#queue until you reach the light

[kaiist]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐒𝐒

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The movie marathon had stretched late into the night. You were sprawled on top of Xavier, your head resting on his chest as the TV cast flickering light across the darkened room. His steady heartbeat had almost lulled you to sleep when you felt his hand shift slightly beneath you.

Smack!

The unexpected slap to your ass made you jolt upright, nearly headbutting his chin in the process.

“Did you forget about earlier?” he asked.

You laughed, settling back against him. “I thought you might have fallen asleep and forgotten.”

“I didn’t,” he replied simply, his hand returning to your backside. This time, he gave it a gentle squeeze, his fingers kneading the spot he’d just slapped. The tender motion contrasted with the playful smack from moments before.

He pulled you closer, adjusting your position against him until you were both comfortable again. The credits rolled on the forgotten movie as his fingers continued their gentle massage, his calm breathing eventually synchronizing with yours as you both drifted toward sleep.

As the auto-play feature started the next film in the queue, his free hand reached for the remote, lowering the volume to a soft background murmur. His other hand never left your backside, alternating between gentle squeezes and soothing circular motions that made you melt further against him.

“Your heartbeat speeds up when I touch you like this,” he observed quietly, the subtle change in his tone betraying his satisfaction at the reaction.

You mumbled something incoherent against his chest, too comfortable to form proper words. He shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting your weight to better accommodate his frame, his hand continuing its ministrations with practiced ease.

“We should sleep,” he suggested, though his actions contradicted his words as his fingers traced the curve where your ass met your thigh. “Or would you prefer to continue this instead?”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Midnight had come and gone, but sleep remained elusive. It’s another day of Zayne had just returned from his grueling shift at the hospital, his tie loosened and suit jacket discarded as he prepared for bed.

“I need at least six hours of sleep before my morning consultation,” he muttered, setting his alarm.

You poked his side, deliberately disrupting his bedtime routine. “But I’m not tired,” you whined playfully, stealing his pillow and hugging it to your chest.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Return my pillow.”

“Make me,” you challenged with a grin, scooting away.

In one swift motion, he reclaimed his pillow with one hand, while the other delivered a firm smack to your pajama-clad backside.

Smack!

“That’s for being bratty when you know I need rest.” The sting lingered pleasantly as he settled beside you, drawing you against his chest despite your earlier antics.

“Sleep,” he instructed, his arm wrapping around your waist. “I’ll have time for your games tomorrow.”

His breathing soon steadied into the rhythm of sleep, while you remained awake just a little longer, savoring the unexpected gesture from him. Despite his stated exhaustion, his hand remained active, tracing absent patterns along your hip.

He murmured against your hair, seemingly not as close to sleep as you’d thought, “You just have to be difficult before going to sleep.”

You shifted to look at his face, finding his eyes still open. “Someone has to remind the great doctor he’s human,” you replied softly.

His fingers tightened slightly on your hip. “Tomorrow,” he promised, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, “I’ll show you exactly how human I can be. Now sleep before I administer more persuasive methods.”

The implied threat only made you smile as you finally closed your eyes, lulled by his steady heartbeat.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“Turn around again,” Rafayel instructed, his eyes focused intently as you modeled the fifth dress he’d purchased for his upcoming exhibition. The silky fabric whispered against your skin as you obliged, turning slowly to give him the full view.

“Perfect,” he murmured, approaching to adjust the way the material draped across your shoulders. “This shade of green complements your skin tone exactly as I imagined.”

As you moved to reach for the next outfit, his hand descended without warning.

Smack!

The slap against your ass echoed in the spacious bedroom, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

“Rafayel!” you exclaimed, spinning around to face him.

He grinned. “I couldn’t resist, cutie. You look really good with the dress on.”

Your initial surprise melted as he pulled you close, his hands wandering dangerously near the spot he’d just slapped.

“The red dress next,” he whispered against your ear, releasing you with obvious reluctance. “Though I’m starting to think my favorite masterpiece isn’t hanging in any gallery.”

He retreated to his chaise lounge, watching appreciatively as you reached for the next dress, the memory of his touch still warming your skin.

“Wait,” he called suddenly. “Do that again—the way you just moved. Hold that position.”

You froze mid-reach, throwing a questioning glance over your shoulder.

“Perfect,” he breathed, grabbing the sketchbook that never seemed to be far from his reach. “The light catches your profile exactly right from this angle.”

You maintained the pose, feeling the spot where he’d slapped you still tingling pleasantly as he sketched, occasionally looking up to capture another detail.

“You know,” he said between strokes of his pencil, “I think I’ve just found the centerpiece for my exhibition.”

“A drawing of my ass?” you asked incredulously.

His laughter filled the room. “No, cutie—though that would certainly draw crowds. I’m thinking of something much more...personal. Now, try on the red dress, but move slowly. Every line of you deserves proper attention.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Rain pattered against the windows of Sylus’s room as you lay on your stomach, engrossed in the latest episode of your favorite show on your tablet. Completely absorbed in the climactic scene, you didn’t notice his approach until it was too late.

Smack!

The sudden, sharp slap to your ass sent your tablet flying from your hands. You yelped in surprise, rolling over to find Sylus standing over you, that infuriating half-smile playing on his lips.

“You look focused, sweetie,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

You glared up at him. “I was watching the season finale!”

“And now you’re watching me instead,” he replied, retrieving your tablet from where it had landed on the carpet. He handed it back to you, his fingers lingering against yours. “A considerable upgrade, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before you could respond with the retort forming on your lips, he leaned down, his voice dropping to that low timbre that always made your pulse quicken. “Consider us even. For now.”

He then left you to return to your show—though your focus was thoroughly shattered.

You returned to your previous position. Just as the plot was reaching its climax again, the bed dipped beside you. He had returned, two glasses of wine in hand, offering one to you.

He settled next to you, positioning himself so he could see your tablet screen, his thigh pressing against yours as if nothing unusual had happened between you moments ago. His free hand casually draped across your lower back, dangerously close to where he’d landed the mischievous slap, his fingers casually tapping your ass.

“So,” he said, sipping his wine and gesturing toward your tablet with his glass, “who’s the traitor? The brother or the assistant?”

You blinked in surprise. “You’ve been watching this show?”

His half-smile returned as he made himself more comfortable beside you. “I have my reasons for staying informed about your interests. Now, shall we finish this finale together?”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

Steam filled the kitchen as you stirred the pasta sauce, following Caleb’s recipe while he chopped vegetables nearby. The domesticity of the moment wrapped around you like a warm blanket, comfortable and familiar.

“Can you pass the oregano?” you asked, gesturing toward the spice rack.

“Sure thing,” he replied, stepping behind you to reach for the herb.

As his hand extended past you toward the rack, his other hand made its move.

Smack!

The slap to your backside was anything but gentle, causing you to drop the wooden spoon into the sauce. Before you could react, he dissolved into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Your face!” he managed between chuckles, handing you the oregano as promised. “I’ve been waiting all day for the perfect moment.”

“Caleb! You—” You shook your head as you accepted the spice—and the fate of your ass. “Was it worth the wait?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before returning to his chopping board. “Dinner might be worth the wait, if you don’t let that sauce burn.”

You turned back to the stove as his laughter continued to fill the warm kitchen.

His laughter gradually subsided, but the atmosphere remained light as you both continued preparing dinner. Every time he passed behind you to reach for another ingredient or utensil, you tensed slightly in anticipation, unsure if another playful slap might be coming.

“Relax,” he teased, noticing your reaction. “I already got my revenge. Unless...” he paused dramatically, “you’re hoping for an encore?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress your smile. “Just focus on those vegetables before I decide it’s my turn for revenge.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with an exaggerated salute, his grin never faltering. He resumed his chopping, occasionally humming a cheerful tune that matched his buoyant mood.

Smack!

“Just for fun, Pipsqueak,” he grinned unapologetically.

Okay… so… I kinda accidentally deleted the whole page of my Google Docs when I reached Sylus’s part, and I was just sitting there, like—😀💔 So, I had to write everything all over again in a bad mood 😭 I hope you still enjoy reading! ಡ⁠͜⁠⁠ʖ⁠⁠ಡ

[julymusings]

I'M WORKING LATE !

jason's too stressed, and too exhausted. luckily, you have a few ways of getting him to relax. rated 18+, mdni contains: jason todd x reader; grinding, handjob, blowjob, reader's hair is long enough 4 a ponytail

He hasn't looked up from his file in two hours.

Jason did this sometimes, got so engrossed in a case that everyone and everything else took a backseat. You learned early on that he doesn't like to be bothered when he gets in this headspace, getting used to tuning him out and going about your own tasks (aside from the occasional kiss atop his head or brush of your palm across his back, something he could never complain about), but you think if he stares at his papers any harder, he'll go cross-eyed.

He sat down to work two hours ago, around the same time you started making dinner. Not wanting to disturb him, the two of you worked around each other in a comfortable silence, him typing away at his laptop while sifting through papers, and you cutting vegetables and boiling noodles. In the one hour it took to prepare the meal and bring two steaming bowls of pasta to the table, he hadn't looked up once. You set his bowl in front of him, but you're not sure he even noticed.

In the hour following, you finished your meal, cleaned up the kitchen, took a shower, changed into pajamas, and packed up his untouched bowl of pasta for later, all before settling in on the couch to put on headphones and queue up your show on your computer.

Now, you watch him from your spot on the couch as he sits at the dining table, body tense and still as a statue, save for the occasional flick through the pages of his file, or a scribble of notes on his notepad. Seeing him ultra-focused was nothing new, but there's something about this night that has you concerned. The bags under his eyes are heavier than usual, his lips are chapped and raw from being chewed on, his reading glasses are askew on his face, and his hair is messy, odd ends sticking out from how often he drags his hand through it.

It's when his neck turns slightly to look at the notepad at his side and you hear the minute clicking noise followed by a quiet wince that you know you have to intervene.

From experience, you know this is something you have to go about subtly. At your harping, he's been getting better about prioritizing himself and his wellbeing over work, but he still shows some defensiveness when someone suggests he take a break. He won't admit it, but you know he feels guilty about taking time to relax when there are people who need his help.

You approach him slowly from behind, dragging your feet on the hardwood floor, a gentle alert to your nearing. Your fingers softly brush over his back, sliding up across his shoulder blades until your hands rest on his shoulders. He doesn't react.

You squeeze your hands lightly, feeling the tight knots in his muscles, and his shoulders relax a few centimeters. You repeat this motion, slowly massaging from his shoulders to his neck. He releases a heavy exhale when your thumbs press against the sides of his neck, making circular motions to ease the tension. You lean lower to brush light kisses over the spots you press into, and finally, his head lifts. He leans back, head falling over the neck of his chair to look up at you as his hands reach back to rest over your forearms. He wears a tired smile, and you drop your head to close the remaining space between you, brushing your lips over his. They feel rough from the consistent dragging against his teeth while he was deep in concentration, but nonetheless remain warm and inviting for you to press kisses to.

"Hi," Jason whispers against your lips, his voice scratchy from its hours unused.

"Hey," you breathe. Your lips travel up his face, kissing up his nose and to his forehead, each spot relaxing a little more as you kiss it.

Your fingers continue their pressure around his neck and he groans softly when you press into that perfect spot, finding the largest knot. You want to bottle the sound, save it to listen to on a loop for hours.

"Can you finish up for the night?" You whisper the words behind his ear, following up with another kiss brushed across the skin.

"I'm so close to the end, baby," he speaks softly, his breath warm on the side of your face. "I can feel it. I just need a little more time."

Your hands trail back down to his shoulders, pressing harder. "You've been stuck for forever. You need a break."

"Baby..." He sighs when your kisses move down his neck.

"Please?"

He leans forward, pushing away from your touch to look back at the work in front of him, but you persist, moving around to climb in his lap. Your legs straddle over his hips, arms circling around his neck. On instinct, his hands settle on your thighs, and squeeze.

"Please, Jay?" You whine, prodding your nose against his. "You're working so hard, honey." You drag your lips underneath his jaw. "You're so tense. Let me help you relax."

He sighs again, his hands sliding up to grip your waist, hips shifting forward to nudge against yours, and you know you've got him.

"I can't say no to you, can I?" Jason concedes, and you grin.

"No, you can't."

You kiss him eagerly, humming against his lips when he reciprocates. It starts off innocent, as slow and sweet kisses, before quickly devolving into something more harried, your heated breaths mingling through exchanged keens and moans. When Jason pulls back to remove his glasses and toss them on the table behind you, you mouth along his neck, sucking and biting and licking at the skin. At the same time, your hips rock against his, and his hold on your waist tightens. You muffle his moan when your mouth finds his again, hands sliding into his ruffled hair to grab ahold of the strands and pull. His mouth falls open slightly, and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue past his lips.

He's so lost in the feeling of your movement against him and your hands in his hair, Jason doesn't register the hand that slides down to his belt buckle until his jeans are unzipped and your hand has slipped inside to grip his half-hard cock through his boxers.

"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back as you palm him. With his throat on display, you latch onto the spot just below his Adam's apple. After a few moments, he pulls himself together enough to say, "Was this your plan?" He pushes his hips out to grind against your hand, his erection growing harder. "Seduce me into taking a break?"

Satisfied with the mark you've left on the column of his throat, you pull back to look at him. You tug at the band of his boxers, pulling them down marginally to slip your hand inside and pull his dick out. Your knuckles brush against his balls and his hips jump, releasing a small gasp from him. You tease him with slow, light strokes up and down his length. Your thumb brushes over the beads of precum on his tip, and a high-pitched moan falls from his open mouth. His gaze on you is something out of a renaissance painting, all rosy cheeks and devoted eyes.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, though the tail-end of your statement is cut off by Jason taking your face in his hand and bringing your lips back to his.

His other hand tries to creep under the waistband of your sleep shorts, but you stop him with a grab on his wrist. It elicits a needy whine from the back of his throat, both at your depriving him of touching you, and the loss of your touch on him.

"Sorry, baby." You push yourself off him, your heart skipping a beat at the broken noises he makes in protest. "But I said I'd help you relax."

You can see the change in his eyes when you drop to your knees in front of him, his enlarged pupils encroaching further on the teal of his irises until they're just thin rings of blue and green around black.

"Can I?" Your voice is hushed and timid, almost self-conscious at the submission you're offering.

He whispers your name, quiet and hungry as he looks down on you. You run your hands over his thighs and he moves to sit on the edge of his seat, spreading his legs further apart so you can fit comfortably between them. His hands, which grip the sides of his chair, are taken in yours and guided to your hair. One holds your hair back, and the other cups your jaw, his thumb brushing soothing strokes on your cheek as you take his cock in your hand once more. You stroke at the base while dipping your head down to wrap your mouth around his tip.

Jason is big, and no matter how many times you take him, there's always a moment needed to adjust. Slowly, your mouth works past the tip, each bob of your head taking a little more of him while your hand jerks him off where your mouth can't reach. His breathing grows heavier the deeper you take him, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and contracting with the effort it takes to not immediately cum at the sight of you sucking him off.

"Fuck, that's— baby, oh my— fuck!" His low, baritone moaning mixes with the sloppy sounds your mouth makes. His whole body squirms as he fights the urge to just stand up and roughly fuck your throat until he comes. "You're so fucking good to me," he groans.

The hand on your jaw brushes away the tears that form as you gag from taking him as deep as you can. The hand holding your hair tightens its grip, softly yanking the strands and you moan; Jason feels the vibration in his cock and whimpers, his own tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Baby, I'm so—" He cuts himself off with a loud, animalistic moan when you swirl your tongue around the head of his dick, followed by a flick of your tongue against the tip before taking him in deep once again. Your tongue drags against the vein under his head and he comes in your mouth, the hot spurts gushing onto your tongue as he shallowly thrusts himself through his orgasm.

When he's done, hands fallen to his sides, slumped back in his seat and panting heavily, you slide your mouth off him and hold it open for him to see what he left.

"Swallow it." His voice is low and gravelly.

You listen.

"That's my girl," he breathes.

He helps you to your feet and wipes your wet cheeks with the back of his hand before pulling you in for a kiss.

"My girl," he whispers again. His eyes sweep over you with reverence, and it's your turn to cradle his cheeks in your palms and brush away the hints of moisture.

"Are you done working?" You ask quietly. Hopefully.

He leans his forehead against yours. "I still have to—"

You give him a long sigh, to which he playfully rolls his eyes.

"I guess I'll just go to bed! All alone!" You exclaim dramatically, stalking away from him with exaggerated steps.

"I'll be there in a minute," Jason laughs, calling after you.

"You better," you tease. When you know he's looking, you lift the hem of your shirt and pull it off, throwing it aside and turning away. It has barely left your hand when you hear his chair scraping against the floor and you break into a run towards your bedroom.

You don't get very far, however, before he catches you. You squeal when he grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, both of you full of giggles as he carries you to your room.

cause i'm a singer....

so this is my first time writing smut why am i highkey nervous abt it this was supposed to be under a thousand words but girl....i'm still classifying it a mini fic tho not a regular fic bc i FEEL LIKE IT & let it be known i am a jason crying during sex TRUTHER

and um why was i fighting for my life trying to describe their positions in the beginning when he was sitting in the chair and reader was standing behind him. i still fear it's not clear so i drew it. hope this helps

[truly-quirkless]

TAG DUMP 2 - Inbox n' Dash

[rafecameronssl4t]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTYtnp5NE/

Could you make one based on this tiktok that came out on my fyp?? (i think the first clip is better) Rafe becomes super protective and always keeps her by his side because some guys want to interview her for their tiktok and stuff, knowing that she's attractive

Popular || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: yoo the hand placement is craaaazyyyyyyy #NEEDTHAT (I feel like this is so s1 Rafe coded 😆) here’s the tiktok btw

Warnings: Rafe being super touchy

Word count: 649

MASTERLIST

The line stretched endlessly down the block, and Rafe’s patience was wearing thin. “Fuck, this line is taking forever,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh. The arm he had slung casually around your shoulders tightened ever so slightly, drawing you closer as you chuckled softly.

Your fingers lightly traced his bicep, glancing down at your phone to check the time. Forty-five minutes. That’s how long you, Rafe, and Topper had been stuck in the queue for the club, surrounded by a crowd of impatient partygoers. “I gotta take a piss, you comin’?” Topper asked, slapping Rafe on the back.

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Rafe turned to you, leaning down to press a sloppy, possessive kiss to your lips. His warmth lingered as he pulled back, his voice low. “Be right back, babe.” You nodded, humming softly as he stepped away, already missing the weight of his arm around you. With nothing else to do, you leaned against the metal barrier, scrolling through TikTok to pass the time.

The occasional murmur of the crowd barely registered until a light tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your scrolling. “Excuse me, miss,” a guy said, and you turned to face him with a hint of confusion. He held a camera in his hand, another guy standing beside him. “Do you mind if we interview you for a minute? It’s for our YouTube channel.”

You raised an eyebrow. The accent wasn’t local, and you immediately knew they weren’t from Kildare—nobody around here would even think to call themselves a YouTuber. Still, curiosity got the better of you, and you offered a polite laugh. “Okay, sure.” You turned fully to face the camera, brushing your hair over your shoulder.

“What’s something you wouldn’t want your future husband to know about you?” the guy asked with a grin, holding the mic out toward you. You let out a soft giggle, contemplating your answer as a familiar figure caught your eye in your peripheral vision. Rafe and Topper were making their way back, and their expressions were far from amused.

By the time you opened your mouth to respond, Rafe was already at your side. A firm hand landed on your bare shoulder, the weight grounding you. Rafe’s presence was imposing, his tall frame towering over the YouTuber and his friend. Topper flanked the other side, his arms crossed as he sized up the duo.

“Absolutely nothing,” you finally said with a playful smirk, clicking your tongue. “Because I’m perfect, beautiful, and amazing.” You winked at the camera, your confident tone masking the tension simmering in the air. “Yo, what the fuck’s goin’ on here?” Rafe’s voice was low, his tone sharp as he furrowed his brows.

His hand slid from your shoulder, resting possessively on your right boob, his fingers lightly squeezing as if to stake his claim. “She’s just getting interviewed,” the guy stammered, his chuckle nervous as his gaze darted between Rafe and Topper. “I’m a YouTuber.” “A YouTuber? In Kildare?” Topper scoffed, shaking his head with a mocking laugh. “That’s rich.”

Rafe’s hand didn’t budge, instead, he gave it another squeeze and you reached up instinctively, resting your hand over his in an attempt to ease the tension. The YouTuber tried to continue, his voice faltering under the weight of the stares. “Yeah, nothing crazy, man—”

“Nah, I think we’re done here,” Rafe cut him off, his smile sharp and anything but friendly. He shot a glance at the camera, his jaw tight, before gripping your hand and pulling you firmly away. You couldn’t help but glance back, catching the shaken expressions of the YouTuber and his friend as Topper trailed behind.

When you finally looked up at Rafe, his gaze was hard, but there was an unmistakable flicker of pride in his eyes. You knew better than to say anything, though; this was Rafe’s way of making it clear you were his.

[enwoso]

victory tastes like… | alessia russo (18+)

honestly got a bit carried away icl.. but this is an 18+, contains top!alessia, bottom!reader, swearing, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving) thigh riding (a receiving), dirty talking, a lot of build up, teasing, nipple play? i think, and more. buckle up its a long one:)

masterlist

alessia strides through the afterparty like she owns the night — and maybe she in a way does. a victorious beauty, radiant in the low light, her hair twisted into a messy bun that somehow makes her look even more effortless. her toned legs, on full display in a pair of barely-there denim shorts, catch more than a few eyes. but hers? they were locked on you.

you see her way before she reaches you, that smug, post-win glow clinging to her like perfume. she's flushed from champagne and the high of victory, lips already curled into that cocky grin that never fails to make your knees a little wobbly.

alessia doesn't hesitate, slipping through the crowd of her teammates and family members who are all dancing and singing proudly.

alessia with a predator's grace found you, a colourful cocktail in your hand as you lingered closer to the back of the group as alessia is pulling you into her.

her arm wind tightly around your waist, her body warm against yours, and her champagne flute clinks softly as it brushes your side.

"missed you," she murmurs, it slightly raspy from the amount of singing she'd done throughout the night. her lips skimming your ear, her voice a sultry purr.

you hum a soft laugh, trailing your fingers over the waistband of her shorts, slowly, deliberately your touch featherlight. teasing.

"missed me?" you echo, voice laced with mischief. "you've had your hands all over me all night, less. thought you might've gotten bored by now."

alessia pulls back just enough to give you a look — playful, dangerous. "don't tempt me," she murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. "you're the one wearing my shirt, my name on your back, baby. what did you think would happen?"

you tug at the collar of it, smug. "i thought you might behave... at least until we get to the third round of sweet caroline."

alessia laughs, a soft, disbelieving sound, before her fingers slip under the hem, brushing the skin at your hip, nipping slightly. "keep running your mouth, pretty girl," she warns, her tone lazy, almost amused. "see where it gets you."

but you don't take that as a sign to stop if anything it makes you want to continue your teasing all the more. press her buttons more.

you shift closer, pressing yourself into her just a little too innocently, your voice honeyed as you whisper, "you gonna kiss me again, or just keep talking about it?"

her jaw clenches, her grip on your waist tightening. her eyes burn.

"you're such a brat at times," she mutters, but it's affectionate laced with tension. "are you gonna carry on messing about... or are you gonna let me take you upstairs and ruin that little attitude of yours?"

the world spins a little at her words, heat blooming low in your stomach, but you can't help the wicked grin that curves on your lips. "you always talk this big," you say, leaning in until your noses brush, "but yet i'm still here fully dressed..."

that seemed to do it.

alessia exhaled sharply, grabbing your hand in hers, and placed her champagne flute down without looking where it's ended. then she's dragging you out of the function room, ignoring the chorus of laughter and karaoke behind you coming from her teammates.

you keep teasing her, brushing your fingers along the back of her neck in the queue for the lift, leaning in just enough to let your breath tickle her skin. "bet you'd let me make a mess of you right here, wouldn't you?"

you say it soft like it nothing, just to see the flicker, the way her nostrils flare that little bit, the sharp inhale and the way her jaw clicks.

alessia doesn't respond, she knows what your doing and soon enough she knows she going to be able to have her way with you. 

and then — the lift doors open.

alessia doesn't even wait for them to close before she's pressing you into the wall, the hand railing close and sharp on your back as one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing slow, promising lines along your waist.

"you've had your fun," she whispers darkly. "now it's my turn."

the lift hums softly, the world shrinking down to just the two of you, breath mingling in the tight space. alessia's lips brush against your jaw, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

alessia steps back just enough to grab your hand, fingers curling possessively around yours as she pulls you through the hallway of the fancy hotel the team was staying in. the noise around you fades, the moment narrowing to the pulse between your bodies.

the door to the room clicks shut behind you, the soft thud sealing off the outside world. alessia's bright blue eyes, darken, fierce and tender all at once as they drink you in—especially the football jersey you're wearing, a match worn one she'd given you from a few games ago. it being a little oversized on you, sleeves loose on your shoulders, the fabric heavy with her scent and the memory of the pitch.

your girlfriend's fingers trace your collarbone as she pushed you against the wall. her hands slipping beneath the edge of the jersey, warm and sure. the contrast of her touch against the rough cotton sends sparks skittering across your skin.

her hand cups the back of your neck, drawing you in until her breath brushes your lips—a low, slow promise that pulls you under.

when alessia's mouth finally meets yours, it's deliberate and searing, every inch of the kiss claiming you. her hand slides from your waist, fingertips ghosting upward, tracing the ribs beneath your shirt, lighting a fire to every nerve.

you press closer, the cool draft from the cracked window mixing with the heat of her body, until the world shrinks to the taut tension between you.

alessia pulls back just enough, breath warm against your mouth. her fingers all over you as they slip lower, tracing slow, tantalising lines along your hip bone, nails grazing just enough to make your nerves hum.

"your so pretty, my love." alessia whispers as her lips follow the path her hands set—along your jaw, the sensitive hollow beneath it. a faint, teasing lick, and you can't stop the sharp inhale that escapes from your lips.

alessia catches it with a low, wicked smile, the heat in her eyes growing. her hands settle firmly on your back, pressing herself impossibly closer.

her breath fluttering across your ear, teeth grazing your lobe, the sensation electric and consuming. slow, teasing kisses trail down your neck, each one a promise, a quiet command. every touch building the tension tighter, winding you both up like a coil ready to snap.

your hands finding her waist, pulling her closer, craving the taut strength beneath her clothes. her eyes lock onto yours, dark and fierce, sliding beneath your shirt once again, her fingers electric as they explore with a hunger that's patient and sure.

her whisper is a thread pulling you deeper: "tell me what you want baby."

you try for something cheeky, a small grin curling your lips, “you, a-always you.” you whine but before you can speak more, alessia silences you—pressing her body harder against yours, her voice low and unyielding.

"soon, baby. i promise but tonight i’m in control."

and in that moment, you head fuzzy from the amount of alcohol consumed and with the way she looked, spoke, moved you. with her hands and lips commanding every inch of you, you knew you wouldn't want it any other way.

the jersey shifts beneath alessia's touch as her hands slide higher, palms warm and steady against your stomach, until the fabric bunches at your ribs. she doesn't rush—there's no need. you're already pliant beneath her, breath coming shallow as the tension winds tighter.

alessia watches your face as she lifts the shirt, slow and deliberate, exposing inch by inch of your skin to the cool hotel air and her burning gaze. when she finally pulls it over your head and tosses it somewhere on the floor, her eyes linger—appreciating, claiming, the corners of her mouth curling like she already knows what you'll be reduced to.

her hands come back to your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your bottoms, not dipping beneath, not yet—just the steady pressure of promise.

alessia presses forward again, hips against yours, mouth finding the slope of your neck again. each kiss lands heavier now, deeper, wetter, laced with heat and hunger.

you are trembling under her, head tipping back against the wall, exposing your throat, your chest rising and falling faster with every touch.

“le-less please, i-i need you.” you whine as her fingers trail up your side, feather-light over your ribs, then cup your chest through the thin fabric of your bra.

a sharp gasp slips from you before you can catch it—your hips twitching forward instinctively, seeking friction that she refuses to give.

you feel her smirk against your neck. "already falling apart," she murmurs. "i haven't even really touched you yet, my girl."

you let out a soft, helpless sound, somewhere between a whimper and a plea, but it only spurs her on. alessia unhooks your bra with maddening ease, too much ease, dragging the straps down your arms and casting it aside. it landing somewhere.

the air feeling sharp against your skin, your nipples already tight from want and the way her gaze roves over you—hungry, focused, reverent.

alessia kisses her way down, tongue flicking briefly over your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you jerk beneath her hands.

but when her mouth finally closes around your nipple, you arch, a strangled sound leaving your lips as your fingers twist into her blonde hair, desperate for something to anchor you.

“a-lessi—ah—please…”

but she doesn't let you take control. one of her hands clamps over your wrist, pinning it to your side as she works you over. slow, wet licks, lazy drags of her tongue daunting you almost, sucking just enough to make you tremble.

you knees go weak, and she chuckles darkly, guiding you back toward the white linen sheets of the hotel bed with calm authority, until the backs of your thighs hit the edge and you sit without thinking. you're a mess—breathing hard, skin flushed, nerves raw.

the blonde kneels between your legs, hands running slowly up your thighs. her nails scrape lightly through the fabric still clinging to your hips, and you're sure if she asked you for anything in that moment, you'd give it without hesitation.

but she doesn't ask.

alessia watches your face as she peels the rest of your clothes off—deliberate and unhurried, like she’s unwrapping something precious, something she’s earned. her eyes never leave yours, and the heat in them makes your skin flush under the low light.

you lift your hips when she tells you to, the quiet, “up for me, baby,” sending a fresh wave of want rolling through your belly. her knuckles graze teasingly between your legs as she pulls your underwear down, and a high, desperate sound slips from your throat before you can stop it.

“fuck—less…”

she smirks softly. you’re already trembling, thighs twitching under her hands as she kneels between your legs.

she doesn’t touch you where you need it. not yet.

instead, alessia’s palms settle on your inner thighs, spreading you open with gentle pressure. the pads of her thumbs rub slow, possessive circles into your skin, warm and steady, grounding you even as you start to unravel.

you're soaked. you know it. she knows it.

you can’t help it—you whimper, a breathy, broken noise that betrays how close you already are to begging.

“less… please—” your voice cracks, soft and shaking. “d-don’t tease me…”

alessia doesn’t answer—not with words anyway. her breath ghosts over your aching core, warm and maddeningly close, making your hips jerk instinctively toward her.

you let out a strangled moan, high and needy. “god—please, i can’t take it.”

alessia hums, low and deep in her throat, eyes fixed on the slick between your legs like she’s watching something sacred. “you’re dripping,” alessia murmurs, voice rough. “so wet for me, my pretty, girl.”

your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, desperate whine. “please—less, i need your mouth, i need—”

her thumbs press in slightly, keeping your thighs open, and she leans in just close enough to brush her nose against your clit without fully touching it.

you gasp, your whole body jerking.

“say it,” alessia says, calm and low. “tell me exactly what you want.”

you’re panting now, thighs shaking under her hands. “i want your mouth—i want your tongue—please, please just���fuck—less, do something—”

alessia finally lets her lips ghost over you, the barest brush of heat and wetness that makes you cry out, sharp and helpless.

“ah—oh my god—yes—yes—”

but she doesn’t stay there. alessia lifts her head again, licking her lips slowly, eyes burning as she watches the way you squirm beneath her.

“not yet,” alessia whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. “i want you to hear you beg a little more.”

she doesn't give you what you so desperately want. not yet. instead she hovers, breath warm against the aching heat between your legs, so close you can feel the way her exhale makes you twitch, your hips lifting involuntarily toward her mouth.

your writhing beneath her, every nerve lit up, skin hypersensitive from how close she’s hovering but refusing to touch you properly. your hands reach for her, one slipping into her hair, the other gripping the sheets hard enough to hurt.

“please…” your voice is barely a whisper, raw with need. “less—fuck—please, i’m going insane…”

alessia doesn’t move. your thighs twitch in her hold, and you lift your hips again, instinctive, desperate. “i need your mouth. i need you, please, i’ll do anything.”

still nothing—just her breath against you, warm and maddening.

you whimper again, louder this time. “i’m so wet for you, it hurts. i can’t take it—i need you, alessia, please touch me.”

you hear your own voice breaking, high and wrecked, and still she just watches you, so calm, so in control. it only makes it worse.

“please,” you beg again, shakier now. “i’ll be a good girl —just please, please, don’t make me wait anymore—”

another quiet, desperate whimper escapes you before you can stop it. alessia's eyes flick up, and her mouth curls into a slow, dangerous smile. "that's better," she murmurs.

then finally, her mouth meets you where you need her most.

the first lick is slow—broad, deliberate. alessia moans low against you, the sound reverberating deep in her throat like she’s finally getting a taste of something she’s been craving for far too long. her mouth is hot, her tongue languid and sure as it slides through you, and you shudder violently, legs falling open wider without resistance.

“fuck,” you whisper, already breathless.

alessia’s hands slide beneath your thighs and hook around, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, locking you in place. her grip is firm—commanding. there is no escape, not that you want one. alessia groans again, rough and needy, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.

“your mine,” alessia murmurs, voice low and wrecked as she glances up at you. “so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

alessia dips back down, and then she’s everywhere—tongue pressing in slow, languid strokes, tracing every slick inch of you with devastating control. she savors it, each movement precise, almost reverent, like she’s tasting your pleasure more than her own. your hips stutter, but alessia just tightens her grip, nails biting into your skin as she holds you still.

“stay there, baby,” she says, breath warm and ragged against you. “let me take my time.”

your fingers tangle in the sheets, desperate to anchor yourself. then her tongue flicks—quick, teasing, then swirling around your clit with a rhythm that’s maddening in its precision. you choke on a moan, head tossing back, thighs twitching against her shoulders.

“a-alessia—ah—fuck,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers leave the sheets and sink into her hair, gripping tight.

alessia groans again, louder this time, the sound guttural and needy. her mouth seals around you, sucking slow and deep, and you swear you can feel her smiling against your skin when you cry out.

“you love this, don’t you?” alessia breathes against your clit. “love being ruined on my tongue.”

you try to answer, to speak, but your body betrays you—all you can manage is a breathless whimper, hips jerking despite yourself. her tongue presses harder, faster, dragging a helpless moan from your lips, your thighs clamping reflexively around her.

alessia doesn’t relent. she keeps going, relentless, confident, mouth working you like she already knows every way to make you fall apart. the wet sounds between your thighs grow louder, matched only by the breathy little gasps and moans slipping freely from both of you. every sound she makes is a praise—raw, wanting, as though alessia’s addicted to the way you taste, the way you move, the way you sound.

“f-fuck—less…” you manage, voice all torn-up desire.

her grip on your thighs tightens again. “i said stay still,” she growls, low and possessive, licking a firm, deliberate stripe that makes your back arch off the mattress. “be a good girl for me.”

then her lips wrap around your clit and she sucks—hard and perfect—and your whole world snaps. your hands fly to her shoulders, grabbing at anything you can, fingers digging in as the tension coils impossibly tight.

“less—oh god, m’ close, i—fuck!”

alessia hums against you, tongue moving faster now, working you through the build with ruthless expertise. she feels it in your trembling thighs, the way your body rocks helplessly into her mouth, chasing every flick and suck like you’re starving for it.

your moans come out broken now—gasping, pleading, babbling messes of her name and barely-formed curses.

alessia’s hands grip harder, anchoring you as your back bows and your whole body strains toward release. you feel the burn rising, unbearable, unbearable—until it’s not.

“let go, baby,” alessia breathes, voice shaking from effort and lust. “let me hear you.”

and when it hits, it’s not soft—it’s a full-body surrender. your mouth drops open in a silent cry, your hips jerk wildly, and your whole body convulses as the orgasm tears through you like a wave. it’s hot, overwhelming, and all-consuming—her name falling from your lips like prayer.

but alessia doesn’t stop.

she licks you through it, slow and thorough, tongue dragging through your wetness like she’s cleaning you up, worshipping every shudder, every twitch. it’s too much. too intense. you whimper, breath hitching as your body trembles uncontrollably.

“mhm s-still sensitive,” you manage to gasp, twitching beneath her.

alessia finally pulls back, mouth slick, eyes dark and glittering with satisfaction. she looks at you like she’s never seen anything more beautiful than the way you’re sprawled on the bed—boneless, ruined, glowing.

“good girl,” she murmurs. “tasted even better than i imagined.”

alessia, licking her lips as she crawls up your body, slow and predatory, and presses her mouth to yours. you can taste yourself on her lips, on her tongue, and it makes your stomach twist with something deeper than lust—something sharp and consuming.

"think you've still got cheek left in you?" alessia murmurs, voice rough with want, hips already settling between your legs again.

you try to answer. but all that comes out is a whimper. and alessia grins. "didn't think so."

but alessia doesn't give you much time to catch your breath.

she stays right there, pressed against you, her thigh sliding between yours, the warmth of her body anchoring you as her mouth finds your throat again—biting gently now, claiming, leaving faint marks she knows you'll feel later.

her hands roaming without hesitation, familiar now in the way they map your body, coaxing little reactions with minimal effort.

your skin is oversensitive, every nerve exposed and raw, but it doesn't matter. you crave more. need more. wanted more. you feel insatiable under her—lit up and stretched thin and so completely hers.

and alessia knows it.

"you're, we’re not done," alessia breathes against your ear, hand sliding between your legs again. "not even close."

your thighs twitch in protest, but your body betrays you—already wet, already eager, already opening up for her again.

alessia kisses the corner of your mouth as her fingers slip through your slick heat, drawing a broken gasp from your lips. you try to lift your hips, but her other hand lands firm on your stomach, pinning you down.

"no," alessia murmurs. "you don't get to chase it. you take what I give you."

the command coils through you like lightning, and you whimper—eyes fluttering shut, breath catching as her fingers circle your clit in slow, maddening patterns. no pressure, not yet. just enough to make your whole body ache with the wanting, once again.

"a-alessia, please-"

alessia watches you unravel beneath her. every twist of your hips, every shaky breath, every bitten-off moan—she drinks it in like fuel.

"you look so gorgeous like this," alessia says, voice rough with arousal. "messy. needy. my name half-stuck in your throat."

you nod, useless, undone.

alessia pushes two fingers into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, and you cry out—hips bucking before her hand on your stomach pushes you back down again.

her rhythm is unrelenting—firm and deep, the heel of her palm brushing your clit with every stroke until you're practically writhing.

your fingers scrabble for something—her arm, the sheets, yourself. you can't hold anything steady. every muscle feels like it's trembling on the edge.

alessia leans in, her voice in your ear, low and deadly calm. "you're gonna cum again for me, my girl. just like this. don't hold it. let go."

you can't answer, not with proper words. just whimpers of her name. all you can do is feel—her fingers curling just right, the tight drag inside you, the steady grind of her hand, the fire building with every second until you're nothing but heat and helpless moans.

"a-ah, oh, less"

it crashes over you like a wave—harder than before. your whole body arches, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a desperate cry as the orgasm rips through you, sharp and all-consuming.

alessia doesn't stop right away. she works you through it, again, until your thighs shake and you're gasping and whimpering, begging with no words, just broken sounds and twitching limbs.

finally, finally, alessia slows.

her fingers slipping out of you, wet and shining, and she brings them to her mouth, sucking them clean with a quiet, satisfied hum.

before she crawls up beside you, her body warm against yours, and kisses you deep and slow—like she's sealing something between your ribs.

your legs are still trembling. your breath's ragged. your body feels like it's glowing from the inside out.

alessia smiles against your lips, fingers brushing the sweaty hair from your forehead.

"still think you could handle wearing my jersey again?" alessia murmurs. you manage the softest laugh, eyes half-lidded, voice nothing more than a wrecked whisper.

"only if i survive the night."

alessia doesn't let you drift far. she gives you a moment—just long enough to feel the tremble still working through your thighs, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

but her hand never fully leaves your skin. it stays there, splayed possessively across your waist, thumb stroking the curve of your hip in lazy, dangerous circles.

you're pliant beneath her, loose and wrecked, and she loves seeing you like this - maybe more than she would ever admit to anyone.

"look at you," alessia murmurs, her voice thick and low as she presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then down the column of your throat again. "completely fucked out—and i’m not even close to done with you."

the words ignite something in your gut, deep and molten. you shift slightly against her, instinctively seeking friction, heat, more—and alessia laughs, a dark, amused sound that vibrates against your skin.

"oh, you want it now?" alessia teases, hand sliding down to squeeze your thigh, her fingers dragging inward, brushing the oversensitive slick between your legs. "suddenly so greedy."

you try to answer, but the sound that leaves you is more whine than word, like it has been since she's been on top of you. your hand curls into her bicep, nails dragging faint crescents into her skin, but she's not giving you any control, not tonight.

alessia shifts, rising above you—knees straddling your thigh, her own body finally pressing close, and that's when you feel it: how wet she is. even through her shorts, the heat is unmistakable, pressed against your skin like a promise you've been aching for all night.

you glance down, dizzy with want, and catch the sharp smirk on her lips as she leans down, her mouth brushing your ear.

"you feel that?" alessia whispers. "that's what you do to me."

and then she grabs your wrist and drags your hand down between her legs, pushing your fingers hard against the soaked fabric.

"take them off me," alessia growls, voice rough with need.

your fingers shake as you obey, tugging the waistband down her thighs, breath catching when you see how wet she is—slick and flushed and so ready for you.

but before you can touch her, alessia grabs your wrists and pins them to the mattress again, her hips grinding down against your thigh, drawing a low groan from her throat.

"don't get ahead of yourself baby," alessia warns, dragging her wet heat across your skin, letting you feel how much she needs it—how close she is to unraveling, too. "this is still my game. my reward.”

and then she starts to move.

the friction is obscene—her body grinding against your leg in slow, deliberate rolls, the slick slide of her clit against your skin making your whole body tighten all over again. her breath hitches, her fingers tightening around your wrists, and you can feel how close she is to losing it.

but alessia doesn't. not yet.

alessia leans down, mouth finding yours, her kiss hungry now—open and hot and messy, tongue pressing in like she's trying to taste every sound you've made tonight. when she breaks it, her forehead rests against yours, breath mingling, both of you caught in the rhythm of her hips.

you're squirming under her, desperate for her to let you touch, to take, to give her back even a fraction of the pleasure she's given you. but she doesn't loosen her grip. alessia just keeps using you—riding your thigh like it's hers, like you are.

and fuck, you are.

your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open in a low moan as her pace quickens, her breaths growing shallower.

you can hear the slick drag of her against your skin, feel every tremble as her thighs tighten around yours. "lessi-" you gasp, voice thin and breaking.

"say it again," alessia demands, voice wrecked.

"le-lessi, please”

alessia's right there. you can feel it in the way her rhythm falters, the tremble in her arms, the desperate bite of her teeth into your shoulder as her orgasm rips through her, sudden and intense.

she moans your name like it's the only thing tethering her to the world, her whole body going rigid above you, grinding hard through the aftershocks until she finally collapses against your chest—breathing hard, skin slick, still twitching with the last waves of pleasure.

you were both shaking.

“fuck..that was,, was amazing.”

you lie there in the aftermath, her weight warm and grounding on top of you, your fingers finally freed to tangle in her blonde hair, stroking her back as you come down together.

but even as her breathing evens out, you feel her smile against your skin.

"you're not going anywhere," alessia whispers, already kissing around your skin again. "i'm going to ruin you by morning."

you lie there beneath her, limbs tangled, breath catching in quiet fits as alessia's weight settles over you—warm and solid, grounding.

her skin is damp, her thigh still pressed between yours, but now her hands have softened, brushing slowly up and down your ribs in a soothing rhythm, as if trying to memorise you all over again.

"i love you and, i’m so proud of you, always.” you whisper against her head. but alessia doesn't speak at first. just kisses the hollow of your throat, then your shoulder, then the soft space just above your heart, each one slower than the last. like gratitude. like worship.

"i love you too, my girl. so much.”

and you can't help the way your fingers continue to thread into her hair, gently pulling her closer, keeping her right there.

after a long moment, alessia lifts her head, eyes meeting yours—dark, shining, a little wild still, but soft around the edges now.

"if this is what victory tastes like..." alessia murmurs, voice rough but low, "then i want to win every award possible."

you can feel the smile tug at your lips before you can stop it, the sound that escapes you somewhere between a breathless laugh and a groan.

"that your post-match speech?"

alessia grins, dipping down to press her lips just below your ear. "no, not even close."

and then her mouth is on yours again—slower this time, but no less demanding. her kiss steals your breath, like she's tasting the high of what she just did to you—and already thinking about doing it again.

her hand slides back between your thighs, teasing, coaxing your legs apart like it's second nature. you gasp into alessia's mouth, your whole body still trembling, still so tender and open—but she knows exactly how to touch you now. how to pull you right under again.

you whimper as she slips lower, heat pooling fast in your belly once more.

"i told you," alessia murmurs, voice all gravel and promise as she disappears between you thighs. "we aren't done."

and this time, when alessia's mouth finds you again, you know two things, one that your exactly where you want to be and two that you know exactly how long this night is going to be.

[cupofteatoyou]

Dreaming in Blaugrana pt3

The door clicked shut behind you with a dull thud.

Laughter still spilled through the walls of Mapi’s apartment—shouts, clinking glasses, a playlist someone had definitely stolen from Patri’s workout queue. It all felt too loud. Too bright. Like you were watching it from the wrong side of a window.

You tugged your hoodie tighter and stepped out into the night.

The street was quiet, washed in soft orange from the old streetlamps. The air smelled like leftover smoke from the barbecue and damp concrete. Your shoes scuffed lightly as you walked, slow and unhurried, like you didn’t want to be anywhere in particular—just away.

You didn’t hear her at first.

Not until the door swung open behind you and her voice, hesitant and unsure, cut through the quiet.

“Hey.”

You turned.

Alexia stood on the top step, her hand gripping the edge of the railing like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be there. Her jacket was half-zipped. Her curls were a little frizzy from the heat of the room, and her brows were drawn tight.

“I—” she started, then stopped. You waited.

She tried again. “You were just... leaving?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It is getting late.”

She stepped down onto the sidewalk but didn’t come closer. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Your mouth twisted. “Didn’t think anyone would notice.”

Alexia flinched at that. Just slightly. But she didn’t deny it.

“I noticed,” she said. Quiet. Like it was hard to admit.

You didn’t know what to do with that. So you just nod your head and turned slightly, eyes back on the empty road ahead.

Behind you, she let out a breath. The kind you release after thinking too long. “I wasn’t sure if I should come after you.”

You kept your voice light, but didn’t faced her . “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made you pause.

Alexia shifted behind you, hands tucked into her sleeves like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I keep thinking about that day. About how I just… left.”

You looked down at the pavement. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“I know,” she said, and then added, softer, “But I still should’ve said something.”

The silence stretched again.

“You know,” she continued, “for a while, I really believed it was the mascot I liked.”

You glanced over, finally. Her face was in shadow, but you could hear the emotion threading through her voice.

“But the truth is,” she said, “you were the one who made me feel safe. Not the fur. Not the foam. Just... you. Underneath it all.”

You swallowed. Hard.

Alexia stepped closer—just enough for her shoulder to brush yours. Barely there. Like she was testing the air between you.

“I got so used to pretending I didn’t need anyone,” she said. “Then there you were. Sitting next to me after training. Not asking anything. Just... being there.”

She looked at you, really looked, and something unspoken passed between you—like she was seeing your face for the first time without the guilt or the weight or the distance.

“I miss that,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “I miss you.”

A gust of wind blew past. You crossed your arms instinctively, but you didn’t step away.

You didn’t want to.

Alexia reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out her car keys, then paused—offering them up like an olive branch.

“Can I drive you home?”

You hesitated. But , you didn’t say no. You nodded, and that was all it took.

She gave you a small smile. Careful. Almost shy.

And the two of you started walking—side by side, silent for a while. But it wasn’t the same kind of silence as before.

It wasn’t avoidance. Or guilt.

It was something softer.

Something new.

She clicked the car unlocked and opened the passenger door for you. Waited until you were in before getting behind the wheel..

Her hand rested lightly on the steering wheel. Her profile calm, but focused. Like she wasn’t rushing this. Like she wanted to get it right.

You weren’t sure where things would go after this.

But for the first time since everything started—

you weren’t afraid to find out.

Alexia had turned down the radio after the first few seconds, fingers adjusting the volume like it was more for comfort than for company. The quiet that settled between you wasn’t uncomfortable—but it wasn’t easy either. It was the kind that buzzed in your chest. The kind that made your hands feel too still in your lap.

Outside the window, the city passed in soft streaks of orange light and blurry storefronts. You could still hear faint echoes of Mapi’s party behind you—shouts, laughter, music—but they faded the farther you got.

Alexia cleared her throat softly. “So…”

You glanced over.

She looked straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming absently against her thigh. “Where am I taking you?”

You hesitated.

Not because you didn’t know your own address. But because saying it out loud made this real. Made this moment real. Made her real again.

You gave it to her quietly, almost like you were telling a secret.

She repeated it under her breath, testing the shape of it in her mouth. “Yeah… I know that area.”

You nodded, eyes back on the road. “It’s not far.”

She glanced at you again, briefly. “Still glad you said yes.”

Your throat tightened. “To the ride?”

A beat. “To me.”

That caught you off guard.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know how.

The only sound in the car was the steady rhythm of the tires beneath you and the soft sigh of the AC. It made everything feel more intimate. Like the two of you had slipped into some pocket of the world where things moved slower—safer.

You looked at her hands on the wheel. The same hands that once reached out for a mascot’s paw like it meant something. Like you meant something. Even when she didn’t know who you were.

Alexia spoke again, quieter this time. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

You stared ahead. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but I wanted to. I just… didn’t know how to be honest with you once I realized I hadn’t been.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves. “Me either.”

She turned down your street a few minutes later, slowing in front of your building. She didn’t pull right away. Just let the car idle at the curb, headlights pooling against the sidewalk.

“Thanks for trusting me with it,” she said suddenly.

You blinked. “With what?”

“Your address.” Her voice was light, but not joking. “Letting me get close again.”

You looked at her, and this time, you didn’t look away.

Because yeah—maybe it was just an address.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it was the first thing you’d handed her without hiding.

And maybe she knew that.

It had been three days since the car ride.

Three days since she walked you to your door, since her jacket brushed yours on the sidewalk, since the quiet between you stopped feeling like a goodbye.

And then… nothing.

Not a text. Not a call.

And you weren’t exactly surprised. You knew Alexia—knew how she retreated when things got too real, how she lived inside her own head sometimes longer than was good for her. Still, every time the café door chimed, your heart gave a little tug. Just in case.

It was mid-afternoon, halfway through your shift, when the bell rang again.

You barely glanced up from restocking the napkin holders, already anticipating another regular or someone with too much foam in their order.

Then a voice said, loud and smug:

“Look who’s out here pretending she’s not a celebrity.”

You blinked. Looked up.

Mapi León was sauntering toward the counter like she owned the place, sunglasses on indoors, hair pulled into a loose bun. And behind her—quiet, hesitant, hands in the pockets of her jacket—was Alexia.

Your heart immediately stuttered.

Mapi leaned against the counter, squinting at the pastry display. “What’s the sweetest thing you have that won’t actually kill me?”

You blinked again. “I—I thought you were training this afternoon?”

Mapi shrugged. “Ingrid thinks I’m at the physio. I told her I had a hot date with my blood sugar.”

You laughed softly, then flicked your eyes toward Alexia.

She wasn’t saying anything. But she wasn’t looking away either.

“Hi,” she said, finally.

Your voice almost caught. “Hi.”

Mapi spun toward her with a gasp. “She said hi back. Are we witnessing a soft launch right now? Should I leave?”

Alexia sighed. “Mapi.”

“What? I’m just saying. Eye contact was made. Civil greetings were exchanged. History has been written.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile, and grabbed two cups. “Drinks on the house.”

Mapi leaned over the counter, stage whispering, “You hear that? She likes us.”

“She likes you,” Alexia deadpanned, then glanced at you, a little smile creeping in. “I’m not sure I’ve earned mine yet.”

Your stomach fluttered.

Mapi snorted and pointed at Alexia dramatically. “See? Self-aware. Growth.”

You busied yourself behind the counter—grateful for the distraction—but your hands were a little clumsy, your pulse a little too fast. You could feel Alexia’s eyes on you, even as she pretended to study the drink menu like it had changed since she walked in.

When you slid her coffee across the counter, her fingers brushed yours.

“I didn’t come here for the coffee,” she said quietly.

You met her eyes. “No?”

She shook her head. “I came to see if I still get to look at you like this.”

You blinked. Every nerve in your body lit up.

Before you could say anything, Mapi reappeared—now holding a cookie the size of her face. “Okay, wow, I leave you two alone for five seconds and suddenly it’s The Notebook. Should I leave you with mood lighting? Burn some incense?”

Alexia shot her a look, but there was a flicker of gratitude behind it. Like she needed Mapi’s chaos just to keep her grounded.

You laughed. And this time it wasn’t awkward. It was light. Easy.

“Why don’t you take your cookie and go be disruptive... over there?” you offered, nodding toward the corner table.

Mapi bowed. “As you wish. Lovebirds.”

“We’re not—” you and Alexia said at the same time, then froze.

Mapi cackled. “YET.”

She retreated to the corner with her cookie and her giant grin, and you and Alexia were left in the quiet again—only this time, it didn’t feel uncertain.

Alexia leaned forward on her elbows, her coffee cradled between her hands. “I mean it,” she said softly. “I want to show up. Keep showing up. If that’s something you’d let me do.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

She smiled.

And this time, it wasn’t shy.

It was real. Solid.

Something beginning again.

The day passed like most others did now—slow, quiet, ordinary.

You wiped down tables. Refilled sugar jars. Burned your tongue taste-testing a new syrup no one had asked for. The café stayed mostly calm, save for the usual afternoon rush and an espresso machine that made more noise than necessary.

By the time your shift ended, the sky outside had shifted into that soft golden haze, just shy of dusk. You walked home with your headphones in, hood up, hands in your pockets, letting the city blur around you. Nothing felt out of place. Nothing felt like it was building toward anything.

You got home. Kicked off your shoes. Let your bag drop somewhere by the couch. The place was still, the kind of quiet that settles over everything like a blanket. Comforting, but also heavy. Familiar.

You changed into your favorite oversized shirt. Lit a candle you didn’t really need. Pulled your hair up. Normal things.

Then your phone buzzed.

You didn’t rush to check it. You figured it was another promo text from the café manager or Mapi sending you a cursed meme.

But when you finally did glance at it—

your breath caught.

Unknown number.

No name. No photo. Just a single message.

I would love to see you there. –Alexia

You stared at it.

Attached beneath the message were two tickets.

Barça vs. Levante.

Home match. Front row.

Your thumb hovered above the screen, like touching it might make the whole thing vanish.

There was no pressure. No expectations. No apology wrapped in poetic words.

Just... seven words and her name. Quiet. Personal. Intentional.

She didn’t have to sign it.

But she did.

–Alexia

Your pulse thudded somewhere behind your ribs.

Because that message? That wasn’t for Cat Culer.

It wasn’t performative, it wasn’t an inside joke, and it wasn’t sent to a version of you she couldn’t face.

It was for you.

No mask. No foam. No pretending.

You didn’t respond—not yet.

You just sat down on the edge of your couch, holding your phone like it was something fragile, something real.

You read it again. And again.

And then you let yourself smile.

Because in eight words and two tickets, she said everything you’d been waiting to hear.

No drama. No disguise.

Just her.

And maybe—

a new beginning.

Then match day came.

And you woke up with that familiar buzz in your chest—the one that always used to come when you pulled on the Cat Culer suit. When you became someone who could be loud. Unafraid.

And somehow, you didn’t need the suit this time.

You just needed to show up.

So you did.

You kept it simple—black jeans, team hoodie, no makeup, hair down. You weren’t here to work. Not today.

The stadium felt bigger as a spectator.

The buzz in the air was electric—fans in jerseys shouting, flags waving, the hum of drums pulsing through your ribs. The energy of thousands, but your heart was focused on one person.

You found your seat.

Front row. Just like the ticket said.

It was loud. It was overwhelming. But you stayed.

You scanned the pitch, but she wasn’t out yet. The players were still trickling out from the tunnel, coaches barking last-minute things, photographers darting across the sidelines.

And then—

She appeared.

Hair braided back. Armband snug against her sleeve. Boots already scuffed. That signature walk—composed, grounded, sharp. She looked exactly how she always had on match day.

Except this time, she wasn’t looking at the bench.

She was scanning the crowd.

And when her eyes found you?

She stilled.

Just for a second. Just long enough for you to know she’d been searching.

She didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.

She just looked at you like she knew.

And that was enough.

She turned back to her team, barked something to Mapi, and fell into warmups like it was second nature. But her posture had changed.

And for the rest of that match—every time she drifted to your side of the pitch, every glance toward the stands—she never looked over the crowd.

She looked at you.

Not the mascot.

Not the intern in the background.

Just you.

And for the first time, you didn’t need anything else.

The final whistle had echoed, the stadium now more shadows than sound.

Most of the crowd had begun to thin, the high of the win slowly giving way to the usual post-match rush—families rounding up their kids, fans still shouting chants as they spilled out into the streets, stadium staff moving like clockwork to start the reset for next time.

But you stayed.

You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the strap of your bag until the lights began to dim and the noise faded enough for your pulse to catch up.

You found yourself near the players’ tunnel—not out of place, but not exactly belonging either. Just close enough. Just waiting.

And then there she was.

Alexia stepped out of the tunnel, her jersey damp and clinging to her frame, hair messy and damp, socks slouched from the match. She looked powerful and real and tired in the most human way.

She was talking to one of the staffers. Laughing a little. But then her eyes swept the edge of the stands—and stopped.

She saw you.

And everything else about her seemed to pause.

You didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.

You didn’t have to.

She said something short to the staffer, gave a nod, then crossed the distance between you with long, purposeful strides. You could hear the gravel under her cleats. Feel the beat of your heart in your throat.

When she stopped in front of you, she didn’t look hesitant.

She just looked sure.

“You came,” she said, breath hitching just slightly.

You nodded. “You sent the tickets.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d use them.”

“I wasn’t sure either,” you admitted. “But then… I didn’t want to miss it.”

That softened her.

She glanced back toward the tunnel like she could still hear the team inside—Mapi shouting something about champagne and victory shots—but then turned back to you.

“I should be in the locker room,” she said. “Media, cooldown, all that. But…”

She trailed off, suddenly a little shy.

“But?” you asked, voice quiet.

Her fingers curled around the hem of her jersey. “I kind of want to take you home instead.”

Your breath caught.

She rushed to clarify, cheeks slightly flushed. “Not like—not that—I just meant… can I drive you home?”

You blinked. Then smiled. “You asking out of guilt? Or convenience?”

Alexia grinned. “Would it be awful if I said both?”

“Yes.”

She laughed, then added, gently this time: “I just want more time with you.”

And that? That was the truth underneath it all.

Not about the ride. Or the win. Or the message she sent three nights ago.

Just her, asking if this thing between you still had space to exist.

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

Her smile softened. “Come on. It’s parked in the back. I’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

“That’s suspiciously generous of you.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

You walked beside her through the quiet hallways of the stadium, the adrenaline still buzzing in the walls, the hum of something different alive between you now.

She opened the passenger door for you without thinking. Like it was instinct.

And when you both slid into the car—warm from the engine, seats a little too low, the smell of turf and sweat and something faintly citrus still clinging to her—you didn’t rush to speak.

Alexia turned the key in the ignition. The headlights lit up the road ahead.

And then she glanced at you.

“You okay?”

You looked over. She was watching you like the answer mattered.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I think I am.”

She shifted into drive, smiled to herself, and pulled away from the stadium.

And this time—

she wasn’t catching up.

She wasn’t chasing.

She was just beside you.

Finally.

The car ride had been soft with silence.

Not the kind that presses down on your chest—but the kind that settles in your bones. That quiet hum of something real, something shifting, something both of you were still figuring out how to hold.

When Alexia pulled up in front of your building, neither of you moved for a few seconds.

She didn’t need to ask if this was the place. She remembered the porch. The cracked brick step. The little light above the door that flickered every third blink. She’d seen it before—from the outside.

But tonight wasn’t about standing on the edge anymore.

Her fingers lightly tapped the steering wheel, like she was trying to ground herself. You looked at her. She looked at you.

And in that quiet, she asked without asking.

And you answered without speaking.

You opened the passenger door and stepped into the cold, your breath visible as you looked back at her.

She followed.

You didn’t talk as you climbed the stairs. But your hands brushed once—twice—until finally, hers settled beside yours. A light touch. Intentional. Just enough to make your heart stutter.

You unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment spill into the hallway. She stood just behind you, still on the threshold.

You turned, met her eyes, and said, barely above a whisper, “You don’t have to come in.”

“I want to,” she replied, without missing a beat.

Her voice was low. Steady. Sure.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

She looked around like she’d walked into something sacred. Not because your apartment was impressive—it wasn’t. The lighting was soft but a little too yellow. The throw pillows didn’t match. A stack of books leaned dangerously sideways on the coffee table.

But still, she looked like she’d been invited into something rare.

She didn’t speak right away. Just moved her eyes slowly across the space.

The half-melted candle on the windowsill. The chipped mug on the counter. The hoodie draped over the back of the couch. The framed photo by the door—one you thought no one would ever look too closely at.

“This is… you,” she finally said.

There was something reverent in her voice.

You felt suddenly, completely seen. And it was terrifying.

You rubbed your palms against your thighs. “Is that… weird?”

Alexia’s eyes found yours.

“No,” she said. “It’s kind of perfect.”

You smiled softly and took her jacket, hanging it by the door.

“Tea? Water? I have terrible apple juice.”

She laughed—really laughed—and shook her head.”I’m good,” she said, voice warm. “I’m not here for a drink.”

You nodded, heart fluttering.

You didn’t move at first. Neither did she.

You both just stood there, in the center of your living room, with the world quieting down around you and the air buzzing between your ribs.

Then, slowly, you stepped toward her.

And she didn’t wait.

Her hands found your waist as yours reached for her face, fingertips brushing over her cheek like you were still trying to believe this was real.

When your lips met, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t rushed.

It was soft.

Earnest.

A quiet thank you.

A quiet I see you.

A quiet finally.

She pulled back just an inch, just enough to speak. Her breath still tangled with yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the bench,” she whispered.

You smiled. “You were busy falling for a cat back then.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “I was falling for who was underneath.”

You kissed her again.

Longer this time. Deeper. Like the door had been unlocked, and you’d both finally stepped inside.

When she rested her forehead against yours, you didn’t move.

She stood in your apartment, in your space, and you let her. Fully. Completely.

Not the player. Not the suit. Just her.

And for the first time, you realized something quietly, beautifully terrifying:

She wasn’t leaving.

Not emotionally. Not this time.

She was in.

And you?

You weren’t just letting her stay.

You were letting her belong.

The end

[delopsia]

Erm, I would actually would like you to elaborate on milking Rhett if you feel like it.

Hell yeah, I'll elaborate 👁️👁️ now that I think about it, I have a slight memory of where I was going with that thought 💃

Notes for prostate stimulation, milking, and, of course, cum play. Minors and folks who have an agenda against playing with Rhett Abbott's ass, this is your queue to exit.

It's a little something that first kicks off when you and Rhett go out for lunch and find yourselves (unwillingly) eavesdropping on the conversation happening at the table across from yours. A little group of rodeo guys rambling on and on about their wild escapades and the craziest things they've done in bed. You and Rhett tried to ignore it; you really did, but you wound up listening when the guy in the red flannel mentioned a threesome in a Jurassic park themed hotel room.

You and Rhett are quietly giggling and whispering to each other until red flannel starts rambling on about how a girl convinced him to try milking a few weeks back. When Rhett's smile first falls, you honestly don't think much about it, but then red flannel starts going into detail, and Rhett's ears are turning redder by the second. It's like watching a cartoon, the longer the conversation goes, the redder your boyfriend becomes.

Your foot darts out to smack against the side of Rhett's boot, audibly jostling the spur that he forgot to take off. "You're awful red all of a sudden," spoken innocent as can be, like you can't possibly fathom what has him so flustered.

"Nothin," he shakes his head, eyes darting back down to his cold fries. He knows it's a lie. You know it's a lie. He knows that you know it's a lie.

Alas, it's one of those things that you giggle about on the drive home but forget about by the time the day is over.

It comes up again a few months later when you're both lying in bed, unable to sleep, and chatting about anything that happens to come to mind.

"Do y' remember them rodeo hands from the diner in town?" Rhett croaks, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"The ones who wouldn't quit talking about drunk hookups? And something about..." Hell. What's the word you're looking for? "Milking?"

His silence betrays him. You can hear how hard he swallows at that.

It's too dark to see, but you already know that his ears have flushed a bright, ruby red. Flustered? Too shy or embarrassed to say it out loud? Maybe it's all of the above.

"What?" You can only do so much to suppress the teasing lilt that colors your voice. "Is that something you may be into?"

Radio silence.

The cricket lurking outside the bedroom window chirps. Once. Twice.

"I don't know."

And, well, there's only one way to find out.

Rhett's hard before you even get those tiny black boxers past his thighs, cock slapping against his belly with a wet little 'smack' that bounces around the room. Even without light, it's impossible to miss the thick sheen of precum that spills out of his tip, dripping like a faucet, running down your fingers when you take him into your hand.

He's already so worked up that you hardly need to worry about going slow, only giving him a few seconds to adjust before you start working your hand over him in earnest. Oh, and the way he jumps when you do, those pretty hips rising up off the bed, chasing your touch as if he hasn't felt it in years.

And you're just so quick about it. It's hardly been a few minutes, and he's already babbling about being close, whining low in his throat as you drag that first orgasm out of him.

"Wait, wait, wait, shit—hah!" Shaky hands reach down to paw at you, half-heartedly trying to push you away, but there's no real effort behind it. His thighs flutter, a stray knee knocking into your side as you keep working over his softening length, his own cum slickening the glide.

"Too much?" You ask, fighting back a smile; he's wiggling against the mattress, slowly scooting himself up toward the headboard, but he isn't getting away from you.

Rhett's head shakes, the faintest 'nuh-uh' falling out of him as he blindly reaches over to the bedside table, all but tossing the half-empty bottle of lube at you. He hardly has to tell you what he wants, his half-assed attempt at spreading his legs is enough.

"You already want my fingers?" Feigning shock, as if you're somehow scandalized that he could already want such a thing.

"Mhm," Rhett isn't paying attention, unfocused baby blues glued to the sight of you pouring the lube onto three of your fingers. Three. Always three.

Wordless, you reach down, dipping between those plush, pale thighs to brush your wet fingertips against his entrance. Such a simple touch, and yet you can feel him clench around nothing.

But there's still something you're looking for. "Talk to me, Rhett."

"Yes," blurting out of him in an instant. Hopelessly impatient. "I...I do."

A little shiver races through him the moment that first finger breaches him, mouth falling open to form a soft 'o' shape. There's really no need for distraction, but your unoccupied hand begins to lazily work his half-hard cock anyway.

Fuck he's wet. Precum beading at his tip, spilling over the moment you press a second finger inside. He's tight. Rhythmically fluttering around you, and there's no pleasure that you could possibly get from it, but heat sparks between your thighs anyway.

You're not looking for his prostate yet, but you know you've bumped into it when his legs flutter around you, trying and failing to close. That third finger can't join quickly enough, crooking upward to rub against what feels like a little ball of nerves that have him squealing.

"Fuck!" Rhett's cock jolts in your hand, his body suddenly a live wire beneath you. Squirming against the sheets. "I—oh shit, oh my god, right there, ah!"

Silence falls. His mouth hangs open, but nothing ever escapes. Those eyes roll, and then...

He's cumming again. A strangled gasp bolts out of him just as a short rope of cum spurts out of him, painting his belly before you can catch it. His hips are bucking now, just as strong as those bulls he rides, but he can't shake you loose. The tips of your fingers still spiral into his prostate, a target you can't let yourself lose, albeit moving slower the more he huffs and puffs.

"No, no, no, keep—" he doesn't have to finish that thought. You hardly need any encouragement, working your hand in tandem with the fingers shallowly thrusting into his ass.

But your thumb swipes over his tip.

And he jumps once more. Cock weakly spasming in your gasp, a short rope of cum covering your hand. You're not sure what set him off so fast, but you're keen to find out, hardly even trying to slow down this time.

"Rodeo." It's there, and it's gone in a second, hardly even a whisper, but you catch it.

One last second tap against his prostate is all it takes to draw one more orgasm out of him. Watery eyes roll back into his skull, body jolting as the smallest bit of watery cum all but drools out of him, hardly even enough to amount to anything.

"Shit," sucking in a breath, "shit, you just," gasp, "you just made me cum again." Shocked. Like he didn't even see that one coming. But that awestruck gaze melts into a giggle as quickly as it arrives, lazily reaching for you with shaky arms.

"What was that, three? Four?" You chirp as you climb up the side of the bed, winded despite hardly doing much work at all.

"Felt like..." the thought visibly evaporates from his head, thin lips floundering for a word that isn't there. He gives up, dropping his head onto the pillow. "I dunno. A lot more than that."

Rhett Abbott may have just been replaced with a giggling ball of putty because that's all he is now. Incapable of doing anything but lay against you and laugh every time he remembers what just happened.

You would think that wearing him out like this would have him hesitant to jump to the concepts of a second time, but he's babbling about it before you've even gotten him up and into a bath. Something about wanting to try it with restraints and that new stroking sleeve that you bought six months ago and have yet to take out of its packaging.

You're gonna have to buy more lube.

[bettysupremacy]

hii! I was wondering if you could write a fic with reader and any marauder (they all fit) and maybe helping or becoming protective over the reader after a concert or party after a creep follows the reader? 😭

I went through a similar experience with a guy following me around after I went to the restroom after a concert, and it ruined my night if i'm being honest, I was scared 😞 I'm not the most shy of people and usually I can handle myself but it was pretty dark and idk the adrenaline from feeling happy to scared shifted pretty quickly. Luckily I found my friends and let them know and we quickly went back to our car (along with a few dirty looks from my friends god bless lol). I swore I could go to the restroom by myself- will not be doing that again :(

you can ignore this request if it makes you uncomfortable!

thank uu

i’m so sorry that happened to you! “(they all fit)”= poly marauders!

There’s something about post concert depression, especially when you’re with the band.

Your glitter eyeshadow is smudged, eyeliner untouched. You’d been shaken around in the pit of your boyfriends fans, and yet the paint hasn’t budged. God bless water-proof makeup. The world seems prettier like this, touched by alcohol and the feeling of soaring pride for your boyfriends. The glittery lights and signs of time square never fail to dazzle you, even now as you lean against Sirius morosely.

“M’hungry.” You frown, toes tipping up towards Sirius, though you fear the mumble may have been more for yourself.

His attention is diverted towards the boys as they discuss what to do now. Plans of how to get home and where to eat. His finger taps your cheek slowly, his focus paying you no mind. Words like Uber, hotel, room service echo throughout their very repetitive conversation.

“Sirius.”

He looks down, a little shocked and sorry at his own attention. “Yes, lovely?”

“M’hungry.”

“Hungry?” He asks, cringing. You’re about thirty minutes from the hotel, and even then, room service will take another thirty.

“So hungry.”

He sighs, unsure of what to do.

“There’s a hotdog stand over there.” You grab his tattooed bicep to balance yourself as you point to your right.

He thinks, peering down at you. “This won’t ruin your dinner?” It’s midnight, but still.

“No,” you sing, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “I really want a hotdog.

He flushes, looking away from your wandering eyes. Normally he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. They would never let you out of their sight in a place like this. But the cart is in eye view of the boys, and he has faith in you not to stray, even in your inebriated manor. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just prefer to keep you safe themselves. Is that okay?

“Okay,” He murmurs, pulling out his wallet, handing you his card. “At least get the good toppings.”

“I always get the good toppings.” You pull away.

The walk is short and the cart is colorful. Red and white stripes, curvy calligraphy. It shines in your inebriated vision. Beautiful. The queues not long, just an older man waiting in front of you, but it feels like forever as the generous man (with the toppings as well) takes your order and wraps it in warm aluminum foil.

You take the hotdog eagerly. “Thank you.”

It’s heavy in your hands, warm too. You yell Sirius’ name excitedly, waving the hotdog above your head for him to see. He laughs, thumbs up until you bump into a man, smile fading, concern etching his brows.

“Oh,” you murmur, looking up. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he smiles. It’s uncomfortable, not the smile of a friendly civilian.

You laugh. It’s polite, anyone can see that, but he leans closer. He smells like liquor, a disgusting discovery that has you subconsciously leaning away.

“You new around here?”

An actual laugh stumbles out of your lips. “London? No.”

He takes this as an entrance. “You should show me around.”

“No, thank you.” You try to walk past him. Towards Sirius who’s already walking over. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” he grabs your arm, pulling you back. His fingers dig into your elbow painfully.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, pulling your arm away roughly. “don’t touch me.”

“C’mon,” The man slurs, fingers reaching for you again. “Don’t be-“

“Hello?” Sirius walks up, all stock. He grabs your forearm pulling you to him firmly, getting in between you and the man. He’s not much taller, but more intimidating in demeanor. “Do we have a problem?”

“No,” the man scoffs.

“Cause it looks like you put your hands on her.”

He scoffs again, clearly inebriated. “We were just talking.”

“Well, conversations over now.”

“She can make her own decisions.”

“Fuck off, bro.” Sirius waves his hand dismissively. Quickly, he walks you towards the boys who are peeking their eyes up from the Uber app.

“She was asking for it.”

Sirius reels back, dropping your forearm to shove the scary stranger in the chest. He pushes hard, the man losing his balance as he falls to the ground in a sickening thud. You gasp loudly, the unexpected conflict startling you. Vaguely you hear Sirius say something to him, but you’re too focused on the way the man looks up at you.

James and Remus are there in seconds, quick on Sirius’s heels. They pull at him, up and off the man. There were no real punches thrown, no real injuring blows, it wasn’t even enough to form a crowd. But still, you’re shaken. You shiver like a leaf under your James’ leather jacket, suddenly not feeling the warmth of the alcohol you’d consumed before the concert.

Slowly, you stumble back and way from your boys, to the bench next to the shitty bar you’d passed on your way home. That had been scary, but you’re safe; that had been scary, but Sirius dealt with it. You bring your hand up to your chest, setting the hotdog you had been eager to buy down next to you.

“Hi,” Remus pushes aside the hotdog to sit next to you. “Are you okay?”

You look up to the boy, blindingly beautiful in the streetlights and advertisements. “Yes.”

He pushes some stray hair from your face. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“I think it was more startling.” James sits on the other side of you, kissing your temple firmly. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“She’s okay.” Sirius gruffs from where he walks over.

He sounds cooler than he thinks he looks. He’s not bruised, bloodied, or bandaged, if he were he thinks he’d look cool enough to breeze over. But then again you look mad, so maybe he doesn’t want that.

“Don’t be upset,” Sirius crouches to your level. You’re in the arms of a solid Remus. “he was a creep.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” He laughs roguishly. “I thought I looked good tousled.”

He does, and you know he’ll look good on the tabloids tomorrow too. Sirius black gives black eye? You sigh at the thought.

“You do.” James feeds Sirius.

“At least someone in this relationship cares for my ego.”

“You look good.”

“Oh, now you tell me.”

You laugh, letting Sirius stare at you like you hung the moon.

“Kiss em?” He pushes his knuckles in front of your lips. His fingers throb lightly, you can feel it on your lips.

“That was stupid.”

“C’mon,” Sirius’ eyes roll as he pulls you up. “You’ve got a hotdog to eat.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone wakes you. The room tilts as you open your eyes. A dull hammering thrums in your temples. The morning light makes your brain rough as sand paper. 

Dregs of vodka stick to your dry tongue. The hangover weighs you down like an anchor. Just the thought of moving hurts. 

You reach blindly for your jittering phone. Bubbly music tinkles from the speaker. Shit. It's Barrett. What did he forget this time? 

You answer and put your clammy palm to your forehead. You squint at the ceiling then your eyes slowly round. Where the fuck are you?  

"Hey, babe. You at Wendy's?" Your husband asks. 

You gulp and peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth. This isn't Wendy's house. 

"Yep," you croak. Your eyes ping side to side. 

"Look, I'm sorry about last night. Things got heated and I know I was an ass--" 

You cough as you sit up in the strange bed. "Yeah, you were." 

"So why don't you come home and we can talk it out." 

You peer around the room and your lips curve in a frown. Where the hell would you go besides home your loyal best friend's? You scratch you scalp and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, "let me get myself together." 

"Babe. Please. I'm sorry." 

"When I get home." You hang up.  

It was a hell of fight. The minute he started yelling, you bailed. He knows better. You're not doing a ten hour day and coming home his nagging. So you left out your coffee mug. Big deal. You didn't say anything about the garbage bag he left out to be torn apart by raccoons. 

Whatever. Fighting over dishes. Not of it matters right now. 

Your clothes are on the floor. Someone's floor. Who it is is far from the point. You stand and stagger. You catch yourself on the nightstand. Your hand moves instinctively between your legs. 

You're naked and tender. Did you have sex? 

Think! You ran out with your purse. You went to Wendy's. She was up for a night out. A night to forget and body did you. First drink, second, third, then it gets blurry.  

Fuck! You didn't. You wouldn't. You're pissed at your husband but you wouldn't cheat on him. You're not that type of person. Right? 

You don't have time for that. You have to get out of here.  

You dress as you search the room. It's tidy. Half the bed is mad and the other half messed from your drunken slumber. 

You shake out your hands trying to shoo away the flurry of guilt and denial. Just get out. You'll think better with some coffee in your system.  

You push down the door handle slowly. You listen to the silence of the hall. You tiptoe out warily, checking left and right as you advance. It's a nice place. A condo. Much nicer than your cramped one bedroom. 

Not important! 

You come out into the spacious front room. It's as empry as the rest of the place. The kitchen too. The bathroom. No one. 

Your purse is by the door. Your shoes too. You grab both and let yourself out. You'd rather not face your mistake. 

No, you didn't do anything. You wouldn't. 

You hurry down the hallway to the elevators. You don't look back, just keep going. You don't think, just go. 

It isn't until you're outside the familiar cafe marquee that your let your mind settle. You enter and join the queue. Your order a black coffee and drink it at a stool by the window.  

You lean your elbows on the high table that stands inside the pane. You take a slow, savouring swig of coffee and let it trickle down your throat. You shield your face from the New York morning and put your hands over your ears. 

You can't remember anything but Wendy. Your anger had you ordering round after round, trying to drown out the bile. The thought makes your stomach lurch and you gulp thickly. 

You shake your head and groan. Your phone chirps. It's probably Barrett. Several messages from him and missed calls. All through the night. It's bad enough you betrayed him, you had him up worrying. 

No, you didn't! 

It can't have happened if you don't remember it. A generous stranger took you home so you didn't wake up on the curb. That's it. 

That's the story. Nothing happened. And you'll let Barret believe you were with Wendy. It won't make a difference. 

Your mind is set. Nothing happened. 

Nothing. Happened. 

Because you don't remember. Because you were too drunk to do that. Because you're married and it can't happen. 

You're going to finish your coffee and go home. Everything will be just like it was before... after you tell Barrett where to put that coffee mug if it's such a big deal. 

[catiuskaa]

reggaeton & champagne.

PAIRING! lee minho x reader x bang chan

SUMMARY: you knew better than to go down to the club alone. and that guy should’ve known better than to mess with minho and chan’s property.

REQUESTED! by my pookie @sharonxdevi who requested this here! and it’s such a good idea, tysm for trusting me with it<3

CW: the boys may come off as a little possesive, there’s a touchy douche in the club, mentions of alcohol, it ain’t spicy but surely it’s nsfw.

WC: 2.3k

A/N: so i’ve never even thought of writing poly!skz relationships until now, but i think it came out nicely! (and if you kinda recognize the title— i just spend an unhealthy amount of time watching skz edits on instagram lololol)

[🔹☆💠☆🔹]

The sign of the club glowed with bluish neon lights at the entrance. There was also a man, notebook in hand, receiving IDs prior to welcoming the long queue of people. Although it was not the most expensive nightclub in the city, you could see the difference between it and the rest of the clubs in town, in the sense that the establishment was very tidy and clean, with security personnel scattered around the corners, watching that everything was going out smoothly.

It was unusual for you to want to go out clubbing, but considering the boys’ schedule, any chance to make plans together was welcomed with open arms.

Especially by Minho and Chan, who would never force you to go out, but their lingering stares and their arms that would sneakily clung to your waist or your shoulders —and in some cases, to lovingly slap your ass or thighs—, were meant as a way of encouragement when you dressed up and went for it.

And a way to say that, as always, you looked fine as hell.

You had chosen a short silver-coloured dress that reached your mid-thighs, accompanied by a pair of matching mesh thigh-highs with cute little clips that allowed them to stay in place, only because you knew how to entertain your public, and loved every single second their eyes stayed glued to you as you danced your heart out.

The music pounded against the walls and reverberated through the floor, but not as much as how the booze traveled through your veins, only giddy enough to celebrate how well their last tour had gone, and merely to have some well-deserved fun.

Minho’s hands grasped you by your waist, pulling you off Chan’s arms and smirking as he pushed your back flush against his body.

One of his hands remained in place, but the other one moved slowly, tempting fingers heading down to your thighs, as if walking, the motion almost ticklish. You could feel his cat-like grin from behind you as you looked at Chan, who wasn’t mad at all, rather cheekily enjoying the other man’s antics as you kept dancing against him, following the rhythm of the music.

Chris got closer to the both of you, taking your arms and settling them on his shoulders as he approached even further, now the two gentlemen dressed in fine clothes towering over you.

“Our princess is feeling good today, huh?” His hand cradled your face, holding your chin in a tender grasp, unlike Minho, who started to play with one of the clips on your high mesh stockings.

You were about to say something, but Minho tugged at one of the straps and chuckled next to your ear, slapping it back. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, feeling the blush rising to your cheeks, the light foundation you had applied not being able to cover it.

Chris snickered, and Minho lightly bit the shell of your ear, and they both laughed as you squirmed in between their arms.

“Ok, ok—!” You giggled, out of breath due to the tickling and else. You didn’t want to leave just yet, but didn’t want to stop teasing your boys either.

Tugging on Chan’s collar, you propelled him forward, his hands ending on Minho’s shoulders by reflex. You moved your body in between both of them, swaying your hips, playing with Chris’ hair as you turned your head to face the man behind you, and chuckled, biting his lip.

They both felt a rush of blood heading to their face—and downwards—, but you stopped Chan for pushing you against Minho even more, one of your soft hands nonchalantly moving from the back of his neck to his chest, cheekily stroking his toned upper body.

“I think we can use some more drinks, gentlemen.” Your tone was filled with an enticing mockery only powered by their presence, and you licked your lips, feeling Minho’s slender fingers playing with the rim of your dress, tapping your thigh gently.

“I think we should head to the VIP lounge.” He grunted against your ear, his breath tickling your there, but the gentle yet lust-filled kisses he left right below started driving you a bit crazy. “Whaddya think, Chan?” Minho smirked, swiftly lifting his head from your neck to stare at the older man.

With all the mix of bright coloured lights, you could notice slightly how Chris’ eyes grew darker. Almost so dark that they could fuck you themselves, and you squeezed your thighs at the thought.

“I think our little brat needs to learn that teasing won’t get her anywhere, hyung.” Minho’s slender fingers playfully traced mindless shapes on your thigh.

The older man swallowed hard, his breath deepening.

“Guess you’re on thin ice, princess.” He leaned in, and pecked Minho’s lips from above your shoulder. He then turned slightly, and spoke in your ear. “You have ten minutes to go get those drinks. Go up the VIP platform right after, like the good girl you are, mmh?”

His hum almost echoed through your body, falling into an endless pit of arousal that those two gorgeous men had created, now able to make you feel hot and bothered in just a cheeky wink or a deep look.

Making you oh so weak for them. Only them.

“Heard that, kitten?” Minho smirked, lovingly kissing your cheek, as close as he could to the corner of your lips. “Ten minutes. Tick-tock.”

You tried heading towards the bar without your knees giving out as they both moved away, and instantly missed their warmth and strong hold on your body. But before you could even try, Chris tsked, pulling you back to him and almost fiercely planting a deep kiss that lit fire on your body, and almost made you whine when he pulled away, biting your lip.

“Fuck.” He gasped, feeling breathless. “Make that five minutes for daddy, yeah?”

And with a tap on your hips and a teasing wink, he left, following where Minho had gone.

You were unable to wipe the giddy smile off your face, feeling your cheeks get hot, and you patted them, hoping that your slightly cooler hands would do something to low it down.

Shaking your head lightly, you waved at the bartender, a tall, blond and handsome young man, and he gave you a kind smile. You sat on the stool closest, and he approached you, leaning on the counter.

“Nice seeing you here for a change.” He said with a snicker.

“Wish I could say the same, Hyunjin.” You wiggled your eyebrows almost dramatically, making him laugh.

“Your three usuals, beautiful?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. “Comin’ right up.”

You watched as he gracefully started to show off his abilities, passing drinks and metal cups and bottles in flashes and zooms, controlling every move so swiftly.

But then, you felt a hand on your waist.

“Sorry, scooching up real quick…” said a low voice from behind you.

His hands brushed your back, making you shiver. But it was a bad shiver. One that swiped away the giddiness your boys had left, but not as quickly as your smile took off.

The bold man dizzily sat on a stool that could’ve easily been a foot or two away, and your body relaxed easily at the new-formed distance.

You stared at him in a mix of slight disgust and raw astonishment. Used to your boys and the rest of the group, or people like Hyunjin, one could easily forget that people weren’t always respectful, nice and kind.

He noticed your blank stare, and misinterpreted it as interest. With a wide smile, he bent down, grabbing one of the legs of the stool you were sitting on, and smoothly moved it closer to his.

Another shiver ran through your back, goosebumps showing on your skin.

He smiled, and you held back a frown.

“Besides looking that sexy, what else do you do for a living?”

…

yikes.

That line didn’t only give you the ick, but you also noticed Hyunjin physically flinched, which made you snort, quickly covering your mouth.

The man was so drunk. You could smell it on his breath, and the guy looked rather pathetic. You didn’t feel too sorry for him, but wanted him as far as possible, and you moved to the edge of your stool.

The man looked proud of your giggles, but grew restless when you didn’t reply, so he took a sip from the glass of whiskey in front of him, kind of as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while.

You sat up straight, glaring at Hyunjin so he’d call security if things turned complicated, and he winked at you as a form of reassurance.

“Do you, eh, come here often?” He blurbed out.

You looked at your hands, staring at your nails, and waited for a second before giving him a side-eye from above your shoulder, slender eyes looking uninterested.

Quickly going back to your nails, you shrugged. “Enough to know that you don’t.” You brushed off coldly.

If you did, you’d know that I’m happily taken.

He stammered, his breath hitched, and you could almost feel him start getting even more nervous, as well as slightly angry.

“Huh? Why’s that?” He scoffed, eyebrows raised at you, who again, didn’t bother to look at him, a bit wary of his moody attitude.

Hyunjin smiled at you, coldly glaring at the clueless man next to you as he swiftly left the three drinks in place, pressing the red button underneath the counter to call for help.

The man smirked, going back to a confidence you didn’t want to know where he had gotten.

Placing his arm sneakily on your waist.

Huh?

“All those for you?”

Before you could react and slap him for his unrequested bold actions, you heard a grunt behind you.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

At that moment, Chan wasn’t so sure if he was the pacific one in your relationship.

He trusted you and your ability to set your own boundaries, by any means necessary, even if it meant slapping someone across the face.

And he knew them by heart. He had watched how you grimaced, trying to take this drunkard’s hands away from you.

So he helped you by slapping them off your body.

As ‘gently’ as he could.

“Move aside.” He said in a low growl, failing to relax until you moved your hand and took his, squeezing it as a way of thanking him.

Instead of getting the hint, the man frowned.

“Hey, if you can’t tell, I was trying to—”

Minho scoffed, appearing behind the man.

“Keep babbling around our girl and I’ll give you a story to tell.” He said in a dark, low tone of voice, eyes and tongue so sharp that they could almost pierce right through the man. “Now shoo.”

Security came by a minute after and apologized for not taking care of him before, then fined him, following the nightclub’s rules and finally kicked the man out.

One of the security guys approached the three of you, and bowed swiftly, apologizing.

“I’m really sorry. This guy has already annoyed some other customers before. I’ll speak to the owner of the place and see if there is something we can do regarding his situation. As for you, miss…” He gave you his card, and you smiled at him, bowing your head gently.

“My name is Seo Changbin. If you ever need anything…” he sighed, a hand to his nape, the buff man slightly flustered. “Don’t hesitate to call me. I can’t think of another way to compensate you…”

Chan smiled, and shook hands with the security guard.

“No need to worry, mate. It’s fine now.” He stated calmly, his other hand still engulfing yours.

Minho bowed at him, his arm around your waist, as if trying to erase any marks or traces of the drunkard’s touch.

“Home, love?” He said in a gentle whisper, kissing your temple after you nodded. “S’okay.”

Minho opened the door to the car for you, and Chan’s hand never left your thigh the whole way back home.

As soon as you got back, you let out a tired sigh.

Chris hugged you from behind, and you melted under his touch. With a soft grin, Minho ushered Chan’s arms away from you, and swiftly took you in his arms.

“Sleepy?” The older one asked, but you shook your head. You didn’t want the night to end on this note. “Then I’ll go get something. You guys get going.” He smiled at you, eyes soft as he lovingly stroke your cheek, your face resting on Minho’s shoulder.

With a slight smirk, he patted Minho’s butt, and headed to his studio.

“Bang Chan!” He whisper-yelled, ears red, and you chuckled lowly.

“Cheeky little baby.” Minho cooed at you, heading to your shared room, and you giggled softly, hiding your head on the crook of his neck. “Let us take care of you, yeah?”

You moved your head from his neck and pecked his lips. Minho took you to bed, and tenderly took your heels off.

“Shower?” He asked softly, but you shook your head no, so he nodded, taking off your dress. With a cat-like grin, his fingers went back to your thighs.

“You have to wear these more often, you little tease.” He snickered, and you smiled, blushing softly. “You look so good in everything.” He said, stroking your cheek.

Chan quickly came back, fluffy blankets and laptop with him.

“Movie night!” He smiled, almost childishly, and both your and Minho’s heart tugged on your chests.

They took their fancy clothes off and put on sleeveless shirts and the matching pyjama pants you had gifted them for Christmas, who were at first meant as a joke, but remained being used just because how comfy they were.

There, snuggled between Chan and Minho, you smiled, taking both of their hands.

“I’m hungry.” You said, pouting unconciously.

“We can make popcorn if you want.” Christ suggested, pausing the movie.

You sat in your knees, looking at them with a smirk.

Minho smirked back, starting to guess where this was headed.

“What do you want to eat, kitten?”

You snickered.

“I want to have ramen.”

~kats, who hopes everyone understood that kdrama reference just now ;););););)

[spookysanta]

Chapter 10: Mine Again

Ongoing tags: [Modern Romance] [Slow Burn] to [Fireworks [Black!Reader] [Younger!Reader] [Reader is That Girl] [Obsessed Michael™] [So Much Eye Contact] [Vacation Fling] turns into [Something Real]

Potential TW/CW: [Swearing] [Light Sexual Tension] to [Eventual Smut]

woot woot! we're introducing someone new into this chapter. minor slot, but they'll be important later on. 4 more days until my birthday!!! last couple chapters are being worked on also, so hopefully i'll be able to get another chapter up by the time i get back from my trip!

also! update: ask box is currently closed. y'all have sent some requests, honey! tysm for your submissions. i'm working on getting them shaved down as much as possible. so ask box will reopen once my queue's cleared.

When Sunday finally came, after another round of fluffing throw pillows and double-checking for any remaining mess – which, you, Michael, and your ancestors could assure you there was none – you drove eagerly to the airport. Pulling into the “Arrivals” carousel, you made sure to park close to the automatic doors to make sure you had first dibs of spotting him.

Did you get there a bit too early? Absofuckinglutely. 

It’d been about 40 minutes of your car idling, air conditioning blasting, and Jazmine Sullivag crooning softly through your speakers before you checked your phone again for any update on his flight status.

And finally, the screen glowed: Flight DL3324 — LANDED

Your pulse ticked faster.Your fingers gripped the steering wheel. Your lip gloss was a bit smudged from biting your lip in anticipation, but you didn’t care – you could barely sit still.

He was here. Not in a hotel suite, not under string lights, not waiting behind a locked screen or a phone call.

He was here.

And as if time couldn’t move any slower, another 20 minutes trudged by before you spotted him: Lakers hoodie pulled up, duffle slung low over his shoulder, sunglasses on even though it was cloudy. Like he knew you’d be watching. Like he was performing just for you.

You rolled the window down, heart on its way to bursting. “Need a ride?”

His eyes found yours in an instant. And the smile that grew on his face was one of sheer joy. Just softness. Just home.

The moment the passenger door shut behind him, you felt it. His fingers curled around the back of your neck.

His seatbelt hadn’t even clicked before he leaned over and kissed you, deep and slow, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he was trying to remember every part of you in under sixty seconds.

You whimpered into his mouth.

He pulled back, breathing heavy. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

“Missed you.”

“Show me.”

—

You tried to play it cool when you got back to your apartment. Like, really tried. And of course he saw through it because it’s him. “This is me,” you said simply, unlocking the door and stepping inside. “It’s not LA, but –”

He cut you off.

“Stop. It’s perfect.”

He walked in like he’d been there before – his eyes sweeping the entryway, the couch, the kitchen counter with flowers you definitely bought last-minute even though you told yourself you wouldn’t.

He set his bag down gently behind the couch. “You live soft,” he said in acknowledgement.

“What?”

“This space,” he replied. “It feels like you. Like it holds you right.”

Your chest ached. “I’m glad.”

He turned, head tilting in amusement, that smile emerging again. “Well… You gonna show me the rest?”

And you made sure to give him the tour, if it could even be called that: Bathroom, with an added towel on the rack and an open space in the toothbrush holder. The closet with some room for a couple pairs of his sneakers. A kitchen stocked with his creature comforts, and that baggy of gummy bears you didn’t finish from yesterday that you knew he’d eat through. And finally, your bedroom, complete with fresh sheets and perfectly-fluffed pillows.

“This is it,” you said, a little shy. 

He turned again, arms reaching around you. “I love it. It’s everything.”

Dinner was takeout from the Thai spot three blocks away. You sat on your counter while he plated the food (at his insistence)

He told you about his flight, and made sure to tell you about the guy who almost sat in his lap on the flight. He laughed about the playlist he made just for you: “In case we need to get in the mood.”

You rolled your eyes with a sheepish grin. “You’re literally always in the mood.”

“Only for you.”

After piling onto the couch, wrapping up in throw blankets – one in particular catching his eye, knowing he’d be holding onto it – you’d turned on the TV to an episode of Grey’s Anatomy that you hadn’t finished. And much to his dismay, at that.

“Do we have to watch this?” he groaned through a bite of fried rice.

“We are a Shonda Rhimes household, Michael.” you replied, making sure to turn the volume up to just agitate him a bit more.

“Yeah, no, I don’t care about that.” he waved you off, trying to reach a lengthy arm across your body for the remote. “Don’t you want to watch something a bit… happier?”

“I’m happy when I’m watching it!” you all but contorted yourself to the end of the couch, bowl of pad Thai in your free hand, both arms stretched away from him. “Leave me be!”

“I’m a guest.”

“And I let you order dinner and plate it. Twenty minutes of Christina Yang won’t kill you.”

He muttered a small “whatever” under his breath, fork childishly stabbing his stir fry in defeat and feigned annoyance. But you knew he didn’t care, because you’d glanced over to see his eyes dancing across the television screen.

You barely finished eating before he pulled you into his lap, the show’s ending credit music fading into the background.

“Been thinking about this all damn day,” he muttered, lips on your neck.

“What?”

“Your skin. Your voice. The way you sound when I’m deep in you.”

You gasped, legs tightening around his hips. “Michael –”

And just like the napkins in the takeout bag, you were folded. It didn’t take much for him to have you wrapped around his finger(s).

“I need you.” he kissed your collarbone, a gentle lick along the skin that made your skin crawl in the best way.

Clothes disappeared haphazardly across the living room. You didn’t quite remember how.

All you knew was your back hit the couch’s mattress with a thump, his mouth already on your chest, your thighs, your soul. “I missed this pussy,” he groaned, fingers spreading you open, watching you fall apart.

“I missed you.”

His mouth dropped to your neck. “Show me how much.”

When he finally slid inside, your face in the pillows and ass arched to meet his hips, you both moaned – out loud, like breath punched out of lungs. And he didn’t start slow, either – he didn’t need to.

Your bodies already remembered.

His hips slammed into you with a rhythm born from aching, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapped tight in your hair, pulling your head back to meet his gaze with hooded eyes. “You needed this, huh?” he grunted.

All you could do is moan in reply.

His hand moved to your ass, smacking a cheek harshly. “Nah baby. Say it.”

“Fuck, I–I needed it–”

He pulled back. “Say me.”

You whimpered. “I needed you.”

He fucked into you from behind like he had a point to prove – whether to you, or to himself, you couldn’t be sure. His fingers pressed deep at your hips, your back arching, moans and gasps falling from your lips like confessions.

“Say it again.”

“I need you.”

“You missed me?” he grunted out cockily.

“So fucking much.”

He leaned over your back, mouth hot against the shell of your ear. “This pussy mine, ain’t it?”

You cried out, high and broken, nodding rapidly as the fire built inside you. “Yes. It’s yours, Michael.”

“Say it again.”

“It’s yours, I’m yours!” You came shaking, full-body, knee-buckling, your mind-blank.

He wasn’t far behind, spilling into you with teeth clenched, his hips stuttering, and your name ragged on his lips like it was the only word he remembered.

He didn’t dare let you go after he eased out of you. Even when you were breathless, trembling, too soft to speak. He pulled you into him, laying back against the couch’s cushions. His chest to your back, you felt his pulse against your skin as he kissed your cheek, your shoulders, the curve of your spine. “I love it here,” he whispered.

You smiled. “I love having you here.”

You didn’t move right away. Neither of you did.

You lay there, breath still catching in your chest, skin damp, hearts pounding – the room thick with the echo of everything you’d just poured into each other. Michael’s hand stroked slowly along your side, the rhythm of chest rising and falling slowing down against you.

He kissed the crown of your head. “You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Mmmhmm.”

He smiled, then sat up, scooting away from you and off the couch. He picked you up, carrying you to your room. He laid you across the duvet. “Where your towels at, baby?”

You peeked up at him through messy lashes. “In the bathroom cabinet. Why?”

“I’m not letting you lay in this all night.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes playfully. “You did this to me.”

“And now I’m cleaning you up. That’s how this works.”

—

He came back a minute later – towel warm from the dryer, not hot, just soft. He moved slow, careful, whispering quiet apologies anytime your body flinched from sensitivity.

“I got you,” he said when you whimpered. “I know it’s tender, I’m sorry.”

You reached for him. “I’m not mad.”

“I still don’t like hurting you.”

“You didn’t.”

He looked at you then. Not through you, not past you – but at you. With the same eyes from that first night, the same eyes that said this is more than a trip.

He helped you slip into one of his shirts. It hung past your hips, soft and worn, like it had been waiting for you. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand and passed it to you like a love offering. “Drink.”

You took a sip.

“More.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Dad.”

He grinned. “You don’t want me to say what you called me fifteen minutes ago.”

You choked on your water.

He leaned back against the headboard, chuckling.

The lamp by the bed cast a golden glow across his chest – still bare, skin warm from yours, eyes heavy with that slow, post-satisfaction calm.

You turned off the overhead light and climbed into bed beside him. He opened his arms automatically, pulling you into his chest.

You melted there. Quiet. Safe. Home.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asked after a short bout of silence.

You shrugged against his chest. “How weird it is that you’re here. Like… in my bed.”

“Weird in a bad way?”

“No. Just…” You looked up at him. “It’s not a dream.”

He kissed your forehead. “No. It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You sighed.

His fingers stroked your side, then dipped lower under your shirt, along your hip, soft. “I’m glad I came,” he said. “I wanted to see your world.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to be in it.”

The room fell quiet again. It wasn’t an empty silence, though; it was just full of things that didn’t need saying.

You exhaled, deep and long, like it had been stuck there all week.

–

The next morning, you’d found yourself staring at him in awe of the situation you’d found yourself in. Michael was actually here. In your apartment and under your skin in the best way.

One arm was flung over his face, the other draped down to where your fingers tangled lightly with his. He hadn’t even made it fully through your late-night conversation (though, it wasn’t about anything in particular) – he never stood a chance after the long flight, the airport pickup, and the very thorough welcome home you gave him. Twice.

You let him rest, slipping your hand free and reaching for your charging phone on the nightstand.

And of course, Angelo. There were three missed phone calls. One missed FaceTime call. A text from twenty minutes ago:

You groaned aloud, thumb hovering over the screen, slipping out of bed and padding into the kitchen. “Fuck,” you whispered, hitting call button before you could talk yourself out of it.

He answered on the first ring. “It’s ‘bout time,” came the rough, irritated bass of his voice. “You forget you got a family?”

You sighed, already bracing. “Hi, Ang.”

“Don’t Hi, Ang me.” he grumbled as a reply, “You got three minutes to tell me what’s going on before I start booking flights. And I do not want to hear that you’ve been too busy to call. You’re posting IG stories about this nigga and can’t call your brother?”

You stepped quietly into the kitchen, shutting the door behind you. “Angelo –”

“Tati said he flew out once the trip ended. That true?”

“Yes, he got here yesterday.”

“She also said y’all been laid up.”

“…yes.”

A long pause. You could hear the weight of his breath, the quiet snap of his jaw tightening. “So what is this, then?” he asked finally. “Y’all serious? You just fuckin’? Is it a fling? What are we doing?”

Your hand tightened around the phone as you visualized Angelo pacing his living room, arms moving aimlessly as he talked.

“I don’t know how to label it yet, but it’s real, Ang. He’s not playing with me.”

“You sure about that?” he bit out. “Because a lot of these niggas know how to act right for a couple weeks. Especially when they think they found somebody who don’t play about herself.”

You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation. “He flew across the damn country just to see me. I didn’t ask. I didn’t even hint.”

“Flying’s easy when you got a private jet or two.” His tone was sharp, but underneath it lived a thin veil of concern.

“It’s not just that,” you said, voice softening. “He’s… present. Kind. He listens. He sees me. And he hasn’t asked for a damn thing in return.”

Angelo exhaled slowly. “You love him?”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know!” You rushed out, though you felt your brain screaming yes. But yet, you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “We haven’t gotten that far. Haven’t said that yet.”

“But you feel it,” he said, like he already knew.

You nodded. “I think so.”

Another silence.

“You do know that I don’t give a fuck how famous he is, right? Or how good he treats you when he’s tryna win?” he asked, tone softer.

“Yes, Lo, I know.” 

“Good. Then you’ll understand why I need to meet him. Face to face. Man to man.”

You turned toward the kitchen window, voice low. “I know. You will eventually.”

“He know about me?”

“No, not yet. Not really.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Let it stay that way. Because I don’t want no fake shit when we meet. No rehearsed answers. I want to read him.”

Your chest tightened. “Angelo…”

“I’ve been watching out for you since you were eight. I’ve known you since you and Tati had matching hairstyles and swapped lunchables. And if there’s a man in your life, he's meeting me. He’s passing the test, or he’s getting the fuck on.”

You swallowed thickly, knowing better than to stand in the way of Angelo when he’s got his mind made. “You planning to bring the Glock or the Taurus?”

“Both,” he said, without missing a beat. “One for each of y’all if I need to drag your ass back to your senses.”

A weak laugh slipped past your lips. “Ang –”

“I’m serious,” he cut in. “I don’t care if he’s older. I don’t care if he’s rich. I don’t care if he makes Marvel money and has dimples that make people weak.”

You paused. “…Tati told you about the dimples?”

“She sent a fucking slideshow. And a video of y'all. And I’ve been listening to Lex, Kris, and Nas talk shit in the group chat about how you glow now, so forgive me if I’m cautious. That kind of high don’t last unless the love is real.”

You felt your eyes sting. “It feels real.”

“Then I’ll pray it is. But I’m still meeting him. Soon. And if he so much as looks at you wrong –”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

His voice gentled, just barely. “I love you, alright? That’s why I’m like this. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I just want to know you’re safe. Whole.”

“I am,” you said, a lone tear slipping down your cheek. “I swear I am.”

“Okay. You call me if that ever changes.”

“I will.”

You hung up just as the bedroom door creaked open. Michael stepped out into the kitchen, shirtless, durag loose, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand. “You good?” he asked, voice still husky with sleep.

You turned, smiling faintly. “Yeah.”

“Who was that?”

You hesitated, letting out a heavy breath. “Angelo.”

His brow furrowed. “Tati’s husband?”

You nodded.

“Everything alright?”

You crossed the room slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist, laying your cheek against his chest. “He just wants to meet you,” you said softly. “He’s in big brother mode.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah..” you let out a sigh, “He may be my brother-in-law now, but he helped raise me. When my parents couldn’t keep an eye on me, when I was losing myself, when shit fell apart – he stepped in. Me, him, and Tati were everything to each other. That doesn’t go away just because time passes, y'know.”

Michael nodded slowly. “I get it.”

Your eyes met his, glancing over his face for any inkling of discomfort. “You okay?”

He smirked faintly. “Just mentally preparing for the in-person meeting where he definitely pats me down.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Just don’t flinch.”

--

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[luxerians]

The Last Mask (08)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 08 - Distance

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 09

PREV : Chapter 07

The dormitory buzzed with the sounds of light chatter and footsteps as players moved about, their voices mingling in an uneasy hum. You lay on your bed, pulling the blanket over yourself, eyes closed in a futile attempt to block it all out. Sleep was your goal, to escape the heavy thoughts weighing on your mind, even if just until tomorrow.

The faint voice of a guard announcing that dinner would soon be distributed echoed in the background, breaking through your quiet cocoon. Then, the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. You didn’t bother to open your eyes.

“[Your name], are you okay?” Dae-ho’s familiar voice called gently.

You kept your eyes shut. “I’m okay.”

Dae-ho sighed as well, the sound carrying his frustration. “I’m disappointed too. Jung-bae voting for O? I didn’t see that coming. I felt like screaming, ‘Sir, what are you thinking?’ at him. He agreed with us to vote for going back home just moments before the vote.”

“It can’t be helped,” another voice chimed in. You recognized it immediately as Young-il. It seemed Dae-ho wasn’t the only one who had come to check on you. Keeping your eyes closed, you listened as Young-il added, “People tend to change their minds once they’re standing at the voting counter.”

“Yeah, in a way, I kind of understood him. Because I felt that way too by the counter,” Dae-ho agreed.

A softer voice joined the conversation.

“Big sis, are you okay?” Jun-hee asked.

You finally opened your eyes, taking in the sight of Dae-ho and Jun-hee standing on the right side of your bed while Young-il lingered quietly on the left.

Turning your gaze to Jun-hee, you offered her a faint but reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

“And we have a pregnant lady too,” Dae-ho continued, picking up where he left off. “She shouldn’t be here any longer.”

He leaned against the pillar of your bunk bed, sighing heavily. “I understood him but… what was Jung-bae thinking?”

The weight on your bed shifted slightly. You glanced down to see Young-il sitting on your bed at the far corner near your feet. His calm demeanor radiated reassurance as he addressed Dae-ho. “There’s no use thinking about it now. The votes are done. Let’s focus on staying together and winning the game again tomorrow.”

The three of them glanced in the same direction, momentarily distracted. You were about to close your eyes again when Dae-ho straightened up, his usual energy returning as he turned to you.

“Everyone is lining up to get dinner. Come on,” he said.

You shifted onto your side, pulling the blanket closer. “You guys go on ahead. I’m too tired right now.”

Dae-ho frowned, his tone firm. “You can’t sleep on an empty stomach. You need to eat. We did the hexathlon for who knows how long and didn’t even get breakfast. You must be starving, so come on.”

“But I’m so tired,” you admitted, your voice muffled against the pillow. “I just want to rest before the next game.”

“Don’t be like that,” he urged. “You’ll end up weak and all skinny tomorrow.”

A brief silence fell before you quipped, “I’m trying to go on a diet anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dae-ho scoffed, waving off your excuse. “Haih, you look beautiful already. Now get up-”

“It’s okay,” Young-il’s calm voice interrupted unexpectedly. “You two go on ahead. The queues are getting long. I’ll persuade her.”

The sound of retreating footsteps followed as Dae-ho and Jun-hee headed off toward the dinner queues. The dormitory buzzed with chatter and movement, but your focus remained on the quiet presence sitting at the edge of your bed.

“You really should eat,” he said after a moment, his tone gentle. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

You sighed, not turning to face him. “I’m just so done to even think about food. I wanted to go home really bad but we were outvoted.”

There was a pause before the bed shifted as Young-il stood up. His footsteps faded into the background, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the strange ache in your chest – a pang of something like abandonment. By him.

You immediately shook off the thought. It wasn’t his fault. You were the one adamant about not eating, and he had respected your decision. You had no right to feel upset, and you certainly couldn’t blame him for the fact that you had a crush on him.

Maybe he just saw you as a friend. Someone to look out for, like Jun-hee. Nothing more. It was your own fault for letting your feelings get in the way, for reading into his kind gestures as something more than they were.

You tried to tune out the chatter and bustle of the dormitory, sinking into the quiet within your mind. For a fleeting moment, you felt yourself drifting close to sleep.

Then his voice broke through the haze. “[Your name].”

Your eyes fluttered open, the sting of fatigue making them ache. You turned your head and saw Young-il standing by your bed. In his hands, he held the evening’s dinner: a round bun and a small carton of milk.

You frowned, confusion overtaking your grogginess. You had thought he left for good after respecting your persistence.

Resting your cheek against the pillow, you mumbled, “I don’t want to eat your dinner. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not mine,” he said, his tone even. “It’s yours.”

Your gaze shifted to the food in his hands. He held two sets of the dinner: two buns and two cartons of milk. Surprise overtook you as you sat up slowly, your blanket slipping down. “You got two?”

“I took another set on your behalf,” he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Your eyes widened. “We can do that?”

His smile grew, and there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t.”

You blinked, completely perplexed. “Then how did you get two?”

He extended the dinner toward you again, waiting patiently.

“I know what to say to the guards. My line of work taught me how,” he said simply, leaving the specifics a mystery.

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration, before reaching out to take the meal he had gone out of his way to bring you.

“Now, come,” Young-il said, gesturing toward the corner where you always hung out with Gi-hun and the others. “Let’s sit with the others.”

You glanced down at the bun and carton of milk in your hands before nodding. As you got up from the bed, you spoke to him, “But is this really all we’re getting for dinner? I thought it’d be as much as yesterday’s lunch.”

Walking side by side toward the corner, Young-il replied, “It’s a way to weaken the players and increase eliminations.”

You turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you saying the longer we stay here, the less food we’ll get?”

Young-il met your gaze, his expression thoughtful. “It looks that way. Yesterday, we had a bountiful lunch. Tonight, it’s just a bun. The pattern isn’t hard to see.”

You sighed in frustration, the weight of his words settling in. “That makes it even more important to leave this place as soon as possible.”

Reaching the corner, you were greeted enthusiastically by Dae-ho. “You two, come sit down!”

Gi-hun had sat at his usual spot at the far end, and you settled down beside him. Young-il took the place on your other side. Dae-ho and Jun-hee were already seated on the lower steps in front of you both, their postures relaxed.

You glanced around and noticed that your group was missing one member – Jung-bae. A small distance away, you spotted him tucked between the bunk beds as though he was deliberately hiding.

You assumed he felt guilty for voting O, isolating himself from the group out of shame.

You and Young-il began eating your buns in silence. Everyone in your group was eating, except for Gi-hun. His posture – legs wide, arms resting heavily on his knees – spoke volumes about his disappointment over the recent voting results.

A loud sigh from Dae-ho broke the quiet. He stared at Jung-bae’s back for a moment, chewing on his bun, before calling out to him with the familiar hyungnim honorific. “Jung-bae!”

Meanwhile, you sighed at the meager dinner, placing your left elbow on your knee and resting your forehead against your palm. Your right hand held the bun, and you murmured, “Just this bun alone won’t be enough.”

Dae-ho suddenly stood and strode over to Jung-bae. “Hey, just come back here.”

“No, no, I’m good here,” Jung-bae replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, come on,” Dae-ho said, grasping his arm firmly. He pulled Jung-bae to his feet and dragged him back to the group. “You should’ve gone farther away, then. It bugs me seeing you sitting there all pathetic.”

Jung-bae froze when they reached the group. His eyes darted between the three most visibly stressed members of the group – Gi-hun with his somber stance, you with your hand still resting on your face, and Young-il sitting with his legs spread, elbows on his knees, chewing silently. None of you looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jung-bae said, fidgeting nervously with his milk carton. “Jun-hee, [Your name], Young-il, I’m sorry. Gi-hun, I’m sorry.”

When no one responded, he continued. “I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle my debt. So-”

“Jung-bae,” Young-il interrupted, his tone calm. “You of all people shouldn’t have done it. It’s not twice as righteous.”

Young-il’s comment was a pointed reference to the meaning of Jung-bae’s name. You removed your hand from your face, took a bite of the bun, and stayed quiet.

Young-il sighed, glancing briefly at the others before adding, “But, looking at the results, even if you had voted against, we would still have been outvoted.”

“Right?” Jung-bae said quickly, leaning toward Young-il with a glimmer of relief. “It’s not entirely my fault.”

Dae-ho placed a hand on Jung-bae’s shoulder, his tone lighter now. “Alright, to be honest, I understand why you did it. The money isn’t enough for me either, so when I went up to vote, I did think about playing one more game.”

Jung-bae’s face lit up with sudden relief, and before anyone could react, he lunged forward and hugged Dae-ho head-on. Startled, Dae-ho awkwardly tried to push him away.

“You did?” Jung-bae exclaimed.

“I said I get it,” Dae-ho replied, finally managing to pry himself free.

Jung-bae turned to Young-il, sighing deeply.

“Thank you for understanding,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. He settled on the lower staircase next to Young-il and continued, “But I voted in favor partly because I feel confident. We did so well as a team, didn’t we? If we stick together one more time, I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

He turned toward Jun-hee, his voice brimming with confidence. “Jun-hee, I’ll make sure we survive the next game-”

“The next game?”

All of you froze and looked at Gi-hun. His tone was dark. “In the next game, we might have to kill each other.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. You stared at him, horrified. Could it really come to that? Could there be games where you’d have to compete against your friends? The thought made your stomach churn. You’d barely eaten, and now even the bun in your hand felt like a weight.

Young-il’s calm voice broke the silence. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. There’s nothing we can do now, so let’s try to stay positive.”

Despite his attempt to ease the tension, Jung-bae had gone pale as well. He swallowed nervously, his hands fidgeting with his milk carton.

Young-il continued, his voice steady, “We should eat, pull ourselves together, and try our best again.”

But Gi-hun’s words lingered, casting a shadow over the group. Everyone, including you, sat in heavy silence, lost in their thoughts. The idea of being pitted against your teammates felt unbearable. Your appetite vanished completely, and the bun in your hand now seemed like an impossible task to finish.

Could Gi-hun have experienced such a game in his previous run? Had he been forced to turn on a friend here? The questions swirled in your mind, filling you with dread.

Then you felt it – a hand gently resting on your knee. Startled, you looked down and saw Young-il’s hand. When you glanced up at him, his expression was warm and reassuring. He gave you a small nod toward your unfinished bun and said softly, “Eat it whole. Let’s do our best again tomorrow.”

Young-il withdrew his hand from your knee and held out his milk carton to Jun-hee. “Here, Jun-hee. You can have mine too. Hang in there until the next game.”

Jun-hee hesitated. “No, it’s okay.”

“Take it,” Young-il insisted gently. “I don’t drink plain milk.”

After a moment, Jun-hee finally accepted the milk, though her reluctance was still evident. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at the gesture. The way Young-il looked after Jun-hee was heartwarming. He must’ve been a good husband, you thought.

“Thank you,” Jun-hee said softly.

Jung-bae suddenly held out his bun to her. “Have my bread too. I don’t deserve to eat.”

Dae-ho immediately pointed at Jung-bae’s milk. “I’ll take your milk then.”

Jung-bae shot him a pointed stare, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and annoyance.

You had just exited the women’s restrooms and stepped back into the dormitory when you saw them. Lingering near the door that connected the restroom to the dormitory stood Lee Min-jae and his two friends.

Min-jae noticed you immediately and waved. You hesitated for a moment before offering a small, uncertain wave in return. Hoping to avoid further interaction, you continued toward the corner where the rest of your group was seated.

However, your heart sank when Min-jae and his friends moved deliberately to block your path. The dormitory was vast, filled with hundreds of players, so you didn’t feel afraid. Still, you silently hoped they wouldn’t press you again.

Min-jae greeted you with a bright smile. “Hey there. I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh,” you replied, feigning innocence. “Hi, Min-jae.”

He stepped slightly closer, his tone friendly. “So, are you free to hang out with us now? We’ve got a spot over there.”

He paused, gesturing vaguely toward a corner of the dormitory where his group had set up.

You hesitated, searching for a way out without offending him. “I… uh, I need to get back to my group first. They’re waiting for me.”

Min-jae’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a hint of frustration in his eyes. “It’ll just be for a little while. You can catch up with them later. Come on, I just want to get to know you better in a private spot.”

“I… I don’t know. I really should-”

Min-jae’s tone grew firmer, though he kept up his friendly demeanor. “Don’t be like that. Just for a bit. It’s just us hanging out. No harm, right?”

Min-jae’s friends were watching you intently, though their expressions remained neutral. You forced a polite smile, knowing that one wrong word or tone could create a vengeful enemy in this precarious game.

You said carefully. “Maybe later. I just need to check on my group first.”

But Min-jae’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it grew more hardened and insistent as he stepped closer to you. “Please? Just a quick chat with us. You’ve been hanging out with those uncles all day. Switch it up for a bit.”

Before you could respond, one of his friends – the tall man with number 277 – joined in. “Yeah, come on. We’re not asking for much. Just a little time to get to know you better.”

“Exactly,” chimed in the other friend, player 304. “It’s not like we’re asking you to stay forever. Just stop by. We’ve got a good spot over there.”

Their persistence made your chest tighten. You forced another smile, trying to remain composed. “I appreciate the offer, but really, I need to get back. Maybe another time.”

“Why not now?” Min-jae pressed, his tone still friendly.

As you searched for another polite excuse, a cold, steady voice cut through the conversation.

“She said no.”

You turned quickly, your eyes landing on Young-il. He was striding toward you. His gaze was fixed on Min-jae, sharp and unyielding. Although his expression seemed calm, a quiet intensity simmered beneath the surface. The restrained fury in his eyes made you speechless. It’s like he was ready to act the moment it became necessary.

Min-jae’s smile faltered slightly, though he tried to recover. “Oh, hey. We just want to have a chat with her. It's okay, right?”

Young-il moved deliberately, stepping between you and Min-jae with an air of quiet authority. His back faced you, shielding you from them. Though his expression remained calm, there was a palpable edge to his presence that made the air feel heavier.

“You’re pressuring her,” he said evenly, his voice carrying a subtle warning. “That’s not how conversations work.”

Silence settled over the group like a heavy weight. Min-jae’s friends exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier confidence clearly shaken.

You couldn’t help but stare at Young-il’s broad shoulders, struck by the way he carried himself. He didn’t need to raise his voice or show aggression; the calm intensity in his posture spoke volumes.

Min-jae hesitated, his expression flickering between defiance and calculation, before forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. With a mock gesture of surrender, he raised his hands and said, “Alright, alright. I get it. I apologize. I didn’t realize I was being forceful.”

His attempt to glance past Young-il toward you betrayed his unease, though. He called your name softly, adding, “Sorry about that.”

Young-il held his gaze, the silence stretching as he stared at Min-jae with deliberate calm. Then, with a slight turn of his head, his expression softened as he looked at you. He gestured subtly, his voice steady. “Let’s go.”

You followed Young-il as he led the way back to the corner where your group had gathered. His stride was steady, and though he didn’t say anything, his presence alone made you feel a little more at ease. You glanced back briefly to check if Min-jae and his friends were following, but they were nowhere in sight, already lost in the dormitory’s usual buzz of activity.

Just as the two of you were about to reach your group, Young-il gently grasped your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you.”

His gaze lingered on you, his tone shifting slightly as he asked, “How does he know your name?”

There was an edge to his words, though it didn’t feel like it was directed at you.

“He asked during the voting earlier,” you explained simply. “We were in the crowd, and he came over and introduced himself.”

Young-il’s eyes studied yours, moving from your left eye to your right, then briefly to your lips. You froze under the intensity of his gaze, unsure of what to make of it. After a few seconds that felt much longer, his focus shifted back to your left eye.

He finally lowered his gaze and said firmly, “If those boys bother you again, tell me.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. His gesture sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest, the butterflies in your stomach. He is really worried about you.

But even as you stood there, you couldn’t forget the fact that he was married. As close as you two had become, he’d never once mentioned it to you.

You averted your gaze, creating a small but deliberate space between you and Young-il.

“Thanks, but don’t worry. I can take care of myself,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. The pause lingered, and though you didn’t look his way, you could feel his confusion, as if he was trying to make sense of your sudden distance. Without waiting for a reply, you joined the group, sliding into the spot next to Jun-hee. Behind you, Young-il remained standing, silent and likely still perplexed.

As the group fell into casual conversation, you focused on Jun-hee, Jung-bae and Dae-ho, purposefully keeping your interactions away from Young-il. Whenever he made a comment directed at you or tried to reassure you about something, you responded with a polite smile but didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, you turned your attention to someone else, engaging them in light talk to avoid any further connection.

This is for the best. For you, for him, and for his wife.

“Lights out in ten minutes,” the announcer informed, the voice echoing through the dormitory. “Please prepare for bedtime.”

Your group was in the middle of executing Gi-hun’s plan. The idea was to claim four beds in one spot to create a secure sleeping area underneath the beds and on the floor between them. Everyone had agreed to the plan, though not without a few questions.

The men were handling the heavier tasks, carrying and arranging the mattresses and securing the area, while you and Jun-hee carried pillows and blankets, standing off to the side as they worked.

“Is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there,” Jung-bae said, his tone doubtful.

Gi-hun explained, “Once the lights go out, somebody might attack us.”

Dae-ho, crouching beside Jun-hee, looked over with wide eyes. “What? Who?”

Meanwhile, Young-il approached you and gestured for the pillows and blankets in your arms. You handed them to him one by one, watching as he placed them on the mattresses.

“The prize money still goes up if we kill each other,” Gi-hun continued. “It’s part of the game they designed.”

Young-il, now standing after arranging a mattress on the floor under one of the beds, spoke up, “Gi-hun, I think you’re overreacting. Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

Gi-hun’s gaze sharpened as he stared at Young-il. “In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here.”

He stepped closer to Young-il, his tone firm. “You have no idea how people can change in this place.”

You stared at them, noticing the tension in Gi-hun’s face and posture. Young-il paused before nodding apologetically. “Alright. I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry.”

Gi-hun gave Young-il one last look before turning back to address the group. “We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I’ll take the first watch. The rest of you should decide the order.”

You exchanged glances with the others. Dae-ho was the first to speak up. “Other than that, we have to figure out who’s sleeping where.”

Jung-bae pointed to the floor between the beds. “Jun-hee should sleep here, near the wall, surrounded by beds. It’ll be safer.”

“Then I’ll take the spot under the bed beside her,” Dae-ho said, glancing at Jun-hee for confirmation. “If that’s okay with you.”

Jun-hee nodded. “I’m okay with that.”

“I’ll take the spot under the bed on the other side of Jun-hee,” Jung-bae added. “It’s best to have two ex-Marines covering your sides.”

Jun-hee smiled in response.

Young-il turned to you, his voice soft. “Which spot do you want to take?”

You paused, glancing at the arrangement before pointing to the space directly under Jun-hee. “I’ll take the middle floor.”

That left the beds on either side of you empty until Young-il spoke up. “I’ll sleep under the bed on your left. That means Gi-hun will take the one on your right.”

“Now we just have to decide the order for keeping watch,” Dae-ho said, looking around the group.

“I’ll take the second watch, after Gi-hun,” Jung-bae said quickly.

Dae-ho raised his hand. “Third watch here.”

You spoke up just as Young-il reached to grab the leftover pillows and blanket from your arms. “Can I keep watch too?”

All eyes turned to you, surprise clear on their faces.

“How about the last watch?” you added. “I can wake up early.”

Dae-ho was the first to respond. “Ladies don’t have to. You and Jun-hee should take a full rest.”

“Yeah, no need for you to worry about keeping watch,” Jung-bae chimed in. “We’ve got this.”

You hesitated, feeling their protective tone press against your resolve.

“But it’s fine if I take the last watch,” you said, lowering your gaze briefly. “I want to freshen up before the next game anyway.”

Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged glances, clearly about to argue, when Young-il’s calm voice cut through. “Okay, you take the last watch.”

Everyone turned to him in confusion, while you blinked at him in surprise. Young-il glanced at the others briefly before settling his gaze on you.

“I’ll take the fourth watch, after Dae-ho,” he said evenly. “Then it’s your turn. But I’ll keep watch with you. It’s not safe for you to do it alone.”

The group nodded in agreement and that was the end of discussion. You, however, stayed quiet, your thoughts swirling. Young-il’s calm decision left you unsettled. The idea of him accompanying you brought a flutter of nerves you couldn’t quite suppress. You’d been trying to create some distance, to remind yourself of his marriage. Yet here he was, volunteering to accompany you.

It left you torn. A part of you appreciated his thoughtfulness. But another part of you couldn’t shake the complicated feelings his actions stirred, leaving you wondering how you’d handle the quiet hours of your shared watch.

A few minutes passed as the six of you settled into your designated spots. The announcer’s voice broke through the murmurs in the dormitory to announce bedtime. Moments later, the lights switched off, leaving the soft golden glow of the half-filled piggy bank overhead to dimly illuminate the vast room.

Dae-ho and Jung-bae were already lying under the beds, while Jun-hee rested on the mattress positioned on the open floor between them.

“This sucks,” Jung-bae muttered from his spot. “Feels like I’m hiding under my old desk at school.”

Dae-ho chuckled softly. “Pretend it’s a fun sleepover. We’re just missing the snacks and ghost stories.”

As their quiet exchange continued, you glanced over and noticed Gi-hun was sitting at the front, keeping watch.

Then, you felt a presence close beside you. Turning your head, you saw Young-il crouched beside you on your mattress on the open floor. He paused, glancing at you apologetically as he moved to sit down.

“Sorry,” he muttered, referring to him intruding your space.

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

Young-il shifted onto the edge of your mattress before sliding onto his own spot under the bed beside you. You watched as he settled in before you finally lay down and pulled the blanket over yourself.

The space felt smaller now, the awareness of his presence lingering. You never thought you’d be this close to him, sharing such confined quarters. But as the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it away quickly. He’s married. You shouldn’t let yourself think about him like this.

You closed your eyes, wishing for sleep to come quickly and pull you away from your restless thoughts.

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones!

NEXT : Chapter 09

PREV : Chapter 07

Story Masterlist

I would love to know what you think so feel free to comment as long as you could!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

“It was late at night, you held on tight”

Synopsis: A carefree night out with friends takes a sudden turn when your best friend Minji texts you out of nowhere. You didn’t expect anything serious—until she asks you to come over with a kind of honesty that makes your heart skip.

Word Count: 1,480

Minji X Male Reader

It was a blissful night.

Just a normal night out with friends.

A stop at the convenience store like it was tradition, a half-planned road trip with music spilling into the night sky. Everything felt light. Easy. The car windows were down, laughter bouncing off the metal, your favorite playlist rotating through like a soundtrack to a movie you didn’t know you were starring in.

“We should hit up that one spot,” someone suggested. “The one with the bomb fries.”

“Oh! Near 52nd Street? Let’s go!”

“What do ya think, Y/N?”

You grinned. “I’m up for anything.”

The car picked up speed as the road opened up. The sky above stretched wide and clear, dotted with stars. You leaned back in your seat, pulling out your phone to queue the next song when a message lit up the screen

Minji: hey loser, you free?

You blinked. Minji rarely texted you during nights like this—she usually kept her distance when she knew you were out.

You: im outside, why?

The reply came quick.

Minji: nvm, take care.

Short. Abrupt.

Something about it tugged at you.

“Yo, Y/N, you tryna buy some fries ye?” someone called out from the front.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.”

You stared at your screen. Thought about it.

Then hit call.

A chorus of teasing erupted around you.

“Ooh, calling someone?”

“It’s Minji, isn’t it?”

“Just date her already, man.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, holding the phone to your ear.

She picked up after two rings.

Her voice was clipped. “What. Why’d you call? Aren’t you busy?”

“Mhm,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “But I decided to call anyway, dumbo. What are you doing?”

“Studying,” she muttered. “You?”

“Near 52nd. Not far from your place.”

“Oh. Cool.”

A pause.

“Take care, Y/N.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

She hung up.

An Hour Later

You were finally seated, tray of fries in front of you. Golden, crispy, and completely overpriced.

“$25 for fries? We seriously need a financial advisor for our friend group,” you said, eyeing the mountain of carbs.

“For real,” someone laughed. “Hope this sh*t’s heavenly.”

You reached for the first fry—

Then your phone buzzed.a

Another message from Minji.

Minji: can you come over? please?

You stared.

A second later, another message arrived.

Minji: hey Y/N… can you come over please? I miss you.

Everything else faded out—the chatter, the fries, the playlist still running in the background. You stood up almost immediately.

“Hey, something just came up,” you said, grabbing your phone. “I gotta go.”

“Huh? You good?”

“You want me to drop you off somewhere?”

You shook your head. “No thanks. I’ll be fine. See you guys later.”

The streets were quieter now, the rush of the night slowly folding into stillness. You walked faster than usual, phone clenched in your hand, re-reading her words with a small, helpless smile growing on your lips.

I miss you.

Minji never said things like that. Not directly.

When you reached her front door, you didn’t even knock. She had already unlocked it. As if she knew you’d come.

You found her in her room, sitting on the bed, still wearing her hoodie, hair a little messy from leaning over textbooks. Her eyes flicked up when she saw you. She didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

You just stepped in, dropped your bag by the door, and asked softly, “So… what’s up, loser?”

She let out a breath that sounded too much like a sigh of relief.

“I just… didn’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Your chest tugged.

“Then I’m here,” you said. “Simple as that.”

Minji didn’t reply.

She just scooted over, lifting the edge of her blanket—just a little.

You took the invitation without a second thought

You sat beside her, the air thick with quiet warmth. Minji tucked her knees under her blanket, hugging them close like it was the only way to keep herself grounded.

“What happened?” you asked gently.

She hesitated, fingers picking at the threads of the blanket.

“…Nothing,” she finally whispered. “Just feeling extra lonely tonight. With all these papers and notes, I feel numb. And I need a break.”

You tilted your head, watching her profile under the dim light of her desk lamp. There was a faint crease in her brow, a heaviness in her eyes. You didn’t like seeing her like that.

“Whatchu wanna do?” you asked, voice soft but light, like you were trying to lift the air between you.

She looked over, lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Dunno. Just… anything but thinking.”

You nodded slowly. “Wanna make fun of bad movie trailers until we pass out?”

A faint laugh escaped her. “That actually sounds amazing

You queued the first trailer, something dramatic and low-budget, filled with jump cuts and a suspicious amount of slow-mo.

Minji sat close—too close. Her shoulder brushed yours every time she shifted, and her knee lightly bounced against yours under the blanket she’d tugged over both of you. Neither of you mentioned it.

“Okay,” you said, smirking, “this one’s called Space Heist 3: Moonblood. Thoughts?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why are they on a horse? In space?”

“That’s exactly what I’m wondering.”

Minji let out a soft laugh, her head tilting just slightly until it leaned into you again—less like an accident this time.

You didn’t move.

The next trailer started playing, but your attention flickered—trailing from the screen to the way her fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the corner of the blanket, then to the curve of her smile when something ridiculous happened on screen.

“You always do this,” she said suddenly.

“Do what?”

She turned to look at you, and it felt too quiet. Too still.

“You always show up right when I need you most.”

You tried to play it off with a crooked smile. “You did ask nicely.

She didn’t smile back right away.

Her gaze dropped to your lips—just for a second. Barely there.

You swallowed.

The laptop lit both your faces in flickering colors, but neither of you looked at it anymore.

“…Minji.”

“Yeah?”

You hesitated. Everything between you was loud now—the closeness, the warmth, the unspoken words that hung in the air like static.

“You’re really bad at watching trailers,” you said instead, voice low.

Her grin returned, but slower this time. “Guess I’m distracted.”

You hid the fact that the moment you heard her words you’re a walking ball of flames.

The next trailer started without either of you noticing, the volume just a background hum to the thudding pulse in your chest.

Minji leaned a little closer, not noticing at first, but the heat from her body radiated through the space between you. Her breath brushed your arm as she shifted, eyes still glued to the screen, though her focus seemed to drift more and more.

You could feel it. The almost electric energy humming between you, making the air in the room feel thicker.

You swallowed again, trying to focus, but your gaze kept slipping back to her—the way her lips moved as she mumbled under her breath at something ridiculous on the screen, the slight tilt of her chin when she laughed, and the way her eyes flicked to you in a glance so fleeting it almost didn’t register.

Your heart stuttered.

Why am I feeling like this?

“Y/N?” Minji’s voice was soft, so much quieter now, almost like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask the question.

“Yeah?” You turned toward her, leaning just a little.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. She just looked at you—her eyes searching yours, her lips parted like she might say something, but instead, the air between you grew heavier.

Then, she shifted again, closer this time, and you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

She was close enough now that you could feel the warmth of her breath, just a fraction of an inch away. You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was both of you—but suddenly, her lips were on yours.

It was soft, tentative at first, like the world might stop spinning if you held on too long. But then her hand brushed against your cheek, and something inside you snapped.

You leaned into the kiss, a gentle pressure at first, then deeper. Minji responded with the same hesitation, her lips meeting yours with a kind of urgency that made the room feel smaller, the space between you collapsing until there was nothing but the softness of her touch, the sweetness of her breath mingling with yours.

When you finally pulled away, it was as if the world had caught up with you. Both of you were breathless, staring at each other, unsure of what came next.

“…You’re still bad at watching trailers,” you murmured, breaking the tension.

Minji blinked, her lips curling into a quiet, breathless laugh. “Shut up, Y/N.”

She leaned in again, and this time, there was nothing tentative about it.

[fictoculus]

Hiiiiii! Can i request some genshin guys reacting to reader refering to them as "my husband" they're not married yet/just dating? As for characters, I'd prefer Tighnari, Albedo, and Cyno (I definitely have a type lol) please 🙏

౨ৎ "my husband..."

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT… alhaitham, tighnari, albedo

SYNOPSIS... calling your boyfriend your husband just to get a rise out of him (or you)

A/N... hey anon! thanks for the requesttt i love getting them literally puts a smile on my face ^^ so sorry for taking so long tho, nd also sorry for not writing anything for cyno i js had zero ideas for him, have alhaithtam instead!! anywayyy i was actually planning on writing something like this so great timing!!! hope you enjoyyy ♡

✧ alhaitham.

it's been a long, tiring day, so you and alhaitham decide it's the perfect chance to unwind and finally visit the small café you often pass on your way home.

it's quaint but welcoming, with warm white fairy lights and oak wood accents to highlight the faded walls and exposed brick. however, due to it's size, there is quite a long queue. usually you'd be a little on edge, but with the quiet chatter and soft music, you're able to relax.

just as you begin to scan the menu, a quiet gasp causes you to jolt slightly as your boyfriend taps you on the shoulder.

"[name], i'm so sorry but i have to go back."

"is everything ok?"

"it seems i've forgotten something important. will you be alright by yourself?"

you reassure him with a nod, smiling up at him and urging him to go; the sooner he leaves, the sooner he'll be back.

"i'll be just fine, take your time, love"

"i won't be long"

he places a hurried kiss on your forehead and rushes back to the akademiya, breaking into a run as soon as he's out of your sight.

the queue edges closer and closer to the counter, and you start to give up your space for people behind you in the hopes that alhaitham will return, but eventually you're the only person left in the queue and have no choice but to place an order.

"good evening, um, could i please have..."

you carefully pick out a couple of baked goods you think your boyfriend would enjoy, and take your time selecting the right tea.

"ah, well... my husband has just gone to run an errand but i think he'd like... an oolong tea, please"

as if you somehow summoned him, alhaitham appears beside you with an arm wrapped around your waist.

"yes, that'd be just fine. thank you"

you can feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest against your shoulder, but you say nothing of it until you're sat down with your drinks and snacks.

"are you alright? i didn't mean to hurry you, 'haitham, i know you're tired"

the scholar, however, couldn't care less about having to rush, and completely dismisses your question.

"your husband, hm? i haven't heard that one before"

a sly smirk is plastered on his face, though you know he has no malicious intent, he simply enjoys teasing you, that's all.

"well- i didn't think you'd be back in time and i- it just-"

"don't worry about it, love, i'm only teasing."

he reaches across the table with a smile, holding your hand in his and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

"in fact, i quite like the idea of being your husband"

you're completely stumped. alhaitham? your husband?

yes, the two of you have been together for quite some time, but never in a million years did you think you deserved to marry him.

"y-you do?!"

"of course i do, love, don't you?"

"yes absolutely! i- it'd be a dream come true"

you blurt out, feeling a heat rushing to your cheeks as they glow a bright pink. usually, you'd be embarrassed, but in this moment, it doesn't matter. it feels as if time has come to a halt, and it's just you and him. alone. together.

at least now he knows you'll say yes...

✧ tighnari.

it's yours and tighnari's 1 year anniversary (hooray!), so of course, the two of you have gone out for a meal at a fancy restaurant, recommended to you by cyno surprisingly.

you absentmindedly read out the menu, whispering any dishes which intrigue you under your breath. it's one of the little habits you have that tighnari finds oh so charming, and he can't help but gaze at you lovingly as he completely disregards the menu and pins all his attention on you.

"are you ready to order?"

a stern voice snaps him back into reality as a waitress approaches the table, taking the pen out of her breast pocket and clicking it against her notepad.

you glance over to your boyfriend, and chuckle to yourself as he panics and skims over the menu hurriedly.

"my husband is having some trouble deciding, so i'll go first if that's alright"

you shoot your boyfriend an 'innocent' smile before placing your order.

"of course, and for you, sir?"

tighnari is completely out of it, your words echoing in his mind as he seems to just float away. "my husband", "my husband", "my husband". he sits there a flustered, blushing mess. how couldn't he be? the love of his life just called him their husband. if it weren't for the waitress stood before you, he'd be burying himself in your chest from the sheer embarrassment. not that he'd be ashamed to be your husband, he'll just never get used to that tugging feeling he gets in his chest when you tease him like this.

"sir? your order?"

"r-right, excuse me..."

you watch intently as he orders, stumbling over his words and fidgeting furiously with the loose fabric of his cape. how cute.

only when you've paid the bill and started heading home does he (nervously) confront you about your teasing, squeezing your hand tightly as he, once again, stumbles over his words.

"so... husband? is- is that something you really want or is it just some little scheme of yours beca-"

"i want nothing more, 'nari"

✧ albedo.

your boyfriend, albedo, is perched on a stool in front of you, painting fervently. painting what, you ask? why, you of course!

a feeling of pure euphoria washes over him every time his eyes outline your figure; you're beautiful. every curve, every dip, every mark, everything about you is a work of art in itself.

it feels like you've been sat there forever, holding your hand to your face and staring out the window, trying your best to be the perfect muse.

after hours of daydreaming, he finally calls you over.

"i'm finished, love. you did so well"

you walk over to him, back slightly sore, rolling your shoulders with a sigh. albedo's warm arm snakes around your waist and gently pulls you down onto his lap, bringing both hands to your shoulders to give you a well deserved massage.

"do you like it?"

he nods towards the canvas, now covered in the most wonderful shades of every colour you can imagine. the way he manipulated the light and shadows is commendable, and the fabric of your carefully styled outfit seems to flow around your body perfectly.

"do i like it?! archons... it's beautiful, 'bedo"

"you're beautiful, [name]"

it looks just like you, and now, finally, you get to see a glimpse of how albedo sees you.

"my husband is just so talented, what in teyvat am i going to do, hm?"

that was all it took for him to loose him composure, looking away from your gaze yet you kept your eyes locked on his. a pink tint dusts over his cheeks, and he seems to grow slightly distant as he processes it all; it's as if you can see the gears turning behind those pretty eyes of his.

"y-your husband?"

he stammers out, hands stilling to rest on your shoulders.

"mm, you don't like it?"

his eyes widen; of course he likes it. the idea of being your husband is something that gets him so giddy he can't sleep at night. just the thought of sliding a ring onto your fingers sends shivers down his spine, and he can feel himself burning up as he stutters:

"o-oh, no, no... i do, i just- i wasn't expecting it, that's all"

best believe he'll be attached to you for the rest of the day, leaning onto your back when you go to get a glass of water, and tugging on your arm as he leads you to bed.

"one day, [name]. one day i really will be your husband, if you'll let me..."

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you’d like me to write next!

TAGLIST…@maopll . @nyxmainex . @avensuersa . @moondrop-gummies apply here

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[valkyriexo]

One + One = Three | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Hyunjin x Idol! Reader. FtStray kids

ᑉ³genre; Angst , Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; Secret relationship, scandal, breakup, mentions of cheating. kinda toxic hyunjin

ᑉ³Authors Note; Rewrite of the original story.

Notice : I’m currently on hiatus from writing. If you’re seeing this—congrats! That means my queue is working. 💌

The soft light of morning crept in through the curtains, brushing across your face until it finally pulled you from sleep.

You blinked a few times, your body still warm under the covers, the weight of them comforting against your skin. You turned your head—and there he was.

Hyunjin.

Curled up beside you, mouth slightly parted, one arm tossed over the pillow like he’d fallen asleep mid-thought. His hair was a mess. He looked peaceful.

Beautiful.

You smiled to yourself, barely breathing. These mornings were rare, especially not with both your schedules, and definitely not without the world watching.

You reached out, brushing a piece of hair off his forehead. His lashes fluttered a little at your touch, and a soft groan left his throat.

Then—those eyes.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough and deep from sleep. Still half-dreaming.

“Morning, pretty boy,” you whispered, grin tugging at your lips. “Sleep okay?”

He nodded, eyes still closed. “Had you next to me, didn’t I?”

You bit your lip, cheeks heating. He always knew how to do that—wreck you with one line, so casual like it didn’t kill you every time.

You leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. It tasted like sleep and sunlight and something that felt dangerously close to forever.

You stayed like that for a while. Tangled up in sheets, in each other. Neither of you talking—just the steady sound of Hyunjin’s breathing beside you, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your arm.

And still, even wrapped up in him like this, part of you felt like you were holding your breath.

“I wish people knew about us,” he whispered, voice rough from sleep but soft, like he was scared of breaking the quiet.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t.

Because you wanted that too. Desperately.

And wanting it only made it worse.

“I know,” you finally said. “I think about it all the time.”

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look at you. His eyes searched yours like he was trying to memorize the whole map of your face.

“I hate that we have to hide something that feels this good,” he said. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I have to pretend you’re no one.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and you felt it like a punch to the gut.

“It sucks,” he said. “Loving someone like this. Quietly. Secretly.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation—maybe not in words, but in the way your stomach dropped every time you said goodbye in public like strangers. In the way you had to look past him at events, pretend like he didn’t make your entire world stop.

Hyunjin closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, there was that look—like he could see right through you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we weren’t idols?” he asked. “If we were just… us.”

“All the time,” you said, your voice a little shaky. “Like, if I met you in college or in some random dance studio somewhere, and we didn’t have to think about contracts or fan reactions or labels breathing down our necks…”

He smiled, small and sad. “I think I’d still fall for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how easy he said it. Like it was obvious.

“I wouldn’t even try not to,” he added.

Your throat burned.

“Shouldn’t we be allowed to love who we love?” you said quietly, not really asking.

He nodded slowly. “In a perfect world... yeah.”

You let out a breath. “But it’s not a perfect world.”

“Nope,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s a world where one photo could ruin everything. For both of us.”

You looked down at your hands. “I just don’t want this to feel like a lie.”

“It’s not,” he said, and his voice was gentle but firm. “We’re not a lie. We’re just… complicated.”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight.

“We’ll tell them one day,” Hyunjin said, pulling you closer. “When we’re ready. When it’s safe.”

You didn’t know if “one day” would ever come.

But you nodded anyway, because for now—this moment, this bed, this boy—it was enough.

With a sigh, you allowed yourself to fall back into the embrace of sleep, feeling safe and loved in his arms.

The smell of coffee was what finally pulled you out of bed.

You stretched, blanket falling off your shoulder as the quiet hush of the apartment reminded you Hyunjin had already gotten up. For a second, you let yourself just... exist. Wrapped in his scent. Drowsy, warm, maybe even a little happy.

Then your stomach grumbled.

You padded down the hall, your oversized shirt brushing against your thighs as you walked into the kitchen—and stopped.

Hyunjin was standing at the counter, head tilted, brow furrowed, spatula in one hand and a bowl of batter in the other

You leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him. There was something so domestic about him like this. Barefoot. Focused. Making a mess of your counter.

You smiled.

“Is that supposed to be a pancake?” you asked, teasing.

He jumped slightly, turning to look at you. “It will be a pancake,” he said, nose scrunching up. “Eventually.”

You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back.

He relaxed immediately. You felt it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way he let out a little sigh and covered your hands with his.

“Morning again,” he said softly.

You hummed in response, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Didn’t wanna wake you,” he added. “You looked peaceful.”

“I’m never peaceful,” you mumbled, voice still sleepy.

“With me, you are,” he said.

You pulled away just enough to look at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You trying to make me cry into your batter?”

He turned and kissed your forehead. “Never. Just trying to feed my lover.”

You bit your lip, heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it always did when he called you that.

You ended up on the counter, legs swinging, stealing strawberries from the bowl while he tried—and failed—not to burn a pancake.

It felt normal. Easy.

Almost too easy.

You were so lost in the warmth of it all that you didn’t hear the buzz of his phone until he glanced at it, and his entire expression shifted.

“What's wrong?” you asked, instantly on alert.

Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the screen.

You leaned forward. “Hyune?”

He sighed, setting the phone down like it physically hurt. “Chan. I forgot we had early prep today for the show next week.”

You nodded, trying not to show the sting of disappointment. “You said you'd be free today.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, already stepping away to grab his stuff. “I didn’t mean to lose track of time, I just... I wanted this morning with you.”

You slid off the counter, watching him move quickly through the apartment, your heart a little heavier with every step he took away from you.

“You’ll be back for dinner though?” you asked, hopeful.

He paused at the door, eyes softening.

“I promise.”

And he meant it. You could see it in the way he looked at you—like you were home.

He kissed you once, quick but lingering, before disappearing out the door.

You stood there for a second, trying to hold onto the warmth he left behind.

But even with the coffee still hot and the scent of pancakes in the air, the apartment already felt too quiet.

The pancakes were cold by the time you sat down to eat.

You weren’t really hungry anymore, but you picked at them anyway—more out of habit than anything else. The apartment was still. The kind of quiet that made you overthink.

You flipped your phone over on the table. Notifications, of course. Always notifications. Messages from your manager, some staff group chat you were ignoring, a missed call from your vocal coach.

And then— A headline.

Big, bold, impossible to miss:

“Exclusive: Y/N Linked to Stray Kids Member in Dating Controversy”

You froze. The bite of pancake in your mouth forgotten. You tapped the article, your thumb shaking as it loaded.

The words didn’t register at first. Just a blur of phrases:

intimate photos... rumors swirling... spotted multiple times with Han Jisung... secret meetings... secret messages... agencies decline to comment...

Wait a second...

Han?

You blinked. Read it again.

“Despite attempts to keep their relationship private, it appears Y/N and Stray Kids’ Han Jisung have grown closer in recent months…”

“No,” you whispered, your voice catching.

Your hands trembled as you scrolled through the pictures. The convenience store—yeah, you remembered that night. You were standing next to Han because Hyunjin had gone to pay. Another photo—by the River. You were walking with Han, Minho, and Jeongin. But where was Hyunjin?

You remembered him being there. You knew he was. He was just… out of frame.

And yet, here it was—your entire relationship reduced to a misinterpreted headline and a handful of photos that told the wrong story.

And it was spreading fast.

Fan comments. Tweets. Edits. Tagging your name and Han’s like it was a confirmed ship. Hyunjin’s name was nowhere in sight.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your phone slipped from your fingers and landed on the couch cushion.

Your heart was pounding. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Your skin felt like it didn’t fit right.

You tried to breathe. Just breathe.

But it wasn’t working.

You swallowed hard. Cold sweat gathered at the back of your neck.

You needed to talk to the boys. This kind of thing could ruin reputations, tank endorsements, drag innocent people into mess they didn’t ask for.

But you couldn’t call anyone.

Not Han. Not Hyunjin. Not Chan.

Even the thought of stepping outside felt impossible. The internet already had claws in your name—you didn’t need cameras in your face too.

So you did the only thing you could do.

You grabbed a water bottle, curled up on the couch, and tried to breathe.

In. Out.

You counted: four in, four out. The way your therapist once told you to. You blinked back tears. Pressed the cold bottle to your temple.

Your chest was tight. Your ears were ringing.

You wanted to wake up from this.

You must’ve drifted off at some point. Numbness had that effect.

Until—

SLAM.

The door crashed shut so hard it made you jolt upright, nearly knocking the water bottle from your hands.

Your heart leapt to your throat.

“Jinnie?”

No response.

You sat up, blinking in the dark. The clock on the stove glared: 1:14 a.m.

The shuffle of shoes. The zipper of a bag. Then silence.

You stood slowly, padding toward the hallway, half-hoping it wasn’t what it felt like— That you weren’t about to have that conversation.

And then you saw him.

Hyunjin stood just past the entryway. Still in his hoodie. Hands clenched into fists at his sides. Staring at nothing.

You could barely breathe.

“Hey,” you said, soft. Fragile. “You’re back…”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at you. And that’s when you knew.

He’d seen it.

You took a cautious step toward him. “You saw it.”

He nodded slowly. “The article. The photos.” His voice was low. Strained.

“I was going to tell you,” you said. “I just—”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked. No venom. Just that—quiet disbelief.

“I panicked,” you whispered. “I didn’t know what to say. Everything exploded so fast, and I—”

He held up a hand. Not to shush you—just to pause.

Then, after a long moment, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Opened something. Turned the screen toward you.

More photos.

Ones you hadn’t seen.

You stepped forward instinctively, scanning them. You and Han. You and Han.

You and Han.

Sitting on a studio couch, leaning close. Laughing at something. Your head tilted, his hand brushing your shoulder. One image showed your hand on his arm, smiling. It looked... intimate. You remembered these moments. You remembered Hyunjin being there. But he wasn’t in the shot.

“This one?” Hyunjin said. “Were you even thinking about me?”

“Of course I was,” you said quickly. “We were working. You were in the other room.”

He gave a breathy laugh, and something in his face twitched.

“God,” he muttered. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

He looked at you again. Really looked. Like he was trying to find the truth somewhere in your face.

“You and Han,” he said quietly. “You’ve always had this… thing. I ignored it. I told myself I was being jealous. That I trusted you. That I was just being stupid.”

“You were, Hyunjin,” you said, desperate. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“But now the whole world thinks it is!” he shouted suddenly, his voice breaking like a dam. “And you didn’t even warn me. I had to walk into a room today where everyone looked at me like I was some pathetic, clueless idiot.”

You flinched.

And that only seemed to set him off more.

“Oh, now you’re scared?” he scoffed. His voice was sharp, nearly shaking. “Are you scared because I caught you, or scared because you never thought I’d actually say it?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Say what?”

“That you cheated on me,” he spat.

Your breath left your lungs. “I—what? Hyunjin, no. No, I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, louder now. “Don’t fucking stand there and lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

“Then what am I supposed to believe, Y/N?” His eyes were wide, desperate, furious. “That all those photos mean nothing? That Han just accidentally ends up in every moment you decided to keep from me?”

“They weren’t secrets! I told you we were working together—”

“You didn’t tell me you were all over him.” He threw his phone across the couch. “Jesus. You look like you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not—Hyunjin, I love you.”

“Then prove it!” he shouted, his voice breaking again. “Because every photo I saw today says otherwise. You’re looking at him like he’s your whole damn world and I’m just—what? A convenience? Someone to crawl back to when the cameras are off? Someone you're using to get closer to him?”

“That’s not true,” you said, crying now, voice shaking. “I would never do that to you.”

“But it looks like you did,” he hissed. “And that’s all anyone cares about. That’s all I can see when I look at you now.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing, spiraling.

“I keep asking myself—what if I never saw those photos? Would you have ever told me? Or were you just gonna keep letting me play boyfriend while you and Han—”

“There’s nothing going on with Han!” you screamed.

“Don’t lie!” he shouted back, face flushed. “You were touching him! Whispering to him! Sitting in his lap—”

“I wasn’t—!”

“I know what I saw!” he snapped. “And don’t you dare stand there and tell me I’m crazy for putting two and two together when you handed me the math.”

You were sobbing now, chest heaving. “I didn’t cheat on you, Jinnie. I swear to God, I didn’t.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. His hands were on his hips, shaking with rage and disbelief.

“You let the whole world think you’re dating Han,” he said. “And you didn’t even try to stop it.”

“I didn’t know! It happened so fast—”

“You didn’t care,” he cut in, cold now. “Because maybe a part of you liked it. The attention. The rumors. Him.”

“Stop!” you cried. “Why are you saying this?!”

“Because it’s true,” he said. “And you know it.” He grabbed his bag from the corner, barely looking at you now.

“I’m done.”

“No—please don’t say that—”

“I’ll come get my things when I don’t feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back.”

The door opened.

“Hyunjin, please. Don’t walk away.”

He paused.

And without looking back, he said:

“You walked away first.”

Then the door slammed shut behind him. And this time, you didn’t just cry.

You broke.

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[kabr0ztrousers]

Idk if you're into this or if your requests are open but,,,

A ftm reader who hasn't had any hormone treatment or surgeries, getting bitten by a werewolf, which causes him to masculinize, aka grow muscles, become bigger, grow a dick, etc,,, you can do anything you want with it, but there reader knotting somebody and breeding them would be very delicious,,, thank you,,,

Kabr0z Writes Episode 109: Accursed

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Here's the Ao3!

CWs: non-sexual violence; ftm transformation; lycanthropy transformation; mild body horror; knotting; monsterfucking; monster POV

A/N: Monsterfucking from a different direction this time, let's see how it goes!

Another reminder that this series really does rely on requests, and I'm burning through them faster than I'm getting them! If you have an idea, a suggestion, anything, go ahead and drop me an ask to add it to the queue!

#####################################

The helmet didn't really fit you. Nor did the boiled leather cuirass strapped to your tightly-bound chest. You didn't care. The spear felt good in your hand, as did your buckler. The village needs soldiers if it's to survive now the cursemute is gone and the werewolves are abroad again. Tonight is the full moon, they'll be out in force.

You hid a wisp of your hair. You'd wanted to cut it short for years, but your ma refused to let you. You grinned under the steel bucket that passed for your helm, she'd throw a fit if she knew what you're doing. Hell, maybe she already is.

Howling on the breeze.

The guard formed into a schiltron, spears planted in the dirt, mismatched shields held up, ready for attack from any direction.

Shapes darted across the clearing. Shadows in the long grass.

The men either side of you were getting shifty. Nervous. Your heart was racing, your breaths shallow. You put the adrenaline out of your mind, or tried to.

A werewolf barreled at you, leaping from the grass. It landed heavily on you, a scratching, gouging mass of fur and teeth. A huge paw clubbed your helmet, and the lights went out.

That was a month ago. You'd awoken with a nasty gash on your belly, splitting the skin but thankfully not enough to spill your guts. Just meant you had to bandage a little lower, too. Your life in the village was mostly unchanged, spinning and weaving, doing all the ladylike jobs you hated. It did upset you that you couldn't help the men though, it wasn't worth risking splitting yourself open for the sake of feeling manly cutting firewood.

Tiffany came to visit today, she's the only one who knew why you kept washing out bloody bandages by the river. You always liked when she came by. Her golden hair shone even by the candlelight, her sparkling green eyes, her easy smile, she couldn't fail to brighten your day whenever you saw her. She brought you food and ale, and you'd laugh together until well after dusk.

It never occurred to you what may have given you that gash.

You were sat together, drinking and laughing as you ignored the weaving you were meant to be doing. Not noticing the sun setting. Not noticing the clear sky, or the shaft of silver moonlight tracing its way across the floor. Not until it reached you.

The silver light slid onto your skin. A buzzing started at the back of your mind, growing in intensity. Your skin itched, shaggy black fur starting to grow from every inch. The wound on your belly sealed. You stood up, restlessness driving you. The sound of snapping bone filled the workshop as your knees inverted. Blood flowed from your fingertips as claws split the skin. Your skin stretched, threatening to tear as your fingers and arms extended. Your breasts receded as your chest broadened, the bandages binding your body snapping and tearing off you. Your clothes split and tore off you, the simple milkmaid's dress turning to rags as you grained height and width.

Your change took a minute, maybe two. Tiffany was staring at you, mouth agape. Your mind was racing. You could smell her fear. Strong, heady, metallic. She stank. It filled your head. Your heart beat out of your chest. You turned to her. She stared at you. You sniffed the air, delighting in that smell. Fear... Sweat... Something else?

She put her hand on yours. Her other hand went to her skirt, pulling the hem above her ankle. You jumped on her.

You weren't thinking about what you were doing. You ached for her. Your crotch felt tight. A throbbing fullness you couldn't set aside. Your loins burned for her. You were humping at her, rubbing your body against hers, grinding your crotch into her body.

She gathered her skirts, shifting under you, spreading her legs wide for you. Still her eyes stared into yours. Wide-eyed, she still stank of fear. She was your prey. She was your mate. Your mind was torn. Your body wanted hers. You needed to take her. You needed to devour her.

You felt cold air. Every thrust over her made it worse. Something was rising in you, a heavy, throbbing warmth pounding between your thighs. A new smell joined the cacophony in the room, musky, hot, yours. It was painting her. You looked down. A cock swung between your legs, long, thick, the knot still contained in a monstrous, black-furred sheath.

Her feet touched your shaft, guiding you to her cunt. You pressed against her opening, the unfamiliar stimulation against your new cock making you whine. Your precum spurted against her, making her opening even wetter. Her hands brushed your sides and you thrusted.

Your cock drove into her. A moan escaped her lips as you started pistoning your cock into her. You could feel every fold, every ripple of her walls. Your cock was surrounded by hot, wet, clenching flesh. She wriggled underneath you, rocking her hips to meet your animal thrusts. You couldn't hold on long. You felt so close. Your balls rose, tightening against your body. The weight filled you. Pressure forced against your cock. You felt your member fill with your seed, ready to release it.

You thrust hard. She stifled a scream of pleasure, of pain, of terror. Your knot squelched into her. You roared.

Thick cum pumped out of you. You felt every gout leaving your cock, pounding directly into her womb. Every pump made you thrust again, trying to send it deeper into her. Your hips were pressed her against her, but still you ground yourself up to her.

Her pussy was clamped around your knot, holding you in. Her legs wrapped around you. Your mate wanted you to stay. You lay there, buried in her, pumping litter after litter into her fertile cunt.

Dawn broke over the village. Your body cracked and crunched, shifting back to a human form. It wasn't the same human as you were yesterday. Thick hair still sprouted from your body. Your chest was still broad and muscular. You hips were narrower and differently shaped. Stubble sprouted from your face, your softening cock was large and uncut, but a far cry from the knotted monstrosity you fell asleep with.

"You're all mine" you whispered into Tiffany's ear.

She murmured sleepily, dripping your seed, "All yours." Her eye opened slightly "As long as you keep giving me dick like that"

#######################################

Hope you enjoyed tonight's episode! I liked writing from the monsters perspective, it's fun.

Once again, I ask you for requests! Any ideas, scenarios, revisits, what ifs, whatever you want please send it in! If you're on the fence on if it's crossing a line, send it in and I'll make the call on whether or not it gets made.

I'm not here to call people out, just to write porn and be incorrigibly horny!