#so i can force you all to be carrie fans.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[ventismacchiato]

13 stuck with you — it's a cruel summer with you !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The evening air was cool, tinged with the briny scent of the ocean. You wandered along the winding paths near the cabins, hoping for a moment of peace. The day had been exhausting—full of staged dates and forced smiles. It didn’t help that Venti hadn’t cooked your lunch all the way, so the taste of raw fish on your tongue hadn’t fully faded.

You were allowed a break so you decided to go stroll by the ocean, but as you passed the edge of the main clearing, faint voices caught your attention.

“I really thought I raised you better than this. It’s hard being your mother and your boss,” Ei’s voice, sharp and biting, cuts through the quiet. This was new to you, you were accustomed to her voice sounding soft as it lifted through your speakers as she sang your favorite songs. But now it was just harsh.

You paused, barely hidden by a cluster of trees, your breath hitching.

“I’ve noticed,” Scaramouche replied, his tone laced with venom. “Because you’re useless at both.”

A heavy silence followed, one that seemed to press down on the air itself.

“You don’t get to speak to me that way,” Ei said, her voice cold but trembling with restrained anger.

“Since when have you spent any time raising me?” Scaramouche shot back. The bitterness in his voice felt like a dagger, even to you, “You treat me like some sort of pet.”

Ei exhaled sharply, the sound almost a hiss. “Just do your job here. I worked hard to get you where you are today, so don’t throw it away because you can’t keep your childish emotions in check. I don’t understand how your fans or your members haven’t turned on you. I wouldn’t want to work with the likes of you.”

“Whatever,” Scaramouche muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Footsteps followed, sharp and deliberate, fading as Ei walked away. You peered out cautiously and caught a glimpse of Scaramouche as he slid down the railing, letting himself sink to the sand. He drew his knees to his chin, a cigarette already lit between his fingers. The soft glow of the ember cast fleeting shadows across his face, his usually sharp features were softened.

You hesitated, unsure if approaching him was the right move. But before you could overthink it, your feet carried you closer. The sound of your steps on the sand drew his gaze.

He didn’t look startled. He barely looked at you. “Did you hear that?” he asked, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

“No,” you lied instinctively.

A dry laugh escaped him. “You even suck at lying.”

You dropped onto the sand beside him, wrapping your arms around your knees. He tilted his head back, the cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. “Let me guess,” he said. “If you did hear, it probably ruined the perfect image you had of her.”

“Not really,” you said, trying to sound casual. “I was more of a Yae Miko bias anyway.”

That drew a low chuckle from him, and for a moment, the usual tension between you eased.

You glanced at him. “I can see why you’re such a bitch now. Your mom sucks.”

He scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Are you seriously trying to comfort me right now?”

“No, I’m just saying it makes sense.”

A shrug. “Good,” he said. “Because you suck at it.”

“I do not!” you shot back, glaring at him.

For once, he didn’t retaliate with sharp words. The silence stretched out, broken only by the faint crash of waves in the distance. You shifted awkwardly before finally standing. “I don’t know if I’m the person you want to see after… that.” You gestured vaguely toward the path Ei had taken.

But before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “She’s wrong, by the way.”

Scaramouche looked up, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

“You’re a good idol,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you could second-guess them. “It’s one of the reasons we fight so much, you know. I’m… jealous.”

His brow arched, and a smug grin began to form. “So you’re admitting I’m better than you?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, heat rising to your face as you turned around.

“Smoking ruins your voice, by the way,” you called over your shoulder as you stomp off.

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

You didn’t see the faint smile lingering on his lips as he stubbed out his cigarette.

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE INTERVIEW ONE, TAKE ONE

YAE: [LEANS FORWARD, GRINNING] So, Scaramouche… You don’t smell like smoke today. What’s the deal? You quit or something?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SHRUGS AND GLANCES AWAY] Maybe.

YAE: [RAISES EYEBROW] Maybe? You’ve been getting nonstop nagging from Jean about this. Something changed?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SIGHS AND LOOKS AWAY] It’s just… I don’t know. I’m thinking about it.

YAE: [LEANS IN] Thinking about it? For how long?

SCARAMOUCHE: [GRUMBLES] Doesn’t matter how long. I’m just… I’m not into it anymore.

YAE: [NODS, TEASINGLY] So, what, you woke up one day and just decided to change everything?

SCARAMOUCHE: [ROLLS HIS EYES] No. It’s just…. It feels like a bad habit. One that doesn’t do anything for me anymore.

JEAN: [INTERRUPRTS] I’ve been saying this for years and just now you're taking the hint? All the articles and studies I sent and this island is what gets to you?

SCARAMOUCHE: [SHRUGS]

YAE: Hm, this island is what we’re calling them now?

SCARAMOUCHE: What are you talking about?

YAE: Don’t forget love, microphones are always on. A certain someone asked you to, didn’t they?

SCARAMOUCHE: Whatever. I would’ve done this on my own anyway.

JEAN: [LETS OUT A STIFLED LAUGH]

YAE: Yeah right!

SCARAMOUCHE: Oh, fuck off

YAE: CUT!

[00:00:00] POST PARADISE INTERVIEW TWO, TAKE ONE

YAE: [LEANING IN] So, how’s everything going with you and Scara? You two still at each other's throats? Or maybe in each other’s throats.

YN: [SHRUGS] First off, gross. And it's going.

YAE: [GRINNING] Oh come on, give me something to work with here! How’s the real relationship behind the cameras?

YN: [ROLLS EYES] What do you want me to say? It’s... fine.

YAE: [WINKS AND GIGGLES] Yeah? ‘Cause we’ve got the recordings of you calling him a good idol. What’s that all about?

YN: [JUMPS] Wait—what?

YAE: [SMIRKS] Yeah, remember? Your mics are always on. Even when you think they’re off.

YN: Even in the bathroom?! What the hell? Pervs.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Let this be a lesson to read the fine print. Jean is signaling me to state we don’t listen on them in the bathroom. Anyway, how did that make you feel, huh? Hearing yourself say that?

YN: [GROANS AND SLUMPS IN CHAIR] I guess I’ll save the juicy convos for the bathrooms. And I don’t know. It’s... whatever. It’s not like I meant it. I was just saying what I had to say.

YAE: [TEASINGLY] Oh really? So you don’t think Scara is a good idol?

YN: [GRUMBLES] I didn’t say that.

YAE: [NODS KNOWINGLY] Good to know. You’re not fooling anyone, YN. 

JEAN: CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

i feel insane cus i swear i made a gc text of windblume talking about scara’s comments but maybe i hallucinated it?? so just rmbr yn is just as oblivious ab their feelings as scara

has anyone seen young royals lmao i referenced ei off the mom in that show

make sure to peek at the gc names to know what pov ur reading!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🙂‍↕️ ty to everyone who sent one last time 🥹

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — guys i can’t wait till this semester ends im literally fighting for my life god i hate college

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes

[megabuild]

as a bdubs fan, what are your thoughts on his team kill in last life/how that affected his relationships going into later seasons? 🎤

i think the reason a lot of people struggle with this is that many of us (myself included!) are still deeply into the idea of the characters being wholly separate from their creators, but you can't really talk about bdubs' killing of tango without acknowledging bdubs the man's love of doing whatever will tell the best story. it's why he doesn't kill etho as the boogeyman, and it's why he kills tango and lizzie when he does- those decisions are conscious choices as a narrator that he knows will make more drama and incentivize people to react in more interesting ways. this carries onto other controversial decisions of his, like "betraying" impulse at the end of 3rd life, and his behaviour in double life.

a lot of smarter people than me have made commentaries on how this sort of decision-making would relate to c!bdubs and i'm not going to attempt to try and get on their level but it's something that i feel the need to mention, because otherwise bdubs' decisions (particularly in last life) are often confusing and unstrategic to those who don't watch him. because yes, obviously, looking at him as purely a character with no awareness of what's going on outwith the story of a closed death game is going to make him look callous and uncaring. if you strip away all of the overarching narratives that lead to his decisions- for example, impulse being disloyal and betraying others all throughout 3rd life only to get his comeuppance at the end, or much of tango's story throughout the whole series being tied to him being dehumanised, objectified, and treated unfairly- then they do appear cruel and unwarranted. but at the same time, looking at bdubs' character purely as a narrative force with the omniscient ability to further other storylines doesn't lend to a lot of interpretations (even if this was done very literally in limited life by not having individual episodes and spending much of his time doing "boring" tasks to assist his team).

something particularly interesting about bdubs is how his behaviours aren't really called out except by those who perceived him as having wronged them (impulse and tango), as opposed to say, bigb and pearl, who despite only having "wronged" a select few people have worse reputations across the server. i don't know enough about bigb or pearl to hazard a guess at why this is but it could be due to the people they've crossed having more respect or influence- i can't speak for impulse but tango in particular is not taken very seriously, so the last life kill within the series is almost a joke, not a genuine threat. couple this with, for example, pearl having won and placed highly in dl/sl respectively, while bdubs' pvp is often not fantastic (though again this could be a choice on his part- see the liml skizz fight) and it can be easier to see why she could be perceived as a threat while bdubs is not.

so how does it affect his teams going forward? well, from last life onwards, one could say that the only people bdubs has teamed with are those who either a) have good reason to trust him regardless due to prior experience (cleo, etho) or b) those who have little other choice due to being perceived similarly as untrustworthy (scar, pearl). one could also say that it hasn't actually affected his teamups that much because bdubs was already dismissed as a liability from the get go (see: widow's alliance in 3rd life) and so, coupled with tango's habit of making bad decisions and being dehumanised, his kill in last life was seen less as his fault and more tango's fault for making the foolish decision of continuing to stay in the alliance. so bdubs' reputation remains as poor as it was initially and doesn't take the hit that bigb or pearl's did! it's a similar situation to scar or jimmy, but with the difference that bdubs is seen as just that bit more capable, along with the fact that rather than being an inevitable danger to himself (though he is fully capable of that) he's an inevitable danger to others, whether he wants to be or not.

this is all a bit of a nothingburger ramble not least because most of his alliances repeat (the only standout one being the mounders in secret life which has been wiped from my memory entirely) but i hope it at least makes sense.

[necrotic-nephilim]

just a housekeeping post, but if i'm slower answering asks for a bit, it's bc i'm working on SladeRobin week! none of your asks are being ignored, i just completely forgot about that until now and i want to try to complete every prompt so. pray for me, i think. but as always i love all the anons sending the lovely dead dove content <3

[littencloud9]

.

[plutotheplum]

Beating Hearts

sylus x fem!reader

summary: following the aftermath of his match, sylus shows you how much he adores you.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, fluff, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, p in v, belly bulge, praise kink, inappropriate use of evol

wc: 4.1k

a/n: he was so sweet in this card <3 if you would like to read an mma au with sylus (mma fighter!sylus x manager!reader), then you can find it here! :)

also on ao3!

“Are the strong always required to be strong?”

Sylus’ words ring out in your mind as you sit beside him on the stairs, draped in silence. He runs his hand through his hair, having wiped off the rivulets of sweat that were sliding down his skin with a towel.

Was he trying to be vulnerable with you? It’s the only reason you can think of as to why he would ask that question. The thought of him being devoid of strength is a nauseating one. He wouldn’t be the same without his strength, the raw power he carried, his Evol a testament to that. 

Absent-mindedly, you play with the ring he had given you. Onychinus’ leader is a confusing man. There’s an unexpected softness to him that you’re not used to. It unnerves you a little, the way Sylus had pressed his face into your hair in a gentle kiss.

You stare at the side of his face, Sylus’ eyes have slid shut due to the lack of conversation. He looks even more vulnerable like this and you can’t imagine what you’d do with yourself if he was hurt, or even worse killed if his healing abilities somehow failed him. It’s only then that you realize you care more about the asshole than you should. 

Still, it doesn’t stop you from sliding closer, your side pressing against his. Sylus’ eyes flutter open, a smirk pulling at his lips when he sees how close you’ve gotten.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” he asks in a drawl.

“No,” you shoot back, eyes slipping back towards the ring on your finger. “It’s just-” you sigh, avoiding his gaze completely, “the answer to your question is no. The strong aren’t always required to be strong.”

Sylus raises his brows, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. You glare back at him, cheeks flushing under his knowing gaze.

“What I mean to say,” you grouse, “is that it would be good if you were strong all the time, but if you aren’t, then- then you don’t have to be, around- around me.”

“Is that your twisted way of saying you care for me?” Sylus muses, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“And if it is?” you murmur, leaning into his touch when he traces the tips of his fingers over the curve of your cheek.

“I’d be grateful,” Sylus replies, gripping your chin gently.

Your breath hitches when he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. His calloused hands cup your cheeks afterwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. Sylus’ thumbs smooth over the expanse of your cheeks and you reach up, hands curling around his wrists.

“Don’t you think you’re giving too much of yourself away?” you whisper.

“Perhaps,” Sylus murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “Will you use it against me?”

There’s no uncertainty in your mind as to what he’s asking of you. Loyalty. Yet, you and Sylus come from entirely different worlds, ones that don’t mesh well together, ones that would make blind loyalty a bitter curse.

Against better judgment, you shake your head. Sylus lets out a low laugh, surprise flashing through his eyes at your answer.

“Looks like we both have our weaknesses, sweetie.”

You let out a slow exhale when he tilts your head, lips pressing against your cheek in a reverent kiss. Sylus stares down at you, his thumbs running over your cheeks again. Your lips part when he nears, but he doesn’t kiss you the way you want, instead dropping a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering.

“You said you adored me,” you say weakly, trying to stop him from rising to his feet.

“I do,” Sylus says, smiling down at you. His hand reaches out, pulling you to your feet, his arm curling around your waist to pull you flush against him. “But I won’t show you how much I adore you here.”

-

The ride back is a tense one.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, fingers alternating between playing with your dress and the ring on your finger. If Sylus notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead keeping his eyes on the road as he drives. It takes everything in you to stop yourself from reaching out for his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“Relax,” he murmurs when the traffic light turns red. His hand spreads over your thigh, warm and comforting and you bite back a whine, eyes slipping shut.

Sylus leans across the center console, his lips pressing against your cheek. You can feel his smile against your skin, your hand reaching up to run through his hair when he drags his lips down across your jaw.

“You’re not playing fair,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side so he can kiss your cheek again.

“I never said I would,” Sylus replies, squeezing your thigh again before letting go as the traffic light turns green.

Sylus helps you out of the car, nodding to one of his men to take it elsewhere while his hand encases yours, pulling you through the doors and down the hallway towards his room.

You watch as he manages to conjure up a vase, disappearing into the bathroom to fill it with some water as he unwraps the bouquet of flowers you had given him. It’s an unfitting image, the most dangerous man in the N109 zone and Linkon combined taking such care with the flowers so as to not crumple the delicate petals.

You wonder whether he’ll be just as gentle with you.

A squeak escapes you as his Evol surrounds you, the red tendrils lifting you off of your feet and bringing you closer to him, until you’re settled on his desk, legs dangling off the edge, feet not quite reaching the ground.  

Sylus steps between your legs, crowding into your space, his hands on either side of you, against the wood of his desk. Your head tilts back to meet his darkened eyes better, breath hitching when his hands squeeze at your waist. He pets his hands across your sides lazily, his forehead pressing against yours.

Soft, airy breaths leave you, back arching into his touch as Sylus’ hands roam over you, touching every inch that he can find. His nose nudges against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, hands splaying across his firm chest before your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him closer.

“There’s something you should know,” you whisper when Sylus presses his face into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin as he leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“What?” he murmurs, tightening his arms around your waist and pulling to the edge of his desk.

“I-” your breath falters, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. You try again, but your breath gets caught in your throat, something akin to an odd gulp sounding in the quiet room.

Sylus draws back when he senses your hesitation, his brows raising. You blink up at him, shrinking under his piercing gaze. 

“Hey,” Sylus says when you try to avert your gaze, trapping your chin between his fingers and forcing you to meet his eyes. “What is it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” you blurt out in a rush, cheeks flushing deeper.

Sylus stares down at you in surprise, clearly taken aback by this new revelation. He doesn’t say anything for what seems like an eternity and the more uncomfortable you grow, trying to squirm off of the desk.

He doesn’t let you, gripping your chin tighter in a bruising grip, his carmine eyes boring down into yours.

“Never?” Sylus asks finally, his head tilting.

“Never,” you mumble, a pout making your lower lip jut out, feeling sullen at his reaction.

Sylus hums before a slow grin spreads across his face, his hands cupping your cheeks, thumb smoothing over the plush of your lips.

“Were you saving yourself for me, sweetie?”

“Shut up!” you retort, swatting his chest.

Sylus laughs, nuzzling into your cheek and kissing it. You lean into it, eyes fluttering shut when he strokes his hand over your hair, cupping the back of your head.

“I suppose I’ll have to take care of you then, hm?” he muses.

“You’re making it seem like a chore,” you huff out, pushing at his shoulders, sending him a glare.

He grins, hoisting you up into his arms. You squeak, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, hands tightening on his shoulders to steady yourself. 

“Quite the contrary, sweetie,” Sylus says, planting a kiss to your sternum as he carries you to his bed. “Once I have you, I won’t be inclined to let you go.”

You stare up at him shyly when he lays you down, his hand catching yours as he kisses your knuckles, fingers grazing the ring on your finger.

“Perhaps I ought to get you a better fitting one.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter, flushing at the implication of his words.

You reach for him anyways, lacing your fingers together and tugging him closer. Sylus’ body settles between your thighs, and you whine, lips parting as his face draws closer.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you go,” Sylus murmurs, peering into your eyes, “I meant it.”

The conviction in his voice has your heart fluttering, a satisfied smile pulling at your lips. Sylus laughs, the tip of his nose brushing yours gently as he lowers his head to kiss you.

You stop him, thumb pressing against his lips.

“Do you promise, Sylus?”

“I already lost you once,” he mutters, “I won’t lose you again.”

Your brows furrow, confusion flitting across your face. “What are you talking a-”

Sylus doesn’t give you a chance to finish, shutting you up with a kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, hand leaving untangling from his to cup his cheek instead. A soft gasp spills out of you when Sylus’ hands creep up under your dress, his fingers squeezing at the fat of your thighs.

His kisses grow hungrier, taking and taking until you’re all but gasping, tugging at his snowy hair in an attempt to get him to detach so you can breathe. Your lips are slick with spit and Sylus grins at the sight, collecting the drool that’s escaped from your mouth with his tongue, licking up the side of your cheek and into your mouth.

“M-more,” you whine needily, legs locking around his hips.

“Wet already?” he whispers, fingers reaching between your bodies to find your panties drenched. Sylus coos, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit to rub firm circles into the throbbing bud. “Is that all it takes? My baby just needs some kisses to make her cunt leak.”

You glare at him, pinching his shoulder at the vulgar words. Sylus smirks lazily and you squeal when he slaps your ass playfully, his body jostling closer to capture your lips in another hot, demanding kiss.

Sylus’ hardening cock grinds into your clothed cunt and you whimper, arms wrapping around his neck tighter. His hand smoothes over your hair, keeping you in place, fingers dragging against the skin of your thigh harshly as he pants into the crook of your neck. 

“Gonna let me lick that pretty pussy?” Sylus asks, his fingers toying with the band of your panties, “hm, sweetie?”

You nod hazily, sitting up for him. He helps pull your dress up over your head, your bra soon after, his eyes darkening when he sees your breasts and hardening nipples in the cool air.

“Don’t stare,” you grumble, shying away.

Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head before lowering it to press a kiss to your right nipple. You whine at the unfamiliar sensation, gasping when his tongue lolls out, licking over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around your breast.

“Oh-” you mewl, pulling his head closer, “S- Sylus, fuck- ngh-” 

He flicks his tongue against your hardened nipple, swirling around your skin for a moment before pulling away with a soft, suctioning pop. You fist his tank top, yanking him closer to smash your lips against his.

Sylus grins against your lips, squeezing at your hips as you shove at his chest and crawl up onto his lap. You’re pent up, and can hardly believe you have Sylus here, mouth dropping open as you drag your clothed cunt against his stiffening cock.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, gripping your thighs as he drags you up his body, stopping short of his face.

“W- wait,” you sputter, trying to squirm your way back down, “Sylus!”

“Sit on my face, baby,” Sylus says, smoothing his hands up your thighs and squeezing at your breasts.

“That’s- that’s weird,” you hiss.

He rolls his eyes and you shriek when his Evol wraps around you, picking you up with ease and places you onto his mouth. Your body jolts when his tongue licks across your ruined panties, hands gripping the pillows above his head desperately.

“Oh fuck-” you whine, voice strangled. You bite your lip hard, hands fisting Sylus’ hair when he pulls your panties to the side and licks across your bare cunt. 

The bridge of his nose presses into your clit perfectly, and Sylus taps your thighs, his eyes peering up at you as he urges you to move. You find yourself unable to look away, desperation swirling in your gaze as you rock your cunt across his mouth, heat shooting through your stomach as he stares up at you intensely.

Sylus presses his head back and you reach for his hand, squeezing tightly as he sucks his clit into your mouth. He runs his thumb across your skin, slurping messily at your cunt. You shudder, moans and whines spilling out into the air as he ravages your pussy with his mouth. 

It nearly makes you cum when he manhandles your body, hiccuping at the way his thick biceps flex as he pulls you off his face and places you flat onto your back. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he rasps, thumbing apart your slick folds and groaning when he sees how messy you are, your slick and his spit coating your inner thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing pitifully.

Sylus buries his face back into your wet pussy, licking across your folds messily before splaying his large hand against your stomach, tilting his head to kiss your swollen clit. He strokes the calloused pads of his fingers across it gently and you twitch, tugging at his hair wantonly.

“Fuck,” he snarls, gripping your thighs roughly, fingers dimpling your flesh as he shoves his face in harder, trying to burrow into your cunt, “‘s not enough.”

“‘m gonna-” you whimper, “if you keep doing that- hah- ‘m gonna cum!”

“Good,” Sylus mutters, sucking your clit back into his mouth, “cum on my tongue, baby.”

You bite back a scream when he presses his fingers inside, curling them and thrusting them in and out of you. Your thighs tighten around his head, trapping him against your cunt and Sylus groans while you suck in a shuddering breath, watching with dazed eyes as his hips grind into the bed spread. The muscles in his broad back shifting drive you further to the edge, but it's the press of his nose against your clit that sends you over, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching as you twitch and jolt, legs kicking out as you cum.

He keeps you pinned in place, licking over your puffy folds, even as you tug at his hair desperately in an attempt to make him stop. Sylus’ eyes meet your wild ones, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he presses a sloppy kiss to your clit. He lands a few more soft kisses, massaging your thighs as you come down from your high.

“I- I need a moment,” you mumble out, body curling into itself, eyes slipping shut at the overwhelming pleasure.

Sylus slots his body behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into his chest. You lean into him tiredly when he kisses down your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your side soothingly.

“Was that good?” he asks quietly.

You can hear how smug he sounds, an irritated huff of air leaving you. Sylus smiles against your cheek and you tilt your head back, pecking his lips gently.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Now, now, sweetie,” he drawls, rubbing circles into your hip, “don’t be like that.”

You pout and he grins, dipping his head to kiss you again. Sylus’ hips have begun to move, his clothed cock rubbing into your ass, the hard length straining against the flimsy fabric of his shorts.

“Off,” you murmur, pulling at his tank top, “take it off.”

Sylus takes it off without complaint and you smile at the sight, hands spreading across his chest appreciatively. His shorts come off soon after and you swallow nervously at the sight, the bob of his thick cock entirely too intimidating.

“Relax,” he murmurs, lips pressed against your ear, “you’ll be fine.”

You moan softly when he kisses your shoulder, his hard cock grinding into your ass again. Sylus lifts your leg, and you whimper when he slots his cock between your thighs, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair.

“So soft, baby,” Sylus whispers, fucking his cock between your thighs, “so perfect for me. My pretty, perfect girl.”

“I think I’m ready,” you breathe out, feeling the head of his cock nudge against your clit every now and then, “just- just go slow, please.”

Sylus grasps your face, turning it back towards him to kiss you. It’s softer this time, lips working against yours as he grasps his cock, rubbing it through your folds and coating it in your slick before notching the tip of it against your pussy.

He kisses you through it, doesn’t let you squirm away, keeps his lips against yours as he presses his cock in. You shift uncomfortably and Sylus nuzzles into your cheek, letting out a low hum.

“Doing so good, sweetie,” he praises, seeing the tears prick at your eyes, “so, so good.”

Sylus is thick, practically splitting you open, forcing your pussy to accommodate him. You whimper in pain and he kisses you gently, brushing your hair away from your forehead as he continues to sink his cock in.

“Too big,” you pout, feeling completely and utterly full.

“Look,” Sylus whispers, his fingers brushing across your stomach when the entirety of his cock sinks into your stretched out pussy.

You peer down to where he’s pointing, flushing when you see the bulge in your stomach, his fat cock the culprit. 

“All mine,” Sylus murmurs, hooking his chin over your shoulder as he rolls his hips in, making you gasp and dig your fingers into his forearm. “My pretty fuckin’ baby, all fuckin’ mine.”

“‘s too much,” you hiccup, eyes fluttering shut and moaning when he presses down on the bulge gently, a tingle shooting through your body, making your toes curl. 

“Take my cock, sweetie,” he whispers, kissing your neck reverently, his fingers pinching at your nipples.

“Sylus,” you whine when he draws his hips back out and thrusts his cock back in, “want- want more.”

“Are you sure?” Sylus asks, staring down at you, “I thought it was too much?”

Your eyes narrow, hand reaching for his, letting your Evol flare, resonating with him. Sylus lets out a choked noise, his head dropping and eyes squeezing shut, body shuddering behind yours. You smile up at him, satisfied and smug. 

“Little brat,” he hisses, though there’s no real venom in his voice. “Again.”

You do as he wants, resonating with him again, moaning loudly when he humps his hips into you, cock dragging through your clenching walls. Somehow, you can hear your own heartbeat, the energy flowing through you heightening your senses as Sylus’ Evol strengthens. 

The red and black mist caresses your body, grazing across your nipples and your clit. You whine into the pillows, hand grasping his tighter. Sylus’ Evol eventually dims down the more he gets lost in the wet heat of your cunt, his arm curling around your leg to hoist it up as he fucks his cock into you.

Sylus moves your leg after a while, slotting his hips between your legs again, hips rocking into you. You let out soft airy noises and strangled moans, nails clawing down his back as Sylus presses his face against your neck, growling lowly.

“Feel so good,” he groans, leaving sloppy kisses across your skin, fastening his pace when he feels your legs lock around his hips.

“Sy- Sylus,” you moan, pulling his head up to kiss him.

He returns the kiss just as hungrily, planting his hand on your head to hug you to him as he tilts your hips up a little, cock driving into you. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, hugging him closer as he presses his body flush against yours, heavy balls slapping against your skin, the lewd sound emanating through the quietness of the room.

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum,” Sylus rasps, dragging kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Then- then cum,” you hiccup, tugging at the strands of his hair gently, “want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, peering down into your eyes, “want me to stuff this little cunt full?”

You nod eagerly, and he grins devilishly, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck obediently, eyes fluttering shut at the comfort of his thumb, losing yourself in him.

“Resonate with me when you cum,” Sylus whispers, his voice strained as he feels the walls of your pussy clenching tighter and tighter.

He laces your fingers together, bringing your hand to his lips. You can see the way he looks down at you, as though he can’t quite believe you’re here, his head tilting to press his lips against the ring firmly.

It’s a struggle to control your Evol, but you do as he asks, resonating when you feel the tight coil in your lower stomach snap as he shoves his cock inside of you all the way, gasping at the way it throbs inside of you. Your orgasm is blinding, body shuddering violently as you cum, Sylus’ Evol making you see stars.

It feels as though you’ve been set alight, somehow able to feel the energy pulsing around you, just like how his cock is inside of you. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips stuttering to a jerky stop as he slumps over you, gasping raggedly. His cum spills into you, hot and thick, adding to the haze in your mind.

The red and black tendrils stroke over your body gently and you whine softly, chasing after the mist of his Evol when it dissipates. Your thighs are sticky with his cum, his softening cock slipping out of you, cum leaking out soon after.

“I adore you,” Sylus whispers after a moment, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead.

“I know,” you say, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses you, slow and soft, his fingers sliding over your jaw and across the expanse of your cheek.

You smile up at him, body draped over his, chin resting on his chest. Sylus runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, scratches your scalp gently and presses his thumb against your lips for you to kiss.

“I’m glad it was you,” you murmur, head tilting to the side.

Sylus hums, leaning in to kiss you tenderly before he stands up. You bite your lip, watching his broad back as he disappears and returns with warm, damp cloth. He wipes your inner thighs with care, and over your puffy pussy, cleaning the cum and slick that soils your skin.

Your feet press against his chest playfully and he smiles, hands curling around your ankles to kiss the soles of your feet.

“Sore?” he asks, peppering lazy kisses to your ankles.

You nod, feeling a dull ache settle in your thighs and pussy. Sylus kisses your feet again and finds you a shirt to wear, pulling a pair of boxers up over his hips. You curl into him, staring up into his eyes.

“You said you lost me once,” you say quietly, fingers tracing over his chest, “but we’ve never met before.”

A pained expression comes over Sylus, his lips pulling down into a frown. You can’t understand what he’s so upset about, you don’t even understand what he meant when he said that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylus murmurs, his arm tightening around you, “I have you now.”

You purse your lips, examining his expression a little more intently, but whatever pain was there is now gone. His lips meet yours and you kiss, thumbs stroking over his cheeks soothingly.

“Then keep me,” you whisper, “for as long as you want.”

Sylus runs his fingers over the champion’s ring, sitting prettily on your ring finger. He holds your eyes as he brings it to his lips and kisses it again.

“Eternity, then.” Sylus whispers, forehead pressing against yours. “Crows keep that which is shiny. You, sweetie, happen to burn the brightest in my eyes.”

[https-lvesick]

LEE KNOW AS YOUR ROCKSTAR BOYFRIEND

❪ ᶻ  𝘇  𐰁 ❫ 𝓒 ontent ⋮ protective boyfriend!minho, fem!reader, smut, fingering, creampie, public sex, oral sex, overstimulation

𝒩 otes ⋮ this headcanon was born because @vanesycho is a freaky slut and i love her sm for that! luv u bae 🤍

rockstar boyfriend!minho who looks cold and serious most of the time, but never for you. of course, it's his nature, he's like that always, but with you he gets more comfortable and tries to show his joyful and goofy side.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who, despite being super famous, is private and hates when people, even his fans, force their way into his private life. if he's not on the stage, he's a normal person who doesn't like being interrupted, especially with you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who hides you no matter what. is not like he's ashamed of dating you, definitely not! this man worships you as if you're a goddess and wouldn't mind telling the world he's yours, but you're not a public figure and you didn't sign for this when you started dating him. he knows how much people can be nosy, so he protects you with his life.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who, despite hiding your identity, has no shame in showing he's all yours. he is often seen wearing a silver band on his right ring finger and never takes it off. the inside of the ring has your name engraved, and it'll only be taken off when replaced by your wedding band.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who carries your name on him not only on the ring but literally in his heart. he has your name tattooed in a fine line right on his chest.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who sends you messages throughout the day when he's on tour, just to keep you informed about him and what he's been doing.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who always writes the most meaningful songs when they're about you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who is the sexiest playing the bass and you can't help but think about the times those fingers were on you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who doesn't even let you breathe as soon as he comes home and takes you in his arms, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who can't put in words how much he missed you, instead, he fucks you like an animal, showing how much your missing presence affected him.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who takes you to his concerts when they're settled in your town as his lucky charm. and he's excited to sing his new song about you to the very woman who inspired the song.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who fucks you before his concert, filling you up with his cum, telling you the most perverted things he'd wanna do to you.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who teases you during the performances because he knows the moment he's done, you'll jump on him desperately, not even letting him take you to a more private place, only telling the staff to get out.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who fucks you to his own songs about you because you want it. telling him he has te most sensual songs and voice to get you worked up easily.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who loves bury his face between your legs after a rough and stressing day at the company. making you cum in his tongue countless times, overstimulating you before fucking you for real.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who takes his duty as a boyfriend real serious and takes you to the most captivating places as a date, making you feel special every minute.

rockstar boyfriend!minho who lets you know you are the only person that really worth it in his life and shows it with words and actions.

masterlist | all rights reserved to @https-lvesick don't copy or translate my works!

[glossysoap]

laying claim; orc! price

dedicated to the amazing, talented, perf @vgilantee ! i'm so so sorry this took so long, there was so much going on both in my personal life and in this dumpster fire of a fandom so it made it very hard to focus on anything. but i really hope you enjoy it regardless <3 also thank you to @/yeyinde for asking about this way back when, it really encouraged me <3

tw: 18+, afab and fem pet names but reader isn’t gendered, pussy is referred to a few times as ‘her’, dubcon -> con, reader is scared but horny, stretching, cervix fucking, spit play, face grabbing, forced eye contact, pussy spanking, squirting, hinting to future orc gangbang with the 141.

wc: 5k

reader info: size difference regardless of the readers body type because he's an orc and therefore has abnormal strength. this also means he can manhandle reader, no matter the size.

"Found you." Your heart dropped.

His face was hardened, mouth twisted into a snarl and nostrils flaring. His brows all bushy, framing stormy blue eyes that narrowed as he stared down at you. A scar narrowly missed his right eye, slashing next to his eyebrow and continuing down to his cheek. His jaw was covered by thick mutton chops, a thin layer of stubble going down his neck. Two fangs peeked out from his mouth, even when it was closed, poking out to lay on his top lip.

His dark eyes were narrowed and clouded with lust as he peered down at you, akin to a lion stalking a wounded doe and luring it into his den.

“Had my eyes on you for some time now, pet.” He murmurs, not bothering to hide how his eyes drink you in. Every roll and plane that made up your body, especially in how scantily clad you were.

He was all green skin with scars and markings littering his body. Every mark and scar drew your attention to him even more, sending chills down your spine.

Intricate black lines and runes decorated his green skin. Scars and burns and bites littered his body, evidence of past injuries and fights won well.

His hulking, muscular body that threatened to overpower you with no effort at all. You gulped at the size of him, intimidated at the size of every part of him.

His huge, broad shoulders that could carry you with no effort, no matter how much you weighed. His hard, bulging biceps that could easily choke you out from behind in a headlock. His large, calloused hands that could easily snap your neck in one fell swoop — coupled with thick fingers that would fill your cunt more than any human mans fingers would. His thick thighs that dwarfed any human mans thigh.

Then finally, one glance between his thighs was all it took for you to see how well endowed he was. Your eyes widened even more when you saw the shadow of his cock, fully covered with a hanging piece of black cloth. It hung low at about seven inches in length and over two inches in girth. And that was when it was soft. You could only imagine how big he would be when he was hard and throbbing.

He let out a deep, husky chuckle at your expression that was something akin to a skittish doe. He would make it fit.

You’d be finding that out sooner than you thought.

Before you knew it, he was crowding you up against the stone wall so your face and chest were pressed up against it. He used his big arms to cage you against the wall as he pressed his almost bare naked body against your back, leaning down a bit so he can tuck his face in your neck. You gasped as you felt his beard scratch your neck, his breath fanning against your cheek.

“Mmm,” He rumbles from deep in his chest, his lips ghosting over your ears. “You feel what you do to me?” Just as he all but growls that question into your ear, he pressed himself up against you even more — so you could feel his barely clothed cock pressing up against your hips.

Your breath hitched at the pure size of it, you could feel its size from just pressing up against you from behind.

His lips curled against your ear in a smirk as he heard your little gasp.

“Yeah? You feel me throbbing against you?” He asks, beard scratching your ear. “Tell me, if I reached down between your legs.. what would I find?” Before you could protest or try to swat him away, one hand left its place on the wall beside your head - trailing his hairy arm down your bare stomach before slipping his large hand down past the waistband of your panties.

“Would I find that tight cunt all wet for me?” His voice sent goosebumps across your skin, chills running down your spine - the absolute filth he was whispering to you didn’t help either.

“N-no.”

He moved his other hand from the wall next to your head, bringing it to cup your face. His grip is all rough and calloused as he tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him.

His lips curled into a smirk as he stared into your wide, scared eyes. You were frozen and breathing heavily.

Not only was he dissecting your every blink and gasp with his gaze that burned into you, his other hand was busy burying between your thighs. He groped the warm, soft skin of your inner thighs with his large, calloused hand - giving it firm squeezes that left you gasping. The callouses and scars that littered his palms scratched against your stretch marks.

His eyes burned into your face, watching how your expression shifted when the rough pads of his fingers found your wet folds. He chuckled at your gasp, starting to trace his fingers teasingly along your entrance.

Then, he suddenly pulled his fingers away. Only to let his palm come down on your mound in a hard spank. He drank in the sounds of your yelps and cries as he did it again and again, his rough palm hitting your clit. He grinned as he felt your slick covering his palm.

With every spank of his palm down on your cunt and every swipe of his fingers along your slit, he gathered more and more of your juices. The wetness that soaked his fingers and dripped down your thighs was all the proof he needed of your unbridled lust and anticipation.

“Mmm, I knew it.” He crooned in your ear all too condescendingly, the cruel cadence of his voice making you grow even wetter. “Just soakin’ my palm and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Your eyes pricked with tears at his filthy words. You didn’t want this. You bit your lip between your teeth as you felt two of his thick fingers press against your soaked slit, before finally dipping inside your entrance.

You were ashamed at how easily they slipped in. You were ashamed at how your cunt fluttered around his thick fingers. He scissored them for a moment suddenly, making your eyes flutter shut in a moment of embarrassing weakness.

Your eyes were shut for only a few seconds, but that was enough for him to slide the hand that was holding your face down until it was gripping your throat.

Your eyes flew back open when he applied pressure, immediately darting back to his hardened gaze.

“Ah, fuck—,” You gasped, hands flying to grasp at his muscular forearm in an attempt to ground you.

His large hand easily enveloped the column of your throat, squeezing slightly - just enough to make your head a bit fuzzy. It didn’t help that the fingers that were buried in your cunt were now actively scissoring in your warmth, making your breath hitch. You knew he could easily apply more pressure on your neck and snap it like a twig. That thought in your brain is what prevented you from struggling too much more.

“That’s it. Keep those eyes on me.” He ordered, his voice a husky growl that reverberated down your spine.

You felt his grip tighten on your neck ever so slightly and your eyes widened a fraction more. Your eyes welled with more tears as you try your best to maintain eye contact. He smirks at the sight of your eyes all wet and glossy.

He eases in a third finger and fuck, it slides in so easily that he can’t help but groan against your neck in approval. His groan melds perfectly with the gargled whine that falls from your lips, almost a wheeze from his hold on your neck.

“Stop, no-," a weak protest leaves your mouth, choked off by him literally choking you, hand squeezing down in a quick pulse. as his thick fingers waste no time in exploring your warmth. Three fingers were working on stretching you open, preparing your cunt for his girth.

You hated how much your cunt squeezed around his fingers, and the way he laughed about it only made your face warm even more in embarrassment.

He had to have been working you open for minutes, whispering filthy promises in your ear and nipping at your lobe all the while. Enjoying all the broken cries that fell from your mouth. All whiney, broken and pathetic.

With every pump of his fingers inside your soaked cunt, lewd wet sounds filled the room.

Schlick, schlick, schlick.

Your cheeks warmed at the sound, and you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin as he smirked.

“You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me? Just so fucking soaked.” He groans, curling his fingers at a cruel angle to emphasize the last word. You cried out against your will as his fingers alternated between curling and scissoring, exploring your cunt for that special spot that made you see stars, no matter how much you tried to will against it.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and trained on him as he pumped his thick fingers in and out. You had to just look up at him as he made you crane your neck, your glossed over eyes meeting his darkened gaze.

“Grippin’ my fingers so tight,” he laughs, all booming and full of dominating presence. “Wonder how tight that greedy little pussy will be grippin’ my cock.” You flinched at his words. But he didn't miss how your pussy fluttered around his fingers.

His words were full of mirth and teasing, his mouth curved into a smirk as he finger fucks you. The more he pumps his thick fingers inside your cunt, the more your eyes threaten to roll back inside your skull. Every time your eyes roll back, his other hand tightens its grip on your throat - just enough to snap you out of it and make you stare at him again. As he feels your pulse race under his hand, he also feels both of your hands gripping his hairy forearm and using it as an anchor. Your nails dig into his green skin, leaving little crescent marks in the already scarred skin.

You couldn't help but clench even more around his thick fingers at the thought of his cock stretching you so wide and filling you up perfectly. It was like your own animal instincts were taking over, your cunt begging for him and his cock no matter how much your mind or mouth protested.

"You just can't wait for me to stretch you open, huh? Can't wait for me to leave that cunt gaping and begging for more?" He all but purrs into your ear, watching with a cruel grin as fat tears fall down your cheeks.

You tried to shake your head even in the chokehold he had you in, and though you could barely move your head, he still laughed at your pathetic attempt of a protest. His eyes moved from your eyes down to your mouth that was hanging open and slick with your own drool.

"Look at that pretty mouth, so fuckin' needy. Bet you'd take me all the way down that throat, huh?" He squeezed your throat right as he said it, grinning at the choked gargles that left your mouth.

"Not just yet. Gotta break in that cunt first."

"I can keep that mouth busy, though." You don't have any time to question him before he's crashing his lips against yours. It's all a mash of teeth and tongue, nipping and sucking and tasting. Devouring. Just like you knew he would do to you, not leaving an inch of your body untouched. You couldn't try and pull away no matter how much you knew you should've.

His thick fingers keep working on stretching out your cunt, pumping his digits into your heat at a furious pace, hearing the wet sounds made from each thrust. You can feel the hair on his arm brush against your stomach as that forearm flexes with each thrust of his fingers. While his fingers pumped in and out, the rough skin of his palm rubbed up against your clit, making you more and more sensitive.

With every pass of his rough fingers along your sensitive walls, you felt yourself nearing your first orgasm of many. You also felt your resolve slipping and crumbling, despite your best efforts. Begs clawed from your throat and threatened to spill over into the kiss. That knot of warmth wound up tighter and tighter in your stomach as his fingers split you apart from the inside. Your brows knit together and your eyes clenched shut. You keep gripping onto his hairy forearm like you were searching for purchase, anchoring yourself to reality.

"Mmm, there you go." He coos into the kiss, voice dripping with faux sympathy, when you finally gave in, whimpering brokenly into the kiss. Keening like a mutt.

He swallowed every moan and sob that fell from your mouth, his tongue exploring your mouth and tasting every inch of you he could reach. He licked into your mouth with a claiming tongue, with a tongue that overpowered yours, lapping wherever his tongue could reach and leaving his spit in his wake. Making it his own.

You found yourself kissing him back before you could help it. You stuck your tongue out and tentatively licked at the seam of his mouth, trailing along the large fangs that peeked out from his mouth.

The kiss was so full of heat, full of passion, that your lips were quickly wet and bite swollen. All shiny and slippery from the spit mingling together, just a reminder of where his tongue had claimed you.

He nips and bites at your lip, tugging it between his teeth with a growl. With every tug and bite, his fangs nicked the sensitive skin of your lips, letting blood trickle and mix with your mingling saliva.

You let out a mewl at the sting that radiated from your lip, followed by his sandpaper tongue lapping at the wound. He licked up the blood with a pleased hum, the noise vibrating deep from his chest.

“Mmm, knew you would taste good. Could tell just by the sight of you.” He purred against your lips, his eyes peeking open to scan your flustered expression. All panting and sweaty, your lips swollen from his biting and sucking, glossy from spit.

Your eyes were dazed as your mind was clouded with lust, your heart racing in your ears as the heat bubbled in your stomach.

"I’d venture a guess that your juices taste even better.” Is all he mutters against your lips before he curls his fingers in search of that sensitive spot. “I intend to find out.”

You can feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into you and watching with a brutish grin as your expression melted into further ecstasy. He watched as your eyes unfocused and your brows furrowed. Your jaw falls open in a quiet gasp as he scissors his fingers, all while still curled inside you. He starts searching for that special spot that'll send you over the edge, and he keeps his fingers curled all the while.

When you let out a choked cry, all sharp and shrill, he knows he's found it. His grin stretches into a full blown smirk as he starts abusing that spot, not relenting for even a moment. The wet sounds got louder, more obscene, as his fingers pumped into you at a furious speed, hitting your g-spot every single time.

"C'mon, let go. Come for me. Give it to me, pet." He barked the demand, like he was referring to an inanimate object and not your mindblowing orgasm that he was about to shove onto you.

You had no choice but to obey his command when he used his thumb to rub cruelly at your clit, all while his fingers curled and prodded your g-spot. The cherry on top though, is when he slips in a fourth finger to join in on curling against your g-spot. You wailed as you squirted, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, your slick drenching his palm.

The exact moment that your mouth was hanging open and your tongue was lolling out, he gathered a fat glob of spit on his tongue and let it drip down onto yours. He chuckled at your blissed out expression, your eyes glazed over and pupils blown out.

He turns you around so your back was pressed against the hard stone wall and you were facing him. You still had to crane your neck up to make eye contact but now, he didn't need to crane it backwards by a grip on your neck. Instead, now he just plucks you from where you stood and presses you up against the wall. You practically yelp as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck. One of his big hands supports your plump ass, while his other hand moves to grabs your face. He squeezes until your lips are puckered, your wet eyes already meeting his. He captures your mouth in a kiss again, enjoying how lax and pliant you were in his arms now that you'd creamed on his fingers.

He tasted his own spit on your tongue as he swallowed you up again in a kiss.

As he had you in his arms, your back pressed against the wall, he felt your juices went against his cloth - the only flimsy piece of fabric that separated his chubbed up cock from your soaked throbbing cunt.

"Can feel that needy pussy. Droolin' for me, isn't she?" He asks against your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You mewled into him, trying to chase after his mouth. You didn't deny his words. In fact, your hips had started grinding into him absentmindedly as he held you in his arms.

It's as if your mind was blank and all you needed was for your pussy to be filled to the brim, plugged full of his cock and cum. He saw it in how your eyes fluttered shut and he heard it in how you were panting and whining, mewling for more.

"Yeah, you just need to be broken in, huh?" He crooned against your mouth, nipping at your lip. "She needs me to fill her up, good and proper, hm?" You keen at his words, clutching at his broad shoulders and rocking your cunt against him. He barked a laugh at your utter desperation, enjoying the complete one-eighty from how stubborn you were only minutes prior.

"Please, please, please," You whine and plead, your voice thick with emotion as you stared up at him with need. His hand was still gripping your face, your lips still puckering like a fish. "Need, need you s'bad."

He dipped his head down so his lips were against your neck, teeth nipping at your skin as he began mouthing at the column of your neck. You let your head fall back against the wall. His canines made you flinch and gasp, the sweet spark of pain only serving to make you even wetter. He lapped at the sweat along your skin, savoring the taste of your skin and the salty sweat. He pressed open mouthed kisses under your ear, pausing only to nip and tug at your lobe. He growled into your ear.

While he was busy worshipping your neck, he let go of your face and used that hand to slip between your bodies. He fished his chubbed up cock out from under the cloth, grinning against your neck at the whimper you let out when you feel the head of his cock swiping along your folds.

He knew you were decently prepped from being finger fucked by his thick digits, since the size of four of his fingers could compare to an everyday human male's cock.

He was so thick, you knew that if you were stroking him off, you'd need to use both hands to wrap around his girth. Now that he was hard, his length was pushing nine inches. His head was just as thick as the rest of his cock, red and weeping with pre, when it wasn't covered in thick foreskin. Veins ran along the underside.

He rubs his mushroom tip up and down your folds, spreading your juices along your cunt and getting his own tip soaked with your warm slick. He holds himself and lets the head of his cock tap against your swollen clit. He chuckles against your neck as he hears you gasp and feels you throb against his cock.

He heard you gasp as he prodded at your entrance, guiding himself to swipe his cock along your slit. He started out by only dipping his tip inside, teasing you with just that smaller intrusion, knowing full well you craved for him to just fill you up.

He continued like that for a few moments, until he got tired of teasing - he needed to be swallowed in your perfect pussy and he needed it now. He finally began sinking himself in, and fuck if you weren't the tightest damn thing. He knew it'd be a stretch to really break you in.

He eased himself in, going inch by inch, pausing when he had gotten two inches inside. He heard your breath shutter, presumably with the initial burn of the stretch, and that was just from the head of his cock. You're in for it now, he thinks.

"Tight thing, ain't you?" He murmurs into your ear, his teeth nipping at your lobe before sucking a bite under it. "Haven't gotten fucked proper in a good while, I bet."

You could only whine in response to his teasing, prying words. He wasn't wrong.

"Oh, poor thing. We'll change that." Before you have any chance to ask what he means by "we", he sinks in even more, until he's buried halfway in your cunt. You choke on a moan, tears pricking your eyes as you feel yourself stretch around his girth. It's a sting, enough to make you wince for a moment, but fuck if it isn't worth it. You already feel so full, you can't imagine how you'll feel when he's buried to the hilt.

Your cunt throbs around him at the thought, making him hiss in pleasure.

As if he could read your mind, he sunk himself in deeper, groaning at how tight you hugged his length. You whimpered and mewled, throwing your head back at the feeling of yourself stretching from his cock. Any human man paled in comparison. Any human fingers, any human tongue and especially any human cock. This orc was all enveloping, he took over your entire body. He pulled you apart from inside out, before putting you back together just to do it all over again.

He hadn't even bottomed out yet and you already knew you would never be able to have a human man again, not after him.

"Perfect fuckin' pussy." You can't help but cry out and flutter around his cock at the praise that's ground out into your ear.

He can't help but sink in even further when you pulse around him, your soft walls pulling him in like a vice. He's about six inches deep now, groaning as you swallow him up so fucking perfectly. He can already feel that coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter - not doubt just like yours was.

He knew he wouldn't last long, especially when he soon finally bottomed out in your sweet cunt. Judging by the feeling of your pussy stretching to accommodate him and milking him dry, you just might come before him.

You were clutching at his shoulders desperately, clawing at him as you searched for purchase. Your mind was already fuzzy from him finger fucking you, so now that his cock was almost buried to the hilt in your still sensitive cunt? Your tongue felt heavy and your brain was muddled, only able to focus on the way he stretched your cunt and filled you nearly to the brim. You couldn't even attempt to speak coherently, just babbling out broken moans and mewls.

"F-fu--," You choke out, not even able to finish the moaned out curse because your mouth feels so fuzzy and jumbled.

He growled into your neck in pleasure, tongue laving over your pulse point as he inches deeper again, making his cock buried about seven inches deep. He hears you cry out, nails digging into his back. He aches to build a good, steady rhythm of rutting into you.

He only had about two more inches to go. So close he could almost taste it.

He eased himself in even further, hissing at the tightness as he now only had about an inch left until he was buried to the hilt. He was so close to being able to thrust into your heat and feel the resistance of the plug of your cervix. He was so close to feeling you cream around his cock. He was so close to being able to stuff you full of his cock and seed.

He was practically drooling at the thought.

The only encouragement he needed to finally bottom out was the desperate clawing of your nails along his neck and back, along with the steady throbbing and grip of your perfect pussy.

He bottomed out that last inch with a deep growl, all rumbling and full of gravel, before his his teeth sunk into the crook of your neck. "Oh, fuck-!" You let out a wail as you felt him sink in to the hilt, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him tight to act as an anchor to reality. Your legs tightened and locked around his waist, not letting him pull out. He wouldn't dream of it.

He growled and groaned at finally being buries to the hilt, his balls flush against your ass. He slowly grinded, not fully rutting or thrusting, just to give you one last chance to get accustomed to his size before he had no mercy. The way he grinds himself inside you makes you damn near scream.

The head of his cock nudges your g-spot perfectly when he rolls his hips, making your eyes roll back.

"Yeah? That good?" He asks, a bit breathless but still commanding nonetheless. "C'mon, speak."

You flutter around his cock at his tone and his ministrations.

"Good, good, s' fucking good-," You babble mindlessly as you feel that coil in your stomach build and build.

Then he smirks against your neck and finally starts fucking you proper.

You hear skin slapping against skin, the wet schlick schlick schlick of your sopping cunt being plowed into, and you heard your own broken moans mixed in with the orc's growled and grunts.

"Perfect fuckin' cunt. Made for me, I know it." He grunts against your neck, mouth already getting back to work on leaving bites to claim you. He feels you pulse around him at his words and it only further encourages him to build a quicker rhythm.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you for any damned human man.” He snarls into your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. He growls into your ear, deep from his chest and full of gravel as he keeps thrusting into you. "Isn't that right?"

You struggle to answer because your head is so melted and fuzzy, mouth hanging open in a broken, pathetic moan.

"Yes? No? Don't get all quiet now." He demands, never slowing or stopping his cruel thrusts into your already sensitive cunt. "Who does this cunt belong to? Who do you belong to? Hm?" He readjusts you to be planted even further on his cock, damn near spearing you on his length.

You damn near shout out your answer, "You, you, you!" His cock nudges the plug of your cervix as he angles his hips to thrust in at an even more cruel angle. Every single thrust pokes and prods at the plug of your cervix, making your eyes roll back and shove you even closer to your second orgasm.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He crooned in your ear, voice dripping with sickly sweet faux sympathy. The hand that wasn't being used to cup your ass was now snaking it's way between your bodies to rub at your clit.

The rough pads of his fingers toyed with your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you flutter and constrict around his cock. He heard you choke out a gasp before crying out, throat going raw. He felt you cream around his cock, absolutely gushing and soaking him as you milked him for all he was worth.

"Fuck! Yeah, that's it. Come for me, come for me now, pet." He egged you on, feeling his own release approaching.

The way you milked him and tightened around him so perfectly made him follow you not long after, his hips stuttering into your cunt as he painted your walls with his come. He filled you to the brim just like he intended to, his girth keeping you plugged full of his cum.

He kept you in his arms, full and plugged. Warm and sated. Your eyes fell shut and your breath evened out as you heard him murmur something above you.

"Oh, they'll love you."

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Always You

Summary: Spencer is in love with his best friend, you already have a boyfriend.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: being called a bitch (not by spencer), sharing hotel rooms, pining, love confessions, break ups, (un)requited feelings, HAPPY ending

Word count: 4.6k

a/n: if your partner of multiple years does not know your basic likes and dislikes ..............

main masterlist

For two years, seven months, two weeks, and six days, you have been a dedicated member of the BAU. For two years, five months, two weeks, and four days, Spencer Reid has been hopelessly in love with you. But for two years and four months, and one week, you’ve been in a relationship with Duncan Cody, the Counter-Terrorism agent who everyone not-so-secretly despises. Spencer was just too late to tell you how he felt, and for two years and four months, that regret has gnawed at him, leaving him haunted by what could have been. 

—

The team was on a case in a small, dusty town in New Mexico, and the accommodations were limited, forcing everyone to double up on rooms. Naturally, you chose to bunk with your best friend, Spencer. But he was unusually tense about the arrangement.

“Hey, JJ, can we switch?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

JJ looked up from her phone, puzzled. “Huh? Why? I thought you liked rooming with Y/N.”

Spencer swallowed, trying to keep his voice low and steady. Usually, he did love sharing a room with you—it was comfortable, familiar. But the oppressive heat of New Mexico had driven you to wear lighter, more revealing clothes, and Spencer had been struggling with the sight of you all day. The thought of what you might wear to bed, or worse, the possibility that you might wear nothing at all, had his mind spinning and his temperature rising.

“Yeah, no, I do. It’s just… I thought you might want a chance to room with her instead of Hotch,” he stammered, attempting to sound casual.

JJ smiled warmly, shaking her head. “Aww, thanks, Spence, but I don’t mind. Hotch and I usually just talk about the boys until we pass out. It’s actually been pretty nice.”

Spencer forced a tight smile, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten as JJ cheerfully dismissed his suggestion. He could hardly blame her; in fact, he would normally jump at the chance to room with you. But the idea of spending the night so close to you, especially in the sweltering New Mexico heat, had his nerves frayed.

Back in the room, you were already making yourself comfortable, tossing your bag onto the bed with a carefree smile. "It's like a sauna out there," you groaned, fanning yourself with your hand. "I might just sleep in my underwear tonight."

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing at the mental image that followed your innocent comment. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. "Y-yeah, it's definitely... warm."

You flashed him a grin, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. "At least the AC is working, right?"

"Right," Spencer echoed, swallowing hard. This was going to be a long night.

“Do you mind if I take the first shower? I’ll be quick, I want to get right to bed; I’m beat,” you asked, glancing up from your go-bag as you rummaged through it for your toiletries.

Spencer, trying to keep his cool, nodded quickly. “Ye–yeah, that’s fine.”

You smiled, seemingly unaware of the effect you had on him. “Oh, and which bed do you want?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Um, whichever is fine.”

“Thank god, I want the one by the window. Thanks, Spence!” You flashed him a grateful grin before grabbing your things and heading off to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Spencer exhaled a breath he’d been holding. It was wrong to fantasize about his best friend, especially in the very not-safe-for-work way that he often did, and especially when you had a serious partner. But he couldn’t help it. You were the kindest, most genuine person he knew, and the fact that you were also the most stunning person, inside and out, only made it that much harder for him to keep his feelings in check.

Minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, keeping your promise to be quick. However, Spencer’s pulse skyrocketed when he saw you—dressed in nothing but your underwear and a thin tank top that left little to the imagination. He could feel his face flush as he quickly averted his gaze.

“I’m all done, Spence. Shower’s all yours,” you said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“Uh, thanks!” Spencer blurted out, nearly tripping over his own feet as he shot up from the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. He knew there was only one solution to his current predicament—a long, cold shower.

Once both of you were settled in bed with the lights off, you couldn’t resist starting a conversation. Sharing a room with Spencer always reminded you of those childhood sleepovers—giggly, fun, and safe. The quiet darkness seemed to invite whispered secrets, the kind that felt easier to share when you couldn’t see each other’s faces.

“I think Duncan is going to break up with me,” you whispered, your voice just loud enough for Spencer to hear, but soft enough that it felt protected by the shadows.

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

You hesitated for a moment, as if hearing the words out loud made them more real. “I hadn’t said it out loud yet. It sounds crazy now that I have.”

“Why do you think he’s going to break up with you?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle, though he could feel a tightness in his chest.

You sighed deeply, the weight of your thoughts evident. “He’s been pulling away recently. Fewer date nights, less texting during the day… I haven’t spoken to him on the phone once since we got here.” You paused, gathering the courage to continue. “We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Spencer felt a sharp pang of something unpleasant in his stomach at that comment—jealousy, frustration, regret—he wasn’t sure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Thanks, Reid,” you replied, your tone quiet and resigned.

For a long moment, silence hung between you, thick and heavy, as if neither of you knew what to say next. Just when you began to drift off, almost convinced that sleep was pulling you under, you heard Spencer’s voice, low and tender, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“If he lets you go, he is the single biggest imbecile on this planet.”

You blinked in the darkness, half-convinced you were imagining things. Did Spencer really just say that? But before you could ask, the silence returned, leaving you to wonder if it was just a dream after all.

—

No more confessions were made during the case, and within a few days, the team was back home. But for Spencer, the case hadn’t been the only thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you might be single soon. The possibility gnawed at him—would he have a chance? Could he ever muster the courage to tell you how he really felt? Who knows?

What he did know, however, was that you had been using him as a frequent escape from your shared apartment with Duncan. Spencer didn’t mind; in fact, he cherished every moment with you.

“Hey, Spence, do you want to order pizza and watch a movie tonight?” you asked casually as the workday began to wind down.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Spencer replied, his smile brightening his features.

As soon as you walked away, Derek strolled over to Spencer’s desk, a look of mild concern on his face. “Uh, Reid?”

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, glancing up at him.

“I thought you had a date tonight?”

Spencer blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“With that girl from the post office?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s eyes widened as he realized he had completely forgotten about the date. “I completely forgot.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, surprised. Spencer never forgot anything. “Listen, Reid. I know we all have our feelings about Duncan… but be careful, okay?”

Spencer frowned slightly, unsure what Derek was getting at. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just—she’s hurting right now, but what happens when they make up? I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Spencer’s mind began to race as he processed Derek’s words. “We’re just friends, Derek. I’m just supporting her in her time of need.”

Derek gave him a look that was equal parts sympathetic and skeptical. “I hope you’re right, Pretty Boy.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Was Derek right? Was he setting himself up for heartache? He didn’t know the answers, but one thing was certain—he was in too deep to turn back now.

—

You were sitting on Spencer's couch, enjoying a slice of pizza, when his phone started ringing on the coffee table. Since Spencer was in the bathroom, you reached over to grab it, assuming it might be work-related. But the screen flashed a name you didn't recognize: Amanda. Who's Amanda? you wondered, feeling a twinge in your stomach that you quickly tried to dismiss.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom, you waved his phone with a teasing smile, trying to mask the discomfort you felt. "Who's Amanda, Spence?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

His face dropped instantly, a look of confusion and then realization washing over him. "What?"

"You got a call from someone named Amanda," you repeated, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer's shoulders sagged as he took the phone from you. "Oh shoot, I forgot to cancel our date tonight. She probably thinks I stood her up."

Your heart sank a little. "Wait, Reid, you had a date tonight? Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone home!"

The mix of surprise and a slight sense of betrayal hung in the air. Spencer looked genuinely apologetic, his eyes wide with concern. "I... I just forgot. With everything going on, it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here if you had other plans."

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. "It's okay, I just... didn't realize." Inside, you were conflicted, feeling foolish for how comfortable you’d become in his space, reminding yourself once again that you were just friends, despite the years of ignoring that pit in your stomach.

—

The entire team had taken note of the significant amount of time you and Spencer had been spending together, and they were all too aware of his long-standing crush on you. Their concern for their friend was palpable, which made the next rooming arrangement all the more telling. When the opportunity arose again for team members to share rooms, JJ immediately claimed you as her roommate. You caught the unmistakable look of relief that Spencer sent her way. What the hell?

That night, as you settled into the room with JJ, the question that had been nagging at you finally spilled out. "Why did Spencer seem relieved not to room with me? Did I do something wrong?"

JJ looked at you with her soft, comforting eyes, shaking her head gently. "Oh, I don’t think so," she reassured you in her calming tone. "Last time he asked me to switch, I think he just wanted a break," she added, her words kind but straightforward.

"Got it." The words felt like a punch to your gut. Your best friend didn’t want to room with you? The thought made you feel nauseous, or maybe it was the urge to cry that was overwhelming you.

"Is everything okay?" JJ noticed the tears brimming in your eyes.

"Yeah," you waved her off with a forced chuckle. "I’m on my period, just overly emotional," you laughed it off, masking the true turmoil you felt.

JJ immediately responded with a warm smile. "Aw, honey, I have pain killers and tampons if you need anything!"

"Thanks, JJ," you muttered, grateful for her kindness but still reeling from the emotional sting of the evening's revelations.

—

After the case, you found yourself withdrawing from Spencer, the sting of feeling like an imposition too sharp to ignore. Instead, you poured your energy into mending the fraying edges of your relationship with Duncan. Spencer, on the other hand, was left puzzled by your sudden distance, unable to pinpoint the cause of this shift in your dynamic. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of a faint hickey peeking out from under your collar that he understood—or thought he did.

“So you fixed things with Duncan?” he asked one day, trying to sound casual as he joined you for coffee in the breakroom.

“Yup. I’ll be out of your hair now, don’t worry,” you replied with a tight smile, and without waiting for his response, you walked out, leaving Spencer bewildered in your wake.

“What was that about?” JJ inquired, having witnessed the interaction from her spot by the vending machine.

“Not sure, she’s been giving me the cold shoulder since the last case,” Spencer murmured, frowning deeply as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

“Oh, I might know why,” JJ said, her voice lowering slightly.

“Why?” Spencer looked up, his interest piqued.

“Well, she knows you didn’t want to room with her,” JJ revealed, her expression sympathetic.

“What? You told her?” Spencer’s voice was a mix of surprise and slight irritation.

“She asked, Spence. She was really upset about the whole thing too. You should talk to her,” JJ advised, her tone earnest.

Spencer nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. I will,” he agreed, his mind already racing with what he would say to you, hoping to mend the unintentional hurt he had caused.

—

"Y/N, can we talk?" Spencer caught up with you just as you were about to step into the elevator on a quiet Friday evening. The office had already emptied, leaving you both as the last on the floor.

"Sure, what's up?" you asked, pausing to face him, noting the serious look on his face.

Spencer opened his mouth to explain the hotel room situation, his mind racing for the right words that wouldn't betray his deeper feelings. "Well, you see, it's about the hotel room situation on the last case, and I just—uh, I mean, when we were assigned to room together, I found myself in a bit of a predicament, or rather, a series of considerations that perhaps aren't usual, or rather aren't typically problematic in ordinary circumstances, but given the nature of—"

"Spencer, it's fine. You don't have to room with me on every case. I'm sorry I never asked first," you interjected, misreading his hesitation.

"No, no, I want to room with you," he blurted out, more forcefully than he intended.

"Then why did you ask JJ to switch?" you asked, your confusion evident.

Spencer felt trapped between his desire to comfort you and his fear of making things awkward. "Um...it was just really warm on that case, and I—I didn't want to see you in your underwear," he admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"What? Spencer, you could have just told me. Oh my god! I was walking around in my underwear!" you exclaimed, half-amused and half-mortified.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking genuinely apologetic.

"No, Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Is it because I have a boyfriend?" you asked, your tone laced with concern.

Spencer scoffed at the mention of Duncan. "No."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, your gaze steady on his.

Caught with no more excuses, Spencer knew he was cornered. His heart raced with the realization that there was no turning back. "Because I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

—

Spencer Reid's confession echoed in your mind, each word reverberating through your thoughts like a bell that couldn’t be unrung. Spencer Reid is in love with me? The realization sent your thoughts into a tumultuous spiral as you drove home, the familiar streets blurring past. You considered pulling over, needing a moment to process the swirling chaos in your head, but you pushed on, driven by a need to just get home.

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the atmosphere struck you immediately. It was dimmer than usual, the air filled with a scent that was distinctly not yours. The smell of soy candles—a scent you distinctly disliked—mingled with the scent of red roses, another thing you didn't care for.

"Duncan?" Your voice was hesitant, almost wary as you set your things by the door and walked deeper into the dimly lit space.

"In here, babe," Duncan called out from the living room.

Following his voice, you found him standing in the center of a meticulously staged scene, surrounded by the roses and candles. The setup was so unlike what you would have wanted, so disconnected from who you were.

"Uhhh, what’s going on here?" you asked, your tone a mix of confusion and a growing sense of disconnect.

Duncan turned to you with a smile that didn’t feel genuine, the ambiance around him feeling more like a set piece than a gesture of genuine affection. "Y/N," he began, his voice taking on a rehearsed quality that made your heart sink even further. "I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I just really think it’s time we take the next step together. What do you say?"

The words, meant to be romantic, felt hollow and oddly generic, as if they were pulled from a script rather than from his heart. Standing there, with Spencer's heartfelt confession still burning bright in your mind, Duncan’s display felt even more jarring.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows as Duncan's unexpected question hung in the air. “What?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

The word slipped out before you could even think, a reflex born of surprise and clarity. “No.” It was firm, decisive, echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Duncan’s face crumbled, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. “What?” he echoed again, his voice a blend of disbelief and dismay.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. “Uh, this is just so out of left field. I mean, we have never once talked about marriage.”

Duncan’s response was quick, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “But, babe, we live together,” he reasoned, as if cohabitation alone was a precursor to marriage.

“So? You basically ignored me for a whole month,” you countered, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you.

“Right, but then we fixed things, so we know we work together,” he argued, trying to paint a picture of a resolved partnership.

You couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Solid logic,” you replied sarcastically, the absurdity of the conversation becoming more apparent.

Duncan's frustration was palpable. “Are you really being sarcastic right now?”

“Yeah, and I wish you were too,” you shot back, wishing the whole scenario was just a bad joke.

Duncan’s next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Fuck you, bitch.”

You froze for a moment, the harshness of his words striking deep. “What did you just call me?” Your voice was calm, almost eerily so, as you fixed your gaze on him.

“A bitch,” he repeated, his voice cold and hard.

“Get out,” you said, your tone final. You stood up, your posture rigid with resolve.

“No, I live here too,” he protested, but there was a waver in his voice now.

“Whose name is on the lease? Get out before I call my team. Do you want Derek and Emily to escort you out?” Your words were a clear threat, backed by the certainty that you would follow through if needed.

Duncan hesitated, his anger giving way to a flicker of fear as he considered your words. Then, in a sudden burst of spite, he hurled the ring box at you. “Keep it, I don’t want your bad juju.”

With that, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a force that seemed to shake the apartment. Silence descended, heavy and absolute, as you stood there, the ring box at your feet, a stark reminder of the relationship that had just disintegrated before your eyes.

—

Spencer Reid had cried more times in his life than he cared to count. He cried when he was bullied as a child, when his father walked out on him and his mother, when he made the heartbreaking decision to place his mom in a care facility. He cried when he was kidnapped, when Emily died—or so he thought. The list of tears was long, but today, he added another entry: the day he told his best friend he was in love with her, only for her to stand there as still as a statue, silent and unmoving, until his heart shattered so completely that he had to leave before she saw him break down.

Now, he lay in bed, the lights off, his eyes puffy and wet, replaying every scenario he wished had happened instead of the painful reality he’d experienced. He sniffled, whimpered, and curled into himself, desperate for a do-over, a second chance to make it right. But life wasn’t that kind.

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his misery. He ignored it, too consumed by his sorrow to entertain company. The knocking persisted, three more times, before it finally ceased. Relief was short-lived, however, as his phone began to ring. Without checking the caller ID, Spencer answered, his voice sharp and uncharacteristically harsh. “What?”

“Spence, it’s me. Please open the door.”

He’d never moved so fast in his life. Leaping out of bed in such a hurry, he promptly tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor with a thud. “Ouch,” he muttered, pushing himself up with a wince. Ignoring the ache, he scrambled to the door, swinging it open with such force that it nearly bounced back. His heart clenched at the sight of you standing there, your expression filled with concern as you took in his tear-streaked face.

“Hi, Spence,” you greeted softly, your voice gentle as if trying not to scare him away.

“Hi,” he croaked out, barely holding himself together.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your tone tentative.

He nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, you turned to face him, clearly gathering your thoughts.

“So, uh, I’m just going to talk. You can listen or interrupt, whatever you want,” you offered, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer nodded again, still too emotionally raw to form coherent words.

You took a deep breath. “Duncan proposed to me.” The words hung in the air, a bombshell that detonated in Spencer’s chest. His heart broke all over again, shattering into a billion pieces. “I said no.”

His head shot up so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. “What?”

“Yeah, it was bad. He had red roses and soy candles set up in the living room.” Spencer’s nose scrunched in distaste; he knew how much you hated those things. “And when he left, he called me a bitch and threw the ring at me.”

Spencer’s fists clenched, a protective anger surging through him. “I’ll kill him.”

“Nah, someone else will. I’m sure of it,” you replied with a small, rueful smile.

His anger softened, replaced by confusion. “So…what are you doing here?”

You looked at him with determination and vulnerability. “What ring would you buy me?”

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, taken aback by the sudden question.

“If you were to propose to me, say tomorrow. What kind of ring would you buy for me?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

“A round cut diamond with a thin silver band,” he answered without hesitation, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“I’m in love with you too,” you confessed, your voice steady, but your eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Wait, what?” Spencer was incredulous, his mind racing to process what you’d just said. But even as his heart tried to catch up, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Duncan got me a thick gold ring with a pear-cut lab-grown pink diamond,” you explained, shaking your head at the mismatch.

“Did he know you at all?” Spencer asked, the smile growing despite the shock still coursing through him.

“Apparently not. I’m going to kiss you now,” you declared, stepping closer, leaving Spencer no time to overthink, no time to doubt—just enough time to feel the world tilt as your lips met his.

It was gentle at first, a tentative brush of lips, as if testing the waters. But then something shifted, a dam breaking as all the unspoken feelings, the years of longing and missed chances, came rushing to the surface. Spencer responded in kind, his hands lifting to cradle your face with a tenderness that belied the storm inside him. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped in the heat of the moment.

He poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss—all the love, all the fear, all the hope. The kiss deepened, growing in intensity, but it remained sweet, a quiet revelation of the love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly trembling, your foreheads rested against each other’s, both of you taking a moment to simply exist in the aftermath of the kiss. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with wonder and relief.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“Better late than never,” he said, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the last of the tension between you. With your hand still resting on his chest, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart, mirroring your own.

Spencer’s hand slipped from your cheek to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours as if afraid to let go. “So, where do we go from here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of hopefulness.

“Wherever you want, Spence,” you replied, your smile reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with affection and mischief, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I never want to room with Hotch again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. “Just me?”

Spencer’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he responded with quiet sincerity. “It’s always been you.”

The words hung in the air, filled with all the meaning and truth he had held back for so long. Before you could fully process the weight of his confession, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second, every sensation.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s embrace. This kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a confirmation of everything that had been unspoken until now.

When you finally parted, both of you breathless but smiling, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. And that was perfectly okay.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece @dreamsarebig

[sleepynoons]

alhaitham x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+, not beta read

cw: omegaverse (alpha!alhaitham + omega!reader), heat, knotting, massive massive MASSIVE breeding kink, impregnation kink, size kink, slight sadism/masochism (more masochism if anything), mentions of pain + hurt, marking + biting, fingering, squirting, unintentional edging (receiving), allusions to dubcon + objectification (but none of it actually), slight nipple play, implied marathon sex

notes: sighs,,, idk how i ended up convincing myself to write omegaverse,,, but i really had a lot of fun with this,,, anyway, i love being an alhaitham fucker, and i love it even more when he loses it and can't be his usual put-together self. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings.

edit: 700+ notes?? y’all :((( i’m v touched and also cracking up lol omegaverse ig checks out - but tyssssm for all the love!! reminders that requests are still open (pls read my rules), and i’d love to have moots/anons!!!!

edit x2: 1,000+ notes... y'all... this is a massive milestone for me to hit - thank you so much for all the love on this lil drabble!! there's no amount of words that can describe how grateful i am, truly.

“ALHAITHAM, FASTER!”

you’re whining, sobbing, desperately begging your lover. anything will do – he can even just lie back and let you bounce up and down on his cock. but you’re only in such a frenzied, lucid state because of your heat. alhaitham, on the other hand, is a few weeks out from his next rut, which means he is able to think about what’s rationally best for you.

you’re infuriated. you need more. you need him to mount onto you, pounding and thrusting into you until you’re screaming for him to stop, and even then, he’ll continue to push you over the edge over and over again until you’re a sticky, fucked out doll. the fire in your belly is burning so passionately, and while you would say something snarky or sarcastic to rile alhaitham up, you can barely carry a thought and can only dig your fingernails into his biceps to convey your impatience.

your lover grunts at the piercing sensation and, through gritted teeth, says, “you just started your heat. rushing through it will only hurt you and lengthen your recovery process.”

you groan at his response, overtly dissatisfied and restless. alhaitham’s response is… it’s just so typical of him. he’s detail-oriented, almost scientific in the way he takes care of you. this isn’t your first heat with him, and he’s learned from prior experiences how to ensure your safety and comfort. in fact, the two of you now follow a procedure to prepare for your heat that consists of: gathering all of your favorite snacks and drinks; washing and prepping all of the pillows, clothes, and blankets you’ll need for your nest; and most importantly, figuring out a polite way of telling kaveh that he’s getting “sexiled.”

but this is overkill, you scream in your head. in missionary, alhaitham is going at a steady pace, but what he doesn’t know and can’t feel is that he’s edging you. he’s fanning the flames of your arousal yet never helping you reach the peak. he’s stimulating you at your most sensitive spots and parts, but it’s not enough for your release. he’s torturing you, and he can’t even tell.

“alhaitham,” you cry out for the nth time. “please, please, please! i can’t take it anymore! i just - i need your cock! i need to cum! please, please, i beg you, i promise you i’ll be fine! alhaitham!”

you’re breaking down into tears. by instinct, your body releases more of your scent, and somewhere beyond your crying, your lover takes a deep inhale.

while alhaitham isn’t in his rut, that doesn’t mean he can’t lose control. he hopes you know that he’s doing his best for you, that he’s holding onto the last shreds of his willpower because, if otherwise, he doesn’t know what will become of you. he’s so much bigger, stronger, sturdier than you are, towering over you in both size and strength. he can be painfully forceful, and inflicting pain upon you is the last thing he wants to do.

but you’re sobbing uncontrollably. you’re defenseless yet pleading him to take you roughly, to break in your pussy with his heavy, leaking cock. you want him to use his force to placate your insatiable heat. you need him to overpower you.

he releases a long, shuddering sigh. he attempts to rationalize, consider the potential repercussions of giving in. but he soon realizes he can’t think. your addicting, heady scent, combined with the beautiful sounds of your moans and whimpers, are rendering his mind empty.

it’s pointless. he growls, “you asked for this.”

one second you’re weeping, and the next all of the air inside you is knocked out by a sudden, harsh thrust from alhaitham. he’s going so fast and hard now, cock head brushing against your womb while his balls and knot slap against your asshole. you feel your toes curl at the feeling of being split apart, and your mouth parts to voice salacious moans.

this is what you wanted. you feel your body relax. you just have to take it, take his fat cock bullying your cunt open, take his harsh bites and teething at your nipples, take his seed until you’re filled to the brim. in your mind, all you can think is, you’re his, you’re alhaitham’s, he wants you. the omega in you croons happily, and you’re every bit as delighted as well.

alhaitham grips onto your wrists tightly as he shoves himself into your tight, sticky walls over and over again. at one point, he flips you over, commanding you to raise your ass up higher. as he holds onto your hips, he watches your ass bounce and jiggle as he pounds into you, and he wants to lick down the beautiful curve of your back. you’re doing your best to stifle your screams because somehow, your lover is reaching even deeper, and the scraping of your breasts against the bedsheets is driving you mad.

then, you feel one of alhaitham’s hands reach down, brushing against the fat of your thighs. it’s inching dangerously close to your throbbing clit, and heat rushes up to your face.

“wait, alhaitham, no –“ 

your lover pinches your yearning bud, and you scream. wetness gushing everywhere, you’re squirting and creaming, white cum staining your lover’s cock and leaking out of your pussy. your eyes roll back, and you’ve lost all ability to control your body, which is absolutely shaking as alhaitham continue to rub and flick at your clit as he tries to squeeze his knot into your fluttering hole.

“oh, archons! alhaitham! stop! no, no, it’s too much! it can’t fit!”

alhaitham, still teasing and toying with your pussy, leans over and snarls into your ear, “you were just saying you wanted more. now you can’t take it?”

you’re wailing. you feel as if you’re being ripped apart at the seams. but the thought of alhaitham’s knot is just too delicious to pass on, so you don’t complain anymore. you just accept the waves of pain and pleasure that crash over you as alhaitham finally locks his knot inside you and bites down on your neck.

your lover groans loudly, lost in his delirium as well. after a few more shallow grinds, he reaches his own high, and you feel rope after rope of his cum fill you up. alhaitham’s cum is so warm and gooey and thick that you’re drooling and slobbering over the pillows at being filled up so thoroughly – impregnated – with it.

even as he’s still cumming, alhaitham bites on the shell of your ear and commands, “keep up, because i’m not stopping anytime soon.”

you can only whimper and fist the blankets even tighter at his command, bracing yourself for the next round.

[bahrtofane]

husband Jude headcannons

jude just really really enjoys married life

Word count - 2.3K+

Watch it - i got carried away sorry guys, proposal lore?? insanely sappy, even by my standards

—--

He's not a fan of you being known as his, rather he's your husband. Always correcting people during interviews and giving you the spotlight. Even when you shy away, not knowing where to look or what to say. He's always there, a gentle hand on your knee rubbing circles as he nods for you to continue. 

Every red carpet he wants to match, doesn’t care how big or small the event is. Gotta be a way you two look look a pair 

His fav is when you wear exactly the same thing so there’s no way to confuse anything for what it really is hehe 

Bouncing around while you get ready together, helping you get your shoes on while he tries his best to stand still while you fix his tie 

“Look okay?” he asks, head tilted 

You rub his arm, “you look great.” 

And he smiles wide, giving you pecks all over while you giggle, trying to shoo him away from you and closer to the door. your ride is waiting, but he doesn’t care. pouting for just one more kiss. please ? 

All his socials turn into your personal fan page, a big fat married in every bio, ring and all 

He has more posts about you then his actual job 

His teammates poke fun at it, “when are you gonna post us huh?”

He just rolls his eyes,”when I marry you i’ll think about it”

And that’s that

You're the first he runs to post a match, greeting you with the silly hand shake you perfected years ago. You think you could do it in your sleep at this rate. You came up with it ages ago when you kissed him after practice, playing with his fingers till he came up with the idea, and you with the actual hand shake. 

You're his biggest supporter, and him likewise. In every and anything you do, give him pompoms and he'd be your personal cheerleader at this point.

He just likes to have you at games. Waving obnoxiously while you tell him to pose. And he does, every time, sending hearts your way. He dedicates his goals your way. The kisses he would send the crowd in his youth now only go your way where you catch them like a teenager.

You see complications of it everywhere, he thinks it's endearing. He makes you watch them together on the living room tv while you grimace

“My face looks so weird there, oh my god.”

He flicks your arm, “you look great shush. Ha that was during el clasico, ah good times.” 

You roll your eyes but snuggle up against him anyway.

One of your favorite past times btw, nothing he loves better than a lazy morning in with you in his arms while he hits snooze on every alarm.

He tries to cook, with his stupid kiss the chef apron he got just for you. but he will need help, which you gladly give. You end up eating on the couch, covered in pillows watching cheesy shows. You've watched keeping up with the kardashians too many times to count and he still laughs out loud every time.

Jude is soft and sweet when he's not forced into a picture perfect smile and self 24/7. He's a silly guy, always trying to make you laugh. Teasing is his love language by the way.

But he's still sweet, leaving notes around your house for you to find when he has to leave for away games. Hearts and smiley faces littering every inch of the paper. Some frowny faces when he knows he'll miss you extra. 

He likes bringing you to family events and bragging about how cool you are, but everyone already loves you as is, he just likes to brag. Look at how cool the love of my life is everyone, I am sooo lucky you guys look look. 

Jobe has rolled his eyes far too many times, but he's happy to see his brother so happy. Plus you guys threw a fantastic wedding. A win is a win.

When you can't be there he facetimes you every second he possibly can. Blowing kisses when he has to go. 

“Judes been complaining all day I hope you know,” Aurélien pops his head into the screen. 

You snort, “ hello to you too Aurélien.”

He gives you a wave before ruffling the top of Judes hair as he pouts, fixing it just how he likes again, “they just don't get it,” he sighs dramatically.

You laugh, “sure baby, sure.”

You make sure to keep up with the match the best you can, texting him live reactions, even if you know he won't see them till later. He likes them all the same.

Your name on his phone is a simple "mine" with a bunch of heart emojis, the contact pic is one of the two of you together on vacation, smiling with your faces squished together while laying in the sand

It makes him smile every time. he thinks you’re the cutest

He's a big fan of nicknames, weather its a version of your first name, or just a good ole fashion baby. He rarely uses your actual name. He called you something so insane like pooki bear in public once and you have yet to let him live it down.

"in a restaurant was crazy," you squint at him.

He only giggles, "but it was soo funny baby come on."

Speaking of restaurants, this guy loves a good date night 

Gigdy as he comes down the hall in his pjs, grinning while showing you the new reservations, it’s your fav place ! 

Every anniversary he somehow finds a way to outdo himself, don't ask, because in truth he doesn't even know how he pulls it off, but anything for you. Anything. 

Even if it means hunting down the stuffed animal you had as a kid and couldn't find after you lost it in your couch cushions. He finds it, after months and months of searching, making Jobe help him look, it comes in the mail and he has to get creative to get you out of the house and away from the mail the day it's supposed to come.

It gets neatly wrapped and placed on your shared bed the morning of, surrounded by a collection of other gifts, your favorite flowers, and a cheesy note that you always end up crying at. 

The look on your face makes it all worth it, when you tackle him in a bone crushing hug, tumbling into the covers in a tangle of legs while you laugh in between sniffles, he loves you. Oh how he loves you 

It's been a tradition to end the night with the very place he proposed, his home, now yours. 

He doesnt think he could forget it even if he tried. It was a whirlwind of a day. Picture this: 

He's lost all his black socks, his (and your) favorite body wash just spilled all over the shower, his hair looks awful ( he got a haircut that morning), his cologne isn't where he left it, and the private chef he hired isnt replying. All while you're not even awake yet. 

He calls his mom because what else are you supposed to do when you're set to propose and everything is going wrong. 

She only chuckles softly over the phone, “calm down jude, just breathe. You'll find your things, just take a breather and come back to things with a clear head okay?”

So he does. Sitting on his bed, towel still on, frowning. He chooses to instead pat himself dry, get dressed, and give himself a pep talk in the floor length mirror at the corner of his room. 

Turns out his mom was right, things fix themself for the most part, his socks are stuck at the bottom of the dryer, his hair isn't as bad as he thought, he finds a better cologne in his collection, and a perfect body cream. It's gonna be a good day. 

He finishes the last of the day of prep, getting fancy candles, a lighter, and greeting the decorator. Yes he hired a decorator. 

It's nothing over the top, just little changes to make his home look a little softer, changing out the curtains, placing lace table cloth with details in your favorite color. The main event is his second living room that gets covered in an arch of your favorite flowers, gentle curling to just kiss the top of the new antique chandelier that will be holding the fancy candles too. He hopes you like it. He really really hopes you like it.

He's had this planned for ages, since the moment he first met you he thinks. 

When you greet him with a silly good morning text he only grows oh so fond of you, excited to see you. He told you it was a fancy dinner at his place. A change of pace from the resurates. Both of you prefer a much more intimate night in then cameras shoved into your face while a hundred people all yell a hundred things while you're trying to chew your food. 

So you get ready, dress up and make it for dinner. When you see the familiar face of the chef, Karlos, you give him a wave and get seated. Noticing the new table cloth but you don't say anything. You don't want to be wrong so early into the night. 

Jude comes in, nervous as a school boy as he takes your hand for a quick peek, running around like a maniac back and forth. He looks nice, in a signature all black suit, and smelling amazing per usual. 

Dinner is amazing, full of your favorite courses and Jude is jittery in his seat. 

“You okay?”

He nods, a little too fast, “oh yeah. I am. Don't worry.”

You raise a brow but dont push, thanking Karlos for the amazing meal as he cleans up and heads out for the night. 

Jude gets up, telling you to stay put while he'll be righttt back. Don't worry, remember! 

He comes back, unable to meet your eyes while he gives you his hand. You take it, sliding out of your seat and following him down the hall. There's flower petals on the floor now, you look at him, but he looks anywhere but at you, chewing his cheek.

He leads you to the second living room, where the furniture has been cleared out. Replaced by a walkway of flowers and candles, leading up to where an arch of your favorite flowers hugs the curtain, new ones.

Gently pulled back to reveal the floor to ceiling windows that give way to his yard. And the most gorgeous sunset you have ever seen. A chandelier hangs above you, decorated with more flowers, and the most ornate candles and bulbs you have ever seen.

Your eyes begin to water before he even gets down on one knee, his lip wobbles, holding your hand the whole time as he confesses every little moment and reason for his love.

He loves you, he adores you. You're- youre everything. Truly and fully. You're the sunlight that kisses his skin, the stars he wishes to touch, to know, he yearns for you. Years to know you in your entirety, till he knows nothing else but you. For your name to only fully know his lips, for only he will fully know you. He sees no other, he knows no other. He wants- no needs, to give himself as he is. 

You see him, see him as more than just Jude Belingham. You see what others can not, will not. You see him, you know him. You know him better than he knows himself most days. You've seen all there is to see, all that makes him who he is. You know his stupid sandwich order at the place you hate but keep going to because you know how much he loves it.

You sit in freezing weather for the full game just to make sure you don't miss a second of him. The first to congratulate him, the first to mourn with him, the first to sooth his aches and pains. You're the face he looks for in a crowd, you're the first person he calls when anything happens. 

 And you love him with such ferocity it amazes him. 

You're full crying at this point, fat tears rolling down your cheeks till you can barely see him, and he finally gets down on one knee, fishing out a small velvet box from his inner pocket, opening it with shaky hands.

And he whispers, “will you marry me?”

You fall next to him, sobbing into his shoulder while you repeat yes over and over. He cries with you, till you're both laughing from pure joy. 

Who better to spend the rest of your life with then the man who loves you so?

Telling his family is the best part. You have them over for what was supposed to be a quick lunch, turned dinner, and you break the news at dessert, showing off your ring while they all gasp. 

They pile you into the biggest hug, smiles so wide they hurt and you laugh, you're going to get married! You think they just might be more excited than you are.

Wedding planning comes and goes both so fast and so slow. Youre so excited you can't wait, and yet every step of the way seems like it takes excruciatingly long.

Your wedding planner tries her best, bless her soul, but you want it to be completely and utterly perfect. Down to the types of chairs at the venue.

Jude lets you have your way for the most part, chiming in now and again, he trusts you fully. Knowing you're going to make it the best regardless. 

Leading up to the big day you think you just might pass out from stress and never be seen again, but the almost year of planning pays off, and you're married! 

The honeymoon is spent traveling all over while jude is wide-eyed, unable to believe he's married to you of all people. 

The press catches on soon after, even if your wedding was small and intimate. News comes out one way or another.

Jude only responds with a picture of you two slow dancing among your family and friends, captioned, “all you need to know.” and he pins it to every social media page. 

What a man huh?

[aquaticmercy]

Hypothetically (version 1)

Summary : The Thunderbolts* crew gossip about Bucky's love life.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x superhero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : References to violence and sex

Word count : 1.8k

Note : Reader is a superhero, and part of my version of the Midnight Suns in the MCU, including Moon Knight, Elsa Bloodstone, Jack Russell, and Man Thing. Taskmaster and Sentry isn't in this because I have no clue how they'll play into the canon so I've stuck with characters I think fit to the story. I’ve written two versions of the same story a Thunderbolts/Bucky POV and a Midnight Suns/Reader POV. Enjoy!

You are reading the Thunderbolts/Bucky POV Read the Midnight Suns/Reader POV here (version 2)

In the dimly lit briefing room of the former Avengers tower, a group of former assassins and rogue super soldiers sat around a rectangular steel table that glowed dully under the fluorescent lights overhead. Bucky was leading today’s mission briefing, a subtle tension settling over the team as they discussed the latest intelligence reports and mission parameters.

Yelena, Alexei, John, and Ava—were in various states of attentiveness, occasionally trading jabs and snarky comments. Yelena was throwing paper planes at John, Alexei was munching through a carrot he had smuggled in, and Ava was staring blankly at the ceiling, tapping an irregular rhythm on the table.

“Alright,” Bucky said, clicking through the projection on the screen with his  intensity. “Our target is believed to be hiding out in the warehouses on the east side. No civilian interference expected, please. I’m talking to you, Alexei.”

The Red Guardian leaned back in his chair, a smirk touching his rugged face as he crossed his arms. “No audience?” His thick Russian accent carried disappoint, “what’s the point?”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, one that meant he didn’t have the patience for bullshit today. “The point,” he replied dryly, “is in getting the job done right. No loud distractions, no fireworks. Got it?”

Alexei sighed dramatically, but he didn’t argue further. Yelena snickered from her seat next to him, shooting him a look as if to say, don’t push it.

It was then that Bucky’s phone lit up on the table in front of him. He barely registered the vibration at first—until he caught a glimpse of the screen.

Your name flashed on the screen.

Instantly, he reached to flip the phone over, but he was too late. The team’s collective attention was already on the screen, their eyes widening with recognition and a chorus of surprised gasps escaping.

Of course they knew you— they all did. Not personally of course. But you were a legend, in the same way that Bucky was.

“Oooh?” Alexei’s eyebrows rose as he looked up, “You know her personally? I’ve only seen her on TV. Very feisty lady, I think.”

“Big fan,” Ava chimed in, her usually serious face betraying a slight grin. “She’s a total badass. Heard she led a raid last week. Didn’t know you had her on speed dial, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, forcing himself to maintain his usual composed demeanour. “Stay here, don’t touch the files.” He gave them all a stern glare before excusing himself, taking the call outside the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, his teammates exchanged glances—and the speculation began.

Yelena, leaning forward with a glimmer of mischief in her eye, shrugged casually. “You know, I heard they’re dating.”

She had heard it from Kate Bishop who heard it from Clint Barton who may have heard it from Sam Wilson— which would have been a reliable source if not for everyone in between.

John Walker snorted. “No way,” he said, crossing his arms with an incredulous smirk. “From what I hear she’s too… I dunno, too stubborn. Violent. They both are. They’d probably clash. I bet they can barely stand to be in the same room without breaking into a fight.”

Alexei raised a hand in protest. “What’s wrong with clashing heads in relationship? Makes relationship stronger!” He laughed, his deep voice echoing through the room. “My parents fight every day. Happiest couple ever!” He wore his family complications like a badge of honour, which somehow made it worse. 

“Sure,” Yelena made a face, scrunching her nose. 

Ava leaned back, thoughtful. “I think they’d look good together,” she said, tilting her head. “But I’d hate to see them in a domestic argument. I imagine it’d get… destructive. Like crater-in-the-kitchen destructive.”

John’s lips quirked into a smirk. “They’d probably level an entire building over something dumb, like whose turn it is to load the dishwasher,” he added. John and his wife fight, of course, but she wasn’t super powered, and they didn’t have decades of contract kills and assassination between them— unlike you and Bucky.

“Or laundry!” Yelena laughed, her eyes lighting up. “Can you imagine? ‘No, it’s your turn,’” she mimicked Bucky in an exaggerated deep voice. “Then Boom! Neighborhood gone.” Yelena snapped her fingers.

The room erupted in laughter.

Yelena’s chuckle shifted into a sly grin. “The sex is probably… good, right? All the aggression? All that pent-up tension? I bet it has to go somewhere. Maybe they’re just friends with benefits.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Alexei held up his hand, his face scrunched in horror. “I cannot think about Bucky like that. Bad enough he walked in on my bare ass when I was changing yesterday.”

“Gross,” Yelena cringed, shoving her adoptive father shoulder. 

“I still think they’re dating.” Ava smirked, shaking her head. “He wouldn't have taken the call in the middle of briefing if they weren’t.”

“Please,” John rolled his eyes. “They’re probably just sharing intel. Swapping notes about target zones or something. No way it’s anything mushy or sweet. I cannot imagine either of them saying I love you.”

Yelena gagged jokingly.

While the team continued their speculative debate, Bucky stood outside the room.

He pressed his phone to his ear and felt his face soften instantly at the sound of your voice.

“Hey, my love,” you greeted, a trace of tension in your tone. “Is this a bad time?”

“For you doll? Never,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low rumble that only you seemed to bring out in him. “What’s going on?”

You sighed, sounding weary, and he could practically see you rubbing your temples.

“Elsa- fucking- Bloodstone.” you said flatly. “She keeps ignoring the damn plan and doing things her own way. She’s driving me up the wall. Seriously, it’s like every mission is a free-for-all.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky chuckled softly, twirling the hem of his shirt. “Alexei is the same way. Only does what he thinks is right. It’s like herding cats.”

“Can’t imagine he’s that bad,” You laughed, and oh boy did he miss that sweet sound. “You wanna trade? I’ll give you Ted in exchange for Alexei for a week. Ted keeps distorting my comms every time we’re on a mission—dude's like a walking jamming signal.”

A smirk crept onto Bucky’s face. “Deal—if I can swap Yelena for Jack Russell. I hear he's sensible, or at least doesn’t have a habit of blowing things up on instinct.”

“Oh, no,” you chuckled, firmly. “He’s off limits. He’s like my second-in-command. You can take Moon Knight if you want though. Deal with Jake Lockley showing up unannounced, if you’re up for it. Brings Khonsu into everything. Imagine arguing with a literal moon god while trying to stop a giant swamp monster from being captured… again.”

“Pass,” Bucky groaned, chuckling as he shook his head, thinking of all the things you’ve told him about the Egyptian god’s avatar. “Ava would not get along with Jake or Steven very well. Though Marc—he’d probably handle her alright.”

Bucky found himself melting into the sound of your laughter, the way you teasingly poked fun at each other’s ragtag teams— just a bunch of misfits who happened to be in the right place at the right time. 

His eyes softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he leaned against the wall, completely wrapped up in the thought of you. 

“Maybe one day,” you mused, “we’ll get them all in the same room. See if they tear each other apart.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “That’d be a nightmare.”

You corrected, “an interesting nightmare.”

For a moment, the burden of your job faded, leaving only the warmth of each other’s voices and the quiet longing that had lingered ever since you started this… relationship.

It felt weird to say, coming from two people with checkered pasts. That you now have something precious, something so priceless in each other.

Bucky shifted, his hand clenching into a fist. He wished you were there right now instead of halfway across the town. Oh what he would give to hold you, to feel your soft kiss on his lips and your hands in his hair.

“So,” you said, a hint of playfulness in your voice. “Would you like to go to dinner tonight? I’m tired of takeout.”

A fond smile curved his lips as he replied, “Anything you want, sweetheart. As long as it’s with you.” His voice grew soft, almost shy. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It’s hard being apart.”

In the background, Bucky heard a familiar growl—the unmistakable grumble of the Man-Thing.

You sighed. “What did I tell you about eavesdropping on private phone calls, Ted?”

Bucky chuckled, low and warm. “Good luck with that, doll.”

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” He said, “I love you. More than you know.”

“I love you too, darling.”

He ended the call with a wistful smile, pocketing his phone before heading back inside.

When he reentered the room, he found the team still engrossed in a heated debate.

“What did I miss?” he asked dryly.

“Oh, nothing,” Yelena replied innocently, before nudging Ava, who couldn’t hide her smirk. “We were just talking about you and the… scary lady calling you.”

Alexei raised an eyebrow. “So, how long have you and her been doing… mission reports?” His tone was suggestive, expecting Bucky to give a direct answer.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. “Not sure what you’re getting at, Shostakov.”

“He’s not denying it,” Ava pointed out. “Hypothetically, of course—“

“Of course,” Yelena nodded.

“—You two would make a great couple,” Ava pointed out. “Like… two cold, calculated soldiers who can take down anything.”

“You two would be sitting on a table in a nice restaurant, exchanging nods while writing up a mission postmortem,” John speculated, “hypothetically.”

“So what pet names do you use for each other?” Yelena leaned forward with curiosity. “Hypothetically.”

Before Bucky could answer, Alexei made a sour face. "No, can’t see it,” he argued. “Bucky is too grumpy. He does not call her Baby. Or sweetie.” He shuddered. “Hypothetically.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes, putting on his best annoyed expression. “You all done with the gossip?”

“Aw, don’t get all defensive, old man,” Yelena crossed her arms, smirking. “We’re just saying, if you were dating someone like that… you should tell us because we’d love to meet her. Maybe she can help out one of these days. You know, before Walker decides to cause another international incident.”

“Hey!” He exclaimed.

Bucky just grunted in response, biting back the curve of his lips.

He’d couldn’t believe no one would even guess the truth—that behind closed doors, the two of you were anything but the cold, stoic warriors they imagined.

Only you got to see that side of him. Only you got to see the gentle warmth in the quiet moments, dancing and laughing with him in your shared apartment that no one else knew of.

“Let’s focus,” Bucky muttered, heading back to the front of the table and flipping open a couple files. He hid his smile as best as he could, secretly pleased that everyone had it so wrong.

-end.

[rifari2037]

The idea of her being mother figure is challenged right from episode one when Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Okay, that's right! That's spot on! I don't deny that Aang makes Katara act like a child again for a while.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : Fire Nation. Sokka : We should tell him. Katara : [Yelling.] Aang! There's something you need to see. Aang : [Aang runs to them from the airball court, still playing with the hollow ball. Cheerfully.] Okay! Aang : [Happily runs up.] What is it? Katara : [Innocently holds her hands behind her back.] Uh... Just a new waterbending move I learned. Aang : Nice one! But enough practicing, [Excited as he turns around and start walking away.] we have a whole temple to see! Sokka : [Brushes the last of the snow from his head and shoulders.] You know, you can't protect him forever.

It's only the third episode, but Aang's childish attitude already makes Katara act like a mother protecting her child from reality. Katara also has to calm Aang down when he goes into avatar mode, it happens several times like it's her responsibility to do so.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : [Resumed filling the pot with more vegetables.] Watching you show off for a bunch of girls does not sound like fun. Aang : [Disappointed.] Well, neither does carrying your basket. Katara : [Annoyed.] It's not my basket. These supplies are for our trip. I told you, we have to leave Kyoshi soon.

This scene actually piss me off, like, if I were Katara I would mad too! And again, Aang's irresponsible and childish behaviour forced Katara to be responsible for doing the chores. If not her to be mature, who else? Sokka who is busy with his misogyny towards the Kyoshi warriors? Or Aang who is busy having fun with his fans?

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Aang ran away after someone blamed him for something he actually did a hundred years ago. Katara must find him in the storm, then help him dwelling with his past.

And it happens again in The Awakening. Aang runs away and triggers Katara's another trauma that forces her to grow up, which is being abandoned by the person she cares about (her father). Katara (Sokka and Toph) must find him and save him.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : [Disappointed.] Wow... there's hardly any in here. Aang : [Lashes out.] I'm sorry, okay! It's a desert cloud; I did all I could! What's anyone else doing?! [Pointing his staff at Katara.] What are you doing‌?! She returns his attack with a shocked look on her face. Katara : Trying to keep everyone together. Let's just get moving. We need to head this direction.

Katara is the only one who can keep the Gaang out of the desert. If she doesn't act mature and responsible with the Gaang, they might not survive. And what does Aang do? Get mad at her for losing Appa, while Katara is not to blame for it.

Aang reminds her that she's still just a kid.

Katara : Aang, we do understand. It's just ... Aang : Just what, Katara? What? Katara : We're trying to help! Aang : Then, when you figure out a way for me to beat the Fire Lord without taking his life, I'd love to hear it! [Walks away.] Katara : Aang, don't walk away from this. [Walks toward Aang.]

I love Katara, you know, that's why I really don't like Aang pointing angrily at Katara and blaming her every time he got emotional, when Katara didn't do something wrong and just wants to help him. Is this a healthy relationship?

Aang reminds Katara that she's just a child in the first episode, but unfortunately, the Gaang (especially Aang) once again forces Katara to be motherly in the next episodes.

Does she like being motherly? No, she doesn't. She wants to have fun too, but if she did, the Gaang would be screwed. Being motherly is not just her nature, but the Gaang (except Suki) forces her to be more mature than the others narratively.

Actually, that's why I like the idea of Momtara and Dadko. In my opinion, this nickname is not to make her forget she is just a kid. Instead, because the narrative itself always shows Katara forced to act motherly toward Gaang, 'Momtara and Dadko' shows that is not only Katara's responsibility to do all chores.

Calling Zuko Dadko is also reasonable, because he is narratively more mature among the Gaang (except Suki). He focuses on Aang's training and worries that Aang will fail, just like what father usually do to his son.

More than that, Katara doesn't need to act motherly with Zuko - he is the one bringing her things and preparing what they need in their journey contras with what Aang did in Kyoshi Island. And they act more like equal partners toward each other, rather than mother and son.

Oh, it's true that Aang makes Katara child again in first episode. But it's weird to defend Kat/ang and hate the narrative of Katara being motherly at the same time, when the Gaang (especially Aang) often forced Katara to act motherly.

[glossdebut]

PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 01

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: recreational drinking, yoongi is an asshole (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 6.1k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: NEW ERA NEW ERA NEW ERA! whew!!! i’m excited for this one! this is going to be a loooong ride, so buckle up and enjoy! please note the slow burn tag on this one, because i’m not joking around with it. trust me, it’s going to hurt me just as much as it hurts you.

a HUGE thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for continuing to beta read for me <3 your commentary never fails to make me laugh and your edits save my life.

P.S. everything i know about the korean music industry is informed by my years as a kpop fan. i don’t know much about the rock scene there, so expect inaccuracies galore going forward. i do my due diligence where i can, but that can only help so much.

CH. 01: ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE VAMPIRES!

You aren’t entirely sure when you stopped feeling at home in places like this. There has to be some kind of defining event, some kind of indicator of The Before and The After, but every time you try and figure it out you come up short.

In The Before, not all that long ago, you would be scrounging for the bus fare rattling around in your pockets to get to a place like this as soon as you punched out from your shift at the Speedy Mart.

During your short stint in college, your friends didn’t understand your obsession. Music venues, to them, were fun for a weekend’s night out. The thrill of flashing a fake ID, of flirting with the musicians after their set, of getting said musicians to buy them drinks—it was a satisfying rebellion, a fun story to tell people at school and hide from their parents.

But you were there every day, even after classes and graveyard shifts under fluorescent lights, always racing to the nearest show without even changing out of your polo. It was never a rebellion to you. The lights, the thumping bass, the secondhand smoke—it made every nerve ending in your body light up.

You were born in this smoke, as far as you’re concerned.

Maybe it’s different now because it’s work to be here. But what isn’t work, these days? Your life is micromanaged down to the minutiae—the meals you eat, the products you use in your hair, your goddamn piss breaks. There’s no clocking out for you, no gasp of relief that comes after. Such is life for one of Seoul’s many playthings.

Even in the dead of winter, your stylist, Hyerin, has you in a dress that begs to be pulled down every five minutes like clockwork. 

You learned a long time ago to bite your tongue on matters like this. The brands you work for pay you for the exposure you give them, after all. The chill that settles in your bones from the ten steps you take from your paid car to the venue door will be well worth it next time you count the zeroes in your bank account. At least, that’s what Hyerin told you as she pushed you out of the car and into the cold.

Wasteland looks the same as it did the very first night you ever stepped foot inside. Same red, glowing guitar sign above the entrance. Same shitty overpriced drinks. Same sticky floors. It’s nice that some things never change even when you do.

You’ve never been on the balcony, though. You’ve gotta hand it to Jeongguk—he’s really pulling out all the stops. To your knowledge, the balcony is normally reserved for VIPs. Close friends and family of the band, other celebrities, lucky and well-connected fans. Significant others. You suppose you fall under more than one of those categories now.

The crowd gathered on this side of the stage buzzes incessantly around you, waiting for the set to start. The excitement is palpable, and you understand why. It’s the very last show of Burn The Stage’s very first world tour following the release of their third studio album, and they’re ending it here: in Seoul. At Wasteland no less, the venue that housed the show that got them signed in the first place. Of course people are excited.

If you were the same person you were in The Before, you would be, too. 

Instead, as the stage lights go down and the crowd roars around you, you down the rest of your drink and pray it’ll do its job and calm your fidgeting. For a split second, the thought that maybe you shouldn’t be drunk tonight passes through your brain, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. Your hopes of making a good first impression were squandered as soon as Hyerin zipped up your dress. 

Besides, it’s not as if Jeongguk picked you for your shining reputation. More like the opposite.

With a flash of lights and a cacophony of sound, Burn The Stage launches into their first song on the setlist. The crowd roars around you, but you’re not here as a fan, so you try to remember everything Jeongguk taught you in preparation for tonight.

If you weren’t already close, most everything there is to learn about Jeon Jeongguk himself could easily be found with a simple Naver search.

Not only is Jeongguk the lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of Burn The Stage, but he’s also the de facto face of the band, and he couldn’t be better suited for the job. He’s beautiful. Like, seriously beautiful. Well-built and knows it, sings songs about love and sex and anger with the sweetest voice known to man, covered in tattoos and piercings that eommas everywhere pretend to disapprove of when they’re actually ogling just as much as their daughters. He’s a teenage girl’s wet dream, and with that comes hordes of them using the deductive skills of the NIS to figure out the last time he took a shit. Very little in his life is a secret, whether he likes it or not.

The rest of the band, in turn, gets the luxury of a little bit of mystery.

Park Jimin, the drummer, and Kim Taehyung, the bassist. Jeongguk’s best friends in the world. You’ve met them both in passing before, at industry events here and there, and they both seemed nice enough. 

Jimin has a bit of a reputation for being temperamental, angry, but the way Jeongguk describes him paints him as something gentle. Childhood friends who’ve known each other since scraped knees and runny noses. 

It’s public knowledge that Jimin wanted to be a dancer, before this—that when he was in college, he suffered an injury that ended his dancing career before it even started. One moment he was one of the most promising ballet students in Seoul, and the next he was retired at nineteen. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but every time the band is interviewed the question is inevitably asked. Do you have any regrets? You’ve watched the videos, seen the way he shakes with anger even as he answers with a saccharine smile. You have a feeling getting along with Jimin won’t pose any challenges for you. You know a thing or two about regrets.

Taehyung is a bit harder to figure out, but not in any way that sparks concern. He’s just an interesting guy that way. 

He was the last to join the band, the first to answer a ‘BASS PLAYER NEEDED’ ad posted around the city. Apparently, he was so good that they didn’t feel the need to call anyone else.

He lives in his own world, does his own thing. Posts very artistic photo dumps on his Instagram with concerningly cryptic captions. He’s quiet when he’s around people he doesn’t know, but when he’s put in a room with Jimin and Jeongguk he becomes the loudest person there. He’s kind, caring, always seems to know the right thing to say even if it’s delivered in the strangest manner possible.

Jimin and Taehyung won’t cause any problems for you. Jeongguk assured you that they’d be easy to win over, that as long as Jeongguk likes you, you’re in with them. 

The real wild card is the guitarist. Min Yoongi.

According to Jeongguk, Burn The Stage wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for Yoongi. When the band formed, they were just dumb kids with a shared dream, but Yoongi was the one to set it all in motion. 

When they didn’t have anywhere to practice, Yoongi convinced the ajumma he worked for to let him cram as much equipment as he could fit into a tiny noraebang room. When venues wouldn’t book them without the guarantee that they would draw a crowd, Yoongi burned hundreds of CDs and stood on the streets of Hongdae begging people to listen. When shady entertainment companies started offering them laughable contracts, Yoongi found Namjoon and somehow convinced him to manage them for dirt cheap. When they finally got an offer worth taking, Yoongi made them mull it over for as long as they possibly could. Weigh the pros and cons and decide if it was what they really wanted.

If Jeongguk is the face of the band, Yoongi is the heart. Unfortunately for you, this particular heart is very well-guarded.

Yoongi takes his privacy seriously. He refuses to answer interview questions he deems too personal, he doesn’t use social media. When asked why, his answer is always that he wants the music to speak for him. 

Because that’s another thing: every single song that Burn The Stage has ever released has been penned by Yoongi. To his credit, it’s kind of what they’re known for. His lyrics have a raw honesty to them that’s gotten the band into trouble more than once. 

You finally tune into the show that’s unfolded below you, the words spilling from Jeongguk’s lips loud and clear in your ears now that you’re paying attention.

​​Well, I ain't got no dollar signs in my eyes That might be a surprise but it's true Said, "I'm not like you and I don't want your advice Or your praise or to move in the ways you do and I never will" 'Cause all you people are vampires And all your stories are stale And though you pretend to stand by us I know you're certain we'll fail

It’s rock music. It’s polarizing, controversial, edgy. Biting the hand that feeds them—especially in the eyes of the executives lining the band’s pockets, you’re sure. And yet everyone eats it up. 

Still, Yoongi wouldn’t get away with half of it if he wasn’t attractive, you’re sure of it.

Because he is. Attractive. They all are, and he’s no exception. He checks all of the boxes annoyingly well. The long hair, the signature smirk, the little silver barbell on a tongue that he seems all too happy to flash at a moment’s notice. Too bad he seems like one of those pretentious, tortured artist types that take themselves way too seriously. That’s never done it for you.

Jeongguk is the one singing Yoongi’s words, and he might as well be Korea’s sweetheart—if it weren’t for all the tattoos. He conveys the message of Yoongi’s songs exactly as intended, but he doesn’t have to act like an egotistical gatekeeper to do it.

Maybe it’s a preference on your part. You’ve always had a thing for sweetness.

★ ★ ★

After the concert, you’re ushered off of the balcony by one of the band’s security guards. It’s the same guy who escorted you up when you arrived, and you note to yourself that he’s very polite. Eunwoo, according to his nametag.

It tracks, given Burn The Stage’s reputation for making sure the women at their concerts feel comfortable in the crowd. You’ve heard stories about them stopping mid-song to have handsy men kicked out, and it’s nice to know their commitment extends to the people they employ for themselves.

Eunwoo offers you his hand palm-up as you descend down the balcony stairs, and you take it with a grateful smile. You’re feeling wobbly in these shoes, and the drinks you’ve downed since your arrival aren’t helping matters. Even with the assistance, you still feel like a baby giraffe as you step down, but thanks to Eunwoo, you don’t eat shit.

Eunwoo dutifully guides you backstage, to a grimy, graffitied hallway housing the dressing rooms for Wasteland’s talent of the night. Jeongguk waits outside of one of them, guzzling down a bottle of water as a female staff member dabs sweat off of his forehead with a pristine white towel. She’s only there for a moment before slipping back through the dressing room door. Finally noticing your approach, Jeongguk turns his head and grins at you, and you feel your nerves ebb away instantly. He’s good at that.

As you get closer to Jeongguk, you turn to smile and nod at Eunwoo in thanks. He smiles back politely, wordlessly falling back to give you some privacy.

“Daaaamn, YN-ah,” Jeongguk says, whistling lowly as you reach him. “You’re going to cause a bloodbath in there.” He nods his head towards the dressing room door, and you roll your eyes despite the heat building in your cheeks.

“I know, I know,” you say, smoothing your hands over your dress. “It’s not exactly a meet-the-family outfit, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Nah, it’s cool. You look hot,” he says, grabbing your hand and making you do a spin, forcing a surprised laugh out of you as you try not to trip over yourself. Jeongguk keeps you steady, though, with a hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you say, although you’re sure your face gives away how terrified you are of what awaits you on the other side of the door. “Maybe you should’ve picked an actress for this, though.”

“I trust you,” he says softly, squeezing your shoulder. “It’s not too late to back out, though. I’ll understand…”

You believe him, of course. Those doe eyes don’t lie, and even so, he’s already told you over and over how bad he feels for asking this of you. But you don’t want to back out. Jeongguk has given you so much since you’ve met—it’s only right to try and repay him for it.

“I want to do this,” you assure him, reaching up to squeeze his hand on your shoulder. “I’m just worried I won’t be able to pull it off.”

“You will,” Jeongguk says, smiling down at you warmly. “Don’t sweat it too much, okay? We’ve got this. It’s not like I have to pretend to like you.”

Right. You wish Jeongguk’s words did what they were meant to and instilled some kind of confidence in you, but what they actually do is make your chest ache uncomfortably. Pull yourself together, you think. Now’s not the time.

You smile good-naturedly, hoping Jeongguk doesn’t notice the way it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “Let’s get this over with,” you mumble.

“That’s the spirit!” he laughs, sliding the hand on your shoulder around to the other one so his arm is slung around you. You hate the way your heart flutters, despite the fact that you’d prepared for this. Dumb bitch.

Jeongguk cracks the dressing room door open just enough to ensure that all of the men inside are decent, and then he’s guiding you inside, your hands flying down to smooth your dress over again, just in case. 

The dressing room is bustling with more people than you expected, people you recognize from the balcony and staff alike. There’s a fast-paced rock song playing over a bluetooth speaker, almost loud enough to drown out the chatter. 

Everyone seems to be in celebration mode after the last show of the tour. There’s a large sheet cake on a cart in the middle of the room emblazoned with the band members’ faces in frosting, plastic champagne flutes littered around the room in varying states of fullness. Judging by the bottle in his hand and the way staff members wipe at his face fussily, it seems like Taehyung took the liberty of pouring champagne over his head to cool off.

You’re used to having lots of eyes on you—it comes with the job—but something about the way Jeongguk’s bandmates immediately stop what they’re doing and take notice of your presence startles you, puts you on edge.

“Jeonggukie! You missed the cake,” Jimin calls, standing up from where he sat on the couch. He holds out a slice of the sheet cake to Jeongguk, tilting his head at you as he approaches. “Where do I know you from?”

Jeongguk removes his arm from your shoulders to take the plate, snorting at the image of his decapitated cake-head staring up at him. “Hyungs,” he says, grabbing a plastic fork and digging into the slice. “This is YLN YN.”

“Oh, we’ve met before! The model, right?” Taehyung pipes up from where he’s still being wiped down, and you nod politely. “I saw your Innisfree campaign last month. I couldn’t remember whether your skin was really that nice in person.”

You watch as he extricates himself from the staff, ignoring their protests as he walks away from them.

Taehyung gets close to you, close enough to inspect your pores like he clearly intends to, and you fight the urge to instantly recoil. Jeongguk seems too busy stuffing his face with cake to interfere, and you want to make a good first impression. So much for your personal bubble.

“It is,” he says, nodding sagely to himself.

“Th-thank you?” you stammer. Beside you, Jeongguk finally tunes back in.

“Jeez, hyung,” he says around a mouthful of cake. He chews for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing. “Let her breathe.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung says sheepishly, backing out of your personal space, and you let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, shaking your head.

“It’s fine,” you say, mustering a polite smile. 

You note that despite his initial (albeit subtle) acknowledgement of your existence when you walked in the door, Yoongi now seems entirely disinterested in interacting with you. He hasn’t moved from where he’s planted on the couch, focused intently on strumming his guitar. How he can even hear what he’s playing over the noise is beyond you. It’s not even plugged into an amp. 

You’d be a little annoyed that he hasn’t even bothered to greet you, but you reason that he must be pretty worn out from all of the fanfare surrounding the show tonight. Introvert recognizes introvert. You try not to take it personally.

“Do you know Jeongguk-ah well?” Jimin asks, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes bounce between you and his bandmate. He seems to be putting the pieces together, so you glance at Jeongguk, wordlessly passing the question his way.

Thankfully, Jeongguk seems to get the hint. He tosses his plate in the nearest trash can before sliding over to you again, his arm slipping around your waist easily, betraying nothing.

“Hyungs,” he starts, glancing at you and nodding once. Let the show begin. “YN-ah is actually, um… my girlfriend.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi sit up. That got his attention, it seems. 

A hush falls over the room, even the eyes of the staff members within earshot widening in response to Jeongguk’s announcement. Oh shit, you think. Please let this go well.

“Since when?” Taehyung asks, curiosity piqued. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t seem upset by the new information. At least, not as far as you can tell.

“Well, um,” Jeongguk starts, tonguing nervously at his lip ring. He pulls you closer so you’re practically curled against his chest now, and you silently pray that the way you’re looking at him reads as sweet and not like you’re about to jump out of your skin. “It’s actually been a few months now… Since right before the tour, actually.”

“Right before the tour?” Jimin asks, his brow furrowing in obvious confusion. “So you’ve been doing long distance?”

Jeongguk glances at you, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it was bad timing on my part,” he says, his eyes fixed on yours. Damn. If he didn’t have such great pipes, you’d say he should’ve gone into acting. He’s male lead material. “I just couldn’t leave without telling her how I felt.”

You wish that you could do or say literally anything useful instead of just clinging to Jeongguk’s side like a barnacle. This is supposed to be a joint effort, but you feel frozen in place, unable to find your voice. It’s a good thing Jeongguk seems to be pulling it off all on his own.

“So cute,” Taehyung coos, bumping his shoulder against Jimin’s conspiratorially. “Our Jeonggukie’s all grown up and in love.”

“He’s always been a romantic,” Jimin joins in, miming at wiping fake tears as if he’s a proud parent. He reaches out and grabs your hands, startling you. “Please take care of him.”

“Hyuuuungs,” Jeongguk whines, tearing his arm away from you to whack Jimin and Taehyung on their heads simultaneously. “You’re going to scare her away!”

“Doubtful,” Yoongi says from where he’s still seated on the couch. Oh, so he does speak. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice all night. It’s low, raspier in person than in the videos you’ve seen online. His words are directed at Jeongguk, but when you turn your head to look at him you find that his gaze is fixed on you. Your pulse spikes at the discovery. “I don’t think anything could scare her away from you, Guk-ah.”

The words themselves are innocuous, even supportive, but something about the way he says them makes your gut twist. Nobody else seems put off by it, but you can tell something’s not right. You have to say something, to open your mouth and speak. You have to pull this off, for Jeongguk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, forcing a smile. You manage to tear your gaze away from Yoongi, looking back at Jeongguk. He’s grinning down at you, and it’s real, even if the pretense of it isn’t. Your smile becomes a little less forced in return.

★ ★ ★

Jimin and Taehyung are insistent that you stick around and celebrate for a while, so you do. You end up enjoying yourself, despite the weird moment with Yoongi. 

Jimin and Taehyung are fun to be around, just like Jeongguk said they would be, although conversation between the three of them becomes a little hard for you to follow sometimes. They just talk so fast. 

They ask you questions about your job, your friends, your family. They also tease Jeongguk relentlessly in front of you and seem all too thrilled to find out that you’re their noona. You find it surprising how easily you open up to them, but it just… happens. Just like it did with Jeongguk when you first met.

You relax enough to convince yourself that your perceived pointed nature of Yoongi’s words earlier was all in your head. Surely, he couldn’t have a problem with you when he doesn’t even know you. Jeongguk told you himself that Yoongi’s a quiet guy. Maybe that was his own way of telling you he approves of you. He hasn’t said or done anything since to make you think otherwise. Granted, he hasn’t said or done anything, period.

Once he arrives, you meet Namjoon, Burn The Stage’s manager. Jeongguk told you a little bit about him, but it was mostly just thinly-veiled thirsting. Now you see why.

He clarifies right off the bat that he already knows who you are, which saves you the anxiety of having to go through the whole routine again, and then he apologizes for being late.

“I was talking to reporters. I wanted the guys to be able to celebrate without having to do any interviews,” he explains as he shakes your hand with a dimpled smile. Damn. Yeah, you don’t blame Jeongguk one bit.

After a while, the champagne catches up with you and you have to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

The staff member that was dabbing Jeongguk’s sweat earlier—Minji, you learn—directs you out of the dressing room and to the nearest women’s bathroom further down the hallway. 

You try to make it as quick as possible, much tipsier than you thought and all the more unstable in these shoes because of it. After one last check of your hair and makeup in the mirror, you make your exit, focusing down at your feet as you go.

Unfortunately, you run headfirst into someone’s chest in the process. Hands come up to grab your elbows, steadying you before you fall flat on your face. For a second, you think maybe Minji had been waiting to escort you back to the dressing room, but these are not a woman’s hands holding you up. Wait a second, you think. You definitely saw these ring-clad fingers displayed on a huge screen earlier. Strumming at a guitar, perhaps?

In a moment of amazing mental clarity on your part considering the state you’re in, you realize that these are Min Yoongi’s hands, and your head snaps up to look up at him.

“Yoongi-ssi! I’m so sorry!” You quickly right yourself to the best of your ability, pressing your hand to the wall next to you for support.

Once he’s sure you can hold yourself up without his help, Yoongi instantly retracts his hands, crossing his arms over his chest. “I should’ve been looking where I was going,” you add, doing your best to bow in apology without losing your balance again.

Yoongi tilts his head at you as if he’s assessing you, his gaze inscrutable. Man, for a lyricist this guy isn’t big on words. You’re just about to politely say goodbye and head back to the dressing room when he finally speaks.

“I’ve spent the past hour trying to figure out what your angle could possibly be, but I’m coming up short.”

Um. What?

“Huh?” you manage, blinking at Yoongi like he’s suddenly grown a second head.

“It’s not like your career’s in any trouble. Nobody thinks you're Korea’s angel or anything, but your shit reputation hasn’t stopped you from getting brand deals,” Yoongi continues, scoffing to himself. “Are you just bored? Is this what you do to amuse yourself?”

Uh oh. He knows. He knows for sure, and even worse, he thinks that you’re the mastermind.

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, forcing your voice to remain level. You don’t even try to defend your reputation. It’s not like he’s wrong. 

“Right,” Yoongi says, leaning in a little closer, like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Well, a word of advice. If you want people to buy that you’re really in love with Jeongguk, you could try to look less like you’re going to throw up when he touches you.”

FUCK. You thought you pulled it off. You thought you pulled it off, and now here’s Jeongguk’s goddamn hero telling you point-blank that you didn’t. You wrack your brain trying to think of anything you could possibly say to defend yourself, to get this guy off your ass, because this cannot be your fault. You’d never forgive yourself.

“I—”

“Or,” Yoongi starts, cutting you off. “You could just cut the bullshit and leave Jeongguk alone.” He pauses, rubbing his chin as if he’s pretending to think about it and then nodding once. “Yeah, let’s go with that one.”

Jesus Christ he’s a piece of work. You feel your fists clench at your sides, your nails digging painfully into your palms. You just got your nails done, and there’s a strong possibility you’ll draw blood, but it’s all you can do not to strangle this asshole right here and leave Burn The Stage without a guitarist.

“Yoongi-ssi,” you say, your words dripping with fake politeness. Fuck this guy, actually. “I don’t know what I’ve done to give you such a bad impression of me, but I assure you that Jeongguk and I are very much in love.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t buy it?” Yoongi asks, voice tinged with impatience. “You may have everyone else in that room fooled, but not me, and if you hurt Jeongguk I can guarantee it won’t end well for you.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you snap. “Again, I don’t know what the fuck I’ve done to make you think so poorly of me, but I meant what I said in there. I’m not going anywhere.”

You need to remove yourself from this interaction right now before you do something stupid like burst into tears. You take the opportunity to push past Yoongi before he gets a chance to say anything else, making sure to essentially shoulder check him in the process because again, fuck this guy.

You stalk down the hallway, feeling much more sober now. It’s as if all of the alcohol got forcibly drained from your system in the face of total fucking disaster, and you’re honestly thankful for it, because the last thing you need is this asshole seeing you actually fall.

For a moment, you’re fooled into thinking you’d successfully ended the conversation, but of course he needs the last word.

“I know more about you than you think, dollface.”

Dollface? The fuck?

You chance a glance behind you and you immediately regret it. Yoongi leans against the wall where you left him, an amused smirk spread over his face, and the sight immediately fills you with dread, a type of primal panic you haven’t felt in four years flooding your senses.

He doesn’t… He couldn’t know about that. There’s no possible way. Jeongguk doesn’t even know about that. Nobody does, because you’ve done everything in your meager power to keep it that way.

You whip your head back around to face front, your heels clacking on the crusty linoleum beneath them as you continue down the hallway. Don’t look back, you think. He doesn’t know. 

You’re thankful that you brought your bag with you to the bathroom, because you’re very much not in the mood for a party now. Once you’re safely outside, you call your car and send a text to Jeongguk explaining your sudden escape. You felt sick, you tell him. 

It’s not like it’s a lie. 

Yoongi loves being on stage.

Over the past few years, there’s been a noticeable change in his demeanor. He’s become passive, apathetic to the normal day-to-day that comes with being a celebrity. Nothing really wows him anymore.

He remembers the way he reacted to the accommodations the band received when they first got signed. He was way too scared to ask for things at first, but the label gave it all to him anyway.

For instance, Yoongi’s always been particular about his stationery. The first time he filled a notebook after getting signed, he didn’t even think to consider it a company expense. Why would he? He was fully capable of buying his own shit, even if he had to save up for it. Sure, every time he had to write a lyric down on the back of a receipt his eye would twitch, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

But the label guys noticed. Before he even had a chance to buy his next batch of notebooks and pens, he was sat down in a spacious meeting room and asked point-blank what he needed. When Yoongi gave them specifics—Leuchtturm 1917 unlined hardcover pocket journals and a fuckton of Uni-Ball Jetstream Premier pens—they didn’t even bat an eye. When he—rightfully—warned them that he might strangle someone if he’s handed a gel pen instead of a ballpoint, they just assured him that wouldn’t happen.

Ever since then, there’s been an endless supply of exactly what he needs, always within reach. He’s still grateful for that, of course, because he goes through those fuckers fast. But it’s just a fact of his life now. It’s not special to get his fucking Leuchtturms anymore, not when he could douse his entire supply with gasoline and burn it on a whim and still have a fresh one in his hand within mere minutes.

And it’s not just journals and pens.

Namjoon is the band’s representative. Yoongi picked him personally long before there was any contract, or even hope for one, and if everything were to go to shit tomorrow, Namjoon would still be there. But after the single from their second album charted on the Billboard Hot 100, a label-equivalent to Namjoon was hired, as if anybody could ever be equivalent to Namjoon. Park Hyunseok. Park Hyunseok, whose sole duty is to buzz around Yoongi and his bandmates like a pesky fly and “make sure they’re happy.” They quite literally want for nothing.

Yoongi remembers when his skin used to buzz with the emotions simmering just under the surface. He was fiery in his youth, pissed off and ready to prove a point. He felt everything strongly, fully.

Not so much these days. Anger is only marketable for so long, or so he’s been told.

For the past year, Yoongi’s felt numb to the world. And he’s dealt with it, of course. That’s what he does. The album did great, the tour sold out, the boys are happy. That’s really all that matters. He just doesn’t know how he’s going to write another fucking album if he’s got nothing to write about anymore.

Still, he loves being on stage. There’s nothing like it. It never gets old, never gets boring. He still hasn’t gotten used to the feeling of stepping onstage and feeling a crowd scream his name, scream his lyrics right back at him. Lyrics to songs that he wrote in his shoebox apartment when he was eighteen and it felt like nobody gave a fuck about him. Funny how things change.

Nobody can take that feeling away from him, even if they’ve taken all the other ones.

It’s been a good night. It feels good to be back in Seoul after being away for months, feels even better to be on this particular stage again. Yoongi always feels keyed up after a good show, itching to do something with all of the energy thrumming through his body, and tonight is no different. He’s almost giddy with the opportunity to celebrate this tour with his bandmates and Namjoon and then go home and crash. Home. Fuck, it’s a good night. He has a hot date with his king size bed.

But then you.

It’s been years since you’ve even been a thought in Yoongi’s brain, and he liked it that way. Unfortunately, it’s apparently true what they say: all good things must come to an end.

Yoongi sees right through you. He's met so many of your type in his life that even if he hadn’t met you before he would’ve been able to sniff you out the second you walked backstage. Users. Social climbers. The bored and braindead looking for their next toy. The exact kind of person he’s been trying to protect Jeongguk from this whole time, and now you’re on his arm. 

And whatever, a hookup is one thing. Yoongi frankly doesn’t give a fuck where Jeongguk decides to stick his dick. The less he knows the better on that front. But a relationship? No, it isn’t real. Yoongi knows that much. Maybe it is for Jeongguk, but not for you. He's never even heard Jeongguk, hopeless romantic extraordinaire, talk about you.

Jeongguk introduces you as his girlfriend, and suddenly it’s like Yoongi’s watching a car crash in slow motion. He prays that he’s not alone, that Jimin and Taehyung have caught on to your piss-poor acting skills—seriously, you look like you’re about to pass out—but it looks like Yoongi’s entirely alone on this one. You have them wrapped around your little finger with minimal effort. He has a feeling that comes as naturally to you as breathing.

Of course, Yoongi has the added displeasure of having met you before, way back when. When you had the chance to be somebody, before you pissed it away, to what? To pout in front of a camera for a living? He thought he’d run out of ways to be wrong about you four years ago, but clearly you just can’t help yourself.

And of course you don’t remember him. Why would you?

Yoongi knows Jeongguk better than anybody. He also knows that thing people say about teenagers is true. If you tell them not to do something, they’ll only want to do it more. Jeongguk may be a grown man now, but he’s stubborn as fuck, and he never grew out of that. If he goes to Jeongguk and flat-out tells him that his girlfriend is a piece of human garbage, Jeongguk will only date her harder.

He tries to control the infection at the source by confronting you directly, but it’s clear the fire that he thought you lacked is, in fact, there, if only to piss Yoongi off.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

Okay.

If that’s how you want to play, Yoongi can fucking play. He’s going to make you wish you’d left Jeongguk alone when he gave you the chance.

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[jolapeno]

touch me. move me.

javier peña x f!reader wordcount: 910 warnings: smut. just ridin', after thigh ridin'.

Javier’s mouth lingers against your breastbone, his warm breath unfurling in soft trails along your skin.

Thick beads of sweat slip down your spine, skimming and sliding as his fingers dig further into your hip. It’s almost bruising, biting, likely leaving a pattern as you bear down. Hoping later you’ll be able to run your hands over each mark, even if his grip is nothing but guiding, aiding.

He’s perfect inside of you.

Real; something that's not formed of dreams or fantasies, chest heaving as you sink down, slow, inch by inch, a roll of your hips—dragging your needy, swollen pussy up and down, up and down.

There are still lines of silvery pre-come scratched across his lower stomach, drying in the hair around his naval. It’s there from when you’d stained his jeans, dragged your slickened folds against the rough fabric—him wanting his pleasure drawn out, wanna watch you come first. A glint in his eyes, lips moulding over yours until he’d whispered, no demanded—úsame, hermosa, you can use me.

You did, had done. Riding his thigh, chin lifted, eyes taking in his ceiling and the fan which struggled to disperse the thickening heat. His sofa had groaned when his leg raised, forcing his covered thigh up against you, scratchy, your chest heaving—pleasure desperate, it trying to rip its way through you, clawing. One hand on your waist, ribs expanding as you choke on mews, the other hand on his freed cock, it twitching, not able to take his fucking eyes from you—need to fuck you, Peña.

Now you are. A reward for being good, he’d smirked. His eyes now taking you in atop him, brown depths, holes. Enough to dive into, drown. Ravenous, incensed, it’s all utterly maddening as his thrusts meet yours, his fingers sliding up your neck. They catch, his nails, as your pussy makes vulgar noises around him, it grounding you as his lewd mouth slants over yours. Overcome by it all, every scent, every sound and the pleasure that shouldn’t be there for him, but it is, it is, it is.

You disliked him, or you did half a year ago. It had changed thirteen weeks ago, having found yourself introduced to his bedsheets, to how his bedframe clangs against the wall—plaster crumbling as he hissed in your ear.

The way the two of you have been, you’re surprised it’s not a crater, a cavity signed with your initials and his.

Been thinking about you all day. A shiver sparks down your throat as his voice pulls you back, his teeth grazing against your jaw—eyes finding yours, dark, voracious. You're lightheaded from it, your pussy spasms as a whine forcing its way out.

Too good, you think. Too good at this.

At knowing the spots, the ways he can undo you, turning you into a tangled mess, a puddle, a mess. The room is thick with sin, sweat, all heady—his thumb pressing to your swollen nerves, circling, nodding as you emit a needy cry as if knowing. Taunting. Always cocky, always having a right to be.

But beneath that hardened exterior, you know a truth few others see: he’s sweet—or can be. Less gruff, less heavy, a man who, in another life, might laugh deeply instead of hiding it behind a snort. He licks into your mouth, carrying a faint trace of smoke, a dark, lingering burnt taste. A dusky stain—one you cling to, let the hint of fire and ash burn your lungs.

Your movement flows in reaction, molten, magnetic, sticky fingers pressing to your neck as he leaves your clit. His eyes lock on you, a silent devotion, mouth agape as you take him to the root, fluttering, pressure building.

It builds, feverish—humming in your ears, a rush in your veins.

He’s so deep it’s unforgiving, hitting deep, skin prickling. Close, I’m close. His voice an anchor, eyes meeting his, body rolling with him, fingers tangled in the longer strands close to his neck. I know, let me have it. Hips snapping to his, almost trembling—face buried in his neck as you moan. The pace faster, praise there nestled between hisses, occasionally breaking through, forming words, good girl, like that.

You keen. Aware, distantly, of nails digging into his skin, piercing, leaving half-moons as your skin burns, it all thick around your neck as your lower stomach becomes nothing but molten heat, lungs utterly breathless. His hand, large, all deft fingers, palms at your breast, nipple pinched between thumb and finger, tongue laving at your neck, teeth grazing. It building, and building. It overtaking, mind rendering—

You tighten, clench—hearing nothing but white noise.

Then, it’s blistering heat. Every other sense fading, dissolving—pleasure flooding you. It spurns, rips up from somewhere. All static, a choked wail in your throat as you uncoil and his grip tightens, likely deepening the shade of your skin under the pressure as his cock pushes you through it, chanting his name, Javier, Javier, Javier.

Over-blissed, you feel his release. A pulse, him spilling into you with a grunt that’s bitten back—hissing it through his teeth, tip of his tongue there as his hips shudder, jolt.

You don’t dare move, simply melt into him, muscles yielding as you dissolve together into a seamless tangle of limbs. Skin sweat-slicked, seeing the wrecked look on his face—admiring it.

His gaze drops to where the two of you meet, yours following. Seeing the sight of his and your pleasure on the inside of your thighs, leaking out—staring down as he pulls himself from you with a whimper—seeing how it glistens, shimmers. His fingers are the second reason you gasp, two of them, swiping across your flesh as he lifts it, playing with it, coating his touch in your two’s pleasure, bringing it to his lips as you watch, in awe, captivated.

Then you crash your mouth to his, lips bruising—devouring, feasting.

“Stay,” he asks.

You smile against his mouth.

AN: drabbles may be posted here. but series/one shots will still live over on AO3.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Eddie loved flying. When the sun was out and he could watch the cars and houses get smaller while they reached altitude. When everything felt a bit lighter and his stress was under the clouds.

He did not love flying when the weather was bad.

In fact, he’d joked with the flight attendant that maybe they should delay the flight until the wind and dark clouds passed, but she just laughed and said the pilots were used to it.

Good for them. Eddie wasn’t.

He always sat in the window seat in first class, usually had some old businessman on his way to close a very important deal next to him. That wasn’t an option for this last minute flight though, so he was in the last row of the plane, leg bouncing nervously as people continued to board.

“As a courtesy to those around you, please stow your personal items under the seat in front of you as soon as you are in your seat. This allows a faster boarding process for all of us. Thank you!”

The announcement was a reminder that Eddie was flying without his usual carry-on items. His tour manager had packed him a checked bag and sent him on his way.

So he had his phone and his wallet, and eyes looking out the window next to him watching rain start to hit the tarmac below.

“Excuse me, I think that’s my seat,” a man’s voice said from the aisle.

Eddie looked over and saw a long line of men roughly his age in matching track suits, backpacks over their shoulders, and the Notre Dame logo on their jackets.

They were all tall. Well, all except the guy talking to him now. He was pretty average size.

“Uh. I don’t think so man. I’m 36F,” Eddie answered as kindly as his nerves would allow.

The guy checked his phone, brows creasing together.

“I’m 36F.”

No fucking way was Eddie giving up his window seat.

“Is there a problem?” A flight attendant asked from behind them.

“We’re both supposed to be in 36F?” The guy held his phone towards the attendant.

“May I see your boarding pass, sir?” The attendant asked Eddie.

Eddie pulled his own phone out, holding out the mobile boarding pass for her to see it.

“Sorry sir, it looks like you should be in 36E.”

Oh no.

Oh god no.

A middle seat?

There was no fucking way.

“I’m sorry, would it be at all possible for me to be in a window seat?” Eddie didn’t want to cause problems, but his chest was starting to clench and his breaths were coming in short pants.

“Unfortunately, this is a sold out flight. We wouldn’t have any available for you.”

He could feel eyes on him, quite a few of them, but none as obvious as the guy who actually belonged in 36F.

“We can just switch, man. No big deal.”

Eddie sighed with relief.

“Thank you, yeah. That’d be great.”

The attendant nodded and gestured for the guy to sit down.

Someone behind him sat on his other side and they immediately started talking as if nothing had happened.

See? Eddie had actually done them a favor! Now he could talk to his teammate for whatever sport he played and Eddie could watch their impending demise through the window.

The plane was rocking back and forth from the force of the wind blowing outside and the sky continued to grow darker despite the early afternoon hour. Eddie was considering sending a goodbye text to his band when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Hey, you okay?”

Eddie’s eyes widened as he turned to look at the guy next to him.

“Do you normally get nervous when you fly? Or is this your first time?” He continued. “Sometimes it helps to just close your eyes during takeoff.”

It was kind of him to try this, truly, but Eddie knew kindness wouldn’t save them if lightning hit them.

“I’m just not a fan of storms.”

The guy was watching him while his teammate on the other side of him talked to the guys across the aisle. Eddie was surrounded by this entire team. The irony was not lost on him that he spent so much of his youth expressing disdain for sports ball and might die among a group of sports ball players.

“Steve.” The guy nudged his shoulder against Eddie’s instead of offering his hand, an odd thing to do but the contact was grounding.

“Eddie.”

“You wanna hold my hand?”

Did they already die during takeoff? Did Eddie somehow end up in heaven?

This very attractive man, who definitely didn’t even know who Eddie was, was offering comfort in these trying times. Offering to hold his hand!

“Uh.”

Steve smiled. “It’s okay if not, but I figured it might help you focus on something else.”

“Sure.”

Steve held his hand out, palm up, and Eddie laced their fingers together.

“So, Eddie. Tell me where you’re off to.”

Eddie breathed in, breathed out. “My Uncle. He’s getting his appendix out so I’m trying to get there before he wakes up.”

“Oh. I had mine out when I was 10! Is he okay?” Steve seemed genuinely concerned and Eddie felt his stomach swoop.

“Yeah! Yeah, they caught it before it ruptured. But because of his age, they said his recovery might be a little rough so I’m gonna stay with him for a week to make sure he doesn’t overdo it. He’s a stubborn old man who’d probably be pulling weeds from his garden within hours if I wasn’t going so.” Eddie looked back out the window. Fingers reached under his chin, turning him away from the window.

“Eyes on me.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Eddie nodded and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Good.”

Fuck.

“So, you’re close with your uncle?” Steve asked, as if he hadn’t just turned Eddie’s entire world upside down.

“Mhm. He basically raised me. More like a dad,” Eddie whispered out.

The pilot was making an announcement, but you couldn’t pay Eddie to tell you what it was for. He barely even noticed that they were backing away from the boarding zone.

“Do you visit him often?”

“As often as I can. My job keeps me busy,” Eddie shrugged, not really wanting to give it away, didn’t wanna give Steve a reason to look at him differently.

Eddie was gonna soak up this attention as long as he could.

It was actually helping distract him.

“I get that. I mean, I play basketball for Notre Dame and it basically is a full time job. We travel so much, most of my classes are online. I hardly ever get back home to visit my family,” Steve admitted with a sad smile. “Luckily, they come see me at my home games when they can. Does your uncle get to visit you sometimes?”

Just as Eddie went to answer, he caught lightning out of the corner of his eye and his entire body tensed.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was firm, drawing his attention away from the window quickly. “Keep your eyes on me. We’re fine. Just you and me talking right now.”

They were nearly at the runway for takeoff and it was getting harder to focus on Steve’s words, the warmth of his hand in his, the fact that if it were truly dangerous, they wouldn’t even be cleared for takeoff.

As the plane sped up, Eddie whimpered.

He’d be embarrassed later if he survived.

Steve’s hand pulled from his and wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him against his side while his other hand cupped the back of his head and kept his face against his chest.

“Just breathe. I’ve got ya.”

And really, if the plane went down in flames, no one could save them. But hearing it did help, especially with arms holding him so tightly, he almost didn’t even remember he was on a plane.

But not quite.

The wind was strong enough to make the takeoff rough, shaking the plane more than usual as it left the ground.

Eddie’s hand gripped Steve’s shirt so tight, he would probably cause a tear if his nails weren’t so dull.

He stayed like that while they continued to climb above the clouds, the air pockets making the flight a bit more turbulent than Eddie was okay with.

He felt the vibrations of Steve talking, but didn’t hear him, didn’t even know if he was talking to him or the guy next to him who probably thought Eddie was an idiot.

The pilot made an announcement he didn’t hear, but he figured if he was gonna die, he could die against the chest of a nice, hot guy.

“Worst of it’s almost done, babe,” Steve said, lips against the top of Eddie’s head.

Gareth would never stop teasing him about this if he ever found out.

Being consoled by a sports ball guy during a flight he’s taken at least 30 times in the last two years.

New low? Maybe new high if he managed to get his number.

Steve’s fingers played with his hair, and he slowly felt his body relax.

His last thought before drifting asleep was how nice it was to be held like this.

***

“I think he’s probably a cookie guy.”

Eddie’s eyes blinked open to Steve’s voice quietly rumbling in his ear.

He’d been adjusted at some point so his head rested on Steve’s shoulder, one hand against his chest.

He couldn’t remember the last time he fell asleep on a flight. Maybe the last time they flew to London from LA right after a show?

And those had been perfect flying conditions.

He lifted his head as he rubbed at his eyes and tried not to let the butterflies take over when Steve’s hand squeezed his hip.

“Hey sleepyhead. You want cookies or pretzels?”

“Cookies always. Please.” Eddie yawned.

As he took the package of Biscoff cookies, he noticed how smooth the flight was and the sun shining through the window.

Steve’s arm stayed around him.

The entire flight.

Even after he’d gotten up to use the restroom.

Even when there was no real reason to offer him comfort anymore.

Even when they landed on the runway in Indianapolis and the seatbelt light turned off.

Even while they talked to each other the entire flight, sharing the smallest details about themselves as if it was a first date.

“Would it be okay if I get your number? I’d like to check on your uncle later if that’s okay,” Steve asked, suddenly seeming more nervous than he had the entire flight.

I’m “Yes! Yeah, please,” he quickly typed it into Steve’s phone, putting his name as Eddie M 🛫. “Uh, thanks for, ya know, helping. Kind of embarrassing.”

“No reason to be embarrassed. It was scary.”

“Yeah. I just figured I fly so much, I should be used to it.”

“You never told me what your job was,” Steve nudged him as he pocketed his phone.

“I didn’t.” Eddie almost didn’t wanna ruin this. But he’d figure it out or find out and then it’d be worse. “I’m the lead singer for Corroded Coffin.”

“Is that…a famous band?”

The guy on the other side of Steve smacked his shoulder. “Dude, one of their songs is on our locker room hype playlist. Dustin’s obsessed.”

“Shut up, Lucas. You know I have my own playlist!” Steve turned back to Eddie and rolled his eyes. “Sorry. So you’re like famous.”

“You could say that,” Eddie hated saying it though, at least in these situations. “You really didn’t know?”

“Nah. I’m more of a pop and 80s kinda guy.”

“Maybe you could send me a playlist? Ya know, when you check on my uncle later,” Eddie suggested.

“Sure. I’ve got a two and a half hour bus ride back to campus to work on one.” Steve smirked. “You gonna be alright now?”

“Yeah. Thanks again. For taking care of me.”

“Anytime. Anything you need.”

And Eddie was pretty sure he meant it.