn’t want to risk our friendship either. But I’ve always felt it, and now I can’t hide it anymore."

You could see the relief wash over his face, and before you knew it, his hands were cupping your face gently, his eyes filled with warmth and tenderness. "I like you too," he said, his voice soft but full of emotion. "I didn’t want to scare you, but I’ve been feeling this way for so long. I’m so glad you feel the same."

His words were like a weight lifting from both of your shoulders. Felix leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling you back into his arms. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, knowing that this was only the beginning of something new. You had been afraid to confess your feelings, but now that they were out in the open, everything felt right, like the next chapter of your story was unfolding right in front of you.

The two of you stood there, laughing, covered in brownie batter, but with hearts full of happiness and new beginnings. The kitchen felt warmer than ever, filled with the sweet scent of chocolate and the knowledge that this friendship, this bond you’d shared for months was now something even more beautiful, something you both cherished.

seungmin

The car's headlights cast a soft glow on the quiet road, the gentle hum of the engine filling the silence between you and Seungmin. The radio plays a quiet tune in the background, but it feels distant now, as if it’s part of a world that doesn’t quite matter at this moment. You're sitting in the passenger seat, the soft leather beneath you a small comfort against the rising tension in the air. You glance over at Seungmin, noting how his grip tightens on the steering wheel, his jaw set in a way that feels different, like he's holding something back.

He keeps stealing glances at you, his eyes flickering over to your face before quickly turning back to the road, as if he’s afraid to let you catch him looking. You don’t say anything sometimes silence is easier, and right now, it feels natural between you both. But something in the air is shifting, and you can feel it. Seungmin is tense, his thoughts racing, and the longer the silence stretches on, the more you begin to wonder what’s going on inside his head.

The miles seem to pass slowly, each second stretching as Seungmin’s nerves build. Then, without warning, he pulls the car over to the side of the road, the engine softly ticking as it cools. The headlights illuminate the empty street ahead, but inside the car, the world feels still, as if even time has decided to hold its breath. He turns to face you, his gaze uncertain, vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. The weight of something unspoken fills the space between you both, heavy and tangible.

“Y/N,” Seungmin says your name, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. His words are slower than usual, carefully chosen, as if he’s weighing each one before he lets it slip past his lips. He pauses, the tension so thick you can feel it in your bones, before he takes a deep breath. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say, and I… I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.”

You stay silent, watching him closely, waiting for him to continue. Your heart beats a little faster, wondering what he’s thinking, what he’s about to share.

“I don’t know when it happened,” Seungmin goes on, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. “But I like you, Y/N. More than just a friend. I’ve liked you for a long time, and I’ve been too scared to tell you. I didn’t want to mess things up between us, but I… I can’t keep pretending like it’s not there anymore.”

He looks down at his hands for a moment, his fingers tight around the steering wheel as if trying to steady himself. The vulnerability in his words hangs in the air, and you realize just how much courage it must have taken for him to admit this.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he continues, glancing at you again, his eyes a little brighter now, though still filled with uncertainty, “I like you. And I want you to know. I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore.”

There’s a long silence after that. You can hear the soft hum of the car, the world outside seemingly frozen in time. Seungmin shifts nervously in his seat, his gaze flickering back to the road, but there’s no escaping the tension in the air now. His words hang between you, raw and honest, and you can feel how deeply he means them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. The confession isn’t a complete surprise, you’ve felt it in the way he’s looked at you, the small gestures that spoke more than words ever could but hearing it out loud, hearing the vulnerability in his voice, makes everything feel different. The weight of it settles into your own chest, and you realize that you’ve been waiting for this moment too.

Seungmin is still watching you, his eyes wide, full of hope and fear all at once. He’s waiting for something from you an answer, a response, anything. His hand moves slightly on the gearshift, like he’s about to turn the engine back on, retreating into the safety of action. But before he does, you speak.

“Seungmin,” you say, your voice a little softer than you expect, but steady. “I like you too.”

His head snaps toward you, and for a moment, his face is a picture of disbelief. He blinks, his eyes wide, as if he can’t quite process what he’s just heard. His hands tighten on the wheel again, but this time it’s not from tension it’s from a rush of emotions that have suddenly flooded him. He looks at you like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming, if this is real.

“You do?” he whispers, the words almost a question, full of surprise and hope. The disbelief in his voice makes your heart ache with tenderness for him.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, though there’s a nervous flutter in your chest. “Yeah. I’ve liked you for a while too. I just… I didn’t know how to say it.”

A breath escapes his lips, and the smile that spreads across his face is so genuine, so relieved, that it feels like the world itself has shifted into something brighter. He lets out a small laugh, still in disbelief, but it’s full of joy this time, not fear.

“I can’t believe this,” Seungmin mutters, his voice shaky with emotion. He shakes his head in amazement, as if processing your words is too much to handle all at once. His eyes flicker from your face to the road, then back to you, searching for some sign that this is real.

You smile again, a little more confidently now. “It’s real. I really like you.”

Seungmin takes a deep breath, a soft chuckle escaping him as he looks down at his hands for a moment, trying to compose himself. The tension that had been in him just moments ago starts to melt away, replaced by something lighter, something happier. His eyes soften, his lips turning up into the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It’s the smile of someone who’s been holding onto something for so long, and finally, they’re able to breathe.

“I’m so glad,” he says, his voice full of relief and warmth. “I was so nervous.”

“I was too,” you admit with a laugh, the tension between you both completely gone now. It feels like the air has cleared, like a storm has passed, leaving nothing but the calm in its wake.

Seungmin glances at you again, his smile not fading, and before you know it, his hand reaches toward the center console, resting gently on the armrest between you two. His fingers hover for a moment before brushing against yours, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His touch is soft, warm, and reassuring, as though he’s saying everything without saying a word.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you give him a small, encouraging smile, and his hand slowly intertwines with yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you both.

The road stretches out ahead of you, the night still and peaceful, and for the first time, everything feels exactly as it should be. This is a new beginning, one that’s just as exciting and uncertain as it is comforting. And as Seungmin squeezes your hand gently, you both know that whatever comes next, you’re no longer walking this road alone.

I.N

It was one of those easy, lazy afternoons that had become a regular part of your and Jeongin's friendship. You both had spent countless hours together, playing video games, binge-watching shows, and talking about everything and nothing. But today was different. The sun was setting, casting a soft glow through the windows as you sat across from each other, a playful grin spreading across your face.

“I’m gonna put makeup on you,” you declared suddenly, the excitement in your voice obvious.

Jeongin looked at you, eyes widening slightly as if he was about to protest. “Wait, what?” he stammered, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

You laughed at his expression, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed in mock defeat. “Alright, fine, I’m gonna look ridiculous, aren’t I?”

You grinned, already excited. “Yes, but you’ll be cute.”

Jeongin laughed softly, though there was a slight blush on his cheeks, and he sat down in front of you, giving you full access to his face. He was always this way, he couldn’t say no to you, especially when you were smiling at him with that particular mischievous glint in your eyes. Even when he felt ridiculous, he’d indulge you.

You carefully applied the blush, enjoying the soft brush strokes as you tried not to giggle at how funny he looked. His usual boyish charm was still there, but now it was… well, a little more colorful.

“I look like I’m about to perform in a circus,” Jeongin muttered, rubbing his chin in mock despair, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.

“Not true,” you teased, smirking as you added a little more blush to his cheeks. “You look... fabulous.”

You were so focused on making him look even more ridiculous that you barely noticed how close you’d gotten, your faces mere inches apart as you carefully applied the makeup. You were lost in the moment, smiling softly at him, when you both shared a look.

Something in the air shifted. Jeongin’s breath seemed to catch, and you felt a flutter in your chest. You suddenly realized that the playful energy between you had changed, that soft, unspoken tension hanging in the air. His gaze dropped to your lips for a second, and the world seemed to pause.

Neither of you moved, but for the first time, you both felt it, something more than friendship. You leaned in a little, and before you could even fully comprehend what was happening, the space between you two felt impossibly small.

That was when the door creaked open, the sound cutting through the moment like a cold splash of water.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Both you and Jeongin jerked back like you’d been shocked, your faces red with embarrassment. You whipped around to see Chan standing in the doorway, his hands up as if trying to signal that he hadn’t meant to interrupt.

“Oh, uh... my bad. I’ll just—” He quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks flushed, and awkwardly mumbled, “Sorry again,” before turning around and heading back to his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

The tension in the room was almost unbearable. You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, the awkwardness of the moment too much to ignore. “Well, that was... perfect timing,” you said, trying to ease the discomfort.

Jeongin didn’t laugh, though. His face had become serious, his gaze fixed on the floor, and for a moment, you wondered if the whole thing had been forgotten. But then, his voice, soft and full of emotion, broke through the silence.

“I almost let you go,” he said quietly, his voice trembling slightly as if the words were just now rushing to the surface. “But now I know I can’t hide how I feel about you any longer.”

You blinked, the weight of his words catching you off guard. For a split second, you froze, unsure of what to say. Was he... was Jeongin saying what you thought he was saying?

“I—what?” You blinked again, your heart starting to race, trying to process his confession.

Jeongin’s face flushed even deeper, his hands fumbling awkwardly. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I know, I probably sound dumb right now. I’ve been trying to keep it in for so long, but... now that we almost—” He cleared his throat, realizing how much more he’d just blurted out. “I can’t hide it anymore. I like you. More than a friend.”

You stared at him in silence, the full weight of his confession slowly sinking in. Your mind went blank for a moment as you tried to process the words. The Jeongin you’d known for so long the shy, quiet, kindhearted Jeongin, was telling you he liked you? More than a friend?

And before you even knew it, you burst into laughter. It was soft, warm, and filled with relief and amusement. You couldn’t stop it, especially not when you saw the confusion on his face.

“Wait, what?” Jeongin asked, completely thrown off by your reaction. He reached up to touch his face, now realizing that he still had a full face of makeup on. “Am I stupid for confessing? or Is it the makeup?”

You giggled harder, shaking your head. “No, no just Jeongin, you’re so cute.” You wiped your eyes, still laughing, but your heart was fluttering. "I didn’t think you’d ever admit it. I thought I was the only one feeling this way."

Jeongin blinked in disbelief, his gaze softening as he processed what you said. “Wait… you feel the same?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you composed yourself. “Yeah, I do. I’ve liked you for a while now,”

His eyes lit up, and before he could say anything more, you leaned in close, closing the distance that had always kept you two apart. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips gently brushing against his in a kiss that felt like the start of something new. It was soft, tender, full of the warmth you both had been longing for.

When you pulled away, you smiled up at him, and his cheeks were flushed with a mix of joy and embarrassment. “Now, this... this is perfect timing,” you whispered.

Jeongin chuckled, his heart racing. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And just like that, everything changed. What had once been a quiet, unspoken affection had finally bloomed into something real.

//

masterlist.

🚫 proofread

[heeluvv]

sunoo showing his members that he’s not just a subby boy .. 💭

lowkey didn’t know how i wanted to play this out but i did it this way and im not mad at it so i hope you like it bb

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

pairing 〢bsf/close friend! kim sunoo x reader

genre 〢smut

warnings 〢pussy eating, unprotected sex, fingering, soft!dom sunoo, teasing, etc.

natty’s notes 〢mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the room buzzed with laughter, the warm glow of the living room lights casting a cozy atmosphere over your small gathering. the idea of going out had been quickly shut down by your friends, who whined about the hassle and convinced you to just stay in. you didn’t mind—it was nice having them over, sprawled across your couch and floor, snacking on whatever was in your kitchen while exchanging playful banter. the energy was lighthearted, filled with inside jokes and teasing remarks that never failed to keep the mood alive.

amidst the usual chatter, a certain conversation piqued your interest—who among you was the most dominant? it started as a joke, with everyone throwing names into the mix, ranking each other based on their supposed presence and personality. unsurprisingly, sunoo kept ending up at the bottom of the list, a fact that only fueled the amusement of the group.

“you guys really think i’m not dominant enough?” sunoo scoffed, crossing his arms as he scanned everyone with a sharp gaze, his brows lifting in challenge.

“you just seem more like a submissive, sunoo,” you said casually, your voice laced with amusement as the others quickly nodded in agreement.

a brief silence followed before he clicked his tongue, an unreadable smirk playing on his lips. “you guys have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

the laughter only grew louder.

“i mean, we aren’t lying, sunoo. every time y/n gives you even the slightest compliment, you get so flustered,” jake teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back against the couch. “only submissive like to be called good boy…”

his words sent a ripple of laughter through the group, their amusement only growing as sunoo’s expression shifted. but he wasn’t embarrassed, nor was he angry. no—he saw this as a challenge.

his posture straightened, and the playful glint in his eyes darkened into something more serious. “you want me to prove it to you all?” his voice was smooth, almost daring, his confidence oozing through the sudden change in demeanor.

the room fell into a brief silence, the shift in his energy palpable. your eyes widened at the sheer duality, the effortless way he transitioned from lighthearted banter to something almost intimidating. it sent an unexpected chill down your spine.

jungwon, breaking the silence, tilted his head curiously. “i mean… how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

he glanced at the others for backup, but instead of answering, they simply exchanged amused looks before turning their attention toward you.

your breath hitched. why were they looking at you?

it was no secret that you felt completely at ease around them. there was an unspoken comfort in their presence, a familiarity that blurred the lines of personal space. you had never been the type to overthink things—changing in front of them felt natural, effortless, something you never put much thought into. it wasn’t like you were trying to make a statement; it was just how things were.

when you were home alone, the idea of throwing on extra layers felt unnecessary. walking around in just an oversized shirt, barely caring whether you had pants on, was second nature. so when they showed up unannounced—something they did often—you never felt the need to scramble for modesty. they had seen you like this before, countless times, and it had never been an issue.

but there was something about those fleeting moments that felt different. you weren’t oblivious—you noticed the way their gazes lingered, the way conversations would momentarily stall when you stretched or adjusted your clothes absentmindedly. they never said anything, never crossed a boundary, yet there was an undeniable weight in the air whenever it happened.

you never initiated anything, and neither did they. it was a silent understanding, an unspoken game where the tension simmered just beneath the surface. yet, even when their eyes betrayed their thoughts, you simply carried on as you always did—pretending not to notice, even though you always did.

“what?”

the single word left your lips before you could stop it, your voice laced with confusion, yet there was something else lurking beneath it—curiosity. this had caught you completely off guard. they were actually trying to initiate something now, and all for the sake of proving a point.

but was that really all it was?

a part of you should have been skeptical, maybe even hesitant. yet, deep down, you didn’t mind. because as much as you were aware of their lingering stares—the way their eyes would subtly (or sometimes not so subtly) trace the shape of your body in moments like these—you were equally guilty. maybe you hadn’t realized it at first, or maybe you had and just pretended otherwise, but the truth was undeniable.

your own gaze had a habit of betraying you. the way your eyes fixated a little too long on their lips when they spoke, how your focus would drift to the veins on their hands as they flexed absentmindedly. and then there were the times they stayed over, disappearing into the bathroom only to reemerge, steam still clinging to their skin, towel slung dangerously low on their hips, droplets of water trailing down their bare torso.

you told yourself it was nothing, just fleeting glances, harmless observations. but they noticed. every single time.

you weren’t the only one watching.

“i think you know what, y/n…” sunoo’s voice was smooth, deliberate, as he leaned back against the couch. the confidence in his posture was undeniable—his legs spread wider, his hands resting lazily on his thighs, fingers drumming against the fabric as he studied you. his gaze held something unreadable, something daring. “but of course… only if you let me.”

your breath hitched, your mind racing with endless possibilities. was this a mistake? would this change everything between you all? would it create distance or pull you even closer? the weight of uncertainty pressed against your chest, but despite all the questions, there was one undeniable truth—you wanted to know.

it was reckless, maybe even dangerous, but you couldn’t help the way curiosity clawed at you, the way something deep inside you itched for the answer. was it wrong to entertain these thoughts? perhaps. but could you really fault yourself for being human?

and then there was sunoo himself. was he truly as submissive as everyone assumed? or was this his way of proving you all wrong?

your throat felt dry as you swallowed down the lingering hesitation, your heart hammering in anticipation.

“o-okay…” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

you felt the shift instantly, a change so abrupt it sent a shiver down your spine. sunoo’s entire demeanor had shifted, his usual playful, almost teasing nature now replaced by something much more assertive—something that left you momentarily stunned. his gaze, once filled with amusement, was now sharp, unwavering, laced with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing from him.

“come here.”

his voice was steady, almost commanding, as he patted his lap, the simple gesture sending a wave of anticipation through you.

your breath hitched, hesitating for only a second before your body moved on its own. your legs carried you forward, and before you knew it, you were settling onto his lap, straddling him with a mix of hesitation and something far more dangerous—curiosity.

his hands found your hips effortlessly, fingers resting firmly yet not forcefully, grounding you in place. the heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your clothes, sending a subtle thrill through your body. he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pushing—just waiting, letting you feel the weight of the moment.

his eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, but his voice was softer this time. “you can always back out of this, y/n.”

it wasn’t a warning. it was a reassurance. a reminder that despite the shift, despite the unknown that lay ahead, you still held all the control.

“no, it’s fine…” you murmured, your voice steadier than you expected. your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt as you nodded, reaffirming your words. “i want to…”

those three words seemed to settle something deep within sunoo, dissolving whatever lingering hesitation he might have had. this wasn’t just about proving a point anymore—he wanted to know if you were truly comfortable with this, if you were letting him in willingly. and, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to do this in a way that wouldn’t just satisfy his need to prove something, but would also leave you wanting more.

his hands glided down slowly, palms warm as they traced the curve of your waist before settling against your thighs. his touch was firm but not demanding, the heat of his fingers seeping through the thin fabric, igniting something beneath your skin.

his dark eyes never left yours, a silent exchange passing between you both, more powerful than any words he could offer. he didn’t need to say anything—his gaze alone told you everything. a question, a reassurance, and something deeper, something unreadable but undeniably there.

one hand remained firm on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you hyperaware of his touch, while the other reached up, cradling the side of your face with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. he guided you down effortlessly, his thumb grazing your cheek as he closed the space between you, his lips finally meeting yours.

the kiss started slow—steady and controlled, as if he was savoring the moment, testing the waters. his lips moved against yours with purpose, the pressure just right, his warmth enveloping you in a way that sent your mind reeling.

never in your life did you think this would happen. the thought alone felt almost surreal, the realization that you were kissing one of your closest friends sending a spark of disbelief through you. but any hesitation, any second-guessing, melted away the moment he deepened the kiss.

his grip on your thigh tightened slightly as his lips moved with more intensity, more certainty, pulling you in as if he refused to let you second-guess this moment. the soft, controlled movements gave way to something deeper, something more urgent, as if he wanted to prove himself with each press of his lips against yours.

and you let him.

because despite the initial shock, despite the blur of emotions crashing over you, there was one undeniable truth—you wanted this just as much as he did.

his lips wandered downward, leaving a burning trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. each kiss was deliberate, his movements slow yet calculated, as if he wanted you to feel every second of it. his lips parted slightly, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin before he latched on, sucking gently at first before his teeth grazed over the spot, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

your breath hitched, fingers tightening against his shoulders, but he didn’t falter—not once. instead, his hands moved with purpose, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt before he gripped it firmly, wasting no time in tugging it over your head. the fabric barely had a chance to hit the floor before you felt the weight of their stares.

there you sat, bare before them all—only your red lace panties keeping you somewhat covered. the cool air kissed your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body, the rush of vulnerability mixing with something far more intoxicating.

sunoo’s eyes darkened, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he took in the sight before him.

“fuck…” he muttered, his voice low, almost breathless.

the single word hung heavy in the air, thick with desire, with anticipation. and in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just about proving a point anymore.

your hands instinctively move to cover yourself, a sudden wave of shyness washing over you under the weight of their heated stares. the intensity in their eyes—dark, unreadable, filled with something primal—makes your skin prickle with awareness.

but sunoo is quick to act.

his fingers wrap around your wrists before you can fully shield yourself, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulls your hands away. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, filled with something that makes your breath hitch.

“keep them down.”

his voice is steady, commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

your fingers curl into the fabric of the couch, your pulse hammering in anticipation as his attention shifts downward. his eyes linger, drinking in the sight before him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if restraining himself.

his mouth finds you without hesitation, lips wrapping around one peak as a sharp gasp escapes you. the warmth of his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting instantly to the sensation. he doesn’t hold back, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, his teeth grazing you ever so slightly before his tongue soothes over the spot.

a soft moan slips past your lips, your back arching slightly as your fingers dig into the couch, trying to ground yourself against the flood of sensation overtaking you.

he hums against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist.

he’s enjoying this—enjoying the way you react, the way your body responds so easily to him. and you? you’re completely at his mercy.

the room is thick with tension, the kind that settles deep in your bones, making every breath feel heavier. the others just sit there, too stunned to speak, their eyes locked onto you—onto the way sunoo’s mouth moves against your skin, claiming every inch of you with slow, deliberate sucks. the heat of his tongue flicking over each peak sends jolts of pleasure straight through your body, your back arching instinctively, seeking more.

the ache between your legs only grows, pulsing, desperate for relief. your hips move on their own, rolling forward, grinding against the growing bulge beneath you. the friction is intoxicating, making your breath hitch, a soft, needy moan escaping before you can stop it. the sensation is everything you’ve been craving, sending a sharp spark of pleasure right where you need it most.

but just as quickly as it comes, it’s taken away.

sunoo’s hands grip your waist, stilling your movements in an instant, his fingers digging in just enough to make his point. his lips leave your skin, glistening, his gaze meeting yours with a dangerous mix of control and amusement.

“you take what i give.”

his voice is low, firm, laced with authority that sends a shiver down your spine. his grip doesn’t loosen, his presence completely consuming, demanding your submission with nothing more than a look.

your breathing is uneven, your body still trembling from the denied pleasure, but the challenge in his tone makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

“please, sunoo…” you whimper, your voice barely above a breath, laced with desperation. your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body trembling as his fingertips lazily trace over the thin fabric covering your aching core.

he doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time, barely applying any pressure, just the softest, teasing flicks against your clothed clit. the sensation is maddening, sending tiny jolts of pleasure through you, but never enough to satisfy the throbbing need building inside you.

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his lips curling into a smirk as he watches you squirm beneath his touch. “you sound so pretty begging for me, baby…” his voice is smooth, laced with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it—something dark, something possessive.

his words send a shiver down your spine, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs. you moan at the praise, eyes fluttering shut as the ache intensifies, your pussy clenching helplessly around nothing.

you need more—so much more—but sunoo just keeps up his agonizing pace, barely giving you what you want, dragging out every second, watching as your desperation grows.

“look at you,” he muses, his fingers pressing just a little harder, enough to make your breath hitch. “so needy, and i’ve barely even touched you.”

he moves before you can even process it. with effortless strength, he lifts you off his lap, his hands gripping your waist as he shifts positions. a startled gasp escapes you as he tosses you gently onto the couch, the plush cushions cushioning your fall.

your body barely has time to react before he’s kneeling between your legs, his presence dominating the space between you. his hands are steady, deliberate, as they hook into the waistband of your lace panties, dragging them down in one slow, tantalizing motion. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a shiver up your spine as your underwear is discarded somewhere onto the floor.

his breath hitches, a low, appreciative grunt escaping his lips as he takes in the sight of you—completely bare before him. a moment of silence hangs in the air, heavy and charged, before you hear the sharp intake of breath from the others.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby…” his voice is a smooth promise, dripping with intent, his fingertips brushing along the inside of your thighs as he spreads them wider, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze.

his eyes darken as he drinks in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he groans at the sheer view.

“and while i do that,” he continues, his tone firm, unwavering. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, filled with something dangerous, something commanding. “i want you to look at them.”

your breath stutters.

his words settle deep within you, igniting something raw, something forbidden. your eyes flicker toward the others, who are still watching, still mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.

the weight of their gazes only makes the heat between your legs burn hotter.

sunoo starts slow, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, leaving a trail of delicate, teasing kisses. each press of his lips is unhurried, deliberate, like he’s savoring the taste of you before he even reaches his destination. the heat of his breath fans over your sensitive skin, making your muscles twitch in anticipation.

he inches up, closer and closer, until he’s face to face with your aching core. your slickness glistens under the dim light, coating your folds, an unspoken invitation that makes his breath hitch. his fingers move with purpose, spreading you open, exposing every delicate inch of you to his hungry gaze.

your body jolts at the sensation, a sharp gasp slipping past your lips. “s-sunoo…” you whimper, your voice trembling, thick with need.

but before you can say anything else, he’s on you.

his lips crash against your pussy with a fervor that makes your head spin, tongue immediately delving between your folds, collecting every bit of your arousal in his mouth. he groans at the taste, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your back arch off the couch.

his tongue moves expertly, flicking and swirling, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deep, indulgent licks. he devours you like he’s been starving for this moment, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pulls you closer, burying himself deeper.

the sounds—the wet, sinful noises of his mouth working against you, the soft gasps and moans spilling from your lips—fill the room, adding to the thick, unbearable tension that already lingers.

your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting as soft, breathy moans spill from them. the sensation of his tongue working against you is almost overwhelming, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. your fingers tangle in the cushions beneath you, grasping for something—anything—to keep yourself grounded as he pleases you so effortlessly.

but just as you begin to sink into the bliss, a sharp sting blossoms across your thigh, the sudden smack making you jolt. a gasp rips from your throat, your eyes snapping open in shock as heat radiates from the spot where his hand just struck.

“what did i tell you?” sunoo’s voice is smooth, yet firm, holding an edge of authority that makes your stomach twist.

his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, his lips glistening with your slickness, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watches your reaction. his fingers trail over the place he just struck, soothing the warmth left behind, before giving your thigh another sharp squeeze.

“keep your eyes on them.”

his words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body responding instinctively, thighs trembling slightly beneath his grip. he waits, watching you expectantly, making sure you obey before diving back in, his tongue resuming its torturous, sinful pace.

you obey him without hesitation, your eyes barely able to stay open as pleasure crashes over you in waves. your expression is completely undone—lips parted, swollen from where you’ve been biting them, brows furrowed in pure, unfiltered bliss. every nerve in your body is on fire, every muscle tensed in anticipation of what’s coming next.

his mouth latches onto your clit with a sudden, intense suction that makes your back arch off the couch, a sharp moan ripping from your throat. the wet warmth of his tongue moves expertly, flicking and swirling before he sucks harshly again, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

just when you think you can’t take any more, his fingers press against your entrance, teasingly circling before slowly pushing inside. the stretch is delicious, his fingers sinking into you with ease, the slickness of your arousal making it effortless. he groans against you, the vibrations only adding to the unbearable pleasure as he starts to move—slow at first, testing, before curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that has your entire body trembling.

“fuck, s-sunoo..” your voice is broken, shaky, barely coherent as you clutch onto the couch for dear life.

he hums against your clit, clearly pleased with your reaction, his fingers picking up their pace, thrusting into you deeper, harder, his mouth never once relenting.

the coil in your stomach tightens dangerously, the pleasure building rapidly, threatening to consume you whole.

“sunoo—sunoo, please!” you cry out, your voice breaking between moans as his fingers continue their relentless pace, plunging into you with precision, each thrust leaving you breathless. the wet, sinful sounds of your arousal echo through the room, only adding to the intensity of the moment. your walls flutter around his fingers, clenching down instinctively as that familiar, burning heat coils deep in your stomach, warning you that you’re teetering on the edge.

“fuck, sunoo—i’m gonna cum! i—i can’t—” your words come out in desperate gasps, your entire body trembling as the pleasure builds unbearably.

but instead of giving in, he chuckles darkly against your skin, his breath hot as he murmurs, “aww, you wanna cum, baby?” his voice is smooth, teasing, completely unfazed by your desperation.

his fingers don’t slow—not even for a second. if anything, he moves even faster, driving them deeper, curling them just right until your legs are shaking around him. and then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, his thumb comes down on your swollen clit, pressing down before rubbing harsh, relentless circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. the sudden overstimulation makes your back arch off the couch, a sharp, broken moan ripping from your throat.

but just as your release is within reach, just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he suddenly tightens his grip on your thigh, voice dropping into a firm, commanding tone.

“you’re gonna hold it.”

your eyes widen in pure, helpless agony. “w-what?” your voice is a wrecked whimper, your body on fire, teetering dangerously on the brink of pleasure.

he smirks, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he watches you squirm, your desperation only fueling him more. “you heard me. you’re not cumming until i say so.”

your body betrays you, clenching around his fingers, desperate for relief, but he gives you none. instead, he continues his ruthless pace, dragging you further into the agonizing high without letting you fall over the edge.

“fuck—no, sunoo! i can’t—please!” you cry out, your voice breaking into a desperate sob as your body trembles uncontrollably beneath his touch. your hands clutch at the cushions, fingers curling into the fabric like a lifeline, your entire body writhing under the intensity of his movements. your legs shake violently, barely able to keep still as he continues his merciless assault, his fingers plunging in and out of you at a brutal pace, stretching you, filling you, driving you to the very edge of insanity.

your chest rises and falls in frantic breaths, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer overstimulation. every muscle in your body is taut, coiled so tightly it feels like you might snap at any moment. the unbearable pleasure surges through you in waves, an inferno burning deep in your core, desperate for release. but he won’t let you.

“aww, poor baby…” sunoo coos, his voice laced with mock sympathy, though the amusement in his tone betrays his true intentions. his dark eyes glint with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, drinking in the sight of your helpless state. he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “i don’t care.”

his words send a sharp jolt of heat straight through you, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs despite the sweet torture he’s inflicting.

his fingers curl inside you again, hitting that perfect spot with unrelenting precision, his thumb still circling your clit in fast, ruthless strokes. your legs twitch, your moans turning into broken sobs as you shake beneath him, completely at his mercy.

he’s enjoying this—enjoying the way you fall apart in his hands, how utterly wrecked you are for him.

his movements halt abruptly, leaving you panting, teetering on the edge of a release he refuses to grant. before you can even catch your breath, he shifts you effortlessly, guiding your body to lay flat against the plush cushions of the couch. his touch is firm but careful, positioning you exactly how he wants—spread out, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

his hands move with purpose, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt. in one smooth motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. his skin glows under the dim lighting, his prominent abs flexing slightly as he breathes. the sight alone sends another rush of heat pooling between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

but he isn’t done.

his fingers work their way down, unbuttoning his pants with agonizing slowness, as if savoring every second of your hungry gaze trailing over his body. the fabric slides down his hips, along with his boxers, pooling at his feet before he kicks them away carelessly.

and then he’s bare.

his cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with arousal. the sight alone makes your breath hitch, your mouth going dry as your thighs clench involuntarily. he watches your reaction, his lips curling into a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

“like what you see, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he strokes himself lazily, letting you take in every inch of him.

he moves over you with a predatory grace, his body hovering just inches above yours, the heat radiating from his skin making your breath hitch. his hands find your face, fingers cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that contrasts the hunger in his gaze. his thumb strokes your flushed skin before he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss.

his lips move against yours with raw intensity, swallowing your soft whimpers as his tongue teases its way into your mouth. the taste of him, warm and intoxicating, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, your fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

a low groan rumbles from his chest as he breaks the kiss, his breath fanning against your lips. without another word, his hand wraps around his cock, fisting it slowly, the slick head brushing against your soaked folds. the contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, a shaky gasp escaping as he drags himself along your slit, coating himself in your wetness.

“fuck…” he grunts, his voice low, strained, the friction making his hips jerk slightly. his cock slides against your clit with every slow stroke, the sensation making your thighs twitch as your body craves more.

he watches your face closely, drinking in every reaction, every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that falls from your lips. he’s teasing, taking his time, savoring the feeling of you beneath him, knowing damn well how much you need him to just give in.

before you can even process it, he pushes in—slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch as he stretches you open. the sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that has your breath hitching, your fingers curling into the couch beneath you. your walls clench instinctively around him, the tightness drawing a deep, guttural groan from his throat.

“shit…” he breathes out, his voice strained, laced with pure pleasure as he sinks deeper, his cock disappearing inch by inch inside you.

his arms move beneath yours, caging you in, his hands pressing firmly against the cushions just above your shoulders. his body is flush against yours, the warmth of his skin pressing into you, grounding you in the moment.

he dips his head down, his lips ghosting over your neck before pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin. each kiss is slow, almost tender, a stark contrast to the overwhelming fullness stretching you apart. his breath is hot against your pulse, his lips trailing up toward your jaw, as if whispering silent reassurances between each soft peck.

his hips still momentarily, letting you adjust, his thumbs stroking soothing circles against your skin. but the way his fingers tense against the couch, the way his breathing grows heavier, tells you he’s barely holding back.

his hips start to move, and though his initial thrusts are measured, controlled, it doesn’t last. the way your walls cling to him, squeezing him with every inch he sinks into you, has his restraint snapping almost instantly. his movements quickly become rougher, more urgent, each deep thrust slamming into you with a force that leaves you gasping for air.

the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with the heavy breaths and desperate moans that spill from your lips. the pleasure is overwhelming, each stroke hitting deep, sending shockwaves through your body. your legs react instinctively, wrapping tightly around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as your fingers claw at his back, nails digging into the firm muscles beneath your touch.

“sunoo!” you cry out, your voice breaking into a scream of pleasure as he angles his hips just right, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

his breath is ragged, hot against your ear as he groans, his grip on the cushions tightening as he pounds into you without mercy. “shit, baby… you’re so fucking tight…” his voice is thick with lust, raw and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself together.

his pace only quickens, his thrusts growing deeper, rougher, his body pressing you further into the couch as he loses himself in the way you feel around him. every roll of his hips sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins, building that tight coil in your stomach, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“look at you, taking my dick so well, baby…” sunoo groans, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes locked onto the sight of you beneath him. the way your body takes every relentless thrust, the way your walls squeeze him so perfectly—it has his head spinning. his hips don’t slow, not even for a second, driving into you with an unrelenting pace that has you seeing stars.

“fuuuckk—yes, sunoo!” you cry out, your body arching beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming, intoxicating. every thrust hits deeper, harder, sending waves of euphoria crashing through you, your fingers digging into his back in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

his lips curl into a cocky smirk as he watches you unravel, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. “love this dick already, baby?” he taunts, his breath hot against your lips, the teasing lilt in his voice only making the fire inside you burn hotter.

before you can even answer, his mouth crashes onto yours, stealing your breath, swallowing every moan, every whimper. his lips move with raw hunger, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as if he’s trying to consume you whole.

the way you taste—sweet, intoxicating—only fuels him more, makes him thrust into you even harder, his body completely consumed by the way you feel wrapped so tightly around him. he’s drowning in you, in this moment, in the way your bodies move together in perfect, reckless harmony.

he swears he’s never felt this high before—never felt anything like this. it’s addicting. and he never wants to stop.

“fuuuckk—sunoo, i c-can’t—i c-can’t…” your voice is a desperate, broken whimper, your entire body trembling beneath him. every thrust sends you spiraling further, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost unbearable. your nails dig into his back, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

sunoo groans at the sound of your voice, the way you’re falling apart completely for him. his hips snap forward with relentless force, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to that inevitable peak. he can feel it—the way your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tighter, your body begging for release.

“fuck, baby—wanna cum?” his voice is thick with desire, breathless as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “you wanna cum for me?”

your head tilts back, a sob of pleasure escaping your lips as your entire body quivers beneath him. you’re teetering on the edge, dangling between sweet bliss and unbearable tension, your mind clouded with nothing but him—his touch, his voice, the way he’s completely consuming you.

“p-please—please, fuck—please!” you beg, your voice wrecked, desperate, pleading for the release you so desperately need.

his fingers tighten their grip on your shoulders, his breath ragged against your skin as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, his own control beginning to fray. “cum for me, baby,” he growls, his voice dark, commanding. “let go.”

a loud, uncontrollable cry rips from your throat as the pleasure crashes over you in violent, overwhelming waves. your entire body tenses, then completely unravels, trembling beneath him as the intense release takes hold.

and then it happens.

the sharp, wet sound fills the air as your climax bursts forth, a powerful spray soaking both you and sunoo. the sudden gush makes your mind go blank, your vision blurring as your body convulses with the force of your orgasm.

gasps echo through the room—the others watching in stunned silence, eyes wide as they take in the sight of you, completely wrecked, completely undone.

sunoo freezes for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before a deep, guttural moan tears from his lips. his jaw goes slack, his eyes darkening as he watches the way you squirt against him, your slickness dripping down his abs, coating his cock in a way that has his entire body trembling.

“fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice hoarse, filled with pure, raw hunger. the sensation of your release against him, the warmth, the wetness—it drives him wild, makes his hips jerk forward on instinct, as if chasing the feeling of you unraveling beneath him.

your legs shake violently, your hands grasping at anything—his shoulders, the cushions, his arms—as you sob out his name, your entire body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

“sunoo!” your voice is desperate, breathless, your head tilting back as you ride out the high, waves of pleasure still coursing through your veins.

and sunoo? he looks completely mesmerized—completely addicted to the sight of you falling apart just for him.

“fuck—i’m gonna cum, oh shit!” sunoo grunts, his voice rough, breathless, completely lost in the intensity of his release.

his movements grow erratic, hips stuttering as he pulls out at the last second, his hand immediately wrapping around his cock. his strokes are fast, desperate, chasing his high as his chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as he spills onto your stomach, thick ropes of cum painting your skin as his body jerks with each pulse. his grip on himself tightens, milking every last drop as his head tilts back, his mouth falling open in a silent moan, completely lost in the pleasure overtaking him.

“shit…” he exhales, voice raspy, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm.

his dark, hooded eyes trail down to the mess he’s made on you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches his release drip down your stomach, glistening against your flushed skin.

without hesitation, his fingers dip into the creamy warmth, gathering his cum onto his fingertips before bringing them to your lips.

“suck.”

his command is firm, unwavering, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting. his fingers press lightly against your bottom lip, smearing the mess against your soft skin, teasing you—daring you.

his breathing is still uneven, his body still humming with the remnants of pleasure, but the hunger in his eyes hasn’t faded. if anything, it’s only grown darker.

you comply without hesitation, parting your lips as his fingers slide past them, pressing against your tongue. the warm, salty taste of him coats your taste buds, and a soft, involuntary moan escapes your throat at the sensation. your tongue swirls around his fingers, sucking lightly, savoring the way he watches you—his gaze dark, filled with something unreadable, something possessive.

his breathing is still uneven, his chest rising and falling as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes. your lips wrap tighter around his fingers, your tongue pressing against the ridges of his knuckles before you slowly pull back, letting them slip from your mouth with a soft pop.

the room is thick with heat, the only sound filling the space being the heavy breathing between the both of you. your skin is damp with sweat, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and yet the weight of what just happened lingers in the air.

then, sunoo smirks, breaking the silence with a breathy chuckle.

“am i subby now?”

natty’s notes 〢hoped you liked it !!

[loveesiren]

𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 1)

Choi Seunghyun x reader x Kwon Jiyong

a/n: Yay! Here is part one of this angsty, terrible series I'm writing. This one is a bit of a roller coaster and idk why I'm putting my babies through this 😭 As always, I am in no way shape or form trying to convey that TOP and GD are like this in real life. I have an immense amount of love and respect for them and I am simply using them as characters in this story.

synopsis: Hate fucking G-Dragon wasn't your proudest moment. I mean, you kept coming back for more right? But what happens when his best friend suddenly takes an interest in you...

warnings: angst, mentions of smut

wc: 2.4k+

You couldn’t remember exactly when this all started—only that it had been a collision waiting to happen. One drunken night, a heated argument with Jiyong had turned into something neither of you could take back. You still recalled the fire in his eyes, the way his fingers had wrapped around your throat before slamming you against the wall. His lips had crashed against yours, all fury and desperation, his hands roaming your body like he needed to claim every inch of you. Your legs had locked around his waist, his name spilling from your lips between breathless moans as he fucked you against the cool surface. He had buried his face in your tits, groaning with every ragged thrust, his anger bleeding into something darker, something insatiable.

And that’s how it had been for the last six months—rage, resentment, and raw, reckless lust. The fights never stopped, but neither did the sex. The bruises on your skin from his grip always faded just in time for new ones to take their place. It was a secret, one that weighed heavy on your conscience. You hated Jiyong, and he hated you. That was the rule. It was just meaningless, hate-filled sex.

But then, everything changed.

Choi Seunghyun was the opposite of Jiyong in every way. Where Jiyong was sharp edges and biting words, Seunghyun was warmth and patience. He greeted you every morning with a soft smile, a cup of coffee waiting in his hand just for you. He asked about your day, listened intently when you spoke, made you feel seen in a way you hadn't in so long. You found yourself looking forward to those moments, the easy conversations, the way he treated you like you were worth something more than just fleeting pleasure.

And then came Valentine's Day.

Seunghyun stood before you, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a cliché heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. His expression was shy, almost uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“There’s, uhm… this new restaurant that just opened up,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I thought maybe we could try it? Together?”

Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

You knew he liked you. You had felt it in the way he looked at you, in the way he lingered just a little longer whenever he spoke to you. But you never thought he’d actually do something about it. Not when you practically worked for him. 

You stared at the flowers, your mind racing for a response. From the corner of the room, Jiyong sat frozen, his normally unreadable expression cracked wide open. His lips parted slightly, his eyes dark, unblinking as he watched the moment unfold.

You liked Seunghyun. A lot.

But you had been hate-fucking his best friend for months.

“I-uhm…”

Seunghyun’s face faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with a polite smile. “You don’t have to. I mean, you probably already have plans. Just—just forget I asked. Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

He turned to walk away, the blush on his cheeks deepening, but something in you refused to let him leave.

“Wait!” The word slipped out before you could stop it. You barely recognized the sound of your own voice. “I-I’d love to actually…”

Seunghyun’s expression lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Really? Great! I’ll pick you up at eight?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—genuine, unforced. “Sounds great.”

Seunghyun walked away with a barely concealed skip in his step, leaving you standing there, the scent of roses still fresh in the air.

And then the moment shattered.

Jiyong scoffed, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. You had almost forgotten he was there. Almost.

He sauntered toward you, plucking a single rose from the bouquet and twirling it between his fingers. His lips curled into something cruel, something wounded. “You’re really gonna go out with my best friend? After spending the last six months screaming my name?”

“Shut up, Jiyong,” you snapped, turning away. You didn’t want to have this conversation.

But he wasn’t done. “No, really, I’m curious. You trying to work your way through the whole band, or just the ones closest to me?”

Your blood boiled. “It’s not like that!”

“Oh? Then tell me, what is it like?” He stepped closer, his breath warm against your skin. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You gonna let him touch you the way I do? Gonna let him fuck you the way I do?”

“I actually like Seunghyun.” The words were out before you could stop them.

Something flickered in Jiyong’s eyes. Something you’d never seen before. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “We fucked this morning, Y/N,” he bit out, his voice barely above a growl. “This morning.”

You held his gaze, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Well, that was the last time.”

You turned on your heel, walking away without another word.

Jiyong’s chest heaved, his hands trembling at his sides. The moment the door shut behind you, he grabbed the glass of water you had left on the table and hurled it against the wall.

The sound of shattering glass filled the empty room.

-

You were the band’s lead stylist, for Christ’s sake. You could dress five grown men in elaborate stage outfits without breaking a sweat, yet here you were, standing in the middle of your bedroom, drowning in rejected dresses. The floor was littered with fabric, discarded options that just didn’t sit right, clinging too tightly in the wrong places or making you feel like a stranger in your own skin. Frustration bubbled in your chest as you yanked yet another dress over your head and then tossing it aside with a huff.

Why was this so hard?

Because this wasn’t just any date.

It was a date with Seunghyun.

Your stomach twisted at the thought. You wanted to look perfect tonight, wanted everything to be effortless, elegant. You wanted to be soft in a way you hadn’t been allowed to be in a long time.

But deep down, a bitter little voice whispered that maybe you didn’t deserve this kind of good.

The ghost of Jiyong’s touch still lingered on your skin—hot, possessive, sinful. Just this morning, his hands had been on you, gripping your thighs, your waist, his lips dragging down your neck as if branding you. The shame of it burned through your chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Seunghyun and Jiyong had been best friends since they were kids. This whole situation felt like a betrayal waiting to happen.

But then there was Seunghyun himself—kind, gentle, thoughtful. The type of man you’d once dreamed of, back before your life had been tangled in the mess of lust and hate. He was the kind of man who took his time, who cherished, who actually cared. And more than anything, you liked him.

And you didn’t like Jiyong. 

…Right?

Jiyong was infuriating, arrogant, selfish. He pushed all your buttons, knew exactly how to set your blood on fire. That’s what fueled it, wasn’t it? The hatred, the push and pull, the way you loathed the very sight of him until you were pinned beneath him, gasping his name.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t love. It was nothing.

You exhaled sharply, forcing the thoughts from your head. Your fingers smoothed down the black dress that hugged your curves, the sleek fabric clinging in just the right places. It was classy, yet undeniably sexy. This was the one.

You slipped on your black heels, threw on a matching cardigan, and checked yourself one last time in the mirror. A final touch of gloss on your lips, a quick fix of your hair—then the doorbell rang.

Your heart leapt.

You swallowed hard, inhaling deeply before hurrying to the door. When you pulled it open, the sight of Seunghyun standing there sent warmth through your chest. He looked effortlessly handsome, dressed in a dark suit, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

“Seunghyun! Hi!” you greeted, your smile bright but nervous.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he said smoothly, pulling something from behind his back—a single black dahlia. “Jiyong said these were your favorite.”

The breath hitched in your throat.

Jiyong.

Your fingers froze before hesitantly reaching for the flower. “Jiyong told you that?”

Seunghyun nodded, looking at you expectantly. “Yeah, he said you mentioned it once, that you love dahlias. Did he get it wrong?” His voice was light, playful, but his brows furrowed slightly, as if sensing your hesitation.

You forced yourself to push the unease away, offering him a smile. “No… he got it right. I do love them. Especially black ones.” You ran your fingers gently over the petals. “Thank you, Seunghyun. It’s beautiful.”

But your mind was already spinning.

Why the hell would Jiyong tell him that? Had they talked about this date? What else had Jiyong said? Was he trying to sabotage you? Or was this his way of reminding you—of digging his claws in and making sure you never truly forgot about him?

“Ready to go?” Seunghyun’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You blinked, shaking the thoughts away. “Yeah! Let me just grab my purse.”

You set the flower down carefully on the table in the entryway before grabbing your bag and stepping out into the night.

-

The car ride was quiet, but comfortable. Seunghyun didn’t push conversation, choosing instead to let the soft hum of music fill the space between you. The city lights blurred past outside the window, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relax.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Seunghyun was a perfect gentleman, stepping out first and opening the door for you. He offered his arm as he led you inside, giving his name to the host.

Almost immediately, you were ushered to a private dining room.

The scene was breathtaking—dim lighting, flickering candles, a pristine white tablecloth and delicate wine glasses. It was intimate, romantic in a way that sent warmth creeping up your neck.

“Wow, Seunghyun…” You turned in awe, drinking in the effort he had put into this. “This is… this is beautiful.”

His lips quirked into a pleased smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

He moved to pull out your chair for you, and you found yourself smiling as you sat. When he took his seat across from you, he grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring for both of you before lifting his glass.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his gaze warm.

You chuckled softly, clinking your glass against his. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

As the night went on, conversation flowed effortlessly. He was easy to talk to, his voice soothing, his words thoughtful. He spoke about art, about music, and you found yourself telling him about your passion for fashion in a way you hadn’t in a long time. There was no competition here, no venom, no tension like there always was with Jiyong.

By the time the date ended, he walked you to your front door, lingering for just a moment before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, watching as he walked away, a giddy warmth blooming in your chest. You wanted more, but you liked that he didn’t rush. That he wasn’t like—

You opened the door to your apartment, stepping inside.

And then your stomach dropped.

“How’d it go?”

The voice sent ice down your spine.

Jiyong was sitting on your couch, the flickering light from the TV casting sharp shadows across his face.

Your smile vanished instantly. “How the hell did you get in here?”

He smirked, holding up a key. “I have a key to everyone’s place. I’m G-Dragon, remember?”

“I’m changing my locks,” you snapped.

He chuckled darkly, rising to his feet. “So? Did Seunghyun make you feel all warm and special inside?” His voice was laced with mockery, but beneath it, something else simmered.

“He’s respectful,” you shot back. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”

Jiyong stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Or maybe he’s just too shy.” His eyes flickered with something dangerous. “Me and him have always differed in that area.”

“Maybe I like him that way.”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow, teasing. “What you like, princess, is getting fucked. Hard. By me.”

You barely had a moment to react before Jiyong’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you forward with enough force to send you colliding against his chest. The scent of him—cigarettes, expensive cologne, and something distinctly Jiyong—swallowed you whole, making your knees weak before he even said a word.

His grip was firm, unyielding, his body heat seeping through the fabric of your dress. Your breath hitched as his other hand ghosted up your arm, trailing lightly over your shoulder before settling at the base of your neck, his thumb pressing just enough to make your pulse race. His voice was a whisper, a slow drag of smoke and sin against your lips.

“Tell me you’re not dripping for me right now.”

Your breath shuddered. You tried to will yourself into stillness, to force your body to resist the pull he had over you. But the way he looked at you—his dark eyes hooded, lips just barely parted—had your resolve cracking apart like fragile glass.

“I—I’m not…” The words barely made it past your lips, trembling and unsure.

Jiyong hummed, the sound low and knowing. His hand left your wrist, trailing lower, fingers brushing the hem of your dress. You knew what was coming, knew you should stop him—but you didn’t.

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, slow and deliberate, teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before sliding upward, pressing right where you were aching for him most.

Your body betrayed you.

He exhaled sharply, his smirk sharpening as he felt the undeniable heat and wetness pooling there. His lips ghosted the shell of your ear, voice dripping with amusement.

“Liar.”

Shame surged through you, burning hot and unrelenting. You should push him away. You should tell him to get the hell out.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stood there, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. Your thighs clenched around his fingers involuntarily, your breath coming in shallow, needy little gasps.

Jiyong didn’t move, didn’t press further—he was waiting. Waiting for you to break first, to give in, to confirm what he already knew.

And you did.

“Maybe just…” Your voice came out weak, barely above a whisper. You swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut before forcing yourself to admit the inevitable. “Just one more time.”

The moment the words left your lips, his smirk deepened, satisfaction darkening his features.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening before he crushed his lips against yours, consuming you whole.

Tags: @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria @manuzicaveyr @gdinthehouseee

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

[helvegen-s]

do I wanna know?

Hozier's version

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: Oscar Piastri wasn't looking for love when he met Amélie in a Monaco nightclub. But their undeniable chemistry sparks a passionate connection that quickly becomes something more. As their secret relationship deepens, her surname, Vasseur, becomes the real problem.

Word count: 12k (stoppp, so long but so worth it)

TW: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, sexually suggestive content, alcohol, strong language...

A/N: I DID IT. Another day, another one-shot. I love Oscar with all my heart. I swear I’ve done everything to make this as little angsty and as least sad as possible. I hope you enjoy it <3

My previous one-shot, Step by step, has received so much love. I adore you all, and thank you for the reblogs, for the comments and the likes!

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

Monaco at night had a different glow. It wasn’t just the shimmer of lights reflecting on the sea or the lingering echo of engines that still seemed to vibrate in the air. It was the luxury, the exclusivity—the feeling that anything could happen in a city that never truly slept.

Oscar Piastri wasn’t the kind of guy who frequented nightclubs. Not because he didn’t like having fun, but because the idea of being surrounded by strangers, with deafening music and alcohol flowing freely, wasn’t exactly his scene. But a couple of friends had come to visit him at his new apartment in Monaco, and after a few beers and plenty of teasing about how boring he was, they had managed to drag him there.

The club was a chaos of strobe lights and moving bodies. The music, a heavy, immersive beat, pulsed through the floor and into his chest. Oscar stayed in a corner, a drink in his hand, pretending to enjoy himself while his friends disappeared into the crowd.

That was when he saw her.

She moved with an almost insolent confidence, the kind of presence that made people turn their heads without even realizing it. She was dressed in black, her loose hair falling in soft waves, her smirk suggesting she already knew something the rest didn’t. Oscar wasn’t the type to stare at just anyone, but there was something about her that kept his gaze locked.

When their eyes met, she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled, amused, as if she could read exactly what was going through his mind.

And then she walked over.

"You don’t look like someone who enjoys places like this," she said, leaning in just enough for her voice to be heard over the music.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"And what kind of person do I look like?"

"Someone who’s already calculating how much longer they need to stay before they can leave without looking like a buzzkill."

Oscar let out a laugh.

"And what about you? Are you the life of the party?"

She shrugged, her expression shameless.

"Could be."

Oscar couldn’t help but smile. There was something about her attitude, the way she didn’t give him a break, that had him completely hooked.

"Are you always this quick with words?"

"Are you always this easy to throw off?" she shot back.

He laughed again, more at ease than he expected to be. He wasn’t usually like this with strangers. He didn’t usually let himself go this fast. But with her, it felt inevitable.

They stayed like that, challenging each other with words and smiles, until conversation was no longer enough. He wasn’t sure who made the first move—if it was her or him. Maybe, in the end, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the exact moment their lips met in the middle of the dance floor, with the music pounding around them and the world shrinking to that single instant.

Oscar didn’t know her name. He didn’t know who she was or where she was from. All he knew was that the night had just become a lot more interesting.

The kiss tasted like gin and danger. The kind that arrived without warning, set skin on fire, and became impossible to ignore.

Oscar wasn’t thinking too much when he had her this close. He wasn’t thinking about the loud club, his friends, or anything other than the way she smiled against his lips, as if this were a game she already knew she was going to win.

His hand instinctively slid to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the way her body fit against his like they’d done this before, like it was meant to happen. She didn’t pull away—on the contrary, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, just to tease him.

"Do you always kiss strangers like this?" she whispered when they pulled apart just a fraction.

Oscar smiled, still holding her.

"No. Do you?"

"Neither do I." She leaned in again, barely grazing his lips with hers, tempting him. "But today seems like a good day to start."

Oscar chuckled lowly, unable to resist the effect she had on him. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he usually did. But something about her made him want to play along, to fall helplessly into the pull of her presence.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. She took advantage of it, letting her hands trace the edges of his shirt while looking at him with that wicked amusement.

"Do you dance, driver?"

Oscar frowned, half amused, half confused.

"How do you know I’m a driver?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"The way you move. Besides, this is Monaco. Everyone’s a driver here."

"That sounds like a very well-crafted lie."

"Could be." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the curve of his jaw. "Does that bother you?"

No. It didn’t. Not when he had her this close, the dance floor spinning around them, and the feeling that this was all a mistake—but the kind worth making.

Oscar took her hand and spun her effortlessly, making her laugh. They danced without a plan, without thinking too much about the rest of the world. Her body felt light against his, her laughter vibrating against his skin every time they pushed the limits a little further.

Until, in a moment of clarity, Oscar leaned in and whispered in her ear,

"You haven’t told me your name."

She stopped, looking at him with a spark in her eyes.

"Do you really need it?"

Yes. Probably. But the way she said it, the way she smiled afterward, made him hesitate.

Because maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t need it at all.

Oscar watched her, waiting for an answer. She only smiled, stretching the silence just enough to keep him on edge.

"Amélie," she finally said, savoring each syllable of her own name.

Oscar nodded, repeating it in his mind, making sure not to forget it. Amélie. It suited her.

"Nice name."

"I know."

Oscar laughed. God, she was unbearable. Unbearable and utterly fascinating in equal measure.

They kept dancing, though the music no longer mattered. What mattered were their hands gliding over each other’s skin, the whispers in their ears, the way their lips brushed together, turning into something more. The attraction between them was like an electric current, a dangerous game neither of them seemed willing to lose.

Amélie leaned in, her lips just a breath away.

"Let’s get out of here."

Oscar didn’t think twice.

The Mediterranean breeze was warm as they walked through the streets of Monaco, away from the noise of the club, adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

"Your place or mine?" Amélie asked, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

Oscar hesitated for a second. His friends would be crashing at his apartment, and the idea of going back with her only to find a couple of drunk idiots passed out on the couch wasn’t exactly appealing. His mind also flashed to the countless unopened boxes, unpacked suitcases, and unassembled furniture piled up in his new place.

"Yours."

"Good choice." She smiled but didn’t say anything else. She simply started walking, knowing he would follow.

Her apartment was in an elegant building near the port, with massive windows and a breathtaking view of the illuminated city.

"Nice place."

"It’s not bad." She shrugged off her jacket with a swift motion, letting it fall onto a chair. Then she turned to face him, that same defiant look in her eyes. "Do you want something to drink or…?"

Oscar didn’t let her finish.

The tension that had been simmering between them all night exploded the moment their lips met again. It was different from the kiss at the club—more urgent, more desperate. Like every second they had spent holding back had only been a prelude to the real moment of the night.

Amélie smiled against his mouth and, in one swift move, pushed him back until his spine hit the wall.

"Are you always this easy?" she murmured, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Oscar let out a low chuckle.

"Are you always this bossy?"

"When necessary."

"I like it."

This time, he took control.

They stumbled through the apartment, kissing and laughing, too caught up in each other to care about bumping into furniture. Clothes disappeared along the way, leaving a trail neither of them bothered to follow.

The way Amélie moved was hypnotic, as if she was in charge without even trying. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath warm against his lips.

"If at any point you want to stop—"

Oscar cut her off before she could finish, kissing her again, deeper, more desperate. Amélie grinned against his lips before pulling him further into the apartment.

There was no rush, yet no hesitation either. They moved with an absurd level of synchronicity for two strangers, as if every touch had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

When the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he took the opportunity to flip their dynamic, pinning her beneath him with ease.

"So, you like competing off-track too?" she teased, fingers tracing down his back.

Oscar lowered his head to her neck, pressing slow kisses against her skin.

"Always."

Amélie exhaled softly, letting the heat of the moment consume everything.

That night was one to remember.

Because, even though neither of them knew it yet, it was a night that would change everything.

Oscar woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. It took him a second to remember where he was—the spacious bedroom, the messy sheets, the lingering scent of perfume and warm skin in the air.

And then, the body beside him.

Amélie was lying on her stomach, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, the sheet barely covering her back. Her breathing was soft, completely oblivious to his wakefulness.

Oscar rested his head on the pillow and watched her for a moment. He remembered every detail of the night before—the taste of gin on her lips, the way she laughed against his skin, how they had lost themselves in each other without holding back. It had been wild and sweet at the same time, like they were on the edge of devouring each other yet somehow knew exactly how to touch.

Definitely, one of those nights you don’t forget.

But now came the tricky part—the mornings.

It was never exactly awkward, but it was never simple either. There was something about waking up in an unfamiliar bed, with the faint haze of a night too good to regret, that always brought the inevitable question: Now what?

As if sensing his gaze, Amélie shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible before cracking her eyes open.

"Mmm… you’re still here," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Did you expect me to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

"I didn’t take you for a coward," she said, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbow, taking her in properly for the first time without the dim club lights or the haze of lust clouding his perception. He noticed new details—the way her skin caught the morning light, the faint scar on her collarbone, the relaxed yet mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Do you always analyze people this much when you wake up next to them?" Amélie asked, meeting his gaze.

"Do you always have a comeback ready?"

"I warned you last night."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was stunning or that the sex had been incredible. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence, the effortless way she set the pace without him even noticing.

She stretched lazily before sitting up, letting the sheet slide down to her waist.

"I’m making coffee," she announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Does that mean you're inviting me to stay?"

Amélie turned around, giving him a defiant look.

"It means that if you touch the coffee machine before it's done, I'll throw you out of my apartment shirtless."

Oscar let out a laugh and fell back onto the bed, arms resting behind his head.

"You're trouble."

"And you walked right into it with your eyes wide open, driver."

With a satisfied smile, Amélie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Oscar with the certainty that this night wouldn’t be something he could forget so easily.

He lay there for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a night had been like this. Not just incredible in the physical sense—because it had been, no question—but fun.

There was something about Amélie that kept him hooked, and that worried him a little. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t like any other girl he’d been with before.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before getting up.

Gathering his clothes scattered around the room, he pulled his pants halfway up as he walked out toward the kitchen.

The apartment was modern and spacious, with a spectacular view of Monaco from the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the distance, Amélie’s silhouette moved effortlessly between the coffee machine and the shelves, wearing his shirt—barely buttoned.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.

"Nice shirt."

Amélie didn’t even turn around.

"Nice coffee machine," she shot back. "Which you still can’t touch."

He chuckled, stepping closer until his hip brushed against hers at the counter.

"And what if I need caffeine to function?"

She turned her head just enough to give him a look filled with teasing amusement.

"You're an F1 driver, not an office worker with a coffee addiction."

"We all have our weaknesses."

Amélie smirked, as if considering his words for a moment, before focusing back on her coffee.

The coffee machine bubbled softly as the rich aroma filled the kitchen. Amélie, arms crossed and feigning exasperation, watched Oscar stir the scrambled eggs he had insisted on cooking—with infuriating ease.

"Seriously, you don’t have to cook," she repeated for the third time.

"And yet, here I am."

"This isn’t your house."

"No, but it’s not a restaurant either, so if I want a decent meal, I’d rather make it myself."

Amélie huffed, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup in hand.

"Are you implying that I can’t cook?"

Oscar shot her an amused look.

"I haven’t seen any evidence that you can."

"You're incredibly arrogant for someone cooking with my pan in my kitchen."

"I call it survival," he said with a shrug.

Their dynamic was captivating. Amélie fired off comebacks at lightning speed, but Oscar kept up, responding with dry, precise remarks. There was no tension, no awkward pauses. It felt as if they had known each other for years, as if this was a routine between them.

As the eggs finished cooking, Oscar glanced toward the living room. From the kitchen, he had the perfect angle to see the main wall, and that’s when he noticed it.

Above the TV, hung proudly, was a massive painting.

It wasn’t a photograph, but a stunningly detailed painting of Monza’s circuit, featuring the faces of Michael Schumacher and Rubens Barrichello, dressed in their iconic Ferrari red suits, holding their trophies with beaming smiles.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Is that Monza?"

Amélie, mid-sip of coffee, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Mhm."

Oscar set down the spatula and turned fully toward the painting.

"It’s incredible."

"It is."

"Did you buy it?"

"No."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, noting how she didn’t elaborate.

"Are you a Formula 1 fan?"

"Mmm… not actively."

"You have a giant painting of Schumacher and Barrichello in your living room, Amélie. I find that hard to believe."

She sighed, as if she had been expecting this conversation.

"It was my father’s. He gave it to me when I bought this apartment."

Oscar tilted his head.

"Is your father a fan?"

"Let’s just say he’s very involved in motorsport."

A small alarm went off in Oscar’s head. Something wasn’t quite adding up, but before he could ask more, Amélie set her cup down and crossed her arms.

"And yes, I know who you are."

He tensed slightly.

"Oh."

"I didn’t sleep with you because you’re famous."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, surprised by her bluntness.

"I didn’t think you did."

"Good. Because I didn’t."

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Amélie’s expression was calm, but with that ever-present challenge in her eyes that made her impossible to ignore. Oscar felt there was more to this, something she wasn’t saying.

But for now, he let it go.

"The eggs are ready," he said, serving them onto two plates.

Amélie gave him a small smile and took hers.

"You’re a decent driver. Let’s see if you’re a decent cook too."

Oscar shook his head, chuckling as they sat down to eat.

Breakfast carried the same strangely effortless energy as the rest of the morning. Oscar couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a moment like this with someone he’d just met. Maybe never.

They talked about everything and nothing. Amélie teased him about how meticulous he was with the scrambled eggs. Oscar told her the coffee was so strong it could wake the dead. She told him that if he couldn’t handle it, he probably wasn’t man enough to be in her kitchen.

Oscar could only laugh.

And then, it was time to leave.

"I’d stay longer," he said, leaning against the counter, "but I left my friends at a club, and I still don’t know if they’re alive or if one of them ended up in a ditch."

Amélie chuckled.

"I’d say there’s an 80% chance they’re sleeping on your couch and a 20% chance they’re in jail."

"That’s exactly why I need to check."

She set her cup in the sink and nodded.

"Alright."

But neither of them moved.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

"Want to exchange numbers?"

Amélie raised an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t expected that, but didn’t hesitate for long before taking her own phone and typing her contact into his.

"Call me if your friends are dead. I can help you hide the bodies."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Oscar joked, saving her number.

And then, the real problem arose: how to say goodbye?

A simple “bye”? Too cold.

A hug? He wasn’t sure if that was right.

A kiss? Maybe too intimate for what they really were—two strangers who had just spent the night together.

But when their eyes met, the decision made itself.

Oscar leaned in slightly, and Amélie didn’t step back. Their lips barely brushed—a short kiss, nothing like the intensity of the night before, but charged with something else. Something harder to define.

When they pulled away, Amélie smiled, that mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Piastri."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head as he stepped toward the door.

"See you around, Amélie."

"See you."

And with that, he left.

Though, as he walked out of the building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before he saw her again.

Oscar entered his apartment in Monaco, his body exhausted and his mind scattered. The weekend's race was still buzzing in his head, memories of the paddock and strategy meetings blending with the roar of the engines. He knew he should take a shower, eat something decent, and, most of all, sleep.

But the moment he crossed the threshold, he thought of her.

It had been weeks since he last saw her. Neither of them had written, not even a casual message, as if the night they spent together had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, not something strong enough to leave a mark.

Oscar dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. He had no reason to text her. No excuse. But before he could think too much about it, his fingers were already moving over the screen.

🟠 Oscar: "If you want to see me, come over. I'm exhausted."

The possibility that she wouldn’t reply crossed his mind. It was late. And if he hadn’t bothered to reach out before, why would she now?

But against all odds, his phone vibrated instantly.

🔴 Amélie: "What kind of invitation is that? Doesn't sound very tempting."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

🟠 Oscar: "It's the best I can offer in this state."

This time, Amélie took longer to reply. He pictured her with her phone in hand, debating whether to accept or keep playing along a little longer.

🔴 Amélie: "Alright. But I’m bringing dinner."

🟠 Oscar: "No objections here."

🔴 Amélie: "You should have some. I might bring something terrible just to see your face when you try it."

🟠 Oscar: "If you poison me, you’ll pay for it."

🔴 Amélie: "I love a man who takes risks."

Oscar shook his head, and as he wrote his address in the chat, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

Whatever this was, he liked it.

The doorbell rang about forty minutes later.

Dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, Oscar made his way to the door unhurriedly. When he opened it, Amélie stood there, a paper bag in hand and a half-smile on her lips.

“Don’t ask what’s for dinner,” she said before he could say a word.

Oscar arched an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let her in.

“That sounds concerning.”

“Come on, trust me.”

She took off her jacket and tossed it over the couch with a familiarity they probably shouldn’t have yet. Oscar didn’t comment on it, but his gaze flickered to the jacket for a second before he shut the door behind her.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything gourmet,” she warned, pulling containers from the bag.

Oscar leaned against the counter, watching her.

“Honestly, as long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll take anything.”

Amélie pulled out two boxes of pasta from an Italian restaurant.

“Not much effort, huh?”

She shot him a sharp look.

“You wound me. This is from one of the best places in Monaco.”

Oscar opened one of the boxes, and the second the aroma hit him, he had to admit—it looked amazing.

“Alright, point for you.”

They sat on the couch, legs crossed casually, no rush. They ate in a comfortable atmosphere, filled with sarcastic remarks and glances that lingered just a little too long.

“So,” Amélie said at some point, twirling her fork in her pasta, “how does it feel to be home after the races?”

Oscar shrugged.

“Quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Does that mean you missed the chaos?”

Oscar watched her for a second before replying, amusement in his voice.

“I think it means I missed the person who brings it.”

Amélie smiled but didn’t reply right away. Still, in her eyes, Oscar saw something—a flicker of recognition, of acceptance.

This game between them was far from over.

Amélie held Oscar’s gaze for a few seconds before flashing a lazy smile.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an accusation,” she said, taking another bite of pasta.

“A bit of both.”

She let out a low chuckle.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

They kept eating, their conversation flowing as easily as their playful jabs. There were no awkward silences, no need to fill the gaps with unnecessary words. It was strange. Strange because Oscar wasn’t usually this comfortable with someone he barely knew.

But Amélie wasn’t just anyone.

And that’s what kept him hooked.

When they finished eating, she set her takeout container on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch with the ease of someone who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to text me,” she said suddenly.

Oscar glanced at her while finishing his last bite.

“Oh yeah?”

“No. You seemed like the type of driver who disappears after one night.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you think of me?”

Amélie tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t know. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar licked his lips, amused.

“And how’s my evaluation going so far?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment before answering.

“A solid seven out of ten.”

Oscar let out a laugh.

“Just a seven?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What would get me a ten?”

Amélie turned her head to look at him, and Oscar caught the subtle glint of challenge in her eyes.

“You’ll have to figure that out.”

The air between them shifted, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a rejection either. Amélie kept him right on the edge of what was safe and what wasn’t, and Oscar wasn’t sure which one tempted him more.

He studied her in silence for a moment.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked finally.

Amélie smiled.

“Only if you have decent wine.”

Oscar stood up, shaking his head.

“Picky.”

“Always.”

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine he had stashed away. He wasn’t exactly a wine connoisseur, but he hoped it was good enough for his guest. When he returned to the living room with two glasses, Amélie had already changed positions on the couch, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her.

“I’ll give you an extra point if it’s good,” she remarked as Oscar poured her a glass.

“Then you’d better lie if it’s not.”

She laughed softly before taking a sip.

Oscar watched her as she did, surprised by how much he enjoyed having her in his space.

“Approved,” she finally said, handing him back the glass with an amused look.

“Great. So am I at an eight now?”

Amélie tilted her head.

“That depends on how the night ends.”

Oscar leaned back against the couch, smirking.

“Interesting.”

And somehow, they both knew the night was far from over.

Eventually, the wine was forgotten on the table.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. One joke led to another, a smile turned into a fleeting touch, and now Amélie was straddling him, her legs tangled with his, her lips caught in a kiss that had no intention of ending anytime soon.

Oscar’s hand slid down her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. Amélie let out a laugh against his mouth before pulling back slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“For someone who was so tired, you have an impressive amount of energy,” she teased, not bothering to hide the playful lilt in her voice.

Oscar chuckled, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on her waist.

“Must be the high-quality dinner you brought,” he shot back with equal sarcasm.

Amélie arched an eyebrow.

“Then I should feed you more often.”

“Good idea. But, to be fair, it’s not just the food.”

“Oh, no?”

Oscar tilted his head, his lips grazing the skin of her neck.

“Let’s just say the company helps, too.”

Amélie smiled, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“You’re more charming than you let on, Piastri.”

“And you’re more dangerous than you look.”

She let out a soft laugh before kissing him again, her fingers tangling in his hair. And for the second time in his life, Oscar let himself be swept away by Amélie without a second thought.

Somehow, between laughter, sharp comebacks, and hands growing bolder by the second, they ended up in Oscar’s bedroom. It was a whirlwind of discarded clothes, breathless whispers, and a crackling electricity that filled every inch of space. Amélie was a storm—unpredictable, defiant, impossible to ignore. And Oscar surrendered to her without hesitation, without caring that they barely knew each other, without worrying about what it meant.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was her.

The first thing Oscar noticed upon waking was the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. The second was the warmth beside him—the shape of Amélie beneath the sheets.

For a moment, he simply lay there, watching her in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her hair a tangled mess against the pillow. She looked peaceful, nothing like the woman who challenged him with every word when she was awake.

Oscar smiled to himself before stretching slightly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his muscles.

"Do you always stare at people when they’re sleeping?" Amélie’s voice, husky from sleep, pulled him from his thoughts.

Oscar blinked, a little surprised to find her awake.

"Only when they try to kill me with their sense of humor," he replied, smirking.

Amélie cracked one eye open, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Don't blame me if you can’t handle it."

Oscar let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"I might need some intensive training."

"I doubt it. You handled yourself pretty well last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty well?"

Amélie shrugged, feigning indifference, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.

"I don’t know... I might need a second evaluation to be sure."

Oscar studied her for a second before rolling over, pinning her beneath him once again.

"That can be arranged."

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her, swallowing the breathless laugh that slipped from her lips.

They weren’t exactly sure how they made it work, but every time Oscar returned to Monaco, somehow, they ended up together.

It wasn’t planned. They didn’t text ahead of time or make promises to see each other again. It just happened—Oscar would come home after a race weekend, drop his bag, sink into the couch, and before he could think too much about it, he was already typing out a message to Amélie.

And she always answered.

Some nights, she was the one who showed up at his door with takeout, her hair tied up, a playful smirk on her lips, as if the last thing she wanted to do was admit she’d been waiting for that message too. Other times, he was the one crossing the city, ringing her doorbell with some vague excuse about ordering too much food and not wanting to eat alone.

Either way, the outcome was always the same.

An accidental touch on the couch that turned into something more. Oscar’s hands finding their way to her waist, tangling in her hair as he kissed her with the same intensity as the first time. Amélie murmuring something teasing against his lips before pushing him onto the mattress, or him pulling her into his arms, refusing to let her get too far. The feeling that every night with her was an inevitable spiral, a pull neither of them could resist.

It was easy. Natural. As if it couldn’t be any other way.

But there was something—something Oscar couldn’t quite figure out.

Every time he mentioned the idea of going out, Amélie’s answer was always the same.

"Go out? For what?"

Sometimes, she said it with a smirk. Other times, just a simple shrug, as if the thought of walking through Monaco together or going to a restaurant was unnecessary. And in the end, they always stayed in, watching a movie neither of them really paid attention to.

Oscar swore it didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. They didn’t need to go out to enjoy each other’s company. They didn’t need formal dates or candlelit dinners to keep doing whatever this was.

And yet, there was something about the way Amélie avoided it that didn’t quite sit right with him.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

At least, not yet.

Until one day, in a surge of something he couldn’t quite name, he decided to push back.

"Why don’t you ever want to go out with me?"

It was blunt, direct. They were in her living room, a movie playing in the background, a half-eaten pizza between them. Amélie, her legs draped over his lap, looked up, caught off guard by the question.

"Where’s that coming from?"

Oscar held her gaze.

"From the fact that every time I suggest it, you dodge it."

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite, far too calm.

"Because I don’t like going out."

"That’s not it." He shook his head. "It’s going out with me that you don’t want."

Amélie chewed in silence, eyes locked on his. For a second, Oscar thought she’d throw back a sarcastic remark, a joke to deflect the conversation. But instead, she just sighed and set the pizza down.

"I don’t want you to take this the wrong way," she finally said. "I like what we have. I like you. But I’d rather keep it… like this."

"Like this?"

"Private."

Oscar frowned.

"Private or secret?"

She didn’t answer immediately.

And that was enough for Oscar to understand the difference.

"I’m not saying we have to make our… whatever this is, public—nothing like that," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "I just want to understand why the idea of going to a damn restaurant with me bothers you so much."

Amélie crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t see the need. We’re fine like this, aren’t we?"

"Are we?" Oscar let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t feel like it."

She clicked her tongue, as if the conversation was testing her patience.

"Oscar—"

"No, seriously. I like being with you. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t care about putting a label on it, but… I feel like I only exist within these walls. Like I’m a secret you’d rather keep hidden."

The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.

Amélie parted her lips, as if to respond, but said nothing.

Oscar let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Look, I don’t want to be the guy who makes a big deal out of this. We’re not together, I have no right to demand anything from you, but—"

"Exactly." Her voice was sharper than usual. "You have no right to demand anything from me."

Oscar blinked, taken aback.

"It’s not a demand, Amélie. It’s a conversation."

She shook her head, exasperated.

"There always has to be a problem, doesn’t there? We can’t just enjoy what we have without overanalyzing it."

Oscar felt something inside him tighten even more.

"I’m not questioning what we have. I’m questioning why we have to keep it hidden."

"Because it’s easier that way."

The answer came instantly. But the way she said it… Oscar saw something in her eyes. Something she was trying to hide.

"Easier for who?" he asked quietly.

Amélie clenched her jaw, looking away.

And there it was. The confirmation he didn’t want.

Oscar felt a weight in his chest, an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

He stood up from the couch.

"Okay," he said, his tone colder than he expected.

Amélie frowned.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, if that’s what you want, I won’t push."

She got to her feet too, watching him closely.

"I’m not saying you matter less to me just because I don’t want to be seen with you in public."

"No, but it sure feels like it."

Anger flickered in her eyes for a split second, but she said nothing.

Oscar grabbed his keys from the table.

"I’m gonna go."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Amélie looked at him, a mix of confusion and wounded pride in her expression.

"I thought you weren’t the kind of guy who walks away in the middle of an argument."

Oscar turned to the door.

"I also didn’t think you were the kind of person who was afraid to be seen with me."

He didn’t wait for a response.

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

And even though he tried to shake it off, tried to convince himself he had no right to feel this way, the truth was that the idea of being just a secret to her burned more than he was willing to admit.

The days turned into weeks.

Oscar fell back into his routine, throwing himself into the world of F1 with an almost obsessive intensity. More hours in the simulator, more technical meetings, more training until exhaustion. Anything to keep his mind off her. But no matter how hard he tried, Amélie always found a way to creep back in.

He saw her in the most absurd moments. In the reflection of a window when he least expected it. In a woman’s laughter at a restaurant that sounded too much like hers. In the damn jasmine scent that had once lingered on his pillow. And he hated it. Hated it because she was the one who walked away. Because she was the one who put up walls between them. And yet, he was the one paying the price.

He swore he wouldn’t reach out. Told himself he had his pride. But every time he landed in Monaco after a race, the battle started all over again. He turned off his phone before temptation could win. Repeated to himself that she wasn’t worth it, that if she wanted him out of her life, he wasn’t going to beg to be let back in.

But, fuck, it was getting harder.

Amélie, for her part, stood by her decision. But with every passing day, it became more difficult.

Meetings with investors and networking events became her escape. She made sure her schedule was packed, leaving no room for solitude—no chance for her mind to wander where it shouldn’t. But the problem was that even in a crowded room, her thoughts always found their way back to Oscar.

Every time she saw a headline about him, every time his name came up in a passing conversation with her father, her chest tightened. She wasn’t searching for him, but the world insisted on reminding her.

And the worst part? At night, when she closed her eyes, guilt consumed her.

She had fallen for him more than she ever wanted to admit. More than she should have. And by the time she realized it, it was too late. Because she knew that if she had stayed with him, she would have dragged him into a scandal, into a shadow he’d never escape.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She let him go to protect him.

So why did it feel like she was doing the wrong thing?

And then, the invitation came.

Monza. Ferrari’s home turf. The race that electrified the entire country.

Her father’s voice had been calm, expectant, as if he already knew what her answer would be before she even said it. "It’s been years since you’ve been to a race," he had remarked casually. "Come. Enjoy yourself for once."

She knew exactly what it meant. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a reminder of where she came from, of the legacy she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

And more than anything, she knew Oscar would be there.

He would see her. He would learn the truth—who she really was, who she had been all along. And maybe, just maybe, he would hate her for it.

But what did it matter anymore?

They weren’t together. They never had been.

She told herself that as she accepted the invitation, as she packed her bags, as she prepared to step into a world she had spent so long keeping separate from him.

For once, she wouldn’t think about consequences. She would let herself breathe. Even if it meant standing face to face with the one person she had tried so hard to forget.

The roar of the engines filled the air, vibrating through her chest as Amélie stepped into the paddock. Monza was alive, electric with anticipation, and the sea of red surrounding her was almost suffocating.

She had been here as a kid, too many times to count, but this time was different. This time, she wasn’t just the daughter of a powerful man in motorsport. She wasn’t just another face in the Ferrari hospitality suite.

This time, Oscar was here.

And at some point, he would see her.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the sunglasses perched on her nose, letting her expression settle into something unreadable. She had no reason to be nervous. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her father, for Ferrari, for the world that had shaped her long before Oscar Piastri had stumbled into her life.

And yet, as she moved through the paddock, as she exchanged polite greetings and forced smiles, she felt the weight of it pressing against her chest.

Would he be angry? Confused? Would he even care?

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But then, she saw him.

Oscar was walking towards the McLaren garage, deep in conversation with an engineer, his expression serious—focused. But as if he could sense her presence, as if something in the air had shifted, he suddenly glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, everything around them faded. The noise, the people, the flashing cameras—it all disappeared.

Oscar’s face didn’t betray much. There was no immediate reaction, no flash of surprise or recognition. But there was something in the way he held her gaze, something unreadable and sharp, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

And continued walking.

Amélie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

So that was it.

Oscar didn’t understand why seeing her there had shaken him so much.

It wasn’t like she had no right to be in Monza. After all, she had once mentioned that her father was a big F1 fan. Maybe she had simply come to enjoy the weekend, like any other fan with the right connections to wander through the paddock without restrictions.

That had to be all.

And yet, something inside him twisted with discomfort.

He had spent weeks suppressing any impulse to look for her, forcing himself to bury her deep in his mind. But now, with just a single glance, she was back—settled in his head as if she had never left.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she affected him.

So he did the only thing he could. He forced himself to look away, to keep walking as if nothing had happened.

But while his body moved forward, his mind stayed behind.

Because seeing her there, in a place so intimately tied to his world, made everything he had tried to forget resurface with even greater force.

The last time they had been together, she had looked at him with sadness before pulling away. Now, however, she seemed calm, indifferent, as if nothing between them had meant enough to leave a mark.

And for some reason, that infuriated him more than anything else.

The day of qualifying unfolded like any other. Oscar was focused on his team, on preparations, on lap times, on making sure his weekend in Monza was solid.

Or at least, that was what he was trying to do.

But every time he moved through the paddock, his eyes searched for her.

Not on purpose. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

And then, he saw her.

She was in the Ferrari garage, surrounded by mechanics in red overalls, laughing with them as if she were part of the family. One of the engineers handed her a water bottle with the same casualness as if he were passing it to a driver. Another whispered something in her ear, and Amélie rolled her eyes with a smile, giving him a light shove on the arm.

That wasn’t the attitude of a mere spectator.

But what truly made something tighten inside Oscar was when he saw Charles Leclerc approaching her.

The Monegasque driver greeted her with the familiarity of someone who had known her for a long time—an embrace that lasted too long, a kiss on each cheek. He spoke to her calmly, comfortably, with that ease that wasn’t shared with just anyone. Amélie responded just as naturally, with that half-smile Oscar knew all too well.

The same one she had once given him.

And suddenly, something twisted in his stomach with rage.

He didn’t know what hit him first.

How did she know Leclerc? Why had she never talked about him? She knew about Formula 1, she knew who Oscar was—why had she never mentioned she knew Charles? Especially when, in front of the Ferrari garage, they spoke like lifelong friends.

Or maybe it was something more.

Oscar’s mind began to spiral, to descend into the worst possible explanations.

Had Amélie done to Charles what she had done to him? Seduced him, lured him into her bed, had her fun, and then tossed him aside like nothing?

Maybe to Amélie, it had all been just a game.

Maybe he had never been more than a fleeting adventure, just another amusement in her world of luxury, connections, and opportunities he hadn’t even realized she had.

Maybe, while he burned inside trying to understand what had happened between them, she had already forgotten him completely.

Oscar could feel the anger building in his chest like a bomb about to explode. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his gaze kept drifting back to the Ferrari garage.

Back to her.

He didn’t know what infuriated him more.

The thought gnawed at him. Was there something between her and Charles? Had there ever been? Had he just been a passing distraction?

"Alright, mate, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lando appeared beside him, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between concern and exasperation.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lando scoffed. "Come on, Oscar. You’re standing there looking like you’re about to murder someone. I’ve seen that face before, and honestly, I’d rather you not make a scene right before qualifying."

Oscar let out a sharp breath, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"It’s just…" He pressed his lips together, struggling to find the right words. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real. But Lando was watching him with that look—the one that said I’m not leaving until you tell me—and Oscar knew there was no way out.

"It’s complicated."

Lando snorted.

"When is it not with you?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare but continued anyway.

"I met someone. In Monaco. We… saw each other a few times. Okay, not a few, a lot. But we ended it. Or she did. Doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s here. In the Ferrari garage."

Lando blinked, processing the information.

"Okay… Wait. Are you telling me all this rage is over a girl?"

"She’s not just ‘a girl,’" Oscar growled before realizing he had just given himself away.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with the excitement of someone who had just stumbled upon something juicy and wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, alright. She’s not just a girl. She’s her. And what’s the problem with her?"

Oscar shook his head.

"It doesn’t make sense for her to be here. I mean, she told me her dad was an F1 fan, but this… This is something else. She moves around that garage like she lives there. Like she knows everyone."

Lando tilted his head, studying him. His gaze flickered toward the Ferrari garage, and suddenly, something in his expression shifted.

"Hold on a second… Are you telling me that the girl you were seeing is Amélie Vasseur?"

The surname hit Oscar like a sledgehammer.

Vasseur.

Ferrari’s team principal.

A hollow feeling settled in his stomach, quickly followed by a wave of fury that made his teeth clench so hard his jaw ached.

Everything clicked into place.

That’s why she was so comfortable in the garage. That’s why everyone treated her like family. That’s why Charles Leclerc knew her as if they had grown up together.

She had played him.

She had never told him the truth. Never even given him a hint of who she really was. And while he had spent weeks agonizing over what had happened between them, wondering if it had meant anything, she had simply moved on with her life like it was nothing.

His blood boiled.

If he had been angry before, now he saw nothing but red.

Lando was silent for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Wait, wait…" He leaned slightly toward Oscar, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. "Are you telling me you didn’t know who she was? Seriously?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare, but that only made Lando laugh harder.

"Mate!" Lando exclaimed, still chuckling. "How the hell did you not recognize Vasseur’s daughter?"

"Because I’ve never seen her before. And she never told me" Oscar growled, feeling the anger rise in his throat like fire.

"But it was right in front of you! The French accent, the ‘I’m going to destroy you but with elegance’ sense of humor, the way she never shuts up—" Lando shook his head, grinning. "Damn, now that I think about it, it’s so obvious."

Oscar, however, wasn’t amused.

He was furious.

Not because she was Vasseur’s daughter. Not because she had been surrounded by the world of F1 her entire life.

But because she had never told him. Because she had kept everything from him. Because she had walked away without even giving him a damn chance to understand.

Because he, like an idiot, had thought that what they had mattered.

And now he realized that, to her, it had probably just been a game.

Qualifying had been one of the best of his career.

Second place, right behind Lando. An incredible result for McLaren, a statement in Monza—Ferrari’s territory. But while the mechanics celebrated in the garage, while his team congratulated him, while the cameras captured his serious expression during the post-qualifying press conference, Oscar could only think about her.

About the last name she had never told him. About the laughter she had shared with Ferrari’s mechanics. About the way Charles Leclerc looked at her with the kind of familiarity that only came from having someone in your life for a very long time.

The anger still boiled inside him, pulsing with every breath, with every damn image his mind replayed.

He went straight to the hotel after the interviews, not lingering with the team, not responding to the congratulations with the enthusiasm expected of him. Locked in his room, he paced back and forth, replaying every moment, every conversation, every fucking lie disguised as omission.

Why?

Why had she never told him? Why had she let him make a fool of himself, thinking she was just another girl, when in reality, she belonged to this world even more than he did? Was it a game to her? Had she laughed at him once he was gone?

Every time he tried to sleep, his mind dragged him back into the same spiral. He tossed and turned, shifting positions over and over until finally, when the clock hit 3:00 AM, he made a decision.

He had had enough.

If he couldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t either.

Throwing on whatever clothes he could find, he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel without a second thought. Anger, frustration, and the need to confront her pushed him forward, stronger than reason. He walked through the rain, not caring that the water seeped into his clothes, not caring that his breathing was uneven from the fury coursing through him.

He knew where the Ferrari team was staying.

And when he arrived, soaked to the bone, he asked for Amélie Vasseur’s room at reception and went up without hesitation.

He didn’t even think before raising his fist and knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was movement on the other side.

Then, the door opened, and there she was.

Amélie blinked, still groggy, her hair a mess, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for her. It took a second for her to process what she was seeing—Oscar Piastri, drenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury, his eyes burning with something far more than just anger.

“Oscar?” Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but mostly, from sheer surprise.

He stared at her, silent for a moment, as if he needed to remind himself why he was there.

Then, with his jaw clenched, with the storm still raging inside his chest, he said,

“Tell me the truth.”

Amélie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew exactly what he meant.

She sighed, casting a quick glance down the hallway before stepping aside to let him in. Oscar crossed the threshold without hesitation, dripping onto the floor with every step, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto her as if she were an enemy, not someone he had once spent entire nights with.

“Let me explain,” she started, closing the door behind her.

“Explain what?” Oscar let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How you played me this whole time? How you laughed at me while I thought—” He stopped abruptly, like saying it out loud would hurt even more.

Amélie felt the pang in her chest, but she kept her composure.

“I never laughed at you.”

“Oh, come on.” Oscar scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid I feel right now? The entire goddamn paddock knew except me. Lando knew, the engineers knew—Jesus, Amélie.”

Amélie clenched her jaw.

“Oscar—”

“And meanwhile, I was here wondering why you never wanted to be seen with me in public, why you always seemed like you were hiding something.” His words were sharp, cutting, like he wanted to hurt her just as much as he felt she had hurt him. “Was it fun? Did you enjoy watching me, completely clueless about who I was actually sleeping with?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Amélie snapped, her voice louder than she had intended.

Oscar fell silent for a second, taken aback by her reaction.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“I didn’t do it to laugh at you. I didn’t do it to play with you. I did it for you, Oscar.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to me how lying to my face for months was for me, because, honestly, I’d love to understand.”

Amélie felt her own anger rise.

“Because if people found out about us, if it got out that we were together, the first thing they would do is question you.” She pointed at him, her voice firm. “They’d say you were with your rival’s daughter, that Ferrari was favoring you, that your seat at McLaren was in jeopardy. You don’t need that kind of shit on your shoulders.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

“And who decided that was your problem?”

“It became my problem the moment this turned into something more. The moment it stopped being just a fling,” she shot back, her gaze burning into his. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I wanted to walk away from you?”

“I don’t know what you wanted, Amélie. You never said anything, you never explained anything.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy wall.

For a moment, Amélie saw something in Oscar’s eyes beyond the anger.

Something that hurt even more than his words.

Disappointment.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Oscar was breathing heavily, water still dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his skin. He didn’t care. Not when anger burned in his chest, when confusion suffocated him.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. “Did you have something with Charles?”

Amélie blinked, surprised by the question, but her expression remained unchanged. There was no trace of guilt or nervousness. Only exhaustion.

“No,” she said firmly. “Never. Ew”

Oscar let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. She took a step toward him, but Oscar remained rigid. “Charles and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Nothing more.”

Oscar stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, anything that would reveal she was hiding the truth. But all he found was sincerity.

And yet, it wasn’t enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

“Then explain it to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Explain why you did what you did. Why you never told me who you were. Why it felt like you were trying to hide me.”

Amélie pressed her lips together, looking away for a moment. When she met his gaze again, there was something vulnerable in her expression.

“Because I never thought this would go this far,” she confessed. “I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

Oscar felt the air ripped from his lungs.

Amélie swallowed hard and continued. “At first… I thought it was something fleeting. Something fun. But then I realized that every time I saw you, I wanted to see you more. That when you left, I missed you more than I should have. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process her words.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He watched her, his chest rising and falling with every restrained breath. “Scared of what?”

Amélie exhaled in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “That if people found out, they would use it against you. That my last name would harm you. That this would stop being ours and turn into a scandal.”

Oscar let out a bitter laugh. “So you chose to push me away? You made me feel like I meant nothing to you?”

Amélie clenched her fists, her gaze burning. “Oscar, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before! I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do—you can’t expect me to have all the answers to my life.”

“You could’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out. We could’ve found a way to make this work. Together.”

The pain in his voice hit her harder than any shout could.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at him, eyes glistening, chest rising and falling as if her words weighed too much.

Finally, in a voice so soft it sounded like admitting it would break her, she whispered:

“I think I love you.”

Oscar felt his world shift beneath his feet.

Amélie swallowed. “And that terrified me.”

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t the same.

It was broken. Uncertain.

One that only Oscar could decide if he wanted to fill with something else.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if trying to release all the anger, frustration, and pain built up inside him. But something still remained stuck in his chest.

“Amélie…” His voice was no longer sharp, but it wasn’t soft either. It was caught somewhere in between—that thin line between anger and understanding.

She didn’t look away. She faced him, vulnerable but steady, as if ready to take whatever response, whatever emotional blow he had to give.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Do you know what hurted me the most?”

Amélie didn’t answer, but the tension in her shoulders was telling.

“It’s not that you’re Vasseur’s daughter.” He shook his head. “It’s not that you were in the paddock, in Ferrari, with Charles, with all those people who always knew who you were and I didn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confessing something he never wanted to say out loud.

“It’s that you made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

Amélie’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t hide.

“Oscar…”

“You made me doubt everything,” he went on, his voice rough. “Whether what we had meant anything or if I was just a distraction. Whether everything I felt was real or if I was the only one feeling it.”

Amélie closed her eyes for a second, as if his words cut through her. When she opened them again, her expression was softer, more open.

“It wasn’t just a distraction.”

Oscar let out a dry laugh.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted, stepping closer. This time, Oscar didn’t move away. “It never was.”

He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes. Something that told him he could believe her. Something that said all the anger in his chest could finally start to fade.

Amélie let out a nervous laugh, but there was no mockery in it. Only uncertainty.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured, running a hand through her tangled hair. “At… feeling things so quickly. At not being in control.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her more intently.

She sighed. “I always thought it was better to keep my distance. Not get too attached. But then you came along.”

Oscar felt his heart pound harder.

“I didn’t expect to feel this,” she continued, a small, resigned smile forming on her lips. “And when I realized I was already too deep, I got scared.”

Oscar’s anger didn’t disappear all at once, but something inside him started to loosen.

Because he understood.

God, he understood her more than he wanted to admit.

Amélie looked at him with a silent plea, as if waiting for him to tell her that it wasn’t too late.

Oscar lowered his head for a second, exhaling slowly. Then, without a word, he reached out and took her wrist, his touch barely there.

Amélie trembled at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.

Their eyes met again, and this time, the anger between them had softened.

“And now?” Oscar asked quietly.

Amélie swallowed. “Now…”

She took another step closer, until only inches separated them.

“Now I don’t want to keep running.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat.

She wetted her lips, and with almost fearful softness, slid her hand over his.

Oscar looked at the gesture—the warmth of her skin against his, the way their fingers fit together like they had done this a million times before.

And without thinking too much, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

Amélie let out a breath, as if she hadn’t realized how much she needed that touch until now.

Oscar lifted his gaze and met hers.

There was no fear anymore.

Only them.

And with the slightest movement, Amélie leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so slow, so sincere, it seemed to erase everything else.

Because in the end, love always won.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if they both needed to make sure it was real. There was no urgency, no desperation—only a mutual need to find each other again, beyond the anger, beyond the doubts.

Neither of them moved. Amélie still had her fingers intertwined with Oscar’s, her forehead nearly touching his, breathing the same air.

It was Oscar who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… that was intense.”

Amélie let out a breathy laugh. “The kiss or the fight?”

Oscar tilted his head, thoughtful. “Both. Though if I had to choose, I think I’d rather keep the kiss.”

She smiled, playing with his fingers. “Good, because the other thing was exhausting.”

Oscar let out a low chuckle. “Tell me about it. I literally walked through the rain like some dramatic movie idiot.”

Amélie burst into laughter. “You did.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “If this were a romantic cliché, someone was definitely watching us from a window with sad music playing in the background.”

“Let me guess,” Amélie said with a teasing smile. “In the movie of your life, who would play you?”

Oscar pretended to think. “Mmm… obviously someone handsome. Ryan Gosling, maybe.”

Amélie raised an amused eyebrow. “Gosling? That’s ambitious of you.”

“Excuse me?” Oscar looked at her, feigning offense. “Are you saying I don’t have Gosling-level attractiveness?”

Amélie shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re not handsome, but…” She rested a hand on her chin, analyzing him. “I see you more as… a Tom Holland with a boyish face.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “I feel both flattered and offended at the same time.”

She smiled and, in a spontaneous gesture, ran her fingers through his damp hair. “But seriously, you didn’t have to come all the way here soaking wet. You could’ve just texted me and avoided looking like a stray puppy outside my hotel door.”

Oscar looked at her in mock indignation. “How disrespectful. This was a romantic gesture, obviously, not a tantrum.”

Amélie laughed, but soon her smile softened. “Do you really want to try?”

Oscar sighed, looking at her directly, all traces of humor gone. “Of course I do. But I don’t want you to disappear again. I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want you looking at me like you’re about to run.”

Amélie lowered her gaze for a second, biting her lip, before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she finally said, with a small smile.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”

Amélie huffed in amusement. “Okay, let’s try. I won’t run, I won’t hide, I won’t play mysterious—well, maybe a little, because it suits me—but I promise not to run from you.”

Oscar studied her with a half-smile, as if making sure she was serious.

“So that means I can take you to dinner in public without you throwing a smoke bomb in the middle of the restaurant?”

Amélie rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

Oscar grinned. “Perfect. But I warn you, if this gets too romantic, I’m going to assume we’re in a cheesy rom-com and start calling you ‘my love’ out loud just to annoy you.”

Amélie playfully shoved his chest. “If you do that, I’ll be forced to pretend I don’t know you.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile turning mischievous. “And if I kiss you in public? Will you pretend not to know me then too?”

Amélie looked at him, her eyes shining with that same ever-present challenge. “Depends on how good the kiss is.”

Oscar let out a laugh, and without wasting another second, kissed her again.

Because if there was one thing they knew for sure, this game between them was far from over.

Amélie pulled away, a peculiar light shining in her gaze, a foolish smile stretching across her lips. “This is going to cost us a fortune. McLaren and Ferrari are going to have to spend a ridiculous amount on PR to manage this scandal and the press.”

The Monza sun filtered timidly through the curtains, but neither of them had any intention of moving.

Oscar had no idea what time it was, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing he knew for sure was that Amélie’s bed was much more comfortable than his and that the warmth of her body against his made any other thought irrelevant.

Amélie stirred slightly beside him, her breathing still steady. She half-opened her eyes just enough to look at him and smile—that lazy, satisfied smile that made Oscar feel a small tug in his chest.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

Oscar, still with his face buried in the pillow, huffed.

“No idea. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so don’t worry.”

Amélie let out a soft laugh and stretched before snuggling against his chest again.

“We can stay like this a little longer.”

Oscar slid a hand down her back, pulling her even closer.

“Sounds like a perfect plan.”

And so they stayed. Letting laziness wrap around them, the distant sounds of the hotel waking up nothing more than a faint murmur. For the first time in months, they weren’t in a hurry.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Both of them froze.

“Were you expecting someone?” Oscar whispered.

Amélie frowned. “No…”

Another knock, this time more insistent.

And then, a voice unmistakably cut through the silence.

“Amélie, open the door.”

Oscar felt his soul leave his body.

Amélie went completely still. Then, without moving a single muscle, she slowly turned her head toward Oscar.

They looked at each other as if they had just seen a ghost.

Frederic. Freaking. Vasseur.

Still in bed, all Oscar could murmur was:

“Oh, shit.”

Amélie covered her face with her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oscar darted into the bathroom with the reflexes of a driver avoiding a crash. He shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it, taking a deep breath as if that would make him invisible.

From the other side, he heard the hotel room door open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Frederic Vasseur.

“Amélie,” her father greeted, his tone casual—the same tone he used right before ruining someone’s day. “Bon matin.”

“Dad,” Amélie replied, trying to sound natural, but with a slight hint of panic. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was passing by and thought, ‘I’ll check in on my daughter, have breakfast with her, make sure she’s not getting into trouble…’”

Amélie watched him cautiously. If she was lucky, this would be a short visit.

But then, her father stilled.

His gaze drifted toward the window.

More specifically, to Oscar’s clothes—a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt with the McLaren logo—strategically draped over a chair to dry.

Amélie followed his gaze.

Shit.

Very slowly, Vasseur turned his attention back to his daughter.

She tried to think fast. “It’s—”

“Don’t.” Vasseur raised a hand to stop her, his face the very picture of paternal disappointment. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He turned, crossing his arms. “Amélie,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Who’s hiding in the bathroom?”

Silence.

Amélie looked at the bathroom door.

Then at her father.

She tried to smile.

“…No one.”

Vasseur closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and then, without hesitation, walked straight toward the bathroom door.

Oscar’s eyes widened in horror.

Amélie sighed dramatically. “Dad, please. Don’t assume things.”

“Oh, I’m not assuming anything,” Vasseur said, clearly amused. “I’m just analyzing the evidence. Let’s see: wet McLaren clothes. A nervous daughter. A locked bathroom door. Where there’s smoke, there’s a fire.”

Oscar felt the doorknob move.

He held his breath.

Then, three firm knocks.

“Knock, knock,” Vasseur said, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Oscar closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Oh! He speaks.” Vasseur’s voice sounded even more entertained. “What a surprise! I wonder who it could be.”

Oscar felt like he was living a nightmare.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the door. “I’m in my underwear, and I’m coming out, okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Vasseur replied, in the tone of someone having the time of his life. “Whenever you’re ready, champ.”

Oscar slowly turned the doorknob and stepped out like a prisoner about to receive his sentence.

Vasseur looked him up and down with a lazy smirk, crossing his arms.

“Piastri,” he greeted, as if they were old friends.

Oscar tried to maintain his dignity. “Mr. Vasseur.”

“Tell me, son,” the Ferrari team principal said, tilting his head. “How desperate does one have to be to show up here in the middle of the night, soaking wet?”

Oscar felt Amélie stifling her laughter beside him.

"I…"

"I mean, your hotel must not serve a good breakfast. Did you come here just for croissants, or did my daughter offer a more interesting menu?"

Amélie burst out laughing and immediately regretted it when Oscar shot her a glare.

"Sorry."

"What was your plan if I caught you?"

Oscar blinked. "Hide in the bathroom?"

Vasseur looked at him with absolute disappointment. "Terrible strategy. Verstappen, at least, would have jumped out the window."

Amélie let out another laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

Oscar sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, is this going to last much longer?"

Vasseur grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I'm enjoying this way too much."

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment. "Great."

Vasseur patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, Piastri. This could have been worse."

Oscar looked at him skeptically.

"Oh yeah? How?"

Vasseur’s grin widened.

"My daughter could be fucking Lando Norris. At least you're the good half of McLaren."

Amélie burst into loud laughter.

Oscar just dropped his head into his hands, accepting his fate.

The sun was slowly setting over Monza, painting the sky in golden hues as the tifosi roared, celebrating the victory they had longed for. Charles Leclerc stood at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, carrying the love of Ferrari on his shoulders while the Italian anthem echoed with an almost sacred intensity. Beside him, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri completed the scene, their smiles shaped by the effort of the race, by the adrenaline still pulsing through their veins.

But Amélie wasn’t looking at Charles. She wasn’t even truly paying attention to the podium as a whole. Her eyes were fixed on Oscar.

From where she stood, surrounded by mechanics, engineers, and Ferrari executives, wrapped in her father���s embrace, she felt something strange in her chest. It wasn’t just happiness, nor was it simply pride. It was something deeper. Something far more terrifying.

Because she had never thought she would care so much about someone outside of this world of engines and strategy, beyond her surname, beyond the pressure of Formula 1.

And yet, here she was.

Oscar was searching for her in the crowd.

She swallowed hard as their eyes finally met.

Words weren’t necessary.

They understood each other in an instant, as if they had already had this conversation a thousand times before.

And in that gaze—laden with everything they had been through, the arguments, the fears, the secrets, the doubts—they made a silent promise.

They wouldn’t run anymore.

Amélie felt her heart pounding too fast, as if she were running her own race.

Without realizing it, she clung a little tighter to her father’s arm.

Vasseur, who had been watching in silence, let out an amused huff.

"Looks like someone has extra reasons to celebrate today."

Amélie turned sharply, frowning.

“Dad, please…”

“No, no. Don’t look at me like that,” he replied, raising his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you this focused on a podium before.”

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile that slipped through betrayed her.

“Whatever.”

Vasseur chuckled, giving her a pat on the back.

"You know, if Piastri has already survived breakfast with me, maybe he’s not entirely useless after all."

She shot him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly entertained.

"I say this for his own good, you know? I wouldn’t want him to get run over by everything that comes with being with you."

Amélie narrowed her eyes.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Vasseur smirked.

"It means I come with the package."

She scoffed, but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Her gaze returned to the podium.

Oscar was still there, trophy in one hand, champagne glass in the other, but his eyes were searching for her again.

The noise, the crowd, the madness of Formula 1—it all faded into the background.

They had found each other.

And for the first time, Amélie had no desire to run.

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be part of my permanent taglist, just let me know! <3

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

06 | big dipper // series m.list

note: hihi ,, thank u for waiting !! this ch is def worth it tbh </3 no warnings ,, just like ... oc goes off on jungkook ,, jungkook gets blindfolded ,, more context on their auras ??? yeah ... tension too ! pls do not be shy and send in ur thoughts !!! i would love to know how u're liking the fic so far as it's my first fantasy au !!!!! (clearly still very nervy lmfao) mwah ,, enj !

//

the past few days have been anything but easy for jungkook.

not that he deserves easy—he knows he doesn’t. if anything, this is exactly what he should’ve expected. what does surprise him, though, is just how well you execute the petty treatment. how effortlessly you lock him out. how, no matter how many times he shuts his eyes, focuses, and tries to slip into your thoughts—he can’t.

it’s like the connection doesn’t exist.

which makes no sense.

because it does.

the string between you is golden and bright, undeniable to everyone who has ever seen it. and yet, there’s this… knot. this missing piece. it’s so fucking strange. he felt you before—felt the way your heart would race, the heat that would bloom across your skin. he knew when you were sick, when you were anxious. when the bond first tied, his own pulse had stumbled just trying to match yours. he cared so much when it happened...

but now?

now, it’s empty.

like someone cut the string without actually severing it.

he first noticed it that night in the garden.

you had only been soulmates for a few hours, and still, he felt something. at first, he thought maybe he was imagining it. overhyping the entire invisible string phenomenon. but then, the symptoms started stacking—waves of nausea when you were overwhelmed, your voice in his head when you caught his stray thoughts in class.

you’re in his head.

but he’s not in yours.

and if he’s not in your head, then what about your heart?

after that night, jungkook had gone to bed feeling like absolute shit. you told him he made you feel better—but he couldn’t feel it. couldn’t be sure. how could he trust words alone when everything inside you was a blank slate to him?

it freaked him out.

it got to him.

he spent the night tossing and turning, unable to catch even fifteen minutes of real sleep. and then, the next morning, when you walked in well-rested and seemingly fine—it hit him like a freight train.

it’s him.

he’s the problem.

and as fucked up, childish, and selfish as it is—that’s why he called you boring.

because you are.

because you’re blank.

because he, the so-called master of manipulation, can’t get inside your head.

but he sure as hell can get under your skin.

"so everyone, partner up—and obviously, soulmates go with soulmates," namjoon announces, finishing his rundown of the sparring activity.

you barely register the rest.

instead, you watch the class shuffle into place. soulmates move toward each other. friends pair up. the guys—still without soulmates—team up amongst themselves.

and jungkook?

jungkook leans against a tree, one foot propped lazily against the bark, arms folded over his chest. his expression is unreadable, but the tilt of his head, the barely-there smirk, sends heat curling up your spine. he plays with his lighter.

you exhale sharply and motion for him to come over.

he stays put, smirk growing.

then, he mouths, "don’t wanna."

your jaw clenches. you point at him, then to the ground in front of you.

"come here. now."

jungkook blinks, feigning innocence.

you cross your arms.

you wait—a second, a minute, a moment too long.

then, just as you start to turn away, he appears right in front of you.

"you're impatient today," he remarks, voice smooth, teasing. "is that how fast you need me? i can teleport wherever you want me to go. tell me to go away, i'll do it."

you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. before you can retort, he lifts his hands, and with the subtlest flex of his fingers, two sparring sticks float from the pile and dart into his grasp. he catches them effortlessly and offers you one, grinning.

across the field, namjoon groans.

"jungkook, did you really need to use your aura for that? just walk like a normal person."

jungkook huffs.

"wow. it’s like everyone hates me today."

"maybe we do," you mutter, snatching the stick from his hand.

this was foreseeable.

you don’t need jin’s aura to know how this is going to go. the class knows, too. there’s a shift in energy, hushed murmurs, amused glances exchanged.

from where he leans against a tree, jin exhales a chuckle. “this should be interesting.”

and it is.

because while everyone else has started, you haven’t moved past the first three strikes.

not because you aren’t trying.

but because jungkook isn’t.

you lunge forward, aiming a strike at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch. his own stick twirls idly in his fingers, his gaze flicking toward the treetops like he’s more interested in cloud formations than the fight.

he dodges every attack without breaking a sweat. side-steps. pivots. barely moves.

and worse—he looks bored.

your foot pivots. another strike slices through the air. jungkook steps back just enough for it to skim past his sleeve.

“getting closer,” he muses. “try again.”

irritation burns at your spine. you exhale sharply, feint left, strike right. this time, you land it. the stick grazes his arm—not enough to bruise, but enough to count.

jungkook stumbles back dramatically, hissing through his teeth as if you’d run him through with a blade.

"shit—"

the class falls silent for a beat.

then, snickers ripple through the air.

"oh, come on," you deadpan.

jungkook blinks at you, playing it up even more. "that was—you stabbed me."

taehyung mutters something under his breath. jin actually laughs. namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

jungkook sighs, twirling his stick again. then, in a movement so smooth it’s almost insulting, he flicks yours aside with a gentle tap.

wood clashes.

you stumble back.

cheers erupt from the watching trainees. but you just glare at him, chest heaving.

"again."

you grip your stick tighter, eyes narrowing. across from you, jungkook still looks at ease. hands loose. weight shifted just enough to be casual. like he’s humoring you.

the heat in your chest flares.

“jungkook, are you even trying?”

he shrugs, nonchalant.

“dunno. are you?”

jimin chokes on a laugh. "god, jungkook’s asking for it."

your jaw locks.

the room feels warmer. everyone's watching. you’ve never cared about proving yourself before—but this feels different.

nam joon's voice cuts in, sharp. "jungkook, get it together. look at ___! she’s clearly upset.”

jungkook’s eyes flicker toward namjoon. then back to you.

and something changes... his teasing drops. his fingers tighten around his stick.

“you want me to try?”

you swallow, nodding once.

he shifts, expression unreadable. “whatever you want, p.”

then, he moves.

the first exchange is fast. too fast. you counter, but his strikes come harder, sharper. for the first time, he’s fighting back.

and you’re losing.

badly.

his strikes come faster, sharper. his movements are precise. he isn’t holding back anymore, and suddenly, you’re struggling to keep up. the wooden sticks crack against each other, loud against the backdrop of rustling trees and hushed whispers.

then, in a split second, he spins.

your stick is wrenched from your hands. before you can react, jungkook grips it, tugging it toward him—until you’re standing nearly chest to chest.

then—

he taps himself out.

a grin spreads across his face. the trainees erupt into giggles. your shoulders rise and fall as you catch your breath.

jungkook extends a hand.

"good game."

it wasn’t.

it wasn’t fair.

it wasn't good.

it was just so him.

instead of shaking his hand, you shove your sparring stick against his chest and avoid his eyes.

"excuse me," you mutter before turning away from the group and heading towards the garden.

jungkook watches you leave.

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t move. but, after a few beats, jungkook follows.

you don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there.

you can feel it.

the ground hums beneath your feet, a faint tremor shifting the soil like the earth itself is attuned to him. the air turns crisp, infused with something familiar—fresh rain on warm stone, something sharp at the edges, something distinctly him. being his soulmate changes everything.

good and bad.

so you make him work for it.

you take the long way to the garden, slipping between hedges, ducking beneath ivy, fingers grazing the thick vines trailing along the palace walls. the scent of jasmine clings to your skin as you move, quiet and deliberate. you don’t look back.

but he follows.

always.

by the time you reach the stone bench beneath the willow, the late afternoon sun drapes golden shadows over the grass. the leaves rustle overhead, and the distant chime of a wind bell carries through the stillness.

he doesn’t speak.

you wait.

finally, after what feels like forever, jungkook exhales.

“you didn’t come last night.”

the words break through the quiet, heavy and deliberate.

“hmm?” you hum, dragging the sound out just enough to make him second-guess himself.

his jaw ticks. “i felt sick.”

the way he says it—careful, measured—betrays him.

a test.

a trap.

you don’t spring it... not yet.

instead, you lift your gaze, watching him with something unreadable.

“exactly how sick were you?”

his expression flickers—just for a second—but it’s enough. the shift. the realization that you know he’s lying. that you didn’t come because you didn’t want to. that he had waited for you, and you had chosen to ignore it.

he doesn’t like that. not one bit.

for the first time since class, he looks at you. really looks at you. and for the first time, you let him.

the garden is quiet this time of day. that’s why you go. but now, the quiet stretches thin between you, taut as a thread about to snap. the leaves sway overhead. jungkook shifts his weight.

then, without thinking, you step forward.

he doesn’t move. just watches.

you lift a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead.

warm. not feverish, but—warm.

jungkook stills.

for a split second, he stops breathing. the world falls away, distant and unimportant, because all he can focus on is your touch. the way your fingers linger before you pull away.

he reacts before he can think.

his hand catches yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not tight, but firm. firm enough to stop you.

you blink.

he tugs you closer.

your other hand lands against his chest, steadying yourself against the solid weight of him.

he is warm here, too. warmer than he should be. his heartbeat is steady, but there’s something frantic beneath the surface, a tension coiled too tight.

jungkook doesn’t know what to do with this. doesn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through him like something foreign. something dangerous.

his voice is quiet when he speaks. almost unsteady.

“what are you doing to me?”

your lips part slightly, breath catching—

then, you push away.

he lets go immediately, like your touch burns.

your expression smooths out, unreadable. you take a step back.

“nothing,” you say. “that’s the thing.”

jungkook exhales sharply, head tilting. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you hold his gaze. then, deliberately, you let your aura slip. let it expand—thick, unmistakable.

resistance.

jungkook’s breath catches.

“i can’t read you,” he says eventually, voice low, like he hates admitting it. “i... i could for a day or two... but it doesn’t make sense. this does't make sense. you knew i wasn’t sick last night?”

you nod.

“... you can feel—”

“yeah,” you breathe. “i can feel your symptoms. i can feel when your body reacts to me. i can hear your thoughts when you let me—when you want me to. i feel the bond."

his fingers twitch at his sides. his brows pinch slightly, like this realization is foreign. you inhale, steady. then exhale, letting down your guard just enough for him to feel it.

your aura glows—not to the eye, but in presence.

jungkook stiffens.

“resistance,” he pieces together. “that’s… that’s why i can’t—”

“i had my guard down when we met. i was giving you a chance, and you…” your voice softens, eyes searching his. “you can’t manipulate me. i refuse it.”

his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. then, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“who said i had plans to manipulate you?”

“isn’t that your aura?”

“and if it is?” he steps closer, chin tilting. “come on, p. you think you have me all figured out?”

your lips curl into a small smile. not sweet. not cruel. something in between.

“yeah, i do,” you say. “the truth is, i’m not upset that you find me boring.”

jungkook waits.

“i’m upset that you’re boring.”

his brows furrow slightly. “what does that mean?”

you step back, turning toward the garden bench as you speak over your shoulder.

“you think i’m just a princess? fine. to each their own. you think you’re too good for me—”

“i never said that—”

“what?” your voice sharpens. “you think you’re not good enough, then? see, i’m confused—frustrated, actually. i understand i’m the newbie to the divinity—to this… to you,” you pause, eyes finding his. “but why should i stand around and let myself be collateral damage to your low self-esteem and ego?”

his expression hardens. offense first, then defense.

“who the fuck said shit about me having low self-esteem—”

“no one,” you almost laugh. “but that’s it, isn’t it? your ego can't swallow the fact that you can't read me. that you can't manipulate your place in my life... that there's a possibility that you can and will fail and have to depend on trust and love to be enough for people like me to stay.”

jungkook clenches his jaw.

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about," jungkook spits. "do you think you're better than us because you're the divine?"

"no," you answer steadily. "i think i know more because i've been away from the divine. i have perspective. i know what's real—what's out there."

"i know what's out there too—"

"you didn't live in it," you breathe. "jungkook, people in the real world have to do things they don't want to do. no manipulation in time, no manipulation in feelings or things—they face life... you sleep during class. you don’t care when we spar. you don’t care about me—”

“___, you can’t possibly be calling me out and using these as your fucking excuses—”

“i just want you to know it’s okay,” you say it softer this time, like you mean it. “has anyone accepted you... just the way you are? if not, let me be the first one to do so. jungkook, do what you want. be who you are. figure things out or give up—it doesn’t matter. i can live like this, okay? we don’t have to be obsessed with each other. we can fight the bond if that’s what you really want—”

jungkook’s mind spins.

you’re saying so much shit that doesn’t make sense to him. this is escalating too fast. he wasn’t prepared for this. he didn’t know the weight of his words until now.

“it’s not what i want,” he spits out. “___, can you please slow down—”

you shake your head.

“i just want you to know this: you’re wrong if you think i’m the type to tend to someone’s inability to see their goodness. their worth… their purpose. i’m a big believer in accepting what you think you deserve. if you can’t accept me, that’s fine. maybe i’m not what you deserve. but that’s not on me, jungkook. you limit yourself. you don’t believe in fate. you don’t want this—”

“do you?” he croaks out. “do you want this?”

for a moment, you’re stunned.

regardless of all the shit he’s put you through in the past two weeks, you don’t have it in yourself to lie.

“i want more,” you say finally. “not this.”

more.

jungkook didn't know what that meant exactly... but this was a start. he isn't an apologetic type, so this is his... version of it.

trying.

again.

he stands in front of you, rolling his wrists, exhaling slow. his eyes flicker over your stance—checking, assessing, adjusting before he even moves.

“keep your weight forward,” jungkook instructs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “you hesitate too much.”

you nod, shifting slightly. he steps in, light on his feet, and you match him, falling into motion as he throws a testing jab. you dodge. pivot. counter. he blocks. you move again.

but it’s wrong.

every strike, every dodge, every block feels a second off. like walking out of rhythm with someone—close but not quite. you follow his cues, but there’s no flow, no instinct, just effort.

jungkook exhales sharply.

“again.”

he moves quicker this time, forcing you to react faster, but it only makes the disconnect more obvious. he shifts left when you expect right. your counters don’t land where they should. his frustration grows, simmering beneath his skin, evident in the slight drag of his feet, the way his breath turns shallow. he shakes his head, readjusting.

you know that feeling—the itch of something not working, of knowing it should but not being able to make it.

you step back, panting, watching the tension tighten in his shoulders.

“can we try something?” you ask, voice softer now.

jungkook pauses. 

he blinks at you, expression unreadable, before tilting his head slightly.

“try what?”

you don’t wait for his response.

“wait here,” you tell him before you turn on your heel, feet light against the stone path as you take off in a quiet sprint. the air is thick with the lingering tension of missed steps, of a rhythm neither of you could quite grasp, but you know—you know—it isn’t just about movement.

jungkook doesn’t call after you. 

he stays where he is, watching as you disappear.

when you return, there’s gold handkerchief is wrapped around your fingers. the fabric glows in the dim light, soft between your hands as you come to a stop in front of him, close enough that you see the slight furrow of his brow.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable.

“trust me?” you ask, already reaching up.

jungkook exhales. then, slowly, he nods.

you tiptoe, wrapping the cloth over his eyes, knotting it at the back of his head. his shoulders stay squared, but you feel the way his breath slows, the way he stills beneath your touch. his lashes flutter against the fabric before he adjusts his stance again, waiting.

this time, when you move, he doesn’t see you—he feels you.

“focus on me,” you tell him. 

“h-how—”

“i’ll focus on you too. maybe if we do this properly, our auras will meet. i can put my guard up any time, but putting it down is something entirely different. it’s beyond my control to put it down. it’s a reaction to you—your vulnerability, not mine.”

jungkook swallows, letting your words sink in. 

"how do you know this shit?" he attempts to hide his suspicion.

you laugh. "have you forgotten who my grandparents are? just because i was raised outside this palace doesn't mean i wasn't educated and trained for the divinity."

"you are the divinity."

"that i am, little prince."

you don't know it, but he rolls his eyes.

"and you're a princess."

"that i am not."

he chuckles. so do you. the moment is light.

then, he takes a deep breath and envisions you.

in his head, it’s hazy. there’s only so much of you that he memorized in a short period of time—but he hopes it’s enough. he recalls the way you turn your head and how pretty your neck is. how long your hair is and how your eyes smile before your lips curve into one.

before you know it, the air shifts and he strikes. there’s a slight tremor in your breath when you hesitate—a quiet hitch when he moves too close.

his body reacts without thinking, syncing to yours in a way sight never allowed. he follows the push and pull, the rise and fall of your heartbeat, matching it, learning it. and for the first time, there’s no disconnect—no distance or this… force that pushes him away. 

no struggle.

just instinct.

just you.

and then, in a way he can’t explain, he knows where you’ll be before you even move. 

he anticipates every pivot, every feint, as if something unseen is guiding him—no, pulling him. there’s a thread between you now, stretched taut between his ribs and yours, humming with energy. it tightens when you step back, loosens when you exhale. he feels it with every shift, with every breath you take.

it’s disorienting at first, the pull, the quiet certainty of it. but it’s right. more right than anything has felt in a long, long time.

his heart pounds, syncing to yours. for the first time, jungkook doesn’t fight it.

instead, he lets it fall.

in so many fucking ways, he lets himself fall.

you bend over and tug the handkerchief off of him. 

then, you extend a hand.

jungkook squints, adjusting to the night. then, he stares at it for a beat too long, his pride hanging in the space between you. you didn’t exactly win… but you didn’t lose either. regardless, he feels defeated. 

the garden is quiet except for the sound of both your breaths, still uneven, still trying to settle. the tie had been hard-earned—one final strike knocking him down, leaving him on his back, staring at the night sky like it held the answers he didn’t.

you wiggle your fingers. “good game?”

his lips press into a line before he exhales, reaching up. his palm slides against yours, rough and warm, and you brace yourself as he uses the momentum to pull himself to his feet.

too strong.

the force drags you forward, nearly colliding into his chest.

you stumble, hands reaching for balance, and jungkook catches you before you can fall completely. one hand wraps around your waist, the other grasping your arm, steadying you like it’s second nature. his fingers press firm into your skin, and for a moment, neither of you move.

your palm lands flat against his chest.

a sharp inhale. not yours.

his heartbeat hammers against your touch, wild and restless. the same way it felt when he was blindfolded—when he had to rely on instinct, when the rhythm of his breath synced with yours and something unseen pulled tight between you.

you lift your gaze.

jungkook is already looking.

your eyes meet and it’s like you’re the only thing he sees. you see it. you look into his eyes and freaking see what he sees. 

you. only you.

his lips suddenly part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. his eyes flicker, unreadable, caught between hesitation and something heavier. his grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it lingers, fingertips pressing in like he’s mapping out the shape of you, committing it to memory.

"what are you thinking right now?" he asks rather shyly. “since i… i can’t read your mind.”

your voice is soft. it curls between you, laced with something you’re not sure you want to name.

jungkook swallows. his grip tightens—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it… seconds stretch.

then—before anything else, before you let yourself think too hard about it—you smile. you let out a small chuckle, tapping his chest with the back of your hand.

"figure it out, jungkook."

the walk back is quiet, but the air hums with something… different. 

the weight of the sparring match lingers between you—his hands on your waist, your fingers on his chest, the breathless moment you shared before you pulled away. now, as you walk side by side beneath the moonlight, the space between you feels impossibly small, as if the night itself is pushing you closer.

your fingertips brush once. a fleeting touch, barely there. but it’s enough to send a pulse through the invisible string that binds you.

twice. his breath stutters. 

three times. 

fuck.

you hear it. 

not aloud, but in the space between your thoughts, in the echo of his heartbeat. it’s his voice though. you know it is… and it’s the sheer panic in his mind and the way his body that betrays him. you giggle before you can stop yourself, and jungkook tenses beside you, as if caught in something he wasn’t ready to admit. 

his jaw tightens. 

his ears burn red.

you reach your doorstep too soon. your heart is still racing, tangled up in him, in the weight of his presence. and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "i can send a guard to take you back to yours—"

jungkook scoffs, low and amused. “i can handle myself.”

you fumble for an excuse. 

“it’s just that… it’s dark.”

he glances up, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. the night sky is dark, but the stars shine almost as bright as you. it’s enough for him to know where he’s going.

“the stars are out.”

you follow his gaze. the sky is vast, endless, and speckled with constellations that stretch far beyond the palace walls. the kind of night that feels infinite.

“they are…” you exhale softly. “wow, they’re so bright here.”

jungkook tilts his head. “you do live in the highest point of the palace.”

you laugh, shaking your head.

“still. regardless of where i am, i can never spot the big dipper.”

he hums, tilting his chin toward the sky. “really? it’s over there.”

“where?” you ask, mimicking his gaze.

“made you look.”

you gasp, swatting his arm, and he grins—really grins, boyish and unguarded, like the version of him that slips through when he forgets to keep his walls up. it sends something warm curling in your chest.

you soften, stepping back toward your door. 

“goodnight, jungkook.”

he lingers, just for a moment. the moonlight catches in his eyes, in the way he watches you like he wants to say something but doesn’t. instead, he exhales, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“goodnight, princess.”

you slip inside, shutting the door behind you. the guards reposition themselves and ask jungkook if he’d like to be accompanied back. he shakes his head, declining the offer. then, he puzzles the guards for a moment. 

jungkook doesn’t leave immediately. 

he waits, glancing up at the stars once more. and then, with a quiet flick of his fingers, the sky shifts. the darkness of the night sky almost flickers. the clouds part ever so slightly, rearranging the constellations.

the big dipper, now perfectly clear. 

just for you.

[ariahmichelle]

Fake It Till You Feel It- Part 5

Rafe Cameron x Reader Series

Previous Parts Here

Summary- You see your ex with a new girl wrapped around him after he told you “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings. Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. One night you impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. This starts to become an unspoken routine between you when either Alex or Amelia are around. Simple right? However, longer this goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

Part 5- Blurred Lines

•••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••••••••••

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the sand as the ocean stretched endlessly before you. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a familiar mix that always came with days like this—long, lazy afternoons spent by the water, where time felt slower, conversations easier, and worries faded with the tide.

It had started as a casual plan. A few people mentioning the idea last night, and before you knew it, a group beach day had come together. No drama, no hidden agendas—just an excuse to soak up the sun and pretend, for a little while, that life was simple.

And yet… something felt different.

For the first time since this whole thing with Rafe had started, Alex and Amelia weren’t around when you were hanging out with your friend group. There was no need to play pretend, no reason to cling to Rafe’s side, no excuse to blur the lines between real and fake.

And yet, you still found yourself next to him.

You weren’t sure how it happened. One minute, you were laying out your towel, the heat of the sand warming your skin, and the next, Rafe was dropping down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours when he stretched his legs out.

“You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he mused, tipping his sunglasses down slightly as he glanced at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Shocker.”

“Just saying,” he smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “No Alex. No Amelia. No fake relationship to maintain. And yet, here you are, still basking in my presence.”

You scoffed, turning onto your side to face him. “Says the one coming to sit by me.”

Rafe grinned, something lazy and amused in his expression. “I think it’s mutual.”

“What’s mutual?” Brooke’s voice cut in as she dropped onto the towel next to you, raising a curious brow between the two of you.

“That she’s obsessed with me,” Rafe answered smoothly, earning a shove from you.

Brooke snorted. “Right. Because that’s so believable.”

“Did the Rafe Cameron basically just admitted he’s obsessed with me?” You shot back, making Brooke laugh from where she was lounging on her towel.

“Jesus,” Brooke called over. “You two are really committing to this act, huh?”

You glanced at Rafe, your expression unreadable. “What act?”

Brooke narrowed her eyes. “I don’t buy it. You two went from barely tolerating each other to suddenly being joined at the hip. It’s weird.”

“You’re weird,” Rafe shot back, reaching for his drink. “Maybe we just realized we have good taste.”

Brooke made a face. “Yeah, or maybe you’re both just full of shit.”

Mia studied you for a moment, but she didn’t press the subject. Instead, she just smirked. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you two know what you’re doing.”

Did you?

You weren’t so sure anymore.

At some point, Rafe got up to grab drinks from the cooler, and when he came back, instead of sitting beside you like before, he sat behind you. Legs stretched out on either side of your towel, back resting against his arms as he took a sip from his beer.

You shot him a look. “Comfy?”

“Extremely,” he said, grinning as he nudged your back lightly. “Besides, this way, you get a nice little seat.”

You rolled your eyes, but when you leaned back against him, you didn’t move away.

Not long after, his fingers started lazily tracing shapes on your thigh, the touch light, almost absentminded. Your skin burned under his fingertips, and you hated that it made your stomach flip.

It was fake. Wasn’t it? Rafe was just enjoying this too much.

——

By the time the sun started to set, someone had built a bonfire further up the beach. The sky turned soft shades of pink and orange, the ocean reflecting the colors like glass. The air smelled of burning wood and smoke, the crackling flames casting shadows across the sand.

It was the kind of night that made everything feel a little lighter.

You sat cross-legged near the fire, the warmth licking at your skin as the group passed around drinks and retold old stories. Someone had a speaker, soft music blending into the sound of the waves. Rafe sat beside you again, and even though the crowd was big enough for you to be somewhere else, you didn’t move.

It was almost too easy, slipping into these moments with him.

“You cold?”

His voice was low, just for you, cutting through the murmur of conversation.

You shook your head, but before you could say anything, Rafe draped his hoodie over your shoulders again, like it was instinct. His fingers brushed against your arm in the process, sending a small, unexpected shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at him, raising a brow. “You trying to be a gentleman or something?”

Rafe smirked, but there was something softer in his gaze, something unreadable. “Trying to make sure you don’t freeze to death. Don’t make it weird.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, but something about the moment stuck with you.

You got up to grab another drink from the cooler when you felt someone step into your space.

Amelia.

She crossed her arms, looking you up and down. “So, what’s your endgame here?”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Using Rafe to make Alex jealous.” She smirked. “I gotta admit, it’s a bold move. Desperate, but bold.”

You stared at her, caught off guard. “That’s not—”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “You think I don’t see it? You’re using Rafe as some little rebound so Alex regrets dumping you. Pathetic, really.”

Your jaw clenched. “First of all, Alex didn’t dump me, we were never official. Second of all, I’m not using Rafe for anything.”

Amelia took a slow step forward, her voice dropping lower. “He’s just a placeholder for you, isn’t he? Some little safety net to make yourself feel better.” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “We both know he’s not the type to stick around. He’s just going with it to get in your pants, But hey, enjoy it while it lasts.”

Before you could respond, a hand wrapped around your wrist and pulled you away.

Topper.

He shot Amelia a glare before steering you toward the group. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just pissed Rafe doesn’t give her the time of day.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the sting of Amelia’s words. “She’s a bitch.”

Topper chuckled. “Welcome to the club.”

He walked with you back toward the fire but then glanced over at Rafe, who was already watching you, his expression unreadable.

Topper smirked. “You know what? Let’s get out of here.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Let’s go to Rafe’s,” Topper said. “Bonfire’s dying out, and I can guarantee she’ll keep trying to get under your skin if you stay.”

You hesitated.

Rafe caught on to the conversation and raised a brow. “You guys talking about me?”

Topper grinned. “Yeah, I just decided we’re going to your house.”

Rafe smirked, looking at you. “That so?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. Anything was better than staying here with Amelia’s words lingering in your mind.

So, naturally, you ended up there.

By the time you got to Rafe’s house, the music was softer, more background noise than anything else. The lingering tension from the bonfire slowly faded, replaced by the comfort of familiarity. The smell of the ocean still clung to your skin, and the warmth of the fire had been replaced by the cool night air that drifted in through the open doors.

You were curled up on the couch, still in Rafe’s hoodie, your head resting against the back of the couch. The fabric smelled like him—cologne, a little bit of salt from the beach, something undeniably Rafe. It was oversized on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem bunched up against your thighs as you tucked your legs beneath you.

“She’s out,” Brooke observed from across the room, her voice hushed but amused.

You weren’t completely asleep, but close enough that responding felt like too much effort. Your body was heavy with exhaustion, the kind that came after a long day in the sun, after too many drinks and too many emotions you didn’t have the energy to sort through.

“Yeah, and she’s taking my hoodie hostage,” Rafe muttered, but there was no annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was something almost… fond.

You felt movement beside you, the couch shifting slightly as Rafe sat down. He didn’t hesitate before leaning back, before letting his arm drape over your waist, his hand resting lightly against your hip. He was warm, the kind of warmth that made it easy to sink further into sleep, the kind of warmth that made you not want to move.

Brooke smirked, arching a brow at the sight of the two of you. “That’s cute.”

Rafe let out a tired huff, barely lifting his head. “Shut up.”

Kelce, who had been scrolling on his phone, barely spared a glance. “At this point, just date already and put us all out of our misery.”

Rafe didn’t answer.

Instead, his fingers absentmindedly traced over the fabric of his hoodie where it bunched around your stomach. It wasn’t intentional, wasn’t something he seemed aware of, but you noticed. Even in your drowsy haze, even with the pull of sleep, you noticed the way his touch lingered like he didn’t want to let go.

And then, a quiet whisper, meant only for you.

“Stay.”

One word. Barely audible over the hum of the music, over the quiet murmur of conversation.

Maybe if you had been more awake, you would’ve overthought it. Maybe you would’ve made a joke, brushed it off, reminded him that this wasn’t real.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let your body relax against him, let your eyes drift shut, let yourself sink into the warmth of him without thinking too much about what it meant.

And just like that, the choice was made.

So you stayed.

————

The house was silent when you stirred awake, the soft hum of the speaker still playing some faint melody in the background. Your body felt heavy with sleep, your mind sluggish as you shifted slightly—only to realize you weren’t alone.

Rafe’s arm was still draped over your waist, his body pressed against yours in a way that should have felt uncomfortable but didn’t. His breathing was steady, slow, the warmth of him radiating against your back. Sometime during the night, you must have moved closer, because his chest was against your shoulder, one of his legs tangled with yours.

Your heart picked up, your breath catching as you took in the feeling of him, the quiet closeness of it all.

Everyone else was asleep—Kelce sprawled out in one of the armchairs, Brooke curled up on the other end of the couch, Topper somewhere on the floor with a pillow over his head and everyone else sprawled out in random places. The soft glow from the kitchen light was the only thing illuminating the darkened room, casting long shadows across the furniture.

Carefully, you untangled yourself from Rafe, moving slowly as you slipped out from under his arm. He stirred slightly, brows pulling together like he could sense the absence of you even in his sleep, but he didn’t wake.

You padded quietly into the kitchen, your throat dry, your body still warm from being wrapped up against him.

You reached for a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink, but before you could take a sip, you felt a presence behind you.

“You were just gonna sneak away?”

You turned, finding Rafe leaning against the doorway, his hair slightly messy, his voice thick with sleep. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, but there was something else in them too—something unreadable.

“I was just getting a drink,” you murmured, lifting the glass to your lips.

Rafe took a step closer, running a hand through his hair before exhaling softly. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“You were asleep,” you said quietly, setting the glass down on the counter. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

Rafe studied you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face, like he was trying to figure something out. Then, without thinking, he reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

His fingers lingered, his eyes dipping to your lips before flicking back up to meet yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The air between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t seem to ignore.

And then, he leaned in.

It was slow, hesitant—like he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop it before it happened.

But you didn’t.

Not at first.

Your breath caught, your heart hammering, the warmth of him so close, too close—

And then her voice echoed in your mind.

‘We both know he’s not one to stick around.’

The words settled like a weight in your chest, an anchor pulling you back to reality.

Your stomach twisted, hesitation creeping in, doubt sinking its claws into you.

Rafe must have sensed it because he stopped just before your lips could touch, his brows furrowing as he studied your expression.

You stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “You don’t have to—” You hesitated. “You don’t have to try to make me feel wanted after Alex.”

Rafe blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to frustration in an instant.

“Is that what you think this is?” His voice was low, rough with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just—”

“You just what?” Rafe demanded, jaw clenching. “You think I’m doing this out of pity? Out of some fucking obligation to make you feel better?”

You didn’t answer.

Because deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

You knew Rafe wasn’t the kind of person to do something he didn’t want to do. You knew he wasn’t the type to pretend—not like this.

But that didn’t stop the fear.

The fear of falling for him.

The fear of getting hurt again.

The fear that this was temporary, that eventually, he’d wake up one day and realize you weren’t what he wanted.

So you stayed silent.

Rafe let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. “You know what? Forget it.”

“Rafe—”

“I’m going to bed,” he cut in, turning away before you could say anything else. “You can have the couch.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his absence settling heavy in your chest, the feeling of his almost-kiss still lingering on your lips.

————————————

What do we think will happen next ? 🤔

Taglist: @rafecameronsbaeee @drewwhor

@wtfisastiles @emmafitzzz @wtfdudesblog

@yasmin-oviedo @yourmomdotcom42069

@pogueprincesa @maybankslover

@rrosiitas @my-name-is-baby

@rafecameronsslut1234 @ggraycelynn

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 18 - giving up

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst, sorry in advance for this one

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you heard a knock at your door and you felt your heart in your throat. it had been almost a week since you had seen rafe, since that night. a week of unanswered calls, ignored messages and trying to convince yourself that you didn't need him. didn't want him.

but now he was here.

your breath caught in your chest as you stared at the door, frozen. your fingers hovered over the doorknob, every muscle in your body screaming at you to walk away. to pretend you weren’t home. to let him feel the same emptiness he had left you with.

but you couldn’t.

with a deep breath, your turned the handle to see rafe, looking like a wreck. his hair was a mess like he had run his hands through it a hundred times, and his eyes were red, dark circles sitting heavy beneath them.

“y/n,” he breathed, stepping forward like he wanted to touch you, to pull you into him. but you took a step back, and the way his face fell made your chest ache.

you know if you spoke, your voice would crack, and you couldn't let that happen.

"i promise you," he started, his voice quiet, "i would never, ever do something like that. especially not to you."

you let out a hollow laugh, crossing your arms over your chest like it could hold you together. “i saw the picture. i saw the tweets."

"and you believe them?"

“cara told me you tried to kiss her."

his face twisted in anguish, 'y/n. that photo, i was yelling at her, trying to get her away from me. she wouldn't leave me alone, kept telling me how much she wanted me. that photo, was me telling her to get the fuck away from me."

you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie, any hint that he was just feeding you another excuse. but all you could see was desperation. raw, unfiltered desperation.

your voice broke, “then why would she tell me you tried to kiss her?”

“because she wanted this, y/n. she wanted to ruin us. she knew exactly what she was doing.” his voice was hoarse, filled with something close to panic. “i swear to you, i didn’t touch her like that. i would never—”

“but you let it happen,” you cut in, your throat tightening. “you let her get close enough for people to think that. you didn't push her away sooner, she was all over you even when i was still there."

rafe’s jaw clenched. “i was drunk—”

you let out a sigh, shaking your head. “that's not an excuse.”

"i’m not making excuses,” he insisted, stepping forward, eyes pleading. “i fucked up. i should’ve never let her anywhere near me. i should’ve left the second i realised what she was doing.” he exhaled sharply, his voice breaking. “but i swear on my fucking life, y/n, i didn’t cheat on you.”

a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. "i can't do this."

his face crumbled. “you can” he reached out like he was going to cup your face, but you stepped back again, and this time, something in his expression shattered completely.

you took a deep, shaky breath, trying to hold yourself together. “i wanted to believe you wouldn’t hurt me. that you were different.” your voice cracked, “but i can’t do this, rafe. i can't let someone hurt me this bad again."

“so what?” his voice was raw. “you’re just gonna give up on us?”

your heart clenched painfully. “i’m not giving up, rafe. you did. you didn't even come after me when i left. you know how bad my trust issues are. i just can't, i can't-"

tears welled in his eyes, but you had to look away, because if you stared at him for too long, you knew you’d break completely.

you swallowed hard, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve. “i love you, rafe. but i can’t be with someone who makes me feel like i'm not enough. that's how i've felt my whole life."

his breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw real fear in his eyes. “y'n, please-”

but you shook your head.

and before he could say anything else, before he could convince you to stay, you closed the door.

and then, as soon as the lock clicked into place, you collapsed onto the floor and let the sobs take over.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: pls don't hate me

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm@pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation@chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover@yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog @voidangxls @jjmaybankmylovee @munsoncultedits @emmiesummers @darlingstarkey @sassyvillaintrophy