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sugarplum217 · 2 months ago

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Essence Of Loyalty (Pt.1)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) contains sexual explicit content, heavy smut, spit play, oral sex, A VERY HEAVY USE OF “daddy” and “mama”, unprotected sex, cursing, major dirty talk, creampie, mentions of murder, lots of heavy sexual flirtation, detailed sexual acts , fluff

AuthorsNote: Please excuse any mistakes or grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy the story and remember to be kind and if you want to be tagged in the next part let me know.

Summary: Everyone and their mama has been trying to either set you up on a date with someone or continuously remind you that your clock is ticking away. That you weren’t getting any younger and your looks would eventually fade. What they didn’t know is that you already had your special someone. In fact you’ve had him a while. You know how that saying goes, “Good things come to those who wait” and for you in this instance. It was nothing but the waiting game for your special someone to finally walk into your life. The question is .. would it be acceptable for everyone else?

You never expected to fall in love with a man behind bars. It started as nothing more than a random click—some late-night curiosity fueled by boredom and an ad that popped up between Facebook posts. Find love where you least expect it. Meet single men looking for companionship. You damn near scrolled past it, but something made you stop. Maybe it was the way the words “love” and “companionship” stood out, teasing something you didn’t realize you were craving. Maybe it was just the boredom, the same mundane routine of work, home, sleep, repeat, stretching on like a treadmill you couldn’t step off. Either way, you clicked. Scrolling through the profiles felt like flipping through a catalog you had no business browsing. Men of all ages and backgrounds, some looking for friendship, others for love. But none of them caught your attention. That is—until you saw him. Inmate 07541, Terrance Richmond. Baby, that mugshot stopped you cold. Rich buttery light caramel skin, sharp jawline, and full lips that looked like they could whisper secrets straight into your soul. His nose was strong, his features chiseled, but it was those damn piercing uniquely colored eyes that did it. Deep-set, hooded, with a stare so intense you could feel it through the screen. Something about them made your heart stutter—like he was looking at you, past you, into you. There was no forced smile, no tough-guy posturing. Just that stare. You hesitated, hovering over the message button. What the hell were you doing? Messaging a man serving time? A man who, according to his bio, had been locked up since he was 18? Still, curiosity won. You typed out a casual introduction—something light, something safe—and hit send. Then you pushed it to the back of your mind, fully expecting no response, but he wrote back. And not just some half-assed, one-line reply. He wrote you back.

That first message turned into another. And another. Emails became long letters, paragraphs bleeding into pages, until you found yourself rushing home from work just to see his name in your inbox. You learned everything about him—the way he used to play football before his life changed, the music he listened to, the books he read to escape the four walls of his cell. He told you about his past, the pain, the betrayal, the night everything changed. And you told him about yours—how life felt like it was happening at you instead of for you. How you wanted more, but you didn’t know what more even looked like. Then came the sweet video calls. The first time you saw him move, saw that sharp jaw flex when he smiled, heard that deep, velvety voice rumble straight through the screen—you were done. Hooked. Gone. Two years later, here you were. In a relationship—a real one, even if nobody knew. And in a few days, he’d be free. And that? That scared you more than anything.

“You always got an excuse, girl. What is tea?”Sonya’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you blinked, realizing your fork had been hovering over your plate for way too long. It was lunchtime at Taste Of The South Cafe, your usual Friday spot with the girls. The table was cluttered with half-empty margarita glasses, plates of fried catfish and mac and cheese, and the scent of honey butter croissants floating in the air. Normally, this was your escape from the monotony of work. But today? You were ready to go.

“I just wanna relax,” You half way lied, pushing your food around. Sonya wasn’t buying it. Neither was Deja.

“Girl, please,” Deja scoffed. “Every time we plan a girls’ night, your ass come up with something. What’s up? You sneakin’ around with somebody?”

“Ain’t nobody sneakin’.” You forced a laugh, shaking your head.

“Then why you always rushin’ home like you got a man waitin’ on you?” Sonya arched a brow, swirling her margarita.

“Because I do.” You thought to yourself. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you shrugged, hoping they’d let it go. They didn’t.

“You sure it ain’t that new dude in accounting?” Deja pressed. “The one with the Audi and the beard? Girl, he is fine.”

“Not my type,” You said quickly.

Sonya snorted. “And what is your type? Because last time I checked, you were single as hell.”

You just smiled, keeping your real thoughts locked up tight. Because your type wasn’t something you could explain to them. Your type wasn’t sitting in an office, making six figures, and posting gym selfies on Instagram. Your type was locked behind bars. A man who had spent more of his life inside than out. A man whose voice alone made your thighs clench, whose absence felt like a missing limb. But they wouldn’t get that. So you just laughed it off, switched the subject, and counted down the hours until you could talk to him. The day dragged. By the time you made it to your car, your feet were aching, your patience was shot, and you were tired. But none of that mattered. Because in just a few minutes, he’d be calling. The drive home was full of bumper-to-bumper traffic and the usual call from your mama.

“Hey ma” You greeted, honking the car in front of you to move their ass.

“Hey my baby. You comin’ to dinner this weekend?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” You make a face, thanking god she can’t see you.

“Good. Your sister’s bringing her fiancé.” She said, her tone laced with excitement. Of course, she was. Your older sister had the picture-perfect life—a man, a ring, a timeline that fit neatly into the family’s expectations.

“And he’s bringing his brother,” You mother added casually.

You sighed. “Ma—”

“Just be open-minded! You’re a beautiful girl, and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” She reminded for the hundredth time. You gritted your teeth, gripping the steering wheel. If only she knew. But you decided to let it go.

“I’ll see you Saturday.” You shook your head, hanging up.By the time you got home, it was 6:59pm. You barely had time to drop your purse before your phone lit up with that Incoming Call from your ‘Big Daddy’. You squealed, feeling your heart flip.

You snatched it up, answering with a smile. “Hey, baby.”

“Damn, I needed to hear your voice.” A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, deep enough to send heat pooling between your thighs.

You melted instantly. “Long day?”

“Long as hell,” He sighed. “But I knew I’d be hearin’ from you, so I got through it.”

Your chest tightened. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? I missed you more baby” He smirked. You could hear it in his voice. “Tell me about your day, baby.”

So you did. You told him everything—lunch with your nosy-ass friends, your mama trying to set you up. And he listened quietly like always when it came to your day and what crazy ass story you had ready for him. That was one of the many things you loved about Terry, how he could just listen and never get tired of you talking.

“Don’t sweat that shit, baby. You got a man.” He chuckled, low and smooth. That possessiveness made your toes curl.

“Yeah?” you teased. “I got a man?”

“Hell yeah,” He murmured. “And in a few days, you gon’ have me in every way possible.”

Your breath hitched and your body got hot. Because in just a few days, Terry Richmond would be free. And you would finally be his. You adjusted the phone against your ear, stretching out on the couch, letting his voice roll over you like thick honey.

“You talkin’ real reckless, Mr. Terrance,” you teased, biting your lip. “What makes you think you gettin’ all this good good so easy?”

A deep, knowing chuckle rumbled through the receiver, sending shivers down your spine. “Baby,” He drawled, voice rich and slow like he was savoring every syllable. “Don’t play wit’ me. You and I both know the second I touch down, I’ma have you laid out for me, just how I like it.”

“Oh yeah?” Your thighs pressed together at the promise in his tone.

“Hell yeah. First thing I’m doin’ is spreadin’ them thighs, makin’ up for lost time. You know I been starvin’ for you. Ain’t had a taste of sweet pussy in years. I need my plate, ma.” He stated, making your breath hitch and heat coil in your lower belly.

“Terry…” You breathed, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Say my name just like that when I’m between them legs,” He murmured. “Matter fact, scream it. I’ma put my mouth on every inch of you. Them thighs? Mine. Them hips? Mine. That spot you say makes you weak right under your belly button? I’m kissin’ it first. And you already know where I’m endin’ up.”

Your body responded to his words instantly, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your blouse. The ache between your thighs grew unbearable. You were so tempted to rub on your clit as he talked to you, but you knew big daddy’s rules. You weren’t allowed to touch yourself at all unless he gave the permission and could listen to you without any interruptions.

“You talkin’ crazy,” You whispered, your voice thick with need.

“Nah, baby, I’m talkin’ facts. You gon’ see. Soon as I get out, you ain’t leavin’ that bed for at least three days.” He chuckled.

“Oh, so I’m just gonna be held hostage?” You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

“Damn right,” He said without hesitation. “Ain’t no way I been locked up this long just to finally get my hands on you and let you go. Shit, you gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe.”

Your stomach flipped. You wanted that. Needed that. But then, reality settled back in. The system didn’t make things easy.

“Speaking of that…What did your lawyer say about your release date? Will you be out on my birthday like we want?” You exhaled, shifting the phone closer to your ear. It was silence for a moment. The weight of it pressed heavy between you, thick and uncertain. You held your breath preparing for the worst case scenario possible.

“They still pushin’ for my original release date, but you know how this shit go. Paperwork, red tape, all that. My lawyer confident, though. He say if everything lines up, I should be out right on time. Maybe even a couple days before.” Terry let out a slow breath.

“For real?” Your chest tightened with cautious hope.

“For real, baby. But…” He hesitated. “You know they been tryin’ to trip me up in here. COs, some of these jealous-ass inmates. They know I’m close to freedom, and they hate that shit. I gotta keep my head low, stay out the way, but it’s hard sometimes. Real hard.”

“They still on that bullshit?” Your jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” He muttered. “They hate a nigga like me gettin’ a second chance. And these lame ass inmates tryna set me up don’t help either.”

“Terry, I swear to God if they—”You closed your eyes, frustration bubbling inside you.

“Relax, mama,” He said, voice dropping into that deep, soothing register that always made you weak. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I promise you that. I done made it through too much to let these motherfuckers take my freedom again.”

“Baby, please promise me you won’t do nothin’ to mess this up. I need you here. I need you home.” You frowned, Terry remained silent allowing you to vent because he knew this was becoming harder everyday for you to cope with. You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I just…” You hesitated, then admitted softly, “I just need you here. I don’t want anything messin’ this up. My 28th birthday… Terry, all I want is you.”

“I know, ma. Trust me, I know.” His voice softened, turning serious. “You the only thing keepin’ me sane in here. The only thing keepin’ me goin’. I promise you, I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ get in the way of me comin’ home to you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.” You inhaled deeply, letting his words settle over you.

“You got me for life baby,” He said assuring you, voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, baby. If I gotta fight every damn day until that judge signs my release, I’ma do it. ‘Cause you worth it. We worth it.”

“You better mean that,” You whispered. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“I do. And when I’m finally out, when I got you in my arms, I’ma make sure you never question that again.”

“I love you so much.” You exhaled shakily.

“I love you more, baby.” He bit his lip, feeling his heart speed up.

“You swear you gonna come home to me, Terry?” You exhaled, stretching your legs out on the couch, your free hand absently trailing over your bare thigh.

“Baby, listen to me.” His voice came through the receiver, deep and unwavering. “I need you to hear me when I say this. Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I done wasted enough years locked up, dreamin’ about what it feel like to be free, to wake up next to a woman who actually give a damn about me. I ain’t lettin’ no CO, no hating-ass inmate, no system take that from me.”

You closed your eyes, soaking in his words. A small tear escaped your eyes as you just let him talk and calm all of your fears.

“And you really think I’m about to let you be out here spendin’ another birthday without me? Nah, ma. That ain’t happenin’.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Matter fact, you should start gettin’ ready now, ‘cause soon as I step through that door, I’m givin’ you somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah? What you givin’ me, Terry?” A slow smile spread across your lips.

“Ain’t it obvious? My last name, first of all.” He stated matter of factly.

“Boy, stop playin’.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Who playin’?” He challenged. “You really think I been doin’ all this talkin’, dreamin’ about you, makin’ plans, just to be out here on some casual shit? Nah, baby. You my woman. And when I get home, I’m puttin’ a ring on that pretty lil’ finger. You ain’t gon’ be nobody else’s but mine.”

Heat spread through your chest, settling deep in your belly. He always had a way of making you feel claimed, but this? This was different. This felt all too real and that he was promising you the moon and the stars and would actually reach up in the damn sky and get it for you.

“Terry…” You purred slightly.

“Say it again,” He murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous octave that always did something to you. “Say my name just like that.”

“Terry.” Your lips parted, slowing your words down for him.

“Mmm,” He groaned. “That’s what I wanna hear every morning, every night. That’s what I wanna hear when I’m makin’ love to you, when I’m in it so deep you forget how to say anything else.”

“You tryna kill me, huh?” You sucked in a breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Nah, ma. Just tryna remind you who you belong to.” He smirked, licking his lips.

You chewed your lip, heart pounding against your ribs. The thought of him finally being here, of feeling him, touching him, owning him in the flesh—it was almost too much.

“Terry…” You started, voice soft, hesitant.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He adjusted the phone on his ear, eyebrows furrowing. You hesitated a moment afraid to tell him what’s really been on your mind. Afraid he wouldn’t understand but truth was Terry was more than understanding when it came to you.

“I just… I keep thinking about what’s gonna happen once you’re really here. Like, when it’s not just phone calls and emails. When it’s real. When it’s us.” You honestly confessed, sighing. You heard a brief pause making your stomach tighten out of angst. You held your breath afraid he’d be upset but after a few seconds, he then spoke gently.

”That’s what you scared of?” He asked, voice soft.

You swallowed. “Not scared, just… it’s gonna be different. You been inside since you were 18, Terry. That’s—” You did the math in your head, stomach twisting. “Seventeen years. That’s a long time.”

“I know,” He said simply. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I been countin’ down to this moment. I know it’s gon’ be an adjustment. I ain’t naive to that, baby. But what I do know is that I want this. You. I ain’t spent two years fallin’ in love with you for nothin’. And I damn sure ain’t finna let somethin’ as small as a transition period shake me.”

You exhaled, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “I just want you to be happy, Terry.”

“I am happy, ma. You make me happy.” He professed from his heart, making your heart squeeze and stomach flutter.

“Now,” He continued, voice laced with that familiar hunger. “Can we get back to what I was sayin’? ‘Cause I still got a whole list of things I plan to do to you soon as I get out.”

“Oh yeah? Go ‘head then, baby. I’m listenin’.” Your stomach flipped.

Terry exhaled through the receiver, the sound slow and deliberate. “Aight, so… First thing I’m doin’ soon as I step through that door? I’m droppin’ my bag, pullin’ you close, and kissin’ you like I been starvin’ for it.”

“Mmmm.” You bit your lip, already picturing the scene.

“Ain’t gon’ be no soft, sweet shit neither. Nah,” He rumbled. “I’m talkin’ about deep, wet, tongue all in your mouth, my hands locked around that waist, pullin’ you so tight you feel my dick pressin’ up against you.”

“Damn, Big Daddy. Can I at least take my heels off first?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Hell nah,” He said smoothly. “Matter fact, leave ‘em on. I want you just like that. Fresh off work, tight lil’ skirt ridin’ up, them pretty ass legs wrapped ‘round my waist while I pin you up against the door.”

“Oh shit..” Your entire body heated at the image. You had to fan yourself, and cross your legs to avoid any wetness seeping out.

“You know how long I been dreamin’ about that, baby?” His voice dropped an octave, turning into something dark, possessive. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years I been locked in this hellhole, surrounded by nothin’ but concrete and steel, knowin’ I ain’t got a real woman to touch, to taste, to claim. And then you came along…”

“B-Baby..” A soft gasp slipped from your lips. You squeezed your thighs shut tighter, already soaking your panties.

“And now all I can think about is how you gon’ feel underneath me. How soft your skin is. How good you smell. How sweet you taste.” He growled lowly in your ear.

“Shit.” You cursed, shifting on the couch, thighs pressing together.

“Mmm,” He hummed knowingly. “You wet for me, ain’t you?”

“Terry—” You swallowed.

“Nah, don’t try to play it off now,” He interrupted. “I know you, ma. I know you sittin’ there, grippin’ that phone tight, breathin’ all heavy, body heatin’ up just listenin’ to me talk. I don’t even need to be there to know how bad you want me.”

“You lucky you locked up.” You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head back against the couch.

“Lucky? Nah, baby. Unlucky. ‘Cause if I was home right now, I’d have you laid out, ass up, back arched, moanin’ my name so loud the neighbors call the cops.”He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement.

“Boy, stop!” You laughed, shaking your head. “You talk all that shit, I hope you got the stamina to back it up.”

Terry clicked his tongue. “Oh, you doubtin’ me? That’s crazy. Lemme find out my baby think I ain’t gon’ put in work.”

“I mean, it has been a long time, Big Papa,” You teased.

“Aight,” He drawled, tone dangerous. “Keep playin’ with me. You gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe when I’m done with you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, so smooth and confident like he had zero doubt in his ability to back up every single word. The next few hours passed in a blur, the two of you tangled in conversation like it was your own little world. Terry told you about the meals he was craving—real food, not that processed mess they served on metal trays. He wanted collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, fried chicken, all made by you. “I need a home-cooked meal, baby. Something made with love,” He said, his voice full of longing. You laughed and promised to have a whole spread waiting for him. Then the conversation shifted to the small things—how he couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed, how he wanted to go outside at night just to feel the wind on his face without fences in the way, how he wanted to sit on the couch with you and watch a movie with your legs draped over his lap. “Shit like that, ma,” He murmured. “The simple stuff. That’s what I miss the most.”

And you listened, hanging onto his every word, feeling your heart swell with each confession. The world had taken so much from him, stripped him of so many years, but somehow, he still had softness in him. He still had love to give. You found yourself telling him about all the things you wanted to do together, too—how you wanted to take him out to eat at a real restaurant, go on a drive late at night just because, lay up with him on a Sunday morning while the smell of breakfast filled the apartment. The more you talked, the more the reality of him coming home settled deep inside you. “You really gon’ take care of me, huh?” he asked, his voice low and full of something tender. “You damn right,” you whispered. “Somebody gotta make up for all that time you lost.”

If someone had told you years ago that you’d fall in love with a man behind bars, you would’ve laughed in their face. You always wanted love, prayed for it even, but you never imagined it would come in the form of Terry Richmond—a man with a past heavier than most, a man who had seen the worst parts of life and still found a way to hold onto his soul. He was the most fascinating, most alluring man you’d ever known, and you had never been more open with anyone in your life. You craved him in ways that scared you sometimes. You wanted to be the one to feed him, to run him a hot bath and wash years of struggle off his skin. You wanted to rub his shoulders, his chest, his back, to remind him that he was human, that he was home. And the way he talked to you, the way he poured into you, made you feel like you were already his sanctuary.

After you finally got off the phone, you moved into your nighttime routine, taking your time washing your face, patting your skin dry, smoothing your serums in like a ritual. You stared at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how your life was about to change. In just a few days, he’d be here, in your space, in your bed, in your life outside of those prison walls. As you reached for your bonnet and wrapped it securely around your head, your phone buzzed on the counter. FaceTime. Mama. You sighed, knowing she’d scold you if you didn’t answer, so you slid your thumb across the screen and propped the phone up.

“Hey, Mama,” You greeted, already bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” She said, peering at you through the screen. “Just callin’ to say goodnight and check on you before you went to bed.”

“I’m alright , Mama. Just gettin’ ready for bed. Doing my usual routine.” You smiled.

“Mm-hmm,” She hummed, then her face lit up. “Oh! Guess who I ran into today? You remember Kiana Perkins from high school?”

You frowned, digging through your memory. “Kiana Perkins… oh yeah, the one who used to run track?”

“Yes, her! Baby, she married now, got two babies, livin’ all happy with her husband. She showed me pictures and everything. And I just… I don’t know, baby, it got me thinkin’.” She started in on you.

“Mama—” You groaned internally.

She held up a hand. “I know what you ‘bout to say, but hear me out. You not gettin’ any younger, baby. I just want you to have somebody. You always been my dumplin’, my soft-hearted baby, and I just—” She sighed. “I just want you to be loved, baby. I want somebody to take care of you for once.”

You bit your lip, heart squeezing at her words, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know that you did have somebody. That you had Terry. That soon, you wouldn’t be coming home to an empty bed anymore. You leaned back against the bathroom counter, swallowing the lump in your throat as your mother continued, her voice full of concern.

“You know, I just don’t want you to end up like me, raising a family all on your own. You’ve got so much to offer, baby, don’t let it go to waste.” She paused, waiting for you to respond, but you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to tell her the truth, but you couldn’t—not yet. Terry was still behind those walls, and the world wasn’t ready for your truth. Not yet.

“I hear you, Mama,” You said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I’m good. I’m happy with how things are right now.”

She eyed you, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t push it. “Alright,” she finally said, her tone softening. “Just don’t wait too long, baby. Time don’t wait for nobody.”

“I won’t, Mama. Promise,” You replied, though you knew the promise wasn’t to her. It was to yourself. You weren’t going to waste any more time. The conversation moved on, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not telling her about Terry. She didn’t know that every night, you fell asleep with thoughts of him, that his voice had become the lullaby you never knew you needed. You thought about his touch, his words, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. But for now, it was a secret. Your secret. You wrapped up the call with your mother, promising to be at Sunday dinner over the weekend, and hung up. The air felt thick now, like the weight of your own desires had settled in your chest. You finished getting ready for bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Terry, wondering if he was thinking about you too, wondering how much longer you’d have to wait before he was finally home. As you slipped under the

covers, your mind drifted to your happy place and that was Terry. Eventually after saying a quick silent prayer for him and his safety like you did every night, you finally went to sleep.

The morning light seeped through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across your bedroom. You lay there for a moment, tangled in your silk sheets, staring at the ceiling with a heavy mind. The anticipation sat on your chest like a weight. Today could be the day you got answers—real answers—about Terry’s release. No more guesswork, no more waiting in limbo. Either he’d be home in time for your birthday, or he wouldn’t. And if it was up to you, there wouldn’t be a wouldn’t. Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, shaking you from your thoughts. The number was unfamiliar, but you knew who it had to be before you even swiped to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice was groggy, thick with sleep, but there was an urgency beneath it.

“Good morning, this is Michael Walker, Terry Richmond’s attorney.” The voice on the other end was smooth, professional, but you caught that slight edge—like he was bracing himself for a conversation you might not want to have. “I wanted to give you an update on his case. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What’s the update?” You pushed yourself upright, resting your back against the headboard.

Michael exhaled. “So here’s where we are. We’re still waiting on the judge’s final decision regarding his release. As you know, we’ve been pushing hard for full release instead of parole, but the system moves at its own pace. Right now, it’s looking like one of two things will happen—either the judge will sign off on his release, and he’ll be free to come home, or he’ll be granted parole with conditions.”

Your stomach twisted at the word “conditions.” That could mean anything. A curfew. Mandatory check-ins. Restrictions on where he could go, what he could do. You wanted Terry free—not still tangled in the system’s web.

“Is there a chance he’ll be home by my birthday?” You asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

Michael hesitated. That damn hesitation. You hated it. “That’s what we’re aiming for,” He said finally. “But it’s all in the judge’s hands. We’re doing everything we can to make it happen, but we need to be realistic.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “I just… I need him home.” The words left you before you could stop them, more vulnerable than you wanted to sound.

“I get it,” Michael said, and for the first time, there was something softer in his tone. “But here’s the thing—you need to make sure Terry understands how important it is for him to stay in line right now. He’s close. So damn close. But if he gets into it with the COs, if he so much as breathes wrong in there, it could delay everything. Or worse.”

A lump formed in your throat. Terry had been through hell in that prison. You knew how hard it was for him to bite his tongue, to play the game when the guards disrespected him just for breathing. You also knew how much some of those inmates hated to see another Black man about to touch freedom. Envy was a dangerous thing.

“I’ll talk to him,” You said firmly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good,” Michael replied. “I’ll keep you posted on any updates. Until then, just keep him focused on what’s waiting for him on the outside.”

And that’s exactly what you planned to do. Because he was coming home. To you. To the life y’all had spent two years dreaming up. And you weren’t about to let anything or anyone take that away. The weight of everything that needed to be done before Terry came home sat on your shoulders like a mix of excitement and pressure. There was so much to prepare, so much to buy, so much to perfect before your man walked through that door and took his rightful place in your life. Clothes, toiletries, shoes, cologne—he was stepping into a world he hadn’t been a part of since he was barely legal, and you were determined to make sure he had everything he needed to start fresh. And then there was you. Your own upkeep was just as important. You wanted to look good good for him. A fresh Brazilian wax so your skin was baby smooth, eyebrows snatched, lashes full and fluttery, and your hair? Oh, that had to be flawless—not just for your birthday but because you already knew he was going to have it all over the place by the end of the night. You could already hear the headboard knocking, already feel his breath on your skin, already picture the way he’d grip you like he was making up for lost time. The thought alone made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

But beyond all the surface-level preparation, there was a deeper feeling swirling inside you. Letting a man you’d only seen through a screen and heard through a receiver move into your home was a huge step. Some would call it crazy. Hell, a part of you knew it was risky, but love had never been about playing it safe. And with Terry? It had never felt like a risk. It felt right. He was your soulmate—plain and simple. The man you wanted to

wake up to, fall asleep with, build a family with. You’d spent two years loving him from a distance, and now, you were stepping into a reality where he was yours in every way. You weren’t naive to the adjustments that would come with it, but you also weren’t afraid. He was worth it.

With a stretch and a soft sigh, you finally pulled yourself out of bed, the silk of your nightgown clinging to your curves as you padded across your bedroom. It barely covered your ass, the hem rising with each step, and you lazily reached for your robe, wrapping it around you before making your way into the kitchen. The house was still, quiet, but soon, it would be filled with his presence. Him walking around shirtless, his deep voice filling up every room, his scent lingering on the furniture. You couldn’t wait. As you reached for the fridge, your eyes landed on the Polaroid photo of him taped to the door—one of the few glimpses of him outside of a call or a video chat. He had sent it during one of the rare inmate photo days, his expression serious but his eyes still burning with something that made your stomach flip. Damn, you fine. You ran a finger over the image, smiling to yourself before pulling out the eggs and milk.

The one thing people probably wouldn’t understand was why you had never visited him in prison. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God knew you had begged to. But Terry? Terry was territorial to his core. It had taken months of back-and-forth, of pleading and arguing, before you finally accepted that he wasn’t going to let you step foot in that visiting room. He didn’t want no prison guards or inmates looking at his woman—studying you, lusting after you, imagining things about you that only he was allowed to. You belonged to him, and the thought of other men—especially those locked up with him—laying their eyes on you sent him into a rage he didn’t even try to hide. It wasn’t just possessiveness; it was protection. He had seen too many things go left in that place, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be a part of any of it. So, you let it go, trusting that the day would come when you wouldn’t have to love him from a distance. That day was almost here.

You were in the middle of whisking the batter for your waffles when your phone vibrated on the counter. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, already knowing who it was.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Terry’s deep, raspy voice sent a warmth down your spine. His morning voice was dangerous.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” You hummed, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued mixing. “How’d you sleep?”

“Would’ve slept better with you underneath me,” He murmured, the smirk in his tone evident. “What my baby got planned for today?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “Just a quick Target and BJ’s run to stock the house up for you, then I gotta get my nails done. Oh, and I gotta swing by the post office to pick up my bundles that came in.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Mmm, you tryna get fine for Big Daddy?”

“Mmhmm.” You giggled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.

“Damn, girl…” His voice dropped a little lower, and you could almost see him licking his lips on the other end. “Ima eat that pussy like crazy, baby girl.”

Your breath hitched, a heat sparking between your thighs. “Terry!” You squealed, laughing. “Stop being nasty!”

“Nah, I’m deadass serious.” His tone was dark, full of hunger. “You don’t even know what you got coming.”

You took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the goosebumps crawling up your skin. “Listen, nasty man, we need to talk.” Your tone shifted, getting serious. “Your attorney called me this morning. We need to discuss what he told me.”

“What he say?” There was a pause before he answered with a serious tone.

You exhaled. “Baby…” You gripped the phone tighter, staring at the batter as if it had the answers. “It’s about your release.”

Terry was silent for a moment, and you could feel the shift in his energy through the phone. That easy, teasing tone from before was gone, replaced by something heavier—something cautious.

“What about it?” His voice was lower now, tight with restraint.

You sighed, setting the whisk down and gripping the edge of the counter. “He said they’re still waiting on the judge to sign off, and it could go either way. Either parole or full release.” You paused, running your tongue over your lips. “I asked if you’d be home by my birthday, and he said that’s what they’re pushing for, but the judge has to approve it first and it appears the judge is taking their sweet ass time. Same shit you told me last night.”

“Man… I been waiting years for this moment. If they try to stall this shit…” Terry sucked his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Baby, don’t even put that energy in the air,” You cut in quickly, gripping the phone. “It’s gonna happen. You just gotta hold tight.”

“I’m tryna hold tight, ma, but you don’t understand. I been locked down since I was eighteen. Half my life. I done played by they rules, kept my nose clean, did everything I was supposed to do. And now, when it’s finally my time to touch down, they wanna drag they feet?” His frustration was raw, and you didn’t blame him one bit.

“That’s why we gotta be smart about this,” You soothed, lowering your voice. “Your attorney said you need to walk a fine line, Terry. These COs and some of them inmates? They don’t want to see you win, baby. You getting out means they lose power over you. And if you let ‘em get under your skin, if you give them any reason to stall this—”

“I know, baby,” He gritted, cutting you off. “I ain’t stupid.”

“I never said you were,” You softened, biting your lip. “But you know they’ll do anything to keep a black man locked up. You know that. You can’t afford to slip.”

Another deep sigh. “I just wanna be with you, ma,” He admitted, his voice quieter now, the vulnerability cutting through all the frustration. “That’s all I been holding on to. You. Us. The life we ‘bout to have.”

“And you will be with me, Terry. Soon. I promise.” Your heart clenched, and you closed your eyes for a second.

“You the only thing keeping me sane right now, baby,” He muttered. “You really are.”

“And you the only man I want. Ain’t nothing gon’ change that.” You swallowed hard, that warmth creeping back into your chest.

He went quiet for a beat, then, “Damn, you really love me, huh?”

“Boy, you already know.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Say it,” He murmured.

“I love you, Terrance Richmond.” You bit your lip, smiling.

A deep exhale came through the line, like those words alone were enough to ground him. “I love you too, ma. More than you even know.”

“You better love me with your fine self.” You giggled, continuing to whisk the batter. He chuckled lowly, the sound making your ears perk up at the nostalgic sound.

“You know I want a baby soon as possible, right? Just like we talked about.” Terry’s voice dipped even lower, that familiar edge of possession curling around his words.

“I know, baby.” You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your belly at the certainty in his tone.

“Nah,” He pressed. “I mean, soon as I get home, I’m filling you up. I ain’t playing.”

A giggle bubbled out of you. “Well, that’s good to know,” You teased, twisting a strand of hair between your fingers. “Because I already got off my birth control, and I’m ovulating real soon.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Terry. “You serious?”

“Mmhmm.” A smirk played on your lips

“Good,” He growled. “‘Cause I ain’t pulling out. I want you pregnant, mama. You carrying my son or my baby girl. I already see it.”

A deep shudder rolled through you at the sheer conviction in his voice. There was no hesitation, no doubt—he wanted this, just like you did. Now you knew having a baby before a ring wasn’t the most conventional thing. You were raised better than that, taught that marriage first was the way to go, that being someone’s “baby mama” wasn’t the move. But Terry? He wasn’t that type of man. This wasn’t some half-thought-out, heat-of-the-moment decision. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. From the moment you told him you wanted his baby, he made it crystal clear—both you and that child would have his last name. There would be no question, no hesitation. You weren’t about to be just someone’s BM. You were his woman, his future wife.

The plan was already in motion—soon as he got out, y’all were hitting the courthouse and making it official. No long engagement, no drawn-out wedding planning stress. He wanted to be your husband immediately. And once he was settled, once he was back on his feet, working and bringing in real money, then he’d give you that big wedding, the

one with the flowers, the dress, the family all gathered to watch you walk down the aisle. But for now? The paper, the commitment, you—that’s what mattered most to him.

It wasn’t like you weren’t set up already. You made damn good money, and your degree in business administration had you sitting pretty in a high-paying corporate consulting job, helping multi-million-dollar firms streamline their operations. Your salary was more than enough to hold things down while Terry got back on his feet, and you’d already mapped out a business plan to help him reintegrate. Finding a job after doing seventeen years inside wasn’t easy, but you had resources, connections, a plan. You weren’t just bringing him home—you were making sure he stayed home. You were building a life with this man, and every step of it felt right.

“You think your family gon’ like me?” Terry exhaled through the phone, his deep voice softening just a little. Your smile, bright and easy just seconds ago, slowly faded. It was a fair question. A real one. But it wasn’t an easy one to answer. You knew your mama. Sweet, nurturing, and warm when she wanted to be, but judgmental as hell. A devout Christian woman—saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost. She wasn’t fond of anything remotely sinful, and Terry… well, Terry was the walking definition of sinful.

There was no denying he was a fine-ass man. That wasn’t the issue. Standing tall at 6’3”, with those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to shift between ocean-gray and a stormy blue-green depending on the light. Rich, light caramel skin that deepened into a golden bronze in the summer but softened into a fairer hue in the colder months. A strong, chiseled jawline that made him look both dangerous and regal. His lips? Plump, full, always looking like they were ready to be kissed—or used for something far nastier. His short-cropped curly fro was just long enough to grab, and those thick, corded muscles? Yeah. His time behind bars didn’t just sculpt his body—it turned him into a damn statue, cut from flesh instead of marble. His tattoos, inked along his thick arms, added to his edge. Especially that sleeve—his latest one, a masterpiece he got done while inside.

He was the kind of man that turned heads when he walked into a room. The kind that made women cross their legs and bite their lip. But he wasn’t the “good, God-fearing man” your mother had envisioned for you. Terry was the complete opposite. And yet, his heart was the purest thing about him. Despite his past, despite the anger and the hurt buried deep in his soul, he was a good man. A gentle soul trapped in an exterior so hard, so intimidating, most people never got to see the real him.

You inhaled sharply, trying to find the right words. “Baby, I gotta be honest with you.”

“Mmhmm?” His voice was calm.

You sighed. “I don’t know. My mama… she can be a bit much. And the fact that I’ve been hiding this—hiding us—for the past two years? Oh, she gon’ have a fit. And my sister? Whew, she gon’ have a mouth full too. You’d probably have better luck with my aunties than my own mama.”

Terry chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your stomach flutter. “I get it, baby. I do.” His voice was soft, understanding. “But I ain’t going nowhere. She can side-eye me, throw oil on me, pray over me ‘til she blue in the face—I’m still gon’ be here. And I’ma do whatever I can to make her love me. To make her see I ain’t some monster. ‘Cause I want this, ma. I want us. I want your family to be my family, too.”

That made you smile. A big one. The kind that deepened your dimples and warmed you from the inside out. But there was something else weighing on you. Something heavy. Something you knew Terry wouldn’t want to talk about, but you had to ask.

You hesitated before carefully pushing forward. “Baby… you gon’ reach out to your mama once you’re free?”

“Nah, Y/N. I’m not.” He answered, his voice, tight and clipped.

You swallowed. “Baby—”

“Ain’t like she gave a fuck about me in the first place,” he cut you off, his voice colder now. “I’m in here ‘cause of her. You know that.”

“I know. I do. But, baby… you gotta forgive. Not for her. For you. You need peace, Terry. You deserve that.” You exhaled slowly. His breathing was heavier now, like he was trying to keep himself from slipping into that dark place. You hated when he went there. When the bitterness and resentment started to eat away at him.

“I got peace, baby. I got you.” His voice softened just a little, but you could still hear the hurt beneath it. “That’s all I need.”

“I hear you baby.” You softly replied. You decided to respect his wishes and let the conversation about his mother rest. He had been through enough, and you weren’t about to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. Instead, you brightened up, shifting the energy as you let out a little squeal.

“Oh! Baby, my birthday dress came!” You announced excitedly, twirling a loose curl around your finger. “I can’t wait for you to see me in it.”

Terry’s smirk was damn near audible through the phone. “Oh yeah?” His voice dropped an octave, turning rich and smooth like warm honey. “That’s cool, baby… ‘cause I can’t wait to take that shit off you.”

“It is literally nine in the morning, and you already on go.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Because I got this pretty, brown-eyed woman waiting on me,” He murmured. “And I can’t stop staring at her picture, picturing our life together beyond these walls. I just need my woman bad.” He let out a breath, voice thick with longing. “I wanna turn your body inside out, have you laid up exhausted, and then make you breakfast in the morning while you recover, boo.”

“Leave the cooking to me, Richmond. Don’t need you burning our house up.” You smirked, scratching your head. You hadn’t even realized you said it like that—our house—until the words left your lips. But Terry caught it instantly. His heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest like wildfire.

“Our,” He repeated, grinning through the phone. “I like the sound of that. And don’t worry, baby. I could never destroy anything of ours.” His words settled over you like a warm embrace, making your stomach flutter.

Terry cleared his throat after a beat. “So, your girls still takin’ you out for your birthday?”

“Mmhmm,” You confirmed, stretching lazily. “We’re hitting this grown and sexy lounge. Got a section, a table, should be real nice. I just wanted something low-key. Nothing too crazy.”

Terry hummed in approval. “That’s what’s up. You think your girls gon’ accept me?”

You snorted. “They’re gonna love you. Especially Deja. Sonya, though… she might take a minute. She’s Miss Fake Bougie, swearing she a real housewife of Atlanta. But deep down, she’s chill. Just real protective of me.”

Terry let out a low chuckle. “Aight, sounds like a plan, baby girl. Long as they ain’t plotting to run me off, we cool.”

“Never that.” You smiled, resting your chin in your hand, leaning on the countertop.

“Mm. Aight, tell me this, then—what’s the first meal I’m getting when I come home?” He inquired, with a devious smirk.

“Well, I was thinking… me.” Your voice became real seductive, tilting your head.

Terry’s laughter rumbled through the phone, low and sinful. “Ain’t no thinking, that’s a guarantee. But just to be safe, cook us something for after, ‘cause we gon’ need the strength.”

“Terry, you so damn silly.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head at him.

“You love it,” He teased, and he wasn’t wrong. Because behind all that reserved, stoic energy, Terry Richmond was a damn goofball at heart. And he was your goofball. The conversation between you and Terry continued, the two of you just vibing, killing time before you had to finally pull yourself away and get in the shower. He told you about a wild dream he had last night—some crazy mix of old memories and future fantasies of the two of you together.

“Man, I swear, I had the realest dream, baby,” He said, voice lazy and deep. “We was laid up in this big-ass house, had the baby in the crib next to us… you was wearin’ my T-shirt, lookin’ all sexy with your lil’ bonnet on, and I just kept pullin’ you closer, not even tryna let you sleep.”

“So you gon’ keep me up even in your dreams?” You laughed, rolling onto your side, twirling the bedsheets between your fingers.

“Hell yeah,” He said without hesitation. “I been starvin’, baby. Soon as I touch down, I’m eatin’ you up, kissin’ on you, makin’ love to you every chance I get. You gon’ be sick of me.”

“Never that daddy,” You murmured, feeling warmth spread through your body at just the thought of how it would feel to finally have him home.

“Bet,” He chuckled, then let out a deep sigh. “I just be sittin’ in this cell picturing it, picturing us—you in the tub, all soaped up, candles lit, slow jams playin’… me right behind you, holdin’ you close, runnin’ my hands all over that soft ass skin, kissing up your neck… licking on your nipples..”

Your breath hitched, already envisioning the exact same thing. You had put together a playlist for his arrival—nothing but the smoothest 90s and early 2000s R&B, songs that made you wanna melt into somebody’s arms.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about?” You asked, biting your lip.

“What, baby?” He feigned innocence.

“How you gon’ be sneakin’ into the shower while I’m tryna get ready for work,” you giggled. “Talkin’ about, ‘lemme wake you up the right way’—like I don’t have places to be!”

Terry laughed but then hummed in approval. “Shit, I am waking you up the right way. Gon’ have you walkin’ into work with a smile so big, they gon’ know somebody put it there.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought, heat rising to your cheeks. You were so gone for this man. “You just wait, Richmond,”You teased, sighing dramatically. “You about to be a full-time distraction.”

“That’s my plan, baby.” He grinned through the phone.

After a few more minutes of sweet talk, you finally sighed. “Alright, I need to get in the shower before I lay here and talk to you all day.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ you,” Terry teased. “I just wanna hear the water runnin’. Let me close my eyes and imagine it.”

“Boy, bye!” You laughed, shaking your head before reluctantly hanging up.

—

The hot water cascaded over your skin as you leaned against the shower wall, letting the warmth soak into your muscles. Your mind was racing with all the intimate moments you’d been daydreaming about since Terry’s release date became a real possibility. Late nights soaking in the tub together, his strong arms wrapped around you, his lips trailing along your shoulder. Waking up to him pulling you into his body, whispering in your ear before making love to you first thing in the morning. The idea of sharing a home, a bed, a life with him made your stomach flip with anticipation. You had been living alone for so long, moving on your own schedule, answering to no one. But now, there would be him. His things mixed with yours, his scent lingering in your sheets, his presence filling the empty spaces. And you couldn’t wait.

Once you finished luxuriating, you stepped out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You took your time getting dressed—pulling on a pair of black leggings that hugged your curves and a Nike sports bra, slipping into your most comfortable sneakers. You tied your hair into a sleek bun, then grabbed a baseball cap to shield your eyes from the Georgia sun. After grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30, you were just about to head out the door when your phone rang and you saw it was Sonya.

You sighed before answering, already bracing yourself. “What’s up, girl?”

“Mm, what you got going on today?” She asked, her tone full of suspicion, like she knew you were up to something.

“Just about to make a quick Target and BJ’s run,” You said casually, hoping she’d just let it go.

“Oh, perfect! I need to hit Target anyway! I’ll meet you there.” She stated. You internally cringed. Sonya didn’t know about Terry yet. And you definitely didn’t need her up in your cart asking a hundred questions about all the men’s products you were grabbing.

“Girl, I’m moving quick today,” You abruptly said, trying to throw her off. “Gotta be in and out, no time for browsing.”

“Please, you never just ‘run in’ anywhere,” Sonya scoffed. “I’ll keep up.”

“Sonya…” You huffed, rubbing your temple.

“What?” She laughed. “Why you sound so stressed? You tryna move funny or somethin’?”

“You know I move funny, that ain’t new.”You let out a dry laugh.

“Mhm, and that’s exactly why I’m coming.” She snickered.

You sighed dramatically, knowing there was no way out of this now. “Fine, I’ll see you there,” You relented, already planning how you were going to strategically avoid letting her see all the things you were picking up for Terry. You hurried up and grabbed your car keys and your Stanley cup from your kitchen counter before heading right out the door to your car. You hit the unlock button on your key fob and heard the chirp. Sliding into the plush leather seat of your Mercedes-Benz, you place your Stanley cup in the cupholder before pressing the push-to-start button. The engine purrs to life, and before you can even adjust the air, the CarPlay screen lights up, immediately blasting the smooth, honeyed vocals of Maxwell’s “Fortunate” through the speakers.

Your heart leaps in excitement. “SING IT, MAXWELL!” You squeal, gripping the steering wheel and swaying your shoulders as if you’re right there on stage with him.

This is your song. Terry’s song. The one he always sings to you over the phone—completely off-key but with so much passion, like he’s pouring every piece of himself into it. You can still hear him now—“I never sang a song with all my might…”—his deep, rough voice twisting the lyrics into something that sounds nothing like Maxwell, but you never cared. It was him. It was you. It was love. You pull out of the driveway, easing onto the streets of Atlanta, the sun gleaming against the hood of your Benz. The beat of the song wraps around you, filling every inch of the car with warmth. With one hand on the wheel and the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh, you let the city move around you, the skyline stretching high above as you feel the music, feel the love behind every lyric. Terry is coming home. Soon. And as Maxwell’s voice croons through the speakers, you let yourself dream—of slow dances in the living room, of his arms pulling you close as you sway to this very song, of him pressing soft kisses along your shoulder while mumbling the lyrics into your ear.You exhale, your lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. It’s only a matter of time.

Pulling into the Target parking lot, you let out a long, heavy sigh, gripping the wheel as you mentally prepared yourself for Sonya. You loved your girl—no doubt about it. Sonya was one of those ride-or-die friends who would cut up with you on a Saturday night and pray with you on Sunday morning. But she was also the kind of woman who didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She always had to be up in the mix, tasting the flavor, giving unsolicited advice even when it wasn’t needed. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to share Terry with your girls—because you did. He was your man, and you were proud of him.

But you wanted to make sure this was real. That this was happening. That he was actually going to be home before you started bragging and boasting about him to your family and friends. You couldn’t count how many times you’d gotten excited about a brotha, only for him to turn out to be a disappointment. And every time, you had to do the walk of shame, explaining to everyone that it didn’t work out. You hated the look of disappointment on your mother’s face, the I told you so smirk on your sister’s lips, and God forbid Sonya’s infamous, “I knew that nigga wasn’t shit.” speeches. And then there was Deja, who always chimed in with, “Girl, want me to get my cousin to kill him?”

You loved your girls, but the last two years had been a sacred kind of peace. You had cultivated this private, intense, deeply intimate relationship with Terry while he was behind bars, and there was something pure about keeping it just between the two of you. You knew that sometimes, outside influence could ruin a good thing, and you weren’t ready to share your world just yet. But if things aligned perfectly—if the odds were in your favor, if the judge signed off, and if God was looking out for you—then they would meet him the night of your birthday outing. You just hoped everything would fall into place. You hopped out of the car, grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 from the passenger seat and slinging it over your arm. Just as you shut the door, you spotted Sonya standing near the entrance, her arms crossed, her stance already radiating irritation. You took a deep inhale, bracing yourself, then walked over, greeting her with a quick hug.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, noticing her sour expression.

“Chile, my damn hairstylist just sent me that infamous ‘Hey boo’ text, and I just know it’s about to be some bullshit.” Sonya sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

“That’s why I told you to stop going to her, Sonya. She’s unprofessional as hell and always canceling on you at the last minute.” You snorted and shook your head.

“I know, I know,” She whined dramatically, throwing her hands up. “But girl, she know how to lay my damn wigs. She makes that lace look like scalp! I do not wanna go to nobody else!”

You laughed, grabbing a cart and rolling into the store with her. You weren’t even five steps inside before you gave her a knowing look and smirked. “I don’t even know why you waste your time getting them wigs laid, knowing Omar gon’ pull that shit right off your head and have your lace looking crazy by the end of the night.”

“You ain’t lying, girl. You really ain’t lying.” Sonya stuck her tongue out at you before giggling, clearly thinking about how wild her and her man got.

You shook your head, laughing as you made your way toward the laundry aisle, grabbing detergent, fabric softener, and some cleaning products. You wanted the house to be

perfect for Terry’s homecoming—fresh sheets, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air, everything spotless for his arrival.

As you reached for a bottle of Febreze, Sonya nudged you. “So… you excited for your birthday?”

“Yeah… I really am.” You smiled, biting your lip as you nodded. Truth be told you were more excited for Terry’s arrival than your own birthday. For as long as you could remember you weren’t the most excited to celebrate your birthday. To you, it was just another day and another reminder that you were leaving your glorious twenties and getting closer to hitting your dirty thirties. That is until Terry came into your life and shifted your perspective on life itself. He taught you that every birthday should be celebrated and that life is too short to not celebrate the breath in your lungs and waking up everyday. Especially with his circumstances and how his life got snatched from him because he chose to do the right thing and defend his mother’s honor against her abuser, but in the end it wasn’t so honorable and his dreams and young life got cut short with the snap of a finger. So this year you chose to have a better outlook on your birthday, thanks to your baby Terry.

You continued to move swiftly through Target, pushing your cart with concentration, mentally checking off everything Terry will need once he’s home. You start with the Dove Men+Care bar soap, grabbing a few packs because you know the fresh, clean scent will suit him. Next is the Old Spice body wash—the deep, rich, masculine fragrance makes you weak in the knees, so you know it’ll be perfect for him. You toss it in the cart, followed by men’s deodorant, mouthwash, and toothpaste—because even though you’ve never stood close enough to breathe him in, you already decided that your man will smell fresh, clean, and irresistible.

You head down the haircare aisle, running your fingers over the different bottles before settling on a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. You know prison air is dry as hell, and you’re not about to have your man coming home with his hair brittle and neglected. A large jar of Palmer’s whipped cocoa butter goes into the cart next—you love how smooth and rich it feels against your skin, and you can already picture yourself rubbing it into his arms, his shoulders, his hands… making sure he’s soft and well taken care of. Just as you’re reaching for a pack of Dude Wipes, Sonya turns from the next aisle, glancing over at your cart. She tilts her head, her perfectly arched brows raising as she takes in all the men’s products sitting inside.

“Uh-uh. Who’s all this for?” She asks, crossing her arms. Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh!” You force out a laugh, thinking quick. “My sister’s in town with her fiancé, and they’re staying at my mom’s house. She needed some stuff to keep there for him.”

Sonya narrows her eyes for a second, then shrugs. “Oh okay, that makes sense. I was about to say, girl, you got a whole grown man’s starter kit in there.”

You laugh nervously, nodding as you grip the handle of your cart, pushing forward. Just when you think you’re in the clear, your phone buzzes in your purse. You glance down and see the caller ID: Terry’s lawyer. Your stomach instantly tightens. He already called earlier—so why is he calling again?

“Hey, hold on,” You tell Sonya, trying to keep your voice light. “I gotta take this real quick.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at checkout.” Sonya waves you off, already distracted by something on the next shelf. Stepping out of the aisle, you answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer, voice low.

“We’ve got a problem,” His lawyer says, his voice urgent.Your body stiffens.

“What? What happened?” You held your breath.

“There’s been an incident in the prison yard. Terry was involved.” He deeply sighs. Your heart plummets straight to your ass because you told this nigga—.

“WHAT?!” You shout, loud enough that people around you turn their heads. You clamp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

“I’m still gathering details,” His lawyer continues, “ But from what I’m hearing, there was some kind of altercation. If the judge catches wind of this, his release could be revoked… or at the very least, stalled.”

The words ring in your ears, drowning out the noise of the store. Revoked?! Stalled?!Your hands start to tremble on the cart handle, your vision blurring with tears. Just when you thought you were so close to having him home—just when everything was falling into place—here comes some bullshit.

“Please… just tell me he’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You swallow hard, gripping the phone tighter.

“I really don’t know. I’m working on it. I’ll call you back when I know more.” He sighed again, sounding defeated. Then the line goes dead, making you tear up. You stood frozen in the middle of Target, your world spinning, your stomach in knots. And just like that, everything you had been dreaming of, praying for, feels like it’s slipping right through your fingers.

This couldn't be happening right now, not right now....

@captainwithoutmakingitlove

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@solunaseira

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#aaron pierre #terry richmond #mufasa #rebel ridge #green lantern #terry richmond x plus size reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond smut #rebel ridge fanfiction #terry richmond x y/n #black fic writer #Spotify

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melshifting · 2 months ago

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― Fame DR extras to script ! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

(for kpop idols, singers, actors/actresses, etc.)

― 01: You have developed an aura where even your absence is noticeable - when you don't post, attend an event or respond to something, it seems like the world goes crazy without you.

― 02: You make even your most everyday actions go viral; whether it's the way you drink coffee, fix your shirt or react to a joke - your moves have the potential to be an unintentional trend.

― 03: You have a look that is totally impossible to imitate/replicate. Even if they try to dress like you, wear your hair the same way and/or copy your essence, they never succeed - whoever tries to do so, fails absurdly.

― 04: You possess such a level of self-awareness that makes you impossible to be manipulated. No one can twist your words, get you into controversy or drag you into industry drama unless you let them

― 05: Your number is untrackable - it can't be leaked, stalkers never discover it and you don't get spam calls.

― 06: Paparazzi's cameras fail when they try to take unflattering photos of you - you don't have bad angles or bad lighting, just mysteriously blurry or unusable photos every time someone tries to catch you off guard.

― 07: You always know exactly how to pose in photos without overthinking it or looking uncomfortable: no matter what the occasion is, you always get the look you want to convey.

― 08: When you write/create something, your ideas come out 100% the way you imagined them - whether it's music, acting or an original project, you don't have to struggle with the process and everything comes out exactly as you imagined it.

― 09: Brands always send you gifts, but only things that you really like and use. No random or generic packages, but gifts that fit perfectly with your style.

― 10: You always end up in the best seat at events, never in awkward or random places. You don't sit next to someone you have nothing in common/don't get along with… you're always in the perfect spot.

― 11: Your private messages, emails, and texts never get leaked, even by accident —your personal convos are always 100% secure.

― 12: At the sound of your voice, everyone stops and listens—without even realizing it – it’s not loud or overbearing, just the perfect volume that commands attention when you want it.

#kpop shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting community #shifting diary #shifttok #reality shifter #desired reality #desired self #shifting script #dr scripting #shiftingrealities

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dreamersparacosm · 10 days ago

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jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part five)

warnings ; hm. sex in a trailer, oc turns into a pornstar, you ride the shit out of him wearing your corporate heels, unprotected sex

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; we are SO BACK. listen, i promised you all that oc would indeed get her lick back, and she does. wrote this while listening to wrong by zayn ft kehlani and it’s truly a bop that encapsulates these two buffoons. honestly if i could describe this chapter in a few words it would be: two people who are terrified of admitting defeat. (also at the end im adding a picture of how i think she would ride him so you can see it better. it’s actually mentally ill.)

playlist here

series masterlist here

The flight back to Korea was supposed to be a reset. A cold, clean surgical cut with no frayed edges, no bleeding. It was supposed to be 16 hours to realign, rebuild, remind yourself who the hell you are. The Chief Marketing Officer of Calvin Klein. The woman who keeps everything and everyone in check, not some sleep-deprived idiot who let herself cum at the hands of the one person she should have been immune to.

Instead, it was sixteen hours of psychological warfare because Jungkook was there.

Not technically beside you or talking to you. God, not even looking at you. He was two rows back, noise-canceling headphones on, hoodie pulled low, chewing gum like he didn’t just throw your entire mental state into disarray less than forty-eight hours ago.

His presence alone was enough to make your skin feel tight, like your body was suddenly a size too small. Enough to make your breath catch whenever you thought he shifted in your periphery. Enough to keep your arms crossed and your spine locked straight, mouthing emails you weren’t even writing just to avoid thinking about the way his mouth had felt on your skin.

It meant nothing, you told yourself on a loop. It won’t happen again. It can’t happen again.

Even days later, back on Korean soil, the ghost of LA still clings to you like a second skin. You’re jittery and constantly two seconds away from snapping, because no matter how much work you bury yourself in, no matter how many corporate fires you put out, your body remembers.

It remembers the sound of his voice at the base of your neck. The bruising grip of his fingers and the way he looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your curves.

It’s invasive, the way it follows you. How easily the memory curls around you when you’re not paying attention. How you catch yourself thinking about him in the middle of meetings, in the elevator, in the fucking mirror. And it’s not even the sex — not really.

It’s him.

Jeon Jungkook. Annoying. Arrogant. Stupidly attractive. The human embodiment of a bad idea. The very same man who somehow lodged himself under your skin like a splinter you can’t dig out without bleeding.

The most embarrassing part of it all is you don’t even know if he’s thinking about it at all. You haven’t talked about it or acknowledged it. Maybe that’s for the best. Because if Jungkook isn’t affected, if he’s truly fine, then it gives you permission to pretend too.

You also know pretending will only work until you walk into a room and catch him looking at you.

Even Korea as a whole feels different this time. The skyline hasn’t changed, yet somehow you have. There’s a fracture now, something jagged where your certainty used to be. You can’t focus. You’re distracted in meetings, missing details you’d usually clock with a single glance. Your schedule is packed, brutal even, but your body is restless.

The real problem isn’t seeing him. It’s not seeing him.

It’s when a full day goes by without a snarky comment or a smirk tossed across the room. It’s when you walk into a space and realize he’s not there, and your stomach drops before your brain can lie to you.

It’s a problem, and you hate problems you can’t fix. So, you do what you always do when things start slipping out of control: you work until you drop. Your days blur into a haze of fluorescent lights and bottomless Americanos. Your nights stretch past midnight, stacked with back-to-back revisions and Slack messages you pretend don’t irritate you. It’s a self-imposed exile dressed up as ambition.

If you just keep moving, if you keep clicking and scrolling and typing until your fingers go numb, maybe the static in your brain will settle. Maybe this thing, this itch under your skin that looks suspiciously like Jeon Jungkook, will stop feeling so sharp.

Eventually, you tell yourself, he’ll stop feeling like something. Eventually, your body will forget the geography of his, the slope of his shoulder, the press of his chest. He’s like a ghost you can’t exorcise. Like a stain you can’t scrub out.

He’s in the stupid curve of his name in your inbox, the subject lines stamped with CK Global Campaign: Urgent. He’s in every mockup and mood board and creative deck stacked haphazardly on your desk. He’s twenty stories high on the side of a building downtown, flexing in black-and-white while your cab driver tells you, “That kid’s really famous, huh?”

And you just have to nod, teeth clenched like he didn’t fuck you against a conference room table a week ago and then proceed to show up in your meetings acting like he didn’t.

Even Daniel knows. Or, well, he doesn’t know, but you have to guess he does. He side-eyes you every time Jungkook’s name is mentioned, like he’s just waiting for you to crack and spill some dirty little secret you swore you’d bury.

You keep having to remind yourself that night was a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgment. But if it really was a mistake, why does it still feel like the only time you’ve ever let yourself breathe?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On set, surrounded by your team, his team, an entire army of executives, creatives, stylists, assistants, photographers, lighting techs, and people whose jobs you’re not even sure of, you feel small.

Which is ridiculous, frankly. This is your campaign. Your brand. Your vision. You’re the one who’s been living, breathing, and bleeding Calvin Klein for years. You should be running this space like a general on a battlefield.

However, you’re struggling to breathe. The air is buzzing with the static charge of a shoot in motion; cameras clicking, stylists darting in to fix a hem or smudge of shine, assistants whispering frantically into headsets, executives murmuring behind you in languages you half-recognize.

And then there is Jeon Jungkook, standing under the studio lights like he was born in them. A living, breathing ad campaign. A nightmare of temptation.

He’s shirtless, obviously. Low-slung denim riding the edge of indecency. An oversized denim jacket half off his shoulders, barely hanging on like it too was seduced.

You swear every move he makes is calculated. The way he runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, or the way his lips part just enough, eyes hooded as he stares down the camera like he’s thinking filthy thoughts. The way the director mutters “Perfect” under their breath every three seconds, like they’ve forgotten how to breathe, too.

It’s all intentional. Normally, you wouldn’t even bat an eye. You’ve seen more male models strip down than a Las Vegas bachelorette party.

He catches you watching. He sees the way your gaze flits too fast and your lips press into a hard line when the camera catches the dip of his stomach, the flex of his thigh. There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling coiling in his stomach as he enjoys every second of your despair.

So when the director finally calls for a break and the energy shifts, you don’t even need to look up to know he’s coming toward you.

He stops close enough to be annoying. “You look stressed,” he says, voice low like he’s genuinely concerned. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Your fingers tighten around your clipboard. God, you want to smack him with it.

“Or… wait,” he adds, tilting his head. His eyes flick down over your figure. “You looked a little… distracted out there. See something you liked?”

You finally turn to him, expression flat and unimpressed, exhausted in that way only Jungkook can conjure. “That’s rich coming from a man who just pouted at the camera like a sell-out in a shampoo commercial.”

He grins, all teeth. “Don’t tell me you were watching that closely.”

He hums, dragging the back of his hand across his jaw like he’s thinking. He is not. “Was it the jacket? You like it off the shoulders? I can keep that going. For consistency, of course.”

You exhale slowly, sharply. “God, you’re the worst.” You say it through clenched teeth, laced with loathing and the last threads of restraint, every syllable a warning shot.

He only grins wider “Hm.”

You scoff, turning away and focusing on the clipboard or the set — anything but him.

That won’t stop him though. He doesn’t back off. He never backs off, not until you’re ready to scream or throw something or break, which you’re dangerously close to doing.

He licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair, and turns to walk toward the camera again.

Your grip tightens on the clipboard, nails pressing into the faux wood. Your throat burns and your skin prickles with a righteous fury that should qualify as terrorism.

You keep your expression neutral, like always, but your pulse is a traitor. You swear he can feel it from across the room.

The second the director yells cut, you’re gone. Not in a polite, professional, thanks-everyone-it-was-a-great-shoot kind of way. You don’t wait for playback or linger for wrap-up notes. You don’t even pretend to acknowledge the creative director who calls your name as you stalk past the lighting rig. You just turn on your heel and leave.

You’ve fucking had it. You’ve had it with the games, the smirks, the infuriatingly casual way Jungkook manages to dismantle your sanity with the arch of one goddamn brow. You’ve had it with how easily he slips beneath your skin like heat under a doorframe. You’ve had it with the way your body — your own traitorous body — won’t forget him.

Most of all, you’ve had it with yourself. This isn’t you. You don’t get rattled. You don’t get flustered. You don’t have emotions; not in the workplace, not for men like him.

You don’t let some overconfident, maddeningly pretty idol throw your entire internal compass off its axis.

So that’s it. You’re done.

One time. One mistake. End of story.

It never should have happened, and it sure as hell won’t happen again. Jungkook is just a blip, a glitch in the system, a fleeting indulgence. A moment of weakness you will not allow yourself to repeat.

All that to say — you head straight for his trailer, where you had seen him wander off immediately after the crew had wrapped.

You don’t even knock. It’s more of a courtesy tap before the door swings open and you step inside, all adrenaline and simmering fury and terrible judgment.

Suddenly, a wave of regret flushes through your entire being when you spot him. He’s lounging on the small leather couch like he owns the world. The jean jacket is gone, chest bare under the fluorescent light of the 80-square foot box. His hair’s a mess, damp at the temples, curling in a way that’s just cruel.

You freeze for a second, mostly because he looks like sin reincarnate and knows it.

He looks up at the noise and raises one eyebrow. His gaze drags slowly, down the length of you like he’s flipping through a menu. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You cross your arms. It’s part defense mechanism, part reflex, part an attempt to ignore the way heat is already crawling up your spine. “We need to talk.”

He stretches with his arms overhead, back arching, every line of muscle flexing. He then sinks deeper into the couch like this is his show and you’re just here for entertainment.

“This should be good,” he says, head tilted, grin lazy. He doesn’t sit up or even pretend to take you seriously. He just watches you, slowly blinking.

“You know,” he drawls, “I get it. You’re fighting a losing battle. Must be exhausting after getting a taste of me.”

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your skull. “No, actually.”

You exhale, tighter now. Your arms fold tighter across your chest. You look anywhere but directly at him because one more glance at that ridiculously golden, unfairly sculpted torso and you’ll forget what English sounds like. “I came here to tell you that whatever that was in LA? That’s not happening again.”

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, “Oh? You sure about that?”

“Yes.” You snap the word too fast like you’re trying to cut off your own uncertainty before it can betray you.

But Jungkook catches it and his eyes flicker.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, fingers loose between his thighs, body language all nonchalance and arrogance. His expression doesn’t shift much, just a glint of amusement threading through the dark of his gaze. Like this is funny to him. Like you’re funny.

“You sure?” he says, voice pitched just enough to grate. “Because you don’t look very sure.”

Well, fuck you. You’re not. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Not him. Not the trailer. Not the fact that his abs are ten feet from your face and he’s still smirking like the devil on a good day.

The problem is you. You’re the one who cracked. You’re the one who came to his trailer. You’re also the one who kissed him like you meant it and moaned his name and said ‘thank you’ like those were your favorite fucking words. You swallow the truth before it can rise, pin your spine straight, steel your voice, and meet him with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “This will never be a thing, Jungkook.”

He blinks with faux curiosity. “This? What exactly is this? Because last time I checked, you were the one kissing me back.”

“It was a mistake.” Your voice cracks a little.

He hums like he’s rolling the next words around his mouth just to see how it feels on his tongue. “Yeah?” he says. “Seemed pretty fucking intentional to me.”

Your nails dig into your palms. You want to slap that look off his face. You want to scream. You want to throw something.

“Let me make this clear. Whatever happened between us is done,” you bite, every word clipped. “It meant nothing. And it will never, ever happen again.”

Jungkook just looks at you. Then, that slow, infuriating curl of his lips that says you’re lying and we both know it. That look that lives rent-free in the back of your mind no matter how many times you try to evict it. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

That’s what fucking kills you. It’s not the denial or the pushback or the audacity of the pet name. It’s that he doesn’t argue or protest.

He just sits there, calm and smug, like all he has to do is outlast your resolve and you’ll come undone all over again.

You inhale sharply, forcing the tremble out of your voice, trying to gather what little dignity you have left. “You think this is funny?”

Standing there in his trailer, flushed and heart pounding in your ears, the sting isn’t just in your skin; it’s in your pride. The way Jungkook leans back like your anger is amusing — it guts you in a way no man has before. This isn’t entirely new. You’ve built an entire career bulldozing men who thought they could outmaneuver you, talk over you, pat you on the head and call it a compliment. And yet he’s somehow doing what no one else ever could: getting under your skin. He’s dismissing you like you’re not the sharpest person in the room. That’s the part you can’t survive. Because if he doesn’t take you seriously, you lose everything.

“Let me remind you of something, Jungkook,” you say, cutting clean through the thick air between you. “I am in charge around here. I’m the reason you’re even working with us.“

He watches you silently. He’s letting you talk to see how far you’ll go before you crack again.

You step closer to him without your mind even realizing. You’re close enough for him to know you mean it. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. You’re just another contract. Another pretty face in a stack of numbers I’ve already filed away in my brain.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you add, tone like steel. “You’re just some guy. Nothing more.”

His lips twitch. It’s not a smile nor laugh, it’s a flicker that screams you poor thing, you still don’t get it, and he’s three steps ahead and generously letting you believe you’re in control.

“You’re right,” Jungkook says, soaked in condescension. “You do run all of this.“

He tilts his head, eyes sharpening. “But you don’t really run me.”

He doesn’t move but somehow, it still feels like you’ve been pushed back. He’s peeling your confidence off, layer by layer, without even lifting a single finger.

“You can sit there in your perfect little outfit,” he says, gaze dragging over your clothes with infuriating precision, “and pretend like this is nothing.”

His eyes pause on your mouth and linger. “But I heard you in LA. I felt you. I know exactly how you sound… how you taste.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” you quip. “You think you’re the first man who thought he could shake me? Get under my skin? Please.”

Jungkook’s tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. “I think,” he counters, “I’m the first one who actually did.”

You hate that you don’t have an answer to that, not one that doesn’t sound like a lie even in your own head.

The truth is a hell of a lot worse than anything he could say out loud.

You lean into him, deflecting all possible thoughts that scream at you in your head to do otherwise. You know him well enough now. You know what throws him off, what catches him mid-smirk, mid-thought, mid-breath.

“You know what I think, Jungkook?” you murmur, your voice the kind of calm that comes right before the storm. “I think you want me… and you’re mad I’m not begging for you.”

Your hand rises before you even think about it, fingertips pressing against the bare plane of his chest. Your hands trace along his collarbone, then glide downward.

His back eases into the couch with a quiet, reluctant exhale, his shoulders dropping, eyes never leaving yours.

And then suddenly, you’re hovering on top of him, hand gripping the couch headrest to steady yourself.

If he tilted his head, just barely, your mouths would meet. Your breath mingles with his in the space between you. There is a subtle twitch of his hands against the cushion, like he’s holding himself back from grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down.

You should really move away.

“Yeah?” he rasps like it’s scraping its way out of his throat. “What makes you think that?”

You should walk away. You should call it for what it is — dangerous, reckless, completely off-script.

Your painted nails drag lightly down his chest, and you lean down until your lips hover just above his jaw.

You let your mouth brush against the sharp edge of his jaw, a light kiss; it’s more suggestion than action, more threat than promise.

Jungkook goes still. When you finally pull back, his smirk is gone.

God, if you stay here another second, he’s going to grab you and make a liar out of both of you.

Jungkook’s breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath your fingertips like you’ve got a hand pressed to a live wire.

The wire snaps pretty shortly after that. It’s just another lapse in judgement, right?

You’re kissing him. You don’t know who leans in — if it’s you, if it’s him, if it even matters —because the second your lips crash against his, the world narrows down to this one moment. This one reckless, dizzying, repeated offense.

Your hands dive into his hair, dragging through the strands as his fingers clamp down on your hips. Now you’re really climbing into his lap, knees sinking into the couch cushions, your thighs bracketing his. Your skirt hikes up and his hands don’t help. He groans into your mouth like the sound’s been buried in his chest since LA and finally clawed its way out.

Maybe you missed this more than you want to admit.

This doesn’t feel like some impulsive relapse. It feels inevitable. Like the universe was always going to twist you back together, no matter how many warnings you whispered to yourself or how many times you tried to label it a mistake.

Your nails scrape against his scalp as he licks into your mouth possessively. Your body is burning from the inside out when he’s kissing you like you’re oxygen and he’s been drowning.

He shifts under you, grinding up just slightly, and your breath hitches, completely out of your control. Right now, with his hands digging into your thighs and his tongue in your mouth and his cock pressing hard against you through his jeans, consequences don’t exist.

“Knew you’d come back to me,” he mutters, lips dragging across your jaw.

“Been dreaming about you,” he adds, “Every fucking night.”

Something volatile in you snaps. Maybe it’s the arrogance in his voice. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s right. Maybe it’s that he knows he’s right, and you’re sick of it. Your hand moves before you even register it, fingers curling around his jaw, forcing his face up until he’s looking at you. “You talk too much.”

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles lightly.

Your nails drag down the side of his neck, a slow glide of pressure over his pulse, and you feel it kick against your fingertips. “Use that mouth for something better.”

Jungkook lets out a low, broken laugh, but he doesn’t waste a second. His mouth is on your jaw, trailing down your neck, teeth grazing and your head tips back.

Oh god, this is wrong. You know that. You knew it before you walked in. You knew it in LA. You know it now. But when his mouth hits your collarbone and his lips suck just hard enough to make you arch, logic doesn’t stand a chance.

His hands slide up, fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs like he’s holding you steady.

You hate how good he is at this. You hate how easily your body gives in. You hate that he’s smug about it, that he dreamed this exact moment and now he’s watching it play out in real time.

“You wanna pretend you don’t need this?” he murmurs, “Wanna pretend you don’t want me?”

“Fucking knew it,” he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, even as his teeth graze your jaw and his hips grind up into you again.

Your fingers dig into his hair, yanking his head back, and he gasps, eyes flying open, dark and glassy and so full of want it makes you ache.

“You think you know everything,” you breathe, drunk on the rush of having him under you, on you, wanting you.

His hands slide down, grabs your hips again, and grinds you down on him harder.

“I know you, angel,” he exhales. “I know that when I touch you like this, you lose your mind.”

Your stomach tightens, jaw clenching with the effort it takes to stay composed, but your body betrays you, thighs twitching around his hips. “Look at you,” he muses, grinning like the smug bastard he is. His hands slip lower,tugging at the waistband of your skirt like he has every right to. “Acting like you’re still in control when you’re probably dripping for me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulder, sharp enough to leave a mark, and your breath stutters, but it’s not because he’s wrong. It’s because he’s right.

Your laugh cuts through the air as you grind down on him. The friction is deliberate, cruel, and so very satisfying when Jungkook chokes on a gasp, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut. His fingers tense at your waist, trying to hold on.

“You think you know me?” you sneer, your fingers drifting up his chest, feather-light but scorching all the same. He feels you grind against him again, another sinfully slow drag of your body against the hard length straining beneath his jeans. “You’re the one falling apart right now.”

Jungkook groans and his palms dig into your hips as if he’s seconds away from losing whatever self-control he has left. “Aw,” you coo, your other hand twisting into his hair and yanking, just enough to make his head fall back, just enough to watch his eyes flutter and his lips part in a gasp. “All that talk, and now you’re sitting here, hard as fuck, just waiting for me to do something about it.”

His cock twitches beneath you, and you feel every inch of it. “Poor boy,” you purr “Thought you were supposed to be ruining me?”

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, his hands twitching like he wants to hold you still, wants to flip the script but you refuse to let him. You keep grinding and dragging him to the edge and smiling as he trembles for you.

“You gotta…” he pants, hips jerking up in a desperate, fruitless attempt for more. “Fuck, baby, you gotta stop—“

It slips out of his mouth mid-grind of your hips. It shouldn’t matter but it knocks the wind out of you like he’s pulled something tight from your chest without warning. Your brain stutters, stalls, like what the fuck was that, like who gave him permission to make it sound like more than it is. It’s not sweet or tender. But still...softened at the edges and intimate in a way you weren’t prepared for. He called you that before but this time it clings to your skin long after he says it, echoing in your head like a bruise you don’t want to look at too closely.

“Stop?” you echo sweetly, grinding harder, dragging your clothed core over the thick bulge in his jeans until he’s gasping, until his fingers go white-knuckled at your waist.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” you whisper, your lips hovering but never touching his. “Not as fun when you’re the one begging, huh?”

“Fuck, please,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, his body trembling like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Please what,” you murmur, dragging your fingers down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. “You gotta be more specific, baby.”

“Please, just… do something,” he begs,“I’m gonna fucking cum in my pants like a middle schooler if you don’t.”

God, the way you grin. Last time he had you gasping, whimpering, begging. Now it’s your turn.

“Aw,” you croon,“Sounds like a you problem.”

Your hand slips lower. When he realizes your palm is pressing down, cupping him through the heavy denim of his jeans… it’s game over.

“F-fuck, oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, full-body jerking into your touch like he didn’t mean to and his hips have developed a mind of their own. His fists clench around the cushions, chest heaving, his lip disappearing between his teeth with such force you’re genuinely concerned he might rip that lip ring straight out.

Your fingers start to move, lazy circles over the aching bulge beneath his jeans. “You’ve really been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you whisper, and the way his throat bobs is almost funny.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook chokes out.”You have no idea.”

“You looked so fucking good today.” His voice breaks on the word good, hips bucking up into your hand,“I couldn’t, I fucking… baby, I swear to god—”

“You swear to god what, Jungkook?” you ask sweetly, tilting your head, “That you’re gonna beg me to let you fuck me?”

“C’mon, please—” he pants, and god, he’s so far gone, his voice is just a thread now, pulled tight and fraying. His hands cup your ass, yanking you down harder, grinding himself into your palm like pride is a thing he gave up fifteen minutes ago. “Please, please, fuck, just let me.”

“Let you what, hm?” you purr. His mouth falls open and nothing comes out but the sound of a man breaking.

“Let me fuck you.” His eyes meet yours, a tinge of desperation behind them.

“Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a chore, like you’re granting a favor to a desperate fan, even as your hand drifts to the zipper of his jeans, fingers working it open painfully slow.

“Since you asked so nicely,” you add, as you finally shift, lifting your hips just enough to tug his jeans down over his thighs. You hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers — the Calvin Kleins, of course.

You push the fabric down and his cock slaps up against his stomach. He’s soaked with precum that smears wetly across the ridges of his tip, dripping down the thick length.

Jungkook gasps and his cock twitches helplessly. The sight of him panting and at your mercy makes your stomach tighten.

“F-fuck,” He’s barely resisting the impulse to grab you, flip you, shove himself inside you and end the torture you’re so expertly delivering.

Yet, he stays right where you’ve left him because he’s that far gone for you. You’ve taken him apart piece by piece and he’s letting you. If letting you stay in control is what it takes to fuck you again, he’ll give you everything.

“You look like you’re in pain, baby,” you say, mock-sympathetic, your register so sweet it might rot teeth.

“I am in pain,” he grits out, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack. “So fucking do something about it.”

He looks like he’s five seconds away from ripping through his own skin just to get to you.

The second you shift and start to lift off him, he lets out a choked sound. You stand up, reach for the buttons of your blouse, still absurdly corporate considering what you’re about to do.

You slide it off and the fabric slips down your arms and pools to the floor in one smooth motion.

His breathing turns shaky as his hand moves. It’s slow at first, wrapping around his cock, dragging his fist down the flushed, dripping length because it physically hurts to wait any longer. His thumb swipes over the tip, gathering precum, slicking the motion.

Your fingers trail down your sides, circling over the waistband of your skirt, watching the way his eyes follow every movement like he’s been starved. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

“So slow,” he spits out, his hand now moving faster over his cock,“You’re actually trying to kill me.”

The zipper slides down. The skirt pools at your ankles. You step out of it with ease, black heels still on, lace still clinging to your body like a perfectly wrapped gift.

“Take it off,” he demands, abs flexing with every ragged breath and precum now smeared across his hand and stomach.

“Ask nicely,” you purr, fingers drifting up your sides to snap the straps of your bra, not even touching the clasp yet, just taunting, because if anyone deserves to be edged to insanity, it’s him.

“Fucking please,” he begs “Please, baby, I’m gonna lose it, please just let me—“

And then, finally you reach behind you, unhook the clasp, and let your bra slip down your arms. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down, one long torturous inch at a time, stepping out of them like you have all the time in the world.

And now you’re standing there wearing nothing but your heels.

“Oh my god,” he pants, his cock twitching violently in his grip, “Oh my fucking god.”

He stares up at you, and he’s not sure whether to worship you or find a way to survive you.

“Get the fuck back on me,” he growls, hand pumping faster and sloppier, like he’s seconds away from finishing. “Before I lose it.”

The second you climb back into his lap, it’s like you’ve triggered something primal. Jungkook’s hands fly to your waist, gripping tight. Like he’s genuinely on the brink of blacking out if you don’t let him inside you right now. Honestly, he might be.

His cock twitches against your entrance, dragging through your soaked folds as you hover above him, teasing both of you. The anticipation is borderline unbearable — it’s not even sexy anymore, kind of like pleasure and pain are having a screaming match in your bloodstream.

You take his cock in your hands, sink down and the stretch hits you like a slap, your mouth falling open on a sound you don’t even recognize. Your nails rake down his arms as your thighs clamp around his waist, the fullness hitting too deep.

“Oh my… fuck!” you gasp, chest heaving, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“F-fuck, you’re so tight. So f-fucking perfect,” he moans, and it’s not even cocky anymore.

His hands slip lower, grab handfuls of your ass, trying to coax you into moving. The stretch is insane. Every nerve in your body is screaming and your brain is trying to make sense of how full you are, how your walls are fluttering around him like you’ve already started to fall apart.

“Sh-shit Jungkook,” you whimper, biting your lip.

The second you move, it’s a full-body reaction: your back arches, another desperate sound spills from your mouth.

Jungkook chokes on some animalistic noise. “Goddamn… so good,” he mutters, and it’s barely a sentence, seemingly escaping his mouth before he could process the words.

You start to move, riding him hard. It’s just you, bouncing on his cock like you’ve got something to prove. The pace is rough, your body slamming down on him again and again, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the trailer, your tits bouncing with every movement.

You don’t care if the entire team is standing outside the door right now. You’re not stopping.

You’re riding him like you’re trying to make him forget his own name. His jeans are a disaster, absolutely unsalvageable. Your slick is everywhere, dripping down his thighs, smeared across both your bodies, pooling beneath the waistband like a crime scene.

“You’re— fuck!” he gasps, his hips snapping up to meet you, “You’re so hot.”

You’d laugh at how basic that is, how scrambled his brain must be to resort to that, but you’re too busy falling apart.

The pleasure’s coming in these brutal, unrelenting waves. Every time he unknowingly thrusts up into you, it’s too much and not enough at once.

Your eyes meet his and something in your chest snaps, burns to ash on the spot. The look on his face is full of hunger and awe.

His cock twitches violently inside you, thick and buried so deep you can barely take it. “Oh my god.”

His eyes are glued to yours like you’re hypnotizing him, like he’s afraid to blink and miss the moment you break. “You’re — fuck! — you’re so fucking hot like this,” he gets out, his head falling forward. His body is shaking underneath you, sweat sticking to his skin.

Your whole body jolts, muscles clenching, heat coiling in your stomach so fast it steals the air from your lungs. You’re shaking now, the pressure building with terrifying speed.

“That’s it, baby,” he whines. His hips slam up into you harder now, fucking into you with everything he has left. “Fucking cum for me.”

Your orgasm hits like a car crash. Your body seizes violently, your thighs shaking so hard it feels like you might actually collapse. Your walls clench around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper even though he’s already as deep as it gets.

He nearly sobs, his hands tightening so hard on your waist you’re pretty sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. “Fuck, baby,” His thighs lock, his abs contract, his breath punches out of him in ragged bursts.

You don’t give him a second to recover, and you barely let yourself breathe, because no, this isn’t over. Not even close. You’re not done until he’s broken and he’s begging.

“That’s cute,” you tease, leaning in, nails digging into his arms. “If you think I’m done with you.”

You can’t be, not when there’s still more to take, not when he hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, steadying yourself, lifting just slightly. You plant your heels in the couch cushions, spread your legs wider, adjust your angle. You drop, sinking down again.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” His eyes flick down and you feel the way his whole body seizes as he watches his cock disappear into you again, and again, and again. The new angle has him hitting deeper.

“Holy fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

You glance down for a second and… fuck. Your bodies are conjoined by a mix of your juices and some of his precum. You nearly moan again just from the visual.

“I’m not done with you, baby,” you breathe out, still high from the rush of your orgasm but already building again. You say it just to see the way his eyes snap to yours.

“Then fucking prove it.” He challenges.

You feel like a pornstar. Not in a glamorous, cinematic, airbrushed kind of way. The kind that lives in browser history and shame.

Your designer heels dig into the couch cushions, the extra height forcing your thighs wider, forcing your body into a position so filthy it should’ve been choreographed. You’re fully exposed and open, bouncing on Jungkook’s cock like you’ve never ridden anyone before.

“Holy. fucking. shit.” he gasps, each word punched out of him by another bounce of your hips, his hands gripping tighter like he doesn’t know what part of this is real and what part is a hallucination sent from hell.

His eyes trace the way your slick coats his cock, watching himself disappear into you. “Fucking yourself on my cock like you were made for it.”

“You love this, don’t you?” You manage to get out as your nails drag down his sweat-slicked chest, scoring red across tight muscle. You’re so far gone you can barely remember your own name, let alone why this is a bad idea.

Your walls flutter around him, dangerously close, your body already spiraling again.

“You love making a mess on me,” he grits out. You let out a whimper, fingers digging harder into his chest because you can’t stop now. You don’t want to stop.

The trailer is literally shaking. The walls rattle. The couch groans like it’s begging for mercy. Something in the ceiling creaks ominously.

Jungkook’s cock is slamming into you at a pace that shouldn’t even be possible, stretching you open so perfectly it hurts in the best way. Every bounce makes your breath stutter. Every desperate snap of his hips leaves you shaking uncontrollably, dripping around him, coming undone all over again.

You’re also being embarrassingly loud. Anyone passing by the trailer probably thinks someone is being murdered inside.

Jungkook sounds just as destroyed. His moan is guttural, ripped straight from his chest. “You love riding this cock, huh? Love how deep I get inside you?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, bouncing harder now. “Bet you don’t even care if people can hear us. Bet you’d love for them to know how fucking desperate you are for this pussy.”

His eyes fly open and he wraps an arm around your hips and slams you down on him, over and over, forcing you to take every brutal, devastating inch.

“Oh my god,” he groans, voice “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

His hands are shaking where they hold you, every muscle straining, every ounce of control hanging by a single, snapping thread.

The second he cums, his whole body goes rigid. He slams you down one final time, so deep you cry out, his cock buried to the hilt.

You don’t dare let him get lost in it. You lean in close, grab his jaw with one hand and force his eyes back on yours. “Look at me while you fucking cum.”

He listens, mostly because he’s so fucking gone for you. So wrapped around your finger that even now he gives you everything.

His eyes flutter open, but they stay on yours. Jungkook’s body trembles violently beneath you as you grind down slowly, milking every last drop from him.

“You talk so much shit, baby,” you murmur, “Thinking you’re the one who gets to ruin me.”

His cock is still buried inside you, still spurting the last desperate pulses of his orgasm so deep it feels like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

“But look at you now,” you purr, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “Cumming so hard for me,.”

“Fuck,” His lips are kiss-bruised and swollen, red from all the biting. His lip ring is cool against your thumb as you drag it across his mouth slowly, admiring your handiwork.

“Mhm.” You smirk, cocking your head, “Will there be no thank you?”

He just stares back at you, heavy-lidded. There’s something behind his gaze that you can’t quite read, something murky and not nearly as simple as it should be.

For the first time in a long time, it unsettles you.

You inhale sharply, trying to force air into your lungs like it’ll reset your brain. Like it’ll snap you out of whatever the hell this is, this thing tightening in your chest that has no business being here.

You shift off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, wet drag that makes both of you twitch. You roll over onto the couch beside him, eyes locked on the ceiling, your heartbeat trying and failing to find a steady rhythm.

You should leave. You should slide your clothes back on, straighten your spine, toss out some cold remark and storm out the way you did last time. Armor re-secured.

You should also say something biting that re-establishes the pecking order.

You just lie there for a few more seconds.

Finally, you sit up. You reach for your shirt, sliding it back over your shoulders, buttoning it with calm, practiced precision. You run a hand through your hair. You don’t even get all the buttons done before the regret slams into you, sharp and immediate, like a slap to the face you should’ve seen coming. It’s not guilt exactly. It’s worse. It’s that sick, sinking feeling when you make a mistake.

What are you doing?

He’s Jungkook. He’s smug and annoying and way too pretty when he’s cumming, and yet somehow, you keep crawling back like he’s the only drug that hits. All you can think is: you’re smarter than this. But god, the sex is so good it makes you stupid. Apparently, that’s your fatal flaw.

You glance over, and Jungkook is still watching you.

Something should be said here. You should say something. He should say something.

You force steel into your spine and venom into your voice. “Try not to get too attached, Jungkook.”

He huffs out a laugh. Somehow, it’s off, not with the same bite it usually has. “Please. I was over it before you even buttoned your shirt.”

Next, you would scoff, roll your eyes and toss another barb over your shoulder before strutting out like nothing happened.

You don’t quite believe him. You also don’t know if he believes it either.

You force yourself to move. Coerce your legs to walk, your heels to click, your fingers to reach for the doorknob. You walk out like nothing’s changed, like this is still just a game you’re winning.

But the thing is: it doesn’t really feel like a victory. It feels like a warning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

*link to pic in question here on twt also in the pic imagine jungkook sitting on a couch instead of laying down

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs @magicalnachocreator @wisebouquetbarbarian

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts #bts x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jeon jeongguk #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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twice-inamillion · 2 months ago

Text

Twice Series

Life-Changing News

Chapter 246

1,930 Words

(The world as you know it takes a turn for the worse. A sudden outbreak, many get sick and many more die. It’s moments like these where you need to stay together.)

You turn your phone back on after an eleven-hour flight back to Korea. Numerous emails and text notifications bombard your phone. “Must be serious.” So, on the car ride back home, you try to go through them, realizing the urgency.

One of those emails is from your broker, urging you to observe the international and domestic stock markets. In those emails, you received notifications of a possible lockdown in Wuhan due to a containment issue.

The more you read, the more you realize the potential problem it might have as people travel abroad due to the Chinese New Year. You go on multiple social platforms, searching for any information on the seriousness of the situation.

You turn and look at Nayeon, sleeping in the car after a long flight. Your phone goes off, and you see a message from your wife, who sent you a message welcoming you back and a picture of your children having breakfast. “The babies missed you.”

You arrive at the company building, where you turn in your report before heading back home. Nayeon continues to sleep on the way back, and you decide to listen to a report on the status of a potential epidemic within the Chinese region and the possibility of quarantining the city.

The report continues to relay that government vehicles have begun to arrive at the city, and transportation entering and exiting has been suspended. This has caused people to try to exit the city as they predict the shutdown of the city.

You arrive at the front gate when the two large metal doors open. You drive through the motor court and see Jisoo and Ari’s heads against the large window, waving as they see you.

You see the large door open, and the two come running out shouting, “Appa! Daddy!” You crouch down and pick them both up, one in each arm. “Jisoo, Ari, I missed both of you. Did you take care of everyone while Daddy was out?” They both nod and say, “Mommies and babies safe.”

All of you walk back to the house's entrance, where you see from afar the rest of the members in the living room. You place Jisoo and Ari on the ground, “I’m back.”

Hina scoots down from the couch and walks towards you, asking for your hand, “Daddy, Hina show Da-Da, walk.” Hina leads you to where Daeun is playing and squats, “Da-Da, come, come…” waving her hand.

Daeun smiles at Hina and puts her hands on the ground. She lifts her bottom, lifting herself into an upright position, and slowly wobbles. Slowly, she takes a step and another. Hina looks at Daeun, saying, “Come, Da-Da.” Daeun smiles and waddles faster to Hina, hugging her.

‘Oh my god, Daeun. You can walk.” You pick her up and give her a big kiss. Dahyun, sitting on the couch, says, “She has been standing a lot recently. These past few days, Hina has been encouraging her a lot. Out of nowhere, she just started walking.”

Daeun smiles, and you look back at Hina, “Is that true? Have you been helping your baby sister?”

Hina shyly nods, “Hina help Da-Da.”

You squat and pick her help in your other arm and kiss her on the forehead, “You’re such a nice sister.”

You continue spending time with the family and enjoying seeing Daeun walk. It’s always nice catching up, even if you’ve only been out for a few days.

The day continues, and every so often, you look at your phone for any updates. The situation in Wuhan is worsening as reports of a city-wide lockdown are imminent. You go to your office and watch a video of a Korean-Australian visiting the city for the holidays. After hearing about the potential lockdown, he decided to leave the city, and all public transportation has been halted. Flights have been canceled, and bus stations and trains have been blocked by military personnel.

People have begun to panic as the military started taking charge of the city. News networks estimate that about eleven million people are stuck with no way out.

Seeing this makes you realize the possibility of it reaching Korea as many visit China during the Chinese New Year. “It’s not a matter of if, but when it comes to Korea.”

You have a restless night; you’re worried about the situation and continue to wake up in the middle of the night. Multiple notifications go off from your phone. You see a report of SARS_CoV2 being detected in the United States and the first South Korean national being infected after working in Wuhan.

The day goes by without interruption; there’s not much news about the first infected person. Most people assume that everything is under control with the Chinese government locking down Wuhan.

You talk to a few friends from abroad and discuss the situation. One mentions that the virus was manufactured and meant to be used as a weapon. Another mentions that the government will try to downplay the situation and say everything is under control, but that’s only to prevent panic.

Each has their own theories on how the virus came to be and how it began to spread. You hope it’s something small and can easily be contained, but understand that it might become serious at any point.

Out of nowhere, someone mentions, “Hey, it might not be a bad idea to start stocking up on things; you never know.”

The rest of you laugh and make slight jokes about him being a survivalist or doomsday prepper. You, on the other hand, don’t think it’s a bad idea. “Hey guys, he might be right. People are going to start panicking if it does reach us. Not sure about you guys, but I’m the closest one to China, so I might buy some necessities, it won’t hurt.”

Your American friend says, ”Okay, okay, he has a point.” You all continue to talk for a bit more. One by one, your friends exit the chat, leaving only your American friend. “Hey, before you hang up, let me tell you something.”

”What is it?”

”Remember what our business professor said about following the money?”

”Yeah, I remember.”

”I don’t think this virus thing will be too bad, but if it does, just look at the stock market. You’ll know when shit hits the bricks if the markets start acting up. I suggest you look at the pharmaceutical companies.”

”Haha. That’s exactly what my broker said.”

”Hey, the money never lies.”

———

Weeks pass by, and not much occurs in terms of the virus. Most people continue to live their lives. There are a few cases here and there, but nothing major. The lockdown in Wuhan continues as the government tries to keep the virus from spreading.

People have begun to relax after no significant outbreaks and Korean citizens who came from China are closely monitored. Everything seemed well, and life continued normally. You and Dahyun celebrated Da-eun’s first birthday with a big party, as well as Jihyo’s 23rd birthday.

The members even had their concerts in Japan as scheduled, which was surprising. At one point, you laughed at yourself, thinking of when you purchased enough food and supplies to fill an entire room and prepare for the end of the world.

——

That all changed on February 23rd, 2020, when the virus mutated. Italy became the first country to be affected, and martial law was immediately implemented. Thousands of people were caught ill and many of them were hospitalized, never to be seen again. Italy was a popular destination spot for the elderly to retire and spend their golden years peacefully. Instead, the whole country closed, separating itself from its neighbors.

A few days earlier, the virus was given the official name COVID-19, also known as SARS-CoV-2, by the World Health Organization. After studying its strain, they thought the virus would be manageable and even developed a way to fight it. Instead, the virus mutated, adapting to the medicines given.

The name COVID-19 began spreading through multiple news outlets, reporting on third-world countries and the sudden mutation of the virus. Many of those countries had a sizeable elderly population or an unreliable health care system.

Back home, the streets of Daegu were empty as a result of a large gathering of churchgoers. Seventy new cases and the first death in Korea. Many people became scared, assuming that the virus would not spread due to the low numbers during these past few weeks.

In the following days, the number of cases skyrocketed, with 1,261 positive cases out of the 9,336 people tested from the mass gathering: many more dead, mainly those with low immune systems and old age.

Many entertainment agencies began to announce cancellations for their idols. JYP postponed any activities until further notice and ensured that the safety of their idols was their priority.

The members gather in the living room, watching the news as they see the chaos in Italy and Korea. The new anchors recommend, “Due to the sudden spike of infections, we suggest that the elderly, people who are immunocompromised, and those who are pregnant remain indoors for your safety. Only essential personnel…” You grab the remote and turn off the television.

”Girls, I have some news. JYP postponed all activities and suggested that we stay here until further notice. We have enough food and supplies, so we should be okay.”

”What about our parents?” You turn around and see the worried faces of the members.

”Let’s try to relax and get in touch with them. Tell them that we’re all okay and to remain indoors.”

The members agree and call their parents. Most of them respond by reassuring them that they’ll stay indoors.

“Oppa, I can’t get a hold of my parents.” You see Tzuyu’s worried expression.

You hug Tzuyu and reassure her that everything is going to be okay. “They are going to be fine. I’m sure they are together and healthy. Let’s call them again in a few hours.”

”Oppa, I’m scared.”

Sana begins to cry. You hug her as well, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that you all are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

”But what if it gets worse? What if many more people start to die? I still haven’t told my parents that they are going to be grandparents yet.”

“What… What did you say?”

Sana looks down and places her hand on her stomach, “I just found out a few days ago I’m pregnant.”

“What, when, how?”

”I wanted to tell you, but with this situation going on, I couldn’t find the right time.”

You hug Sana, “Oh my god, are you sure?”

Sana nods, “Yeah, I took my tests, and they all came positive.”

”That’s amazing; oh my god, I’m going be a dad again, haha.” You pick Sana up from her feet and spin her around. Sana giggles, happy from your reaction.

You squat down, look at the kids, and say, “You’re all going to be big sisters. One more to the family.”

“Umm… Oppa… make that two more.”

You look up and see Momo holding her stomach. “It’s not just Sana; I’m pregnant too.”

“Wait… what?” You lose your balance as you try to get up. You see shining lights as you feel slightly lightheaded. “Two? Two more?”

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devilstruly · 10 months ago

Text

FRI(END)S -

- 'let's put the end in friends'

pairing (drumroll please) - jason todd x f.reader

includes - mutual pining, best friend dick grayson, batfam being nosy as shit, reader is kind of camera shy/insecure, jealous jason but in a cute way, angry confession (personal fav), mild angst but with a happy ending obvi, swearing, briefly mentioned smut (like one sentence at the end) + anything i might've missed

a/n - hi hello...idk what to say honestly. this was a very random idea i got at like 3am and i can just hope that you guys will like it. also my characteristics of the fam are solely based on the webtoon. yes the title is inspired by taehyung's single what about it

@dreamingaboutsakuratrees this one's for you (and everyone else who voted on that poll) <3

'Yes! Yes, that's perfect! Gosh, the camera absolutely loves you two!'

'Thanks, Delilah ~'

Dick sends the photographer a wink, paired with that signature grin of his, and she nearly falls on her ass. You roll your eyes at the scene affectionately, focused on fixing your hair and checking your makeup for the nth time in the past hour.

'Will you quit it?'

Beside you, your best friend whines and you swat him away with your hand, eyes never leaving the mirror.

'I'm sorry! I just wanna make sure it looks good!'

'You look beautiful. You're doing great, you just need to relax. Focus on me, yeah?'

It's honestly impossible to say no to those eyes, you've learned that a long while ago. The fact that he knows the effect he has doesn't help either.

The photoshoot goes by in a blur. You've changed at least five outfits, done the couple shoots, done the single ones, had a lunch break, etc etc. Throughout the day you learn that the crew that works for Gotham Gazette is actually quite nice, which helped ease your nerves immensely.

Now six hours later, you're sitting in your comfortable clothes, in the passenger seat of Dick's car, on the familiar road towards the Wayne Mansion.

As soon as you step through the door you're greeted with a flash of purple.

'How was it?! Tell me everything! When will the cover be out?! What did you wear?! Who did you see?!'

Stephanie looks as if she's about to burst and simultaneously split her face in half with her grin.

'It went...well, it went.'

Beside you Dick rolls his eyes so hard you could almost hear the gesture.

'Don't listen to her, it was great. She was great.'

'Stoppppp!'

You immediately hide your face in your hands, much to the man's amusement. One of Dick's arms wraps around your shoulders and the three of you head for the library.

'Well, well, well, if it isn't Gotham's power couple ~'

'Gross. Everybody knows they are mere friends.'

'We know. But the rest of Gotham is skeptical.'

'You are hallucinating, Drake. This is why you should stop drinking multitudinous of coffee.'

'Listen here you little shit-'

'O-kay!'

Dick, as always, steps in between the two brothers, effectively averting what could result in another prank war between the two. And it's not even prank season yet.

'Damian, you and I need to discuss that plan for tonight, right?'

'What are you talking ab-'

'The sooner we start the better!'

With that the two dissappear from the room, a very confused Damian letting himself be led by a beaming Dick.

Allowing yourself to feel the tiredness from everything you've done today, you plop on the now empty seat on the couch and sigh deeply.

'Cookie?'

'Thanks, Cass.'

You smile gratefully at the girl, sinking into the cushions more and more while chewing on the chocolate chip cookie.

'Sooo...'

Duke begins, the suspicious tone causing you to raise a brow before he continues.

'...When do we get to see the pictures?'

With this, every pair of eyes in the room turns to you, and you have to avoid the urge to groan.

'The actual magazine comes out in a week. But they'll email us the pictures the day after tomorrow I think.'

'I can't wait to see them! I bet you and Dick had so much chemistry in the photos!'

'Honestly, next to him I don't think anyone will notice me.'

'Of course they will! Especially if you did a couple shoot and got all close and-'

A loud slam interrupts Steph and her rambling and all of you turn to look at a very annoyed Jason. Which, to be fair, is just normal Jason.

He's silent when he stands up and walks across the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. If you had to guess, you'd say he was avoiding eye-contact too.

'Awkward...'

'Not helping Duke.'

- a few days later -

Everyone is sitting in the living room, crowded around Tim's computer, with you and Dick in the middle.

'Jason!'

Dick chirps as soon as he sees his brother enter the room.

'Come look at the photos!'

'No thanks.'

That was the second time that week that Jason refused to look you in the eyes and downright ignored your existence. But you knew better than to press Jason Todd.

Besides, maybe it wasn't even personal.

This was definitely personal.

You haven't talked to Jason in days, and it was driving you insane. The worst part is that you have no idea what the fuck you did.

So naturally, as one does, you'll ask him about it. Deciding that it's best to do it after patrol, particularly after the two of you took down some thugs together and were left alone, you refuse to go back home until you two work this out.

'See you tomorrow.'

'Jason.'

Red Hood stops dead in his tracks, and despite his back being turned to you, you can see the tension in his shoulders.

'This needs to stop.'

'I have no idea what-'

'Cut the bullshit, Jay. Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?'

He inhales deeply, mustering up the courage to turn around and face you. Your arms are crossed in front of your chest, accompanied with a very annoyed glare.

'I'm waiting.'

'It's nothing that concerns you.'

His answer makes you at least five times more furious and you scoff.

'Oh yeah? Well I beg to differ. I think I deserve to know why my friend has spent an entire week actively avoiding me.'

Due to his helmet you can't see it, but Jason rolls his eyes in annoyance.

'Why do you care, anyway? I'd say Richard has been keeping you busy.'

This makes you splutter, completely catching you of guard. His words are on repeat in your mind as you try to piece two and two together.

'What the fuck does Dick have to do with any of this?!'

'You tell me!'

Both of your voices echo off the empty walls in the alleyway before a thick silence takes over. Jason takes off his helmet and places it on a nearby fire escape so he can run a hand through his hair.

You watch him, still mildly annoyed, but the sight of his face welcoming nonetheless. And then he looks up and you feel an arrow shoot right through your heart.

His green eyes are soft, dare you say pleading, when they meet your own.

'I-' He takes a deep breath. 'It's the damn photoshoot.'

Before you can ask him to elaborate he's already going off, arms flying every which way with gestures he uses to emphasize his points.

'All I've been hearing for days has been about you and Dick looking all couple-y and what not. I mean you looked gorgeous, honestly why would anyone pay attention to him when you're right there, but god was it getting annoying.'

You have to blink a few times before your brain catches up with his words. Much to his dismay, you don't soften, if anything you look even more pissed now.

'I still don't understand why you've been avoiding me.'

'Because I fucking like you!'

The volume of his words startles you and you swear he was heard a couple blocks away.

'You what now-'

Jason takes a step closer to you.

'I-'

Another step.

'-like-'

Another step.

'-you.'

He's gotten so close to the point of cornering you against a wall, the intensity behind his eyes rendering you unable to look away. You allow yourself a few silent moments to simply appreciate his beauty this close before putting him out of his misery. By your standards at least.

'So this whole time you've just been jealous?'

It takes all of your willpower not to laugh when he deadpans.

'I never took you for a jealous guy to be hones-'

'Shut the fuck up already and kiss me.'

'Yessir ~'

He groans at the term and you make a mental note to use it again later when you're at his apartment.

Who needs to sleep anyway?

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

You're Not A Burden

Zayne x gn!therapist friend!Reader

Based on my own experience as the therapist friend and my struggles with being genuine about my emotions with people close to me ✌️

Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, childhood friends, crying, nightmares

Word Count: 1,517

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Zayne has seen this same pattern ever since you were little; the weight of being the person everyone dumps their problems onto, rants to, leans on no matter how small you may be. It's happened for so long now, he can't remember a time you weren't the one stepping up to bear the brunt of someone else's troubles.

He remembers so vividly one day during recess. Your friend was crying because one of the teachers was being mean and unfair. You held them close, let them cry into your shoulder and blubber about their troubles. And then you went into class with that same teacher, experienced that same cruelty, and held your tongue. It was never about being stronger than anyone else, or that admitting anything was wrong was a weakness; only that admitting anything was wrong would place your troubles onto somebody else.

One time, when his parents were away, he slept over at your house in a pillow fort in the living room. He woke up before you, and you had dry tears on your cheeks.

You take the burdens as easy as you take in a breath of air. Even now, in the middle of your quiet night in, your friend called to rant about their job, their relationships - anything they needed to get off their shoulders. You smiled apologetically at Zayne, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the bedroom to finish the call without disturbing him further.

He understands, better than most, how difficult it is to watch someone suffer, physically or emotionally. How many times had he gone out of his way to ease the burden of his patients outside of medical care? Trying to get a plushie from the arcade for a girl who was too sick to get it herself. Playing chess with a lonely old man, even when it cut into his lunch breaks. But even he has limits to the burdens he carries.

He listens attentively for your voice through the closed door from his seat on the couch. Quiet hums to show you're listening. Muffled words of advice and support. The call goes on for some time, an hour or more, but not once does he hear you talk about your own struggles. Yet, he knows work has been more demanding lately, you haven't been sleeping or eating well, and you were really looking forward to an uninterrupted night in with him - information gathered through observation, more than not.

Not a single word of complaint.

He can't focus on his book, so he sets it aside in exchange for his laptop. The soft clack of keys fills the silence. It nearly drowns out your voice entirely; the typing pauses every now and then to listen when you speak. His work isn't as efficient, so focused on listening for you, but he manages to get through a few emails and a report or two.

When the door opens, he perks up like a dog whose owner just came home. His fingers are still on the keyboard as he watches you come out from the hallway, smiling apologetically once more as you tuck your phone away with a final glance.

"Sorry about that," you murmur as you sit back in your spot on the couch. He closes his laptop and sets it aside. "Lisa's been having a lot of guy troubles lately and just got back from a bad date."

He hums his acknowledgement and turns his body to face you. Cool hands grab yours, holding them in his lap as his thumbs massage into your palms and work out the tension in your fingers. "You didn't say much."

You laugh lightly, as though it's completely normal. As though it should be completely normal. "I didn't want to bother her with my own problems - she has enough of her own to deal with."

"What problems would those be?" he questions. You tense up, like you want to pull away. You don't, but you stare at the ministrations of his hands with a shake of your head.

"It's nothing."

"But if they're problems," he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze, "shouldn't I know about them?"

You glance at him with a grin that doesn't quite meet your eyes, and a slight downturn in your brow. "You're not on duty right now, Dr. Zayne."

He lifts one of your hands to kiss your palm. Your fingers brush his cheek. He leans into them without thought. "I didn't think I had to be to listen to my partner's issues," he shoots back, shooting down your deflection. His voice grows softer. "It's unhealthy to keep negative emotions bottled up. I am always here to listen should you need to let them out."

Something stirs in your eyes. Discomfort, at being called out and exposed. Worry, and fear. You look away again. "I don't want to bother you with that stuff."

"Who said you would be bothering me? I want to hear about the issues you have, however minor they may be." He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek. He directs your face back to him, leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, stealing your ability to look away. Your eyes remain lowered, staring at his nose. "You always carry the burdens of others. Allow me to carry your burdens, before you collapse under the weight."

You're silent. He shifts his fingers slightly, resting his middle and ring finger over your pulse point just under your jaw. Your heart is beating wildly. It stutters, jumps, skips. You inhale softly.

"You..." You shake your head slightly, nose brushing his. Your free hand fiddles with your pant leg. "You don't tell me about the issues you have, either."

He smiles slightly, wryly, as though you've just started trying to deal with a shrewd businessman who can't resist haggling.

"I had a nightmare last night," he admits softly. That draws your eyes up to his, finally. "When I woke up, it felt like I was still in the dream."

"What was it about?"

He gives you a pointed look. You frown. Your hand clenches around your pant leg, like admitting anything about yourself is agonizingly painful.

"I... I haven't been eating lunch during my breaks."

It's barely admitting anything, but he hums his approval nonetheless. "I was in the hospital, but the corridors were dark. I heard your voice echoing down the halls..." Your heart skips a beat in time with your concerned look. "Why aren't you eating lunch?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, hiding from the inevitable disapproval on his face. "I haven't been sleeping well, so I've been sleeping in my car during my breaks... I... passed out once, at my desk, because I was so tired... I don't want to concern my coworkers like that again." You wait a few seconds before cracking your eyes open. Sure enough, it's his turn to frown with worry. He knew you were tired lately, but he hadn't heard anything about you passing out at work. He can only be grateful you weren't out on the field at that time. "What happens next?"

"... I can't find you." His frown deepens, eyes flickering down your face, taking you in. "No matter where I look, you're not there. And when I wake up, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up and realize you're right there beside me."

Neither of you speak. Your pulse is calm now. The dark bags under your eyes concerns him more than ever now. The daze in his eyes when you woke up this morning to find him looking over your face flickers back into memory.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "We'll take our lunch breaks together," he tells you, leaving no room for argument. "The next time you feel faint at work, or too tired to keep going, please tell me."

You nod slowly, silently sealing a promise with him. "The next time you have a nightmare like that, you have to tell me, too."

He nods in return. "I will."

You blink, pausing, waiting for something that doesn't ever come. Waiting for him to decide your burdens are too heavy to bear, or become disillusioned with you now that you're no longer this infallible beacon of strength and dependency. But it never comes. Instead, Zayne strokes your cheek with all the tender patience in the world, rubs his nose purposefully against yours in semblance of a kiss, sits quietly with you with no expectations.

Large drops of water begin to form in your waterline. You swallow, fighting the starting tremors in your lungs. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, helping you sit in his lap where you hug him around his neck and hide your face in his shoulder.

He kisses the side of your head as your body cries with a practiced silence, rubbing his hand in soothing motions against your back. "You're not a burden for having problems, or for sharing them with others," he whispers. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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erinwantstowrite · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! I left this as a comment on the ao3 story in question (Leap of Faith by you and alighterwood) but I figured I'd send it on tumblr too just in case you don't check your comments over there.

I recently found out someone reuploaded one of my fics without permission or credit from ao3 to fanfiction.net and noticed their whole profile is full of other reuploads I can only assume they didn't ask for permission to reupload either and unfortunately Leap of Faith is one of those :/

I had to Google search chunks of the writing to track down where the fic originally came from bc this user intentionally changes titles (in this case, removing the spaces as well as the A from leap, leaving it as lepoffaith) and does not include the original author's name on their reupload. Here's the link to the reupload: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14352736/1/lepoffaith

I've left reviews on the reupload of my own fic a few times asking them to take it down to no avail, but I figure maybe if more authors also ask them then they'll have to do it.

Mentioned this in the ao3 comment I left too, but if you don't feel comfortable clicking a link from some rando in ur ask box just shoot me a DM and I'll send you screenshots of the reupload!

alright so that's just GREATTTT isn't it?? thank you for letting us know! truly the amount of fics they have reuploaded is insane. i went ahead and sent an email to fanfic.net's support letting them know the situation. hopefully they do something about it soon. the idea that they do this for text to speech is honestly ridiculous (as said in their bio).

so... to anyone who is looking for a text to speech app to listen to LoF: there is a free app called "Evie" that I know of for samsung phones. you can find it on google play. there are also other apps that let you do this (make sure not to use AI!!). i'm sure you can find one. uploading fics onto another website is not the way to go and is super disrespectful

just a reminder to everyone: i ONLY post LoF on ao3. if you see it on another website, it is not me. DO NOT go harass anyone. just help get it taken down if you spot it by contacting the website and letting me know. this goes for other fics as well! fic authors are doing this for free, and stealing content is never okay.

this also goes for if you're reading ao3 on an app... there is no app for ao3. you should not be getting ads on ao3. it is a website. free yourself.

#i've had my art stolen a couple times but the entire fic?#ao3 #ao3 authors #ao3 users beware #i also blocked this person on ao3 but that only stops them from commenting #they can still see LoF #ao3 users #ao3 fanfic

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kinda-super-hot · 7 months ago

Text

I Want More. (3)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, more coming soon

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Part 3 Summary: Y/n joins Mike and Harvey when they go to see a client. The client flirts with Y/n, and she makes the best of it, hopefully landing some clients. Harvey is not happy.

Warnings: Reflecting on past relationship, some yelling

Word Count: 2570

A/N: Thank ya'll so much for the support! The more you comment and like, the faster I write. Love ya'll enjoy!

I’m typing away an email when my intercom goes off. “(Y/n), Harvey needs you in his office.” Donna’s voice rings out and I feel nauseous.

“Ok, thanks, Donna.” Wait. “Donna?”

“What’s up?” She asks in a sing-song voice, and I can hear her fingers click-clacking against her keyboard.

“How long has the intercom been on?” The click-clacking stops. I let out an incredulous laugh, “Have you been listening this whole time?” The intercom beeps and I know it’s been shut off, probably for the first time since I’ve been here.

I smile and stand from my desk, throwing on the black blazer that was previously sitting on the back of my chair. There’s a pastel pink handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket that matches my blouse.. that also matches Harvey’s tie. What a weird coincidence.

I walk the short distance from my office to Donna’s desk. “Good morning!” She hums all too happily at me. I give her a raised brow and cross my arms. “It’s nothing personal, I hear all around here. That’s why I’m so good at what I do. I’m Donna.” She flicks her hands in the air with flair.

“Of course.” I smile at her mischievously. “If you hear all around here, Donna, what have people been saying about me?” I’ve been wondering, but had no way of finding out, until now.

“Well, obviously I’ve heard the she’s smoking comment more times than I can count.” She laughs. “Louis thinks your one joke away from going to dinner with him.”

“Shoot, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.” I scold myself and bite my lip.

“What, you don’t date anyone in the office?” She questions, but it’s off. Her tone, something about it… I lift my eyes to meet hers and she has a devious smile.

“You know.” I exhale and lean on the desk. “God, does everyone know?!” I whisper yell at her. I do a quick scan of my surroundings, and I don’t see anyone looking. I hesitantly take a quick peek into Harvey’s office.

I pause my frantic behavior when I see him. He’s sitting at his desk on the phone and Mike is on the couch. I can tell he’s charming whoever is on the other side of the phone, because even though they can’t see him, he has his prince-like smile on him. My heart swells for him.

“That’s how I know,” Donna whispers in my ear. I jump, I didn’t even see her get up. She gives me a pointed look. “Yesterday, I saw you look at him when you two were first ‘meeting’” she gives air quotes, “and I could see the way you look at him. You couldn’t keep your eyes off-”

“His puppy dog eyes.” I cut her off, but my eyes are still strained on him. I have to tear my eyes away from him to bashfully look at Donna.

She nods with a smile, “The rest I’ve put together from bits and pieces of everyone’s conversations.” She shrugs cockily. “You know,” She stops herself; I can tell she’s debating whether or not to say what she’s about to say, “This isn’t my first time hearing about you.”

My heart flips. I want to question her further, and I’m about to until I smell expensive cologne and a familiar musk. I turn my head to see Harvey just leaving his office with Mike in tow. He sees me and smiles, trying to charm me. Oh god, he’s trying to play me!

Back in the day, I knew Harvey better than I knew myself. So now I know he’s trying to get back in my good graces, what I don’t know is his end goal.

“G’morning, Donna,” He greets Donna and then his eyes slowly trail to mine. “(Y/n).” He has a close-lipped smirk on his face, one he knew made my knees weak in law school. This may be harder than I thought.

I give him a polite nod but don’t give him any more attention. He may still give me butterflies, but I’m still pissed. I turn my attention to the younger man beside him. “Mike.” I greet him with a smile but there’s some tension exuding from me. I haven’t forgotten what he said to me the other day. “Y’know, our conversation the other day inspired me,” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. “I think my next vacation might be in Paris…France.” I say bluntly and drop the smile I was faking as I side-eyed Harvey.

His eyes dart from my face to Mike accusingly. “Yeah, ha-ha,” Mike laughs nervously. “It’s a beautiful place. The architecture, the landscape-“

“The people?” I question in a demeaning way with a smile on my face. I see Harvey tense and he licks his lips. He’s uncomfortable. Good. Harvey’s hand goes to Mike’s back, and I can tell he’s probably giving him a hidden pinch. Ooh, I know that hurts.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. “Well.” Donna clears her throat, “You all should probably get going. Marshall is expecting you.” She urges.

“Ok, thank you, Donna.” I answer chipperly and turn in the direction of the elevators. In the reflection of one of the associate's monitors, I see Donna mouthing something demanding at Harvey. He mouths back something along the lines of ‘I know, I know!’.

I walk briskly to the elevators and press the button; I don’t even check if the boys are behind me. “So, where are we headed?” I ask, but I keep my head straight, facing the closed elevator doors.

They say nothing until I hear what I’m assuming is Mike giving Harvey a little arm shove. “Downtown-” Harvey starts, then clears his throat. I hear Mike stifle a chuckle. “-we’re meeting Donald Marshall. He’s the company lead for Shilton Suites.”

There’s a ding as the elevator doors open. I step onto the lift and stand close to the buttons. Both boys hesitate to enter. “Are you guys… coming?” They are being so awkward, ugh, boys.

Harvey shoves Mike into the elevator before him, he gets pushed into the wall. Harvey stands shoulder to shoulder with me. “How did you like your coffee?”

I think I’ve imagined his voice; he doesn’t move his torso to face me or even glance my way. I don’t answer right away, trying to process that Harvey is actually talking to me-not just a good morning. “It’s the best around.” He hums in a positive tone, and I see a small smile creep onto his face.

I hope he doesn’t think we’re going to be besties after apology coffee, but I might as well throw him a bone. “Louis wanted to go buy me one from Roaster Roos.”

“Roaster Roos?” Harvey finally turns his body to me and has an offended look on his face. My heart flutters and I wish I could beat it down with a hammer. “God, he has no idea what good coffee is.” He turns back to face the elevator doors, and I crave his gaze on me again.

I feel like I’m running out of time to talk to him away from prying eyes. The dinging of the elevator as we steadily drop feels like a doomsday clock. “He wants to take me to dinner.” I don’t know why I said that.

Harvey stops next to me, and I hear Mike’s strained breathing behind me. I forgot he was here. Once again, it’s quiet until he asks, “How would your boyfriend feel about that?” He’s playing the game- he wants to know if I’m seeing anybody. Touche Mr. Douchebag.

How do I tell him I’m single without being pathetic? “Let’s just say, Louis might have a fighting chance.” I shrug. “Why? Did Louis not ask you to dinner when you first came to the firm?” I tease with a smirk.

His demeanor changes and he has a playful smile on his face, just like the good old days. “Oh, please, Louis wishes he could handle all this.” He motions to himself. He still won’t look at me. I need him to look at me.

I smirk and eye him up and down till my gaze catches on his tie. It’s crooked, I notice. A quick fit of confidence comes over me and I reach for it. At first, both hands are on the knot, but then the other lays flat on his chest while the other straightens the tie out.

It’s just like it was in law school when I would get him ready for mock trials. Something so normal, so domestic, about fixing his tie. Finally, finally, he looks down at me. We’re all but inches apart. I look up into his dark eyes and I feel… odd. His warm breath fans my face and I have to force myself away.

Harvey’s eyes stay on me this time. I can sense Mike looking between the two of us and there’s another layer of awkwardness added to the lift again. “Sorry, I-”

“-Hate a crooked tie.” He finishes my sentence. Of course, he does. I can’t stop myself from looking up, and I know it’s a dumb thing to do before I even do it. Harvey is already looking down at me calmly with half-lidded eyes. I take a brisk look over the rest of his face (pause a little too long on his lips) and back up.

I move just a tad further away from him than I was when we first got in. What is wrong with me? I look towards the elevator buttons and keep my eyes strained there. My chest is rising up and down as I think about what I’ve done.

There’s a ding and the elevator doors open. I wait for him to step out so that I can collect myself, but he doesn’t budge. I side-eye him and motion towards the door, “Go ahead.”

I can feel him looking at me, “Ladies first.” He says and his voice makes my heart flutter. I look at him and he’s looking at me like I’m a sick dog on the side of the street that he feels bad for. I bite my cheek and step out.

The whole way to the meeting spot for the client, I’m a pace or two behind Harvey and Mike. Not just because they’re tall and have long legs, either. At one point, I could tell Harvey had slowed his walking pace so I wouldn’t be so far behind, but I resisted being any closer to him by slowing my pace as well.

I need to think. I’ve detested Harvey since we ‘broke up’, but I’m within his vicinity for TWO DAYS, and I can’t keep it in my pants! I watch his back as he walks and can picture the smooth skin beneath. That gets me thinking about his chest… the scratches I left on both… I shake my head, there is something seriously wrong with me.

We arrive at a parking garage and elevator up to the fifth floor. Luckily, this time I keep my mouth shut and my eyes far from his. The client is waiting for us on a fancy, cherry-red car.

“Harvey!” He shouts joyously. The guy is older with white hair, but he seems active and in good spirits. His gaze slides over to me and I feel like an object. My pace slows and I try to fade into the background despite his hungry eyes. “And who is this?” He looks his lips and I pray that it’s an unconscious habit.

“I’m Mike Ross.” Mike steps in the man’s line of sight. “I’m Harvey’s personal associate.” Thank God for Mike Ross.

But this guy’s determined. He nods boredly at Mike before motioning him to step to the side. Mike moves in stuttered motions and his eyes flicker between me and the client. I give him a face that says ‘What the fuck?’, and he gives me one back that says, ‘I don’t know!’

“You.” I look at the man and freeze. He smiles at me and goes back to leaning on his car, “What are you doing with this guy?” He nods his head to Harvey. I see his jaw clench out of the corner of my eye but otherwise doesn’t move a muscle. “With a face like yours, you could be on anyone’s arm.” The implication is clear.

Just as Harvey opens his mouth, I say, “He’s my boss.” I nod with a tight smile.

An idea floods into my brain and my previously uncomfortable posture straightens until it becomes arched. “Yep!” I pop my lips and sway my hips as I get closer to the car. “Until I get a client of my own, I’m gonna be stuck with this guy.” I point with my thumb to Harvey. “You wouldn’t know a guy who’d want to be my client… would you?” I bat my lashes down at him.

He's quiet for a second and I can feel him about to say something, but I want to make sure my answer is a yes. I slide onto the shiny hood of the car and partially lay on my hip. “Cool car by the way.” I bat my lashes once more, but now I’m looking up at him and I can tell he’s hooked.

“Love, I’m sure people would get in legal trouble just to work with you.” He flirts and scoots closer to me on the car. Play it cool.

“Y/n.” I hear Harvey’s stern voice behind me and slide off of the car.

The rest of the meeting goes without a hitch. The client, Donald Marshall, would occasionally throw in the flirty comment or look but Harvey would quickly interject. As soon as we got what we needed we headed out of the lot… Not fast enough to prevent Mr. Marshall from kissing my hand on the way out.

“What the hell was that?” Harvey asks as soon as we’re on the sidewalk. He puts his hands on his hips and appears to be fuming. “You’re gonna flirt with my client- in front of me? I should write you up.”

“Call it what you want, I’m going to have clients begging to have me represent them by the end of the week.” I pull out my cell to look up the nearest Ikea. I try to look unbothered, but my heart is racing.

“You can’t just flaunt yourself to get clients-“

I get in his face and shove my finger into his chest. “I can and I will do whatever I want to get me as far away from you as possible!” My words are laced with venom.

I hate him. Just because he still has those puppy dog eyes and sugary words doesn’t mean he didn’t lead me on and then tell me I was stupid to think there was something between us.

I breathe heavily and he does in return. There is fire in his eyes, and I don’t want him to look at me like that- but I know I’m looking at him the exact same way. “As soon as I get my first client I won’t have to look at your sorry face and I can pretend you’re not even there.” I turn on my heels to the street and raise my hand to signal a cab.

I am so over Harvey Specter.

Taglist: @technicallykawaiisoul @malfoys-demigod @notarobotipromise

If you want to be added, just let me know!

#harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter x reader smut #x reader #friends to enemies to lovers #suits #suits x reader #harvey spector x reader #harvey spector #angst #fluff #romance

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marvelmusing · 1 year ago

Text

Can I Ask You A Question?

Part of The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: Alina has lots of questions about her new job and your boss. Meanwhile, Aleksander has an important question for you - it just takes him some time to realise it.

Warnings [18+]: brief smut, fingering, references to sex, CEO x assistant trope, praise kink

Read part one -> HERE

My Masterlist

“Why is he so nice to you?”

“Who?”

“Aleksander.” When you breathe out a soft laugh, shaking your head at Alina’s question, she leans closer, as if she’s willing you to understand. “Today, he obliterated a designer for picking out the wrong purse.”

“That wrong purse delayed the photoshoot by almost an hour,” you reason.

She tilts her head, clearly waiting for an explanation - why does the infamously fierce Aleksander Morozov have a soft spot for you?

Sighing quietly, you look down at your drink, fidgeting with the stem of your glass.

“I’ve worked for Aleksander for a long time.”

She waits for more.

“I started off in your position - his second assistant. Nina was his first assistant at the time, and I felt like I would never be able to impress him. The first time he really noticed me was the night before his and Luda’s third wedding anniversary.”

“He’s married?”

A frown creases at your brows.

“Not anymore. The divorce was years ago. It made the headlines for days. How do you not-” You shake your head. Just because you know everything that goes on in Aleksander’s life doesn’t mean everyone else does. “Never mind. Nina had taken the night off for a date. I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s no such thing as a night off when you work for Aleksander.”

Alina nods in agreement.

“A storm came in while he was in Ketterdam, which stopped him from getting on his flight home. No planes were flying in or out of the city.”

“What did you do?”

“Everything I could. I called in a favour with Nikolai, to borrow one of his private jets. Paid for it to land at a private airfield in the Kerch countryside. They managed to charter his flight to Balakriev and I drove two hours to pick him up myself when his usual driver didn’t respond to my calls.”

“And?”

You smile softly.

“He made it home for their anniversary. The last anniversary they had before the divorce.”

“Why did they split up?”

“There was always love in their marriage, but they didn’t understand each other. Aleksander loves his job. He always will. If his partner can’t understand that, the relationship won’t last.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s the Morozov rule?” The sound of Alina’s question draws your attention away from the email you’re in the midst of writing. She looks away shyly when you meet her eyes. “Some girls were talking about it in the bathroom earlier.”

Gaze skimming back over the screen of your laptop, you breathe out a quiet scoff.

“Let me guess, the heart-eyed interns?”

She nods.

“A lot of the fashion elites have a specific rule,” you explain. “It’s partially fashion advice, partially PR to make them more memorable.” You click send on your email, changing window to examine Aleksander’s schedule for tomorrow. “Like the Chanel rule - take a look at yourself before you leave the house and remove one item of your outfit.”

Alina listens intently.

“The Morozov rule is to always make sure your underwear matches your shoes. Because at the end of the day, when you take off your dress or your suit that’s all you’ll be wearing.”

A smirk twists at your lips.

“So, if you’re ever wondering what colour underwear Aleksander is wearing, just take a look at his shoes.”

Alina blushes.

“Really?”

“Of course. What kind of a man is he if he doesn’t follow his own rule?”

“How do you know he-”

The sound of Aleksander’s voice rings out from the door to his office, cutting through your conversation with Alina.

“Milaya.”

Responding immediately to your summons, you stand from your desk and make your way into his office. He glances up at you from his papers momentarily, a frown creasing between his brows as his gaze returns to the words in front of him.

“I don’t have anything to wear for my trip to Novyi Zem.” He holds out his credit card, balanced between two of his slim fingers. “I will need enough for six nights. Look at the itinerary for the trip and purchase anything you deem necessary. You know what I like.”

After taking the card from him, you nod.

“Yes, sir. I will be back before your meeting with Nikolai.”

Turning on your heel, you move back towards the door, only for his voice to stop you.

“And milaya?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Miss Starkova. If she’s going to gain any sense of style for herself she needs to see someone competent at work.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him. Like everyone in the fashion industry, you live for Aleksander’s praise.

The hint of a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“As you always do.”

His remark makes your stomach flip.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s this?”

Alina peers into the black garment bag curiously.

“A dress. For you. It’s Valentino. One of Aleksander’s picks for the gala.”

She blinks at you in surprise.

“I’m going to the gala?”

You nod.

“Genya will help you get ready. We leave at seven.”

It isn’t long before Aleksander is settling his hand on your lower back, steering the two of you through the crowd at the entrance. Alina looks relieved at the sight of your arrival - you can only imagine how worried she was being surrounded by the flurry of photographers.

As the gala begins, Aleksander claims a corner of the room for himself, waiting for the designers and reporters and politicians to come to him.

Whenever someone approaches your group, you turn your face towards Aleksander, hiding your words in the crook of his neck as you inform him of the names of the people heading his way. His fingers play with the seam of your dress, dancing distractedly down your spine.

Occasionally, you find yourself adjusting the collar of his shirt, fixing the position of his tie, or smoothing down the lapels of his jacket. Just to keep your hands occupied. Unlike a usual gala, where you would be standing one pace behind him, Aleksander keeps you on his arm tonight. Deep down, you know it’s because he doesn’t have a plus one, but it makes you feel special nonetheless.

It’s only once you step out of the little bubble Aleksander always creates, that you stop enjoying yourself. As you place your drinks order at the bar, you attract the attention of Malyen Oretsev - a mediocre journalist - and his friends.

“There she is,” he remarks. “Morozov’s favourite pet.”

Mikhael smirks.

“I don’t know about that, Mal.” He jerks his head towards Aleksander. “Looks like he’s got a shiny new toy to play with.”

Glancing over, you see Alina looking at Aleksander rather bashfully as they seem to be engaged in a somewhat stilted conversation. The sight makes your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Have a nice evening,” you state casually, collecting your drinks before you head back in the direction of Aleksander and Alina.

All night, you try your best to ignore Mikhael’s words, but it seems they’ve burrowed their way into your psyche.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Why can’t I give him the book?”

Alina peers curiously at the book, as you turn the pages slowly to show her the magazine mockups for next month’s issue.

“Aleksander is very selective about who he allows into his house.” Alina seems mildly offended and you decide to soften the blow slightly by adding, “Besides, he usually likes to do a final run through so that he can brief me on tomorrow’s agenda.”

Towards the end of the month, during the final stages of development for the next publication, you usually find yourself working late at Aleksander’s house. Over the years, there’s been countless times when you’ve helped him rework an entire issue in a matter of hours, pouring your ideas together over his kitchen table.

Luckily, this month has been somewhat smooth sailing. Though that doesn’t mean your to-do list isn’t still a mile long. When you’re alone with Aleksander like this, the persona he’s created for himself loosens and he’s patient as you ask him enough questions to be prepared for the day ahead of you tomorrow.

“Anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head, remarking as you bend your neck from side to side,

“All I need now is a hot bath.”

“Use mine,” he states, not even looking up at you as he finishes filing away the pages into the book. “Stay the night.”

“What?”

He raises a brow at you.

“You ought to know by now that I don’t like repeating myself.”

“I- Are you sure?” He gives you a firm look and heat rushes to your cheeks. “Sorry, stupid question. Thank you.”

He shows you into his personal bathroom, a lavish en-suite connected to his bedroom by a wooden folding door. He’s blasé about his toiletries, opening a cupboard to show you before he retreats back into his bedroom.

Once the bath is full of water and a copious amount of bubbles, you slip out of your clothing and into the tub with your hair and makeup still intact. The warmth makes you sigh softly, closing your eyes as you tilt your head back against the rim of the bath. It’s only the sound of the door opening that makes you open your eyes again.

Aleksander stands in the open doorway, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up haphazardly and the buttons undone down to the centre of his chest. His gaze is heated as his eyes remain locked on yours, and despite the intensity you don’t shy away from him.

He circles around the bath tub slowly, his knuckles tracing the curve of your neck when he finally stands behind you.

His thumbs press into the centre of your back, working on the tension in the muscles that no amount of stretching can ease. He moves his hands knowingly, finding the areas that give you the most discomfort after long hours at the office. When he presses the right spot, your back arches, your body pliant in his hold as you breathe out a soft moan.

He smirks, cocky in the fact that he knows only his touch can bring you this sort of relief. His smirk fades slightly, as his focus shifts and he traces his fingers up your back, stroking over your shoulders.

He presses his face against your cheek, his lips brushing over your skin as he breathes in the scent of his soap. Tantalisingly close to a kiss. Then he sinks onto his knees, his hands descending beneath the water.

Turning your head, you’re face to face with Aleksander, your nose brushing against his as he draws a slow line down your body, between the valley of your breasts before he circles your navel.

“May I?” he murmurs.

“Please, Aleksander.”

With one hand, he grasps the back of your neck to limit your squirming, while the other descends downwards to play with your cunt. It’s slow and deliberate, the way he works you up towards your orgasm. The only sound in the room is your breathy gasps and the subtle splash of bath water against the sides of the tub.

It would be a lie to say you haven’t imagined what Aleksander might be like in bed. You know you aren’t alone in that. The rumours all paint him in the same light. Dominant. Controlling. Mildly sadistic. That’s what makes the praises that fall from his lips all the more effective.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he murmurs directly into the crook of your neck. His voice is a soft and soothing rasp. “You’re doing so well for me.” He smiles when you gasp loudly, writhing with unabashed pleasure. “Utterly perfect.”

His words fade away, until all you can hear is the hurried beat of your heart hammering away in your chest as you come astonishingly close to your release.

“Please, Aleksander. I need it. Need you, oh, fuck-”

He rests his hand on the rim of the tub, palm upwards as he anticipates the sudden backwards motion of your head when you reach your climax. As pleasure courses through your body, his hand curls around to cradle the back of your head. He’s silent, eyeing you attentively as the aftereffects slowly wind down.

“Aleksander?” you whisper.

His thumb strokes down the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He regards you seriously, his eyes flickering over your features, then he nods. Before you can lean upwards to kiss him, he adds,

“If you do, I won’t be able to stop myself from climbing into this bath to take this further.”

“And if I don’t want you to stop yourself?”

He grips the nape of your neck, directing your mouth to meet his.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Do I have to?” Alina whines, hiding her face with her hands in embarrassment at the thought of heading a few floors down to the lingerie photoshoot to retrieve the file of images taken today.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure her. “Aleksander wants to look at the photos before the models go home for the day.”

“Can’t the photographers just email them to him?”

You shake your head.

“He likes to look at the printouts.”

She sighs.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

She returns with red cheeks, gripping the paper folder tightly in her hands. She doesn’t make eye contact with you as she walks by your desk to give the folder to Aleksander. Almost as soon as she sits down at her desk opposite you, Aleksander calls for you.

“Milaya.”

Alina busies herself with typing as you walk by her, into Aleksander’s office.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like your opinion on something.” He selects a page, turning it over in his hand so that he’s offering it to you. “What do you think of this?”

Taking the page in hand, you look down at the two images, side by side. The first is a close up of a model wearing an unbelievably expensive bralette.

Pale blue boning, covered in a soft mesh a few shades lighter. The entire garment has been decorated with intricate embroidery, adorned in pearls and tiny gems that create the illusion of flowers. The image beside it shows off the matching thong - a tiny triangle of fabric embellished with the same exquisite details.

“The photos?”

He shakes his head.

“The outfit. Would you wear something like this?”

Heat spreads over your cheeks at his question.

“I would. It’s very pretty.”

“Do you like the colour?” he asks, selecting another page to show you. “Or do you prefer the pink?”

After considering both pieces, you admit quietly,

“I like the blue.”

He hums.

“Very well.” He holds out his hand expectingly and you place the pages back in his palm. “Your measurements haven’t changed have they?”

His question makes your brows scrunch together in confusion.

“No, sir.”

“The designer is creating a custom piece as a gift for me. Offering it to anyone else in this building but you would be a waste.”

“A waste?”

He nods, not looking up at you.

“That’s all.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What’s wrong?” Alina asks you.

She must have noticed your anxious fidgeting; you’ve straightened the same pen on your desk four times already. But you can’t tell her what is actually on your mind.

“Nothing. I’m just keeping an eye on the time. Aleksander’s driver should be arriving soon.”

Sure enough, your phone rings and Aleksander’s driver is on the line, informing you that he’s parked outside the building. Once you’ve retrieved Aleksander, you accompany him down in the elevator.

He lists a few tasks for you to complete while he is out at his meeting and you distractedly make a note of them all. It’s only once the two of you are out in the fresh air, that you’re able to speak.

“I need to talk to you.” He doesn’t turn, ignoring you until you grasp at his sleeve, just as he reaches his car. “Aleksander.”

He turns to face you.

“What is it?”

Instantly, the weight of his eyes makes you nervous. Of course, you’ve thought about what you want to say to him but now the words fail you. The Aleksander in front of you now is different from the one you were with the other night.

“It’s about that night at your house,” you clarify. “I don’t want any special treatment because of what happened between us.”

He raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Special treatment?” he repeats.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the set you offered me, but I don’t want anyone to think you’re favouring me.”

“Tell me about the designer of that piece.”

“She’s a Ravkan designer. All her work is couture, with hand stitched embroidery and embellishments. The pearls and gems are all sourced sustainably; she limits her collection to only forty pieces per style to minimise the environmental impact…”

When you realise how much you’re talking - about things that Aleksander most likely knows already - your words trail off into nothing. His mouth quirks into a half-smile that he quickly smoothes out into a more neutral expression.

“You are the one of the few people who understand the value of that design,” he says in a low voice. “And that is the only reason I wanted you to have it.”

“The only reason?” you repeat, hoping that he might have wanted you to have the lingerie because you would look good in it.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he glances down at the front of your top, eyeing the skin on show there briefly before he turns away, leaving you in shock as he climbs into his car. Did Aleksander just eye up your cleavage?

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are those new?”

Alina’s question makes you peer down at your shoes - the object of her attention - and you smile.

“Yes. They are.”

The pale blue of your shoes are an almost perfect match to the lingerie set Aleksander had gifted to you - not to mention the heels are adorned in shimmering gems and pearls.

Alina takes the time to admire them, as the two of you stand beside the printer.

“Miss Starkova,” Aleksander calls out, standing in the doorway between his office and the one you share with Alina. “I need ten scarves from Gucci, and fetch my coffee on your way back in.”

Alina glances at you momentarily, wide eyed, before she nods resolutely.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s an anxious edge to her movements as she grabs her phone and bag, but she seems determined to adhere to Aleksander’s demands on her own this time. Both you and Aleksander watch her leave.

When you turn back to face him, Aleksander’s gaze is sweeping down your body, assessing your outfit as he always does, yet he lingers on your shoes for a moment. His throat bobs lightly as he swallows, his eyes darkening as they meet yours.

“A perfect match,” he observes.

Before you can respond, he turns and walks back into his office.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where have you been?” Alina asks, shifting her weight anxiously on the pavement.

Cheeks flushing with warmth, you wipe at your lower lip with your thumb to ensure your makeup is still intact. The two of you head up the steps, into the entrance of Cartier.

“The car got caught in traffic.”

“Aleksander must have been furious.” You hum rather distractedly in agreement, smoothing down your skirt.

“He’s waiting in the car now, so we’ll have to make this quick.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Where are you going?” Alina asks, turning to watch as you back away down the pavement. “I thought we were celebrating.” The last night of fashion week, the pinnacle of all your hard work over the last year has been finally reached.

It’s been almost a year since Alina first started working alongside you, but you don’t yet trust her with the full truth when you answer.

“I’m going to head back to the hotel,” you tell her before adding, “I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?”

Shaking your head, you tuck your coat tighter around your body.

“I’ll be fine, thanks. Go enjoy yourself.”

When you finally reach your hotel bed, you collapse onto the mattress, still wearing your coat and shoes. It’s completely unintentional, the way you fall asleep draped over the bed.

After an indeterminable amount of time passes, a kiss is pressed to your cheek, rousing you from your slumber as someone nestles themselves over your body.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty,” a familiar voice coos playfully. Blinking the drowsiness from your eyes, you murmur a mildly bemused response,

“Sasha?”

He laughs softly.

“Who else, milaya?” He presses another kiss to your cheek, his lips moving toward your ear. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I stuck my head in the study,” you explain sleepily. “You were working… didn’t want to disturb you.”

He slips your coat off your shoulders, lowering kisses across your neck and collarbones as he reaches for the zipper on the back of your dress.

“You should have. I would have come to bed hours ago had I known you were back.”

“I’m so tired,” you murmur as your eyelids droop. Aleksander smiles fondly, pulling your dress down your body.

“You outdid yourself this year.” A pleased smile lifts the corners of your mouth. Aleksander lifts himself off the bed, crossing the room towards the en-suite. “The Starkova girl has improved,” he states, wringing out a cloth. “You seem to like this one.”

“I do,” you confirm, kicking your shoes off onto the floor. “She’s nice, though she’s been asking a lot of questions lately.”

“About us?”

“About you, mostly. I think she has a crush.”

“Poor girl,” he remarks drily as he sits down beside you and begins to wipe the makeup from your face. “Have you told her about us?”

“I thought you wanted this to be a secret?”

He shakes his head.

“I want to keep you safe. From the press and the gossip that follows me. Besides, I know how much you love working for the magazine. I would hate to jeopardise that.”

“Well, I might find something that I enjoy more than working as your assistant.”

“Such as?”

The smile you give him is soft as you fidget with the creases in his trousers.

“Your wife.”

His own smile is boyish as he teases,

“That is quite the promotion you’re offering yourself.” Then his expression grows more serious. “Even as my wife, I wouldn’t expect you to give up your job - not unless you wanted to.”

That makes your smile widen, your cheeks warming at the casual tone his voice adopts when considering you as his wife.

“Besides,” he adds. “Where would I find someone as capable as you?”

“I could mentor Alina.”

He hums, unconvinced, and you laugh at the sight of his apprehension. It’s sweet, knowing you’ve taken such a root in Aleksander’s life. He trusts you, unconditionally.

“I’m not handing my notice in yet,” you tease him, before adding with a small laugh, “Unless you’re planning on proposing tonight.”

Aleksander doesn’t laugh.

“Sasha?”

The corner of his lips quirk with the hint of a laugh, embarrassment touching at his features.

“I-” He sighs, shaking his head as his smile widens. “You’ve ruined the surprise.”

“Sasha,” you repeat, thoroughly caught off guard. “You’re not serious.”

“Of course I am.”

“Aleksander, I’m not wearing any makeup. I’m in my underwear.”

He doesn’t look impressed by your protests.

“Milaya, if you’re finished making rather obvious statements, I’d like to propose to you.”

The look he gives you has your lips pressing closed, giving him the chance to speak. Almost immediately, your excitement spills over your expression - a giddy smile tugging at your lips. Aleksander smiles fondly, stroking your cheek with his thumb as he admires you.

“I can’t believe you used to hide this from me. My pretty girl.”

“Well, dating the Aleksander Morozov was rather daunting at first,” you admit bashfully. He tilts his head at you.

“And do you think you can marry the Aleksander Morozov?”

Being married to Aleksander will attract attention - the kind that you’re unused to. The entire world will have something to say about you - what you wear, how you act - it will all be scrutinised by the tabloids and the social media comments. But he’s worth it, a million times over.

“I will if he actually asks me,” you remark teasingly.

He breathes out a laugh, kissing your cheek.

“Let me fetch the ring.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

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Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

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#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #the darkling au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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wonnieluv · 4 months ago

Text

Live from New York, It’s Saturday Night! - Mark Lee

Summary: In September 2024 you found out that you’ll be hosting Saturday Night Live in December! You’re a bit nervous and as time passes you realize you need to choose a musical guest. What happens when you request one of your favorite artists and he just so happens to be in NY that weekend for Jingle Ball AND has a new solo releasing the next Monday (you just don’t know about the solo yet). Will he say yes?

soloist!Mark x actress!reader

warnings: implied that Y/N reads fan fiction about Mark because I thought it was funny, fluff, kissing

masterlist

author’s note: I know all of Dream were in NY but for plot purposes Mark is a soloist in this fic because I didn’t want Y/N to seem like a solo stan for inviting Mark alone

“MATT IF YOU DON’T SAY SIKE RN I’M GOING TO HIT YOU” a woman’s loud voice echos through the apartment

“Y/N WHY WOULD I JOKE ABOUT THIS. I know this has been a dream of yours” A males voice can be heard from the phone in the her hand.

Let’s pause and give some background context, shall we?

Y/N L/N, accomplished actress at the young age of 23 years old. You’ve been acting since a young age starting on the Disney Channel. When you were a teen you made it out of Disney and began taking more rolls outside of the image you had previously crafted for so many years. Now here you are, a multi-academy award nominated actress (you’ve won a couple too 😉). You grew up watching Saturday Night Live with your parents and SNL was a goal you’d always wanted to achieve in your career which brings us to the present day. You’ve been booked to host SNL and you couldn’t be more excited!

"Matt can I call you back, I'm gonna go scream, cry, hyperventilate, and probably run a lap around the block" You tell your manager Matt, he's become more of your best friend in the time you've known him so he's pretty used to your dramatics.

"Yea, I'll get more details and discuss some contract related things with them and I'll swing by yours in a couple hours." He finishes hanging up the call.

You let out a squeal as you skip around your house. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you don't think you were this happy when you got nominated for your academy awards.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

As the days grow into weeks, Halloween is beginning to approach rapidly and you're on your way to meet with team at SNL to discuss of details that need to be prepared ahead of time for your episode.

your episode...

Yup! your episode in the 50th season of SNL. Things are moving quickly. It's already been almost a month since you got the call notifying you of your casting and you haven't been able to think of anything else. You're so excited to hear the pitches from the cast about the skits they want to do. Being able to work in this environment is like a dream come true.

One of the things you're nervous about is the topic of the meeting today. They want you to have a musical artist picked out so you will need to be providing a list of people that they can reach out to to ensure they get the artist booked before everyone has their schedules set for the holidays.

You arrive to the meeting greeting everyone in the room as you listen intently to what's being said. As time goes on you just get more and more excited about the process.

"... and finally the last thing we need to get ironed out today is who you'd like to have for your musical guest. As you know this episode will be airing December 14th so we'll need to be mindful of holiday plans and schedules so we really should get on this soon. For right now we'll get the name of the top artist you'd like to have and we'll have your management send over the rest of the list via email so we can get an artist booked as soon as possible."

You nod as you listen intently.

"So who is your top artist at the moment" He looks at you expectantly

"I'd like to have Mark Lee be my music guest. He's a singer and wrapper with a sizable following and I think he'd be a great fit." You try to come off confident but you know he has the power to just flat out say no if he wants

"Hmmm... I'll have to look into him before we make any calls but... we'll keep you updated." You nod in response.

You leave the building with a pep in your step and a smile on your face as you anticipate the coming months of preparation

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

"Hey Matt, what's up" You ask as you pick up the phone. It's a Saturday in November so you were relaxing at home as you watch the people wrapped in their winter coats facing the cold of the coming New York winter.

"I have an update from SNL. I thought you'd like to hear this one."

"Oooh what is it?" He's piqued your interest

"They've confirmed your musical guest for your episode of SNL and the guest was from the list we gave them"

"OH MY GOD really?!?!!?! Is It Mark? Matt please tell me it's Mark." You didn't want to get your hopes up but clearly your attempts were futile for how much you were anticipating his answer.

"Stay calm Y/N... but yes... Mark's management just agreed to have him be your musical guest"

"...Matt...I'm going to mute myself real quick..." You quickly get out before muting yourself and screaming bloody murder into your pillow. THE Mark Lee... agreed to be YOUR musical guest... on YOUR episode of SNL...? Life just took a whole new turn of unreal. You've been a fan of Mark for a while now and him agreeing to join you is insane.

You clear your throat as you pick your phone back up again "...hey Matt... soo... Mark Lee... he said yes?"

"Yup he'll be in town for the jingle ball event that's happening the day before so they agreed to extend his stay for a couple of extra days"

"Great! I can't wait!"

"The SNL producers would like to hold another meeting soon to discuss the logistics with his team and with you so start preparing yourself mentally. I know you like him but don't try to jump his bones through the screen."

"Heyyyy, I would never..." You try to defend yourself.

"Yea yea... I'll talk to you soon"

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

"Y/N it's good to see you again, I hope your preparations have been going well." One of the producers greets you as you enter the room

"They have! I'm excited to be back with you all again"

"Y/N this is Mark Lee and his manager, they're joining us through zoom from their company in South Korea. Today's objective is to talk over what our expectations are for Mark as the musical guest as well as clear up any questions. Shall we get started?"

You nod trying to focus on the task at hand and less of the fact that the man you've had a minor celebrity crush on for years isn't perceiving you over zoom at the moment.

"After we received your offer I put some thought into the songs I'd like to perform that day. I think this is a unique opportunity and I think the songs chosen will be perfect for the SNL stage" Mark begins

"We figured it'd be nice to start with a slower track with a nice intimate mood 200 - Minhyung's Version as it's a more unplugged acoustic vibe. For the second song we'd like to have Mark perform a single that is yet to be announced but will be releasing December 16th. It's called Fraktsiya. It's a hip hop song with a heavy 808 base and we think it would be a big draw for him and for the show to have it be the first time anyone hears it officially." Marks manager explains.

You can't help but perk up at the mention of a new song.

So does that mean I'd get to hear it for the first time in rehearsals? Before anyone else does..?

Not the time Y/N you mentally scold yourself for letting your thoughts wander during an important meeting. You shake away your thoughts and pay attention for the rest of the meeting.

"This was a very informative session, we'd like to thank you all so much for the opportunity to have Mark perform on such an iconic show" You hear his manager say as the meeting wraps up.

"It'll be our pleasure to have you here in December. We'll be in touch" The producer says before the call is cut and you're all dismissed

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December 14th, 2024, show day

Here you are, sat in your dressing room, running over your lines preparing for the final rehearsal before tonights live show. Due to his schedule at Jingle Ball yesterday night, Mark wasn't able to the join the rehearsal meaning you'll be seeing him for the first time today when you run through the show.

"Y/N it's time to head out" Matt gets your attention as you quickly get up and head towards him so the two of you can head to set

"Let's go" You say with a smile

"Keep your hormones in check when we get out there"

You slap his shoulder in response "Hey I am a very calm and composed thank you very much. It's not that big of a deal"

"Your tumblr history says otherwise" You freeze while looking at hime with your mouth agape

"MATT GET BACK HERE" You run to catch up to him

As the two of you arrive to set you're done smacking him for seeing your tumblr history and you’ve been able to mostly calm the bright blush that had appeared as you slowly approach the producer.

“Good morning Y/N are you ready to get started?” He asks as you and Matt reach him

“Yup! Let’s get started!”

You begin your final rehearsal with the opening monologue which goes without a hitch and finally the moment you’re waiting for, Mark is going to rehearse his songs

He comes out onto stage looking very casual as he introduces himself and checks his mic. You decide it’s for the best if you stand to the back to watch because you knew yourself. You wouldn’t be able to not ogle him so you may as well do it from the sides instead of in front of everyone…

God he’s so cool

As he rehearses 200, you can’t stop staring. He’s on a stool with a spotlight on him and the guitarist playing next to him and his voice is so melodic and calming. You’re blatantly staring at this point but you don’t care, he’s so charismatic and his aura is mesmerizing, you can’t help but watch intently.

“Thank you…” he says into the mic with a short bow as he finishes with everyone clapping for him. The producers chat with him and the band before they change the set for Weekend Update. You aren’t needed for this segments rehearsal so you head back to get some snacks from your dressing room. You arrive closing the door behind you taking a breathe pulling out your phone as you scroll for about 15 minutes before you get a text from Matt.

You power your phone off and you leave the dressing room. As you close the door and start walking down the hallway you’re met with a something hard that sends you stumbling back

“Oh watch out!”

You grab onto the wall next to you as you feel a gloved hand grab your arms to help stabilize you.

“You okay…?” You look up to see who you ran into and of course… it’s Mark

“Oh! Y-yea… I’m fine sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going” you mentally slap yourself for stuttering

“No it’s okay, I wasn’t looking either” he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck

You take in his appearance and you see he’s wearing the same outfit as earlier but his hoodie has been replaced with a long leather jacket

“Are you also heading to set?” You calm your inner fan girl and ask

“Yea I am, shall we?” He asks knowing that you’re heading that way too.

You nod as you walk next to him. The two of you having casual conversation. He told you about Jingle Ball yesterday and you told him about the cat you feed sometimes on your block that also happens to be named Mark (you didnt name him, you swear his collar said Mark when you found him)

“Dude there’s no way…”

“I swear. He’s got this old collar on him and I swear it says Mark. I’ll have to show you a picture.” You laugh at his disbelief

The two of you finally arrive to set and go your separate ways so he can get onstage as you find Matt giving you a knowing look.

In response you slap him before turning turn attention towards the stage.

An unfamiliar heat starts playing through the speakers as Mark comes out looking the same as he did when you saw him only now he’s sporting some expensive looking shades and he’s got this intimidating aura around him. He’s not the playful Mark you met in the hallway.

Your mouth fall agape as you watch him rap his new song exuding nothing but utter confidence

Yeah, how many schedules in a day? (Baby, listen)

He’s pulled his glasses down as he tilts his head down looking at the camera above the glasses so he can make eye contact

My airline miles fling honeymoon out of space (I said listen)

He turns his head look towards you as you says the line before redirecting his eyes ahead before adjusting his glass back to cover his eyes properly again

SM got to wait (SM, listen)

Phone is buzzing, uh, SNL shoot with Y/N

I said, wait

You’re frozen in your place as he says your name… did he adjust the lyrics? You know he did but it still made your heart race a little too hard. The fact that the entire song is him bragging about his accomplishments and you have a spot in the lyrics, even if it’s just an adlib for the live show. You have to calm yourself down at the thought

You continue to watch him finish his rehearsal with wide eyes. When he finished the song you clap along with the rest of the crew before continuing on with the rehearsal. You had a couple skits along with Mark who they included in one. He did really well despite the lack of rehearsal time and by the time you all finished you were feeling ready for the live show that night.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

You were sat in your dressing room after getting styled for the top of the show. You’ve got some down time so Matt left you to go probably flirt with one of the cast members he found cute (but wouldn’t admit it) so you’re relaxing in your chair trying to shake the nerves. Your mom flew to New York to watch live tonight so you really wanted to do well for her.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door

“Come in” you say as you turn around to see who knocked and to your surprise… your met with the face of Mark Lee

“Oh Mark? I didn’t expect you to come by…” you say with a smile

“Yea… I had some downtime so I figured I’d stop by” he says walking in scratching the back of his neck awkwardly again.

“You look nervous” you laugh lightly

“Nahhhh… well… maybe just a bit” he says “but I think I’ll do fine. I think I’m more worried about how people will perceive the new song rather than whether I’ll do well”

“Hmmm” you hum in understanding “well I do owe you a picture of little Mark” you say pulling out your phone “oh! Feel free to sit down” you usher him over to the couch as you sit next to him

“Look” you show him a picture of a little orange cat that’s a bit chubby

“Awww dude he’s so cute”

“I know right” you pull back the phone and zoom in on the collar “look what I told you… he’s named Mark”

“That’s a crazy coincidence man… I have to meet this Mark sometime.” He laughs out

“Ooooh I don’t know about that. Two Marks within close proximity… the world might implode” you fake a shiver as you lean back on the couch

“Maybe your right” he chuckles at you before also leaning back on the couch

“Now how did you meet this Mark? He’s not a stray is he?”

“No… although that’s what I thought at first but I called the number on his collar and he has a home. He’s just an outdoor cat. He only comes home for food” You say thinking of the cat you’ve begun to love “If he was a stray I would’ve adopted him”

“Yea… maybe I should get a cat and name him Mark”

you chuckled at his response. “Mark and Mark. Sounds like a comic book”

“You know some people think I’m like Spider-Man… a superhero has gotta have a sidekick” He laughs looking at you

“Should I call you spider-mark then? You’ve got your guy in the chair and everything it seems.” You chuckle out

“Just you wait someday I’ll be in the spider-verse movies”

“I’ll look forward to it” you smile “you are missing one thing though”

“What is it?” He raises an eyebrow as he sits up and looks back at you

“Well you need an MJ of course” you say sarcastically as you look at him

He quirks an eyebrow at your statement “oh yea…” he pretends to think “I think I’ve got an MJ though too” he says as he looks at you “so I’m all set by your logic”

Your eyes widen slightly at his statement “oh yea. I guess so” you cast your eyes down for a second and when you look back up Mark is much closer to you

“You look disappointed” he says inching forward

“Why would I be…” you don’t move towards him but… you also don’t move away.

He smirks a little “I don’t know…” he brings up his hand a gently brushed your hair behind your ears as his face is just inches from yours

“I-“ you can respond before you hear Matt knocking on your door

“Y/N it’s time to get backstage” you and Mark immediately break from one another before you stand up and clear your throat

“Ok… I’ll be out in a second” you walk to your vanity grabbing your water and drinking some before turning back to Mark

“I should go…” you say to Mark, who has now risen from his spot on the couch and has begun to approach you

“Yea… you should…”

You look up and meet his gaze before beginning to walk towards the door. You don’t get very far before you feel a hand grab your wrist.

You don’t even have a moment to say anything before you feel a soft peck on your cheek

“Good luck…” he says softly

“Th-thanks…” you stutter out as your cheeks glow bright red.

You hurry out of the room and rush backstage to get ready for the start of the show

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

The first half of the show goes by in a blur. All the sketches have been going really well and there has yet to be a problem. Now you're at the part you're most excited about Mark's stage

"Now introducing... Mark Lee" The audience claps as everyone becomes focused on him. He's dressed in black pants with a white button up unbuttoned with a tank top underneath. You listen as he sings 200, completely enamoured by him from your place behind the camera. You've realized you're beginning to fall for this man in the short time you've been able to really meet him and part of you wants to think he feels the same with the way (you think) his eyes shift to you behind the camera every so often. But you refuse to get your hopes up and get your heart broken.

He finishes up the song before heading back to get prepared for the next song as they bring out the Weekend Update set as usual.

You laugh as Colin and Micheal share their usual good jokes along with their bickering enjoying seeing the iconic pair in their element with your real eyes. Before you know it you're introducing Mark for his second song.

You take your place behind the camera once again as you take in his new appearance. His shirt now neatly buttoned with a tie around his neck. His thick sunglasses and his black leather clothes with his hair slicked back topping the look off made your jaw drop. He looked HOT

You watch the audience excited for their reactions to his new song and you could tell everyone loved it. You were so into the atmosphere that you almost forgot to pay attention to the stage and before you knew it, everyone was clapping and cheering for him.

✈︎✈︎✈︎✈︎

The show ends successfully as you say your goodbyes to everyone onstage before heading back to your dressing room to change into your regular clothes. As you've finished changing, you're collecting your things when you hear a knock on the door. You don't even get the chance to say come in before you see it open and Mark steps into the room.

"Sorry... I-" he sighs clearly a little unprepared

"You okay Mark?" You begin to step closer to him

"Yea yea.. I just thought you had left... someone said they saw your manager leave so I wanted to come check" He says a bit nervously

"Well I'm still here... so what do you need?' You look up at him but he's clearly avoiding your eyes.

"Well, I have to go back to Korea tomorrow... but I was wondering if... I could get your number." He says as he raises his gaze to meet yours

You softly smile at his request before you nod "give me your phone"

The two of you exchange numbers before you fall into some lighthearted conversation again. He's so easy to talk to. He laughs at your jokes and he matches your energy perfectly. He's just easy to be around.

You grab the rest of your belongings while you chat and once you're ready to go he walks you out to your car.

"This is it huh...?" He asks you hesitantly

"Well it cant be. You haven't met little Mark yet" You smile back at him. "Now you have a reason to come back to New York"

"Make that two..." He says softly

"Huh? What's the second-" You barely finish your sentence before you feel his soft lips on yours. After a moment of hesitation, you wrap your arms around his neck as his go to your waist as you reciprocate the kiss. It felt sweet, soft, careful, like he's testing the waters, but almost desparate, as he knows it'll be a while before you see each other again.

The two of you pull away "I'll see you soon... spidey..." you say softly with a smile on your face. You quickly peck his cheek before running into your car. You don't look at him out of shyness as you drive off with a bright smile on your face and 200 - Minhyung's Version blasting through the speakers of your car.

This took me way too long to write to I hope you all enjoyed this. Also yes I made up the SNL skit but it was FOR THE PLOT I’m not too proud of that part

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