#so the knuckles series sure was something

[palettepainter]

Cheese test

We're back again baabbyy!

More stuff with @muletia merformer au, this time, with Megatron! Tfp Megatron's design is so fucking cool and honestly, he might just be one of my favs from the series purely from a design perspective, of COURSE I had to write something with the big grump

Warnings: Swearing but that's cuz Megatron is a jerk, very brief chase scene? Reader briefly thinks Megatron is actually going to kill them for being too silly (don't worry they live)

Again this merformers au belongs to muletia, I went with their hc of Megatron being an axolotl mermaid

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You’re learning more and more just how hard it is to diferintiate between genuine curiosity…and outright stupidity 

You’re pretty sure this leaned more into the realm of undoubtful stupidity, and yet, your curiosity urged you to pursue with your plan 

From your place sat on the log you hum lowly and slowly, turning squinted eyes over to the massive body breaching the water and lounging tranquilly in the shallows not too far from you. His eyes are closed, face set in a resting scowl, immense form shifting with the gradual rise and fall of his deep breaths that, to anyone none the wiser, would give the impression he was snoozing 

You on the other hand, know better than to ever assume the beast of the lake is never aware of your presence in his territory 

As you stand, the dirt crunches beneath the soles of your shoes, the mers external gills don’t even lift to the sound, though you know he definitely heard you.

He is completely, utterly unthreatened by your presence, you would be to if your roles were reversed… 

A wicked smile curled onto your face

Speed walking to the water, glancing to the mer every few seconds, you carefully wade out from the shallows until the water breached over the top of your knees. It’s naturally cold, but not so cold to at all deter you from your current objective - your sense of logic and intrigue can’t agree on if that’s for better or worse 

It’s impossible to be discreet with how every movement, no matter how subtle, pulls sloshes from the water as it rippled around your legs. For a terrified second, when you hear the sound of something massive shifting behind you, you froze like a petrified goat, worried you had been too loud. 

Your mer acquaintance was not fond of being disrupted

Mouth pressed into a nervous line, you shyly peer over your shoulder to glance in his direction- and a cool rush of relief floods over your form when the source of the sound was only due to him turning his head away

Based on how steady his breathing sounded, you wager he’s not going to move anytime soon

Perfect 

Suppressing the urge to giggle evilly to yourself you fluidly dunk your hand under the water, grasping at a clutch of reeds which you easily uproot from their secured spot in the moist earth below

They wilt over your knuckles, water rushing off them in ribbons which soon turned to sad, pitiful drips that return to the lake below

You had grabbed at more than you wanted, but you’re filled with such a potent mix of giddy excitement and crippling anxiety that you don’t have any attention spare to fuss over the finer details 

Time to get that bastard back 

Your little scheme for revenge was all the stupid mers fault anyway, how were you supposed to know he was going to react in such a way?!

You’d left town for a week to meet up with family up in the city, just a general catch up to exchange how dull or exhilarating life had been since the last time you’d gathered. Of course, once you’d returned home, you’d traced the familiar woodland path down to the secluded lake to check in with the grouch of a mer that resided there

It was the first instance you could vouch were he had clingy, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think that mister cranky had missed little old you~

Of course, you had teased, just a tiny bit, the responding growl told you Megs did not welcome such behaviour, so instead, you’d spared him of such torment (though you had stashed away the event for future teasing purposes~) and instead told to him the details of your little getaway

Naturally, as with most of your visits, you did all the talking while your mer was mostly quiet, save for the periodic huff, snarl or eyeroll, which was generally as far as his emoting ever went 

You didn’t mind his silence, you’d grown quite accustomed to it, in an odd way, there was something comforting about it, soothing even 

It was when you decided it was time to leave that your grudge against the mer had started.. 

He refused to let you move. At all. 

Anchoring you in place with his giant forearm that effortlessly weighed down your legs, in spite of your fruitless efforts to shove him away. His warning growls fell on stubborn, deaf ears as you contemplated the risk of just screaming for help to see if he’d flee to the safety of the water: what you did instead was arguably more dumb

You bit him

Well, attempted was more accurate 

You don’t even know why you did, it was so random

You’d barely managed to leave a faint dent in the surface of his tough skin, all you’d gained was a weird taste in your mouth - a mix between fishy and earthy tasting - and a fucking bite to your own shoulder!

Which was NOT easy to patch up you would add!

What was worse?? That stupid, smug jerk actually had the audacity to look pleased with himself at how shaken silly you were, all blood rushing from your face leaving you a pale, ghostly, trembling mess

You really thought, for a split second, that he was going to tear your whole arm off (it would have been too easy for him to do so), but instead he wanted to return the favor. Except while your bite hardly left a scratch, his left you with an impressive - for lack of better terms - hickey

Somehow, you had managed to successfully conceal it from view under turtlenecks, jumpers and various hoodies. Though you did get a bunch of weird looks from people on that one particular hot day not too long ago

You scowl thinking back on it

‘Big meanie..’

Reeds in hand, you travel back to the shore and begin to approach the massive mer, your chest puffed out as if you had earned the right to approach him

As the space between you and him grew smaller he continued to not show any acknowledgement, even if you knew he was acutely aware of just how near you were. You stop some ways from him, just out of arms distance for yourself, but you are well within his grabbing range, still, you are not deterred

Concealing the reeds behind your back, you hop up on your heels, speaking in your best, casual voice “Hey Megs!”

No reaction, as you expected 

“Meeegs~�� your voice drawled, in a way that was purposely aggravating, and to your own credit, it succeeded in exactly the way you wanted it to: the long, frilly gills that fell down the back and around the sides of Megatron’s head ghosted with movement, unable to block the annoying, sing-songy quality of your tone 

Still, he does not move 

Feeling bold, you take a few steps forward. You briefly debated prodding him with a finger, but decided that might be a bit much

“Hey big guy, I wanna show you something” 

In response, the giant mer actually rumbled, a deep sound that grumbles from the back of his throat like an alligator bellow. Seeing that you now, at the very least, hold a fraction of his attention you lean in to hammer the final nail into the coffin

“Don’t worry, it’s a gift. You’ll like it! I promise”

….Unhurriedly, his head turned in his folded arms

An ancient, crimson eye peeled open to squint at you, another soft bellow rumbling from his throat 

As he considered your words, you continued to smile, praying that your act was convincing and that he somehow hadn’t seen through your innocent facade The weight of his stare is crushing, the cold, calculated eyes of a predator, examining you as if you are a miniscule specimen under a microscope 

Or a pathetic mouse curled before him 

Positive that you’ll never be unaffected by his stare, you can’t help but shift on your feet, the awkwardness at his prolonged silence beginning to stir a broth of fresh new nerves. You avert your gaze, the muscles of your face beginning to grow sore from how you were having to force your smile from shrinking back  

In that moment, he snorted through his nose, a puff of air that hits the nearby grass and had the long blades leaning back. While his face was often carved into a seemingly everlasting grimace, even you can recognise smug enjoyment when you see it 

‘Arrogant fucker’

“Can you at least try and look like you’re interested?..” you deadpan at him, not trying to conceal the unimpressed edge to your tone at how difficult he was being

The single eye that studied you narrowed, pupil dilating to an irked slit, obviously not keen on you speaking to him in such a way

If to merely aggravate you further or because he was simply in one of his moods, but the only movement he made was a faint, just barely registered, annoyed flick of his tail in the water 

Frowning, you mirror his expression, not naive enough to believe you stand a chance of intimidating him into doing as you asked, or ever will - if Megatron could laugh you know he’d cackle unapologetically at the notion - but you weren’t going to buckle so easily, not this time

He doesn’t back down, his rumbling morphing to a shallow growl at your boldness to meet his glare evenly, daring you to keep pushing his buttons, which he would never admit you were extremely good at 

He would also never admit, even to himself, that his tolerance of you was in no way related to your heedless bursts of boldness so long as he drew breath

That you’re maddening skill to delicately tow the line between the embodiment of allurement and being a downright, brainless, half-wit moron was as delicious and enticing as it was vexing

He didn’t even know when it was his displeasure towards your very presence had begun to fade

When had it started??...Was it possibly that first occasion in which you had settled at his lake all those months ago after so many times of traversing the nearby footpaths? So unaware of just how close to danger you had placed yourself?? Just feet away from the waters edge

Was it the sheer informality in which you had gasped upon catching his eyes peeking above the water near you, and the following eccentric coeing that fell from your mouth? The way you had held out your arm above the water in some attempt to try and encourage him closer?? Were you sane??

He had been set on eating you. He SHOULD have eaten you. Why didn’t he eat you? Why did he allow you - a puny little human of all things! - to exist in his presence?..

His eye widened the next second when you leaned away, giving him a closed eye shrug, scowl wiped from your face “Well, if you don’t want to see it I guess I’ll just go home”

Megatron couldn’t help what happened next

As you pretended to take a step back and turn, with the guise of walking over to your shoulder bag sitting back by the log, you instantly smile in silent victory upon hearing Megatron’s great body moving

The pebbles of the ground shift and crunch at the movement of his mighty frame rising, the sound of the water being disrupted by the motion of a body made of pure muscle, and before you know it, one large, giant arm is slamming into the earth just inches from your side 

You pause, glancing to it, and at the way in which his claws sink and drag into the sand, easily carving miniature trenches into the dirt 

You fight yourself from smiling too widely in sucess 

When you return your gaze to him, craning your neck upward at a painful angel so that you could meet his eyes, his ruby pupils are nothing but annoyed, symmetrical lines across his face

He frowned deeply at you, and as if to drive home the fact he is anything but entertained at whatever game you are attempting to play, he huffed indignantly down at you, his breath shooting out and ruffling the hair on your head

“Glad to see I have your attention~” you don’t even have the civility to sound remotely regretful for enraging him, and quite suddenly, Megatron seemed to process bluff, the fins along the sides of his head rising at your audacity 

He snarled, lips drawing back over knife like teeth and settling in a sneer. You don’t so much as hear his growl as much as you feel it reverberating through the ground, rattling your bones as if they were frail toothpicks

Involuntarily, your pupils shrink, one single, solid reminder of the great power imbalance at play in your friendship with the mer 

With your attitude corrected, you quickly fumble an apology, especially since you don’t care for the calculating look in Megatron’s eyes, as if he was debating the reward factor of tossing you into the lake like a skimming stone 

“Hey, come on, I was just playing. I wasn’t actually going to leave!” boldly, Megatron’s brow cocked an inch up his forehead, his growling decreasing only just, but not enough for your comfort “Really I wasn’t!” you press, gesturing with your hand that wasn’t holding the reeds

“I just really wanted to show you my gift, it’s super important”

At the mention of your ‘gift’, Megatron’s head pulled back, his expression making way for puzzlement and, perhaps, just the tiniest bit of curiosity. At the very least, his growling ceased, that was a win

You take a small step back, judging the distance between yourself and his face as you mentally and physically hype yourself up for your final move

Megatron only tilted his head by a fraction to the left watching you, his eyes half lidded, resuming his typical look of boredom, as if in that moment he was only humouring you by offering his attention 

Timidly, the voice in the back of your mind peeped up to remind you that it wasn’t too late for you to retreat, but the muffled pain originating from your shoulder isn’t so numbed that you had forgotten how Megtron had bitten you

How the extent of your injury could have been worse if he had been careless, how his bite caused far more damage than yours did to him, that he had completely over reacted and that it was his fault anyway! If he hadn’t been such a melodramatic baby and let you leave you wouldn’t be in this position in the first place!

Nah, you say to your reasoning, this stupid fish deserved what you had prepared 

Bouncing on your heel again, you beam up at his indifferent face undeterred “Okay! You ready for your gift?~”

Megatron responded with a blink, the digit of his hand tapping against the dirt

A crack in your innocent act formed when you fail to restrain a snicker from passing your lips, a sound which ruffles the fins of Megatron’s head and has his frown twitching, wondering what on earth it is you have to laugh over

But before he can ponder the topic for a moment more, his eyes widen when you unexpectedly draw your arm back, and before he can blink, you catapult it forward-

SPLAT

Something wet smacked onto his face, hitting him squarely between his eyes

With a shriek that rattled within the walls of your skull, Megatron reared backwards, startling you as much as it scares you as his tail crashed wildly in the water, sending colossal waves crashing towards the boundary of where the water met the land

Madly, you leapt backwards to narrowly dodge the water that crashed higher up the earth from Megatron’s thrashing, the ginormous mer hissing loudly 

The tantrum lasts both a few seconds and an eternity before he settles, aware of how he wasn’t being attacked and that he registered no immediate pain across his body, despite how his vision was obscured

His posture was tense, shoulders tucked upward near his neck, greedily inhaling air through flared nostrils and the grand, feathery like fins that circulated his head sprung outward, making him look like a petrified, poor excuse for a sunflower 

….You bite your lip to muffle your snicker at witnessing Megatron, the giant, scary mer, freaking out over a handful of harmless reeds!

You can envision the loading symbol above his head as he analysed what it is that you just did, and in that very moment, as the reeds slowly slide down from his eyes and hook over the small bump that made his nose - leaving him blinking hard as his vision was resorted, fins still snapped open - do you lose it 

“PFT-BWAHAHA!!-”

Desperately clutching your own stomach, you try to focus on remembering to breathe between your hysterics while also trying to not fall over onto your rump. You end up in a position with your hands perched on your knees, hunched over with your face burning from the intensity of how hard you’re wheezing 

“O-Oh my god! That was! Y-YOU LOOKED SO STUPID!!” you cackled, tears threatening to pour from your eyes “You just- t-the way you LEAPED! BACK!-” 

Oh how you WISHED you had been filming that!

“I didn’t even think you would react to it. B-But-” you throw your head up to Megatron, who still sat rooted in the lake, though now, his head has turned in the direction of your voice “-but the way you- you SHRIEKED! AT REEDS!!” 

You didn’t think it was possible for somebody to laugh this hard 

Perhaps it was your own laughter that made you miss the crucial detail of how Megatron’s body had grown eerily tense..

He doesn’t make a sound, not that you would have noticed, too busy trying to catch your breath with little success

“O-Oh ho! OH! Oh my god that was beautiful! T-That was the most HILARIOUS thing!!” Gradually, your chuckling turned into winded snickers, almost making yourself light headed from the way your body comes down from the height of your giggle fit

Oh ho NOTHING you did from this point onward in your life was ever going to top that!

With one hand fanning your face and the other wiping away a single tear from the corner of your eye, you blow out a breath, exhausted from the sheer power of how hard you had been laughing 

“Whew! Wow, that was so good. Pure gold!” Still regaining control of your respiratory system you inhale a few calming breaths as you turn towards the lake- and are met with a wall of flesh 

In an instant, you don’t find the situation nearly as humorous, especially when your brain analyzes the deep, steady growling that shook the surface of the water with its intensity

…You turn your head up, and up, and up

Swallowed in the mers shadow, it was revealed that Megatron was the source of the powerful bellow, teeth bared in a ferocious display that has your stomach plummeting to the pits of hell, hissing lividly down at you, tail lashing behind him like a colossal, pissed off feline

The reeds where still hanging over his nose, but it’s very obvious that his eyes are honed solely on you

His hands and his claw tipped fingers are lodged into the earth, fisting the dirt in a crushing grip, so strong it looked painful 

Your voice of reasoning blared in your head, calculating your error

For this occasion, you conclude that perhaps you had mistaken stupidity for curiosity 

….You gulp, sweating

“Ah…ha. Um- no hard feelings?”

The volume of his growling skyrocketed

Yep. This was definitely, by far, the most STUPID thing you’d done

You bolt 

Behind you, Megatron advanced like an angry guard dog on steroids, pursuing you with a mighty roar that you swear shook the very sky itself. You dare not look back, sprinting past your backpack with all the grace of a caffeinated ostrich

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’MSORRY-” you pleaded, Megatron crashing behind you

If you knew your PE lessons back in school were going to lead to you trying to outrun one seriously ticked off mermaid you sure would have put more effort in

You don’t make it far, not before a vice grip clamped around your calf and yanked you back. Hard.

You collapsed with a scream, unable to tell if it’s more from fear or from the pain that now seized your muscle

You fall too quickly, and you don’t have a chance to process your balance being thrown off before gravity is already working it’s wonders and pulling you downward, where your front collided into the solid ground

You grunt, falling still for about two seconds before you feel how you’re being, at a painfully slow pace, dragged backwards 

‘FUCK-’

Without thinking you begin to madly claw at the ground in an attempt to latch onto anything! A sticking out root, a rock, a particularly large tuft of grass, you don’t care! Every single cell in your body scrambling for some perch of stability in the rapidly unstable situation that was the work of your own imbecilic creation

Alas, your efforts as as affect as sticking a molten knife through butter, you continue to be dragged backwards

You can hear your own pulse thundering loudly in your ears as it feels like your heart is trying to claw itself out of your chest and flee to the safety beyond the treeline 

When the sunlight vanishes, as you are bathed in the cool shade of Megatron’s shadow, you’re ninety percent sure you might just vomit from the stress

Your scrambling becomes further chaotic 

“Okayokay- I’m really sorry it won’t ever happen again I’ll never pull a joke IT WAS JUST A JOKEI’MSORRY!!-”

As you come to a sudden stop, you’re only granted a swift, singular second of peace before that same hand still grasping at your leg forced you to roll over

You gawk, wide eyed and meekly up to Megatron who towered over your measly frame, an inferno reflecting in his eyes that has you feeling like a horror stricken baby rabbit staring down the throat of a salivating wolf

Though honestly, you’d much rather prepare the rapid wolf right now..

“U-Uhm…S-Sooo-” your voice trembled with every word, but you somehow manage to pull a wobbly, professional smile, even in the face of imminent disaster “I uh…t-take it you didn’t find that joke…funny?”

His snarl was so powerful that little drops of spit land on your face, forcing you to blink 

His silver, webbed hand landed over your body faster than lightning, instantly knocking the wind out of you and further trapping you. It was weird, seeing your entire body disappear beneath such an unnaturally large appendage

His claws pierced into the soil as if it was nothing but flimsy paper, and you can’t help but morbidly imagine how effortlessly it would be for him to do the same, but with your own skin

He was leaning those glisening, jagged teeth closer..

Your eyes enlarged, your heartbeat increased, and you began desperately flailing beneath his hand as you felt the huffs of his breath brush against your skin. Fear creeped within you, a cold, icy chill penetrating your very being as all you could do was try to urgently lean your head away from him 

“WaitwaitWAITWAITSTOPMEGATRON-”

SPLAT

Something wet landed on your face 

It was cold, making you jump, and slimy, not the most pleasant feeling

At first, you shivered thinking that Megatron had licked you, but after a beat, and after no violent snarl or merciless clamp of teeth followed, do you dare to peek an eye open cautiously 

Megatron loomed frozen above you, eyes unblinking. His snarling had stopped entirely, and now his mouth only hung partially open

Fearing the moment you moved your eyes off him he would change his mind and do whatever it was he was planning to do to get his revenge, you wait another several seconds before you finally deem it safe enough to go cross eyed, investigating who or what the culprit was behind your damp face

It was the reeds

You stare at them as best you can, Megatron stared too, seemingly lost on how to proceed

….You awkwardly peered away, battling the urge to cough “Um..”

Slit pupils snap to you at an alarmingly quick speed that instantly draws a flinch from your body, trying to squish yourself up and be as small as you can beneath his stare that you can’t decipher

Maybe, just maybe, if you make yourself look as pitiable as possible, you might just escape unscathed

He doesn’t move to release you, but promisingly, he also doesn’t growl when he seems to remember he has you trapped beneath his hand like a bug he’b been about to squish 

He stared, and you squirmed, the atmosphere weighed with a sense of uncertainty for what would proceed

….The tension snapped like a string of thread when he snorted lightly, and when you finally summon the courage to once again peek to his face, you are baffled at the sight of one corner of his mouth curling upward in a smirk

You don’t have much time to remain being astonished however when, finally, Megtron eases himself back, not by much, but enough that you finally feel some semblance of ease and your body compels you to replenish your lungs

Heaving, you let your head fall back into the dirt

“Heh..So..you do find it funny, when it happens to someone else at least” you mumble, not a hundred percent sure if talking is the best course of action, but damn if you don’t need to do something to distract yourself as your heart rate gradually began to return to a normal pace 

Tilting his head down at you in amusement, Megatron lets out a soft bellow, tail idly swishing in the water before he lets it settle and rest. Without freeing you, he raises one finger, directing it to your face

Your panic spiked, and your gut instinct has you ready to propel yourself as far away as you can, leaning your head back while you try to simultaneously lodge your feet in the dirt, while his finger gets far too close for your current liking 

“H-Hey hey- Megatron buddy, w-we’re friends! Please no scratching!..”

As the very tip of his clawed finger brushed the surface of your skin you clamp your eyes shut with a whimper, holding your breath and bracing for the sting of pain 

Instead, that pain never comes

Barely, you catch Megatron huffing again, no doubt highly pleased at the look of pure, unbridled terror on your face, before he easily hooked his finger on the reeds and flicked them away and off your face

When you crack open your eyes, you find Megatron peering down at you with his head braced on the knuckle of his other hand

All bark and bite have left you, it seemed he had gravitated to a more lighter mood, and you are NOT about to ruin that by saying something snarky

You already feel like you’ve lost five years of life from the stress you’d felt in the past three minutes, you don’t fancy losing anymore

You very much like being alive…and not pinned beneath the giant hand of a mermaid 

“Hah…O-Okay, so, you don’t like jokes. Noted” 

Megatron doesn’t grace your statement with a response, his finger tapping and pressing on the material of your shirt that is now semi soaked from the water that runs down his arm onto you

You ignore the feeling, or at least, you give it a valiant effort to 

“Sooo, how about a deal: I won’t pull anymore jokes on you and uh, we let bygones be bygones?”

Again, he gave no acknowledgement, his eyes turned to the fabric of your shirt sleeve that covers your shoulder. He tugs at the collar lightly with his claw just slightly, before releasing it the moment you fear it would begin to tear, possibly intruiged by the foreign material that felt so strange compared to his scales 

Either way, you take his silence and calm attitude as a yes

“Great!” you say, clapping your hands together “Well, now that that little problem is solved, how about you uh..” you timidly tap the base of his wrist twice “Let me up big guy”

There, is when Megatron’s eyes slide back to your face

One corner of his mouth is still partially curled upward, and when you see his brows draw back, and he made a small sound at your request, do you think he was actually going to let this incident roll off his back like water 

…Then his mouth twisted into a full on smirk 

Your hopefulness died 

You grunt when more pressure was applied to the hand that kept you flush against the floor, not crushing you, but the added strength to his hold certainly has you snapping a puzzled stare between his hand and his face

The fins on his head wiggle in a wave, his entire demeanour oozing pleasured delightment at your face 

Without breaking eye contact with you, the finger that had been mindlessly prodding and poking your t-shirt snagged your collar band and pulled it aside, exposing the skin of your shoulder to his view

Your confusion growing, you soon try to attempt, and fail, to shift your shoulder to manoeuvre your shirt back into place, but that only seems to feed the mermaids ego and has his already large smirk expanding

You don’t want to say it, you really don’t want to say it, but you come to accept that you’re simply out of options..

You sigh 

“Can you PLEASE let me up-!!”

The remainder of your sentence is dashed, processing just how suddenly closer Megatron was, and the way his mouth began to part, a mischievous glint in his eye as the distance shrinks further..

‘Oh you motherFUCKER-’

You resume your thrashing, now with more intensity 

“NO! NO NO! NO. Megatron NO! D-DONT YOU-I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU!!- DON’T YOU DAREBITEMY-”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grumbling as you pour the water from your bottle onto a small towel you’d stuffed into your backpack, your irritation morphs to a strained hiss as you gently press the cloth onto your tender shoulder 

You hold the towel there for five seconds, the cooling feel of the damp towel somewhat alleviating the fresh sting that lingers heavily underneath it 

Pulling it away to inspect the damage, you frown at the new red ring imprinted into your skin, a ring that will no doubt leave an imposing scab as it heals 

A chortle has you whirling your head to the lake, where Megatron’s squinted eyes peer over the water at you, sly and cheeky 

Your frown deepened 

“Asshole..”

[kinetic-chaos]

Iblis is so back guys

Inspired by one of the memes on this post!

[misterbaritone]

Despite being a comic book, Kengan Ashura(and Omega too I guess) has more motion blur than I’ve ever seen in any other medium.

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐨 𝐩 𝐞 𝐧 𝐚 𝐫 𝐦 𝐬 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! an unlikely alliance between the pogues and rafe forms as suspicions point to a familiar kook being behind the leaked video, but without proof, the tension’s impossible to ignore. the group teams up (sort of) to figure it out, but the kook-pogue divide is hanging by a thread, and it’s only a matter of time before things blow up.

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: angst , softdom!rafe , sexual content + unprotected shower sex! , fingering , squirting , pogues accidentally hear you and rafe , some fluff , stalker , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 7.6k

notes: this is chapter four of my nobody gets me series. click the links below to read the first chapters! ♡

chapter one: 𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

rafe’s jaw clenched tightly, the muscles ticking as he pressed his phone against his ear, trying to hold back his frustration. ward’s voice droned on from the other end of the line, sharp and condescending, the lecture having gone on for what felt like an eternity.

“—jeopardizing everything, rafe,” ward snapped, his tone cutting through the line like a knife. “our family name is being slandered all over obx, and for what? some girl?”

rafe’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white as his other hand balled into a fist at his side. “it’s not just some girl,” he growled, his voice low.

“oh, really?” ward shot back, the sarcasm in his voice grating. “because from where i’m sitting, it looks like you’ve let some fling drag our name through the mud. rose is getting calls from everyone for god’s sake! do you even understand the kind of damage this is doing?”

rafe’s breath came in sharp bursts as he stared at the wall, his anger barely contained. “i’m handling it,” he said through gritted teeth, though even he wasn’t sure if he believed it anymore.

“handling it?” ward laughed coldly. “you’ve got a sex tape floating around the island, and the entire town knows it’s you. how, exactly, are you handling it, rafe?”

“just trust me, okay?” rafe snapped, his voice rising. “i’ll take care of it.”

“trust you?” ward scoffed. “you can’t even keep your name—and our family’s name—out of the gutter. you think i’m going to trust you to clean this up? you’d better figure it out fast, rafe, because i’m not letting this ruin everything i’ve built.”

the line went dead before rafe could respond, the sound of the call disconnecting echoing in his ears. his hand trembled as he lowered the phone, his entire body tense with rage. “fucking perfect,” he muttered under his breath, throwing the phone onto the couch as he paced the room, the weight of ward’s words pressing down on him like a boulder.

from the doorway, you stood with your arms crossed, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek as rafe’s raised voice echoed through the room. you hadn’t meant to listen in, but with the way he was practically shouting into the phone, it was impossible not to overhear.

each word dripped with frustration and anger, and though you couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together who he was talking to—or what they were talking about. the tension in his tone, the clipped way he spit out his words, made it clear: this wasn’t just an argument, it was a full-blown fight.

you shifted uncomfortably, feeling guilty for standing there, but something kept you rooted in place. maybe it was the way his shoulders tensed with every sharp word, or how he gripped the phone like it was the only thing holding him together. you’d never seen him like this, so unfiltered, so completely on edge.

“rafe?” you finally spoke, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if you were afraid of how he might respond.

his blazed, anger-filled eyes snapped to yours, but the moment he saw you, they softened instantly. the tension in his body seemed to dissipate just slightly, his shoulders dropping. it had been a few days since the video had spread across the island, and this was one of the first times he’d seen you standing on your own.

the sight tugged at his chest. for most of that time, you’d been curled up in his bed, hidden beneath the layers of his oversized hoodie, refusing to eat or even speak to him. it had him worried sick, pacing between his room and the kitchen, trying to figure out how to help you without making things worse.

now, seeing you out of that self-imposed cocoon, he felt a flicker of hope, but also the weight of knowing you were still hurting.

“hey,” he said softly, his tone shifting completely, the frustration from his call gone. “you… you okay?” he asked, his voice careful, as if he were afraid to push too hard and send you retreating again. it was a simple question, but the way he looked at you, like you were the most important thing in the world, made it clear that it wasn’t just small talk. he needed to know—he had to know—that you were okay.

he stepped closer, his movements slow, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of what you were feeling. the silence stretched between you for a moment, heavy and unspoken.

instead of answering, you nodded toward the couch where his phone now sat after being tossed in anger. “daddy dearest, i assume?” you said quietly, your tone laced with a mix of exhaustion and faint humor, though your heart wasn’t really in it.

rafe’s jaw tightened briefly at your words, but then he let out a small, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. “he’s… not exactly thrilled about the current situation.”

he glanced at you, his eyes scanning your face carefully, as though trying to gauge your reaction. “it’s all about the family name, the reputation. nothing new,” he added bitterly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

you stayed silent for a moment, your arms crossing over your chest as you studied him. “you okay?” you finally asked, your voice softer this time.

rafe blinked at your question, surprised. he’d been so focused on worrying about you these past few days that he hadn’t even thought about how he must’ve looked to you—worn down, tense, and barely keeping it together. “me?” he said, letting out a short, dry laugh. “i’m fine. it’s you I’m worried about.”

his gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand hovering near your arm like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him touch you. “you don’t have to worry about him,” he murmured. “or anyone else. i’ll deal with it.”

you smiled softly, not bothering to answer, and instead stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. his body stiffened for a split second, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he relaxed into you, his arms circling your waist tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.

now that you were this close, you could see it—how exhausted he really was. the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders that didn’t seem to ease even as he held you. rafe had been carrying just as much as you, if not more, and the realization made your chest ache.

his hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair as he sighed against your shoulder. “i missed you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, the vulnerability in his tone catching you off guard. “these past few days… you scared me.”

you tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his neck. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words muffled but heartfelt. you hadn’t meant to shut him out, but the weight of everything had been too much, and now, standing here in his arms, you felt a flicker of regret for not letting him in sooner.

“it’s okay,” he replied softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he studied you with those piercing blue eyes that held equal parts concern and relief. “just… don’t do that again, okay? i can’t—i don’t want to lose you.”

your lips parted, but no words came. instead, you nodded, leaning into his touch, letting the silence between you carry the weight of everything unspoken. slowly, you moved closer, your lips just inches from his when his phone, still resting on the couch, buzzed loudly, breaking the moment.

rafe groaned, running a hand down his face. “can never have anything, i swear,” he mumbled as he reluctantly reached for the phone after sitting. his annoyance only deepened when he saw the caller id: sarah.

her name flashing across the screen made his jaw tighten, the memory of their last argument still raw. he hesitated for a moment before pressing the phone to his ear.

“what?” he snapped, his tone sharp and clipped, already bracing himself for another confrontation.

a pause hung on the other end, the silence making his grip on the phone tighten. when sarah finally spoke, her voice was quieter than usual. “we need to talk.”

rafe rolled his eyes, leaning back against the couch. “thought we already said everything there was to say,” he muttered impatiently.

“not about me and you,” sarah replied, her tone softer but still steady. “it’s about y/n.”

his heart stuttered, his posture stiffening as her words registered. “what about her?” he demanded, the edge in his voice sharper now, his protective instincts flaring. from the corner of his eye, he saw you chewing your bottom lip, clearly aware they were talking about you.

sarah cleared her throat, her voice carefully controlled. “how is she doing?”

rafe exhaled, turning his head to glance at you. “she’s getting there,” he admitted quietly, his tone softening slightly. the weight of his words lingered in the air, the silence on the other end of the line growing heavy.

“good,” sarah finally said, her voice hesitant. then, she continued, firmer this time. “listen, the pogues and i are trying to figure out who sent the video. we’ve been going over suspects all night and—”

“don’t bother,” rafe cut in sharply, his words curt and dismissive. “i have rob working on it already.”

there was a pause on the other end, the silence practically dripping with disapproval. “rafe,” sarah finally said, her tone measured, “this isn’t something you can just bulldoze through like one of your deals. rob might be good, but this? this is personal.”

“and what, you think you and your little crew can handle it better?” rafe snapped, his voice rising. “this isn’t some pogue treasure hunt, sarah. this is serious shit. she’s being stalked, and i’m not about to leave this in anyone else’s hands.”

sarah’s sharp sigh cut through the line, her frustration evident. “it’s not about doing it better, rafe. it’s about doing it together. you think you’re the only one who cares about her? we all do. but if you keep shutting everyone out, you’re just going to make this worse—for her and for you.”

rafe didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as her words sank in. deep down, he knew she was right—he couldn’t do this alone. but admitting it felt impossible under the crushing weight of guilt and anger pressing on him.

“if you want to help her, you’ll work with us. accept the help,” sarah said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “if you can, meet us at the chateau—”

“no,” rafe interrupted quickly, his voice resolute. “i’m not leaving the house when there’s a whole-ass stalker around, sarah.”

sarah sighed on the other end, her frustration now mixed with understanding. “then let us come to you,” she offered. “you don’t have to do this alone, rafe. none of us want her to go through this alone either.”

rafe hesitated, his chest tightening at the thought of letting anyone else into the fragile space you both had built. but as much as he hated to admit it, he knew sarah was right. he couldn’t do this alone—not if it meant giving you the support you needed.

“fine,” rafe muttered, glancing at the time on his watch. “be here in an hour.” before sarah could respond, he ended the call abruptly, tossing his phone back onto the couch with a sigh.

you took careful steps over to him, standing between his legs as he leaned back on the couch, watching your every move. without hesitation, he reached out, his hands gently pulling you down onto his lap so you were straddling him. his arms wrapped securely around your waist as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

his hands moved to your hips, rubbing slow, soothing patterns that made you feel grounded despite the chaos surrounding you. “thank you for letting her in,” you mumbled softly against his skin, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled faintly, catching on immediately that you and sarah must have discussed this beforehand. “sneaky,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as his hand moved to cradle the back of your head.

you lifted your face just enough to glance at him, catching the slight curve of his lips. “it’s for the best,” you said gently, your fingers brushing lightly over his biceps.

“we’ll see,” he replied, the softness in his voice betraying his usual skepticism. even so, the way he held you closer said he trusted your judgment, even if it meant letting sarah—and the others—into your carefully guarded space.

after a moment of silence, you sighed and pushed gently against him, only for rafe to groan in protest, tightening his grip on your waist.

“rafe, i have to shower,” you whined, though there was no real frustration in your voice.

he smirked, muttering a soft, “okay,” before standing up with you still straddling him, his arms securely holding you in place. instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he walked the two of you toward his bathroom.

you hid your laughter against his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin as he stepped into the bathroom and set you down on the edge of the sink. his eyes softened as he began peeling your clothes off, taking his time, his movements slow and deliberate. there was something about these moments with rafe that made the rest of the world fade away, like time itself paused just for the two of you.

before long, you were both under the warm spray of the shower, the steam curling around you like a cocoon. rafe stood behind you, his chest pressed to your back as he ran a soapy loofah up your arms, his touch both gentle and grounding. you leaned your head back against his chest, letting your eyes flutter closed, savoring the quiet intimacy between you.

“this okay?” he murmured softly against your ear, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“more than okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. moments like this reminded you of the side of rafe that not everyone got to see—the side that made you feel safe, loved, and completely seen.

rafe let the warm water cascade over your body, rinsing away the lathered soap as you turned to face him. your eyes met his, and without hesitation, you reached up, finally pressing your lips to his in a slow, passionate kiss. it was soft, yet it carried all the emotions you hadn’t been able to express in the past few days.

he froze for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then his hands found your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. it was as if the tension in his chest melted away, his heart pounding against his ribs as he poured everything he’d been holding back into the moment.

he practically lost feeling in his legs, the relief washing over him as much as the water did. it had been days since you’d let him kiss you, days of tiptoeing around your emotions and giving you the space you needed. not that it mattered to him how long it took—he would’ve waited forever if you needed him to.

but god, he’d missed this. the way your lips moved against his, the way your fingers tangled in his wet hair, the way your body pressed against his like it was made to fit perfectly there. it was killing him to restrain himself, to not touch you the way he wanted to.

he let out a soft groan, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his eyes fluttering closed as he let himself savor the moment.

“i’m here,” you whispered back, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you smiled softly.

he opened his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability shining in them before he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you all over again. in that moment, nothing else mattered—not the chaos, not the fear—just you and him, together under the steady rhythm of the water.

the kiss deepened, growing messier and more desperate as rafe pressed you firmly against the cold tiles. the chill of the surface sent a jolt through your body, a soft whimper escaping your lips that only fueled his hunger.

his hand slid from your hair, trailing down your damp skin until it reached the heat between your thighs. the moment his fingers slipped between your folds, he groaned low and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips as your jaw went slack.

“shit,” rafe muttered, his voice thick with need as his lips brushed against yours. his fingers teased your clit, circling just enough to drive you insane. “so fuckin’ wet, huh? just for me?”

you nodded frantically, your breath hitching as he circled your clit faster, pulling a moan from deep within your chest. “just for you,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders for support.

rafe’s cock twitched painfully against his stomach, the sight of you unraveling beneath him nearly pushing him over the edge. “fuck,” he growled, his hips pressing into your hip in a slow, desperate grind. “you’re driving me insane, baby. can’t even think straight.”

his fingers worked faster, slipping inside you as his thumb stayed focused on your swollen bud. the obscene wet sounds of his movements filled the small space, mixing with your breathy moans and his ragged curses. “you feel so good,” he muttered against your neck, his voice strained as he continued to rut against you, craving more.

“rafe,” you moaned, your voice shaky as your body began to tremble against the tiles. “please…”

he smirked against your skin, his teeth grazing your ear as he murmured, “please what? tell me what you need.” his fingers curled inside you, hitting the spot that made your vision blur, pulling another cry from your lips. “come on, use your words.”

“hmph—i need you to fuck me,” you whined, your voice trembling with desperation. the words barely left your lips before a sharp gasp escaped you, rafe’s fingers suddenly speeding up, plunging deeper as his thumb pressed harder against your clit.

“yeah?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his lips ghosting over your jaw as he watched the way your body writhed beneath his touch. “you want me to fuck you, baby? want me to stretch this pretty pussy out?”

you could only nod, your breath hitching as his fingers worked you relentlessly, your hips bucking against his hand. his cock twitched again, painfully hard and pressed against you, and he groaned low in his throat. “you’re so fuckin’ needy,” he muttered, biting down lightly on your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “look at you, begging for it.”

your hands gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as your legs started to shake, the tension in your core building to unbearable heights. “please,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his movements didn’t relent. “please, rafe.”

“oh, i’ll fuck you,” he growled, pulling his hand away abruptly, leaving you whimpering at the sudden loss of contact. before you could even voice a protest, he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly so your legs wrapped securely around his waist. he pressed you harder against the cold tiles, his lips brushing your ear as he continued, “but you gotta cum for me first.”

his fingers slid back inside you, curling perfectly to hit that spot that had you gasping, your back arching against the wall. his thumb found your clit again, rubbing quick, tight circles that made your legs tremble around his hips.

“show me how bad you want it,” he growled, his pace relentless, his voice rough and commanding. the intensity of his touch had you spiraling in no time, your body writhing against his as heat coiled low in your stomach.

you clung to his shoulders as you fell apart, crying out his name so loudly it echoed off the shower walls. “rafe!” you gasped, your body shaking as the waves of your release crashed over you, leaving you a trembling mess in his arms.

he didn’t stop, drawing out every second of your orgasm until you were practically sobbing from the pleasure. a smug grin spread across his face as he watched you, his chest heaving against yours. “that’s my girl,” he murmured, his tone laced with pride.

he slowly pulled his fingers from you, glistening with your release, and without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied groan. his eyes darkened as he savored the taste, his grin widening. “so sweet,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

he tightened his hold on you, his strong hands gripping your hips as he pulled back just enough to create the space you needed. your shaky fingers trailed down between your bodies, wrapping around his swollen, throbbing cock. his breath hitched, and a low, guttural moan escaped his lips as you pumped him a few times, feeling the heat and weight of him against your palm.

“fuck,” rafe muttered, his head dropping to your shoulder as his fingers dug into your skin, the tension in his body palpable. “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

you smirked faintly, your confidence bolstered by his reaction, before guiding him to your entrance. the blunt head of his cock brushed against your slick folds, and you both let out soft, shaky breaths as the anticipation built between you.

he pushed forward just enough for the thick, swollen tip of his cock to slip into your warmth, pulling a moan from both of you. the stretch was intoxicating, the way he filled you so slowly making your breath hitch.

“fuck,” rafe groaned, his voice rough and strained as he paused, savoring the way you clenched around him. his forehead pressed against yours, his hot breath mingling with yours as he struggled to hold himself back. “so tight. so perfect for me.”

your hips shifted instinctively, urging him deeper as a needy whimper escaped your lips. “rafe, please,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. “i need you.”

his jaw tightened, and he smirked faintly, though his restraint was hanging by a thread. “yeah? you want all of me?” he rasped, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pressed a kiss to your parted lips, stealing your breath.

rafe groaned deeply as he pushed in further, the warmth of you pulling him in like a vice. every inch he gave you sent sparks shooting through your body, and the stretch had your head falling back against the cold tile, a desperate moan spilling from your lips.

“fuck,” he hissed, his jaw tightening as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing him so perfectly it nearly made him lose his mind. “you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. like you were made for me.”

you could barely respond, your breath hitching as he stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him. his hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady against the tiles as his lips found your neck, biting and sucking softly, leaving trails of heat wherever he touched.

“move,” you finally gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the ache turned into pure, unfiltered need. “rafe, please.”

he pulled back just enough to tease you, his cock dragging along your walls in a way that made your toes curl before slamming back into you, forcing a loud cry from your lips.

“that’s it,” he growled, finding a rhythm that had the obscene sound of skin against skin echoing in the shower. his grip on your hips tightened as he thrust into you with a hunger that made your head spin. “let me hear you, pretty girl. let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

rafe’s pace grew relentless, his hips snapping against yours with precision, each thrust driving him deeper until he was brushing that perfect spot inside you over and over. your body arched against the tiles, your hands clawing at his back as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

“rafe,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as the pressure inside you built to an almost unbearable peak. the sound of his grunts and the wet slaps of your bodies filled the air, mingling with your desperate cries. “i can’t—oh my god, i—”

“yes, you can,” rafe growled, his voice dark and commanding as his thumb found your clit, rubbing firm, tight circles that sent you spiraling. “you’re gonna give me everything, princess. let it all go.”

you clenched tightly around him, your body trembling as the heat in your core exploded, and with a broken cry, the release hit you hard. the gush of liquid that followed was undeniable, coating rafe’s abdomen and making him groan loudly, his pace faltering for just a second.

“fuck, baby,” he hissed, his voice laced with awe and arousal as he felt you squirting around him, the sheer intensity of your release pushing him closer to the edge. “look at you, soaking me. so fuckin’ perfect.”

your legs trembled around his waist, your head falling back against the tiles as aftershocks coursed through you. but rafe didn’t stop. he kept his hips moving, chasing his own release as his hands gripped your ass tightly, holding you against him.

he groaned as he slammed into you one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled inside you. his grip on you tightened as he buried himself as deep as possible, his breath ragged against your neck.

your body went limp in his arms, both of you trembling from the intensity of what just happened.

he leaned his forehead against yours, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he caught his breath. “never getting over that,” he muttered, his voice filled with pride. “you’re fuckin’ unreal.”

your cheeks warmed instantly at the reminder of what had just happened, and you groaned softly, covering your face with both hands in an attempt to hide your embarrassment. “shut up,” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms.

rafe laughed, a low, satisfied sound, before carefully helping you back onto your feet. your legs trembled slightly, but his steady hands on your hips kept you balanced. once you were stable, he reached up to gently pull your hands away from your face, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

“it’s okay,” he murmured, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back just enough to look at you. “means i did something right.”

your eyes narrowed playfully, and you smacked his chest with a laugh. “rafe!”

he chuckled, rubbing the spot where your hand landed as if it actually hurt. “what? just sayin’.” his smirk widened, and the way he was looking at you—with that cocky, yet adoring gleam in his eyes—had your heart fluttering despite yourself.

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you and rafe were still giggling over some inside joke as you made your way into the living room, his arm lazily draped around your waist, his hand resting instinctively on your hip. but the laughter died on your lips the moment you noticed your friends sitting on the couches, their expressions ranging from awkward to downright tense.

rafe’s brows furrowed immediately, his grip on your hip tightening slightly as his eyes flicked between them. “how the fuck did you guys get in?” he asked sharply, his tone clipped.

sarah cleared her throat, clearly the one to break the silence as she held up a familiar house key. her lips were pressed into a tight line,

her eyes avoiding yours. “i still have my key,” she said quietly, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you glanced between sarah and the rest of the pogues. their silence spoke volumes, and rafe’s jaw tightened beside you, his protectiveness radiating off him in waves. he stared them down, clearly less than thrilled about the uninvited intrusion.

“is there a reason you’re all just… sitting here?” rafe asked, his tone touched with impatience as his gaze lingered pointedly on sarah.

pope shifted awkwardly in his seat, his tone measured as he explained, “we knocked at first, but since no one answered, we thought something was wrong.”

before you could respond, jj piped up with his signature sarcasm. “jesus, bro, we thought you were killing her in there.”

your gasp was immediate, your cheeks heating with mortification as you stammered, “jj!” you quickly brought your hands to your face, covering it in embarrassment.

rafe, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat. his lips curled into a smug smirk, his hand tightening on your hip in a way that made your stomach flip. “if i was,” he drawled cockily, “she was screaming for the right reasons.”

“rafe!” you hissed, swatting his chest in mortified protest. his chuckle only deepened, clearly unbothered by the tension in the room. jj snorted, shaking his head in amusement, while sarah groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to physically block out the mental image.

“can we not?” sarah muttered, her voice low and dripping with exasperation. “i’m already traumatized enough as it is.”

rafe shot her an amused grin, his hand still possessively resting on your hip. “you’re traumatized? imagine how i feel, dealing with all of you breaking into my house.”

jj leaned back on the couch, throwing an arm over the backrest with an exaggerated shrug. “oh, come on, man. we knocked. you didn’t answer, and honestly, from all that ruckus i don’t blame—” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively before you cut in.

your cheeks burned hotter, and you groaned, burying your face in your hands. “oh my god, can we talk about literally anything else?”

“agreed,” sarah interjected quickly, shooting jj a death glare before turning her sharp gaze to rafe. “we didn’t come here for… this. we came because we have a problem to deal with. remember?” her tone turned serious, and the atmosphere in the room shifted.

rafe’s smirk faded instantly, his expression hardening as he stood a little straighter. “what problem?” he asked, his grip on your hip tightening protectively, his eyes narrowing as they locked on his sister.

“we might have a lead,” kie said, her voice cautious as her eyes flickered between you and rafe. “and it’s got more people involved than we think, i’m sure.”

rafe groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair before sinking onto the couch, pulling you down to sit beside him. his hand rested protectively on your thigh as if grounding himself. sarah’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the subtle action, but she chose not to comment. instead, she simply observed, noting how much rafe’s demeanor had shifted in the past few weeks. he cared—more than she’d expected him to.

“so who’s the lead?” rafe snapped, his tone impatient as he looked around the room, waiting for someone to speak up.

after a moment of silence, john b finally answered, “we think it’s barry.”

the name was barely out of john b’s mouth when rafe’s entire demeanor changed. his eyes blazed with fury, his jaw tightening as his hand gripped your thigh. “i’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“rafe, wait,” sarah interjected quickly, holding up her hands as if to calm him. “we don’t know for sure yet.”

“i don’t need to know for sure,” rafe snapped back, his tone laced with venom. “if barry’s even remotely involved in this, he’s dead.” his leg bounced with barely contained energy, his rage practically vibrating off of him.

“look, we’re all pissed,” pope said, his voice firm but measured. “but if we go in guns blazing without proof, we’re just gonna make it worse.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring as he fought to rein in his temper. “he’s not getting away with this,” he muttered darkly, his gaze flicking to you briefly, softening for just a moment before hardening again. “not after what he’s done.”

“you said there were more people involved,” you finally spoke up, your voice soft but steady as your fingers absentmindedly traced soothing patterns on rafe’s knuckles. his hand had been clenched into a tight fist, but your touch seemed to ease some of the tension, his grip relaxing slightly under your gentle movements.

all eyes turned to kie, who nodded slowly. “we’re not sure how many, but it’s definitely not just barry,” she explained. “the way the video spread so fast, the timing—it’s organized. someone else is pulling strings here.”

rafe let out a low growl, his jaw tightening again. “so who the fuck else is it?” he demanded, his voice sharp and filled with impatience.

“we don’t know yet,” john b admitted, his tone cautious. “but if it’s barry, then it’s probably someone he’s working with. he doesn’t have the brains to pull something like this off on his own.”

“or the resources,” pope added, leaning forward with a frown. “he’s got connections, but not that kind of reach.”

you glanced at rafe, watching the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to rein in his anger. his knuckles had whitened from the tension in his fists, so you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. “do you think it’s a kook?” you asked softly, your gaze flicking between him and the rest of the group.

“one hundred percent,” jj cut in before rafe could answer, his tone dripping with disdain. “it always fuckin’ is.” he leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms as he shot a glare toward sarah, almost as if it were her fault by association.

sarah rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply. “not every kook is out to ruin your life, jj.”

“no, just the ones we keep having to deal with,” he shot back, his voice filled with sarcasm. “you can’t sit there and tell me it’s not a rich prick playing their stupid games.”

“jj, come on,” kie interjected, her tone firm but measured. “this isn’t the time for finger-pointing.”

“i’m not pointing fingers. i’m stating facts,” jj muttered, his eyes darting to rafe with a slight smirk, the tension palpable. “but hey, maybe lover boy over here can tell us which one of his old kook buddies likes playing stalker.”

rafe’s hand tightened in yours at the jab, his knuckles turning white. his eyes locked on jj, his tone sharp and dangerous as he shot back, “if i knew, then you wouldn’t be sitting on my couch.”

jj raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still playing on his lips. “easy. just saying, you might want to start with your crew. i’m sure barry’s not the only one who’d love to see you squirm.”

rafe’s jaw clenched, his breathing steady but filled with tension. you squeezed his hand gently, your thumb brushing soothing circles over his skin, grounding him before he could escalate things further. “jj,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of warning, “not helping.”

“what?” jj shrugged, leaning back casually. “i’m just being honest.”

“honest or not, we don’t need to start a fight,” kie interjected, giving jj a pointed look. “we’re here to figure this out, not throw punches.”

“yet,” rafe muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear. you glanced up at him, catching the flicker of anger in his eyes. despite the tension radiating off him, the way he stayed seated and quiet told you he was trying—trying to keep himself in check, for you.

you sighed softly, your eyes flickering down to your lap as your thoughts raced. the room was still thick with tension, everyone quietly waiting for the next lead, the next idea. then, a name surfaced in your mind. the name that had haunted you since this all started. your throat tightened as you hesitated, but you knew you had to say it.

“what about stacy?” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

the room went silent, the weight of the name settling over everyone like a dark cloud. rafe’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, his jaw clenching as his head turned sharply to look at you. “stacy?” he repeated, his voice low and cautious, though you could feel the storm brewing behind his words.

you nodded, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. “that day at the country club,” you murmured. “she probably saw us together at the beach. and after… everything with you and her dad… i don’t know, it just feels like she might have a reason.”

rafe sighed heavily, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “baby, not this again. i told you—“

“i’m not saying it to start an argument,” you cut him off, your tone firmer now. “i’m saying it because i’ve always had a weird feeling about her, and it just seems too convenient. think about it, rafe. it’s obvious she wants you, and who knows how far she’s willing to go to get you.”

your words hung in the air, the room going still as everyone absorbed what you’d just said. rafe’s gaze softened slightly, his hand brushing over yours in an attempt to calm you. “i told you, stacy’s nothing to me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “she’s not a threat.”

“but what if she is?” you countered, finally meeting his eyes. “we can’t just ignore this because you don’t think she’d go that far. we have to consider it, especially if she’s been watching us.”

rafe’s expression hardened as he processed your words, his jaw tightening. “okay,” he finally said, his voice low but resolute. “we’ll look into it.”

you nodded, encouraged by his response, and pressed on. “and especially since you said her dad’s company is your family’s biggest competitor,” you continued, your voice steady despite the emotions simmering beneath the surface. “putting out a video like that? it would ruin everything—for you, for me, for the cameron name. it makes sense.”

sarah leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in thought. “she’s got the motive,” she said, her tone thoughtful but sharp. “if she’s working with barry or someone else, she’d have the connections to pull this off. and she’s petty enough to do it.”

kie nodded in agreement, crossing her arms. “it’s not just about you two, either. if her dad’s in on this, he’d see this as a way to take a shot at the whole cameron empire. barry could be the perfect tool for that.”

you sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, trying to steady your spiraling thoughts. deep down, you knew stacy was behind this. your instincts screamed it, pointing at her with flashing lights and blaring alarms. every interaction you’d ever had with her, every sidelong glance and calculated move, seemed to line up perfectly with what was happening now. but you couldn’t let your emotions or personal bias cloud your judgment—not when so much was at stake.

no matter how much you despised her, you needed proof. assumptions wouldn’t get you anywhere, and acting on feelings alone could backfire. you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, your fingers still tangled in your hair as you glanced around the room.

“we can’t jump to conclusions,” you said finally, your voice quieter but firm. “even if it feels obvious, we need evidence. if we accuse the wrong person, it could make everything worse.”

rafe’s eyes flicked to yours, his gaze softening slightly at your visible stress. “then we get the evidence,” he said simply, his voice steady.

“we’ll figure it out,” sarah reassured, giving you a small nod. “if it’s stacy, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away with this.”

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to push your emotions aside. you had to stay focused. if stacy was behind this, she wouldn’t just regret it—you’d make sure of it.

it was her. it had to be.

hours passed, and the pogues eventually went home. to your surprise, none of them brought up you and rafe, even during the moments he retreated elsewhere briefly. they acted perfectly normal about it, which somehow unsettled you more than if they’d confronted you outright. the silence felt heavier than words.

rafe had left you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a blanket tucked beneath your chin. now, he sat in his office, his jaw tight as he scrolled through emails from rob—each one filled with dead ends and pointless leads. his stress was evident, his hand dragging down his face in frustration while his leg bounced uncontrollably beneath the desk.

his eyes flicked to the painting on the wall, knowing exactly what was behind it: the safe that held passports, emergency cash, and, most importantly, his gun. john b’s words replayed in his mind like a broken record: we think it’s barry.

without hesitation, rafe stood abruptly, striding over to the painting and pulling it aside. he opened the safe, the cold steel of the gun feeling heavy and familiar in his grip. his mind was set.

walking out to the living room, he paused when his eyes landed on you. you were sound asleep on the couch, your blanket pulled up to your chin, lips parted as soft, even breaths escaped them. the sight of you like this—so peaceful, so unaware of the storm brewing in his chest—made him falter for a moment.

but then, his jaw tightened, and his grip on the gun firmed. he leaned against the doorway, watching you for another moment before turning away, his mind already spiraling with what he needed to do next.

you groaned softly, the buzzing of your phone vibrating underneath your pillow pulling you from your sleep. your eyes squinted as you grabbed it, reading the contact on the screen. it didn’t have a name, just a random number, but below it read maybe: kildare police department.

your heart hammered in your chest as you hesitated before pressing the green button and holding the phone to your ear. “hello?” you asked, your voice groggy and uneasy.

“hey, baby,” a familiar voice greeted, and your stomach dropped.

“rafe?” you stammered, your heart racing as panic crept in. “what’s—”

before you could finish, your phone buzzed again, vibrating against your ear. you pulled it away and gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat as the notification popped up.

unknown: your boyfriend shouldn’t have done that. now you’re all alone.

unknown: one image attachment.

with trembling fingers, you opened the photo, only to feel your entire body freeze. it was a picture of you, taken in the exact spot you were sitting right now. it captured the moment you had picked up your phone, your expression clear and startled.

your blood ran cold as you instinctively glanced around the room, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. someone was watching you. someone was here.

“i’m sorry to do this to you, but can you come pick—” rafe began, his voice heavy with frustration as he sighed into the phone. sheriff shoup stood nearby, giving him a disapproving look, clearly unimpressed with his request.

before rafe could finish, your voice came through the line, frantic and low, cutting him off mid-sentence. “rafe! someone’s here. they sent me a picture of me at the house—”

the line suddenly went dead.

rafe froze, the color draining from his face as the silence on the other end of the call sank in. his grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as panic surged through him. “no, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

he didn’t even bother explaining to shoup before bolting out the door, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. whoever had sent you that picture wasn’t just threatening anymore—they were acting.

and you were alone.

© aerialmirrorss

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[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 4

(Rafe Cameron x Reader, series, 6.6k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

additional chapter cw: suggestive language/acts, mature readers only please

⇢ series masterlist

Rafe lifted his fist to knock on your door.

But before he could bring his knuckles to the wood, he froze, suddenly panicked that he had no idea what he was going to say when you appeared behind it. He stepped back, crinkling the package of the candy in his hands.

“Hey, so,” he whispered, practicing to himself. “I’m sorry if that was weird. Not weird. Sorry if that was uncomfortable? I don’t know why I’m saying sorry. Hey, so, Kelce is a dick, right? Maybe I should say sorry. Fuck…”

As he paced back and forth, the floor creaked below him. He was too preoccupied with trying to find the right words to notice he was making noise. He didn’t get a chance to finish his little script, though, because you opened the door.

He froze mid-sentence, eyes wide as he looked at you, realizing you clearly heard him talking to himself. Fuck, that’s embarassing. Before he could spiral about how much you had heard, he noticed the way your nose was red at the end, eyes glossy, and cheeks stained with black smudges. You had been really crying.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, struck with the urge to reach out and wipe the water from your face.

“What do you want, Rafe?” You sniffled.

“I wanted to…I was…” Rafe was lost, any words he had planned completely left him at the gut wrenching sight of your tears.

He shuffled on his feet a little as you watched him with an unforgiving glare. He had to come up with something.

He extended the candy to you, “...bringing you this.”

“Thanks but that beer made me sick, I’m not really in a snacky mood,” you snipped.

He felt like a kitten coming to his owner with a present, only to be scolded for bringing a dead bird into the house.

“Right,” he tried to recover. “I just thought maybe you’d want to keep them up here so no one takes them.”

You sighed heavily as you quickly took the candy from him, no lingering graze of your hands like you’d done so many times before the night had taken this turn for the worse.

“Okay,” he exhales. “I didn’t come up here to give you the candy.”

“What did you come up here for then?” You huffed.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he admitted.

You turned from him, exasperated, and set the candy on the vanity across the room. He was tempted to follow you through the door frame, but he had the keen sense that he shouldn't push it, so he froze, feet inches from the threshold but not going over.

“And why wouldn’t I be okay?” You questioned, your back turned to him as you pulled a set of pajamas out of the top drawer, he swallowed any hope of seeing you change into them, knowing it was a delusional thought.

“Because of what Kelce said,” He brought his thumbnail up to his eyebrow, scratching a non-existent itch, desperate for something to do with his hands.

You turned quickly on your heel to face him, hands on your hips. The sudden shift in your features, from indifference to indignance, made him take a step back.

“What, did he say something?” You pressed.

“About how you, y’know used to-” 

“Rafe, I’m fine,” you cut him off, rubbing the backs of your hands across your cheeks to get some of the smeared makeup off.

Even though you always knew deep in your gut that he knew how you used to feel about him, the thought of him actually saying it out loud as you stood in front of him with tear stained cheeks was unbearable to you.

“But you’re crying,” he uttered, eyebrows bunched in concern. “I don’t want you to be alone, crying in your room all night.”

You stepped closer to him, and his heart leapt. Maybe you would invite him in, let him hold you until you felt better. But then, as quickly as it had risen, his heart fell again. You placed your hand on the door handle and glared at him.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

With a definitive click, you closed the door in his face.

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The patter of thick rain drops against your window is what finally roused you from your long sleep. You’d fallen asleep crying into your pillow, an old hobby you hadn’t practiced in years. The light coming through the window was dim, making you assume it was early morning, but when you checked your phone your eyes went wide at the time: 12:04pm.

You swung your legs over the bed with a groan, rising to look out the window. The sky was dark and angry, high waves foaming and crashing in the distance, a storm raging. The rain was so heavy the window was straining to keep it out.

When you opened your bedroom door, you nearly stepped on the tray of food that was sitting outside it. You leaned down and picked up the tray of scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice, smiling at the little note in your sister’s handwriting: “I’m so glad you’re here, we’re downstairs when you’re ready.” She signed it with a little heart.

After eating the breakfast in your bed, you steeled yourself to finally make your appearance downstairs. You were grateful that everyone had let you sleep in, but wondered if the delay in coming downstairs would only remind them of the dramatic way your night ended.

You placed your dishes in the kitchen sink, looking out at the backyard you’d fled so abruptly the night before. It was quite a different scene than the one you’d left, the pouring rain filling the porch with puddles, chairs strewn about from the heavy wind. You let last night play through your mind like a movie; Carter revealing your most scandalous moment during never have I ever, Tom’s big arms on either side of you as he flirted, Rafe’s hands in yours as you celebrated your beer pong dominance, Kelce’s words bringing all your fun to a screeching halt.

“No! Don’t shoot!” 

Yells from the large den adjacent to the kitchen pulled you from your thoughts. You padded quickly into the room to find the source of the commotion.

“That guy was on our team!” Kelce yelled again, ripping a video game controller from Maddie’s hands.

Maddie just laughed at his frustration, “well I didn’t like him so I killed him.”

“That’s not how the game works, Mads,” Kelce scolded.

“Well that’s how I play,” she shrugged, leaning back on the couch.

Several people were piled onto the oversized sectional sofa. Carter was sitting up on the cushion with her legs criss-crossed, Topper on the floor in front of her while she put little braids in his hair. Tom and Kelce sat on the other side of Maddie, eyes locked on the small TV screen as their fingers rapidly tapped on the controller buttons, deeply invested in the game.

In the far corner sat Rafe, reading something on his phone with a concerned look on his face.

“Love the hair, Topper,” you said from behind the couch. 

Everyone’s eyes shot to you, except for Rafe, who stayed caught up in whatever was on his screen. You found his indifference to your arrival annoying, but also intriguing, wondering what had captured his attention so fully.

“You’re up!” Carter exclaimed, accidentally pulling Topper’s hair as she turned to you, making him wince.

“I’ve been up for a while, just needed some quiet time,” you smiled at her. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Actually, that was all Kelce,” she informed you with a knowing smirk.

“Oh really?” You said, raising your eyebrows at Kelce.

He paused the video game and stood from the couch.

“Wait!” Kelce said. “I have one more thing!”

He ran out of the room and you looked back at Carter with a smirk.

“You better not let him off the hook too easily,” Carter encouraged you.

“Don’t worry, I plan to mess with him a little,” you smiled at her conspiratorially. “Everyone just act cool.”

They all nodded at you, shifting when Kelce re-entered the room. Their attempted acting skills were adorably terrible, pretending to ignore you and Kelce, suddenly very invested in their own hands and the stains on the couch. All but Rafe, who seemed genuinely disinterested in the whole thing, eyes still glued to his phone.

Kelce approached you with his hands behind his back, looking bashful. He revealed his present with a proud flair.

It was a bouquet of wilting flowers, and a couple of weeds, he had clearly pulled from the front yard. You smiled at the sad, but sweet, present.

“I picked them this morning,” he said proudly.

You didn’t take them from him just yet, tightening your lips to hide your smile so he’d think you were still mad at him.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that thing about-”

“It’s okay Kelce,” you cut him off before he could elaborate further. “What you said…you were right.”

These words finally pulled Rafe from his phone, head snapping towards you in surprise. The rest of the group struggled to maintain their little charade of indifference, the air in the room shifting as they all silently met eyes, wondering where you were going with this.

“I did stay at those parties for a boy,” you admitted to Kelce.

Carter coughed to disguise a laugh, figuring out your game before anyone else.

“You did?” Kelce asked. 

You stepped closer to him, placing your hand on his arm. His eyes widened and he swallowed heavily.

“For you Kelce,” you whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Topper, Maddie, and Tom seemed to finally catch up with your plan as they tried to stifle their own laughter. Kelce had exactly the dumbstruck reaction you were hoping for, looking alarmed, stammering for words like an idiot.

“Me? You liked me?” He croaked, almost too stunned to speak.

You couldn’t hold it back any longer, his face looked so pathetically shocked you had to laugh. As soon as you cracked a smile, the group took it as a sign they could laugh now too, breaking into a round of giggles at Kelce’s expense. Even Rafe was smirking, looking back to his phone, but not before letting out a soft chuckle.

Kelce looked around helplessly, catching on painfully slowly.

“C’mon man,” he said when it finally dawned on him that you were kidding. “You really had me going there, I'm not gonna lie.”

You took the flowers from him finally, patting his cheek reassuringly.

“I can’t stay mad at you, Kelcey,” you reassured him.

“You forgive me then?” He asked hopefully.

“As long as you promise never to play beer pong again,” you countered, handing him back the flowers. “And you go put these back outside, there’s bugs in them.”

He took the bouquet from you with a dutiful nod and made his way to the front door.

“You gonna forgive Sabrina, too?” Carter questioned.

“No,” you scoffed, settling on the couch next to her. “She can rot.”

“You’re fun,” Maddie giggled. “Who knew you were so fun?”

I did, Rafe thought.

“I did,” Carter said.

The wind kicked up outside the tall windows, a loud clap of thunder causing you to jump in your seat.

“Y’all think I’m gonna be able to work on my tan today?” Tom quipped, an attempt to ease your nerves.

“I don’t think you need it,” you flirted with him, admiring the dimples in his cheeks as he smiled back at you.

Rafe shifted uncomfortably in his seat, finally putting his phone down and sticking it in his pocket.

“What are we gonna do today, though?” Maddie asked.

“I think you’re looking at it,” Topper spread his arms to gesture to the room.

“Good thing you’re so good at this game,” Kelce teased her, re-entering the room and jumping over the couch, making Carter bounce and lose her grip on the braid she had been carefully sowing into Topper’s hair.

“Dammit, Kelce!” She scolded. “We’ve been stuck inside for half a day and I’m already annoyed with you.”

“We could go see a movie,” you suggested hopefully, the idea of a calm afternoon in a dark theater with a big bucket of popcorn exciting you.

“No can do,” Topper explained. “The road is closed because of the flooding, we’re stuck here for the day. Jack and Sabrina went out for breakfast and they can’t even get back into the neighborhood.”

“Oh, okay” you frowned, bummed that your plan was foiled, but not that Sabrina had struck such bad luck.

Rafe didn’t miss the way your lips curved down with disappointment. 

After leaving your room last night, he’d stayed awake for hours, staring at the unfinished basement ceiling trying desperately to think of a way to get back in your good graces. The finality with which you’d shut your door on him made his stomach churn, wondering if he’d finally messed things up with you for good. But it was only your third day here, and he was a gamer; he didn’t quit and he didn’t lose. He decided he would take any opening he could get, and this seemed like a good place to start.

“We could watch a movie here,” he recommended. “We’ll make some popcorn and have our own theater.”

You looked at him for the first time since last night, surprised he was speaking to you, and even more surprised he was being so positive and helpful.

“Can we do it right now? I hate this game,” Maddie complained.

“I’d be down,” Tom agreed.

“Oh, uh,” Rafe sat up, catching Topper’s eye. “I have that thing I gotta do.”

Topper nodded knowingly, “yeah, we should wait until it gets dark anyway,” he agreed, giving Rafe an out.

You were dying to know what they were referring to, what possible responsibility could be tying Rafe down when he’d be stuck in a vacation home all day, but you feigned disinterest. 

It was decided, you’d all meet back here at dusk for your movie night. You had the perfect excuse to finally get some alone time, assuring Carter you were fine before going back to your room, slipping under the cool covers with a smile and pulling out the book you still hadn’t had time to start.

It was such a pleasant afternoon until the plot of your book started to feel a little too familiar for your comfort.  A love triangle between the shy, bookworm protagonist, a sweet, unassuming brunette, and a complicated, brooding blond. You finally shut the book about a hundred pages in, when the blond character, who was continuously breaking the protagonist’s heart, stood her up for a date. You sighed and threw the book back into your suitcase, adding it to your DNF list on Goodreads.

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Carter was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs happily as Topper stood at the stove and added spices to the soup he was making. You stood at the bottom of the stairs for a minute, watching them as long as you could before they noticed your presence. It was a rare moment of calm between them, no arguments or teasing. Topper blew on a spoonful of his soup before lifting it to Carter’s lips. She smiled at him affectionately as he thumbed the corner of her mouth, catching the little drop of soup that had spilled off the spoon.

Your heart warmed at your sister’s smile. She was not a relationship girl, or so she always swore. But you knew her feelings for Topper went far beyond a penchant for messing with him. You were struck with sadness that she would be leaving so soon, studying abroad in the UK to get her masters. Maybe you should’ve spent the afternoon with her, instead of a book you hated.

The door to the basement creaked open, and Rafe stepped out, looking grumpy as he unknowingly interrupted the sweet moment in the kitchen. 

Carter leaned away from Topper when she noticed Rafe, and finally saw you. You spotted the way Topper’s face fell a little as she pulled away.

“Needs salt,” she teased him.

“Yes chef,” he smiled back, though there was a hint of resentment in his tone.

Carter hopped down off the counter and walked over to you, wrapping her arm around you like you hadn’t seen each other in years. You squeezed her affectionately, hoping she could feel the love you had for her in your touch.

She pulled away, eyeing Rafe. He had bags under his eyes and he looked worn out.

“Where have you been all day?” Carter asked him.

“Just had to take care of a few things,” he ran his hands through his hair, which it appeared he had been doing a lot based on the way it was sticking up at different angles. 

As he brought his hands back to his side, you caught a quick glimpse of the pen ink that was smeared on his fingers, only adding to the mystery of what “things” he was taking care of.

You were going to teasingly ask him if he was down there writing the great American novel, but before you could, the large french doors that lead to the den swung open dramatically, Tom standing behind them with a big grin on his face.

“All ready!” He announced it to the group.

“What’s ready?” You asked, an amused smirk at his theatrics.

“Come see for yourself,” he winked at you.

You followed him curiously into the den, the rest of the group trailing behind. Your jaw dropped when you took it all in. He had transformed the big den, setting up a large projector and screen, stringing little fairy lights from the ceiling and filling the side tables with popcorn, candy, and a variety of snacks. The room even smelled good, Tom having lit some candles, and with the rain still coming down outside, the cozy vibes were off the charts.

“You did all this?” You gushed.

“Well you seemed bummed that we couldn’t go to the theater,” Tom remarked. “So I brought the theater to you!”

Thinking that might just be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you, you gave Tom a big, grateful smile. Rafe muttered words under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out but sounded something like “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Woah, where’d you find the projector?” Kelce asked.

“They said it was in the attic,” Tom pointed out. “On the Airbnb listing.”

You didn’t understand why, but something about Tom being the only one to actually read the whole listing and pay attention to the details was attractive. You suddenly wished there weren’t five other people in the room with you and him.

“The only thing I haven’t done is pick the movie,” Tom admitted.

The group started chattering all at once, throwing out suggestions and arguing over each other’s taste in movies. After a few chaotic moments, Tom mentioned the name of a horror movie that had come out recently, and while the rest of the room chimed in with “ohhh yes” and “I’ve wanted to see that one,” your stomach dropped. You hated scary movies, you always had. Since you were a kid, you felt anything you watched or read very deeply, so when a movie was dark, it affected you emotionally.

Feeling helpless, your eyes inadvertently met Rafe’s. He immediately picked up on the way you were chewing your lip, afraid to protest to what everyone else clearly wanted. 

Shit that’s right, he thought, she hates scary movies. 

Plus, he knew you’d be teased for saying something, this group was fun but they weren’t known for their sensitivity. Your eyes dropped to the floor in acceptance, all of your excitement over the home theater fading as you settled in for an unpleasant evening. Rafe hated the way you were forced to resign to being unhappy for everyone else’s sake.

“Nah, I don’t fuck with horror movies,” he blurted out impulsively.

All eyes shot to him, most people laughing in assumption he was making a joke. When he didn’t laugh back, but clenched his jaw and stared them down, they fell silent.

“Bro, since when?” Topper asked hesitantly.

“Since forever,” Rafe doubled down.

“You scared, Cameron?” Kelce teased.

“So what if I am?” Rafe bit back, daring him to keep going.

“Hey man, that’s cool,” Tom assured him. “It’s not for everybody. We can just watch something else.”

It was like your heart was strung up with the fairy lights above you, Rafe and Tom grabbing either end of the cord and playing tug-of-war. Just when Tom did something so sweet you thought you might kiss him right here in front of everyone, Rafe jumped in to rescue you from ridicule, proving he remembered intimate details about you in the process, making your heart ache for him. Then Tom said something kind, and you were right back where you started. This wasn’t getting any easier.

Rafe could see the way your eyes flicked between him and Tom, he knew he needed to step it up even more. He rounded the couch and approached Tom’s laptop, which was plugged into the projector. He typed something into the streaming site that was pulled up and the projector whirred to life, the screen illuminating the room as the opening credits of a movie began.

It was your favorite movie of all time. Your heart swelled at the opening song that you’d know anywhere, this having been your comfort film since you were a kid. Rafe stared right at you as the rest of the group settled on the couch, no one wanting to argue with his choice. Your eyes went soft as you looked back at him, mouthing a silent thank you, just like you had done by the fire last night. You were astonished that he remembered how much you loved this movie.

“Perfect, I love this movie!” Tom exclaimed, pulling your gaze from Rafe.

Of course he does, you thought tenderly, your crush on Tom intensifying.

Of course he does, Rafe thought resentfully, his vexation with Tom boiling his blood.

As everyone took their seats, you hung back for a moment, taking in the whole scene and trying to clear your head. By the time your feet caught up with your brain, there was only one spot left on the big couch.

Carter and Topper settled in on the chaise, shamelessly cuddling up almost immediately. Kelce and Maddie sat next to them, sharing a bowl of popcorn. Then it was Tom, an empty spot, and Rafe. You considered sitting on the floor.

Standing between them, both boys looked up at you expectantly, shifting away from each other to make more space for you, both hopeful you’d sit a little closer to them than the other. You thought of the protagonist from the book you were reading, wishing you could take her out for a drink. 

Finally, you took your seat, crossing your legs and placing your hands in your lap. You turned and looked at Carter, who was smiling back at you sympathetically. She looked like she was about to get up from the comfort of Topper’s arms, but you didn’t want to interrupt their time together, so you waved her off and settled back on the couch to prove you were fine.

The movie began, roaring through the speakers Tom had set up, and you were quickly distracted by the familiar sights and sounds of your favorite film.

Rafe’s eyes flicked over to you every so often, melting at the cute way you were mouthing the lines along with the actors, laughing at funny scenes even though you’d seen them a million times. He was trying to respect your space, but eventually he needed to stretch out his long legs, spreading them so his knee was almost knocking into yours. He wouldn’t touch you though, no matter how much he wanted to. It seemed maybe he had almost secured your forgiveness and he wasn’t about to push his luck.

Tom wasn’t in such a difficult position though, his arm fearlessly brushing against yours as he reached for a bowl of popcorn and offered you some.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

“Do you like this movie?” He whispered, leaning in a bit too close for Rafe’s comfort.

“It’s my all-time favorite,” you told him.

“I’m glad we picked it then.”

We? Rafe seethed. This whole movie night was his idea in the first place, and once again, here was Casanova sweeping in and stealing away your attention. 

Rafe thought he couldn’t hate him more, and then Tom put his arm around you.

Anything, he would’ve given anything, done anything, to hear you tell Tom to fuck off. But you didn’t. You blushed and shifted a bit, nestling into Tom’s side and tucking your legs under you. 

Your feet, covered in pink fuzzy socks, were just inches from Rafe’s leg, tormenting him. They nudged him every so often when you laughed at the film or leaned in to whisper something to Tom. He got excited for just a moment the first time you touched him, but his heart cracked when it dawned on him that while you were touching him by accident, you were touching Tom on purpose.

Even though he was tempted to storm out, your obvious rejection of him nearly unbearable, he forced himself to play it cool and stay through to the end credits. 

The screen faded to black, and everyone stirred and stretched. You sat up from Tom’s side and looked over to your sister, surprised she hadn’t pulled out her phone and texted you something cheeky about him during the movie, but quickly realized it was because she had fallen asleep. Her hair was messy in her face as little snores escaped her lips. The only person looking at her with more affection than you was Topper, who scooped her up in his arms with ease and a peck on the cheek, and carried her to bed.

“Okay, so that was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Maddie said as she and Kelce followed them out of the room.

Rafe sighed as he saw the mess that had been left behind, kneeling down to sweep up the popcorn Kelce had spilled on the floor. He felt the small window of hope that he’d somehow reconnect with you today close as you exited the room.

Feeling just as tired as Carter looked and eager to crawl into bed, you made your way toward the stairs. Tom caught up with you before you took the first step, saying your name softly to get your attention.

“I had a really good time with you tonight,” he said when you turned.

“Me too,” you told him, blushing bashfully. “Though I don’t think anyone had quite as good a time as Carter.”

“You’re probably right.” He had gotten closer, leaning towards you as he said it, close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, “the night’s not over yet, though.”

Heat swept across your cheeks and down your back as your whole body blushed. You had really enjoyed your time on the couch snuggled up next to him, but you were a notoriously slow mover when it came to new guys. You thought you might kiss him goodbye at the end of the week, maybe get his number, but that was as far as your imagination had wandered. You’d hooked up with guys at school, and you were certainly more confident with every year that passed, but you had accepted about yourself that you would always be a little slower than other girls, and that was okay with you.

“It’s not?” You asked, hating the shaky nervousness in your voice.

“Maybe I could carry you up to your room, too,” he propositioned.

With that suggestion, he leaned in to kiss you. Your whole body went numb and a nervous hum escaped your throat. You flinched slightly right before his lips met yours, signaling him to pause.

“Sorry,” you mumbled as he pulled back.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“It’s just, a little fast,” you explained. “I’m really enjoying getting to know you, though. I tend to move slow.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” he continued. “Maybe I could just crash in your room? I’m sharing with Kelce and he snores.”

“The couch is pretty comfortable, you could sleep there,” you stepped away from him a bit, voice firmer. 

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” he flirted again, not letting up. 

“It’s not gonna happen tonight,” you told him definitively. “We can definitely hang out tomorrow, though.”

He eyed you for a second, and your skin crawled with the feeling you were being studied.

“Sure,” he muttered, the softness you usually saw in his eyes was nowhere to be found. “Night.”

As he shuffled up the stairs without another glance to you, you saw that Rafe had been standing in the doorway of the den, for how long you weren’t sure. His hands were full of dirty dishes as he eyed you anxiously.

“All good?” He questioned.

You wanted to put up a front, make a joke to wipe the protective, caring look off of Rafe’s face, but your spirit was a bit shaken, and if you were being honest, you were just glad not to be alone. 

Instead of answering, you reached out, took some of the dishes from his hands and walked them to the kitchen sink. Your wordlessness was an indication that you didn’t want to talk about it any further, so he didn’t push.

Rafe washed and you dried, completely silent as you did the dishes together. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, just an understanding between you that nothing more needed to be said tonight. You were immensely grateful to have something to do with your hands, a task to focus on as you recovered from the upsetting interaction you’d had with Tom.

Once Rafe handed you the last bowl, he bid you goodnight quietly and descended the stairs to his room. You dried the bowl and reached it toward the high cabinet it belonged in, but nearly dropped when you heard a loud “fuck!” come from the basement.

You set the dish down carefully before hurrying down the stairs towards the sound of Rafe’s distress.

“What’s wrong?” You asked breathlessly as you descended the creaking steps.

Rafe stepped back to show you the cause of his outcry. Sometime in the evening a leak had sprung from the edge of the basement ceiling, running down the wall and right onto his bed. The rain had stopped about an hour ago, and though it didn’t appear the water was flowing in anymore, the damage was done.

“Fuck,” you echoed him.

Rafe moved his luggage and backpack to the stairs to get them off the ground, and pulled the bed away from the wall.

“I’ll just sleep with my head on the other end of the bed,” he sighed.

“Rafe, you can’t sleep down here,” you countered. “I found some extra blankets and pillows in my closet, I’ll get them for you and you can crash on the couch.”

He nodded in agreement, “thanks.”

Rafe followed you up to your room, stopping at the threshold of your door, just like he had last night. You smiled to yourself at the respectfulness of the action. Though it proved to be unsustainable when you slid open your closet door and tried to get the blanket and pillow stored on the top shelf, unable to reach it even when you jumped.

“Can you help me?” You sighed, indirectly inviting him in. 

Rafe smirked as he approached, barely having to stretch to reach the bedding. Your throat bobbed as you watched him, his frame so long and lean it towered over you. 

“Thanks for these,” he looked down at you, holding the pillow and blanket to his chest with crossed arms.

“Least I could do,” you smiled. “After you saved me again.”

Rafe furrowed his brows quizzically.

“You hate horror movies, huh?” You quirked your eyebrows.

“Oh,” he mumbled, realization sweeping across his face. “No. But you do.”

“And you just really wanted to watch that particular movie instead?”

“No. But you did.”

The room suddenly felt too hot, as you bantered, your voices dropped lower, and so did Rafe’s eyes, landing on your lips. 

Not sure you could stand this close to him much longer without making a decision you might regret, you stepped away and over to your vanity. You unclasped your necklace and started removing your rings, preparing to begin your nighttime routine. You caught Rafe’s eyes in the mirror as he watched you take your hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall around your face in a soft curtain.

Rafe cleared his throat and looked down, digging his foot into your rug. You swore you caught a blush kiss the apples of his cheeks.

 “Well what are you doin’ right now? Wanna hang out?” He croaked.

You smiled at his desperate attempt to keep the conversation going. It was reminiscent of the way you used to search your mind for more questions to ask to keep him on the phone, or pretend you needed to run errands so he’d be in your car longer. Now, here he was, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes, completely desperate. The power shift was electrifying, a newfound dominance rushed through you. You had him right where you wanted, and you couldn’t help but milk it. 

“I’m feeling pretty tired.” You turned to him and faked a yawn, stretching your arms up, the bottom of your t-shirt rising to reveal just a sliver of skin, his eyes catching it immediately. “I think I’m just gonna get ready for bed now.”

He stood across the dimly lit room, every muscle in his body fighting against his attempt to stay in place. You held back a smug smile when you saw he was actually making tight fists to keep from reaching his hands toward you.

This would be all he would ever get, he thought. Just these little moments when his eyes caught slivers of your perfect skin. The tops of your sun kissed shoulders in your swimsuit. The brief hint of a dimple on your lower back when you bent to get a beer from the cooler. The curve of your hips in the tight jeans you wore today.

If this was all he’d get, that would be okay. He’d collect the memories of these moments like rare coins, only to be pulled out on special occasions. If these teases of what it might be like to be with you for real were all you’d ever give him, he’d make do. 

And just as he made himself that promise, you reached down and pulled at the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head in one motion, tossing it to the floor. 

You were wearing a black bra with a little white bow right where the cups met between your breasts, and he could see the top of your black lace panties barely peeking out of the waistband of your jeans. 

Rafe’s face flushed and his shoulders tensed as he looked you up and down, eyes wide with surprise at how bold you were being. His large body cast a long shadow on the wall, but something about the desperation on his face made him seem so small, so vulnerable. The rush of power felt unbelievable and you wondered how far you could push him before he snapped.

Without breaking the heated eye contact between you, you slowly unbuttoned your jeans and dipped your thumbs under the waistband, pulling them down and over your feet.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Rafe finally choked out, unable to stay silent any longer.

“I’m getting ready for bed,” you shrugged innocently. “And you’re getting ready to leave.”

Your words were pushing him out, but your actions were freezing him in place. He had no idea what you really wanted from him, but he knew exactly what he wanted from you.

Before he could ask if you really wanted him to leave, you pulled back the covers of your bed and climbed in. Once under the sheets, the white linen covering you up to your shoulders, you shuffled a bit, making the blanket rustle with your movement. His brows furrowed in confusion, unsure what you were doing now. Then, your hand reached back out from under the covers and dropped your bra to the floor. More shuffling, and your panties followed, now only the plush duvet and silky sheets stood between Rafe and your completely bare body. Rafe cleared his throat as he felt himself straining against his board shorts.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, the blankets sliding slightly, stopping right before exposing your chest to him. He swallowed hard.

You looked at him, your face unassuming, like this was the most normal thing in the world. The way you were looking at him, he knew he would do anything you told him to, even if that meant you really were asking him to leave. He prayed to whatever god made the perfect creature in front of him that you’d ask him to stay. But you didn’t.

“Hit the lights on your way out?” You said, before laying back and letting your hair fan out over the pillows. You closed your eyes and moaned softly as you sunk into the plush bed.

He bit his lip as he watched you get comfortable, his heart pounding so hard he was sure you could hear it.

“Rafe?” you whispered, eyes still closed.

“Y-yeah?” He stammered.

“Goodnight,” you smiled, putting an end to any hope he had for an invitation to join you in the California King.

He sighed in defeat, “goodnight.”

With that, he walked toward the door, giving himself one last look at you, angelic and at peace in your pre-sleep. He hit the light switch and pulled the door closed softly behind him.

Rafe leaned against the door, one hand over his chest to feel his spiked heart rate, and one still clutching the door handle, unable to fully let go of it, of you. He felt lightheaded, the realization of how badly he wanted you washing over him, leaving him breathless. Why had he been such a dumbass in high school? He thought ruefully of that day senior year. If he had done just one thing differently, maybe he would be in bed next to you right now.

The thought of pulling your soft body into his, holding you under those cool sheets, nuzzling his head into your hair and inhaling the scent of you until you both fall into blissful sleep…he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as bad as that. His want, his need, for you was too much to bear. 

He couldn’t bring himself to walk downstairs, and as much as he was dying to, he couldn't bring himself to go back into the room and risk your true rejection. As he toiled over his lack of choices, he sank to the floor, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He knew it was pathetic, sitting outside your door like a stray cat. He told himself he’d sit here for just five more minutes, enough time to collect his dignity.

He fell asleep on the floor thinking about the way your hair smells.

(chapter 5: part one)

a/n: thank you thank you thank you thank you for the support on this story! thank you to this anon for the move night idea which really helped solve some plot issues I was having I appreciate you!! in the original draft of this chapter, Tom suggested they watch Hellraiser 2022...is that too meta?

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[haihoneys]

Dressing Room Shenanigans

Summary: The one where Mingi is just a little obsessed with Ateez’s new makeup artist.

Word Count: 3,963

Pairing: Song Mingi x Fem!Reader 

A/N: hiiiiiiiii :) I haven’t written anything in YEARS but I worked up this incredibly self-indulgent Mingi fic the other day… I kinda want to do a bit of a series with makeup-artist!reader x Mingi… 

Warnings: not proof read. poor grammar in all kinds of ways. smuttttttt - fingering, unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT KIDS), penetrative sex, he cums inside reader, slightly dom!mingi, reader has freckles, i probably missed something so just let me know!

Series Masterlist | Full Ateez Masterlist

————

Mingi felt like he could peel his skin off. He’d been on edge since he first opened his eyes that morning, hard and aching for a body he’d never felt in his waking moments. He took care of that problem in the shower, steam and his unrestrained moans filling the room as he came in his own hand. 

When he finally caught his breath and finished his actual shower, he turned the water off and wrapped the fluffy white hotel towel around his waist. He swiped his phone off the nightstand and his heart dropped to his stomach when he saw a text from her flash across his screen when the device woke up.

Good morning, sunshine!! That new product I special ordered came in this morning. Would you mind meeting with me around noon for a makeup test? xx

Mingi groaned and threw himself face-first onto the bed. He didn’t have it in him to be around her today. He really didn’t. Especially not after having yet another dream (and a shower jerk off session) where she featured as his own personal pornstar. 

He took several deep breaths, willing himself to calm the hell down as he reached out and patted around the mattress in a blind search for his phone. 

Sure thing :)

————

And god damn it, she just had to go and look a little extra pretty today: short plaid skirt and sheer black tights underneath, and her hair was tied up in this messy knot thing, and he could still see her freckles through her makeup…

When she noticed him standing in the doorway, she gave him this blinding smile, and for a split second Mingi felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. But it was back again when she rushed over, smiling up at him like he hung the moon and stars as she took his hand and tugged him over to her makeshift makeup station.  

So now here he sat, grip on the chair's armrests so tight his knuckles were turning white. A placid smile plastered onto his face and nodding along as she told him about her morning doing similar test sessions with Hongjoong and Yeosang. He was willing himself not to get hard, to not think about the dream he had the night before and how she’d been on her knees for him…

Mingi bit down into the fleshy insides of his cheeks, willing the sharp sting of pain to ground him in reality. He could not think about that right now. But she was making it so fucking difficult. 

Her skirt was just so fucking short. At one point, she leaned over the vanity, rooting around for god knows what in all the shit she had spread out in front of him, and that fucking skirt rode up the backs of her thighs… the bottom of her asscheeks peeking out at him and he almost groaned at the sight.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. He thought he might just die right here. Y/N and her short little skirt and cute freckles were going to fucking kill him.

But no, that wasn’t what did him in. 

She was struggling to open a jar, the lid screwed on too tightly, and Mingi had just opened his mouth to offer to open it for her when the plastic finally gave and the lid came free. As did a majority of the powder. Right into his lap. 

Y/N gasped, eyes going so wide it would have been comical at any other time. She discarded the packaging and kneeled down to start scooping the powder into a cupped palm, profusely apologizing as she did so. 

“Oh god, Minnie,” she said, her voice small and embarrassed, and he had to look away from her crouched between his legs before he had a real problem on his hands. “I’m so sorry. Please tell me you have a change of clothes with you… I don’t think this will stain, but it won’t come off with the dry tissues I have in my kit.”

She was still mumbling her sweet little ‘sorry’s when her hand brushed right over his stiffening cock. And without thinking, he moaned at the barely-there contact, his head tipping back and eyes slipping shut.

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath and then the room was completely still, the tips of her fingers still hovering over him. And he knew he was a fucking goner. There was no recovering from that. She was gonna think he was such a perv now. She was never even going to look at him again.

“Fuck,” he said, his own cheeks flushing as he straightened up in the chair. He needed to get out of this room before the floor swallowed him whole. “God, I’m sorry. That was gross of me. I wasn’t thinking and I’ve been so pent up and-”

But slowly, much more tentatively, she reached out her hand again and traced over the bulge she found there. His eyes fluttered shut again and he resisted the urge to buck up into her touch. “Y/N…”

Her name was a sigh on his lips and she decided she wanted to hear him say again. And again. And again. So she applied a little more pressure to his covered cock. But a quick hand shot out, long fingers wrapping around her wrist in a grip tight enough to bruise. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, princess.” His voice was deep and guttural, like it had grown talons and ripped its way free from his chest. 

Wide eyes snapped up from his grip on her wrist to meet his hard gaze. “Who said I can’t finish it?” It was a sudden burst of confidence, one Mingi found incredibly arousing, so different from the way she usually spoke with him. The words were soft and breathy, and Mingi would be lying if he said they didn’t send the rest of the blood in his body rushing to his cock.

Before she could even process what was happening, Mingi was standing from the makeup chair, his proximity forcing her to lean back into the vanity behind her. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the countertop and effectively caging her to him. She took her time meeting his gaze again, raking her eyes from his crotch up to his chest and neck and finally to his face. 

The look in his eyes stole the breath from her lungs. He looked almost feral, as if he could devour her in a few bites. And she wanted him to. She wanted him to claim her so completely she’d be ruined for any other man. 

Without another word, she gripped the fabric of his t-shirt and jerked him forward. Mingi came to her willingly, leaning down to hover his lips just over hers. All the teasing, all the subtle (and not so subtle) flirting they had been doing over the past few months had led them to this exact moment.

Mingi closed the distance between them, gentler than she had been expecting, given his reaction moments ago. The press of his mouth to hers was slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every heartbeat, every breath. 

One of his hands found her hip, the other sliding up to cup her cheek, thumb softly brushing over the heated flesh he found there. The intimacy of it all had her melting into him, sighing into his mouth as she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. 

His tongue traced over the seam of her lips, and she instantly granted him full access to her mouth, moaning when he licked into her. Mingi pulled back just enough to breathe onto her still-parted lips, “Keep making noises like that and I’ll have to bend you over the sofa.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” She leaned in and started pressing wet kisses along his jaw, trailing them down the column of his throat and focusing on the spot just below his Adam’s apple when he groaned above her. The hand on her cheek had found its way into her hair, and he gripped it just tight enough to get her attention as he pulled her away from his neck, her lips wet and shiny from the mark she was working onto his skin.

“I have a feeling you’d like both options,” his voice was low and gravelly with need, his grip on her hair tightening ever so slightly just to test the waters. 

She grinned up at him, eyes bright. “Why don’t we find out?”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked.

He slid his hand from her hip to the hem of her skirt, slipping underneath and bullying his way between her thighs so he could rub and tease her over her tights. She gasped at the contact, hands fisting in his shirt again.

“Fuckk,” he groaned when the pads of his fingers made contact with the dampness he could feel even through the fabric. “You’ve already soaked through your panties and tights, huh baby? You that needy for me?”

Mingi slowly, lazily, traced his knuckles back and forth over her slit, pressing them harder into the fabric when they caught at the slight dip into her entrance. She buried her face in his chest, whimpering with every torturous stroke. “Please,” she whined, “Minnie, please…”

Had he possessed even a fraction less willpower, he would have dropped to his knees then and there and offered her anything she wanted. He would have offered up his very soul to her to hear her beg for him like that again. 

“Please what, baby? Gotta tell me what you need if you want my help,” Mingi pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, knuckles still working over her clothed pussy.

The sweetness of the kiss compared to the sticky drag of his knuckles against her cunt was jarring. It had her head swimming. Y/N whimpered again, grip tightening on the front of his shirt. “Needyoutofuckme.”

Mingi smirked, he heard her well enough but he wanted to tease a little more. “Hm?” he hummed. “What was that? Use your big girl words.”

She groaned, leaning back just enough to pout up at him with glassy eyes. “I need you to fuck me, Mingi. Please.”

He chuckled, the sound sardonic and almost cruel. But he pressed another soft kiss to her hair and sighed, “Only because you asked so sweetly, princess.”

He kissed her again, more urgently this time, and his hands slipped around to her ass, groping and squeezing at her until she was whimpering into his mouth. God, did he love the taste of her. If her mouth tasted this good, he couldn’t wait to bury his tongue in her cunt. But there wasn’t enough time for that right then. He knew he would be fully and utterly obsessed once he got a proper taste of her; he wanted to be able to spread her out on his bed and lick and taste her for hours on end. 

He started walking them backward, his hands and mouth never leaving her. He broke the kiss just long enough to spin them around and lead her around to the back of the black leather sofa. 

Their reflections stared back at them from the vanity mirror directly across the room. Mingi had her trapped, his chest flush to her back and the fronts of her thighs pressed tightly to the heavy piece of furniture in front of her. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asked her, eyes finding hers in the mirror as his hands settled on her hips. As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he would stop immediately if she asked him to. He could suck up his pride and ego for her. 

Y/N held his gaze, taking one of his hands and dragging it up her body to her mouth. She pressed a soft kiss to his palm before resting it at the base of her throat, her hand laying on his. “I’m sure, Minnie.” 

He flexed his fingers around her throat, not even enough to really apply any pressure, but her eyes still fluttered shut at the movement. 

A strong, firm hand pressed between her shoulder blades, urging her to lean forward over the low backrest. Mingi slid his hand to the small of her back, and she instinctively arched as much as she could given the position. He hummed in approval, “There’s my good girl.”

Gooseflesh erupted all over her body. She shivered at his praise, leaning into his touch and damn near purring for him.

Mingi smirked down at her, feeling fucking euphoric at the reaction a simple touch and a few words earned him. He nudged her feet a little further apart, stepping forward to press himself flush against her ass and grinding into her. “Stop teasing,” she whined. “Need you inside me.”

He couldn’t help but groan as he stepped back just enough to flip her skirt up, the fabric bunching above her ass as he traced his thumbs down the seam of her tights. He gripped the thin, sheer material in his hands and gave a hard yank andthefabric gave easily. A sharp, staccato rrrrip sounded through the otherwise quiet room.

Y/N gasped and looked over her shoulder at the sound, and Mingi swore he was looking into the face of an angel. Her pupils were blown so wide he could barely see any of the color of the irises, a pretty pink flush on her cheeks, her swollen lips jutting into a pout he wanted to kiss right off her face. “These were my favorite tights.”

He couldn’t help but snort out a laugh as he leaned down and nuzzled her cheek with his nose, pressing a few soft kisses to her neck before mumbling, “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll buy you three more pairs, okay?”

She made a little humph sound, mumbling something about yeah, you better as she turned back around. Mingi cupped her pussy then, teasingly sliding his fingers against her clit over her black thong before he hooked his fingers into the damp fabric and jerked them to the side, finally baring her to him fully. He stepped back and groaned at the sight of her, bent over and glistening pussy peeking through the plush of her thighs.

He made quick work of unzipping his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers just enough to free his aching cock. She glanced up into the mirror just in time to see Mingi spit into his hand and give himself a few quick strokes. The lewdness of it sent a fresh wave of wetness to her cunt. He met her gaze then, smirking when he noted her already fucked out expression. Hard cock still in hand, he closed the small distance between them, bracing the opposite hand on her hip and hissing as he dragged the tip of his cock through her folds. 

He lined himself up with her entrance, sliding in barely an inch before stopping and pulling back out. She whined and rutted her hips back into him, desperate for any sort of relief. Mingi shhhed her, trying to soothe her with comforting strokes of his thumb against her hip. “I’m really thick, baby,” he paused when she gave him a humorless snort in reply, still wiggling her hips.

“Listen to me,” he pinched at her ass then, hard, lips tugging into a pleased smirk when she squeaked. “Don’t be a brat. I’m not bragging about it… I just don’t want to hurt you.”

The words were said with such tenderness she couldn’t help but melt in that moment. Any thoughts she had of self-preservation had completely flown out the window. She stilled and let herself go completely pliant under him. 

Mingi hummed, satisfied with her reaction, and slid back in just a bit more than he had the first time. Y/N whined, the sound high and keening, and it had Mingi pushing in just a little more.

He was thick. Really thick. And the delicious, slow stretch was going to drive her insane. It felt like hours, days even, before he finally, blessedly bottomed out with a deep groan that had her clenching around him. 

Mingi was ready to get on his knees and thank every god he knew for this moment. The tight, wet heat of her pussy was absolute nirvana, everything and so much more than he had dreamed it would be. He didn’t know what good he had done in a past life to be granted this utter bliss, but if he were to die right now, he knew he could wish for no better way to go.

He gave her a heartbeat, then two, then three, to adjust to him before starting to pull back but she stopped him with a sharp, wait! Mingi felt his heart seize in his chest, immediately panicking that he truly had hurt her. 

She threw her hand back, finding and gripping his wrist before digging her nails into his skin. “Wait… I… I just wanna feel full of you for a second,” her voice stuttered and garbled like she was having trouble stringing thoughts and words together.

He hissed at the sharp sting of the pain from her nails biting into him, but his heart started beating again. Her grip loosened as he breathed a soft, yeah?

Mingi leaned forward, resting his weight on her, “That feel good, baby? Being stuffed full of my cock?” 

The new angle and added pressure had her knees going weak as he started grinding his hips into her, the head of his cock rubbing right against that spot inside her that had her seeing stars. “God, yes.” 

He pulled out then, just enough to slam back into her. The force of it knocked the breath from her lungs as he set a brutal pace, fucking into her with such primal need that she lost her ability to speak, to think, to do anything but closer her eyes and feel him driving her closer and closer to her oncoming ecstasy.

Then there was a firm arm wrapped around her sternum, tugging her backward until she rested against a hard chest. “Open your eyes, baby,” Mingi hummed, his breath hot against her neck. “Want you to watch how good you take my dick. Look at how pretty you are all fucked out for me. Perfect fucking pussy, my god…”

She couldn’t manage a response other than to keen and whine some garbled form of his name, her hands coming up to grip onto his forearm as she finally opened her eyes to look at their reflections in the mirror. She was already dripping for him, she could see it running down the insides of her thighs. “Gonna,” she cut herself off with a moan so loud Mingi had half a mind to stuff his fingers in her mouth to quiet her. But she turned her head towards him, eyes wide and a little frantic, “Gonna make a mess, Minnie.”

“Yeah?” His grin was feral as he slipped the hand still on her hip to her clit, “Gonna make a mess on my cock? Gonna cum real hard for me like a good girl?” His fingers started rubbing ruthless circles against her, quickening their pace as she squealed and jerked in his grip. 

Then she was soaking him, the wetness leaking from her like a broken faucet, the force of it pushing his cock from her. His fingers started flying against her clit, slipping and sliding against her effortlessly as he tried to drain every drop from her. When it finally ebbed, her body jerking and spasming in his hold, he slid his fingers from her clit down her slit, gathering the wetness and bringing his fingers up to her mouth. She opened without him having to tell her, taking his fingers into her mouth and licking them clean of her. 

Mingi had just found his new favorite hobby. He wanted to make her do that again. And again. He wanted to get on his knees and burry his face between her thighs and drink her. He would definitely be making time for that later. 

He lined himself back up and slipped inside her with ease, her nails bit into his forearm as she whined his name, her cunt fluttering and squeezing around him so tightly his vision went white for a heartbeat. 

“Shit,” he hissed, “if you keep clenching like that, I'm gonna bust inside you.”

“Do it,” she turned her face up towards his and licked at the underside of his jaw, reveling in the way he shivered as his eyes fluttered shut. “No one’s ever cum in me before.”

At the thought of getting to claim her in such an intimate way, of being the first to do so, Mingi snapped. He drove his hips up into her, setting his original brutal pace. Y/N gasped, her sensitive pussy still fluttering from the intensity of her orgasm. It didn’t take him long, only a few more thrusts before he was spilling into her with a guttural moan.

The sensation of it all, paired with the lingering aftershocks of her first orgasm, triggered another, weaker one. Her knees turned to jelly as she all but collapsed against the sofa. Mingi went with her, the weight and warmth of him against her back a comforting presence as she came back to earth. 

He kissed her once, twice between her shoulders before he slipped out her with a hiss, his softening cock still sensitive. He pulled her back upright, turning her to face him before urging her to rest against the hard edge of the back of the sofa. 

He brushed her mused hair back, cupping her face before peppering her cheeks and nose and forehead with feather-light kisses. “Let me clean you up, hm?”

He tucked himself back into his jeans, before rounding the sofa and heading for her kit to find the tissues she kept there. He grabbed a handful and came back to her, crouching in front of her and gently spreading her thighs apart again.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, voice so soft it nearly broke his heart. Y/N reached to take the tissues from him but he pulled away, just out of her reach. “Really Mingi. I can take care of myself.”

His brows furrowed, confused as to why she was hesitant to let him take care of her. “Y/N, baby, you just let me fuck the shit out of you and cum inside you. The very least I could do in return is clean up the mess.”

She started to protest again but he shhed her and wiped away the drying cum from her thighs and pussy. He hooked his fingers into the side of her thong and pulled it back into place before pressing a soft kiss over the fabric.

They were both so utterly done for. 

————

“And then he made me cum so fucking hard that I told him he could cum inside me,” She said, slightly mortified that she let that happen in the heat of the moment. But, in her defense, it was the best orgasm of her life. Truly, she considered calling the Guinness World Record people. 

Wooyoung looked disgusted yet oddly… satisfied. 

“First of all,” he paused, wagging a finger at her, “that’s gross. We all have to use that room, Y/N! That couch needs to be disinfected now! But… I have to tell Jongho. We’ve had a pool going for weeks. He owes me $100.” Wooyoung says, pulling out his phone from his jacket pocket. 

[taeyongdoyoung]

hide and seek

summary: your best friend chan finds you've been fantasizing about him and decides to turn those ideas into reality... pairing: chan x reader genre: smut, best friends to ??? warnings: *cracks knuckles* cnc/primal play, wolf/bunny roleplay, mention of safewords, traffic lights system (yellow used), hide and seek, mentions of pee, chasing scenario, blowjob mouthfucking, hair-grabbing, degradation, leg cramping, knees hurting, kinda realistic, unprotected sex, missionary but he holds reader down, pet names, daddy kink (like once), breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, discussion of future scenario 👀 author's note: this will be the first part in a series, i haven't decided yet how many parts, maybe three? stay tuned if you're interested 🤍 part two & part three word count: 2.5k

Chan simply asks you if he can use your laptop while you’re having a shower since his battery died and he really needs to check something work-related real quick. After doing so, he can’t help but notice the recently opened pages. He doesn’t mean to pry, really. But it’s right there. And a quick look into his best friend’s mind couldn’t hurt…could it?

He is immediately captivated by this story you’ve apparently written and keep hidden in the drafts of your blog. It’s so…sexy and unlike anything you’ve ever talked to him about.

“Dumb little bunny, thinking you can get away from me,” the big bad wolf growls in the bunny’s ear.

The bunny whimpers helplessly, trying to escape the wolf’s strong grasp but to no avail.

The wolf takes the bunny from behind mercilessly, biting her neck and using her to please his needs...

What comes at the end of the story is what shocks him the most.

“Chris, please…”

Huh? Which Chris? Chris Evans? Or maybe Hemsworth? As far as he remembers, you have always been more of a Sebastian Stan and Tom Hiddleston kinda girl but…people change, he supposes.

Until it hit him. His name is also Chris! And people do compare him to a wolf…But no, it couldn’t be…There is no way his best friend is writing stories fantasizing about him.

Unless…

He can’t imagine going on with his life without knowing the answer. So, Chan waits impatiently until you are done with your shower.

“Everything good with your work thing?” you ask him calmly once you return to your room.

“Yeah, all is good. But I found something way more interesting on your laptop,” Chan blurts out meaningfully.

The expression on your face is enough of an answer. You look completely mortified, like a true bunny that is waiting to be devoured.

“I forgot to clear my history, didn’t I?” you murmur even though you already know what Chan has seen.

“That story wasn’t about Chris Evans, was it?” Chan wants to know though he suspects what the truth is.

You immediately drop to your knees in front of him, which takes him by surprise. Gripping his hand tightly, you look so cute and pitiful. He wants to ruin you. Wait, when did those feelings show up?

“I know it was wrong, Channie, believe me. But I just couldn’t help myself, okay? Nothing else helps me get off but this fantasy. I promise I won’t do it again, please don’t end our friendship! You mean the world to me, I’m so so sorry!”

“End our friendship?” he is completely stunned by your train of thought. “Why would I? I mean, you never meant for me to see it, so I think it’s okay to have certain…fantasies. But now that I did see it, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, if it makes you uncomfortable,” you suggest.

“You’re right, we don’t have to talk about it. But how about I make those scenarios come to life?”

“Huh? You want to what now?” you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“It can’t be satisfying, dealing with all these frustrations by yourself.”

“It really isn’t…” you confess.

“Then, let me take care of you. That’s what friends are for, right?” Chan chuckles.

“Let me get this straight, you wanna re-enact my freaky fantasies while still staying friends?”

“Um, sure, why not?”

You would be a fool to agree. This could mess up everything. But you would be an even bigger fool to reject his tempting offer.

“I’m in.”

“Great! Then, should we discuss boundaries and safewords and stuff?”

“No boundaries, no safewords, you can do whatever you like to me, I don’t care.”

“This isn’t right. What if I want to use a safeword?”

Oh. That thought never crossed your mind but perhaps it should have.

“How about this…if I want a scene to end, I’ll say red. I know you said you don’t need one, but just in case, feel free to use it. If we want to just pause for a bit, then yellow. Green is good to go. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, Chan. I mean, uhhh…do you want me call you something specific?”

“Whatever you like, babygirl,” he reassures you and pats your cheek. “Do you want to give this a try rightaway? Unless you’ve got other plans…”

“No way, let’s do this!” you practically jump at the opportunity.

“Alright. I’ll give you one minute to hide anywhere in this house. After that, I can do whatever I like to you.”

His words make you so thrilled that your heart threatens to escape from your chest because it’s beating louder than ever.

“If you find me,” you tease.

“Oh, I will,” Chan swears. “Now, run.”

You sprint out of your room and down the stairs, as he starts the countdown.

“Sixty…fifty-nine…”

Where should you hide? The living room doesn’t have any good hiding spots and neither does the kitchen. Under the table is too obvious. Your room would have been a good option but Chan is currently there, so it’s out of the question. The bathroom is right next to it, so once again, not a great idea. Then, it hits you. The basement! You don’t remember ever showing it to Chan so it will take him more time to think of it. You go through the door and run down another set of stairs leading to the basement. You see the perfect spot. A vintage wooden chest that just happens to be empty and is big enough to fit you if you squeeze in.

Okay, maybe not comfortable but you can survive in there for a couple of minutes. Once you’ve tucked yourself inside and closed the lid, you are suddenly hoping that Chan finds you quickly. Whatever he does to you can’t be worse than this tiny space. You didn’t know you had claustrophobia but in this very moment, you do. You can’t hear him from down here so you imagine he is looking through the other rooms first. After what feels like eternity, you finally hear steps. You are grateful that you recently peed before getting in the shower because the current situation would have undoubtedly made you wet your pants. As the steps approach, you begin to worry. What if it isn’t Chan? What if you’d forgotten to lock the door and now a complete stranger comes in to take advantage of you? No, these thoughts are irrational and make you want to use the bathroom. Ugh.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to come out and I’ll go easy on you.”

Chan’s voice both comforts you and freaks you out even more. You’re not coming out, alright. This spot was great! He can do whatever he wants to you.

“Three…two…one,” Chan finishes counting and opens the chest’s lid.

You look up at him, eyes blinking to adjust to the light. He pulls you out of it roughly.

“Last chance. Run.”

But then, you realize you were squeezed into that tiny space for so long that your leg had cramped up. You can’t possibly run right now.

“Um, sorry but yellow,” you feel like an idiot. You had said you don’t need a safeword and yet…

“What’s wrong?” Chan’s threatening gaze immediately softens and he rubs your elbow gently.

“I didn’t think I’d get a leg cramp in this freaking box,” you admit, ashamed of yourself as you shake your legs in an attempt to relax muscles.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chan coos at you and helps you massage your leg. “Wanna call it a day?”

“Hell nah. Just, no more running, please.”

“Sure, that’s fine by me.”

“Sorry for ruining the mood.”

Chan shakes his head.

“You could never.”

“Okay, I think I’m good now,” you assure him.

“Scene?”

“Scene.”

“Did you really think you can escape me? Dumb little bunny…” Chan tsks at you and you feel your knees giving out. You need him so bad it’s not even funny anymore.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Mr. Wolf,” you plead with him even though every cell in your being would be glad to be on the receiving end of his anger.

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? You should’ve locked your door to keep me out.”

If you tell him that you want him inside would it be too out of character for a scared bunny?

“I’ll do anything,” you promise crying. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“You’ll do anything regardless,” Chan smirks devilishly and grabs your hair harshly, pushing you to your knees. With his free hand, he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, wasting no time in pulling his cock out of his confines and stuffing your mouth full.

Fuck, your knees already hurt, probably because of that stupid chest but you choose to ignore the discomfort for now because this feeling of being dominated like that is too good to let go of.

“That’s it, take it like the useless cumslut you are,” Chan speaks degradingly but you’ve never been wetter before.

You wish you could say you are doing your best to give him a blowjob but the truth is you are not doing much, his hips thrusting forward aggressively, his hands gripping your hair. Your mouth is nothing but a cumdump for him. Your eyes are watering, vision is blurred. Your throat hurts too but it is nothing compared to the burning feeling in your knee. It is in that moment you realize that you didn’t discuss a signal for a situation where you can’t speak. You rack your brain for an alternative and remember that some subs opt for pinching their dom’s skin in an attempt to communicate discomfort. You really don’t want this to end but…

As you are overthinking this, you realize Chan’s already released his seed inside of your mouth and you are left with no choice but to swallow it up like the greedy cumwhore you are. Only for him, though.

His cock softens in his mouth but he doesn’t immediately pull out and only then, do you remember what you’ve been about to do.

You pinch his thigh lightly, looking up with moist, pleading eyes.

“What is it, darling?” Chan needs to know, taking a step back.

“Help me stand, please,” your voice is hoarse.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks as he grips your hands and leads you to sit for a while on the stupid chest responsible for your current pain. Okay, maybe, you brought this upon yourself but whatever.

“No, you were perfect, it’s just that my knees hurt. Fucking dumb wooden thing,” you grunt in frustration, punching it with your tiny fist.

Chan chuckles and strokes your hair comfortingly in complete contrast to how he was pulling it mere seconds ago. Then, he pulls you into his arms for a sweet hug.

“Sorry…I’m killing the mood again, aren’t I?” you pout.

“Not at all. Remember you’re in charge of whatever happens between us. You wanna pause, we pause. You wanna stop, we stop. I would hate myself if this doesn’t feel as good for you as it does for me.

“You feel good?”

“Are you kidding? Do you think I’d offer just anyone to fulfil their fantasies hidden in their drafts?” Chan laughs fondly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you smile at him gratefully. “I’m better now so if you’re still on board, we can continue.”

“I’m on board but let me come up with a new plan. I was thinking of fucking you doggy style but now that’s out of the question with your knee situation.”

Hearing him speak out loud what he was planning to do to you sends shivers down your spine. Damn it, maybe you should have just hidden under the table.

“How do you feel about missionary?” Chan inquires.

“Wouldn’t it be too intimate for the kind of scenario we’re doing?” you are doubtful.

“Not if I hold you down,” Chan murmurs smugly.

“Oh. Well, then…like I said, you can do whatever you like.”

“Action?”

“Action,” you confirm.

Chan wastes no time in pulling you up from your sitting position and pushing you down on the cold floor. He’s holding your wrists with one hand and undressing you with the other. Scratch that. He’s tearing your dress apart. It was never one of your faves.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you mewl at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Chan commands.

He doesn’t bother with stretching you out because he sees you’re already soaking wet for him. Instead, he forces his thick cock inside of your tiny pussy.

Only this time, your screams are real and you’re not at all pretending.

“T-too b-big, it h-hurts,” you cry out.

“You can take it, bunny,” Chan says confidently.

You know that you can put an end to this with one simple word but damn, does it feel incredible to be stuffed full by your best friend’s large manhood.

“Shh,” he whispers in your ear. “This’ll feel so much better if you relax f’me.”

You’re trying, really. But it’s too much you feel like he’ll split you in half. Okay, maybe not a bad way to go but still.

“D-daddy, it h-hurts so m-much,” you slur mindlessly.

Wait, what did you just say?

“Daddy, huh? Easy, babybun, your wolf dad’s gonna take good care of you, I promise,” Chan’s words send you into overdrive and you come around his cock, your thighs are shaking and you’re arching your back. You can’t think anymore, you just need to be with him stuck in this moment forever. Soon enough, he releases his cum inside of your pussy.

You want to beg him to stay there for a while but you are too weak to speak.

Instead, Chan uses his fingers to push back the cum inside of your tiny pussy.

“Gotta make it stick. Will my bunny have my wolf puppies, huh?”

Oh? So, he’s that kind of guy. Well, you can’t say you mind...Besides, you’ve talked about this before and you’re on the pill so whatever he says is just for the sake of the scenario. Right?

“Was this okay?” Chan intends to find out and judging by his soft tone that is just begging to be praised you can tell that the scene is over.

“You did amazing, Chris,” you sigh wistfully and kiss his cheek.

“Better than your fantasies?”

“You have no idea.”

“So…when can we do something like this again?”

“Gee, let me have some water, at least,” you joke but your best friend (?) takes it literally and scoops you up in his arms, heading towards the stairs.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“To get you water, of course. And have a bath. And then to bed.”

Fuck. Maybe staying friends will be more complicated than you initially thought.

Once you’ve both been hydrated, washed up and dried out, you are cuddled in your bed, sharing snacks.

“Do you want to try something more extreme next week?” Chan asks casually. As if what you just did wasn’t already pretty intense.

“Um, sure? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Kind of an outside setting. It will take some planning to make sure there aren’t other people but…it just came to mind while we were in the basement.”

“Tell me more about it,” you blink curioisly and put your hand on top of his.”

“So…how do you feel about being chased in a forest?”

To be continued…

[rosaeh]

one thing about you, is that you always wait up for jason to come back from patrol.

you usually try to entertain yourself with a book, or a series, but — more often than not — you end up falling asleep on the couch. no matter how many times jason told you not to, you just wouldn't listen — but deep down he really liked that you were so willing to wait for him.

he liked coming home from patrol and finding you asleep on the couch. he'd take off one of his gloves with his teeth, and would let the tip of his fingers linger over your cheek — he didn't want to taint you, he didn't feel worthy of really touching you, not when his hands were covered in blood ; even if only he could see it. but, this string that link him to you can't let him deny this comfort very long. and, soon enough, he allows himself to gently cup your cheek or push a strand of hair away from your face, gently waking you up before carrying you to bed.

there are times, however, when jason doesn't like you waiting up for him. especially the time when he is wounded.

on those nights, he'd try his best not to wake you, making sure to not walk on the wrong slats, making his way to the bathroom as silently as possible.

unfortunately for him, on those nights, you tended to feel something was wrong, and as he'd turn his head to make sure you were still sleeping, he'd be meet with your disapproving gaze at his antics.

silently, you'd lead him to the bathroom. he'd either sit on the counter or on the edge of the tub — either way, you'd be standing between his legs. the first is better to access any big injury, while the latter is convenient to patch his face up.

on those nights, you'd patch him up silently, working diligently on his face as you had taken care of the most of his other injuries. he wouldn't dare let his hands rest on your hips as he usually would, and would settle with gripping the surface he was sitting on. carefully, he'd try to meet your gaze, "you mad at me ?"

you'd pause in your movements, letting out a sigh, "i just don't like seeing you hurt, jay. 's all. but that doesn't mean i want you to hide it from me."

he'd hum, "and i don't like seeing those lines of worry on your face, baby." he'd say as his finger would hover over your face. you'd tilt your head to the side at that, a slight frown on your face — doesn't he know by now that you can't help it ? that no matter what, no matter how skilled he is at this, you'll always worry ?

he'd gently take your hand in his, and guide it to his mouth. he'd kiss your knuckles, and look at you without pulling away from your hand, "'m sorry, sweetheart. i'm not trying to hide things from you. i just don't want to worry you more, after already putting you through the burden of waiting for me. forgive me ?"

how can he believe he's a burden to you ? and how can you not cave when he looks at you like that ? so lovingly, full of longing.

you'd let a soft smile find its way to your lips — he'd be mesmerised by it — and you'd intertwine your fingers with his. "as long as you keep coming home to me, jay, i'll keep waiting. because i want to. i want to make sure you're coming home, that you're alright, that you'll be sleeping by my side. and i want to wait for you, so that if you're hurt, you won't have to go through that alone. so that i can take care of you, too, for once. just like you do with me."

and at your words, it's jason's turn to smile.

he really is grateful for you, even when he feels like he doesn't deserve it.

[poisonofthepaint]

Day After Tomorrow

read part two here!

a/n: hi! this is my first time writing for abbot so i hope this is okay! hoping to make this a series, it was really fun to write this :-) and i would love to hear if u liked it!!

content warnings: none serious, age gap between abbot and reader, lots of dialogue, spiraling reader a tinsy bit, maybe ooc jack? definitely some wacked up medical school hoopla i made up to make it fit my abbot backstory headcanons, reader is a barista who's studying philosophy, this is their first meeting. i barely proofread this. enjoy!

It was early. Way too fucking early. You could not believe that your boss had bumped up the hours again. The shop opened at 4:00 now. Four in the morning. You couldn’t believe your eyes when you got the text. You had woken up at 2:50, the latest you could sleep in and also get to work at 3:30. Honestly, you think you’ll get used to it, but right now, in the transitional period? This felt like hell. Who even gets coffee at 4:00 A.M.? 

You regret the thought the second it enters your brain, because, of course, the bell goes off on the door to signal someone is walking in. 

“One second, sorry, getting my bearings,” you say, not bothering to look up at the first of many customers.

“That’s okay. You are open, yes?”  he says while walking to the ordering counter

The deep voice makes your eyes shoot up, and his attire makes them linger longer. He’s adorned in black scrubs, a gray t-shirt peeking out from beneath them. You draw your eyes away quickly, probably not quick enough for him to not notice you were staring, but again, it’s early, you’re just moving slow.  

“Yes, open, and– shit,” you mumble. “Shoot,” you correct yourself as if your boss is around to hear it. The stranger smiles and huffs out a laugh.

“Sorry, this drawer is a pain in the morning, it never wants to unlock itself. Technology,” you say and shrug. You grab the physical key and unlock it, which has the computer registering you’re open. 

“I get it, I prefer to do things the old fashioned way.” he says. You shoot him a look. “I just mean, no technology.” he shakes his head, and pulls a hand down his face.

“What can I get you…”you glance down at his badge, “Jack.” A smile finally warms on your face, and it brings a small one to his too. 

“Just a small hot coffee, nothing in it.”

“Easy enough,” you turn around to the machine and start pouring the fresh coffee into a cup. “Starting or ending your shift?” you ask.

“I’m almost done, few more hours, just needed something better than whatever the hell they serve in the cafeteria.”

You nod your head, and put a lid on the coffee. “Well consider this a courtesy, on the house.”

He looks shocked, and… a little bit offended? You can’t tell. Honestly, he’s pretty mysterious. You feel like you can read him, but maybe you can’t? 

“I don’t mind paying.” he says, pulling out some cash from his wallet.

“I’m sure you’re good for it,” you push away the cash in his hand, softly grazing his knuckles, “But, I’m really trying to prove a point to my boss that no one comes in this early. You’re kind of putting a fork in my master plan.”

  He laughs, a genuine laugh. You smile, again. You want to impress him, but you’re unsure why. Maybe it's kind of like a kinship thing. Like, hey, I’m up this early too. I see you, we’ve got the night covered while almost everyone else sleeps.

“Oh, I see. You don’t want to be up this early.” Jack’s back to, what you assume is his normal, stoic, expression. You didn’t even notice he stopped laughing

“Do you like the night shift?” you ask. You don’t deny his claim. Who wants to be up this early to work?

“I do, yeah, I do.” Jack does, apparently.

“Is it quieter?”

“Is it ever quiet?”

He stares at you. You open and close your mouth– look around the empty cafe. “I mean, here? Yeah. in a hospital? I’m gonna go with no.”

He nods his head slowly, and looks down. He doesn’t leave, though. Even though the transaction is over. He needs someone to talk to, you realize. Someone who isn’t dying, and someone who doesn’t know what the hell is going on in a hospital at 4:00 A.M. He doesn’t pick his head up, fiddling with the stopper you put in the lid of the coffee.

“Well, I hope that coffee doesn’t make your hands shake, I don’t want to be implicated.” That gets his eyes to meet yours. He looks like he forgot he was still standing there. “You’re free to stay however long you need, say the line was long, or, whatever. I am gonna set some more stuff up but, feel free to hang out. It’s kind of nice having someone to talk to.” You turn the blame on yourself; make him feel like he’s treating you instead.

You’ve always been kind of attuned to people’s emotional baggage. And a few years of customer service in a city has certainly bumped up that ability for you. People came and went, but you could remember who was hurting, and who needed the extra bedside manners that baristas could sometimes supply. You catch his eye while you make yourself a shift drink. A London fog today, with an extra tea bag, because you do need the caffeine.

“A barista who doesn’t drink coffee?” he says, gesturing with his cup.

“Oh, I drink a lot of coffee. But, I try to save those for when it gets busy. Right now, I’m okay with just tea. If I drink the coffee now, I’ll crash by the rush, and there won’t be time to make a drink. But if I drink it closer to the rush then…”

“Smart girl,” he says.

The comment makes your face feel hot. It’s your turn to put your head down, you polish the espresso machine in front of you instead of meeting his eyes. 

“Are you in school?” he asks.

“I am, I’m getting my Masters. Last semester,” you smile. 

“In what?” His bluntness is more attractive than you care to admit. It feels like an interrogation, but also like a first date. You wonder why he’s stayed this long.

“Philosophy,” you say as you exhale out.

“Plans after?” 

“I thought everyone knew they weren’t supposed to ask people that?”

He laughs, again. Two laughs from mysterious brooding Doctor Abbot. Three if you count the tiny one. You want to go for four. You want to go for sixty.

“I guess it’s easy for Med School students. Very clear plan there.”

“Very clear. But I took a work around.”

“Oh yeah?”

He gets a small smirk on his lips, “Yeah, I served, and was a medic out there.” Your face drops, everything you think you know about anything leaves your brain, you have another stupid 4 A.M. thought and think maybe you should salute. Luckily, you don’t.

“That always stumps people. But, I loved what I did so much I did an expedited Med School program to get me in as an ER doctor.”

“So, here you are now.” you regain your thinking.

“Here I am,” he says. “Hey, are you here alone?”

“You should know there’s cameras everywhere.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he says, understanding your joke. Another laugh, that makes four. “I just wondered.”

“No, I’m not. There’s other people in the back doing, what needs done in the back.” You say, not wanting to bore an ER Doctor with what goes on at a coffee shop.

“Good, you shouldn’t be here alone.” 

“You worried about me, Doc?” 

The nickname, and question, sends him for a loop, that he can’t hide. His gaze seems to change, and he stares at you with such intensity you have to look away for a second before you can look back. When you do, his eyes are still there. He clears his throat, does a little pace around the spot he was standing. He seems like he’s stalling. You peak over his shoulder at the analog clock. 4:30 A.M. Long coffee run for a doctor, he’s probably thinking so too. 

“Do you work this early every morning?” He asks with furrowed eyebrows.

  So, ignoring your question then. “Mostly, yes, but not tomorrow, thankfully.”

“But after that?” He asks with urgency.

“I’ll be here the day after tomorrow, yes.” You try to keep a cool demeanor, but his nonchalant nature is rubbing off on you. You’re starting to get antsy. You spin the ring on your pointer finger around to try to calm yourself.

“Okay, good. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.” Like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a fucking second date type plan. Like he doesn’t even think of it.

“Okay, good.” You say, parroting him. He walks toward the door backwards, not breaking eye contact with you. He pushes it open with his shoulder, tossing the empty cup into the trash bin right next to the front door. He stands there for a second before leaving. And when he is forced to turn around from you, he shakes his head.

You’re off the rest of your shift. Everyone can tell. You’re not as fast, you’re making mistakes. You feel like you’re in a fucking dream. You can’t remember if he was even real. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot. Jack Abbot.

You repeat the name until you feel like you’re gonna choke on it. Doctor Jack Abbot. You try to remember everything you said, and you try not to feel embarrassed by any of it. God, he caught you off guard. And it wasn’t fair! You could’ve handled it so much better if it wasn’t so, fucking, early. And he had hours of consciousness on you! When he came in, it had been, what, maybe an hour since you had woken up? 

And you really try not to think too much about it.  He said he’d come back, so it couldn’t have been too bad. But you like him, and you have never had a crush on a customer. It was a rule you had always followed. Anyone you thought was cute, you didn’t let yourself spiral about, you cut it in the bud. You didn’t want to have someone the whole staff knew suddenly disappear because you two went on a bad date.

But the staff didn’t know Jack! It was just you two, there wasn’t even a goddamn transaction on record! So of course you’re spiraling! And he’s a doctor, a good doctor, who obviously cares about his patients. You wanted to pry his brain open, have him teach you all the science knowledge you didn’t get from your Philosophy degree.  You wanted him. And all you had was a promise.

You do get yourself under control, about an hour before your shift ends. You didn’t let yourself google him. You didn’t let yourself think about him. You focused on your work, and honestly, it got so busy it did kind of get pushed to the back of your head. But he was lingering around. He was like a piece of sticky gum on your shoe. It was a promise that you would not let yourself be sad if it was broken. You will yourself to not spiral about a promise from this man you didn’t really know. Your whole life wasn’t going to be over if Dr. Jack Abbot didn’t come in promptly at 4 A.M. the day after tomorrow. 

He didn’t seem like the type to break a promise. You don’t know why he would have been so adamant about asking you when you work if he was lying. No, you’d see him again. You just had to be calm, and wait. Tomorrow was going to kill you, though. A day off with nothing to do but classes. You hoped the coursework would be interesting enough to distract you from him in your brain. For a brief moment, you wonder if you should change your thesis to applying different types of philosophy to ER Doctors. You couldn’t believe you were so caught up by a thirty minute conversation, but you were. There was no changing that. You just had to get to the day after tomorrow.

Yes, the day after tomorrow, maybe you’d get another thirty minutes.

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter |

💖 Dad!price x Daughter!reader

PART THREE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2983words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/complicated father-daughter relationship

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Previous parts > [series masterlist]

The repetitive beep echoing in your ear grew louder and louder, but you couldn't focus on the chatter around you. Your body heavy, the weight of your limbs not moving the way you wanted them to. The dull ache across your shoulder blades tingled, prickling sensation shooting down your arm and settling at the lump on your wrist.

A warmth spread over your hand, smooth and rough in places as the phantom touch traced your knuckles. Light and gentle, it'd been ages since someone had been so tender with you. You lifted your finger, a twitch against something soft beneath your palm.

Your lashes remained stuck, eyelids heavy, but you managed to force your eyes open. The piercing white light blurring everything in your vision, face burying into the pillow as you tried to get used to it.

Did you pass out on the sofa again? Why weren’t they turning their alarm off? You squeezed your eyes shut trying to make sense of where you were. Oddly, your mind was light, a little groggy from the sleep you’d just broke away from. 

No, it was too quiet to be on mum's sofa. The slow beep started to climb, doubling in speed until you realised it was your own heart beating. Where were you? No, you can’t be back there. 

A rough voice sounded beside you, the whooshing in your ear muffling their words. Throbbing pain pulsating in your head, you squeezed your eye's shut whining at the tight pull over the bridge of your nose. You must have gone down hard.

You just couldn't remember, head empty and you didn't care, all you wanted to do was close your eye's again. A hand pawed at your hair, you wanted to shrink away from their touch, but you were too tired to move.

You caught the edge of their words, your old man. 

“Captain.” Your words slurred, but you can hear your dad’s voice now that the beeping has disappeared. He's reassuring you about something, the weight of his hand on yours. You feel like you're being tucked into bed like a kid, something your dad only did for you when you stayed at his. That didn't happen often though.

You're in and out that haze for another few days, well thats what the kind nurse told you as she checked your vitals and sat with you whilst you ate breakfast. At first you thought she'd force the hospital food down your throat, but she observed you pushing the warm food around on the tray. She didn't push though, trading the plate for a pot of green jelly. The only thing you could stomach, you scraped the pot and she came back with two more, stayed by your side until you finished them.

Kyle and Johnny frequented the infirmary more than your own father. You hadn't seen him since your first dazed wake up and even then you weren't sure if you'd dreamt it or not.

The past two days Johnny accompanied you on a walk down the corridor, his hand hovering behind your elbow in case your legs gave out, like the first day you got out of bed. He'd caught you, your cheek smushed into his firm chest. You'd found out the reason for Johnny's light touch, the demolition specialist comparing the skill of disarming a bomb no different than dealing with you.

Johnny was quite the charmer too, every women that passed him seemed to fawn over him. You wasn't sure if it was the thick Scottish accent that made him stand out or the way he always seemed to have an answer for everything.

The days seemed to merge with each other, you couldn't keep track of the time either. Always waiting for something, someone.

After the Fifth day you refused to take your medication, Toff crumbling under the pressure and telling you that the Captain was at your bedside during the evening whilst you slept. His work keeping him away during the day.

So you did everything you could to stay awake, the nerves twisting your stomach as you thought of what your dad would say to you. What questions he'd ask you.

The worse of them all, you hoped he hadn't called your mum. You found yourself staring at the door, waiting for her to walk in.

What you didn't expect though was Simon Riley walking in and taking your dad’s seat. You slid down the headboard, fingers twisting in the blanket at your waist.

What the fuck was he doing here?

You rubbed your eyes, regretting the action as Simon pulled your arm away from you face.

“Mind that gash,” Simon said, voice muffled under his mask. He pointed to the cut on the bridge of your nose, the area swollen and tender where something had fallen on top of you in the bathroom.  

Apparently you’d caused quite the stir on base, word getting round of how a specialist agent a.k.a Kyle scaled the two story house and removed the window. All that just to get to you.

If you weren’t staying willingly, you’re sure the base would kick you out as soon as they could. The captain would probably drive you home, some half assed excuse about needing to go dark.

Home, you don’t know where that is anymore.

You wished it were Johnny or Kyle in his seat, at least Kyle read the latest trashy magazine articles out loud to you to fill the silence. Johnny asking you twenty one questions, more to check brain activity and memory loss. Not that you answered all of them. 

No Simon Riley stared at you, his muscular arms crossed over his chest making them look ten times bigger. The black hoody pulled up over his head, white skull sticking out against the dark mask covering lower part of his face. You wondered if he wore it everywhere outside.

"Bones?"

He raised a brow, shifting in his chair and widening his legs as he leant back against the seat. Not much of talker, that or he didn't want to entertain your curiosity.

“Your call sign. The skeleton mask isn’t a clue then?” you said, head sinking back into the pillow as you laid back down. Might as well the fill silence if he was just going to sit there and stare.

"Tell me his name and I'll tell you mine," He tilted his head to the side, his fingers digging in his biceps.

Your eyes followed the lines in the tiled ceiling, the whirring of a fan pushing cold air in your face. "What does it matter? It's not like I'm going back," you said, wanting to believe your words, no matter how much they trembled from your lips.

What did he care anyways? You'd only showed up last week, a stranger to him and your own dad. You wondered if that was why he hadn't been to visit during the day, couldn't look at your face and recognise the girl who he used to know.

"Tell ya' dad at least, eh."

"Sure," you mumbled, turning your back to him as you pulled the blanket over your shoulders.

As much as you hated to admit it, you and your dad were more alike than you thought.

In the presence of his task force and the other military personnel on the base, he was the no nonsense Captain, telling them exactly what he thought.

With you though he seemed to be holding back, you just didn’t know how or what he was going to say. You had plenty to say, but even more to keep to yourself. Tension building between your unsaid words, manifesting as silent brooding. If he wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to lay it all out and piss him off.

Was the Captain angry at you? You had no clue, but the knot in your stomach twisted as his gaze swept to you.

He shrugged off his jacket and helped guide your arms through the sleeves. “Here, couldn’t find a coat in your bag,” he said, tugging the collar forwards. You stumbled into him muttering an apology as he let go.

The brown cord jacket probably older than you were. Cream fleeced lining still holding his warmth, the sleeves rolled up at the cuffs so it’s not too long on you. It hung off your shoulders, swamping you. The Smokey scent clinging to the fabric, a mixture of tobacco and spice merging with it. Something you didn’t want to wash away as a kid after hugging him goodbye.

In your rush to get out of that place, you’d forgotten your coat. Even with months of planning you’d slipped up, calling your dad being one of them.

“Come on kiddo,” he said, nudging his head towards the old brown truck.

The same truck you used watch disappear down the street after every visit as a kid. Your mum threatening to shut you out if you let the cold into the house.

“You looked through my stuff,” you said, trailing after him as he opened the passenger door for you. You climbed into the seat, staring at the faded heart sticker still on the dashboard. A sparkly one you put there so he’d always think of you whilst he was saving the world.

He scratched his moustache, leaning one arm against the door. “Well, yeah. You needed clothes, doubt you’d wear your old man’s clobber,” he said, leaning across you and yanking the belt strap, he still hadn’t fixed the bloody thing.

His hands fumbled over the clasp, cursing under his breath as it caught halfway. You pressed your back into the seat, not quite sure why he was trying to clip you in like a child. The scar on his jawline sticking out against the stubble, you wondered how he'd got it.

“I got it, Captain,” you said, flinching as the belt sprung back over your shoulder and down the side of the seat. “Think it might be time to retire the old dear.” You tapped the glovebox, snatching your hand back as the compartment opened. Your dad slammed it shut, the only way to keep it there with force. The car shook with his movement.

The Captain hated buying new stuff. Preferred the old, originals that stood the test of time. “I’m the only thing that’ll be retiring.” He chuckled, shaking his head and closing your door.

Shifting in your seat, you winced. Eyes squeezing shut and nose scrunching as you tried not to groan in pain. The tight pull of your nose and the cut there drawing a trembling breath from your lips. The back of your shoulder felt like it was burning, you tried not to put all your weight on it and angled your body to the right, gaze on the now moving car.

“You okay kiddo?” He glanced at you, palm patting your knee. The low hum of the radio of some obscure band filtering through the speakers. You nodded, wondering why he was driving around the carpark.

Recruits marching in the distance, the check out booth coming into view. Why was he handing over your passes? Where were you going? You checked the back seats, expecting your bag to be there, but it was clear. Maybe it was in the boot.

His phone rang, your mother’s name on the screen. No, you asked him not to. You glanced to the door, locked. Not that you’d be tumbling out anyways.

The car was rolling out of the base, chain linked fence fading behind you. Your dad silenced his phone, letting the call go to his voicemail.

“I’m not going back.”

He glanced at you, fingers tapping the worn steering wheel. He turned his body to yours, red light giving him an opportunity to really look at you.

“You don’t wanna go back to base?” His gaze flitting between your face and the rearview mirror. “Where you going to go kid?” He’s back at the steering wheel, light green. Stepping on the pedal a little too hard that you jutted forward, seatbelt digging into your collarbone.

“You fucking called her, I’m not going back there. You can’t make me,” you spat, throat scratchy and dry. You folded your arms over your chest, twisting his jacket in your clenched fists.

If he’d called your mum, that meant she knew where you were. And you knew if she turned up, you’d go with her just to make things easier. Easier on the Captain, not you. You found it difficult to tell her no, she made it that way. Good at getting in your head, saying things you wanted to hear, then proving you that she’s exactly the same person she was before.

You’re still trying to figure out what kind of person your dad is.

“Hey, woah. We ain’t going anywhere. I just need to pick something up.” He won’t look at you though, his phone dropping into the cup holder. “Your mum deserves to know what’s happening with her kid. She’d be worried.” His face getting redder and redder, brows furrowed as he makes a sloppy right turn. Tyre hitting the kerb, old car groaning at the assault.

Yeah, worried about money. Worried that you'll tell the Captain what she's really like. Not worried about you.

“Well she didn’t think you deserved to know about a lot of things.” You say it before even thinking and wished you didn’t. The captain’s probably storing that piece of information away for his interrogation later.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pit me against your mother.” His words were firm and clear, a glimpse of the father you should have grown up with. The same words he used when you told him your mum had been seeing another man. If he’d have stayed it wouldn’t have been so bad, but then again it was your fault for him leaving. Maybe you shouldn’t have said a thing.

You can’t help, but laugh. “The woman cheats on you, multiple times and you still can’t say a bad word about her. Well I’ve got plenty.” You know you shouldn't be picking apart old wounds, but you want to see how far you can push. What he'll do when he's annoyed or angry.

He doesn't bite though, exhaling a controlled breath and taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “She’s your mother, I ain’t going to talk about her like that.” Ever the respectful man, your mother not so much when it came to him.

You wondered if what your mother said to you about your dad was true. Not that you wanted to find out.

The rest of the drive silent, the static radio buzzing every now and then when the signal dropped out. Your dad pulled up in a parking space, a small row of shops lining the high street. He didn’t even glance your way as he exited the car, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

The click of the locks echoed through the car, door handle not budging as you pushed your shoulder against it. His phone rang again and you stared at your mother’s name, as if she could sense you there. You cancelled the call and silenced the ringtone, dropping it back into the cup holder.

What you didn’t expect to see was a small photo of you taped to the back of his phone case, little you sitting on your dads lap, clutching a teddy bear and one of his ridiculous army hats on your head. You must have been four, didn’t go anywhere without it. The teddy lost in one of the many moves growing up.

The picture creased and faded as if it’d been stuffed in a pocket. You don’t even remember the photo, never even seen it. Little things like this, make you second guess everything you thought you knew about your father. You don't even have many photo's, that wasn't an interest for your mother.

Another photo tucked away on the sun visor, one of his wife and your little brother, their smiles contagious that it makes your lips curve. So much love in one photo, the Captain's chin resting on the toddlers head and his gaze fixed on his wife. A unit, a family, something foreign to you.

Flicking up the visor, you fell back into your seat. Reminding yourself, that you're time there was temporary. You stared out at the lady pushing a pram along the high street, gaze lingering on the mother leaning over to smile at her baby.

The Captain climbed back into the drivers seat, passing you a paper bag and dumping it in your lap. He started the car, indicator ticking as he drove off.

"A phone, Kyle said that was a good one," he cleared his throat, scratching his moutache and pointing to the bag, encouraging you to peek inside. "The one in ya' bag's smashed to shit, need something you can use," he grumbled on like it was no big deal.

You slid the box out of the bag, a shiny new phone inside. Not just any phone, but the latest model in your favourite colour, lilac.

"I really don't need..." You turn the box over, scanning all the specs and the barcode. This was more than something you needed, any one would have done.

"Just take the damn phone, but do me favour..." The captain finally glanced in your direction, smokey scent mingling with the three dangling air fresheners dotted around. "Leave the location on, Kiddo."

Nodding, you put it back in the bag. You'd use the phone for now and leave it behind once you're gone, not wanting to be in his debt. "Uh, yeah thanks."

"When we get back, we'll have a little chat. Figure it all out."

And just like that, the knot in your stomach twists and twists. You wonder what kind of talk awaits you.

[PART FOUR]

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 (Some of the tags wouldn't work so sorry if I didn't tag you. If you would like to be added just let me know)

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook (2) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post match vibes

warning: mentions of stitches, needle, and blood

note: 2/5 parts for this mini series! thanks for the love w pt1! mwah

//

jungkook sits on the edge of the ever-so-familiar hospital bed.

his legs are spread, hands draped over his knees, and he fights the urge to shut his eyes as the overhead light casts sharp shadows over the planes of his face.

he can feel it—his blood dripping down the sides of his face. the fresh cut on his forehead stark against his skin and the throbbing almost makes him feel like shit. jungkook takes a deep breath and stays still as you prep the needle. though the sterile scent of disinfectant settles between you, jungkook is doing his absolute best to memorize the way you smell.

you smell so freaking good.

"i thought you said you were good at boxing."

your voice is light, but the weight of it presses against his ribs. he grins, dimples threatening to form despite the sting above his brow.

"i am."

"so i'm stitching you up because?"

his gaze flickers to you, dark and intent. "i've been lacking the motivation."

"to win?"

"to focus,” he confesses. “how long has it been, doc? 3 months? shit. haven’t been myself since then. every day i hoped someone would beat the shit out of me so i could have an excuse to see you.”

"so you got yourself beaten up just to see me? is that supposed to impress me?" you ask him unamused.

he shakes his head. "no, but my dedication to seeing you again is."

"do you ever take no for an answer?"

"did you even really say no to me, though?"

the air stills.

then, you exhale through your nose. pretending to be unimpressed at him before pressing the needle to his skin. as you wait for his reaction, you run through different comebacks.

but you're out of time. in fact, you barely had any.

jungkook doesn’t flinch.

it truly does impress you because this shot is a bitch. yet, you notice how his fingers curl into a fist against the sheets.

"it's okay if it hurts," you murmur. "it's not supposed to be painless."

his jaw flexes. 

"i can handle hits. stitches? easy."

"i never said you couldn't handle it. i said it's okay if it hurts."

jungkook isn’t sure what it is… but silence drapes over the room. like a heavy mist or early moving fog.

it’s thick and weighted. 

jungkook swallows. his throat feels dry. his mind races. 

all his life, pain has been an afterthought—background noise to the only thing that’s ever mattered; winning. to jungkook, if he isn’t bruised, battered, and bleeding by the end of a fight, he hasn’t fought hard enough. pain isn’t something to be acknowledged and dwelled on. it’s a consequence. a transaction. 

but now, here you are… speaking about it so simply and coated in acceptance and warmth. then, there’s also your motherfucking gaze. 

so soft. 

so kind. 

so present. 

all of these things mixed together make his stomach twist. he doesn’t know how to act. he does’t know what to say. he doesn’t know what to feel.

he wonders if this is what pain really feels like—not the kind he’s trained to endure, but the kind that sneaks up on you, curling around your ribs when you least expect it. he wonders if it’s because he’s spent so long numbing himself to it… or if it’s because, for the first time, he’s realized something worse than losing a fight…

losing the chance to keep seeing you.

because holy fuck. 

where have you been his entire life? 

seriously.

jungkook clears his throat, stretching out his fingers, forcing the tension from his knuckles. "so, doc," he starts, a smirk playing at his lips, "do you date doctors?"

you blink. "pardon me?"

"you don’t date patients, right? well, everyone is a patient at some point, but not everyone is a doctor. so, do you only date doctors?"

you almost laugh. 

almost.

"you just got seven stitches on your forehead and you're concerned about whether or not i date doctors?"

jungkook shrugs before dropping the most nonchalant information about himself; "i have a degree in nutrition, you know. used to specialize in sports nutrition. just wanted to give boxing a shot—"

"wow. i didn't know that. that’s really cool." you say, genuinely intrigued, "what school did you go to—"

"i won't quit boxing... at least, not yet... but if i ever do, just know that i can be a doctor too… if that’s who you date and shit."

“and shit?”

“and shit.”

this time, you do laugh. 

it’s so pretty. 

the sound of it and the sight of it—mesmerizing. 

it catches jungkook off guard. his eyes flickering over your face, lingering a second too long. he looks at you… he really looks at you and it’s like he just won the best thing in the world. like he’s a kid who won BINGO in his class for the first time and got to choose the scented eraser as his prize. 

he watches you and thinks; to have you is to win. 

you’re the only victory he wants. 

as he shifts forward to hop off the bed, your hands move on instinct, catching him before he can fully rise. your fingers press lightly against the firm muscle of his forearm, his skin warm beneath your touch. he stills at the contact, his gaze flicking down to where your hands steady him, then back up to your face.

for a beat, neither of you move.

the air shifts—thickens—his breath slowing as he watches you, unreadable. your pulse kicks up, just slightly, just enough for you to notice. but then jungkook smirks, lazy and knowing, the tension splintering just as quickly as it built.

"careful, doc," he murmurs, voice lower now, laced with something teasing, something else. "if you keep holding onto me like that, i might start thinking you care."

"you shouldn’t be jumping off like that so fast—"

"okay. whatever you say. hey, look at me," he says, voice quieter now, more deliberate. your fingers still against his arm. "i'm not bad looking, right? i have an education. i follow my passion, and it's going well—"

"again," you interject, "i just gave you seven stitches."

"again," he repeats, "i just needed a reason to see you."

"you requested me and refused to be treated by namjoon," you point out.

"exactly," jungkook smirks.

you bite your bottom lip, catching yourself before you react. suddenly, you’re aware of how close you are—his warmth pressing into your space, the scent of sweat and antiseptic clinging to him. his eyes are locked on yours, waiting, watching.

"___—"

"doctor ___," you correct, stepping back, straightening your coat, severing whatever was hanging between you.

"doctor ___..." he tests the words on his tongue, then nods. "i’d really appreciate it if you could reconsider the whole... only dating a doctor thing. honestly? i don’t mind school. i just don’t want to go back and be old by the time i get to your level… but if that’s really the only way you’ll go out with me—"

rolling your eyes, you brush off your coat, turning toward the door—just like last time. pushing it open, you pause before you step through. taking one final glance at him, you titl your head ever so slightly. 

jungkook mirrors you. 

"no, mr. jeon," you say, voice laced with amusement. "i do not just date doctors. in fact, i avoid dating them."

then, the door swings shut behind you.

jungkook exhales, pressing his tongue against his cheek, shaking his head as he lets out a breathless chuckle.

hope. 

that’s what this feels like.

he’s had victories before, ones that have left him bruised and battered, ones that have left him undefeated. but this? this is something else entirely. something he’s willing to lose for. something he knows, in the deepest part of his chest, he can’t afford to.

not this time.

not when it’s you.

[katsu28]

"Squeezing their hand reassuringly and holding their hand throughout an intense social situation" for Lando if you are still taking requests! I love your writing sm!!❤️❤️

thank you so much!!!

lando norris x reader, 1.5k. request something from here!

“I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?” 

You tilt your head at Lando as he slides back into his seat across from you, curious. He looks uncharacteristically serious. “What, did your card get declined or something?” 

“That’s—uh, excuse me? No.” Lando scoffs, scrunching his nose at you at the same time as he flips you off playfully. “My card did not decline, thank you very much. I’ll say it again, good news or bad news first?” 

“Good news first, always,” You insist firmly. 

Lando sighs, propping his elbows up on the table. “Good news, you got a free meal on me again. Bad news, there's a whole crowd of cameras and fans outside the restaurant right now and no way out the back.” 

“Oh.” 

Even just thinking about having to push through the whole gaggle of paparazzi outside has an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. You know you should be used to it by now, seeing as you’ve been with Lando for a while and known him even longer, but it’s not something you go through on a regular basis. You’ve tried your very best to avoid it, really. 

Without him, nobody notices you. You can blend in with others and not have to worry about whether or not your life is being looked at through a microscope. 

With him, you feel thrust into the spotlight. Even though you know they’re not here for you, they’re here for him, it doesn’t seem like anyone cares so long as they get a picture of Lando. Of course, not all of the fans are like that, but in your experience, things can get out of hand very quickly. 

“I’m sorry, love. I know how much you hate crowds.” 

“Um, yeah, it’s alright. I can handle it.” Your voice sounds breathy, even to you, and Lando takes notice, his brow creasing in concern. 

“You sure? I can leave now and you can wait here til it all dies down. I promise I’ll circle back for you,” He offers, tilting his head. He reaches across the table to take your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Half of you wants to play it safe and take him up on the offer. It would be easier on yourself to take that route. 

At the same time, you don’t want to hide anymore. The greater part of you feels like it's about time you mustered up the courage to embrace the very thing that makes you nervous. Lando has to do it everyday, surely you can handle it once. 

“No. We’ll leave together,” You decide, firmer this time. He smiles and stands from his seat, ever a gentleman as he helps you up from your own seat. Your previous confidence takes a rather large blow when you get to the waiting area of the restaurant and actually see just how large the crowd outside is. You stop suddenly.

“I’ve got you,” He says softly. “I won’t let go of you.” 

“Promise?” 

Lando holds out his pinky towards you in a silent promise, a pre race tradition you’ve adopted to help him settle his nerves before a race. You study his completely sincere expression for a few moments before letting out a sharp exhale through your nose, hooking your pinky around his. Both of you bring your linked hands up to your mouth, kissing the side of your fists to seal the promise. 

A silly gesture from way back in his karting days, but the significance it holds now is set in stone. 

“Okay. Okay, fuck, let’s get this over with!” His fingers slide into yours now, squeezing your hand reassuringly just for good measure. 

It feels like a full body assault on all your senses coming from all sides the moment you step outside. Flashing cameras, screaming fans, being jostled around even as Lando pushes through the crowd first to try to clear the way for you. You make the mistake of looking out into the crowd instead of keeping your head down like him, and instantly you’re blinded by a series of photos being snapped inches in front of your face. 

You can’t see a thing anymore, vision swimming with white spots no matter how much you blink to try to get rid of them. You stumble on the uneven cobblestones, and Lando’s grip on your hand tightens, his other arm slipping around your waist to steady you before you trip again. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” He says into your ear, holding you close. He’s the only thing keeping you from panicking, your anchor in the ocean of people as he forges on towards the car waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. “Here, step up. Yeah, that’s it, grab there. Watch your head.” 

You scramble into the backseat of the car as quickly as you can so Lando can climb in after you. The door slams shut, and all that remains is silence. No more clamoring, no more screaming, just the rumble of the car under you and the telltale lurch that you’ve started to move. 

Collapsing back against the headrest, you laugh, high pitched and disbelieving. 

“Are you alright?” Lando’s voice sounds strained, tinged with concern, and his hand squeezes yours again. “All in one piece? All your limbs still attached?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’m okay, I just can’t really see anything right now,” You sigh. Your vision is still fuzzy, even in the darkness of the car. If you focus hard enough, you can kind of make out faint outlines of your surroundings, but you know it’ll be a bit until you’ll be seeing things clearly again. Lando makes a worried sound, and you're sure if you could see him his head would be cocked to the side, brows pinched in the middle. “Just the flashing cameras, probably. Now I know why you wear sunglasses everywhere you go.” 

He laughs then, giggles at you like you've said something absolutely hilarious. “I told you why I always have them on me! Did you think I was joking?” 

“No, I just always thought you were being a douchebag.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Only douchebags wear glasses indoors, Lando. And blind people, but you're not blind.” 

“You might be after this,” He snickers. You shove him with a huff. Well, your smack hits something firm and he yelps, so you assume it’s him. “Ow, jesus—fine, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I shouldn't be making fun of blind people.” 

“You shouldn’t be making fun of me! Why didn’t you bring them today?” 

“I did!” He insists. “I just…left them right here on the seat. Whoopsies.”

“Whoopsies.” 

The car returns you to Lando’s building, and thankfully by then your vision has returned so you can make your way up to his floor on your own. Lando’s gone quiet on the elevator ride up, which is a bit uncharacteristic of him. After a good meal like the one you’ve just had, usually he’s talking about how he wants to dive into bed and sleep for ten years. This time, he just stares at the changing numbers above the door silently. 

He wanders to the couch as soon as you get into the apartment, whereas you make your way over to the kitchen to grab some water. You grab a glass from the cabinet, not turning around as you ask, “Water, Lan?” 

“Do you ever regret it?” Lando sounds small, unsure. You freeze, wait for him to keep going, but he doesn’t. Confused, you turn around with the glass still in hand to see him not even looking at you, instead focusing hard on picking at a loose thread at the edge of his sleeve. 

He fiddles when he’s upset, something you’d learned quite early on in just being around him. He’s actually quite easy to read, really. Or maybe it’s just because you love him so much you’ve become attuned to his body language, what he does when he’s sad, mad, and everything in between. 

You give an acknowledging noise for him to elaborate, and he drops the thread, finally looking up at you. “Being with me.” 

“Now why would you ever think that?” You’re the concerned one now, rushing over to sit beside him on the cushions. 

He shrugs, letting his shoulders drop heavily. “I dunno, just…everything that comes with me, it’s a lot to deal with, y’know? Sometimes I wonder if you wish my life wasn't so…public all the time.” 

You take Lando’s face in your hands firmly, tilting his chin up so he's looking directly at you. “I will gladly take you and everything you come with. No matter what it is. I never want you to doubt that, my love.”

“I don’t,” He says softly, a flicker of a smile gracing his face. “How did I ever get so lucky with you?” 

“I think it was the knobby knees and giant head that really made young me go, yeah, I want that one. I think the sentiment still stands too.” 

Lando's smile disppears. Now he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're mean. You're mean and I hate you."

"That was for making fun of me earlier!"

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[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.6

Chapter Six: I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, On-Set Accident, Blood, Stitches, Medic

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS 🙂‍↕️ Lowkey, I ran into a wall writing this chapter LOL. Anyways, almost murdered the reader cause why not HEHE. If we’re doing hallmark tropes— I’M GOING ALL THE WAY, BABY.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

Sunlight filters softly through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The air feels calm, almost too calm, as if it knows that something is about to shift.  

“You know we’ll still see each other at work, right?” you say with a soft laugh, zipping up your suitcase and trying to keep things light.  

Despite your tone, there’s a strange ache in your chest—a heaviness that lingers just beneath the surface. You keep your focus on the zipper, avoiding his gaze for a moment too long.  

Pedro stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his shoulder resting casually against the frame as he watches you with that familiar ease. But there’s something different in his expression this morning, something quieter. “Doesn’t mean I’ll miss you any less,” he replies, his voice warm but tinged with a softness that makes your heart stumble.  

Then his lips curl into a teasing pout. “Especially the cuddles.”  

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks as flashes of last night fill your mind—the two of you curled up together on the couch, your head on his chest, his arm draped around you. You’d fallen asleep like that, wrapped in warmth and comfort, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear. Neither of you had moved until morning.  

You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “I’m sure you’ll survive without a cuddle buddy for one night.”  

“Survive, yes.” Pedro sighs dramatically. “But thrive? Highly questionable.”  

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. The knot in your chest loosens just a little. Stepping closer, you reach out and gently take his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.  

“Walk me to my new room?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost shy.  

Pedro’s eyes soften as he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Of course,” he says, his voice steady, reassuring. “Lead the way.”  

The hallway is peaceful in the early morning light, the soft hum of the hotel’s quiet routine filling the air. Pedro stays close, his shoulder brushing yours with every step. It feels effortless, this closeness, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

When you reach your new room, you pause, staring at the door as your grip tightens around the keycard. Suddenly, you’re not so sure you’re ready to walk in and let the bubble of the past week burst.  

Pedro notices, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “You okay?”  

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. Just… feels a little weird, that’s all.”  

He steps closer, his hand resting gently on your arm. “Weird how?”  

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Like… we’ve been in this little bubble all week,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “And now it’s about to pop.”  

Pedro’s brow furrows for a second before his expression shifts into something reassuring. His thumb traces a soothing line against your sleeve. “It doesn’t have to pop,” he says softly. “It can stretch—change shape a little. But it doesn’t have to go away.”  

You blink up at him, caught off guard by how easily his words settle the swirling uncertainty inside you.  

“You’re right,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re annoyingly good at this.”  

Pedro grins, stepping back just enough to give you space while still keeping his hand on your arm. “It’s one of my many talents,” he teases.  

You swipe the keycard and push the door open, the soft click of the lock breaking the moment. “Well, thanks for the walk,” you say softly, standing just inside the doorway.  

He lingers for a moment, his eyes lingering on yours like he’s not quite ready to leave. “Anytime.”  

There’s a beat of silence, charged but gentle, before he takes a step back.  

“Pedro?” you call after him, your voice instinctive and soft.  

He turns back, one brow raised. “Yeah?”  

You hesitate for just a second, then smile. “See you tomorrow?”  

His face lights up in that easy, familiar way that feels like home. “You can count on it.”  

You watch him disappear down the hall, the warmth of his presence lingering in the air long after he’s gone. The ache in your chest eases, replaced by something lighter—something that feels suspiciously like hope.  

With a soft sigh, you close the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you. It feels strange not having Pedro right there, filling the space with his warmth and playful banter. The silence feels heavier now, but you shake it off and turn toward your suitcase.  

Unpacking is slow and deliberate, each item placed carefully, like it might somehow ground you in this new room. Eventually, you unzip the side pocket and spot the little polaroid photobooth strip you’d tucked away.  

You pull it out, your fingers brushing gently over the glossy surface. The photo was taken just yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago—a perfect little slice of happiness frozen in time. Pedro’s grinning wide in the picture, his arm slung around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You’re laughing, caught mid-giggle, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from too much teasing.  

Your lips curve into a small smile at the memory. That day… it’s up there in your top three moments in life, one of those days you pray you’ll never forget—if you’re lucky.  

It had started with a spontaneous coffee run that turned into hours of wandering through the streets, popping into bookshops and vintage stores, taking goofy photos at every opportunity. Pedro had insisted on the photobooth, dragging you inside with that mischievous glint in his eyes.  

You’d rolled your eyes but followed him in, unable to resist the way his excitement was so contagious. The tiny booth had been cramped, your shoulders pressed together as you both tried to fit into the frame. Pedro had leaned closer, his head nearly resting against yours, and flashed a ridiculous grin just as the camera clicked.  

The memory warms you now, a soft glow that spreads through your chest. You can still hear his voice, still feel the weight of his arm around you, still see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

You carefully set the photo on the nightstand, propping it up against the lamp. It feels like a little piece of him is here with you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else can.  

The rest of your unpacking is a blur, your thoughts drifting back to him over and over. It’s ridiculous, really, how much space he takes up in your mind.  

Stop it, you tell yourself. You’ll see him tomorrow. It’s no big deal.  

But deep down, you know it’s a little more complicated than that. You’ve been in this bubble with him for days—wrapped up in late-night conversations, shared coffee runs, and the kind of closeness that feels far too easy. Now that you’re on the edge of something new, something that feels like it could change everything, you don’t quite know how to navigate it.  

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts.  

Pedro: Miss me yet?  

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the grin that’s already forming. He’s impossible.  

You: I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.  

There’s a pause, and then:  

Pedro: Liar. You miss me.  

You roll your eyes, warmth blooming in your chest.  

You: Maybe a little.  

Pedro: Thought so. Meet me for coffee in the morning?  

Your heart flutters at the thought, the ache in your chest completely forgotten.  

You: It’s a date.  

You set your phone down, the smile lingering on your lips.

SOHO HOUSE – AFTERNOON 

The café is buzzing with the low hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with something warm and buttery from the kitchen. You slide into a booth where Daisy and Omar are already waiting, their plates half-finished, because of course, you’re the late one.  

“There she is,” Daisy grins, sipping her iced latte. “Surprised you could make time for little old us.”  

Omar smirks, leaning back against the booth. “Figured you’d be too busy playing house with Pedro.”  

You nearly choke on your water. “Oh my god, shut up.”  

Daisy gasps dramatically. “So defensive. We’re just saying—you two have been… spending a lot of time together.”  

“Yeah,” Omar adds, raising an eyebrow. “Like, a lot.”  

You roll your eyes, setting your napkin in your lap. “We were literally just sharing a suite until my room was ready. That’s it.”  

Daisy exchanges a knowing glance with Omar before turning back to you. “Sure. And is ‘just sharing a suite’ why you’re glowing like you’ve been in a rom-com montage?”  

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I hate you both.”  

Omar laughs. “That’s fine, but tell me I’m wrong.”  

You hesitate a second too long, and that’s all Daisy needs to pounce.  

“She’s not denying it.”  

You huff, taking a pointed bite of your food. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”  

Daisy leans in, dropping her voice. “Fine. Let’s talk about how Cecilia is a raging bitch.”  

Omar sighs. “Finally.”  

Your stomach twists. You’ve been dealing with it all week—Cecilia’s passive-aggressive comments, her cutting looks, the way she talks over you during meetings like you don’t even exist. You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but then Daisy started noticing. Then Omar. And now it’s become impossible to ignore.  

“She’s been awful to you,” Omar says, frowning. “Like, openly awful.”  

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Daisy adds. “It’s like she’s got some weird grudge against you. She’s only nice when Pedro’s around.”  

You exhale slowly, pushing your food around with your fork. “I don’t know what her problem is.”  

“She’s threatened by you,” Daisy says matter-of-factly. “You’re good at your job, and Pedro actually, you know, likes you.”  

You shoot her a look. “Daisy.”  

“What? I’m just saying. She’s been trying to sink her claws into him forever, and now she’s watching him give you all his attention. You think that’s a coincidence?”  

Omar nods. “She’s not even subtle about it.”  

You groan, rubbing your temple. “It’s just exhausting. I don’t want drama, I just want to do my job.”  

Daisy softens. “I know, babe. But you should bring it up to the first AD. This isn’t just personal—it’s affecting your work.”  

Omar nods. “Exactly. You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”  

You chew on your lip, debating. The idea of escalating it makes your stomach knot, but at the same time… they’re right. You shouldn’t have to just deal with it.  

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally.  

Daisy raises an eyebrow. “You better.”  

Omar smirks. “Now, back to Pedro—”  

You groan.  

Daisy grins, nudging you. “What? Just curious—how’s the cuddling?”  

You hide your face in your hands again.  

They’re never going to let this go.  

OXFORD STREET – AFTERNOON  

The city hums around you, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the distant chatter of tourists mixing with the occasional honk of a taxi. The sky is an endless stretch of soft blue, and the warmth of the sun against your skin makes the day feel lighter, easier.  

Daisy swings her shopping bag dramatically as she walks beside you. “Alright, so we’ve got the essentials—skincare, snacks, some clothes. Anything else?”  

“I could use some new art supplies,” you muse, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I ran out of markers.”  

Omar gasps. “Tragic. We must fix this.”  

Daisy nods solemnly. “Immediately.”  

You laugh as they steer you toward the next store, their enthusiasm contagious. The three of you weave through shelves of neatly stacked notebooks, sketchpads, and rows upon rows of colorful markers. You let your fingers trail over the different shades, your mind already picturing what you could create.  

“Should I be concerned that you look this excited over pens?” Omar teases, peering over your shoulder.  

You roll your eyes, tossing a pack of markers into your shopping basket. “Not everyone can be an influencer like some people. Some of us need hobbies.”  

Daisy cackles. “Wow. Drag him.”  

Omar clutches his chest. “I am wounded.”  

You smirk, grabbing a sketchbook before leading them back into the bustle of the street.  

A few stores later, as you browse through a boutique filled with delicate jewelry, something catches your eye—a simple but elegant bracelet, a thin gold chain with a tiny, shimmering star charm. You pause, tilting your head as you trace a fingertip over it.  

It’s beautiful. Understated but meaningful.  

You hesitate, then shake your head, gently setting it back down. You’ve already bought enough today.  

Daisy, pretending to check her phone, subtly snaps a picture of the bracelet the moment you turn away. She shares a quick glance with Omar, who smirks knowingly, before tucking her phone back into her pocket like nothing happened.  

“Alright,” Omar announces. “Time for the grand finale.”  

You raise a brow. “Which is?”  

He gestures dramatically toward a shop just a few doors down—a musical instrument store. Through the large glass window, you can see rows of guitars hanging on the walls, keyboards set up near the back, and a few people testing out instruments.  

You take a step back. “Oh, no.”  

“Oh, yes,” Daisy says, grabbing your arm.  

“I just wanted art supplies,” you protest, even as they start dragging you toward the entrance.  

“And now you get music,” Omar grins. “A full creative experience.”  

The bell above the door chimes as you step inside. The scent of polished wood and old sheet music fills the air, and soft acoustic strumming floats from the back where someone is testing a guitar.  

Daisy and Omar immediately start messing around—Omar taps on a few piano keys while Daisy picks up a tambourine and shakes it dramatically.  

You, however, find yourself drawn to the guitars.  

Your fingers brush against the smooth neck of one, its warm, honey-colored wood gleaming under the soft lighting. Without thinking, you pick it up, settling it onto your lap as you sit on a nearby stool.  

The weight of it is familiar, grounding.  

You give the strings a tentative strum. The sound vibrates through your fingertips, sending a shiver up your spine.  

Omar and Daisy go quiet, watching as you idly pluck a few chords, your fingers moving almost instinctively.  

And then, without meaning to, you start playing something real.  

The opening chords of Risk by Gracie Abrams fill the air, delicate and wistful.  

Your voice follows, soft at first, barely above a hum.  

“And I wake up

In the middle of the night

With the light on

And I feel like I could die

'Cause you're not here

And it don't feel right

'Cause you're not here”

The melody flows effortlessly from your lips, your fingers moving with muscle memory, like the song has always been resting just beneath your skin.  

Daisy and Omar exchange a look, their teasing smiles replaced with something quieter, something fonder.  

You don’t even notice the way the store quiets, how a few people glance in your direction.  

“God, I'm actually invested

Haven't even met him

Watch this be the wrong thing, classic

God, I'm jumpin' in the deep end

It's more fun to swim in

Heard the risk is drownin', but I'm gonna take it”

Your voice is steady but gentle, carrying the weight of the lyrics, the quiet ache of them.  

For a moment, it’s just you and the music.  

When you finish the last chord, letting it ring softly into the still air, you finally glance up.  

Omar and Daisy are staring.  

“…What?” you ask, suddenly shy.  

Daisy blinks. “So you’re just gonna casually have the voice of an angel and not tell us?”  

You huff a laugh, setting the guitar down. “I just… like playing sometimes.”  

Omar shakes his head in disbelief. “Unacceptable. We need to form a band immediately.”  

You roll your eyes, standing up. “You’re being ridiculous.”  

Daisy loops an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you. “No, we just love you and think you’re unfairly talented.”  

Your cheeks warm, but you let yourself smile.  

Maybe today really was a good day.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING  

The ride back is filled with laughter, the kind that lingers even after the jokes have faded, warmth curling around the edges of your chest. The three of you are crammed into the backseat of a cab, shopping bags piled between you, the city blurring past in a wash of golden streetlights and neon signs.  

“I still cannot believe you didn’t tell us you could sing like that,” Daisy says for what has to be the fifth time.  

Omar sighs dramatically. “Honestly, I feel betrayed. I thought we were close.”  

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “It wasn’t a secret—I just never thought to mention it.”  

Omar clutches his chest. “Oh, so we’re just chopped liver then?”  

You give him a deadpan look. “Yes. Exactly.”  

Daisy cackles, and Omar glares at both of you before shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “This is the worst day of my life.”  

The driver chuckles quietly, clearly entertained by the three of you.  

The cab slows in front of the Chiltern Firehouse, the warm glow of the entrance lights spilling onto the pavement. You reach for your bags, shifting them into your arms as Daisy nudges you lightly.  

“Alright, superstar. We’ll see you tomorrow?”  

You nod. “Breakfast?”  

“Obviously,” Omar says. “We can’t function without an unhealthy amount of caffeine and gossip.”  

Daisy smirks. “And don’t think we forgot about her.”  

You groan, knowing exactly who she means. “Cecilia?”  

Omar scoffs. “Yeah, Cecilia.” His expression darkens slightly, annoyance flickering across his face. “You have to say something, babe. She’s been unbearable this entire week.”  

Daisy nods in agreement. “Seriously. If you don’t, we will.”  

You sigh, adjusting your grip on your shopping bags. It’s not that you haven’t noticed Cecilia’s behavior—how she seems to have made it her personal mission to be as dismissive, condescending, and outright rude as possible. You just…haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet.  

“I’ll think about it,” you say, because that’s all you can promise right now.  

Daisy eyes you like she wants to push the subject, but instead, she reaches out and squeezes your arm. “Alright. Just don’t let her get to you, okay?”  

You nod, giving her a small smile. “I won’t.”  

Omar tilts his head. “Liar.”  

You snort. “Goodnight, Omar.”  

“Goodnight, secret singer,” he teases.  

Daisy gives you a quick hug before stepping back into the cab, and with one last wave, you turn and head into the hotel.  

The warmth of the lobby greets you as you step inside, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers filling the air. The quiet hum of conversation drifts from the bar, a few guests lounging in the plush chairs near the fireplace.  

You shift your bags onto one arm, your fingers brushing over the handles of the shopping bags as you make your way toward the elevators. The day’s events settle over you like a soft blanket—the shopping, the music, the laughter.  

You feel good.  

Better than you have in days.  

The elevator dings softly as the doors open, and as you step inside, you can’t help but let a small, satisfied smile slip onto your lips.  

Maybe tomorrow will be even better.

You make your way to your room, tap your keycard on the lock and enter. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the hallway. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you set your shopping bags down near the dresser. The room is quiet, save for the faint city sounds filtering in through the window—London still alive and buzzing outside, even as exhaustion begins to settle into your bones.  

You flick on the bedside lamp, the soft golden glow washing over the space. Kicking off your shoes, you make your way to the vanity, catching your reflection in the mirror. There’s a tired sort of happiness in your face, a contentment that lingers in your eyes despite the long day.  

You start unpacking your shopping bags, sorting through the few essentials you picked up. The art supplies make you smile—new markers, sketchbooks, things you didn’t necessarily need but wanted anyway. Your fingers brush over a particular bag, and you pause, pulling out the Polaroid photobooth strip you’d nearly forgotten about.  

Pedro’s face grins up at you from the tiny squares—one shot of him making a ridiculous expression, another where you’re both mid-laugh, and the last…  

The last one makes your stomach flutter.  

It wasn’t planned, wasn’t posed—it was just the two of you, caught in a quiet moment, his face turned toward you, his expression soft in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.  

You let out a breath, carefully tucking the photo into your nightstand drawer before shaking your head at yourself.  

It’s fine. It’s just Pedro.  

You brush your fingers over the bracelet you liked—the one you didn’t buy. For some reason, it lingers in your mind longer than it should, but you push the thought aside and continue getting ready for bed.  

By the time you’ve showered and slipped into an oversized t-shirt, exhaustion has fully caught up with you. You slide beneath the cool sheets, letting out a sigh as your body finally relaxes.  

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.  

You reach for it, blinking at the screen.  

Pedro: Made it back okay?  

A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips.  

You: Yeah, just got into bed.  

There’s a brief pause before his reply comes through.  

Pedro: Get some sleep, cariño. Big day tomorrow.  

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest at the nickname.  

You: Goodnight, Pedro. 

You don’t wait for his response, setting your phone down and rolling onto your side. The weight of the day settles over you, but it’s lighter now, easier to carry.  

And as you drift off, the last thing on your mind isn’t Cecilia, or the long production days ahead.  

It’s a bracelet you didn’t buy.  

And a Polaroid you won’t forget.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING  

Your alarm blares, dragging you out of sleep far earlier than you’d like. With a groan, you fumble for your phone on the nightstand, blindly swiping at the screen until the sound finally stops. The room is still dim, the soft glow of early morning creeping through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls.  

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your bleary eyes before forcing yourself out of bed. The floor is cool against your feet as you shuffle toward the bathroom, yawning through the motions of your morning routine.  

The second your toothbrush is in your mouth, you grab your phone, squinting at the screen as you scroll through your notifications.  

Pedro: Morning, sleepyhead. Still up for coffee?  

You smile around your toothbrush, quickly typing back.  

You: Morning! Yes, definitely. Meet you in the lobby?  

His reply is almost instant.  

Pedro: I’ll be the one looking devastatingly handsome and in desperate need of caffeine.  

You roll your eyes but feel warmth creep up your neck as you set your phone down and step into the shower. The water is warm, waking you up as you let your playlist play softly in the background. You don’t linger too long—just enough to wash away the remnants of sleep before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a towel.  

As you get dressed, you glance at the Polaroid on your nightstand. The memory makes your stomach flutter, but you shake your head, pushing the thought away.  

It’s just Pedro. 

You grab your bag, double-check that you have everything for the long production day ahead, and head downstairs. 

Pedro is already there when you step into the lobby, leaning casually against the wall near the entrance. He’s dressed comfortably, a hoodie pulled over his curls, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the early hour.  

His head lifts when he spots you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Well, look who’s alive.”  

You roll your eyes. “Barely.”  

He chuckles, pushing off the wall. “Coffee. Stat.”  

You nod in agreement as you both step outside, the crisp morning air waking you up a little more. The streets of London are still sleepy, only a few people out at this hour, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you exist in a quiet little pocket of the city.  

Pedro falls into step beside you, close but not overbearing, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Did you sleep okay?”  

You hum, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Yeah. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”  

He smirks. “Tired from all that shopping?”  

You side-eye him, but your lips twitch. “Maybe. It was a productive day.”  

“You have fun?”  

You nod. “Yeah. Daisy and Omar were great. We just wandered, picked up a few things, nothing crazy.”  

Pedro hums, glancing over at you. “Get anything good?”  

“Some art supplies,” you say. “Markers, sketchbooks. Stuff to keep my hands busy.”  

Pedro’s brows lift slightly, though his expression softens into something knowing. “Still adding to your collection, huh?”  

You glance at him, a little shy under the weight of his gaze. “You say that like I have a problem.”  

He smirks. “I’ve seen your stash.”  

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “It’s not that bad.”  

He hums, clearly unconvinced, but before you can argue your case, you both step into the small café near the hotel. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wraps around you instantly, sinking into your bones like comfort.  

As you approach the counter, Pedro turns to you with a look of exaggerated concentration. “Alright, let me guess your order.”  

You snort, crossing your arms. “You know my order.”  

“Do I?” He taps a finger against his chin, drawing out the moment. “Let’s see… you’re obviously an iced salted caramel latte girl.”  

You blink at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed. “You’re just showing off.”  

Pedro grins, triumphant. “I knew it.” He turns to the barista, ordering for both of you before you can protest.  

As you wait for your drinks, you lean against the counter, watching him. He looks relaxed, the usual weight of the long days ahead not quite settling on him yet.  

“You always this perceptive?” you ask, tilting your head.  

He glances at you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Only when it matters.”  

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you quickly look away as the barista calls your names.  

Pedro grabs both cups, handing you yours with an easy smile. “Alright, let’s get to set before they start sending search parties.”  

You take a sip, the sweet caramel mixing with the bitter espresso, and let the warmth settle in—not just from the coffee, but from the way Pedro falls into step beside you again, his presence easy, familiar.  

Maybe today will be even better.

The car ride to set is comfortable, the early morning haze still lingering outside the windows. You and Pedro are seated next to each other, the quiet hum of the car filling the spaces between conversation.  

Joseph, Ebon, and Vanessa are preoccupied—chatting, answering messages, scrolling through their phones. But you and Pedro? You exist in the quieter moments, where words don’t have to fill the silence for it to feel full.  

You glance at Pedro from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning back against the seat, fingers wrapped loosely around his coffee cup, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There’s something about him like this—relaxed, unreadable, but somehow still entirely present.  

“You’re quiet,” he muses, breaking the silence.  

You blink, caught. “I’m just… waking up.”  

Pedro smirks, tilting his head toward you. “It’s been half an hour.”  

You hum, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “Some of us don’t bounce out of bed with full energy at the crack of dawn.”  

“I do not ‘bounce,’” he protests, dramatically offended. “I drag myself out of bed like the sleep-deprived, overworked adult that I am.”  

You snort. “That’s not what I saw yesterday. You were practically bouncing into set.”  

Pedro shakes his head. “I think you hallucinated that.”  

“Sure,” you say, amused. “Maybe I should sketch it next time.”  

His lips curl at the mention of your sketching, but he doesn’t tease. Instead, his voice dips, quieter now. “Do you still draw at the end of the day? Or are they keeping you too busy?”  

You hesitate, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “I try to. Helps clear my head.”  

Pedro watches you for a beat, then nods. “Good. You should keep at it.”  

Something about the way he says it, like it actually matters to him, makes warmth spread through your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just sip your coffee and hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers tighten around the cup.  

The car slows as it pulls up to the studio lot, and everyone starts gathering their things, stretching, shaking off the sluggishness of the morning. Pedro slides his sunglasses to the top of his head, glancing at you as he opens the door.  

“Ready for another day of pretending we know what we’re doing?” he asks, grin lopsided.  

You laugh, stepping out of the car. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”  

The driver bids you all a good day, and you offer a small wave, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. The familiar buzz of set life fills the air—crew members moving equipment, voices overlapping, the faint sound of someone running lines in the distance.  

Pedro falls into step beside you, and despite the chaos around you, you feel oddly settled. Maybe it’s the coffee. Maybe it’s the warmth of the morning.  

Or maybe it’s just him.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY 

The day stretches long and demanding, filled with the constant hum of movement, orders being called out, and the steady rhythm of set life unfolding around you.  

You and Daisy barely have a moment to breathe, running between departments, making sure everything is where it needs to be. The production schedule is tight, which means there’s no room for mistakes, no time to slow down.  

“Okay, okay, hold up,” Daisy pants, stopping next to you behind the set, hands braced on her knees. “If I have to run across this lot one more time to deliver another prop, I’m throwing myself into the fog machine and disappearing.”  

You huff out a tired laugh, adjusting your headset as you check the call sheet in your hand. “I hate to break it to you, but we still need to get the next set of dailies to the editing bay and make sure wardrobe has the updated continuity notes.”  

Daisy groans dramatically. “How did we get roped into this again?”  

“You volunteered to take extra PA shifts,” you remind her, smirking.  

She scowls. “And you agreed to do it with me, so who’s the real fool here?”  

You nudge her with your elbow before checking your watch. There’s a brief window before the next setup, and you both know better than to waste it. Without another word, you split up—Daisy heads toward the props department, while you weave through the maze of trailers and equipment toward wardrobe.  

The moment you step inside the wardrobe tent, you’re met with the sharp scent of fabric steam and the controlled chaos of stylists making last-minute adjustments.  

“Hey, got the continuity notes from this morning’s shoot,” you say, handing over the folder to one of the assistants.  

They glance up, looking relieved. “Oh, thank God. We were just about to send someone to chase these down.”  

You flash a tired smile. “Happy to save you the trouble.”  

Before you can leave, someone’s headset crackles with an urgent call from set, and you hear your name being mentioned.  

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, already moving.  

By the time you get back to set, Daisy is already there, headset tilted as she listens to the first AD barking orders. She shoots you a look when she sees you approach, her expression somewhere between we’re so screwed and why is everyone like this?  

“What now?” you whisper.  

“They need another PA to help reset the stunt rigging for the next take,” she mutters back. “Guess who gets to be that PA?”  

“Us?”  

“Ding, ding, ding.”  

You sigh, but there’s no use complaining. Instead, you follow Daisy toward the main soundstage, where the crew is resetting for another action sequence. The rigging team waves you over, already handing you harnesses to help secure the area.  

You’ve barely finished clipping things into place when Pedro appears nearby, already in costume, watching the controlled chaos of set. His gaze catches on you, a flicker of recognition in his eyes before amusement settles in.  

“Didn’t realize this was part of your job description,” he teases, arms crossing over his chest.  

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps on your harness. “I do everything around here.”  

“Clearly,” he says, grinning. “I should start calling you the real MVP of this production.”  

Daisy, overhearing, snorts. “Oh, don’t encourage her. She’s already got enough of a complex.”  

Pedro laughs, and you glare at Daisy, but it’s all in good fun. The truth is, despite the exhaustion, despite the constant running around, there’s something oddly satisfying about the work. It’s not glamorous, not in the way people think movies are made, but it’s real. And you love it.  

Even if, by the time lunch rolls around, you feel like you’ve run a marathon.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON 

You slump onto the nearest empty bench, your limbs aching from the nonstop running around since the crack of dawn. With a tired groan, you twist open a bottle of water and down it in several long gulps, the cool relief barely making up for how drained you feel.  

“I’m so glad I brought an extra change of clothes because holy shit,” you gasp, wiping at the sweat on your forehead.  

Daisy collapses beside you with an equally exhausted sigh, her head lolling back against the table. “If I don’t sit down for the next hour, I might actually pass out standing up.”  

Omar drops into the seat on your other side, groaning dramatically as he takes a long swig from his water bottle. “No, because fuck this,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Why does it feel like production’s been testing our stamina like we’re training for the fucking Olympics?”  

You huff a tired laugh. “Because we are.”  

Nearby, a group of other PAs are in similar states of exhaustion, scarfing down sandwiches like they’ve been starved for days. The entire crew has been running on fumes all morning, juggling stunts, continuity notes, and last-minute script changes.  

You dig into the lunch Daisy had brought back for you—a sandwich and a bag of chips, simple but satisfying. The three of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional sighs of relief from getting off your feet for even a few minutes.  

Eventually, Daisy leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So… have you thought about saying something to the first AD about Cecilia?”  

You nearly choke on your bite of sandwich. "Oh my God, not now.”  

“Yes, now,” Daisy insists. “She’s been a bitch all week, and it’s only getting worse. I swear, if she snaps at you one more time, I’ll throw my walkie at her.”  

Omar nods, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s actually getting kinda unbearable.”  

You sigh, pushing your food around with your fork. You know they’re right. Cecilia—one of the senior production assistants—has been making your life hell lately. Every little thing you do is apparently wrong, and her constant nitpicking has started to feel personal.  

“I just…” you hesitate, rubbing at your temples. “I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it already is. Maybe she’s just stressed?”  

Daisy gives you an unimpressed look. “Stressed my ass. We’re all stressed, babe, and we’re not out here making everyone miserable just because we can.”  

Omar points his fork at you. “Exactly. And look, I get not wanting to stir the pot, but if she keeps treating you like shit, it’s gonna start affecting your work. You need to say something.”  

You bite your lip, mulling it over. You’re not the type to cause a scene, especially when it comes to work—you’ve always just kept your head down and powered through. But this… this has been eating at you for days.  

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur, still unsure.  

Daisy narrows her eyes. “You better do more than think.”  

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps makes you glance up—only to find Pedro making his way toward your table, two cups of iced coffee in hand.  

“Oh, look who’s finally gracing us with his presence,” Omar teases, smirking.  

Pedro grins, unfazed, before setting one of the iced coffees in front of you. “Thought you could use this.”  

You blink, surprised. “You—” You glance down at the drink, recognizing it immediately. Iced salted caramel latte. Your go-to. “How did you—”  

Pedro shrugs, casual as ever. “You think I don’t pay attention?”  

Your stomach flips, heat creeping up your neck. Daisy and Omar exchange a look before Daisy not-so-subtly nudges you under the table.  

“I—uh, thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the cup and focusing very hard on the condensation forming on the plastic.  

Pedro watches you with a knowing smile before he turns to the rest of the group. “So, what’s the gossip? What’s got everyone whispering like high schoolers?”  

Daisy doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, just Cecilia being Cecilia.”  

Pedro’s smile fades slightly, his gaze flicking to you. “She still giving you a hard time?”  

You shift uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just—”  

“It’s not nothing,” Daisy interjects. “She’s been riding her ass all week, and it’s getting ridiculous.”  

Pedro frowns, leaning against the table. “You talked to the AD about it?”  

You sigh. “No, because it’s not that serious—”  

“It is,” Omar cuts in. “You’re working twice as hard as half the people on this set, and she’s still treating you like shit.”  

Pedro’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he wants to say something—something firm, something protective—but instead, he exhales, rolling his shoulders back.  

“Well,” he says finally, voice measured, “if you don’t want to bring it up, at least let me know if she crosses the line again.”  

You glance up at him, the warmth in his gaze soft but serious. There’s something reassuring about it, like he’s quietly telling you that he’s in your corner, no matter what.  

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.  

Daisy, of course, fills the silence for you. “Damn, maybe you should just let Pedro handle it,” she jokes, wiggling her brows. “Bet she’d shut up real quick if he just—”  

“Daisy,” you hiss, mortified.  

Pedro chuckles, but there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I mean… I could have a word with her.”  

“Oh my God, no.” You shake your head rapidly. “That would just make it worse.”  

“Debatable.”  

“I swear to God—”  

He laughs, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay out of it.” A pause. “For now.”  

You groan, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before.  

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON 

The day isn’t over yet.  

After lunch, you’re right back at it, running around set, checking call sheets, adjusting rigging equipment, and making sure everything is in place for the next round of stunt rehearsals. You, Daisy, and Omar move like a well-oiled machine, setting up wires and double-checking safety protocols.  

Matt Shakman, ever the observant director, watches from a distance, arms crossed and a satisfied nod of approval on his face. “You three are killing it today,” he says, passing by as you finish tightening a harness.  

“Thanks, Matt,” Daisy beams, nudging you playfully. “We try.”  

Jess Hall, the first assistant director, chimes in, “Seriously, you guys have been on top of everything. Keep this up, and I might actually sleep well tonight.”  

You let out a small, shy laugh, ducking your head. “Just doing our job.”  

“Yeah, but you’re doing it well,” Jess points out, before heading off to oversee the final checks.  

As you straighten up, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, you spot Pedro, Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph arriving on set. Pedro catches your eye first, grinning as he waves. The others follow suit, greeting you and the crew with casual waves and easy smiles.  

You lift a hand in return, a small but warm flutter in your chest.  

And then there’s Cecilia.  

Standing off to the side, arms crossed, face like thunder.  

You don’t even have to look directly at her to feel the glare she’s boring into you. The barely contained resentment. It’s been like this all day—every time you do something right, every time you get even a sliver of recognition, she seems to grow more and more pissed.  

But you push it out of your mind.  

You have a job to do.  

And right now, that means making sure this next stunt goes off without a hitch.  

The rigging for the next scene is extensive—multiple actors wired up, intricate movements choreographed down to the second. You’re double-checking the setup, securing a final carabiner when someone calls for places.  

“Alright, let’s lock it up!” Jess shouts. “Rolling in five!”  

You step back, joining Daisy and Omar off to the side, scanning the setup one last time. Everything looks solid. No loose wires. No unsecured equipment.  

At least, that’s what you think.  

Then—  

A blur. A crack. A scream.  

It happens too fast.  

Something above shifts—maybe a light, maybe part of the set structure—but it’s falling, fast and heavy, right where Pedro is standing.  

Your body moves before your brain does.  

“Move!”  

You shove Pedro with both hands, hard, sending him stumbling out of the way just as the metal rig comes crashing down.  

The impact never comes.  

Not for him, at least.  

Pain explodes across your shoulder, sharp and jarring, but adrenaline surges through you, numbing everything as chaos erupts around you.  

“Jesus Christ—”  

“Someone get a medic—”  

Voices blur together. There’s movement, hands reaching for you, but you’re not even thinking about yourself.  

You blink up at Pedro, his face inches from yours, panic written in every crease of his expression.  

"Are you good?" you ask, voice tight, breath coming faster now.  

Pedro just stares at you, jaw clenched, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to process what just happened.  

Then he swallows, hard. “Am I—?” His voice is strained. “You’re the one who—”  

He doesn’t finish, just reaches for you, steadying you as a medic pushes through the small crowd that’s formed around you.  

It’s only then that you notice—  

The blood.  

Your sleeve is torn. There’s a gash on your arm, deep and angry-looking, but you barely feel it.  

Pedro does.  

His grip on you tightens, like he’s just realizing how close that was. Like he’s just realizing you took the hit for him.

You don’t register the pain at first. The adrenaline drowns it out, buzzing through your veins like white noise, making everything feel strangely detached—like you’re floating just outside your body, watching everything unfold in slow motion.  

But Pedro’s grip on you is very real.  

“Shit, shit, shit—” His voice is low, strained, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where to touch, afraid he’ll make it worse. His eyes flicker between your face and your arm, widening at the sight of the torn fabric, the deep gash beneath it.  

“I’m fine,” you mumble, blinking rapidly as the world tilts slightly. “You’re fine. That’s what matters.”  

Pedro exhales sharply, jaw tightening. He looks anything but reassured.  

The medic finally pushes through the crowd, dropping to his knees beside you. “Let me see,” he says, already reaching for your arm.  

“I’m good—” you try to insist, but Pedro gives you a look. A look that immediately shuts you up.  

A storm of emotion brews behind his eyes—concern, anger, something else you can’t quite name yet. He’s tense, his entire body coiled like a spring.  

You feel a little dizzy. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the fact that Pedro is looking at you like that, like he cares too much.  

“Alright, this is gonna sting,” the medic warns before pressing gauze against the wound.  

It does more than sting. A sharp, searing pain shoots through your arm, and you hiss through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a second.  

Pedro flinches. Actually flinches, like he felt it too.  

“Fucking hell,” Daisy breathes from behind him. She’s pale, wide-eyed. “That thing could’ve crushed you.”  

Omar nods, face just as grim. “Yeah, what the hell even happened?”  

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other crew members gathered around, voices overlapping in hushed confusion. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.  

The rig had been checked. The lights had been secured.  

So why did it fall?  

You glance toward the area where the rigging had come loose. Something gnaws at the back of your mind—an unease you can’t quite name. Your gaze flickers briefly toward Cecilia, who stands a little too still, a little too composed.  

She doesn’t look shocked.  

She looks… interested.  

Like she’s watching.  

And then, as if she senses you looking, she tilts her head slightly—just a fraction—before turning away.  

A chill snakes down your spine.  

“Hey.” Pedro’s voice pulls you back. He’s crouched next to you, closer now, his hand still hovering near yours but not quite touching. His knee almost brushes against yours. “You with me?”  

Your breath hitches.  

You hate how he does that—how he sees you so easily, how he pulls you back from the edges of your own mind with nothing but a word, a glance.  

“I’m good,” you say, voice quieter than before.  

Pedro’s expression darkens, like he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he turns his attention back to the medic. “She needs stitches, right?”  

The medic nods. “Yeah. We’ll need to get her patched up properly.”  

Pedro exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He looks like he wants to hit something.  

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter.  

“Like what?”  

“Like I just died in front of you or something.”  

Pedro does not laugh. In fact, he looks even more tense, if that’s possible.  

“You could have,” he says, voice low. “If you hadn’t moved so fast, that thing—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”  

“I shouldn’t have saved you?” you arch a brow. “I didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”  

Pedro levels you with a look, one that sends heat crawling up your spine. “You know what I mean.”  

There’s something charged in the air between you. A tension neither of you acknowledge, but it’s there, lingering like the static before a storm.  

Jess Hall calls for a short break while the crew inspects the rigging failure. People start to disperse, murmuring about safety protocols and near-misses.  

But Pedro doesn’t move.  

Neither do you.  

The medic finishes wrapping your arm in temporary bandages. “She should get properly stitched up in the medical tent.”  

Pedro stands before you can even process that. “I’ll take her.”  

You blink. “That’s not necessary—”  

“Not asking,” Pedro says, holding out a hand to help you up.  

You hesitate, but the moment your fingers brush against his, the warmth of his palm against yours, you stop thinking.  

He pulls you up carefully, keeping you steady when you sway slightly on your feet. His grip lingers—just a little too long.  

And when you finally look up at him, there’s something in his expression that makes your stomach twist.  

Something unspoken. Something more.  

Something you don’t have the words for yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MEDICAL TENT 

The walk to the medical tent is quiet.  

Pedro hasn’t let go of you. His hand hovers near your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that you feel him there—like a tether, grounding you.  

You should say something, maybe make a joke, lighten the mood. But the words don’t come. Your arm is starting to throb now, the sharp edge of pain creeping in as the adrenaline fades. You exhale slowly, focusing on each step forward.  

Pedro doesn’t rush you. He matches your pace, his brows drawn tight, his jaw locked so hard you can see the muscle tick.  

You swallow.  

“I mean,” you start, forcing out a breathy laugh, “at least I’m lucky insurance covers this.”  

Pedro stops.  

Just—stops.  

You nearly stumble, caught off guard, but when you turn to look at him, the expression on his face roots you to the spot.  

His eyes flicker over you, frustration darkening his gaze. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” His voice is tight, controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “Insurance?”  

You blink. “I mean… yeah?”  

Pedro exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he presses his lips into a firm line, nostrils flaring.  

You watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with the weight of whatever he’s holding back.  

And suddenly, you get it.  

He’s mad.  

Not at you. Not really.  

He’s mad that you got hurt. Mad that you shoved him out of the way instead of letting him take the hit. Mad that he almost lost you—over a fucking light rig.  

Your chest tightens.  

“Pedro—”  

“Don’t.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He looks away, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”  

Your throat feels thick. “I—”  

“I saw that thing falling, and I couldn’t move—I couldn’t do anything. And then you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “Christ.”  

Your fingers twitch at your side. You don’t know what to do with this—this version of him. The one unraveling right in front of you.  

“I didn’t think,” you admit, voice small. “I just—moved.”  

Pedro lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah. You did.”  

There’s a beat of silence. A moment where the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you standing there in the dimly lit corridor just outside the medical tent.  

Then—  

Pedro takes a step closer.  

And another.  

Your breath catches.  

His eyes search yours, something raw flickering beneath the surface. He looks at you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to commit this exact moment to something permanent.  

You don’t move. You can’t.  

Then, barely above a whisper—  

“Don’t do that again.”  

You part your lips to respond, but before you can say anything—  

Pedro cups your face.  

And then—  

He doesn’t kiss you.  

He hesitates. His breath is warm against your lips, his fingers trembling slightly where they rest against your jaw. He’s so close you can count every fleck of gold in his eyes, so close you can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours.  

You exhale, something between relief and longing tightening in your stomach.  

Then—a sharp ahem cuts through the moment.  

You jolt, heart still racing, as Pedro pulls back slightly—just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. His hands remain where they are, warm and steady against your skin.  

The medic staff is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow arched like they’ve seen this kind of thing play out before.  

“Hate to break up the moment,” they say, voice dry, “but I have some stitches to put in.”  

You blink.  

Right.  

The pain in your arm, dulled by adrenaline and—well, Pedro—suddenly makes itself known again, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You wince, shifting slightly, and Pedro’s hands immediately fall away.  

But he doesn’t step back.  

If anything, he lingers, his fingers ghosting over your wrist like he’s reluctant to break contact entirely. His brows furrow as he glances down at your injury. “She’s not gonna need the ER, right?”  

The medic shakes their head. “Nah. She’s lucky. It’s a clean cut—deep, but nothing life-threatening. We’ll get her stitched up, give her some pain meds, and she’ll live to tell the tale.”  

Pedro exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But not all of it.  

You try to make a joke. “Told you I had good insurance.”  

Pedro doesn’t laugh.  

Instead, he just looks at you.  

The kind of look that makes your breath catch, that makes your chest feel too tight, that makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with your injury.  

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours again, his fingers curling around yours. He squeezes, just once, before letting go.  

“Come on,” the medic says, gesturing toward the exam table. “Let’s get this over with.”  

You try really hard to be tough about the whole thing.  

You really do.  

But the moment the needle pierces your skin, you can’t help it—your breath stutters, your body tensing so hard it actually hurts.  

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice is right there, warm and grounding. His hand finds your knee, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of your pants. “Breathe, cariño.”  

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes.  

God, this is so stupid. You literally work on a film set—you’ve seen worse injuries, watched stunt performers brush off things ten times more intense. But the sensation of the needle threading through your skin, pulling tight with every stitch, is enough to make your stomach turn.  

Pedro must see it written all over your face, because before you can spiral too much, he shifts, crouching beside you so you’re eye level. His voice drops lower, softer.  

“You’re doing good,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.”  

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat.  

The medic works quickly, but it still feels like forever. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to think of something else. Anything else.  

Pedro.  

The way he looked at you before he almost kissed you.  

The way he held you.  

The way he’s still here, watching over you like he has no intention of going anywhere.  

“Almost done,” the medic announces, tying off the last stitch. “You’re a champ. Didn’t even cry.”  

Barely.  

Pedro doesn’t let go of you. His thumb brushes over your knee one last time before he finally stands, watching as the medic cleans up and starts giving you aftercare instructions.  

“No lifting anything heavy for a few days. Keep it clean, change the dressing daily. Try not to move your arm too much—don’t want to pull the stitches.” The medic pauses, glancing between you and Pedro with something suspiciously close to amusement. “And get some rest. I mean actual rest. No overworking yourself.”  

Pedro snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that.”  

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by how utterly exhausted you feel. The medic finishes up, giving you some painkillers and a fresh bandage before stepping back.  

“You’re good to go,” they say. “But seriously—take it easy.”  

Pedro notices.  

Before you can protest, he’s already there, an arm sliding around your waist to steady you. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one day,” he mutters. “Come on, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

End Notes:

I’m a sucker for having character A get injured and character B absolutely losing their shit and realizing they could lose them SO FAST and they haven’t even had a chance to love each other yet LOL

YAHHH I KEEP TEASING YA’LL WITH THE KISS IM SORRY— But I swear it’ll probably happen in the next chapter... maybe... 👀

There’s something wonderful about delayed gratification idk why

Pedro probably didn’t want to kiss you in such a situation like that– he’s probs the type to want to do it right.

Also OOoooOOOoo I almost killed the reader lol. How fun.

Again, my apologies for taking so long with this chapter, school is a bitch and I had to lock tf in for a little bit.

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove

[sunshineangel0]

-control. ⋆｡°

pairing- mafia boss!bang chan x enforcer!reader summary- A business meeting turns violent when you—second-in-command of the Stray Kids Syndicate—break the nose of a man who dared to undermine you. The room watches in tense silence, but Bang Chan? Your boss? He’s amused. What starts as a power play spirals into something far more dangerous when Chan finally pushes back—and neither of you are willing to lose. genre- mafia au, workplace romance (???) word count- 2.1k warnings- violence (reader breaks someone's nose), powerplay, blood and injury mentions, implied dom/sub, heavy attraction, heavy make out, explicit tension, slight choking (light touch, not aggressive), strong language, bang chan being dangerously seductive a/n- part two of the stress relief series. that happens when i should be studying and procrastinate instead. part two

Blood smeared across your knuckles and your still perfectly manicured hands, a crimson testament to the chaos that had erupted. Whose blood it was, you couldn't be sure, but in this moment, it was irrelevant. The air hung heavy with tension, as if it were a palpable entity, and the steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead did little to dispel the charged atmosphere. The meeting had unraveled into pandemonium, threads of order snapping one by one—all because of you.

Earlier, he had been sitting across from you, his voice slicing through yours, dismissing every word you said, treating you like an afterthought when you were the second-in-command.

"Look, sweetheart, we all know you're just here because Chan likes having a pretty face at the table."

"You should let the men handle this—it's not really your area, is it?"

"Tell me, does he let you talk this much when you're not at the table? Or just in bed?"

Now, he lay sprawled on the floor, a crumpled heap, his hands desperately clutching at his nose, which was clearly broken, blood trickling down his face. He groaned, voice thick with pain. "You— you crazy bitch—”

You tilted your head, expression eerily calm. “Crazy?” You took a slow step forward, watching as he flinched away. “No, darling.” You crouched down beside him, wiping your bloody knuckles against your sleeve. “What’s crazy is that you thought I’d just sit there and take your bullshit.”

His eyes widened, but he still had the audacity to glare.

"You think you can just—" You grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up just enough for your lips to hover near his ear."I don’t think. I know." Then, just as easily, you shoved him back to the floor.

You stood above him, your breaths coming out in measured, steady intervals, your fingers flexing as if testing their strength. Your gaze bore down on him, cold and unyielding, seeing him as nothing more than an insignificant pest. "This was your warning," you had stated, your voice low and dangerous. "Next time, I won’t be so nice."

And just like that, silence reigned. The room's occupants were frozen, eyes wide, breaths held, watching and waiting for what would happen next.

Because everyone in the dimly lit room could feel the tension crackling in the air, aware of what was about to unfold. Not from you, the one who had just thrown the punch. But from him. Bang Chan, the leader of the notorious Stray Kids Syndicate. He was the man you reported to, the one who held your fate in the palm of his hand.

Chan was currently leaning against the long, polished oak table, his arms casually crossed over his chest. His head was tilted slightly to one side, and his dark eyes were fixed on you with a look of unreadable amusement. He seemed unfazed, almost entertained, by the chaos you had just caused.

He hadn’t intervened. He hadn’t instructed you to take a seat. He hadn’t reprimanded you for the bloodied, crooked nose of one of his business partners, now gingerly nursing his face on the other side of the room. And that was what made the others shift uncomfortably on their feet, casting nervous glances at each other. Because Chan wasn’t displaying any signs of anger, and that unpredictability was unsettling.

No.He was entertained, and that was a far more dangerous state for him to be in. The room was thick with a tense silence, the kind that precedes a storm. Then, Chan broke it with a soft, low chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the dimly lit room. “Now look what you did,” he murmured, stepping forward with a casual confidence, his hands buried in the depths of his pockets. “You made them mad.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corners of your lips as you locked eyes with him, your gaze steady and unyielding. “Them?” you questioned, your voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Chan's eyebrow arched in response, and he flicked his chin toward the man sprawled on the floor, clutching his ribs as he groaned in pain. “Your little punching bag,” he replied, the words dripping with a playful taunt.

You let out a short, breathy laugh, the sound echoing off the cracked, plastered walls. Then, with a fluid motion, you gestured around the room. “Well. I didn’t throw a chair across someones face when they got on my nerves like the last time” The edge in your voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.“That was very mindful,” you continued. “Very mature. And very stable.”

Chan halted just a foot away, his head tilting slightly as if contemplating a puzzle only he could solve.

He let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with an air of exasperation. "You love testing me, don’t you?" His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. You leaned back in your chair, a smug smile playing on your lips. “And you love watching,” you replied, your tone playful yet challenging.

His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching as he fought to maintain his calm demeanor. The room was enveloped in a tense silence, the kind that makes every breath feel loud. All eyes were fixed on the two of you, waiting to see what would happen next.

Chan, ever the master of composure, allowed a faint flicker of amusement to pass over his face for just a moment before he shifted back to his authoritative self. With a swift flick of his fingers, he signaled to two men standing like sentinels by the door. “Get him out of here,” he commanded.

The bodyguards moved with practiced efficiency, lifting the injured man to his feet without a word and dragging him toward the exit. Chan barely spared them a glance, his attention unwavering as he turned back to you. There was a glimmer in his eyes, a mix of amusement and intrigue that hadn't faded. “You.” His voice was firm, yet inviting, as he gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”

It wasn't a request. His voice carried the weight of authority, firm and unyielding. It wasn't a question. His eyes locked onto yours with unwavering intensity, leaving no room for negotiation. And yet—your lips curved into a subtle smile.

The heavy door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud that echoed in the quiet room. You stood frozen, your breath barely audible, while Chan remained equally still, his eyes fixed on yours. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, a tension palpable enough to slice through.

Then, Chan exhaled softly, a sound like a gentle breeze, and rolled his neck as if he were trying to dislodge the weight of the evening from his shoulders. "You're lucky I don't mind cleaning up your mess," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Mess?" you asked, your tone teasing. Chan chuckled quietly, a sound like distant thunder. "Come on, princess," he said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He took a deliberate step forward, his shoes making a soft scuff against the floor.

"I let you do a lot of things," he continued, his voice calm yet firm. "But breaking noses in the middle of business meetings?" He took another measured step, closing the distance between you.

"That's pushing it," he added, his gaze unwavering, a mix of reprimand and admiration glinting in his eyes.

You hummed a low tune, remaining perfectly still, your eyes steady on his. "And yet, you let me do it," you said, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Chan's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "I was curious," he replied, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes."About what?" you inquired, your heart beating a steady rhythm against your ribs.

Chan moved closer, reducing the already narrow space between you to a mere whisper. The air felt charged, like the tense calm before a storm unleashes its fury. "I wanted to see how far you'd go," he murmured, his eyes briefly flickering down to your knuckles, still raw and stained with dried blood.

You flexed your fingers, feeling the tightness in your skin, and tilted your head slightly. "Disappointed?" you asked, your voice carrying an edge of defiance. Chan's laughter was soft, a gentle rumble that seemed to echo in the charged silence. Then, in a voice so soft it was almost a sigh, he said, "Not at all."

The words floated between you like a whisper, yet their impact was profound, resonating through every fiber of your being.

Because this was the game you played with each other. The push and the pull, like a tide that never ceased. You tested him, throwing challenges his way, and he accepted them with a subtle nod, a glint in his eye. Deep down, Chan relished these tests, embracing the thrill of walking the fine line between control and chaos. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush, the challenge of it all. And he enjoyed you, the person who brought this daring side of him to life.

Your breath quivered ever so slightly, a tremor that betrayed the calm you tried to maintain. Chan noticed. His fingers, calloused from years of playing his guitar, moved deliberately but with a touch of hesitation. They reached for your hand, grazing your knuckles gently, brushing against the rough patches of skin that told stories of their own.

His voice dropped to a whisper, softer than you'd ever heard it, as he asked, “…Does it hurt?” The question hung in the air, not surprising in itself, but the way he asked it caught you off guard. His voice carried an unfamiliar tenderness, and his fingers lingered like a promise of comfort.

Because Bang Chan? He wasn't known for softness. But for you, he bent the rules, allowed a gentler side to surface. A breath escaped your lips, followed by a momentary pause as you absorbed the unexpected shift. Then, your lips curled into a smile, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between you.

"You tell me," you said, your words hanging in the air, charged with a palpable tension. It was as if the room itself held its breath, waiting for Chan's response. His eyes locked on yours, unblinking and unwavering. Time seemed to stretch between you, each second a weight pressing down.

And then, with a suddenness that left you breathless, he moved. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your throat with a swift precision, pinning you gently but firmly against the cool surface of the wall. It wasn’t a gesture of aggression but a silent assertion of control, a reminder of the power dynamics at play. His fingertips rested against the delicate skin of your neck, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath them.

A slow, dangerous smirk spread across his lips, the corners curling upward with an ease that belied the intensity of the moment. "You like pushing me too, don’t you?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble tinged with amusement. His breath brushed over your lips, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach, the proximity only heightening the tension.

In that charged moment, the air seemed to crackle with the authority he wielded effortlessly. And then, just as you braced for the inevitable clash, he kissed you. It was a deliberate, measured motion, a stark contrast to the chaotic fervor you had anticipated. His kiss was an exercise in control, calculated and commanding, as if every movement was part of a carefully orchestrated plan.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, seeking purchase, but Chan remained unyielding, dictating the pace with an unspoken resolve. His grip at your throat shifted slightly, his palm sliding down to rest against your collarbone, then gliding over your chest and along your waist—exploring, claiming territory with each touch. Your back met the wall with a jarring thud, but the sensation barely registered, overshadowed by the intensity of Chan's presence.

His other hand settled on your hip, fingers curling possessively, anchoring you to him. Your breaths came in shallow, quick succession, mirroring the rhythm of his own. Just as you attempted to assert your own tempo, to deepen the kiss and draw him closer, he withdrew slightly. His lips lingered against yours, a whisper of contact, his exhale hot against your skin.

"Be careful," he breathed, his voice a velvety warning that sent a shiver down your spine. Your eyes darted up to meet his, a mischievous smirk of your own forming. "Why?"

A quiet chuckle escaped him, a low sound that carried a hint of mockery. His lips traced a path from the corner of your jaw to your throat, then to your ear, each touch soft and deliberate, as if imparting a secret. "Because, sweetheart..." His hand tightened on your waist, a subtle reminder of the power he held. "You’re playing a game you won’t win."

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

[marvelseries19]

THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

Chapter Two - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You are hurt, stranded, and alone on an unknown island with no one having an idea of where you might be. It was going to be a rough time, and Natasha wasn't having a better time trying to find you.

A/N: Hello again! I must confess I didn't even open this document all week, so I apologize for the delay. Also, I still suck at summaries, so don't read it too closely :) If you have questions, theories of what might happen, maybe something you'd like to see, or just talk about it, please do, I'm always open to talk. Enjoy :)

Also, I have like two more ideas, one is probably a one-shot that I'm not sure will see the light of day because it is based on one single scene that I liked, and the other is probably a series that I'm still trying to figure out, so if you have any ideas, I'm here to read them.

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries, language, etc.

Word count: 1.9k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

That morning

The soft glow of early morning light spilled through the curtains, casting golden stripes across the sheets. The apartment was quiet, suspended in that peaceful stillness just before everything changed.

You stirred slowly, feeling the warmth of Natasha curled around your back, her arm snug around your waist like it was instinct — like some part of her already knew to hold on a little tighter today. Her breath ghosted over the back of your neck, steady and calm, but there was tension beneath it. You felt it in the way her fingers gripped you — not possessive, just… tighter, as if afraid to let go.

You didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break the fragile stillness between you.

But she spoke, her voice rough with sleep, quiet and thick with something heavier than usual.

“Stay... just a little longer.”

You turned slowly, meeting her eyes. They were tired, yes, but also brimming with something unspoken — something deeper than worry. Her hand slid along your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek like she was trying to memorize every line of your face.

“I have to leave in a couple of hours,” you said softly. “Just a recon. Shouldn’t be anything serious.”

Her brows pinched together, and she exhaled through her nose, not buying it for a second. “I know what ‘shouldn’t be serious’ means with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

You gave her a small smile, fingers lacing with hers. “I’ll be back before you miss me.”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to your forehead, lingering. “I miss you the second you leave,” she whispered.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and reached up to cup her face. “Hey,” you said gently, “we’re okay. We’re solid. You and me.”

Natasha nodded slowly, but her voice was barely above a breath. “I just have a bad feeling.”

You opened your mouth to reassure her, to tell her you were careful, you were trained, you were prepared—but she kissed you instead. Desperate. Soft. Like it might be the last time.

You let it linger, one hand buried in her hair, the other resting over her heart.

“I’ll come back to you,” you murmured against her lips. “Always.”

She pulled away just enough to look at you, green eyes shining. “You better.”

Later that morning, as you pulled your gear together and checked your comms, Natasha stood in the doorway, arms crossed, silent. She didn’t stop you — she never would — but her eyes followed every movement you made like she was trying to commit it all to memory.

Just before you stepped out the door, she caught your hand and tugged you back for one last kiss. Her fingers brushed against the chain around your neck, where her ring already rested against your heart — always there, always worn.

“Come back,” she said softly. “Come back to me.”

You nodded, kissed her knuckles, and left with her watching you from the threshold.

Neither of you knew what was about to happen.

--

Now

The first thing Natasha noticed was the way Maria wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The second was the silence.

Natasha had been in enough briefings and enough war rooms to recognize when bad news was about to drop like a hammer. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared her for what she heard next.

“Nat,” Maria’s voice was steady, too steady. “There’s been an incident.”

Natasha’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Say it.”

Maria exhaled sharply. “Her Quinjet went down. Mid-flight. We lost contact before she could give a location.”

The room seemed to shrink around Natasha, her breath locking in her throat. Maria's words echoed in her mind as panic began to rise within her. “No.” The word came out flat, emotionless, but a cold dread was clawing up her spine. “You don’t just lose a Quinjet.”

Fury’s voice cut through the tension. “We believe it was an attack. There was a missile lock.”

Natasha barely heard the rest. Missile. Attack. No location. No body.

Her knees nearly buckled, but she locked them in place. Focus. This was just another mission. Another problem to solve.

Except it wasn’t.

Because it was you.

Maria stepped closer, her voice quieter. Softer. “Natasha, we have search teams deployed, but…”

But they won’t find her in time.

She turned on her heel and stormed out. If they weren’t going to find you, she would. Even if it killed her. The weight of the situation settled heavily on her shoulders as she made her way to the hangar, determination fueling her every step. Natasha knew she had to find you, no matter the cost.

--

Pain. Unrelenting, suffocating pain.

Your right side was a mess—ribs cracked, shoulder stiff and throbbing, head pounding. The pain threatened to pull you under, but every time the darkness crept in, you forced yourself forward.

You had hours, maybe a day at most,before dehydration set in. So you moved.

Through the pain, you held on to memories—moments that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Natasha’s smile when she caught you singing off-key in the kitchen.

The way she’d trace her fingers along your spine, whispering about the life you’d build together.

The day you proposed.

But what you didn't know was Natasha had her own plans. A few weeks later, she had presented you with her own ring. “I wanted you to have something of me, too. A piece of me to carry with you. Always.”

And you had. Up until the crash. Where the rings still hung from your neck.

Every step hurt. Bones, skin, lungs. The sun was blinding above the jagged cliffs, and your thoughts came in fragments—fire, explosion, water, screaming metal.

You didn’t remember the impact. Just falling. Then silence.

The Quinjet was gone. Your radio was dead, soaked, and broken. The utility belt strapped to your waist had a partially intact emergency kit—some gauze, flares, and a water filtration capsule. Not much.

The ring around your neck pressed into your collarbone as you walked.

You touched it instinctively. Natasha. The last thing you saw before you left.

You kept moving, eyes sweeping the tree line, heart pounding. You shouted. Over and over. “HELLO?!” But your voice vanished into the jungle. No answer. "Of course, I'm alone." You whispered to yourself.

By late afternoon, your stomach was twisting with hunger. As you sat near a palm tree attempting to put together a plan to get food, the solution literally fell from the sky. Well, from the tree above you.

Coconuts.

Not only could you eat part of it, but you could also drink its contents, and for now that was enough to keep your hopes up. It took everything in you to climb the trees to get more, but pain wasn't unfamiliar. So, you pushed through. You gathered as many as you could carry and took them with you to where you wanted to set camp. With that, a new problem arose.

Opening them.

Looking around, you saw a rock; it seemed pointed enough to make a hole in them. However, there was no way you could just hit it against the rock; your ribs were already killing you. So, with another rock, you gave the first hit at the fruit.

Then another. And another. By the fourth hit, the rock broke into pieces. Which could've disappointed you, had it not been for the new shape of it. It was almost like an axe, and you could work with that.

It wasn't long before you could crack open the coconut, revealing the refreshing water inside. As you took a long drink, you felt a sense of accomplishment and relief wash over you. It wasn't much yet, but it helped.

That night, you huddled beneath a slanted palm trunk. You gathered some leaves from the trees, attempting to at least help shelter yourself against the wind, and it worked; the sand was warm enough, not comfortable, but nothing too bad, and not being as exposed to the cold wind kept you satisfied enough for the night.

The sound of the crashing waves lulled you to sleep. Only to wake up a while later having dreamed of Natasha's voice calling your name, but when you woke—there was only the ocean again.

By the second day, you limped along the shoreline, tracking debris. You found part of a panel—charred, mangled metal. A utility case half-buried in the sand. It held nothing useful. Just a broken comm and a singed emergency beacon. You smashed it open and salvaged the battery.

You tried to make a fire. Used your belt buckle, broken glass, anything. But the fire wouldn’t catch. Everything was too wet. Your hands blistered. Your throat was hoarse from shouting.

At one point, you kicked a driftwood log and screamed into the empty beach.

“COME ON!”

Your voice echoed back, hollow and cruel.

And of course, your injuries protested.

By the third, you spotted a cliff ledge—high enough to see out over the water. You climbed slowly, painfully, scraping your palms on rock and bark. When you reached the top, you saw nothing.

Just water.

Endless, stretching to the edge of the world.

You built a signal—stones arranged in a wide SOS across the sand below. It looked so small from up high.

That night, you returned to the ledge, pressed your back against the cliff wall, knees drawn to your chest. You took the ring from beneath your shirt and held it tight in your palm.

“I’m still here,” you whispered to no one. “I’m trying, Nat. I’m trying.”

—

Back at HQ, Natasha didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.

She tore through every satellite feed, every transmission log, and every scrap of telemetry the techs could dig up. Footage. Heat signatures. Sea drift patterns. She chased ghosts across the grid, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.

Every dead end chipped away at her resolve—but not her focus. She wouldn’t let it. She couldn’t. This wasn’t the first time someone she loved had gone missing. But it was the first time she truly had something to lose.

Clint showed up on the second day with takeout and a quiet, worried look in his eyes. He didn’t tell her to sleep. Didn’t tell her to eat. Just left the food on the table and sat across from her, offering nothing but silent company as she worked like a machine.

She didn’t touch the food.

Didn’t speak.

By the third day, she felt like she was drowning—but not in water. In helplessness. In rage. In fear that clung to her like smoke. There were moments—brief, flashing, cruel—when her breath caught and her mind whispered the word she refused to say.

Gone.

But she wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t believe it.

Instead, she gripped the chain around her neck, the engagement ring pressing hard into her skin like it might fuse there. A lifeline. A promise.

She could still hear your voice in her memory—laughing, soft, unguarded. The way you’d look at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention. The way you kissed her like the world wasn’t ending.

And now it might have been.

She stared at the map on the screen in front of her—ocean, coordinates, empty space. She blinked and for a moment saw you standing there in the doorway of your shared apartment, in that oversized hoodie, holding a mug of tea and smiling like the world didn’t scare you.

She clenched her fists.

No.

You were still out there. You had to be. Somewhere in that vast, blue nothing, you were breathing. Fighting. Holding on.

Because if you weren't, then she didn’t know how to be Natasha anymore.

She refused to grieve. Not yet. Because if there was even a chance—just one glimmer of hope—then she was going to find you.

She always did.

----

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @idontliketoread2137 @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character

[sirenpearldust]

Found you 2

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part one ⋆ Part three

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 3.050

Warning: fluff

Summary: conditions are set

Azriel sat up straighter in his seat, he cleaned up, looked more put together. He wanted to make a better impression on his son than last time. The memory of his terrified face hasn’t left him, it has been haunting his dreams. Just the reminder unsettled him. 

A hint of nervousness crept in, what if one misstep meant he wouldn’t be allowed to see his son again?

Meanwhile, you watched him as he sat across from you, dressed in black pants and a blouse that accentuated every defined muscle he had honed through years of training in the illyrian camps.

His piercing hazel eyes wandered intensely as he surveyed the room. Until they locked onto you, sharp and unyielding. His knuckles repeatedly tightened until they turned white before he forced himself to let go. Black massive wings folded tightly against his back, his shadows swirling around him, still inspecting the unfamiliar space. 

Instead of his usual cold, detached demeanor, irritation flickered across his features. 

That’s a first, you thought. 

For once, he wasn’t emotionless.

For once, he was unraveling and it was because of you.

You had to hand it to his genes, you had basically birthed his twin. Amias was the spitting image of him, inheriting the same elegant planes of his face, a beauty that was almost otherworldly. He had his hair, his wings and even his skin tone.  The only feature that set him apart were his eyes. Those were yours, a striking reminder of your Spring Court legacy shining through.

You still remembered the sadness, the ache in your chest as you watched your son grow into the features of his father. 

The same scowl, the same smile, the same dimples. 

It felt like a cruel twist of fate that your son had to look so much like the man who had caused you so much pain.

Sipping your tea, you deliberately avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the view outside.               He didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention, not anymore. 

You two were here for one reason and one reason only; to discuss Amias.                                        You had to push your feelings aside, no matter how difficult it was.

It hadn’t been part of your plan for Amias to get to know Azriel. He wasn’t supposed to find out about him, he was meant to be raised by you, away from any danger.

Azriel’s presence now posed a threat to your role as a parent and as a noble in Spring. His work was dangerous enough and his ties to the Inner Circle only added more risks. The already volatile situation in Spring was bad enough already. You didn’t need to be accused of treason or colluding with the enemy, you’ve already had enough problems.

“Are you going to sit there silent again and not say anything?” Azriel asked, his shadows darkening around him.

Your lip curled in a faint smile. It was almost amusing, holding something over him, having a semblance of power for once. You might have felt guilty for using your son in this way, but Amias didn’t even know his father, not really, not the way you did.

He had no idea of the darkness and cruelty Azriel was capable of.

“You’re too loud,” you said softly, setting your tea cup down. His wings bristled, and you could tell it had pissed him off.

“I’ll lay the conditions out for you,” you continued, calm and unwavering. 

“Be against even one of them and you’ll have no right to see my son.”

“Our son,” Azriel corrected, his jaw tightening as his knuckles turned white again. He knew, he knew you had set traps, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared to navigate them.

“He’s my son too, Y/N,” Azriel said, frustration lacing his voice as his hand ran through his hair roughly.

“I only want what’s best for him.”

You ignored him. 

Without a glance in his direction, you opened the folder and slid the sheet in front of him, wordlessly demanding his attention to what truly mattered now.

The conditions were clear and non-negotiable. They were there to protect Amias and you.

1. You are not allowed to take Amias without my permission.

2. Wherever you go with him, you must inform me first.

3. He’s my heir and will receive his education in Spring.

4. He will not train in the Illyrian camps unless he is of age and wishes to do so.

5. You will have no authority over me as his mother.

6. You will be a present father unless he chooses not to see you.

7. Your highest priority is to protect him, cherish him and ensure his safety.

8. You will treat him with respect, kindness and love.

9. You will not arrange or force any marriage upon him.

10. You will not harm me, kill me, or order anyone else to do so in order to have Amias.

11. You will not inform your family of his existence without my permission.

12. You will protect Amias before anyone else, this includes you protecting and serving your High Lord or your mate.

13. You will protect what is mine and what is automatically our son’s legacy.

14. In the event of my death, you will safeguard his wealth, inheritance and well-being. No one shall touch it.

15. You will not take Amias out of Spring unless he is in grave danger, or I am dead.

16. If you choose to have any other children, you are to treat them the same as Amias.

17. Any woman you decide to stay in a relationship with and who is to get to know our son, you will introduce to me first.

18. In the case of a mating bond between us, you will not force it upon me and will let it go if I do not want it.

19. You will not disturb my private life, you will treat me with respect and courtesy.

Azriel rubbed his temples, clearly irritated. 

Most of the conditions were reasonable, but the restrictions on when and how he could see Amias gnawed at him. 

Why did you have to control every aspect? Why did you have to approve when and if he could spend time alone with his son, or when his family could know about his existence?

“Can I introduce him to my family?” Azriel asked, his voice tight with frustration.

“No,” you replied coldly, your gaze unwavering. You hated the Night Court, they were the reason for Spring’s ruin and had caused multiple issues in Prythian across almost every court.

“He has a cousin,” Azriel pressed.

“You and I have no living siblings,” you shot back.

Azriel’s temper flared. 

“Rhys has a son.”

“He’s your High Lord,” you responded flatly.

“He’s my brother.”

You sighed rolling your eyes. “Sure.”

“So can he see his cousin?”

“No!”

Azriel groaned in frustration, his patience running thin. 

“Will you ever allow any of this to be permissible?”

You shrugged, taking another sip of that damned tea, that Azriel now seemed to take a dislike to.

“You either accept the conditions and make this bargain, or you can say goodbye to the future you’ve imagined,” you said, your voice steady but firm.

Azriel sighed, knowing full well you were serious. 

“These conditions are set to protect Amias. He doesn’t know you and I won’t thrust him into your world directly.”

“What about condition 18?” Azriel asked, his voice tight,.

“What about it?” you responded, your gaze unwavering. 

“Will you reject it?”

“There is no bond,” you replied, your tone cold.

Azriel’s jaw clenched again, the tension rising in his chest. “If there is one, will you reject it?”

“Most likely.”

His heart twinged painfully and an uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, like a bad omen. He hoped he wasn’t your mate because if he was, you would let him suffer. He was sure of it especially after what had happened.

“You know I’ll go insane from a rejected mating bond.” 

You hummed in response, uncaring of the worry in his voice. 

“Let’s then hope it doesn’t happen,” you said, a sharp smile playing on your lips as you met his eyes.

Azriel’s wings shuddered as the weight of the situation settled in. He didn’t feel good about this, not one bit.

“Fine,” he said, his voice resigned, “I accept all 19 conditions.”

You smiled and extended your hand. He took it without hesitation, his rough, scarred hand engulfing yours. The touch brought a flood of memories, both beautiful and painful.

Azriel couldn’t help but notice the softness of your skin, a stark contrast to the calluses and scars that marked his own. 

In that brief moment, you both felt something, an electric jolt, a slight burning sensation. You felt the tattoo spreading under your chest, across your ribs. You were glad that you could hide it, no one had to know about what was happening.

Azriel’s breath caught. He opened his top, revealing the tattoo spreading underneath his pectorals. Tracing the lines with his fingers. You almost choked on your spit. What was he doing?

You quickly turned your face away, not wanting to see the sudden state of undress. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, nothing you wanted to revisit, either.

In the brief glance you noticed something else, new scars. Some were fresh, still pink against his skin, while others had faded to white, stark against his tan.

“Roses,” Azriel murmured to himself.

“Now that we have a bargain, you can see him.”

You stood up, the white floral dress a stark contrast to Azriel’s dark attire.

Azriel was just a step behind you, he was eager to see his son. 

He wanted to teach Amias how to fly, how to fight, to show him the things a father should. He wasn't going to abandon him the way he had been. No, he would be present. He would be the father his son deserved, a steady presence in his life.

For the first time in his life he had hope for a bright future, he wants to build something better, to give Amias a future full of care, love and guidance. 

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Amias had been full of questions ever since he first met Azriel. His curiosity was boundless, he would comment on Azriel’s wings, marveling at how similar they were to his own. He spoke of the shadows, how they moved like his did.

Azriel’s shadows mingled with his own, twisting and swirling in a gentle dance and Amias couldn’t help but laugh whenever they played with him. They were soft and cool against his skin.

Azriel’s gaze softened when he heard his giggling. He felt this immense feeling seeing his son’s joy, feeling his happiness, hearing it, being a part of it.

He had come with presents - toys, books, sweets.  He bought him books, child stories from the night court, stories of Illyrian legends, a little teddy bear and a bag filled with small cherry candies, you know Azriel enjoyed. 

“Amias,” you called softly, lowering yourself to his level with open arms. He ran toward you, his little face lighting up as he kissed you on the cheek. You smiled, warmth flooding your chest as you gave him small kisses back, holding him close for a moment. You breathed him in, he smelled like a baby, you didn’t want him to grow up. He was already bigger than the other children his age. 

Azriel watched the scene from a few steps behind, it stirred up memories he had long forgotten, pushed away. It reminded him of his own rare moments of excitement as a child, the joy he’d felt in those fleeting times he was allowed to see his mother, when he was out of the cell.

He observed how animatedly Amias spoke to you, his small hands gesturing wildly as he recounted his latest “battle” with his plushies. Azriel couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, he was in awe as he took in the pure, unrestrained joy of your son, their son.

Amias’s eyes wandered up to him. He immediately recognized Azriel, but this time, instead of looking scared like before, he smiled at him.

He was taken aback by his reaction. His eyes immediately searched yours, knowing you had something to do with it, but you ignored him, focused on brushing Amias’s hair. 

It had grown long, already reaching his shoulders, he was in need of a new haircut.

Amias slowly slipped from your arms and stood in front of Azriel, his clothes a soft baby blue. His wings pressed tightly against his back and a shadow lingered at his feet. He stood there in awe, his eyes wide and round, smiling and giggling up at Azriel.

Azriel slowly lowered himself to Amias’s level. Even kneeling, his towering figure still loomed larger than both you and Amias. His sheer size stirred something hot inside you, something you’d buried long ago.

“Hello,” Azriel said softly.

Amias took a step back, looking at you for reassurance, as if searching for confirmation.

You smiled brightly, nodding and giving him the encouragement to go ahead. Amias turned toward Azriel again, his hands nervously fiddling. “Are you my daddy?”

Azriel’s breath hitched. There, standing in front of him, was his son, real and alive.

 “Yeah, I am.”

Amias took a step toward him, wrapping his small arms around Azriel and pressing his tiny head into his chest, sniffling. You and Azriel watched as Amias’s small hands clung to him. Without hesitation, Azriel held him close as he cried silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He sat on the floor, embracing him tightly, gently caressing his head, whispering apologies for not being there all this time.

That’s how the three of you spent the afternoon into the evening, watching Amias play, him eagerly dragging both of you into his games.

Yet, he was always a little nervous, always turning toward Azriel, as if he feared his father might disappear again.

You both sat on the floor next to each other.

“Thank you,” he said, watching you. Your eyes never leaving Amias.

“For what?” 

“For birthing, raising and loving him.”

“He’s my son. That’s a given.”

Azriel searched your eyes and this time, you didn’t look away. His gaze was soft and you hated the vulnerability in it.

“You know how they treat bastards.”

“We’re in spring,” you replied softly, making sure Amias wouldn’t overhear. 

“Bastards are a given. What do you think happens after Calanmai?”

He nodded, relieved that his son wouldn’t be ignored or left alone.

“Even if he is Illyrian?”

You laughed softly, a touch of amusement in your voice.

“Yes, even then.”

“They don’t care about that,” you said, your tone steady. “You’d know that if you picked up a book once in a while.”

Azriel winced at the jab, his eyes narrowing slightly. Here he thought you were finally opening up to him, but your words made it clear how you felt about him.

“Spring is inherently open,” you continued, “We accept everyone and everything. That’s why festivals like Calanmai exist and the land prospered with children, happy, healthy children. At least, before Amarantha came and your Lords, or shall I say your “brother” and his runaway whore”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, the urge to retort rising in him. He wanted to tell you that Tamlin had been warned, that he had continued despite it all, but he couldn’t. Your son was here and he shouldn’t witness his parents fighting. But god, the way your eyes burned with hatred whenever you looked at him or spoke about the Night Court, it stung.

“Daddy are you angry?”

Azriel noticed the worry in Amias’s face and immediately smiled, shaking his head. “Just tired.”

“Mama tired too,” Amias added.

You chuckled softly at his cuteness. 

You felt Azriels rage just a few seconds ago, you were thankful that he was still good at lying. You only cared about your son, Azriel’s feelings couldn’t interest you in the slightest.

“Amias, full sentences, please.”

“Mama, I am tired too.”

“You wanna go sleep with Daddy?” Azriel asked gently.

Amias nodded, his tiny arms stretching out toward Azriel. In his fathers arms, he stopped you from going to the office, where you usually spent your time.

You looked at him, noticing the expectant look in his eyes. “Can you both come?”

You nodded, glancing at Azriel. “You’ve got time, or do you need to go to work?”

Azriel smirked, scaring you. “I’m on vacation.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as Azriel caught you off guard for the first time. Before you could respond, he scooped up Amias, who giggled in delight.

“Where is your room, little prince?” Azriel asked, holding his son up in the air with a grin.

Azriel’s smile was radiant and Amias looked so happy, it made your heart swell. Even if the reason behind it all was the sperm donor, the sight of your son so content made everything feel right.

“Let’s go,” Azriel said, his voice warm as he began to walk.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

There you three laid, Amias down in the middle, nestled safely between you both. 

Azriel had woken up, his internal clock honed over centuries stirring him from sleep. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the sight before him felt almost unreal, like a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.

His son was here and you.                                                                                                                 There you were, lying beside Amias, your long hair fanned out behind you, arms wrapped protectively around the small boy as he cuddled into you. It was endearing, the way you both slept so peacefully next to him. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel had slept through the night, no nightmares, no restlessness, just quiet, steady breaths filling the space around him.

His eyelids grew heavy again and he let himself sink back into the warmth of the mattress. Just as he was drifting off, Amias stirred, sleepily turning toward him. Tiny hands reached for him as he snuggled into Azriel’s chest, his breath soft and steady.

Azriel let out a slow breath, wrapping an arm around his son. 

And for the first time in a long, long time, he let himself rest again.

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