#some intelligent person with more time on their hands than I please come up with a better and super awesome ship name

[bororaurealis]

extremely random irrelevant thought but what if Tesslinua was called LemonLime because of their color schemes. or something to do with their elements, or their personalities, or basically anything that isn't combining names because boring. Falst and Dainix get like three different variants of super creative witty names and all Tesslinua gets is pushing two names together, so sad I will not tolerate this injustice 💔💔

[womshame]

Yandere Teachers x Mother Reader

Summary: All she wanted was a simple parent-teacher meeting. A few minutes to talk about her son’s progress, nothing more. But when three different teachers — each charming, each dangerous in their own way — set their sights on her, Y/N’s world spirals into a nightmare disguised as devotion.

Word Count: 11,147

Trigger Warnings: yandere behavior (obsessive love, emotional manipulation), psychological manipulation, coercive control, stalking, non-consensual surveillance, forced/coerced captivity, implied drugging, dubious consent, threats of violence, unhealthy power dynamics, grooming undertones involving parental figures, child emotional manipulation (non-explicit), ambiguous/psychologically complex ending.

The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and bleach.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag and checked her phone for the third time. Eli’s teacher conference was scheduled for 6:00 PM sharp, but she’d arrived ten minutes early, nervous and trying not to show it. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, casting a dull glow across the linoleum floor.

The door to Room 107 was open.

She approached with a small knock on the frame.

“Ms. L/N?” A man stood up from behind a desk. His voice was warm, polished. “I’m Mr. Callahan. Please, come in.”

He was tall, maybe in his late thirties, with a clean-cut jawline and glasses perched on a straight nose. A wedding band glinted on his left hand as he extended it.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking it briefly. His grip was firm, a little too lingering.

“I’m Eli’s homeroom teacher—and his literature instructor. Mr. Rivera and Mr. Brooks will join us shortly. We like to hold joint meetings when possible, helps with consistency.”

She nodded politely, taking a seat in the chair across from his. The classroom was neat, the kind that showed effort: posters about classic novels lined the walls, and a stack of well-loved paperbacks rested on a side shelf.

“I have to say,” he began, folding his hands, “your son is bright. Restless, perhaps, but bright. He has an advanced vocabulary for his age, and a very curious mind.”

“That’s… good to hear. I was worried. He hasn’t been himself lately.”

Mr. Callahan leaned forward, elbows on the desk, gaze gentle and focused. “Sometimes, intelligent children grow frustrated with structure. Especially if they feel misunderstood.”

Before she could answer, the door opened again.

“Hey,” said a second voice—louder, younger. A man with ink-stained hands and paint smudges on his shirt entered with a crooked smile. “Ms. L/N, right? I’m Mr. Rivera. Art.”

His handshake was quick, his fingers calloused. He dragged a chair from one of the student desks and sat close—closer than necessary.

Then came the third: Mr. Brooks, taller than both, broad-shouldered, dressed in a sleek tracksuit that made him look more like a personal trainer than a school employee. He gave a casual nod.

“Evening. Eli’s got good stamina. Bit headstrong, but coachable.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, feeling the three men’s attention weigh down on her. Each seemed friendly, professional… but something about the room was off. Maybe it was the way all three had made a point to look her in the eyes. Maybe it was the feeling of being watched, closely, like prey mistaken for a puzzle.

Callahan cleared his throat. “We’ve noticed some behavioral patterns. Not aggressive, but… withdrawn. Occasionally defiant. Have there been any changes at home?”

“Nothing drastic,” she replied, hesitating. “We moved apartments last month. I’ve been working longer hours.”

“That could do it,” Rivera murmured. “Kids are sensitive. He draws a lot of houses, you know. Empty ones.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I mean—it’s sweet. He seems attached to the idea of home. And people in it.” He smiled, then added, “You show up a lot in his sketches. It’s nice. You’re very… detailed.”

Mr. Brooks crossed his arms. “He’s protective of you. I asked him once who’d win in a race—him or you—and he said, ‘My mom, ‘cause she runs everything.’”

Y/N let out a short laugh, unsure of how to respond.

Callahan used the moment to shift the conversation. “We’d like to be more involved. Give Eli support beyond just the classroom. He’s got potential, and with the right guidance…”

“Is that something you’re comfortable with?” Rivera asked. “More frequent updates, maybe. Home activities?”

“I—sure,” she said, too quickly.

“Great,” Callahan smiled. “I’ll make a note to reach out next week.”

They spoke for another fifteen minutes, but the conversation had subtly shifted. It wasn’t just about Eli anymore. The questions were polite, but personal. Did she have help at home? Was there someone else involved in Eli’s life? Did she have time for herself?

As she left the room, three pairs of eyes followed her.

Outside, the night air was cooler. She took a deep breath and told herself not to overthink it. They were just teachers. Caring professionals. Nothing more.

But in Room 107, long after she was gone, Mr. Callahan tapped a pen rhythmically on the desk.

“She’s… attentive,” Rivera said softly, almost dreamlike.

“Smart,” Brooks added. “And tough. I like that.”

Mr. Callahan said nothing, just looked down at the page in Eli’s student file—where Y/N’s contact information was written in black ink.

He traced the number with the tip of his finger.

Eli came home with a gift.

A small, carefully wrapped box, tied with a blue ribbon. He plopped it on the kitchen table and shrugged when Y/N looked at him with a raised brow.

“Mr. Rivera said it was from me,” he mumbled, grabbing an apple from the counter.

“From you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. He said I picked it out.”

Y/N slowly untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper. Inside was a delicate charm bracelet—silver, minimal, with a tiny engraved heart. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to have come from a third-grade art project.

“Did you… make this for me?” she asked carefully.

Eli frowned. “No. I didn’t know it was for you ‘til today.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She smiled faintly, thanked her son, and tucked the bracelet back in the box. That night, while Eli slept, she sat on the couch and stared at it for a long time. It was flattering. And unsettling.

The next day, Mr. Brooks caught her after drop-off.

He was waiting just outside the school gate, hands in his jacket pockets. “Hey, Ms. L/N,” he said casually. “You got a minute?”

“Uh… sure.”

“There’s a field event next weekend. Technically it’s optional, but I think Eli would really benefit from it. Bonding, teamwork, fresh air.”

“That sounds good,” she said, then paused. “Should I pack something for him?”

“Well, actually, it’s a family-style thing. Parents are encouraged to join.” His smile sharpened. “Thought you might like the chance to see him in action.”

“Right.” She hesitated. “I’ll check my schedule.”

“You do that.” He nodded once, then added as she turned to leave, “You know… You’re doing a hell of a job with him. That boy idolizes you.”

Y/N nodded with a faint, polite smile. She didn’t notice how long he kept watching her walk away.

That afternoon, a text pinged on her phone. Unknown number.

Hi, Ms. L/N. This is Mr. Callahan. Hope it’s okay I reached out. Wanted to follow up on our chat. Eli seemed happier today—might be that lovely influence of yours. Let me know if you’d like to schedule a home visit.

Her stomach twisted.

He hadn’t said anything about messaging her directly. And a home visit?

She typed a brief reply:

Hi. Thanks for the update. No home visit needed, but I appreciate the support.

He responded within seconds:

Of course. Just want what’s best for him. And you, too.

The next few days, things started to shift.

Mr. Rivera began sending home odd “projects” for Eli—little collages made from old photos that Y/N didn’t remember giving him, or drawings that mirrored things in their apartment. A ceramic mug with her initials carved into the side.

Mr. Brooks showed up at the grocery store, casually leaning on his cart like it was coincidence. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, even though the school was on the other side of town.

Mr. Callahan started emailing after school hours, offering book recommendations. Some of them were surprisingly romantic in theme.

Each interaction was friendly. Innocuous. And yet, she couldn’t shake the growing unease curling under her ribs. Y/N wasn’t new to attention—she was used to the occasional awkward parent interaction, the sidelong glances. But this? This was different.

They weren’t just interested in Eli. They were circling her.

At pick-up one afternoon, Eli ran out with a huge grin.

“Mr. Rivera says you should come see our art wall!”

“Maybe next week, sweetie.”

“He put your picture on it.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Yeah! The one he drew. He says you’re his muse.”

The word hit her like cold water.

She walked Eli to the car, quiet the entire drive. That night, she looked up each of their school bios online. All three had spotless records. Callahan had been teaching for over ten years, his LinkedIn profile filled with glowing endorsements. Rivera had an art show once, mostly abstract portraits. Brooks was a former semi-pro athlete turned educator. Married. Single. Single.

Harmless, on paper.

And yet…

At bedtime, Eli asked, “Mom?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Why do my teachers ask so many questions about you?”

Y/N paused. “What kind of questions?”

“Like… what do you do when you’re not working, or if you like flowers, or if you ever get lonely.” He looked up at her. “Is it bad if I answer?”

“No,” she said softly, brushing his hair back. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t normal.

And if it was attention—why did it feel like a trap?

The café was her sanctuary.

A little spot tucked between a florist and a laundromat, ten blocks away from her apartment—far enough from the school that she could sip her coffee in peace, answer emails, and feel like more than just someone’s mother.

Y/N slid into her usual corner booth, ordered a cappuccino, and pulled out her phone. For a moment, the world was quiet.

Then she heard the door chime.

“Wow. Small world.”

She looked up slowly.

Mr. Brooks stood in the entrance, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, wearing a hoodie and joggers. He smiled like this was completely natural—like they always ran into each other on Saturdays.

Her heart sank.

“I didn’t know you lived around here,” he said, stepping into her space before she could answer. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated. “I was just about to—”

“Just for a minute,” he insisted, already pulling out the chair.

She smiled tightly, hoping he couldn’t see how fast her pulse was ticking under her skin.

“Long week?” he asked, glancing at the book on her table—Wuthering Heights.

She nodded, sipping her coffee to avoid answering.

“I read that in college,” he said. “Dark, right? All-consuming kind of love. Unhealthy as hell. Still… kind of beautiful.”

He said it like a confession.

Y/N looked at him closely. There was something behind his smile—something intense. He wasn’t just making small talk. He was watching her.

“You really didn’t know I lived near here?” she asked finally.

“No idea,” he said, too quickly. “Total coincidence.”

But when he left—after buying her a second cappuccino she didn’t want—she saw him cross the street and head not toward the subway, but toward the parking lot behind the building. No gym bag. No gym.

That night, she didn’t sleep well.

At school the following Monday, she tried to brush past it. Told herself to focus on Eli, on the week ahead. But it got harder.

Mr. Rivera cornered her in the hallway after drop-off.

“I have something to show you,” he said, leading her to the art room.

She hesitated at the door. “I’m really not—”

“It’ll just take a second.”

Inside, the walls were filled with colorful drawings, sculptures, mosaics. He walked her to the far end, where a new display had been pinned.

Her.

It was her.

Charcoal sketches of her face—three, maybe four—each more detailed than the last. Her eyes, her hands, the curve of her smile. All drawn from memory.

“I didn’t mean for this to be weird,” he said, voice low, like they were sharing a secret. “You just… have that kind of presence. The kind that sticks.”

“Mr. Rivera—”

“Call me Adrian.”

She stepped back.

“I appreciate the… art,” she said, carefully, “but I don’t think this is appropriate.”

His smile didn’t falter. “You inspired me. That’s not something I get often. You should be flattered.”

“I’m not,” she said, voice firm now.

For a second, something flickered in his expression—something sharp, like rejection was unfamiliar to him. But then he smiled again, softer.

“I’ll take them down. Of course. Just… don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She didn’t respond. She just walked away.

At pickup that day, Mr. Callahan was waiting beside her car.

He looked more formal than usual—shirt tucked neatly, tie tight, that same composed, unreadable smile.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, stepping closer as Eli ran toward them from the building. “I wanted to talk. Just for a second.”

Y/N unlocked the car and motioned for Eli to climb in. “I’m in a hurry.”

“It’s about Eli,” he said. “He’s been mentioning nightmares. About losing you. Do you know anything about that?”

Her heart clenched.

“He’s been clingier,” she admitted. “I thought it was just stress.”

“I think he’s afraid,” Callahan said softly. “Afraid something might happen to you. That you might leave him.”

She looked up sharply. “Why would he think that?”

Mr. Callahan held her gaze. “Children feel what we hide. If you’re overwhelmed, if you’re struggling—even if you don’t say it—he knows.”

Y/N swallowed. “I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are.” His voice dropped to something intimate. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

There was a long silence between them.

“I appreciate your concern,” she said finally. “But I’d prefer to keep things professional.”

For a brief moment, she saw the crack in his expression. A twitch in the jaw. But it was gone in an instant.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

He turned and walked back toward the school, his posture calm, controlled—but she knew something had shifted.

All three of them—Brooks, Rivera, Callahan—they weren’t just stepping over lines.

They were drawing new ones around her.

Y/N kept her door locked at night.

It wasn’t something she used to think about—living in a safe neighborhood, third floor walk-up, decent building—but lately, it felt necessary. She’d started checking the windows twice, pulling the curtains tighter, even placing Eli’s shoes closer to her bed.

She hadn’t told anyone about the sketches. Or the café incident. Or the conversation with Callahan.

What would she even say?

“My son’s teachers are obsessed with me”?

Who would believe that?

Still, the pattern was unmistakable now. Each of them—Mr. Rivera with his hungry artist’s stare, Mr. Brooks with his casual stalking, Mr. Callahan with his perfect words and impossible calm—had made it clear in their own way: they weren’t just interested.

They wanted her.

And they weren’t going to stop.

On Wednesday morning, Eli’s backpack was heavier than usual. She opened it before drop-off to make sure he hadn’t stuffed in toys or half the bookshelf again.

There was a small envelope tucked in the front pocket. No name. Just her address handwritten across the front.

Inside: a folded note.

I watch the way you move when you think no one’s watching. You’re always so tired, but still so beautiful. You shouldn’t have to do everything alone. You’re not alone anymore.

No signature.

She didn’t know which of them sent it.

That night, she didn’t sleep at all.

⸻

The school’s field event took place on a gray, windy Saturday.

Y/N had debated not going. Every instinct screamed stay home, but Eli had been so excited—picked out his own sneakers, laid out his water bottle the night before, begged her to run in the parent race. She couldn’t take that away from him.

So she showed up, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, forcing a smile when other parents waved at her. The open fields behind the school had been turned into stations—races, obstacle courses, even a small art tent.

Eli ran ahead.

She scanned the area and immediately spotted them.

Callahan by the sign-in table, clipboard in hand. Rivera near the painting area, smiling at the children. Brooks already in athletic gear, tossing a football with a few dads.

Her stomach turned.

They hadn’t seen her yet. She turned to leave—to pretend she’d forgotten something in the car—but then a familiar voice called out.

“There you are.”

Callahan.

He looked pleased, as if he’d known she would come. His tie was off, sleeves rolled up, and the wind tousled his dark hair just enough to make him look almost younger. Almost innocent.

“You made it,” he said. “Eli’s going to be thrilled.”

She nodded, wary.

“We’ve got a spot for you in the relay if you’re interested,” he added. “It’s low pressure. Just a fun way to bond.”

“I think I’ll just watch.”

“Of course. But if you change your mind…” He handed her a bottle of water with a label she didn’t recognize. “Brought this from home. Thought you might like something better than the vending machine stuff.”

She took it reluctantly, pretending not to notice the way his fingers brushed against hers.

A little later, Mr. Brooks approached. He was sweating, chest rising with exertion, grinning like they were old friends.

“You should’ve seen Eli in the footrace,” he said. “Little guy’s got legs.”

“I’m proud of him.”

“You should be. And hey—” he leaned a little closer “—you looked real tense earlier. You okay?”

“Just tired.”

“You know…” he said slowly, “when I said you didn’t have to do everything alone, I meant that. I’ve seen what it does to people. The pressure. The loneliness. You need someone who gets it. Who gets you.”

She took a step back. “Mr. Brooks—”

“No,” he said, voice gentler now. “Tyler.”

“I think it’s best we keep things professional.”

His jaw flexed. “Right. Professional.”

He walked away without another word—but not without a look. A look that promised this wasn’t over.

She found Eli, pulled him into a hug, and told him it was time to go.

“But we haven’t done the painting!”

“You can do it next time.”

Rivera caught them near the gate. “You’re leaving already?”

“We have things to do.”

“Can I give you something first?”

She didn’t respond fast enough.

He held out a small canvas, freshly painted. It was a house—her apartment, unmistakably detailed, down to the chipped mailbox and ivy on the wall. And in the doorway, a woman holding hands with a man whose face wasn’t filled in.

“I thought maybe Eli could finish it,” Rivera said. “Fill in whoever he thinks belongs there.”

She stared at him. “That’s not appropriate.”

“I think it’s perfect,” he said, quiet and smiling. “Because you deserve someone there.”

She left without another word.

⸻

That night, her apartment felt colder.

She put Eli to bed early and sat on the couch with the water Callahan had given her, still unopened. The canvas Rivera handed her rested on the kitchen counter, face down. And her phone buzzed again—another message from an unknown number.

You’re not being fair. You act like you don’t want this, but I see the way you look at us. At me. Don’t lie to yourself. Let me in.

She turned her phone off.

But even then, in the silence, she couldn’t shake the sense that someone was outside. Watching. Waiting.

She should have changed the locks.

It was the first thing Y/N thought when she came home and saw her bedroom door slightly ajar.

Not wide open. Not obviously tampered with. Just… ajar.

She froze in the hallway. Eli was still at school—she’d stayed late at work and hadn’t picked him up yet—but everything in her body screamed wrong.

She walked slowly through the apartment, barely breathing, calling softly, “Hello?”

No response.

She opened the door fully.

The bed was neatly made. The window slightly open, even though she was sure she’d closed it that morning. And on her pillow—just resting there, like a lover’s offering—was a flower.

A single calla lily.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She hadn’t seen a calla lily in years. They were her mother’s favorite. She’d mentioned it once, offhandedly, at a parent-teacher conference. To Callahan.

Her hands shook as she reached for her phone.

No missed calls. No new messages.

She turned to leave—and stopped.

Her closet was slightly open too.

A cold panic settled over her spine. She grabbed the closest object she could find—a lamp—and yanked the door open.

Empty.

But on the inside panel, written in what looked like red ink, were the words:

You shouldn’t hide the parts of you that are most beautiful.

She picked up Eli ten minutes later, barely able to hold herself together. She didn’t call the cops. Didn’t call anyone. What would she say?

Someone broke in and left her a flower?

Someone knew things they shouldn’t?

She tried to act normal at dinner, but Eli stared at her through his spaghetti like he knew something was off.

“You okay, Mommy?”

“I’m fine, baby.”

He looked down at his plate. “Mr. Callahan said he could help you feel better.”

Her heart stopped.

“When did he say that?”

“At lunch. He sat with me.”

“He what?”

“He said he misses seeing you smile. And he asked if you were still drinking the water he gave you.”

Y/N nearly knocked over her chair as she stood. She opened the fridge and found the bottle still sitting in the door. Untouched. She checked the seal. It was tampered.

She threw it away immediately.

That night, she didn’t sleep. She sat on the floor beside Eli’s bed, one hand resting on his leg, eyes fixed on the door. When dawn finally bled through the windows, she had already made up her mind.

Something had to be done.

⸻

She showed up at the school without an appointment.

Callahan was in the middle of a lesson, but the front office buzzed him out when they saw her face.

He appeared in the hallway a few minutes later, smiling like nothing was wrong.

“Ms. L/N. This is a surprise.”

“Not a good one.”

His brow furrowed. “Is something wrong with Eli?”

“You need to stay away from us.”

The smile didn’t fall—it tightened.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“You’ve crossed a line. You and the others. The notes. The visits. The water bottle. The drawing in my closet.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—an unreadable shift.

“I see,” he said. “So you’ve decided we’re the villains in this story.”

“There’s no we. You’re my son’s teacher. That’s it.”

“You don’t actually believe that.”

He stepped closer.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. At us. You’re tired. You want help. You want someone who knows you, who sees you. You’ve just convinced yourself it’s not allowed.”

“Back off,” she said, voice shaking.

“You keep pushing us away, but we’re not going anywhere. Not me. Not Tyler. Not Adrian.”

He said their names like a vow.

“You can’t do this,” she whispered.

“I can,” he said. “Because I’m already doing it.”

She walked away before he could say more.

But the next day, Eli didn’t come home with just drawings or comments.

He came home with bruises on his wrist.

“What happened?” she asked, trying not to panic.

“I… I tried to go to the nurse without telling Mr. Rivera. He got mad.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

That night, she sent an official complaint to the school board. Short, direct, formal.

She didn’t name all of them. Just Rivera.

But something in her gut told her it wouldn’t matter.

Not when the people she was reporting were already inside every corner of her life.

The next morning, her car wouldn’t start. The tires were slashed. No cameras caught anything.

Inside the driver’s seat, tucked under the wiper blade, was another flower.

A calla lily.

And this time, a note too.

You belong with us. You’ll see it soon enough.

Y/N stopped answering unknown numbers.

She stopped opening her blinds.

Stopped taking the same route home from school.

None of it helped.

The morning after the tire-slashing, she received a visit—not from one of them, but from the principal. A polite woman with thinning blonde hair and a clipboard full of vague smiles.

“Just a quick check-in,” she’d said. “We received your report. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

Y/N had tried to explain—about the drawings, the messages, the bruises. But the woman’s smile never wavered.

“Adrian Rivera is a beloved teacher,” she said. “Sometimes, children get bumps and scrapes. That’s no reason to tarnish a man’s reputation.”

“I’m not making this up,” Y/N said, voice fraying.

“No one’s saying you are. But may I be frank?” The principal lowered her voice. “Single parents can be… under a lot of stress. It’s easy to feel isolated. Misread signals. Build stories around people who are just trying to help.”

It felt like a slap.

That night, there was a knock at her door. Late. Too late.

She didn’t answer it.

But she heard the voice.

“Y/N. Open the door.”

Brooks.

“Tyler,” she called through the door, “go home.”

“I just want to talk.”

“You’re scaring me.”

A pause.

Then: “You didn’t used to be afraid of me.”

“I never invited you into my life like this.”

Another pause. Then something sharper in his voice.

“I saw Rivera leaving your building today. What did he say to you?”

Y/N froze.

“I didn’t let him in.”

“But he tried. Right?” Brooks asked, now lower, darker. “He doesn’t deserve you. None of them do. You think Callahan’s your friend? He’s worse. At least I’ve been honest about how I feel.”

“I’m calling the police.”

He didn’t respond at first. Then: “I’d never hurt you. You know that. But they might.”

She didn’t sleep again.

⸻

The next day, she found Rivera already waiting near her parking spot at the school lot.

His arms were crossed. His face was hard.

“I heard about last night,” he said.

She stepped back. “How?”

“Brooks told me.”

“Why are you even talking to each other?”

“Because we all care about you.”

She laughed. A humorless, bitter sound. “That’s not care. It’s obsession.”

Rivera stepped closer.

“You were supposed to come to me first. Not go crying to the board. Not let him near you.”

“You’re delusional.”

“I saw you take the flower. I saw you keep the note. You liked it.”

“No,” she snapped. “I was scared.”

For a second, his eyes flickered with hurt—genuine, almost childlike.

Then they hardened again. “You don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I don’t want. Any of this.”

“You think you can keep pushing us away, but you’re not the one in control anymore.”

She opened her car without another word, heart pounding. He didn’t stop her. But he watched her drive away, and she could feel it—the weight of his gaze, like hands pressed against her skin.

⸻

The next time Callahan spoke to her, it was in public. At pickup, on a crowded sidewalk, with other parents and kids milling around.

“You look tired,” he said smoothly. “I’m worried about you.”

She didn’t respond.

He leaned in, voice quiet.

“I heard Brooks showed up. That he scared you. I told him to be patient, but he doesn’t listen well. Adrian’s even worse. He’s reckless. Impulsive.”

“And you’re what?” she asked. “The good one?”

“I’m the one who’s planning long-term. The one thinking about Eli’s future. Your future.”

“You’re married.”

“That doesn’t change how I feel.”

She stepped away from him, her voice low and shaking. “This has to stop.”

“No,” he said calmly. “This is the beginning. They think they can take you from me. From us. But I’m the only one who’s stable enough to protect you.”

“From them?”

“From everyone.”

⸻

That weekend, she took Eli to her sister’s house in the next town over. Left no note. Turned her phone off. She needed distance. She needed time.

But the first night there, her sister handed her the landline phone with a confused frown. “There’s a man asking for you. Says he’s a teacher?”

Y/N took it with shaking hands.

“Hello?”

“You’re good at hiding,” Rivera’s voice said. “But not that good.”

Click.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear.

She dropped the phone.

⸻

The next morning, there were three letters under her windshield, weighed down by a rock. Different handwriting. Different words.

But the same message.

You belong with me.

Don’t trust him.

I won’t let the others take you.

⸻

Y/N realized then: this wasn’t just obsession.

It was competition.

And she was the prize.

They weren’t going to back off.

Not even from each other.

Y/N had stopped sleeping.

She watched shadows move across the ceiling at night, her son curled against her side, his breath soft and even while hers came in sharp, panicked bursts. She didn’t know how they’d found her sister’s house. She didn’t know what they’d do next.

But she knew this: she couldn’t run forever.

They’d follow.

They’d always follow.

The breaking point came on a Monday.

She returned to her apartment alone—just for a few clothes, just for a few things—and found all the locks changed.

Not broken. Changed.

Her key didn’t fit. The door handle was new.

She stood on the hallway carpet, frozen, her pulse thudding in her throat.

And then it opened.

Callahan.

Sleeves rolled up. Calm as ever. Wedding ring still glinting.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said gently. “It’s not safe.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “Did you—did you change my locks?”

“You left. I had to make sure you were protected. Adrian and Tyler have been watching the building.”

“You don’t live here.”

He gave her a faint smile. “Don’t I?”

She pushed past him.

Her apartment looked… the same. But it wasn’t.

There were new curtains. A different lamp. Fresh flowers on the table—calla lilies. And a photo of Eli, one she didn’t remember taking, in a silver frame beside the bed.

“I’ve been taking care of things,” he said. “Paying bills. Collecting your mail. It’s been chaotic without you.”

“You broke into my life,” she said, voice rising. “That’s not care, Mr. Callahan. That’s—”

“Stop calling me that.”

He sounded calm. But the edge was there now, thin and sharp as glass.

“You don’t have to pretend this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve always been patient with you, Y/N. I’ve waited. I’ve watched. I know you better than anyone.”

“You don’t know me,” she said.

He stepped closer.

“I know you hate mornings. I know you hum when you’re thinking. I know you cry when Eli’s asleep and you think no one’s listening. I know you’ve been so alone for so long you stopped believing someone would stay.”

Her hands shook.

“And I know,” he whispered, “that you don’t trust them the way you trust me.”

Before she could speak, the knock came.

Loud. Sharp. Repeated.

Callahan’s face tightened.

“Ignore it,” he said.

But she was already moving.

She opened the door—

And came face-to-face with Brooks.

He looked wild. Sweaty. Hair messy. Hands shaking.

“Get away from her,” he growled at Callahan.

Callahan stepped in behind her, hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t the time, Tyler.”

“No,” Brooks said, stepping inside, voice shaking. “You think you’re better than me? Just because you talk nice and wear your little tie? She’s scared of you. She told me.”

“She told me the same about you.”

“Stop it—both of you!” Y/N snapped, voice breaking. “This isn’t love. This is control. You don’t own me. You never did.”

But it was too late.

They weren’t listening anymore.

“You drugged her water,” Brooks hissed. “You crossed a line.”

“You’ve been following her to the store,” Callahan snapped. “You leave notes on her car. You’re worse.”

“You’re married.”

The word hit like a slap.

Callahan flinched—but didn’t back down.

“My wife doesn’t matter. She doesn’t understand me the way Y/N does.”

Brooks lunged.

They struggled—shouting, grunting, crashing into furniture. Y/N backed into the corner, heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear. She had to do something. She reached for her phone—

And then Rivera appeared in the doorway.

Silent. Watching.

He didn’t look surprised.

“I told you,” he said softly. “They can’t be trusted.”

Blood trickled from Callahan’s lip. Brooks was breathing hard, fists clenched.

“You’re all insane,” Y/N said, voice trembling.

Rivera’s eyes locked with hers. “We’re in love.”

He stepped forward—and drew something from his pocket.

Keys.

Her keys.

“Give them to me,” she said.

“You don’t need them anymore,” he replied. “You’re staying with me now. I’ve already cleared out the guest room. I thought you might need space at first.”

“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Brooks snarled.

“She’s not staying here either,” Callahan snapped.

“Stop,” she said, louder. “All of you—stop.”

The room froze.

“I’m done pretending,” she said. “Done waiting for you to change. You’re sick. All of you.”

“You need us,” Rivera said. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I needed help,” she said. “And you weaponized it.”

No one moved.

Then, slowly, Callahan looked at the others.

“She’s scared,” he said. “Look at her. We’re not doing this right.”

Rivera frowned. “Don’t get soft now.”

“I’m not,” Callahan said. “But if we don’t work together, we’ll lose her.”

A pause.

Brooks muttered, “You’re suggesting we share?”

“No,” Callahan said. “I’m saying we stop tearing her apart.”

Y/N stared at them, disbelieving.

“You think I’ll just accept this?”

Callahan turned to her. “You don’t have to. Not yet. But we’ll prove ourselves. One by one, or together. You’ll see. We’re not going anywhere.”

The worst part?

She believed him.

She tried to run.

It wasn’t clever or dramatic. No backdoor escapes or fake identities.

Just a car rental, a wad of cash from a stashed emergency envelope, and a trembling hand on the ignition.

Eli slept in the backseat, clutching his favorite stuffed bear. She hadn’t told him anything. How could she?

All she could do was drive.

The highway stretched ahead like hope. And for the first few hours, it felt real. Like breathing for the first time in weeks. Like freedom might still be possible.

Until the flashing lights appeared behind her.

At first, she thought it was just a cop.

Until she saw his face.

Rivera.

She slammed the gas.

He followed.

She tried to lose him off the main roads—swerving through small towns, taking turns without signaling—but he stayed close. Relentless.

She pulled into a gas station, heart slamming, breath jagged, ready to grab Eli and run on foot if she had to—

But Callahan was already there.

Leaning against a rental SUV. Calm. Perfect.

Like he’d known she would come here.

Like they’d planned it.

Brooks stepped out from behind the pumps next.

Blocking her escape.

Panic rose in her throat like bile. She opened the door, grabbed Eli—

“Mommy?” he murmured, still sleepy.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay—”

But then Rivera was in front of her.

And Callahan behind her.

And Brooks flanking the side.

No escape.

“Don’t,” she whispered, backing against the car. “Please. He’s just a kid. Don’t do this to him.”

“We’re not here to hurt him,” Callahan said gently. “We love him too.”

“You don’t know him!”

Brooks stepped closer. “We know you. And he’s yours. That makes him ours, too.”

“I will never let you near him.”

“You already have,” Rivera said. “He likes us. He talks about us. He draws pictures of us at home. He trusts us.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “You manipulated him.”

“We earned him,” Callahan said. “Just like we earned you.”

“Stop saying that!”

Eli began to cry.

“Mommy, I want to go home—”

“You are home,” Callahan said.

Y/N spun to him. “I will never choose any of you.”

Callahan nodded slowly. “That’s alright.”

He looked at the others.

“She doesn’t have to choose.l

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Dolly VII

~ part 7 of the Dolly series

pairing: han jisung x afab!reader

genre: smut, fluff, sci-fi

synopsis: you, being a tech-savvy person, decide to get one of the new sex dolls on the market. with your skills and brains you manage to unlock the doll's secret and make a perfect plan on how to discover the secrets of the doll's maker too.

wc: 8.2k

warnings: oral (f and m), somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampies

a/n: i've never been to an observatory so idk how things go there and i couldn't find a detailed description of the experience so i just winged it, don't come at me if you've been to one

~ divider by @bunnysrph

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, lifting your fist up in the air triumphantly. You were so early.

Following the latest technology advancements and even working on some of your own led you down into a deep dive and you had heard rumors here and there about something completely new and different coming out soon. And now they were finally here for the public to enjoy.

Sex dolls.

But no, they weren't regular dolls that were made of plastic. The site claimed that they were made out of newly discovered materials that made them feel human, made them able to heat up, get hard, cum. In your years of being a programmer and hacker you have never heard of such a thing.

You scrolled through the entire site, of course they were made by BIMT. They were known for their discoveries in robotics and artificial intelligence. But they were also shady. Their founder, Helena died mysteriously and any ex employee kept their mouth shut when asked about their job. You saw the interviews and read articles before. You saw the glint of fear in those people's eyes, like they were threatened to be silent with death.

You already tried looking into it before, you were always a curious cat and you always did your research, sometimes even illegally but hey, what has to be done...

BIMT hid their tracks very well, even their official site was impenetrable no matter how many times you tried hacking into it. There was no revealing documents, pictures or interviews anywhere, not even on the deep dark web. You couldn't even find anything about it after hacking into social media accounts of ex workers. It made you even more intrigued. You always loved a good challenge.

And the dolls being made by them was just the stroke of luck you needed. Excitedly, you scrolled through each dolly profile. It was so hard to decide, but one of the dolls caught your eye more than the others.

Jisung, the nerdy doll. You thought he was just like you, a smarty-pants, the person who knows the answer to almost anything, brain full of fun facts and finger ready to lift up and say 'actually!' before you start explaining to someone why their claims are wrong based on this and that.

Yes, he had to be yours.

Not even a week later, your package arrived and you were practically bouncing off of your walls and climbing up your ceiling. You ripped the paper off the box eagerly before opening it and gasping.

"Oh you are even more beautiful in person!" your hands instantly flew to the doll's body as you explored it. "Does feel human." you nodded to yourself and leaned in to inspect his face.

With eyes opened and frozen you had to admit, Jisung looked a bit creepy no matter how pretty he was made to be.

"Time to dissect." you wiggled your eyebrows and pulled Jisung up in a sitting position. "Perfect."

Your fingers brushed over the little usb opening, almost missing the paper that slipped down. You grabbed it and started reading.

Hello,

my name is Jisung and I am your nerdy doll.

I love music, singing, dancing, rapping, watching anime and reading comics. Maybe I have too many hobbies? But I am happy to share them with you!

Please take good care of me, sometimes I feel down and alone and will need your comfort and presence.

Hope you will love me as much as I love you.

"Versatile little guy, aren't you?" you smirked, playing with his hair a little. "I think you and I will get along perfectly."

You scooped your dolly up and brought him to your room, placing him down on your bed before going back to grab the manual. You skimmed over it, nodding every now and then in surprise. This really was some kind of never before seen technology. You wondered how BIMT managed to produce the dolls and what else they made that no one knew about.

Being a programmer, you knew stuff like this was the result of trial and error. You kept thinking about how they actually got to here and what they had to do to make something as advanced as the doll on your bed.

"Let's see what you got, pretty boy." you smirked as you stood in front of Jisung. You gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing maybe the most lean waist you've ever seen.

"Wow." you gasped. "Yeah, you're not real." you chuckled, placing your hand on his chest. Your fingers twitched against him, he felt real, like a real human being. And he was warming up under your touch.

Your hand slid down, touching his chest, his nipples that seemed to become more pebbled the more you ran your fingertips over them.

"Look at that." you giggled before sliding your hand down until you got to his jeans. You noticed a small piece of paper sticking from the pocket.

"What's this?" you pulled it out and opened it.

My baby!

I am so excited for our first date!

I might be a little shy at first though. Hopefully you will still enjoy our first night together.

"Oh, I'll enjoy." you smirked, seeing the bulge that was straining against his pants. You unbuttoned them and pulled the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Your fingers wrapped around his clothed length and you palmed him over his boxers. He twitched in your hand and you gasped.

"I'll discover your secrets, Jisung. But first let's have some fun, shall we?" you smirked, thinking how the doll should be used for what it was essentially made for. Why not have a little fun with it before you actually hack into it?

You slid his boxers down and his length slapped against his stomach, red and dripping, ready for you.

"Wow." you gasped, he was big and shaped perfectly. You couldn't wait to try him out so you stripped out of your clothes, throwing them haphazardly anywhere they landed in your room. Jisung was propped against your pillow in a half-sitting position and you crawled on the bed, hovering over his chest as you chuckled.

Why did it seem like his eyes were sparkling? Like they were trained on your pussy? Like he was actually seeing you before him?

"You want this?" you smirked, your fingers sliding on your folds then back up as you spread them before placing one finger on your clit and playing with it. Your dolly blushed at your ministrations and you gasped.

"What the fuck?" you chuckled in disbelief as you leaned over his face and tried to take a better look at him, to see if he was breathing, blinking, moving, anything. But it seemed like his heart wasn't beating at all. It's probably just a feature the dollies have, you thought to yourself as you continued touching your wet folds and playing with your clit.

"You have pretty hands, little dolly." you smirked, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to your breast. "Mm." you moaned as you moved against it, his skin was smooth and warm and it felt so good against yours. Your other hand was still between your legs and you slowly pushed two fingers inside your pussy, moaning at the feeling while staring at Jisung's face. The look on the doll's face was so sweet, almost innocent and you couldn't help but think if he was a real man, you'd definitely fall for him, he seemed just your type.

After a few minutes of playing with yourself, you were starting to lose patience the more you stared at Jisung, he was so alluring. You slid down to hover over his cock before grabbing the base of it and pressing the tip on your wet folds.

"Fuck." you groaned, throwing your head back. He felt so real, so perfect and you slid down slowly, taking his length in until he bottomed out inside you and you sat on him, squirming around to adjust. He filled you up like no one else and your eyes rolled back as soon as you started fucking on him.

A string of curses left your lips while you bounced up and down on him, getting his heavy cock more wet with each movement as you kept squeezing around him. You braced your hands on his defined chest and fucked him harder, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot and making you groan loudly as your eyes watered from arousal.

Your thighs started burning, legs tingling as a sheen of sweat covered your body while you kept fucking Jisung harder, noticing his face was becoming even more red.

"You enjoying, dolly?" you smirked between moans and clenched around him, forgetting that with your doll's sensitivity he could cum just from that. And that is exactly what happened, without warning he twitched and exploded inside you, making you gasp and clench even harder around him. The wetness and warmth made your eyes roll back and you followed after him, cumming around his cock and riding your high as long as you could.

"Tsk. Naughty dolly." you chuckled, pinching his cheek. "Wow, your face is warm." you added, pressing your palm against his heated skin. You leaned down and kissed his lips, they were so soft and for some reason tasted like cherries. Your lips kept pressing into his, before moving onto his cute puffy cheeks and placing more sweet kisses there.

"Hey!" a giggle escaped your lips when you felt him getting hard inside you again. "I'd love to but my thighs hurt." you pouted before sliding off of him. "My jaw is fine though." you winked at the doll before sliding down and coming closer to his cock, wet with yours and his juices. With a shrug, you pressed your tongue against him and gave him one long lick from the base to the tip, tasting yourself and again, something like cherries mixed with it.

"What are you made of? Fruit?" you let out another giggle before leaning in again and wrapping your lips around his tip. You sucked lightly, moaning and enjoying the taste and feeling of him. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't take in your mouth as you slid as far down as you could and started moving your head up and down on Jisung's cock. Your eyes fluttered shut and you got into a rhythm, moaning and swallowing around him because he tasted so good.

It didn't take long for your dolly to explode again, this time painting your mouth with his warm cum and you swallowed every last sweet drop of him. You leaned up and kissed him again before leaving the room to take a quick shower. You didn't bother to put anything else but a short robe on when you came back to clean up your dolly too.

"Now. Let's see what you are made of."

You lifted him and put him in your chair before taking the usb cable and connecting it into the back of his neck and then into your computer. After opening the terminal and typing out a few lines of code, you were in.

"Hah!" you laughed. BIMT might've shut their ex employees up and they made sure no one could find dirt about them or hack into any site they made but they probably never thought that someone would actually hack into one of the dolls.

"What kind of code is this?" you gasped a little as you looked at lines and lines of code that your dolly was made from. It was definitely some advanced programming language but still it was readable, and to someone who did this for life it wasn't hard to understand after taking some time to look at it and read it out.

You saw that it had some type of advanced AI implemented inside it, some kind of genetic algorithm carrying the unique DNA of your Jisung dolly. It wasn't like any other genetic algorithm you worked with before and it was clear to you that this technology was far ahead of its time.

"How the fuck?" you shook your head, scrolling through the lines of code, seeing that a lot of the features the doll had were 'turned off' before getting to a line where there was a loop holding the factory reset button.

Should you do it? Reset the doll and see what happens?

You turned towards Jisung and looked at his face, your eyes searching his glassy ones. You saw there were features of the doll talking, laughing, even something about his heart beating. You suspected that he was actually 'alive'. You felt like you were in some kind of science fiction movie as your finger hovered over the left mouse button.

"Fuck it." you said and clicked it.

For a few moments, nothing happened until you noticed all the lines with features changing rapidly before your eyes. You jumped a little and looked at Jisung again. He was still for a moment before his eyes watered and then his face became red as he fought for air. He blinked a few times and then took a deep, painful breath in, his eyes became wide and his hand grabbed at his chest.

It looked like your dolly was alive after all.

Jisung looked around before his eyes landed on you and his hand flew to the usb pressed into his skin. With fearful eyes he stared at you and gasped.

"W-who are you?" he asked, backing away in the chair as you stared at him with mouth agape.

"Um, y/n. I bought you?"

"I... I was sold?" Jisung's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why would Mother sell me?"

"Mother?"

"Why am I naked?!" he screamed suddenly, trying to cover himself up with his hands as his face became incredibly red.

"We just had sex? Or I fucked you. You're a sex doll? You don't remember anything?"

Jisung frowned again, pressing his lips together as his eyes moved left and right for a few moments before they widened.

"Yes, I remember now what happened." his cheeks were rosy again. "Can you please give me my clothes? I'm... embarrassed."

"Sure." you stood up to grab his boxers and Jisung saw a glimpse of your core as you moved around, quickly looking away as he started heating up.

"Here." you gave him his underwear and he managed to put them on while still sitting in the chair.

"Why am I hooked to your computer?" Jisung asked and you got closer to the screen and observed the code, seeing something you had never seen before in your life.

Under all the lines, new lines kept appearing as if the code was writing itself while Jisung spoke, thought or took in a breath. It was like a brain, doing all the things that would keep a human being alive and let them do all the things they do so easily.

"This is fascinating!" you kept gawking at the code.

"Please... I don't wanna be hooked to any more machines." Jisung whispered and you turned to look at him again.

"I'm sorry." you tilted your head before unhooking him from the cable and he winced, grabbing at his neck and you watched in real time as his skin grew over the opening.

"What the-" you kept chuckling in disbelief. But despite you being in shock, it was Jisung who stared at you like you were the weird one.

"You look confused. What's the last thing you remember, Jisung?" you asked and he bit on his lip, gulping as his eyes fixated on your cleavage.

"Hey, buddy!" you snapped your fingers with a chuckle. "Eyes up here." you pointed to your face and he sputtered a little.

"The last thing I remember? You-"

"No, before coming here." it was your turn to blush.

"Ugh. I remember my brothers and our Mother. She made us come to life. She loved us, she would never sell us." he quickly shook his head, getting upset. You reached out slowly and placed your hand over his and Jisung looked up at you with wide, shiny eyes.

"Do you know her name?"

"Mother? Isn't that her name?" he pouted a little, looking like a kid waiting to be praised for the right answer.

"Wait a sec." you said and googled Helena Bang, showing him a picture of her. "Is this mother?"

"Yes! Yes, that's her!" Jisung smiled and nodded.

"Jisung, I'm sorry but... but she is gone. She died a few years ago."

"W-what? What do you mean? That can't be true! She was there with us, teaching us everything and reading us books and, and-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. I didn't mean to upset you." you rolled you chair closer to Jisung's and took his hands in yours. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, sniffling as he tried to understand just what you were saying to him.

"Look, obviously something happened in between and someone wiped your memory." you tried soothing him, drawing circles with your thumbs into his skin. "But don't worry, you came to the right hands because I will help you remember everything and discover what is happening in BIMT." you nodded and Jisung exhaled.

"Okay. I trust you. You're really pretty." he said with rosy cheeks and you laughed.

"You trust me cause I'm pretty?"

"No, I trust you because... because I have a feeling I should. And you're also pretty." he looked down and you giggled, leaning in and kissing his cheek softly.

"You're pretty too." you whispered in his ear.

"T-thank you." he stuttered, playing with his fingers.

"Now tell me everything you remember. Don't leave any minor details out." you said and Jisung began talking.

"We looked different before, when we were first made. We spent a lot of time in these big tanks filled with some kind of liquid. They called them 'incubators' and they would take us out and hook us to some kind of machines. They did something to us, I couldn't see what but I could feel it. I think- I think they were adding skin and other parts...and it hurt. A lot. But after that we were transported to this big mansion and we lived there with Mother. She took care of us, she taught us everything and she read books to us and played games with us. We spent time in the garden of the house a lot. Chan, Changbin and I had a lot of fun in the house gym, but Changbin spent lots of time there. And there was a pool, I'd hang out there with Felix and Hyunjin. And Hyunjin also loved the garden a lot. Seungmin too! And the library, Seungmin would sit in the library a lot, reading all the books Mother had there! Jeongin spent a lot of time in the game room playing videogames with Seungmin and Felix. And Minho really loved cooking and taking care of the cats in the mansion. We had a wonderful time together. I remember we would grill in the backyard and I had a guitar, we all sang together. I- I don't know what happened after that." Jisung hugged himself. "All I remember is a feeling. A deep seated feeling of angst and fear. Something happened to us, we were separated. From each other and from Mother. We went to sleep. And then I woke up here."

"So, Helena did make all of you." you smirked, looking up the current CEO of the institute. "And this bastard decided to completely turn everything around and make money in such a dirty way, making himself look like a genius who made you." you shook your head in disbelief. "Do you remember him?"

Jisung shook his head with wide, innocent eyes.

"Don't worry, Jisung. I'll get to the bottom of this."

-

After a proper shower and meal, Jisung seemed to be more calm than earlier as he wandered around your apartment, brushing his fingers against your furniture and decorations.

"You don't have a garden? Or a library? A gym? A pool?" he looked at you expectantly and you let out a cackle, now dressed in your comfy pjs and ready to relax before sleep.

"That's something only rich people have. Here, I have a balcony. Come." you beckoned him with your hand and he followed. You opened the door to your balcony, taking a deep breath in, the fresh breeze of an early summer evening caressing your skin.

Jisung took in a deep breath too and cautiously placed his palms on the railing before looking down.

"Wow. It's really high up." he said and you stood next to him.

"Does it scare you?" you put your hand next to his.

"It's just a little... uncomfortable. But I like the plants you put here." Jisung smiled at the few flower and plant pots you had all around your balcony.

"Then don't look down, look up." you took his hand and pulled him to the little bench and table you had placed there. "You can see the stars from my balcony."

Jisung's eyes widened a little as he scanned the sky, a small smile twitching on his lips as you observed him.

"You seem fascinated." you said as he stayed silent.

"I've always loved the stars, felt like they held answers to any question. I begged Mother to take us to an observatory so we can look at the sky together. She always said it was too dangerous to leave the house and that it's not time yet. She said we had to wait for the right time to leave, to be independent."

"You still wanna do that?" you smiled and he looked at you, nodding quickly.

"I'll take you then."

Jisung gasped, his body jolting in excitment. "Really?!"

"Yes, I've never been to one either. I think it would be something fun to see." you said and he kept nodding the entire time, making you chuckle.

"Are you tired?" he asked when you yawned.

"Yes and I have lots to do tomorrow. I'm working on a big project for work and I also want to look more into your code." you said and Jisung shivered a little.

"You're gonna hook me up to your computer again?" he pouted.

"I'm afraid that's the only way to find out more." you chewed on your lip.

"Do you think my brothers are in danger?" he asked then, frowning in thought.

"They could be. But no one bought them yet."

"Can you?" he asked and you chuckled.

"What I had saved up I spent on you. I got nothing left. But I could call a friend. You said Chan was the first doll made, right?" you asked, standing up and Jisung nodded.

"Then I know what to do." you reached your hand to him. "But now, let's go to sleep."

Jisung took your hand and let you lead him back to your room.

"We are sleeping together?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes and embarrassment painted on his cheeks.

"Of course." you smirked a little and pulled him down on the bed with you.

With his cute face and pretty eyes, Jisung managed to steal a few kisses from you before he fell asleep in your arms.

Jisung woke up when it was still dark outside, the sky still full of stars albeit a little less shiny now as the sun was supposed to rise soon. He looked at your sleeping frame, reaching his hand to gently touch your cheek, his fingertips on your skin. He played with your hair before putting it behind your ear. He's never seen someone as beautiful as you and he never felt this sort of excitement, like butterflies and fire inside him for anyone else but you.

Jisung's face flushed when he realized he was aroused by your presence and warmth. He had no idea what to do, should he wake you up or just ignore it? He squirmed in place, accidentally grazing against your bare thigh. A moan left his lips and he couldn't help himself, pressing against you again and dragging his clothed length against your soft skin. His hands gripped at your hip and his eyes closed as he whimpered quietly. The movements and sounds made you snap out of your dreams and your eyes fluttered open.

"Jisung?" you whispered and he froze.

"I'm- I'm sorry Y/n. It's just-" you chuckled, shutting him up with a sleepy kiss as your hands traveled down.

"Take what you need." you smirked after getting rid of your shorts and underwear. He gasped a little as you grabbed his wrist and led his hand between your legs.

"You feel that? For you." you smirked, eyes closed as his fingers explored your wet folds. You pushed his boxers down slowly and pulled him in closer to you, your brain foggy and turned on after sleep. Jisung slotted his hips between yours and gripped your thighs, spreading your legs more before grabbing his cock and sinking it into you. Both of you moaned, hands grabbing desperately at each other.

"Y-you make me feel like I'm burning." he buried his face in the crook of your neck and a breathless chuckle escaped your lips. Jisung whined, gripping at you as he started dragging his cock against your walls slowly, fitting perfectly inside you.

"J-Jisung... Feels so good." you whimpered, arching up into him.

"Yeah, baby?" his lips pressed into your flushed cheek as he fucked you slowly and deeply.

"Yeah, perfect." you gasped, your hands roaming on his back, up and down his smooth skin, feeling the defined muscles.

"You're perfect too. So warm." Jisung whimpered, speeding up just a little as he lifted your shirt up, exposing your breasts to him. He bit on his lip and you moaned, arching into him and encouraging him to touch you so he placed his hands on your breasts, squeezing them and playing with your nipples. Your legs wrapped around him as your hands kept roaming on his skin, his lips on your neck and chest, his body swaying into yours until you were brought to climax together.

"Wow." Jisung smiled, laying his cheek on your chest and looking up at you.

"It's much more fun when you're not just lying there." you joked, poking his cheek.

He pouted and frowned, swatting your hand away. "For me, it was fun to just watch you too."

"I'm sure it was." you giggled, wiggling out of his hold and getting up. "We got work to do."

Jisung whined but followed you to the bathroom. After a shower and breakfast you picked up your phone a called a friend. She lived a little out of town and was enthusiastic about technology in her own way. She was a little older than you and used to do research for BIMT while Helena was still alive but any time you asked her something about it, she'd shut you down, never quite giving you any straight answers. She was an intelligent woman but paranoid that people were listening in to her conversations so she moved away from everyone, changing her life into something more simpler, more close to nature.

You told her everything and heard the gasps she let out, the murmurs of disbelief.

"So, can you take Chan? I think we might have a chance of helping the dolls if you do. Since Jisung was 'sleeping' and supposed to just be used as a sex doll, then the other dolls might be struggling too. I don't think it's right. Maybe they're not completely human... but their heart is beating. They hurt, they feel. They think. They don't deserve to be mistreated." you talked as you paced around your kitchen, Jisung's head following your body as it moved left and right over and over again.

A deep exhale on the other side of the phone.

"Fine. I'll help them. I will take Chan."

Satisfied with the answer, you thanked your friend and hung up.

"Everything is going according to plan, Sungie." you smirked, grabbing his cheeks and smushing them, making his lips pop as he whined.

"You're adorable." you chuckled and kissed him as he blushed profusely, grabbing at your waist.

"Now I gotta actually work and after that I will look at your code." you said.

"What shall I do until then?" he asked and you chuckled.

"You can watch tv. Or read. I mean I'm sure you can find something interesting to do while I work."

Jisung nodded and you watched him make his way to the living room before you walked into your room and sat at your desk.

-

A few hours later, Jisung walked into your room and stared at you sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers.

"Yes?" you chuckled, turning to look at him.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Are you?" you asked back and he nodded, his cheeks rosy. "I will order some food for us."

It didn't take long for your lunch to arrive and the two of you decided to take advantage of the nice weather and eat out on the balcony.

"Y/n?" Jisung said after some time, his cheeks puffy as he ate and you chuckled at his cuteness.

"Yes?"

"Can we take a walk?"

"Oh! Of course. We can do whatever we want." you nodded with a smile.

"Really? Mother never let us leave the property around her mansion. It was too dangerous. That's what she always said." he shivered a little.

"Nothing will hurt you here, I promise." you reached for his hand and he melted.

"I trust you."

"Good, then let's get some fresh air."

Jisung was almost like a child, pointing at everything, happy to be out and about, by your side as you held his hand and took him to your favorite ice cream place, down the familiar streets of the city and to your favorite park.

By the time you got home, night was falling and he was exhausted. You didn't have the heart to hook him up to a computer again, letting him rest in your bed as you sat at your desk and researched the code you copy-pasted from him.

You were getting closer to understanding it. Maybe even close enough to make some tweaks of your own, write a few more lines that would help you understand more so you could help the dolls free themselves.

"Challenge accepted."

A few weeks later, you were able to read the code, it was not that hard for you to get there since you've been doing this for years. You made progress with Jisung, he was willing to cooperate, helping saving his brothers was the only thing on his mind. He was smart too, knowing some things you didn't and that helped you understand some of the programming too.

Somehow he knew that the usb opening reveals itself with a press of his fingerprint over the spot. That's how you managed to plug him into your computer every few days, you didn't want him to feel like that was your only goal, to pick away at his mind. You wanted him to be happy, to you he was human and you had to admit you were starting to fall in love with him more and more each day.

"Jisung, look!" you called out to him one day as you scrolled on your phone while he read some manga, both of you having a chill afternoon.

"What?" he scooted closer to you, looking down at your phone.

"All the dolls have been sold out! I mean... your brothers." you grimaced and he sighed.

"That... was fast. But we know where Chan is?"

"We do. You want to go see him?" you asked and Jisung nodded.

"I will try to convince my friend to let us visit her. She is so paranoid that she never gives her address to anyone. I bet she had Chan picked up somewhere else so she doesn't give away her info. She barely gave me her phone number!" you threw your hands up in frustration.

"Please, try it! I really want to see him!" Jisung clung to you with a hopeful expression.

"Of course." you smiled, softening when you looked into his eyes.

You leaned in and kissed him gently as you wrapped your arms around him and his wrapped around you, pulling you closer into his heated body. You deepened the kiss, your tongue playing with his, a fire burning up inside your body.

As the kiss kept getting more heated, you sat up and pressed your hands on Jisung's chest but he grabbed your wrists gently and leaned back, looking at you lust filled eyes.

"Let me." he whispered and took the lead, pushing you against the couch and leaning in to kiss your neck. You let out a moan, your head falling back as you gripped at him. His hands roamed on your body slowly, mapping you out and squeezing a few times as he kissed and nipped at your skin.

"You're so beautiful." his lips trembled against your skin as he lowered them to your cleavage.

"Jisung." you moaned, hands tangling in his hair as he squeezed your hips. He whimpered at the sound of his name sounding so sinful when it spilled from your lips. He slid the straps of your top down, staring at your breast popping out with almost a fascinated look.

You arched into him and his hands gripped your thighs, lips attaching to your skin again, kissing the swell of your breast to your nipple before swiping his tongue over it, making you tremble and tug at his hair. Jisung kept repeating his actions, alternating between licking and sucking on both your nipples, his eyes closed as he enjoyed. You ran your hands over his shoulders and back, pressing your fingertips into his defined muscles.

His fingers inched closer to your core, brushing against the warmness over your shorts. Your breath got caught in your throat and he looked up at you before sliding down on his knees between your legs.

"Let me taste you, baby." he smirked a little, pulling you closer as he hooked his arms around your thighs and leaned in to press a kiss to your core.

"Fuck, Jisung!" you moaned, hips lifting up towards him as you hooked your fingers in your shorts. You started sliding them down with your underwear and Jisung helped, pulling them off of you completely before gripping your inner thighs and spreading your legs more.

He groaned and stuck his tongue out, licking a fat stripe over your folds to your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

"Ah!" you jolted, gripping his hair harshly and tugging on it, making him moan into you and suck at you harder. His tongue prodded at your entrance and you whimpered, pushing his head into you and Jisung spread your pussy with his tongue, tasting you, lapping at you. Your legs were trembling and closing around his head as you neared your climax, your fingers tugging at his hair. Jisung moaned into you, fucking you with his tongue faster, eating you out like he's been craving to taste your essence his entire life. Your thighs almost crushed his head when you came, his name leaving your lips in a loud moan as your body shook.

Jisung whined loudly too, licking at you until you pushed him away, feeling overstimulated.

"Fucking hell." you exhaled and looked down at him to see him completely disheveled, his hair messy, eyes hazy and lips glistening with your release.

"Please, it hurts." he whimpered.

"What hurts, baby?" you gasped a little, leaning over him to take a better look at him. He moaned desperately, palming the prominent bulge in his sweats, it was straining against the fabric, wanting to be freed and buried inside you.

"Come here, Sungie." you helped him up and then hooked your fingers in his pants, sliding them down with his underwear. His cock slapped against his stomach heavily, dripping only for you.

You reached towards him and he gripped your wrist gently.

"Don't." he shook his head. "If you touch me, I'll cum." he said, his cheeks becoming red in embarrassment as he shut his eyes tightly and attempted to calm down just a little. You waited, looking at him endearingly, it was adorable just how desperate he was for you.

He opened his eyes suddenly and pushed you down, making you gasp in surprise and delight as he spread your legs wide, his hands running up and down your thighs for a few moments. You whined and got rid of your top and Jisung got rid of his shirt, not wanting anything to be in between you. He hovered over you, grabbing his cock and running the tip on your wet folds.

You arched your body into his, your hands coming up to touch his shoulders and arms. Jisung's eyes fluttered as he slowly pushed in, filling you up to the brim. He pressed his body against yours as you embraced him, wrapping your legs around him. After savoring the moment, Jisung's hands gripped at your hips as he started moving inside you.

"Mm... Y/n, you feel so good. So perfect for me." he whimpered and you gripped at his upper back.

"You're perfect for me too, Sungie. Harder, please!" you whined, lifting up into him, trying to match his rhythm. Jisung brought his hips into yours harder as both of you gripped at each other, pressing closer and closer together like you wanted to melt into one person.

"I love you." Jisung moaned out into your ear as he clutched at your hips, enough to leave bruises. You gasped as he rutted into you desperately, the words that left his lips made you clench.

"I love you, Jisung!" you whimpered and he unravelled, exploding inside you and riding his high as he fucked his cum deeper into you, making you clench as you finished around him, your entire body burning up. There were tears in his eyes and you grabbed his face and kissed him sloppily, still trying to catch your breath and come back to your body. He pulled out of you and laid on top of you as you held each other, just enjoying the moment.

"You really love me?" Jisung looked up at you after some time. You couldn't help but giggle at his cute face.

"I love you so much." you hugged him tightly, it was more than just words, it was a promise.

-

"Hey there, friend! How's everything going with your dolly? Did you wake him up yet?" you asked, after calling your friend who ordered Chan dolly.

"Not yet. I'm scared to." your friend answered.

"Just do as I did. He'll wake up just like Jisung did. And speaking of Jisung, he really wants to see Chan."

"I- I don't know about that. What if you get followed here?" you recognized the panic in her voice. "I don't want them to find me."

"Who is 'them'?" you asked for the hundreth time, knowing she'd never answer.

"I can't say. They may be listening, may know Channie is here. I can't risk it anymore, I can't!"

"Please, just calm down! We need to help the dolls, and no one can do it but us, do you understand that? I know that you're scared but trust me, okay?" you pleaded with her.

A long exhale from the other side and rustling sounds as she moved around.

"Alright. But if something happens-"

"Nothing will happen. Well, nothing bad. I promise."

You sighed after hanging up, hoping she would just wake Chan up already so she could get information out of him too.

"So, any luck?" Jisung came into your room, a bowl of ice cream in his hands.

"Nope." you shook your head and he whined, digging into the ice cream with his spoon.

"What are we going to do now?" he asked and you rubbed his arm soothingly.

"Let it unfold. I believe she will come to her senses and do what I asked of her."

"You have lots of belief in people." Jisung noted.

"Not all people. Just ones I feel I can trust. Anyways, why are you not dressed?" you crossed your arms and looked at Jisung expectantly, with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"Dressed?"

"For the surprise I have for you." you pouted and he gasped, standing up immediately.

"That's today?! Fuck, I'll be ready in 10!"

You chuckled at him as you watched him running around clumsily and getting ready. You left him to it as you went to the bathroom to finish your makeup. Jisung walked in later, just as you were adding some last touches. His arms wrapped around you, his chin on your shoulder as his eyes found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked and you smirked a little.

"I'm not saying." you teased and Jisung pouted.

"Okay but I won't stop bothering you about it." he poked your side and you wiggled out of his arms with a chuckle.

"Listen, we are going somewhere you've always wanted to go."

Jisung knew just what you were referring to and he decided to stop asking questions and instead he gave you a soft kiss of appreciation, excitement building up inside his body as you led him out of the apartment and to your car.

The observatory was a little out of town and the drive there was cozy, you were playing a chill summery playlist as Jisung pulled the window down and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze, the fresh air and smells of nature around you. The night was so calm and quiet, instead of it being eerie, you felt excitement building up inside you as you neared the observatory. When you parked, you already noticed that without all the light pollution from the city, the stars were more luminous and visible.

"Wow! It's so pretty already." Jisung exclaimed when you got out of the car and you chuckled at his enthusiasm.

"It is." you looked around in wonder before walking up the path to the observatory, Jisung's hand finding yours as you entwined your fingers together. There were a few other people there and the little tour started with a short presentation and walk around the exhibition of planets and the history surrounding their discovery, along with stories and facts about other space phenomena. Jisung was gasping every now and then, practically vibrating with excitement next to you that he almost forgot how to walk a few times, tripping over his legs and blushing when you squeezed his hand and giggled at him.

You were excited too, waiting for the main course of the evening, looking through a real telescope and seeing all the planets up close, well as close as you could. Soon, you were lead to the telescopes and seeing the planets was nothing like you thought it would be. For some reason, the shapes and colors on the planets felt familiar after seeing so many high quality pictures that were taken of them. But, at the same time seeing the celestial bodies with a professional telescope made you realize that they are actually up there, that they have mass and actually exist, not just as pictures. It was a feeling you couldn't describe and Jisung was equally as if not even more mesmerized by the experience.

As the tour ended and you got back to your car Jisung couldn't stop babbling about everything you saw. You couldn't help the fond smile that spread on your face as you watched him so happy and animated.

It made your chest warm.

"Do you think someone else lives up there, with a telescope of their own watching Earth?" Jisung asked when the two of you laid in bed that night, embracing each other.

"Maybe they do. We'll never know, I guess." you said, running your fingers through his hair.

"Maybe they come visit us one day." Jisung smiled and looked up at you, his cheek pressed against your chest.

"I hope it'll be a peaceful visit." you said and Jisung agreed, his eyes fluttering shut as you soothed him with your touch.

Two weeks later, Jisung was still doodling planets the two of you looked at as you made breakfast when your phone started ringing. You grabbed it and saw it was an unknown number, contemplating if you should answer.

"Who is it?" Jisung looked up at you and you shrugged.

"I have no idea."

"Maybe it's your friend. Or Chan!" he perked up.

"Oh, you're right." you nodded and answered the call. "Hello?"

"Miss Y/n L/n?" a monotone voice sounded from the other line.

"Yes?"

"We understand you have bought Jisung, the nerdy doll. We regret to inform you that all the dolls have to be returned due to a malfunction. You will get a refund of your money, of course. Tomorrow we are coming to collect the doll." the voice spoke and you smirked at Jisung.

"Sure." you said calmly. "See you tomorrow."

The man bid goodbye and you put your phone down as Jisung looked at you expectantly.

"It's happening." you said and Jisung put his pencil down and nodded, understanding immediately.

"Time for me to write some code." you smirked and he exhaled and nodded again as he took your hand.

You had worked tirelessly on it for months, perfecting the code as you predicted that something like this would happen, you knew you had to have some type of guarantee that you can save Jisung and his brothers. After hooking him up into your computer, your fingers started gliding against the keyboard like they were dancing and Jisung watched you with tenderness in his eyes, affection and sadness washing over him. He knew you were doing this for him and his brothers and he knew he'd have to leave you, at least for a little while and he couldn't bear the thought of being away from you.

But still, he was thankful.

You typed out the code and started talking. "With this I'll be able to track you and see what's happening. And they won't be able to pull the plug and make you sleep. You'll have to act as if they did it, I don't know if it will sell when they see your code and see that it has been tampered with. But I am counting that it will buy us enough time to infiltrate the building. Enough to cause a commotion. You just have to act like you're cooperating with them and not raise any suspicions. Understood?" you looked at him seriously.

"I understand." Jisung nodded firmly.

"Good. Just trust me, okay?"

And he did, Jisung trusted you with his life.

That night, both of you cried while making love, knowing it might be your last, at least for a little while but you didn't wanna be apart even for a second. Jisung sang you to sleep like he always did and you knew just how much you were going to miss his comforting voice.

Come morning, the doorbell rang some time after breakfast and you squeezed Jisung's hand as you saw he was getting anxious.

"It's going to be okay. Just act how we practiced." you assured him, grabbing his face and kissing him lovingly. Jisung gripped at your arms, desperately holding onto you and wishing you had at least one more day together.

"Soon, you'll be free, you and your brothers and we will go to the observatory again. And wherever else we want, I promise." you talked, your forehead pressed against his.

"I love you, Y/n." he whispered.

"I love you too." you pecked his lips once more before both of you made your way to the door.

There were four men in suits looking at you with serious expressions on their faces.

"Give us the doll." one of them said and Jisung nervously stepped closer to them.

"I'm here." he said and the men just looked at him quietly for a moment before nodding.

"Get in the car." another one said and Jisung looked back at you. You exhaled and winked at him, encouraging him to do as they said.

You watched his back as he left, his shoulders tense as he tried to keep himself together. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes but you had to compose yourself for this plan to work.

"Thank you for your cooperation, miss." the man said before all of them turned and left.

You quickly ran to your room and grabbed your phone, calling your friend.

"Did they come get him?" she asked and you could hear a commotion behind her.

"Yes. I did as we planned. Is Chan ready?" you asked and she let out a chuckle.

"Oh, he is ready. You should get here as soon as possible." she said.

"Fuck yes!" you laughed, everything was going just how you needed it to for your plan to work.

"Uhm, but... Y/n?" your friend hesitated and you paused your excited pacing.

"Yes?"

"We have company." she said and you gasped.

"What company?"

"Someone who can help us a lot."

You smirked and nodded to yourself, it was time to bring BIMT down.

@moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog @pancake-freckle @felixsbrowniesarmystayengene @minhooofr @hyunjincanraptoo @yaorzu-blog @ari-hwanggg @linofthelace @hyunjinlosthisamericano @the2000girlani @hhjlvr @beabidoobee @psychicdreamers @juskz @quokkacidal @chuuyaobsessed @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @lixies-favorite-cookie @thelostprincessofasgard @linocvp1d @stayjinnie @portgasdbru @lilgothhishhh @selinia86 @felixsbabe @staytinyluva @sadroses98 @katexstay @gnabnahcsworld @hazelbazil @iwannahugchangbin @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @skzfelixlove @skzjen @syedazarintasnim @geektacularmommom-blog @cookiesnmilfx @kayleefriedchicken @stxt-bby @strykdsstanot8 @hyunjinhwang2018 @binniesbabygirl @hyunjiniretti @linavc @julciaqwerty @salemluvsmusic @diipsy

[sjyuns]

SOFT SPOT ┆ A PARK JONGSEONG ONESHOT

SYNOPSIS! love is a crazy thing, and you’d always been absorbed in the idea of it, 100% committed as your school’s cupid but cupid deserves love too, right?

GENRE! strangers to lovers, basketballer!jay (there’s barely any basketball in this), mutual pining, simp!jay, high school au

WARNINGS! some sexual innuendos, drinking, partying, mentions of cheating and abortion

WORD COUNT! 9OOO+

MIKAELA’S! inspired by some book i read i think… this is from my old blog eumpapas, i’m not copying anyone please… also happy mega birthday to the man who made me start watching iland🙏🏻 DNA jay this one is for you.

BEING cupid isn’t easy, and it’s definitely not a task for the weak. Carrying around a heavy basket of heart shaped tipped arrows and a bow slung behind you as you matchmake, aim, and shoot, injecting pink that knits into a person’s bones.

Many people applaud you — for so intelligently pairing up matches together. But what they don’t realise is the immense effort it takes. Cupid may be an icon of love, but you barely have one of your own. And you wish, that there is another cupid out there aiming their love tipped arrow at you.

i. ugh, men

The piece of paper in your hands rubs against your palms as you take yet another glance at the capitalised name written in neon pink before looking back up at the blond hair boy in front of you.

“Jay? I mean- not discriminating or anything but you want me to link you up with Park Jongseong?” You furrow your brows, looking at Jake with pure curiosity.

His eyes widen as he realises what this might have seemed like. “No, no,” he furiously shakes his head, “he’s my bro, what are you even talking about.”

You tilt your head as you scan the nervous footballer who’s too busy fidgeting in his seat to realise, and you think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him so nervous — even more than before a crucial game, and you wonder what’s come over him.

“Jake, the neon pink sparkly pen? If you’re not in love with your best friend, what puts you in such a lovesick mood?” You ask, flapping the crumpled piece of paper at him as he sighs.

“Firstly, it’s a smiggle pink scented pen, get it right. And secondly, it’s not really about matchmaking, I just need your help with something.” He groans at the accusations you’ve pasted on him. 

You purse your lips, “Jake, you know I don’t do anything other than matchmaking. I would really like to help, but I’ve been a little tight on time recently.”

Before you can grab your bag from the small round coffee table, he swiftly brings his hands up, stopping you from leaving. His eyes held such desperation that your body seemed to move back down by itself.

“Look, this is kind of like matchmaking, think of it as helping a blossoming couple out. Please.” His plea of desperation squeezing your heart ever so slightly.

“Has this blossoming couple got something to do with you and that pretty best friend of yours?” You raise your eyebrows, as you shoot a knowing look at him. It wasn’t rocket science, and it didn’t take a genius to know that Jake was deeply in love, fully head over heels: entranced with his best friend. And as Cupid, no doubt you had such information at the back of your hand.

Jake holds back a smile by biting his lips, eyes darting away in fear of professing his love, “look, Jay’s just been such a cockblock recently, they’ve been friends for a while but nowadays they’ve been hanging out together a lot more. Alone. Do you understand how big of a crisis this is? All I need you to do is watch him, maybe use those matchmaking skills of yours to match him up with someone?”

You look at the pitiful state of the boy in front of you, with his hands constantly moving to brush his hair back in his withered stressful state. And you can’t help it — as someone who’s all about love, you find yourself agreeing to help him, even if you were already swarmed with four other couples to matchmake.

You find the list in your head getting longer as you ask Jake about Jay, the tiny book in your head that’s filled with possible matches seeming a little empty at Jake’s description of Jay’s ideal type, likes, and dislikes.

It wasn’t the first time you’ve heard about Jay, in fact it was probably about the nth time with the amount of girls who come swarming to you with bleak hope that you’d be able to matchmake them with him. And of course, you couldn’t deny the fact that he was attractive — with his coveted status as the vice captain of the basketball team, and not to forget his matte black Porsche he drives to school everyday, it would be weird if he wasn’t popular.

But what’s all that when Park Jay had a dick for a personality. Well, at least that’s what the rumours say.

And you’re about to confirm it right here right now as you stand outside the sports hall, the squeaking of court shoes piercing through your ears as you stall by rechecking Jake’s text.

Jay’s at basketball practice till nine, maybe you can catch him there.

The time on your phone blares a bright ‘0925’, and you curse yourself for not having the guts to say no to Jake — because as much as you are Cupid, you’re also weak hearted, and you don’t know how to handle a devilishly handsome boy who’s said to have a bad attitude.

You let out the breath you’ve been holding, getting ready to push the door until it swings open from the other side and the vision in front of you turns from the freshly painted navy blue doors to a tall, lean boy with a number 99 plastered on the front of his jersey.

Holy shit, you think, and you wish you could duck around quickly and scurry away, yet your feet remain firmly planted to the ground as your eyes linger on the face in front of you.

“Something wrong, Cupid?” 

You open your mouth only to close it yet again. Because despite the harsh tone or recognition his voice held, you were mesmerised. You’ve only ever seen Jay from afar and now up close, he looks like a collection of violet-tinted heartbreak and soft silver snow — as the ferocious intensity he emits settles itself in the sharp dip of his cupid’s bow. His beauty is devastating, and your task is forgotten for a moment as you take in his black hair damp with sweat and the slender set of collarbones revealed by his jersey.

The boy looks like an angel and siren all at once, and fuck it if he isn’t the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Even prettier than Lee Heeseung, the attractive basketballer you’ve known since middle school (who you had a tiny crush on back then.)

It takes you forty two seconds and Jay bending down to snap you out of your gaze. And you find yourself not being able to do anything but shift back as the boy smoothly ties your shoelaces which you must have left undone in a rush to reach here on time.

“Thanks,” you say honestly, voice too breathy as your veins pump with embarrassment. 

He smiles softly, “don’t mention it, wouldn’t want you to trip and fall, right?”

You pause, and you hate how awkward you are during unplanned encounters. “Right,” you say, stumbling over your own words, “I mean- uhm, yeah! Thanks, but- I could have tied them myself.”

Jay laughs, and it’s a little husky as you capture the sound. “Right. You’re cute when you ramble.”

Right now, you wished you possessed the charm you usually carried when talking to other targets — bold and feminine. But with a mere sentence, Jay had the ability to reduce you to a young girl talking to an infatuation for the first time. And you think the rumours are false, because the boy in front of you seemed nothing like the playboy you’ve heard about: barely seeming to have an ounce of smooth confidence in his bones.

“You’re here for me, aren’t you Cupid? Did someone want you to matchmake me with them? Or are you on some sort of mission?” His sudden change of tone throws you off, arrogance radiating off him as the look in his eyes change. Bolder, sharper.

You think that you’re an idiot, for falling for his innocent façade, for believing those rumours were fake. Because now Jay looks like he’s playing god, with a devil’s smirk etched onto his face. 

“Does the name Jake Sim ring a bell?” It amazes you how blunt he sounds, mouth tense and one corner slightly tilted down. And it pisses you off, how handsome he still seemed.

“He’s the captain of the soccer team,” you try, avoiding the question all together, “who doesn’t know him.”

The boy in front of you seems unsatisfied, “not what I was asking and you know it,” he declines, a borderline genius glinting in his eyes. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He smirks, brushing his hair back, “you’re telling me that my best friend didn’t hand you a note with my name on it, asking you to keep an eye on me?”

Fuck. How does he know?

You send him a cool grin — and thank goodness your usual calm and composed exterior is back — as you slowly walk towards him, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Not everything in life is about you Jay, so get lost.” You pause. “Please.”

A part of his tenacity amazes you when he fails to keep his mouth shut, and you feel annoyed at his stubborn persistence. “Everyone knows your little love business, Y/n,” Jay elaborates, making you grit your teeth. His voice is like liquid mercury, toxic yet smooth. “There’s always talk about a new happy couple and a pretty pretty girl who set them up.”

And as if on instinct, your hands move up to twirl the ends of your hair, “what about it, Park?”

“You’re telling me that Jake Sim didn’t meet you today? Look me in the eyes and say it.” 

You stare into the eyes of the boy who looks like he could be a model, heart betraying you as it escalates. “I didn’t meet Jake Sim at Starbucks today. Quit bothering me, alright?”

“I didn’t say it was Starbucks,” Jay states brazenly, his head tilting in princely arrogance as you watch a small smirk settle on the crook of his mouth. “I thought good girls like you never lie.”

“Fucking hell,” you breathe in sharply, “get lost.”

Jay tucks one hand into his pocket, tugging his lips into a small smile, “You go first, I’ll follow you.”

Your cheeks heat a dark shade of red as you dread to have to tell Jake that Jay knew of your deal.

“Wait,” he says as you turn, gently grabbing your wrists. He might seem a bit rough on the outside, with arrogance lining his collarbones, but when he touches you, it’s surprisingly soft. “Don’t tell him I know. All I’ve been doing is giving her advice about approaching Jake and I don’t want to ruin any surprise she might have planned.”

You nod slowly, pieces coming together in your head. “So you want me to be your double agent?”

Jay smiles, and if you were honest, it might have been the most genuine you’ve seen him today. “Why not? Not like you’d take the chances of spoiling a couple’s confession. Live a little.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, “I live a lot, Park, maybe more than you’ve ever lived.” You pause, “ and if you want me to, you should fix that attitude of yours. God knows how you bag girls acting like a dick.”

Jay presses his hands to his chest in mock pain. “Your words hurt, Cupid,” he pouts, eyes glistening, “so are you in?”

“Depends,” you admit, “maybe if you take me on a ride in that cool car of yours.”

He thinks for a moment. “Fine.”

A smile blooms on your lips, and you’re too triumphant to notice the way Jay’s breath hitches as he takes a small step backwards, as if your aura was too potent, too powerful for him to breathe in.

“Deal.”

ii. a short guide on handling a crazy heart

The last place you’d ever think of telling your best friend, Yunjin, about your encounter with a certain vice captain was in the bathroom of a stranger���s house, with the latest hits blaring into your eardrums. “He’s got a dick for a personality,’ you scream over the music as she fixes her hair in the mirror, “he’s arrogant, infuriating, and he doesn’t know when to stop.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” she replies, giving you a knowing look through the mirror, and you roll your eyes at her comment. “So what exactly did Jay want you to do again?” Yunjin’s eyebrows raise as she asks her question for the fifth time this week, and you think if your friend wasn’t so pretty, you would have purposefully messed up her hair in annoyance.

You sigh, “he wants me to be a double agent of some sort, he doesn’t want to ruin his hard work of giving advice,” you admit, “I’m practically sandwiched between two best friends.”

“Aw, you guys are like a pair of cupids,” Yunjin says thoughtfully, “you and Jay. And I guess it brings no harm. Though you might be pissed with his personality, someone has to get under that thick skin of yours. He might just be the one to do it.”

You shoot her the finger accompanied by a glare as the two of you finally exit the bathroom to the bustling scene of the party, with sweaty bodies swaying to the rhythm of music blasting from the speakers.

“Y/n!” A golden voice calls out, making you turn over your shoulder, to find Jake waving you over excitedly, with a tall boy dressed in all black beside him, leaning against the wall coolly as he gazes at you with hooded eyes.

There’s an ineffable feeling that crawls into your stomach when you see Jay, as if he held all the power in the world to crush you with a glance. “Come play beer pong with us, we need two more people.” Jake's voice goes through your ears before leaving through the other side as you nod aimlessly, eyes trained on Jay’s figure — lean back muscles that were visible through the shirt that hugged his figure, as you and Yunjin follow them into another room.

“Me and Jay against the two of you,” Jake grins as he nudges you by the shoulder to the other side of the ping pong table, a few familiar faces surrounding the area.

“I’m out, ask Heeseung to play instead,” Jay mutters under his breath, but you catch it despite the loud chatter amongst the crowd. And it dims the small excited flame burning in your heart.

You watch as Jake sighs, “come on bro, don’t be a party pooper. First Sunghoon ditches to go god knows where with that neighbour of his, and now you?” Jay moves to comb through his slicked back black hair, eyebrows furrowing as he calls Heeeung over.

Looking at Heeseung, you realise that Jay and him were two completely different kinds of beautiful: Heeseung had a sharp jawline and soft curves; Jay, on the other hand, had a kind of edge and arrogance constantly lining the corners of his mouth, and it’s unconventional. To say the least. Everything about him was to you.

“Come on Park, don’t spoil the fun,” you pitch into the conversation, as the three heads turn towards you, “or are you scared you’re going to get trashed by two girls?”

Jay mutters a chain of words under his breath as he steps out of the tiny circle they’ve made, towards you, his gaze centred on you. And it suddenly feels silent as Jay’s eyes start at the tips of your toes, sliding across the smooth expanse of your legs and past your torso, lingering on the slight curvature of your neck before landing on your lips. Your swallow is embarrassingly audible in the unusual quietness, but you soon clear your throat.

He’s so handsome it makes you want to scream. You hate how good he looks; you hate how he looks at you, like you’re something of his affections. And you hate yourself for actually liking the attention, because even though you always state that you hate him, you know it’s not true.

Jay just gets on your nerves.

“Fancy seeing you here, Cupid. Who knew you could ever look so stunning?” And just like that, the moment’s over.

“Shut the hell up, Park. All you have to do is throw a ball into a cup, or are your basketball skills that bad?” You challenge him, and Jay lets out a laugh: a real laugh that you want to hear again and again and again, because it sounds like silver music and he’s beautiful.

And you hate yourself and your feelings.

“If that's what you think,” he breathes, as he stares into your eyes, “let’s make a bet then. If I win, you have to come to a basketball game of mine — because you’ve clearly not been to one, wearing my jersey, cheering for me. And if you magically happen to win, I’ll do anything you want me to.”

Maybe his car, maybe you could ask him to give you his car, you think as you set your mind on winning. Not one ounce of doubt that you’d be able to beat Jay, because despite not having attended one basketball game, you think that you had sufficient skill to win. He can’t be that good, right?

And once again Jay proves you wrong as he effortlessly scores cup after cup, and you’re buzzed, barely able to comprehend your surroundings as the crowd cheers his and Jake’s name. The only words you hear clearly is Jake’s extremely loud cry of excitement as Jay throws yet another ping pong ball into the last cup on your side of the table.

“See how it’s done, angel? I’m not vice captain for no reason,” he smirks as he rounds the table to your side. Though you’re half gone, you’re suddenly grateful for the dim lighting because you’d be caught dead by the boy next to you if he sees your flushed cheeks at the new nickname he’d just given you.

“Anyone told you not to randomly call strangers angel?” You hiss, as he gently wraps an arm around your waist, steadying your wobbling figure. Jay shrugs, and you huff out a breath, “it does something to them, okay?”

The boy looks down at you, thumb brushing over your cheeks — and you tell your weak heart to calm down, “what does it do, angel? Tell me,” he mutters under his breath, and he’s too close to you, because you can feel the weight of his words sink into your body as the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

“It hurts me, them, right here,” you reply, closing your eyes to tame the nauseating feeling in your brain, as your finger points to your heart, “makes their heart go boom.”

You don’t see anything, but you can feel Jay’s hands wrapped carefully around the nape of your neck, fingers entangled in your hair, as the other cradles the smooth, glass-like skin of your jaw, thumbs once again brushing with a tantalising shimmer. His breath smells of sangria and mint, and the sensation is just warm as you’re cast unceremoniously under his addicting spell.

“Yeah?” He whispers, and you nod softly.

“Yeah,” you answer, “so stop it, whatever that was. It’s annoying.”

Your eyes open and you see Jay smirking in his trademark expression, and you click your tongue in annoyance, pretending as if your heart wasn’t about to jump out of your chest.

“But that’s what you are, aren’t you? Cupid - Angel, same thing.” He replies, and you’re about to answer, but decide not to as his words swirl around in your chest.

“What are you even doing here anyway?” you groan, changing to topic as you furrow your eyebrows, vision betraying you as Jay’s devilishly handsome face duplicates itself under intoxication. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to drink when you were such a lightweight.

“Don’t think too hard, angel,” Jay teases, “or else your head will start hurting.”

“Shut up asshole,” you roll your eyes, trying to concentrate on the boy in front of you instead of the pounding in both your head and chest.

Jay grins, and you can see a little bit of evilish impurity and jaded sleekness — like a trained jaguar waiting to pounce. “Shut me up then,” he murmurs, “kiss me, angel.”

“If I kissed you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” you announce, and you busk in this moment because you’re sure you’d forget it tomorrow morning.

“And if I kissed you, I probably wouldn’t be able to stop.”

Your vision goes black.

You wake up buzzing out your mind, surprisingly in your own bed, with not a hint of remembrance of last night’s drunken conversation.

“Just get out, get some fresh air, it’s good for hangovers,” Yunjin says, all dolled up and ready to patronise the new cafe she’s been raving about, while you sit at the edge of your bed, staring daggers at her with your hair all messed up and head still spinning.

You groan, “are you insane,” your hand moving up to rub your eyes furiously, “must feel good not to be a lightweight.”

Maybe it’s your friend’s persuasion skills or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re easily persuaded because after ten minutes, you find yourself decently dressed and walking into the small diner situated around the corner as the striking ring of the bell pierces into your head, making you wince.

“Jake, fancy see you here again,” Yunjin shouts across the diner to a small four person booth where you see said boy’s head popping out. 

“Yunjin, Yn,” Jake waves, as Yunjin pulls you yet again to Jake, exactly like how she did yesterday night. “You know my best friend,” Jake introduces, staring at her as she waves, a bright smile that could bring a boy to his knees.

“Cupid or yn, right?” She asks, with clear confidence exuding out of her, “Jay’s cupid.”

You cough at her words, eyes darting to Jake’s face as you tilt your head in question. “Jay’s told me or well me and Jake about you.” She clears up, moving your suspicions away from her best friend.

“Right,” Jake chimes in, “surprised you’re still alive after yesterday. You knocked out mid conversation with Jay and he drove you and Yunjin home.”

“Come again,” you turn to look at Yunjin, eyebrows furrowed as she gives you a guilty look. 

“He had a nice car, and he offered, what could i even do with you alone,” she murmurs under her breath and you slap her shoulder.

“Actually, Jay’s here if you want to talk to him,” Jake brings up, looking around for the boy. And your eyes widen at his words, tugging Yunjin’s sleeves as an indication to leave.

“Yn, Yunjin,” and you curse yourself because Jay sounds so good in the early hours of the morning, too good, with his slightly raspy and deep voice that you wished to hear over and over.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, knowing how you are when you’re drunk. Embarrassment swallowing you whole and spitting you out at the thoughts of what you might have done in your drunken state consuming you.

“You okay angel?” You turn around at the sound of the nickname that pinches at your heart, “after what happened last night, I thought you’d never see the light of day again.” The familiar devilish smirk is cued and you know you shouldn’t be trusting him yet you are as your cheeks heat up.

Jay chuckles at your abashed state as he gazes at you, wondering how you looked so good even in a plain white shirt and shorts. Like an angel, and he thinks the nickname he’s given you is spot on.

“Don’t remember? Then I’ll leave it to your imagination,” he says, leaning into you. As you freeze, eyes dart from his face to his lips for a second before looking back up. You don’t know what’s come over you because your usual calm demeanour has been flushed out, replaced with the resounding of your rapidly beating heart.

“Can’t believe you’d do such a thing to me, angel.”

Your imagination runs wild especially after you watch Jay walk out the diner with a winner’s smile on his face, head racing with embarrassing scenarios as he consumes your mind day and night.

iii. pink eyes, pink hearts, the whole world turns pink when i’m with you

When you meet Jake again at the same small rounded Starbucks table, you tell him Jay has no intentions of getting together with his girl. He smiles and tells you that there’s no longer a need for you to ever talk to Jay again, and for some reason it bugs the hell out of you.

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you can’t stop thinking about the golden confidence that surrounds his body like second skin, or the way he walks — like he’s it. Maybe it’s the way his hair still looks perfect after hours of sweat and playing basketball, or maybe it’s just because he knows exactly how to get you heated.

You hate thinking about him too much, because you’re afraid that your cheeks will flush a cherry red and you’ll start remembering how he bent down to tie your shoelaces or how his muscular arm wrapped gently around your waist as he entertained your drunk blabbering ( you cried for three days upon remembering this, cursing Yunjin for not helping you out ). So you don’t think about Jay, how he’s so so pretty and you certainly don’t think about the straightness of his nose, or the birthmark on his neck.

It’s a Friday night, and the campus is empty, students all gathered to watch the football game. And you feel an uneasy sensation settling at the bottom of your stomach. Something’s terribly off, you realise, as you look at your shadow and see another following you at an awfully close distance.

I fucking hate men, you conclude, as you clutch the pepper spray you keep in your jacket pocket, and you continue walking in the same direction like nothing’s wrong. You can’t call Yunjin, because she’s busy cheering her head off at the football game, you think as you try to strategise. And you silently curse as you watch the shadow get closer, it’s fine, you think, you’re strong and fast — and your trusty pepper spray never betrays you.

You turn around and spray the small can in the face of your follower, jumping back to see if the chemicals did the desired damage. But when the air clears, all you see is Jay’s gorgeous face crying profusely.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you repeat again and again, and he doesn’t say anything. “I’m so sorry, Jay. Are you crying?”

The boy in front of you doesn’t look at you, blinking through his red eyes and burning tears as he takes the tissue you’ve offered him. You watch his swollen, puffy eyes as tears roll down and collect at the corner of his chin.

It’s not the time to laugh, you think, maybe just a little. And you have a strong urge to whip out your phone from your back pocket and take a picture of the once in a lifetime view in front of you.

So you do. And Jay isn’t having it.

“You know,” he says, voice scratchy, “you’re the most difficult fucking person I’ve ever met in my life.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes at his obvious compliment, “how would I know that you weren’t some pedophilic stalker who’s come to kill me!” You look at his pitiable state and you stop, “I’m really sorry.” Your voice softens.

“Say it again.” And his commanding tone makes you feel not so apologetic anymore.

“Go to hell.”

Jay sighs in annoyance, “that’s cute,” he replies, and you ignore the way your heart skips a beat. “I just saw you and wanted to talk to you, and maybe give you my jersey, for our bet.” His voice reminds you of springtime love and dragonfruit hibiscus, of frenzied thrills and mysterious shadows.

“Oh, where is it?” You ask, as if the thought of wearing his jersey to watch your first ever basketball game didn’t excite you even a little bit. His fingers clasp around your wrist, pulling you to a carpark where he had parked.

He unlocks his car, one hand still pressing the piece of tissue against his eye as the other swiftly opens the boot of the car. “Here, it’s washed, don’t worry — since you seem like that kind of person.”

You give him a look, as you watch him remove the tissue from his eye. It’s turned a shade of pink now, less puffy and less glassy. “What exactly do you mean by that Park, and here I was thinking of treating you for ice cream in return for giving you a pink eye.”

He huffs a tired sigh, “with the way you’re tiring me out, you should treat me for ice cream.”

And you look at Jay, who’s glowing under the rim streetlights despite his obvious red eye ( kudos to you ). With cheekbones that cut like ice and eyes liquid scotch, Park Jay is an alcoholic beverage and he doesn’t even know it. You’re addicted, even if your mind disagrees with your heart.

Stars could gleam all throughout the night sky and yet you’d still prefer to watch them through his eyes. And you think that you’re fucked, because you’ve never really thought of anyone like that. Not even Lee Heeseung, you only liked him because he was the fastest runner in middle school, but Jay — Jay made you feel like treasured snow in a globe kept by a bedside, he makes you feel like a fever dream.

“If you drive me, I will,” you say and he grins, jogging over to open the passenger seat for you.

“I’ll take a pistachio ice cream,” he orders as he slides into the driver’s seat and you enjoy the cool, crisp air blowing at you.

You choke at his words, “pistachio?” as your head tilts in question, “who eats pistachio nowadays? Everyone eats mint chocolate chip.”

Jay’s face contorts into an expression of disgust as he scrunches his eyebrows, taking his eyes away from the road to face you. “Honestly expected more from you angel, but I’m not surprised, just disappointed.”

“And I expected more from you, Park.” You comment, “who the hell doesn’t like mint chocolate chip?”

He groans at your argument, “it’s fucking toothpaste on a cone, what is there to like?” 

You gasp, mouth wide open ready to fight back till he sighs, eyes rolling as he turns into the parking lot of Baskin Robbins, “fine, I’ll give mint chocolate chip another try if you try pistachio. We’ll try each other's ice cream, okay?”

Smiling, you nod, happy that you’d win the argument, even if it meant having to try some weird nutty flavour of ice cream. “I’ll go get it, wait for me.”

You jog into the store, excited to finally treat yourself to ice cream — and for Jay’s expression when he eats mint chocolate chip because you know his face would scrunch up ( and you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to take yet another picture ).

You come back out into the parking lot, and you see Jay, with another girl pressed up awfully close to him, and it feels like your throat is closing up, squeezing as you feel the urge to rip the two apart. It looks wrong — Jay and her, and you think it’s what your knowledge and years of being Cupid is saying ( or maybe it’s your heart ). You hate it, hate the way she’s looking at him as if he’s some fallen God from heaven, hate the way she shifts closer to him even when he’s trying to avoid touching her.

You move before you know it, and you expertly loop your arm around Jay’s waist after passing his cup of ice cream to him. Red hot satisfaction lighting up inside of you as Jay rests his arm around you — as if it’s his natural instinct, and his expression of annoyance morphs into one of a devilish smirk that you were now well acquainted with. 

“You’re back, angel,” Jay murmurs, as he kisses the top of your head, his voice reverberating in your temples. 

“Yeah,” you say, grinning sweetly at him before shooting the girl a glare: eyes turning into stilts as you give the clueless girl yet another warning sign. It doesn’t take long for the intruder to awkwardly excuse herself before you click your tongue in annoyance, turning around to face Jay who had a foreign expression on his face.

“Is my angel jealous?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, and your heart fawns at the small movement that was ridiculously attractive. He hums, smiling sharply as your breath catches.

You clear your throat and look away, well aware that your hand still lingers on his chest and you have no motivation to move it. “Shut up.” And you feel panic rising, bubbling. This is bad. This is too dangerous.

“I could shut you up instead,” Jay murmurs, stepping even closer and a thrill runs through your body. “Want me to?”

“You’re such an arrogant asshole,” you whisper, slapping his shoulders without any real force, “why would you ask me this kind of question.” Your heart is screaming a resounding yes.

“Because I’m a gentlemen,” Jay glares at you, and this tension between the both of you — like cold fire and hot ice, erupts in a lick of blue, crystallised flames. “So I’ll ask you another time,” he pulls you towards him, “can I kiss you, angel?”

You can’t take it anymore. “Stop talking and just do it.”

You pull him down by his collar and press your lips onto his, feeling your skin heat up as his lips move on yours. Holy shit, you think. He’s an expert kisser. And it might be ironic because it’s your first kiss ever, but you believe that nothing after can ever top this. 

His hands rest on your waist, then to your jaw, then to your neck — and you feel. Feel the tip of his tongue asking for entrance at the inner part of her bottom lip, feel the way he’s kissing you roughly but smoothly at the same time, hair brushing your forehead and breathing unsteady against yours. Jay tastes like a blessed curse, a collection of angelic alcohol on a summer evening, and you want to hold him and never let go.

Because you’re making out with Jay, and your heart is pounding as you rest your thumb on his pulse and feel it flaring wildly, recklessly. Oh my god, you think, as he squeezes your waist before breaking the kiss — eyes slightly hooded as he stares at you in adoration that sparkles under the midnight sky.

He will be the death of you.

iv. three ways to ruin park jongseong

Jay thinks that there’s three ways to ruin him.

One: The kid’s viking ride at amusement parks. It absolutely destroys him, and his hair that he works on for hours in the morning. His knees get weak and his brain thrown out of his body as he squeezes his eyes shut, begging heaven to let him live another day even before the ride starts. 

Two: Mint chocolate ice cream. Which was why he surprised himself when he agreed to give it another try for you. He absolutely distastes the flavour, as the creamy cavity inducing toothpaste taste coats the roof of his mouth, he winces in disgust. The only exception, he thinks, is when he kisses you and he tastes it. Instead of its usual nauseating effect, it instead tastes like love drunk cherry epidermises. 

Three: You. With his jersey hanging from your shoulders, and he can smell his cologne, as you brush past him, eyes forming crescents as you greet him. “Hey Jay, are you ready for the game?”

His heartstrings tug, quicker and quicker at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. And he might be a little foolish when it comes to love, but he thinks that this was the way his name was meant to be said. 

“Jay? What, cat got your tongue?” You laugh, smiling. And he thinks he’s fallen for your laugh — that’s utterly contagious, your smile — which made him giddy for no reason, and the way you weren’t scared to annoy the hell out of him. 

He doesn’t know if this feeling is normal, because despite the rumours, Jay’s never had a girlfriend, nor has he ever been with a girl; relationship or not, and it was all Heeseung who had girls around all the goddamn time. With them, he felt sick at the way they whined to touch his hair. But you, you ruin him the most, even more than the viking ship ride. And all his life, Jay’s been a pretty systematic person, but now he doesn’t know where to start, what to do about it.

“Come again angel, didn’t catch that,” he replies, eyes catching yours as he turns into the school car park, one arm slung over the back of your seat as he reverses into a lot. 

You groan, cheeks pink, and he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. “I said, are you scared the other team will trash you to pieces?”

Jay chuckles, at your sharp tongue and the way you skillfully tease him. “I’m not scared, why would I be? With an angel cheering for me, I literally have God on my side.” He gets out and rounds his car, moving over to open your side of the door as he watches you lick your honey lips in nervousness. Under the 7pm tinted red and orange skies of a Wednesday, Jay realises how blue he’d feel without you now that you’re here.

“Who,” you pause, as you try not to jumble up your words, “who said I’d cheer for you?” A lazy smirk painted on your face, as you praise yourself for not tripping over the nervous butterflies the boy in front of you gave your stomach.

“You’re here with me,” he says, eyes trained on you as you lean back onto the side of his car, “I drove you here, I will be walking in with you, the jersey you’re wearing has my name on it. And, I invited you to the game in front of half the school population at that party. You see the pattern here, angel? It’s us or nothing.”

The way his eyes hold your gaze as his hands graze over yours melts you. And you’re so drunk in him, you feel as if you could touch the clouds in the salmon sky.

“What if I exchange my jersey with another girl?” You say, eyes glinting with mischief as you fold your arms, testing him. “Or maybe I’ll sell it, I’ve heard that this jersey is a pretty coveted item here in Decelis.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance and you grin, “girls like you are the bane of my existence.”

“Girls like me?” You raise an eyebrow, “love, I’m one of a kind.”

“Yeah, you are. You are the bane of my existence.” Jay nods in agreement, as he slings his bag over his shoulder, and wraps his fingers gently around your wrist, guiding you into the unfamiliar sports hall. He thinks he’s playing with something dangerous — because you’re tangerine dusts of fire, flames that warm his skin and he relishes your warmth as you intoxicate his brain, his mind, as the smoothness of your skin lingers on his fingertips.

“Sit,” he says, pointing to an empty spot he reserved for you. 

“I’m not your dog,” you retort, begrudgingly.

“Love of my life, light of my eyes, my all, would you please do me a kind favour and take a seat? I don’t want to tire those pretty legs of yours. Not like this.” 

Oh.

You laugh, and it’s so loud that you can feel the eyes of others on you. Yet you’re fully focused on the devilish man in front of you. And you think, if you were very brave or honest you would tell him — that you might have fallen for his charming ways, sly smile, and god-like features.

“That’s right,” you grin as he shakes his head at your bratty behaviour. 

“Anything for the princess,” he bows, and he doesn’t realise it but he’s smiling. Wide. And just like that you’re woven into his veins and he needs you like sin.

Jay makes up his mind that today’s match would be the best match he’s ever played. Not because you were here, sitting at the front row of the bleachers. Well, maybe, maybe it was because he wanted to hear you cheer his name, watch you grin in celebration as he scores hoop after hoop, and maybe because then — only then can he smoothly ask you to celebrate his win with him over dinner.

And that is exactly what he does. 

“You did so good, Jay, when you twirled around that dude and threw the ball into the ring,” You say, reenact Jay’s winning shot, the jingle of the bell of your favourite diner that you recommended Jay to go to ringing as you enter the small place.

Jay think’s it’s extremely endearing, the way you call the basketball hoop a ring, or how you explain his moves as if he was a dancer on stage — twirling, he thinks he could work with that.

Jay directs you to a booth to sit in and a waiter comes to take your orders. You request a double cheeseburger and so does Jay. And he notes down the way you toy with the salt and pepper shakers, rips up the edge of a napkin, and clinks silverware together in odd amusement; you don’t ever stop moving, it seems. And it’s adorable.

“Tell me about your business,” Jay prompts, elbow settled on the table as you grumble in protest.

You shake your head, pursing your lips in refusal, “It’s a little embarrassing.”

“No it’s not,” Jay huffs, “I think it’s interesting.”

And so you tell him. “People pay me to matchmake them with someone they’re attracted to,” you mumble, “and sometimes I get paid more when I get a request to play a certain role.”

“What kind of role?” Jay asks, full of curiosity.

“Well, on Saturday Yoo Jimin is paying me to act like an innocent girl who her boyfriend was two timing with — he cheats a lot you see, and she wants to finally dump him.” You elaborate, “I don’t accept all of these requests, I choose them. I get a whole lot of weird ones too so that's a big no.”

“Isn’t that cruel,” Jay comments, but a drop of pity found nowhere in his voice. And you laugh, tilting your head back. He watches, eyes following the curve of your throat.

“Maybe,” you say, “but cheaters deserve it. Especially when Jimin’s boyfriend has hooked up with multiple girls.”

“So you like to roleplay?” Your mouth drops open.

“Is that all you got out of my explanation? That I may like to roleplay?” You scoff as Jay grins, “sadly for you Jay, I don’t.”

He glares at you and you glare back at him even harder. “Right,” he snaps, “how could anyone ever put up with you to begin with? You’re impossible.”

“That’s mean,” you pout, eyes flickering to his as you rest your chin on the palm of your hands. “You’re mean, Jay. I really hate you.” False.

“And you’re a devil’s spawn.”

You gasp, “you wound me, Jay. I thought I was your angel.”

You are, he thinks as he stares at you. And Park Jongseong wants to kiss you — but only in the most connotative way possible, so that no dictionary definition would ever stand a chance to describe how your lungs could be filled with the sweetest air possible and yet you’d still be so breathless. Often, pictures the both of you holding hands, watching a movie, sitting on the beach hearing your laugh throughout the day, catching your smile and he hopes that at the very least you think of him when your eyes are closed.

Roseate cheekbones, pearlescent soft lips, and bickering emanates love as the both of you fill the quiet dinner with intimate chatter. 

And the night dies down all while Jay thinks about how you’re a vivid dream of lust and harmonies, euphoria reeking upon your entire figure, lips tainted with surreal giggles — and that the saliva in your throat is yet rather angel dust that converts into musical laughter, music he loved to hear as he watches you.

v. mascara stained cheeks, bruised skin, and a crumpled piece of paper.

“He must be really fucking into the cheating shit if he’s meeting his side chick an hour away from our school,” Jay grunts as he pulls over at the entrance of the restaurant Jimin sent you. 

Today, you’re donned in a different style — sweatpants and a random big sweatshirt you stole from Jay’s backseat. Your hair messed up and your mascara smudged. It wasn’t really part of the job to be dramatic, but you only live once, so what’s the point of living boringly?

Jay scans your face for the fifth time in an hour, “you look exceptionally pretty today, angel. You really live up to your pet name.”

You grin, eyes rolling as you shuffle through your bag to take out a positive pregnancy test, mind sifting through your checklist — mascara check, positive test check. “Jay, love, it’s called dedication. You obviously do not have such a quality.”

His heart spins when you call him love. And it’s crazy, because he’s staring at you — with makeup smudged all over your face, positive pregnancy test in your hand from God knows where, drowning in his oversized sweatshirt yet he thinks you’re pretty, too pretty. And if that wasn’t dedication, he doesn’t know what is.

“I’m dedicated,” he says. And you raise your eyebrows in question.

“To what Jay? And don’t say basketball cause everyone in the world knows that you’re in love with it. Honest to G-”

“You,” He cuts you off, as he watches sunlight seep through the windows of his car onto your cheekbones, softly portraying faint constellations of stars upon them. He watches as your orbs glimmer with fervour, lips parting slightly to expose a marvelled gasp, and he hopes that the hazed longing in his eyes has reached you.

You cough, eyes dodging his gaze as you shift. “Not now, Jay. Not when I look like this.” And it’s enough for Jay to start smiling. He’s amused, that all that mattered to you right now was how you looked when he was about to confess to you.

“Fine,” he laughs, “I’ll do it when you look prettier than you look now.” You hum as you appreciate the way his arms look under the sunlight through the windows. Before today, you’ve never associated attractiveness with driving, but the slight imprint of his veins along with his lean muscles turned your mouth drier than usual.

“Only you get me, love,” you say, as you mess your hair up a little bit more in the mirror. “How do I look?”

“Like a sex addict.” You slap him, hard across his chest. “What? You asked!”

“You can’t say things like that to a girl,” you tell him, hiding a secret smile. “Be a gentleman, say I look great and wish me luck.”

“You’d only be looking good when you’re going on a date with me, roleplaying or not.” He mutters under his breath as you shoot him yet another glare. “Fine,” Jay gives in, leaning over the control panel, and he’s dangerously close to you. “Good luck, angel.”

In front of you, everything is still. Jay, time, galaxies, constellations pause to dawn upon him and gaze at you, who’s clearly unaware of your beauty. “Happy?”

You nod and he smirks, “Why so quiet now angel?”

“Just shut up and get on with our act.”

He laughs before the two of you go over your plans again: Jay entering into the restaurant first, sitting at a table near Jimin’s to monitor the situation, and you entering five minutes later, causing the biggest break up ever. It’ll be fun, like drama club.

You look at yourself in the mirror once again, and you think you look like those prostitutes in those trashy american tv shows before you enter the building with the classy exterior. With crystal chandeliers hung and tablecloths made of white linen, you feel terribly out of place, but for what if not for money.

You immediately spot Jay, sitting there with his long legs spread out. And a few tables to your right sits Jimin and her boyfriend, who continuously toys with his phone under the tablecloth while she tries to keep the conversation going.

It’s showtime.

You storm up to their table, positive pregnancy test in one hand as you yell out, “How could you! How could you cheat on me!” Hands reaching out to grab the boy by his collar, tears welling up in your eyes as he fumbled to stand straight under your tiger grip.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks, eyes wide as saucers as his hands move up to surrender. “Jimin, babe, I swear I don’t know this crazy woman.”

“Crazy? You said I was your everything, that we were bound by fate! I believed you and now I’m pregnant,” you scream, throwing the test into his face as his hands scramble to catch it.

“Just get it aborted for god’s sake, it’s not that fucking hard.” And you gasp, shocked by the sheer stupidness of the boy. You don’t really let your emotions get to you, but the boy in front of you with a grip that could bruise your wrist and a mentality of a crude alpha male disgusts you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You have a girlfriend who was willing to listen to you and give you a second chance before, but you ruined it by being an arsehole.” You pinch his forearm and he yelps, “you’re pathetic, and you don’t deserve anyone in your life.”

You watch as Jimin packs her things and leaves, before you meet Jay in his car. And without a word, he puts the makeup remover you brought into a cotton pad, dabbing your face with it as his fingers softly brush over the bruise forming on your wrist.

“You’re insane,” he says, “so fucking insane.”

You grin, “you don’t mind,” you make up his mind for him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I don’t,” he says as he digs his pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to you. 

And you open it, reading the scrawny handwriting in black ink.

Matchmaking

Name : Park Jay / Park Jongseong

Match : This girl I call angel, I’m sure you know who I’m talking about

Extra : I think we’re a match made in heaven, so please, help me win her over

vi. an angel and her love

You push your clingy boyfriend Jay away from your body, and to no avail fail for the third time. “Jay, you’re going to be late,” you tell the boy whose arms wrap protectively around your waist, “that’s not very vice captain of you.”

“And it’s not very girlfriend of you to chase your boyfriend away,” he mutters into the crook of your neck, as he proceeds to tighten his grip around your waist.

You give up, which you should have done minutes ago, because you know your boyfriend isn’t one to listen to anyone — even you. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, especially not when you’re not an easy person either.

“Go, or I’ll ask Yunjin to put that photo of you with a pink eye on the jumbotron,” you tease, and it works because Jay immediately lets go of your waist, eyes turning into slits.

“Hate you,” he says, rolling his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss.

It’s short and sweet. And a line invisible to the naked eye seemed to be drawn between the both of you, it’s scarlet and relatively thick in magnitude, as the feeling of being in heaven — a feeling you’re accustomed to whenever you’re with Jay enlightens your skin again.

“Kiss me again,” you complain.

“You always order me around,” he laughs.

“Kiss me.”

“Are you sure?” he mutters, lips curving into his signature smirk.

You grab the back of his head, yanking him down once more. And the silence around the both of you explodes and a world of colours appear before your closed eyes. Every thought in your brain erased and replaced by the thought of him, just him. His lips pressing against yours, his hands pulling you closer, running up and down your back, into your hair. The taste of his mouth and the heat of his breath cloud your mind.

And when you finally convince yourself to pull away, your brain fails to string any piece of thought together.

“I love you more,” you tell him, as you smile. 

And Jay looks, and he adores. He thinks (knows) he can watch you until the sun rises and the sun sets again, that he can watch you for days on end and never grow tired of you.

“Love you the most, angel.”

© SJYUNS

[clockwayswrites]

An abundance of birbs part 33

Masterpost Please no editing or concrit, I know I have missing or swapped words, but I am super fuzzy from this headache. It will get a good edit before ao3. <3

“I’m hiding in here from your children,” Danny said as he came into Bruce’s study. He had a tray of tea and snacks in hand, so he must have been sent up by Alfred.

“That’s more than fair, considering,” Bruce said with a little smile.

Danny just sighed as he set the tray down. “You have video, don’t you.”

Bruce nodded. “Jason sent one and Tim the other. They’re very moving.”

“Yes, Jerry’s love for me is eternal, clearly,” Danny drolled.

“If only Jerry’s father would approve of the union,” Bruce said.

Danny gave a little hum as he poured the tea. “Alas, Damian does seem very resistant to the idea, if the lecture he gave Jerry is any indication. Cream, sugar?”

“A little cream, thank you,” Bruce said and got up from his desk. “And Jerry was being very forward so the lecture may be a little deserved, but who can blame him with those wings.”

“Mister Wayne,” Danny said with an exaggerated gasp, “are you you saying that you’re enamored with my wings?”

Bruce reached out and brushed his fingertips through Danny’s wings. He could play it all off, of course. It could just be part of the rest of their banter. But did he want to? He’s enjoyed having Danny around. The man seemed to just fit with the family. Overall, the children certainly seemed to like him. And, well, Bruce found that he quite liked Danny too. Maybe it was time to take a little risk.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Though the wings are hardly the only thing about you that I’m enamored with.”

Danny blushed so quickly that Bruce was honestly a little concerned bout Danny’s blood pressure. “I—um, oh?”

“Is it that surprising? You’re kind, intelligent, considerate. You protected my children and even before that were gentle and understanding with them. You have a sense of humor and seem able to handle just about anything,” Bruce said, which was almost an understatement with what Danny has been through lately. “And, more shallowly, you’re very attractive, with or without the wings.”

“That—I—oh come on, you of all people can say someone else is attractive!” Danny sputtered.

“Oh?”

“Have you not looked in a mirror recently? You’re the type of person that ‘devastatingly handsome’ was coined for,” Danny said with a gesture at Bruce. “Which is something that I just said out loud. I don’t suppose you want to fire me so that I can run away to a remote island somewhere?”

Bruce chuckled. “Fortunately, I don’t have that sort of power over your job. All that would fall to Lucius.”

“Fortunately?” Danny repeated.

“Umhum. It means that there’s no company policy we’re breaking if we were to date. And there’s no pressure for you to say yes if you’re opposed to the idea,” Bruce said. He very much wanted to make that clear. “And between the press, my reputation, the large family, and the recent rogue attack I know there are a number of reasons to be opposed to the idea.”

“Bruce,” Danny said before Bruce could continue, “are you trying to talk me into dating you or out of it?”

“I well…” Bruce cleared his throat. “I don’t want to assume anything or imply that I am some sort of catch because I hardly am. I am a stubborn man. I have… a rather deep seated anxiety that verges on paranoia at times. It has and can make me overbearing when I try to protect the people I care about. I come with six children, almost as many pseudo children, and a frankly terrifyingly competent butler who is like a father to me. Every relationship I’m in and not actually in ends up in the paper—”

The spiral of words—of reasons he wasn’t good enough for someone like Danny was cut short as Danny pushed himself up on his tiptoes and across the coffee table to press his lips to Bruce’s. Bruce sighed softly into the kiss as it put sudden stop to the unwanted thoughts. Danny left his hand on Bruce’s cheek as he pulled back a little.

“Too forward?” Danny asked. His words and eyes alike were filled with nerves.

“Not at all,” Bruce said quickly. He followed his words up with a quick kiss as proof. “I am sorry about rambling like that. As I said, deeply anxious.”

“Anxious is okay. You’re aware of it. I’m not exactly a paragon of mental health either. I’ve been going to therapy since I was eighteen,” Danny said. His thumb gently stroked Bruce’s cheek. “First off, fuck the press. I can deal with it. Second off, your family is huge and wonderful and not at all something that would stop me, not unless they hated me.”

“They certainly do not hate you,” Bruce assured him.

“Third off,” Danny continued with a little smile, “I guess the anxiety, which we’ve covered. And fourth off, I am also very stubborn and have no problem telling someone to budge off if they’re being too much. So, yeah, we might have lines to find out and some of those we’d find out be crossing them and fucking up, but that’s just part of dating, isn’t it? If any of them become lines that we can’t deal with, well, we’re old enough that I would hope that we could end things maturely.”

“I have a very good track record of remaining friends with my exes, for better or worse,” Bruce said.

“Better or worse?”

“Harvey Dent, as one example.”

“Ah,” Danny said with a little nod. “I’ve heard that he’s been doing better at least?”

“That or he’s planning something big,” Bruce said with a sigh. “But I even I know I should stop talking about an ex with someone that just kissed me.”

“Generally a good rule,” Danny agreed with a little smile. “Does this mean that we’re going to try dating?”

“If I didn’t talk you out of it,” Bruce joked.

“Like I said, I’m stubborn,” Danny pointed out. “But as much as I adore them, I expect at least one dinner out with no children once my wings are gone.”

“Deal,” Bruce agreed easily and leaned down to give Danny a proper kiss.

---

AN:

I didn't plan for the kiss to happen here, but I'll take it!

[casscainmainly]

Okay gonna analyse some common Duke beliefs just for quick and easy reference. Some of these are up to interpretation (as indicated), but these are some common things I see that aren't quite accurate to Duke as a character.

Claim: Duke started We Are Robin

True or false: False. Alfred started We Are Robin, and the entire core cast of We Are Robin was already there before Duke.

Claim: We Are Robin is a gang

True or false: kind of tricky? They're technically a gang in the most general sense of the word, but 'gang' has racial implications that I think people gloss over (We Are Robin is primarily composed of kids of colour). Movement is a much better term, and We Are Robin doesn't self-identify as a gang to my knowledge.

Claim: Duke led We Are Robin

True or false: tricky. While Robin War has him as the leader, for the majority of Duke's time in We Are Robin he does not give orders or act like a leader at all. We Are Robin generally doesn't have a leader. Duke certainly has leadership abilities, but WAR is not the best showcase of them. Up to personal interpretation though.

Claim: Duke is a Wayne

True or false: False. Duke is not adopted.

Claim: Duke is intimidated/scared of any Batfamily member

True or false: FALSE!!! There is unfortunately some horrible comic writing, but for the VAST MAJORITY of Duke's appearances he is not scared of any Batfam member. He's certainly not afraid of Damian, Jason, or Cass.

Claim: Duke can emit light

True or false: probably?? His powers are constantly in flux and he develops new abilities all the time, so who knows. But he is much more likely to use light to turn invisible/manipulate his perception of light than attack with them (for which he can use his shadow powers). Up to personal interpretation/fun headcanons.

Claim: Duke jumped out of a cop car

True or false: True, but it's a Tom King comic and he's written horribly in it. If you want another example of him not being the 'sane one', I recommend using the time he got shot by a bullet and thought about how baller it was.

Claim: Duke is new to the Batfamily and doesn't know their dynamics

True or false: Please stop 😭 It's been like a decade since his introduction there's no need to make him the clueless newbie. Also he's a fiercely intelligent detective who makes references to Jason's daddy issues, there's no way he's still in the dark about most of their relationships.

Claim: Duke tends to obey Bruce's orders

True or false: FALSE. Duke sneaks out even during his training days, and for the most part operates independently. He generally has a grudge against authority of all kinds.

Claim: Duke is very sunshine-y, bright, and optimistic

True or false: False. I get where this one is coming from (sunshine boy is cute I love it), but while his powers are light-based, his personality is not. He's pragmatic, rude, skeptical, and often disillusioned. He is an optimist in the sense that he believes in community and change, but he's nowhere near a bright, bubbly kid.

Claim: He's the normal one AND/OR he's just as crazy as the other bats

True or false: Both of these are somewhat false. Duke is not the normal/sane one, he's literally a vigilante how would that make sense. But he also thinks of himself as more normal than the others (at least at one point). Duke discourse should move on from this debate, both these statements obscure what makes Duke unique and interesting.

Claim: Duke designed his Signal outfit

True or false: False. This isn't really a belief I just see people assuming he designed it, he didn't though, Bruce gave it to him. There's no indication he had a hand in the design. Bruce actually gave him TWO designs, I think Bruce just loves giving him outfits tbh.

Claim: Duke's parents are still under the Joker toxin

True or false: Technically false. His mom was healed in Urban Legends #19, but Duke's sporadic appearances mean this was never really followed up on. I have no clue what happened to Doug. Up to DC to SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS!!!

Claim: Anything to do with his portrayal in WFA

True or false: False. Literally everything. (The only, and I do mean only, thing to take from WFA is his interactions with Damian)

Okay that's all, I hope that was helpful to anyone out there!!! There are tons of things here that are my interpretation only of course, the best way to get to know Duke is to read his comics. We Are Robin and DC Rise of the Power Company is waiting for you <3333.

[norwayromanoff]

Finish What You Started (Also known as I Am Never Taking You to Work With Me Again)

NR x a civilian!r troublemaker that Natasha is just so enamored by that r can do no wrong

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: You finally manage to convince a rightfully reluctant Natasha to bring you with her to work.

(You also get her to let you eat her out from under a table in public, so 18+.)

You’ve asked time and time again and have always received the same answer: an assertive, non-negotiable ‘no’. Not a ‘not today’, not a ‘maybe next time’. A ‘no’. Firm, unrelenting, and not allowing for any further discussion.

Despite the constant rejections, you remain undeterred, bouncing back after each denial, remaining not only persistent but also incessant in your requests. You know you’re more stubborn than she is. With each plea, you can see that you’re chipping away at Natasha’s resolve, see that her exasperation and subsequent yielding is increasing. She’s weakening, and it only furthers your determination.

Sitting at the kitchen table, blearily rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you watch as Natasha moves to the coffee pot, pouring a mug for both you and herself.

She continues her amateur barista work, adding some cream and sugar to yours as if it's second nature, and gently passes you the steaming cup. You mumble a quiet thank you, hoping the bitter liquid will help you shake the cobwebs from your head and figure out a way to once again ask the question that's been spilling nonstop from your lips for the past month and finally obtain the answer you’ve been waiting for.

Natasha relaxes at the table as well, taking a seat, and you both remain in a what you hope is your usual comfortable silence, slowly sipping on your coffees. But despite your best efforts, Natasha easily senses you’ve got something to say, and she’s pretty sure that she knows what it is, her eyes drifting toward you.

“The answer is still ‘no’.” She breaks the quiet.

Your lips press into a thin, displeased line, but then you go and feign ignorance. Unfortunately, there's no keeping anything from the redheaded spy. Even if you disregard her years of intelligence training, the woman knows you better than you know yourself.

“I didn’t even ask.”

She gives you an unimpressed look. “No, but you were going to.”

You let out a relenting sigh. “Please,” you decide to try, “I have the day off, and you said that it's supposed to be a slow day for you. Come on.” You extend the last word, trailing it off into a long whine. You've always wanted to visit her place of work, to see S.H.I.E.L.D. for yourself, and today is the perfect opportunity.

You can sense her knee-jerk response, you can practically feel another refusal sitting on the tip of her tongue, but Natasha surprises you, shaking her head and muttering about how she’s certainly going to regret this. It’s too bad she never could say no to you.

The moment you step inside the base, you understand some of her hesitation, her unwillingness. The two of you are on the receiving end of glances that range from curious to utterly baffled. It turns out, none of her coworkers knew that she was in a relationship (something about privacy and safety and all that), and they definitely didn’t come to work today expecting to see the big bad Black Widow acting soft toward another person.

She initially sets you up with level one security clearance, handing you your badge, but your petulant protest (“Natasha,” you whine, “what about girlfriend perks? I deserve at least level three.”) gets you an eye roll and a reluctant agreement under the condition that you don’t wander off, and soon, she’s leading you throughout the elaborate hallways of the building. On today’s agenda is paperwork, meetings, training recruits, and yet another meeting.

During the morning, you casually peruse her office as she tackles her paperwork, hands clasped behind your back, eyeing the plain walls and lack of trinkets and personal touches. There’s singular photo of the two of you on her desk, your expression a bright grin, hers a smirk, and although it warms your heart, you can’t resist your next words.

“Your office is boring.”

“I’m here to save the world, not to interior decorate,” she throws back at you quickly, not glancing up from her mission reports.

When Natasha eventually has to attend her first briefing, she gives you explicit instructions that you are not to leave her office. You easily agree, waving off her concern, and spend your time continuing to inspect your surroundings. Boredom ultimately causes the temptation to snoop to become too irresistible, and you begin to open drawers and cabinets, to toy with a few important-looking documents on her desk. But her office is sparse, too sparse, and your initial determination to follow her instructions gradually dwindles. Not long after, you’re opening the door, peering out into the hallway, and casually exiting the room when you see no one, trying to walk as if you belong.

You wander aimlessly throughout the base, taking a left here and a right there, unperturbed with the potential of getting lost. You pass by a multitude of other agents, and considering the attention you attract, your casual strut and nonchalant demeanor are not as subtle as you are hoping. Unlike your girlfriend, perhaps you were not made for espionage, your civilian clothing and captivation toward the technologically advanced building around you giving you away.

Despite the suspicious stares you glean, your exploration is left unhindered for quite some time, most electing to throw a confused glance your way but, in the end, turn a blind eye. Your phone buzzes with a text after approximately two hours. How you’ve made it this far with no trouble is beyond you.

‘I thought I told you to stay put.’

‘You did.’

‘And?’

‘And I got bored. You left me in too small of an enclosure with zero enrichment.’

‘Where are you?’

‘That’s a good question.’

You get a bit of enjoyment out of Natasha’s growing irritation that you can sense through your phone, but your amusement is cut short by an agent that is apparently unwilling to ignore your presence like the others. What timing.

“Hey, you. What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Just… following orders, surveying the area.”

“But you don’t have clearance to be here.”

“Yes, I do,” you try, not knowing if there’s any validity to your statement. You hurriedly grab at your badge, holding it up. “I’m level three.”

“And you need to be level four to access this floor.”

Shit.

“What’s your name?”

“There’s just been a misunderstanding. I got mixed up. I’ll head back now and-”

“What’s your name?” the agent demands again.

You still don’t answer, eyes wide. You’re sure you look like a deer caught in the headlights as you flounder to come up with a way to talk yourself out of the predicament you seem to be finding yourself in.

Ever your knight in shining armor, Natasha rounds the corner as the man is twisting your arm behind your back, effectively restraining you, not that you had the ability to resist anyway.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” you mumble, the position straining. You don’t know how your girlfriend handles pain on the daily. “Do I at least get a phone call?” you snark, foolishly deciding to take the chance at making things worse.

“Stand down,” Natasha calls out, voice firm but not without a degree of exasperation, unhappy but unsurprised that you’ve gotten yourself into a situation such as this. “She’s with me.”

“Agent Romanoff, you know this woman? She’s been walking around a restricted area, refusing to answer questions, and resisting procedural arrest. She wouldn’t even tell me her name.”

Natasha shoots you a disapproving look as she walks over. “Unfortunately, yes, I know her. Now, let her go. Please.” The last word is a warning, almost a threat, a direct order from a superior.

You’re roughly released, stumbling slightly at the abruptness of the action, and Natasha instinctively reaches out to steady you, her hand now secure on your hip.

“Thank-” you start to say, but you’re cut off with a grumpy “let’s go”.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice my office askew,” Natasha adds flatly.

Following the morning paperwork, meetings, and your narrowly avoided detainment, is lunch. You two find yourselves in the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria, but quickly, you’re the cause of another scene.

After what feels like the millionth time overhearing some not-so-hushed whispers gossiping about you and your relationship, you just can’t take it anymore. You stand up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, gaze pointed at a trio of agents on the other side of the room. The whole cafeteria goes silent as people freeze in place to watch your little display. Natasha closes her eyes, taking in a calming breath as she gets ready for whatever it is you’re about to say.

“Yeah, I know right? I’m dating her. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. Her. This woman right here. We have sex. Often. Her and I. Her,” and you point emphatically at your girlfriend who’s sitting across from you with what’s now becoming an incredibly charmed expression on her face.

You turn to her, voice turning low. “Natasha,” you whisper, “tell them.”

She just huffs out a breath before addressing the agents that had been chattering. “It’s true,” is her terse statement. “This little spitfire here is my girlfriend,” and her exasperation wars with affection.

Your outburst and her confirmation get them to quiet, and you turn back to her. “Anyways, what were we talking about?”

Natasha chuckles. “What we are having for dinner tonight, but I think a topic change to how you’re causing quite the ruckus for me at work today is in order.”

Natasha decides it’s best to bring you along with her to her next task, wanting to avoid any further trouble after the two little (and hopefully only) stunts you’ve pulled. She’s scheduled to spar with new trainees, and while that sounds simple enough, nothing could have prepared you for what you were going to witness. It turns out that watching your girlfriend easily take down multiple other agents is harder than impatiently waiting for her to complete her clerical work and meetings. The rosy tint of your cheeks and the subtle clenching of your thighs as you sit on a nearby bench betrays the way her workout attire and the sight of sweat dripping down her collarbone affects you. Your core begins to throb shortly after the first match starts due to the well-defined muscles of her biceps flexing each time she throws a punch, her abs being on full display, sinfully uncovered by her sports bra, and her leggings leaving almost nothing about her ass to the imagination.

She finishes up the sparring sessions, having defeated every new recruit with practiced ease, and waves you over to her, chest heaving with only slight effort, a thin sheen of sweat coating her already stupidly attractive form. You bite your lip to suppress a groan. Just the action of her hand coming to settle on the small of your back as she leads you out of the training room feels almost indecent.

Natasha once again ushers you to her office, pointedly telling you to actually stay put this time, and leaves you to entertain yourself while she goes off to shower and then see to her last meeting, but your imagination is running wild, and your arousal grows exponentially in her absence.

The only thing you can think about is your girlfriend ravishing you. You want her to roughly press you against the wall of the hallway and kiss you senseless, you want her to reacquaint her fingers with your pussy in a bathroom stall, her other hand placed over your mouth to contain your moans, you want her to bend you over and fuck you on top of her conveniently barren desk. She once mentioned that her office door locks and that the walls are soundproofed, so what exactly are you both waiting for?

As Natasha escorted you to her office earlier, she casually pointed out the room that she’s going to be in, offhandedly gesturing to the chair that’s her assigned seat as you two passed the open door. You couldn't help it, entire body still flushed with desire, breathing hardly able to be considered normal. You took note of the room number, paid close attention to which chair she’s going to be sitting in, and memorized the path to and from her office.

She pressed a chaste kiss to your temple before heading off, assuring you that she would be back quickly. But, given that show she just gave you with her body skillfully pinning down those of the other agents, given the way you can currently feel your clit rub against the seam of your jeans with every step, you don’t think you can wait that long.

While she’s preoccupied with her shower, you make your move, doing your best to inconspicuously walk back to the meeting room. The door is closed this time, but you can't help but smirk to yourself as your level three clearance grants you access, your badge opening the door with a green light and satisfying beep. Peeking through the doorway, you fortunately find the area empty, allowing you to enter, drop to your hands and knees, and crawl underneath the long conference table, positioning yourself in front of what you know to be her seat.

Only minutes pass before you hear commotion outside the door. The door once again beeps open, footsteps entering the room, and you can make out your girlfriend’s voice talking amongst the chatter. As the multiple people get seated, Natasha included, placing herself in the chair you’re situated in front of, you lick your lips in anticipation for what you’re about to do. Natasha is so going to kill you for this later.

You let the meeting begin, not moving, not acting, waiting, heart thumping loudly in your chest to the point that you’re concerned it’s going to give away your spot on your knees, but despite the sound of it beating wildly in your ears, no one appears to be aware of your presence, and once everyone seems deep in serious conversation, you’re unable to resist any longer, the apex of your girlfriend’s thighs just too enticing.

Your hands move, slithering up her calves, pressing against her knees, spreading her out for you. You immediately feel her body stiffen at the contact, her own hands quickly but discreetly shooting down to grab at you, to stop whatever is happening, to stop whoever is touching her, but when her eyes flicker down and meet yours, her brief moment of alarm dissolves into calm disapproval as she realizes that it’s just you. Of course, it’s you. She looks at you reproachfully, but you begin placing gentle open-mouthed kisses up her inner thighs anyway, making your way up to her core, tongue skimming along the fabric of her slacks, and when you glance up at her again from between her legs, you see the surprise, warning, and objection in her gaze faltering.

You continue to languidly mouth at her covered pussy, applying just enough pressure so that she can feel it, and soon you notice a damp spot appear, sticky and wet, your saliva and her slick mixing together and soaking their way through both layers of her clothing. Her thighs attempt to shut, to ward off your touch, but your hands firmly keep her legs open, preventing her from closing herself off, and despite her sending you another deterring glance, her body reveals her need. She may be playing at resisting, may be attempting to remain outwardly unaffected and displeased by your bold and reckless decision, but she wants this just as much as you do, and as you finally begin to breathe in the heady scent that is uniquely her, you can’t wait any longer. You need to taste her, and you can tell from the way her breathing has sped up, imperceptible to those around her but not to you, that she needs you to too.

Your hands move up to fiddle with the button and zipper of her pants before you tap gently at her thigh, indicating she needs to raise her hips so you can smoothly slip them down. There’s a moment of hesitation on her part where she carefully casts a glance at those also in the room, eyes sweeping across the faces of the others sitting at the conference table, where she considers the consequences of allowing you to continue with your daring venture, but all it takes is a strategically placed trail of your finger along the seam of her slacks and she’s lifting her hips up, giving in to the need, the desire, that you know is steadily building within her.

Quietly, you pull her pants down, the fabric sliding along her hips, her thighs, exposing more and more of her flushed skin, and her hips subtly buck up once as the cool air of the room hits her now bare core, the feeling almost making her gasp out loud. You don’t allow her any time to prepare before you’re tugging her forward, shifting her weight until she’s on the edge of her seat, and your lips quickly find their way to her pussy, sucking on her clit for a few seconds before your tongue swipes through her folds repeatedly.

Everything about your touch is gentle, caressing at first. You don’t want to give away what you’re doing, you don’t want the others to find out, you don’t want your renowned secret agent girlfriend to get into trouble, and so each circle of your tongue around her clit only floods her body with more desperation as your unhurried ministrations persist, slow and leisurely. The fidgeting of her hips in her seat gradually evolves to full on squirming as the minutes pass, silent requests for you to give her more, but you don’t comply, your lips and tongue still moving with zero urgency, their soft brushes lingering and delicate and much too light for her current state, neglecting her rising need.

“Do you have any notes, Agent Romanoff?” one of the agents asks suddenly, breaking Natasha out of her lust-induced haze.

Her gaze jumps to the agent that had spoken, and she scrambles to find an answer, mouth opening and closing a couple of times, not having been listening to the conversation, too distracted by the feel of your mouth on her overheated core.

“What?” she asks, the word coming out more strangled than she’d like it to, and she clears her throat, struggling to center herself, to refocus.

“On the mission plan?” the agent prompts further, raising an eyebrow at her confusion, “The drop we’re set to infiltrate next week in Bulgaria?”

“Oh, um, I-” she’s cut off by your tongue beginning to lazily probe at her entrance, and she bites her lip, hard, in order to stifle the loud moan that wants to break free.

“What was that?” the agent presses, his confusion transforming into slight concern at her stuttering. The Black Widow doesn’t stutter.

Natasha just shakes her head, breathing getting heavier as you continue to push your tongue in and out of her hole, her slick staining your lips in the most satisfying way, your nose nudging against her clit with every movement.

“Nothing,” she says much too quickly, clearing her throat again, “No, nothing. This all sounds fine. I have no adjustments to make.”

Upon her, albeit not at all reassuring, answer, the agent moves his focus elsewhere, giving her one last confused look before the meeting resumes and she gets caught back up in your concentrated motions.

You pick up the pace once the attention is off your girlfriend, lapping away at her now sopping pussy with newfound hunger, trying to muffle your own moans and whines of pleasure at the taste of her, at the feeling of her. She’s intoxicating, the way her body clenches around your tongue, her walls fluttering with each dip inside, her pussy welcoming your intrusion with a fresh stream of arousal that drips down your chin. Your knees are certainly bruising, your back aching from the strained position, but you hardly think about it, too overwhelmed by everything that is Natasha to care, devouring, savoring, every bit of her.

Natasha’s trembling in her seat, every muscle pulled taut. Her hands grip the edge of the conference table in an attempt to restrain herself from making any move that would disclose what is happening. Her clit is pulsing as you roll your tongue over it again and again, her whole body feeling as though it’s vibrating with pleasure. Each flick of your tongue causes more arousal to leak down and pool onto the chair beneath her.

Despite all of her training to keep her composure, you’ve always been her weakness. She can never get enough of you and finally can’t hold back any longer, one of her hands diving down to grab at your hair, dragging you closer to her pussy, holding you firm, her hips beginning to grind into your mouth.

Her movements are subtle, unrecognizable from above the table, but her desperation is clear to you. You can feel her need in the way she holds you steady, trying to set a rhythm that will relieve her ache. You flatten your tongue, your head stilling, allowing her to use you and guide your motions as she sees fit.

You’re mid-lick when the meeting comes to an end, everyone standing up slowly and filing out of the room except for your girlfriend.

“You coming?” an agent asks her, also concerned over her unusual behavior as she remains stiff in her seat, face redder than it should be for this air-conditioned room.

There is a moment of delay, but Natasha finally manages to choke out a weak, “Be out in a minute. I need to check over some last few things."

That seems to satisfy the others, and once the last of them exit the room, the door snapping shut, you disconnect your mouth from her pussy with a loud, wet ‘pop’, and peek up at her from under the table, mouth glistening with her juices, a more than pleased expression on your face at the trouble you just caused her.

“Good meeting?” you ask casually, “Ready to go?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You’re not done yet, detka. You’ve been pushing me all day. Now, finish what you started,” Natasha murmurs lowly, and you're not complaining when she roughly shoves your face back between her thighs.

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | English is not my first language. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

[donvampiro]

Can you please do Monster trio and Law (and Ace if you are ok with it/want to do it) comforting reader about a parent in the hospital in them not being able to do anything about it and being anxious (dealing with that rn and would really appreciate it, but take your time! I would be very grateful if you did this!) thank you!!

hello Anon, thanks a lot for your request, sweets. i’m genuinely sorry you’re going through these very difficult times. i wish you and your family the best, hope things will be fine. hopefully these little HCs will bring you some comfort. Take care <3

MASTERLIST - Welcome

***

'Heartfelt'

Monster trio, Law & Ace x (anxious) gn!reader

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy quickly grasps the gravity of the situation but shows very little (if any) sign of panic or anxiety. it’s not that he’s insensitive to the situation — far from it — he just knows, feels that this isn’t the way to behave if he wants to support you properly.

he’s a person with great emotional intelligence. he can stay close to you just like he can distance himself a little if you prefer to be alone and get some space; and this without even having to ask you verbally about it.

Luffy doesn’t talk much when it comes to feelings overall; he’s more about showing them. it would be the same when he would see you so anxious, expressionless, while you and the crew were sharing a meal. he’d keep eating, but his gaze would be different; more focused, softer, and he’d never take his eyes off every of your facial expression. lots of physical touch too if you’re okay with this. pulling you back against him, holding your hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulders — Luffy would make you understand that he’s there for you. he’d share his food with you a lot more btw, trying to comfort you as best he could.

he always keeps an eye on you, and that’s why he’d follow you even though he’d see you walking to a more secluded corner, still looking upset. Luffy will never judge you, you can tell him anything. and that’s what you’d do while his eyes remained softly fixed on yours, silently asking you to get things off your chest.

‘it’s terrible, Luffy. they’re suffering so much, i wish i could help them, but all i can do is stay here and wait. i feel…’, you’d gulp. ‘... i feel useless.’

Luffy feels your turmoil within him as he hugs you. he’s not a great speaker but would always try to reassure you. and he’d never let you down — you feel it, you know it by his tight embrace, anchoring you close to him as he puts his hat on your head.

— ‘you’re not useless. you’re you.’, he’d smile up at you, his voice unusually calm, but still cheerful. ‘and i bet that’s why your parent will be happy to see ya again when things get better!’

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji is very receptive to situations like this. he understands what it’s like to have a sick, suffering parent, and to not be able to do much about it. the mere fact that you have to go through this kind of pain breaks his heart. he would therefore redouble his efforts to give you as much support and affection as possible.

whatever you need, he’d do it. Sanji would be there for you no matter what, and he’d make sure to let you know it. expect to be showered with thoughtful small kindnesses, whether it’s gifts, your favorite meal cooked more often than usual, billet-doux, hugs and kisses, anything that can soothe your tormented heart and mind through everything Sanji has to offer.

he’s more of a person who stays close to you — at your service — most of the time, but if you need space, he’d give it to you without flinching. Sanji would also be careful to ensure that anyone who addresses your personal situation does so with tact and sensitivity. otherwise he’s ready to fight.

still, Sanji would feel filled with sadness as he contemplates this anxiety that never leaves your gaze, nor the features of your face. your feelings are no secret to him, and that’s both tragic and comforting. don’t hesitate to talk to him. he’ll listen to you with great attention and will undoubtedly find the words to soothe, if only for a moment, your torments.

the kitchen is quiet but your mind is restless as you stare at the cook, who is certainly busy washing dishes, but far from oblivious to the turmoil that is running through you. a hundred questions and anxieties waltz through your head and make tears well up in your eyes, in a secret sound that Sanji would recognize among a thousand; a torture for his heart that would make him immediately stop what he is doing to come and sit next to you. his touch would be so soft while he’d brush your eyelashes with the back of his finger, inviting you to express yourself, listening attentively.

‘it’s okay to be as worried as you are. these are situations where life is turned upside down.’, he’d whisper, caressing your shoulders as if you were made of glass. ‘but as long as you show them that you care, that’s already a huge support you’re giving them. please keep going.’

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro is a man of few words, perhaps too stoic at times (as some would say), but he is far from impassive facing your parent’s health situation as well as the anxiety it causes you. he would thus be very attentive to your mood and would try to show you maximum support — in his own way.

he knows the pitfalls of life, that strange thing that can be a blessing as well as a curse, he knows too well that those we care about can disappear at any moment. how can we not be anxious about all this? it is precisely because this resonates with him that Zoro would be all the more vigilant and attentive to your concerns, and that he would make sure to be there for you.

he’s not part of the great speakers team either, still Zoro would do his best to ensure that you can spend good, calm moments together so that your mind can be eased. so that you can relax. he knows that the times you are going through are hard and stressful, but he’s also all the more aware that you will not be able to cope if you remain so anxious. chances are you wouldn’t be convinced at first, you’d be too preoccupied to even think for a second about relaxing — but he’d convince you, in a firm but gentle tone, and with a look that you can see is anything but meant to coerce you. he just cares for you. just like you do with your parent.

you can talk to Zoro, he will always listen to you. snuggled up against each other, on deck or in the privacy of a cabin, he would listen to everything you’d have to say, to all your worries. Zoro wouldn’t be very talkative, but his stare, as well as his warm breath brushing your skin, would make you understand, without a word, that it would be only you and your feelings that would matter at that precise moment.

the comfort that Zoro can bring you is found in these quality times, these moments of tenderness just between the two of you where you’d share the warmth of each other’s presence and the intertwining of your respective hands. the swordsman would hope that, even if he doesn’t speak much, he could convey to you all the admiration you inspire in him for your patience facing these torments, and all the support he seeks to give you. 

‘just… keep thinking about them. keep visiting them when you can.’, he’d murmur, rubbing soothing — he hopes — circles onto your skin. ‘you may not be a doctor, (y/n), but loving your parent is something only you can do.’

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Law is very down to earth about the situation and may have a little trouble handling the overflow of emotions your anxiety might entail at first. he too is part of the medical profession and understands the complexity of the situation as well as the resilience it requires. for him, there’s no point in trying to do too much. it’s up to the medical staff to take care of your relative, and things will be fine.

he would probably try to make you understand this at first, which could create tension. he would probably be a bit awkward — his intention wouldn’t be to invalidate your emotions, but to rationalize things in order to reassure you. however, when he’d see that this isn’t the right way to comfort you, he’d try to understand your emotions better, to not stick only to the rational.

Law can fully understand the emotional strain and worry that a parent’s hospitalization can cause, and seeing you in such turmoil wouldn’t leave him indifferent for sure. if you need to talk, he’ll listen, while trying to provide constructive answers that he hopes will reassure you. if you need space, he’ll give it to you.

lots of acts of services so that you can free up time and spend it at your parent’s bedside or take your mind off things. physical touch isn’t really his favorite way of showing affection and support, but if it’s you and you need it, he’d make an effort in a heartbeat (while pretending to be embarrassed by it).

there’d be nights like that. nights when your mind cannot find rest, eaten away by worries about your loved one’s health. about what you could do, what you could not do; and all these thoughts spiraling through your mind wouldn’t escape Law’s sharp gaze — whose unusual softness would make you understand that you can talk to him about it. that you can tell him anything. that he will try to understand. maintaining eye contact, he would listen to you in silence but would not fail to respond once you got things off your chest.

‘the mere fact that you care about them and want to help them already shows your consideration. you’re enough. you’re not a doctor, (y/n), you can’t do everything.’, he’d state, before delicately intertwining his fingers with yours. ‘i’m sure they know they can count on you no matter what.’

Portgas D. Ace

despite his troubled past and disrupted family history, Ace is very sensitive to the health issues of relatives and would understand how difficult this must be for you on a daily basis. so, he’ll make sure to be there for you as best he can, to spare you too many daily tasks, because he knows you must already have a lot on your plate because of your parent’s hospitalization. Ace doesn’t like chores, but if it can put a smile back on your face, he won’t hesitate to do yours for the rest of his life.

he doesn’t ask you many questions — but he sees how anxious you look, counting down the hours until the next visit to your loved one, your gaze lost in the lands of a world where everything can change at any moment. he himself would also feel bad that he could not do more for you and your family, other than being at your disposal.

that’s why Ace would be honored to be able to help you feel a little better. you can confide in him, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the exact right words to soothe your mind — he probably won’t, he’d think —, but he could try… at least, that’s what he’d tell himself as he paces the deck of the Moby Dick, finally spotting you. no one detects better than him a tormented and anxious stargazing, and you wouldn’t fool him in your weak answer when he’d come to check up on you.

‘m’just a little stressed. there’s a lot going on…’, you’d murmur, before changing your mind. ‘... but don’t worry, it’s nothing.’

— ‘c’mon, (y/n). it’s never “nothing” when it’s you.’, he’d cut off, frowning. his tone is determined but his voice is not harsh. it is even of a necessary gentleness facing what you are going through. ‘wanna talk about it?’ 

he LISTENS. carefully. hugging you in a silent but intense (and warm) embrace. Ace may not be the most skilled with words, but it’s very important to him that you keep in mind he’s there for you and will always support you, especially when you’re going through difficult times.

‘you’re doing things for them, (y/n). you love them and you don’t forget them. that’s the best support you can give them.’

would also definitely try to cheer you up and make you laugh. Ace would crack a few jokes in order to see you smile again, because nothing breaks his heart more than seeing you suffer.

[b0ther]

ain't even jealousy

you fucking hate the basketball team, but there's no one you hate more than aomine.

pairing : aomine daiki x reader (feminine pronouns. afab) rating : explicit, not safe for work (sexual content) type : chaptered tags : aomine is a bully im not even kidding he is quite cruel, porn with PLOT, reader is besties with satsuki, reader also has a crush on imayoshi, reader also was wakamatsu's ex, hate sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, vaginal penetration, thigh fucking, semi-clothed sex, some slutshaming going on here, reader has big tits, slight dubcon. word count : 4,323

author's note : title from 'want u back' by cher lloyd. this is comissioned by a dear friend. hope you enjoy mwah. this first chapter (and whole fic im ngl) is centered around the onsen episode.

( masterlist │ ask/request │ ao3 )

After a long and hard day at school, all that you ever really want to do is to quickly get to your part-time job and finish up your shift. Perhaps you can get some convenient store food after that, or go straight home to shower and rest.

Whatever it is that you daydreamed of, it wasn't this.

Satsuki calls out to you, her voice soft against the bristling wind with her lithe arms circle around yours as you try to walk away, dragging her body forcefully with you. She whines your name over and over again, over the beating speaker against your ears before you finally had enough, ripping your headphones off your head, turning to face her.

“Satsuki!” You try to sound stern, but you end up whining in the same tone that she used. You can only be so serious as a high school girl, after all.

Her pink strands fall against her face messily; you use your other hand to tuck them behind her ear as she elongates the way she enunciates your name and begs, begs, begs you to listen to her. “Please! Just—”

“Satsuki!” You groan, shaking her off your body. “I’m busy. I have a part-time job, I’m failing maths, I have club activities. I can’t just… ditch everything and go !”

“You can!” It’s like she was not listening to a single word that you uttered. “It’s a month away and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—which you can begin asking for a leave day starting today , they will definitely let you if you do it a month in advance!—and maths!? That’s easy! I’ll teach you!”

You slant your eyes at her, arms crossing on your chest. “Alright. What about my club activities?”

“You mean your journalist club? One that encourages their members to leave their comfort zone in order to bring back interesting stories? One that basically has a crush on the basketball team?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

She gasps. “Don’t you love me!?”

“Don’t do this to me…”

“If you love me at all, you wouldn’t even think twice about going with me. Imagine me, a girl, going alone on an all-boys’ trip to some secluded place—”

“You’re being dramatic—” You tried reiterating your point.

“I’m not!” She whines, even louder this time, attracting attention from all the other Touou students around you. “You literally have nothing to lose by coming along! Give me five reasons—five good reasons—and I will literally stop bothering you.”

You shake her off again, and this time, Satsuki lets go and stumbles back a couple of steps as the mischief on her eye continues to shimmer. You have never lost an argument to Satsuki—but there is a first for everything, and you have a feeling that you are going to break some personal records today.

“First,” you take a deep breath as you hold up a finger. “Aomine’s gonna be there—”

“Perfect!” Not giving you a chance to speak, she cuts you off, eyes glimmering like starlight. “You like him!”

She strikes a nerve with this one.

One of your eyes twitches as you cross your arms under your chest. The excited smile on her face fades in an instant, recognizing in an instant that something is wrong.

Recognizing in an instant that something she should have known about is wrong.

She blinks a couple of times, trying to use all that intelligence in her head to analyse the error in what she said (which turns out pretty useless—guess all that she is good for is basketball).

“Have you been paying attention at all?” You begin to blabber after letting out a huge gasp, arms waving around in the air. “We’ve been friends for years— years ! Since the first year of middle school, and you know nothing of  my strong, burning opinion of Aomine!? Flash news, Satsuki, it’s not love!”

“You—” She stammers, “You talk about him a lot!”

“I complain about him a lot!” You correct her, blowing out air in frustration, feeling somewhat betrayed that your best friend had just accused you of liking your archnemesis… your enemy… your… your rival.

The point is! You hate him!

You would rather live in a world without television and the internet and good music if it means that you will have to never hear him say another word.

Aomine.

You shiver in annoyance.

Just saying his name irks the hell out of you. Imagining his face causes a feeling close to that of an explosion in your chest. You just wanna grab him by his face and shove him down a flight of stairs.

You cannot even count all the shitty things he did to you in high school: revealing your crush on Nijimura Shuuzou not just to the then-basketball team captain, but the entire student body; tripping you in the cafeteria multiple times; stealing your undergarments during P.E. and commenting crassly about how you were two sizes under his favourite adult model. Granted, you never told Satsuki about the last thing. That shit was just too embarrassing—you were glad that no one else was in the room when he threw your bra back at you.

Still, your frustration remains at her. Jogging down memory lane boils your wrath, and you close your eyes to calm yourself down.

He’s just a bully.

A damned bully.

And you would be damned if you are going to willingly spend your weekends in the same vicinity as him.

“Well… Dai-chan likes you!”

You roll your eyes.

Yeah, right.

You would agree if she had claimed that he found you attractive, or he thinks you’re hot. But liking you? Highly improbable—impossible, even.

Aomine Daiki does not seem like he is capable of feeling any emotion aside from boredom and mischief. The only thing he loves, or even likes, is probably his beloved Aya-chan from his gravure magazines.

You’re not even sure if he still likes basketball.

Which is a shame—seeing someone so tall gradually shrinking to the size of nothing, even if you despise the guy, the whole ordeal with whatever-the-fuck Satsuki’s basketball team went through still managed to extract some sympathy from the bottom of your heart. You’ve been paying attention to Aomine, after all, albeit not under any positive light.

“Whatever,” from past experiences, you know better than to argue against Satsuki. “I don’t care anymore. And you know what? Aomine himself and your blatant disregard of your best friend’s feelings—me!—should be enough to fit all five criterias!”

You know that look in her eyes, the way her lips press against each other and how one of her hands is clenched into a fist. 

“I’ve been friends with him for 16 years, (Y/N),” she bumps her fist against her chest in pride. “Best friends, even! I know him better than you do!”

You scoff. “People who like someone don’t bully them, Satsuki. Open your eyes.”

“He isn’t bullying you!” She groans.

“Oh, so now not only are you attempting to kidnap me, but you’re also defending my bully?”

“Argh!” Satsuki hugs your arm again, earning her a groan from you. She calls out your name again, enunciating each and every syllable. “ Pleeeaaaaseeee? You don’t have to pay a single dime! You don’t even have to see Dai-chan if you want to. Imayoshi-san will be there—you like him, right?”

You slant your eyes at her in suspicion, not buying anything she just told you. You just know that you will have to see Aomine sooner or later if you come with her to the onsen. 

“No man is ever worth that much headache, Satsuki.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, still shaking you ferociously. “But it’s Imayoshi-san!”

You decided to come along. Because of course you did.

It’s either that, or Satsuki pestering you for the rest of the month, bringing either Imayoshi or Aomine or whoever she thinks will get your attention.

And Imayoshi Shouichi? Sure. He’s hot as hell.

But is he worth dealing with Aomine?

You like to think not.

Satsuki dragged you along to a basketball team meeting—the one that would be discussing the practice trip and the whole onsen ordeal.

It wasn’t like you needed to be there at all. You know just a little more than the average person about basketball. All that you were preparing for the onsen was your clothes and deciding whether it’s you or Satsuki who should be bringing her hairdryer.

“Why me?” You said, crossing your arms when the attention of the entire basketball team was redirected towards you, and Imayoshi laughed. The only problem they were facing was convincing Aomine to come along.

And you were happy with not being the babysitter. You were happy with twiddling your skirt as you sat on the edge of the stage of the hall, scrolling down your social media timeline as the team argued on how to get that blue-haired freak into coming.

That was until Satsuki ruined your afternoon by offering up your name.

To your surprise, everyone in the team seemingly agreed almost immediately to offer you as a sacrificial lamb to feed Aomine’s ego and coax him to at least come to the trip.

“He likes you,” Wakamatsu scoffed when you asked why, and you glared at him, but said nothing. Out of respect, you guess, to the upperclassman. It’s not like you respect him, though. You’re on bad terms with a lot of the basketball team, but no matter your disagreements with Wakamatsu, you will never dislike him the way you loathe Aomine.

“He does have a soft spot for you,” Imaoyshi mused as he flashed you a smile—and lord , you cannot say no to Imayoshi. Especially when he’s being so nice.

You saw Satsuki smirking from the corner of your eyes and internally cursed her.

That was how you found yourself climbing the ladder leading to the rooftop. 

And that was how you found Aomine with one hand between his backpack and head, and the other holding an obscene magazine.

He doesn’t even spare you a single glance—probably thought you were another manager or even worse: Satsuki again. But the moment you open your mouth to call out to him, his head snaps in your direction, an eyebrow raised in amusement as he pushes himself to rest his body against his elbows.

“What are you doing here?”

You try not to let your rage spill. You try to keep the boiling water down. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and continue to climb the ladder before approaching him.

Think rational, you think to yourself, he hadn’t even said anything yet.

“The Captain wants to see you,” you manage to say between your gritted teeth, staring down at him before looking away. Imayoshi didn’t ask you to make Aomine see him, but Aomine probably respects Imayoshi more than you, so you try to throw him under the bus just to get out of the situation quicker.

“Imayoshi-san?” He frowns before repeating his initial question: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I want to punch him.

“You own this roof or something?”

“Calm down,” he scoffs, tilting his head before eyeing your body up and down. You shift your weight into your other leg, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the pit of your stomach. “I just wanted to know.”

Sighing, you glance up at the sunny sky, sweat starting to form on the base of your neck and you are dying to leave at that very moment. You shelter your eyes from the sunlight, despite finding it more appealing than Aomine’s face.

“We’re discussing the practice trip thing—whatever, and also the onsen trip,” you lazily explain, not bothering to hide your disinterest. “Imayoshi-senpai wants you to be present for the meeting. Obviously.”

You cannot fathom the fact that you were explaining his basic responsibilities as a club member to him. What a fucking child.

“You coming with us?”

His focus seems to be misplaced, and you glare at the sky, imagining it was his stupid face.

“I’m going with Satsuki,” you correct, still not willing to look at him. “I don’t give two shits about you or the basketball team.”

“Hey,” he sits up, wrapping his fingers around your wrist before tugging your body towards him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You scoff, finally letting your gazes meet before pulling your hand away. “Fuck off.”

He, in fact, does not fuck off.

Aomine pulls on your wrist again, this time hard enough for you to lose your balance and fall, your knees landing on the coarse floor as the bottom of your skirt rides up your thighs. The skin of your knees scraping against the gravelled surface and you curse, jerking your hand away only to immediately shove his shoulder.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shriek, annoyed at how he remains unmoving even as you push him again.

He towers you, even when sitting, and keeps his eyes peering down at you.

Maybe it’s the heat that day; summer has just ended, but even the soft Autumn breeze cannot conceal the searing flare creeping up the skin of your cheeks. Aomine slants his eyes and grabs your wrist yet again—you weren’t quick enough to retract away from his athletic instincts, and so, you fall again when he pulls you in closer.

You hiss in pain as your knees drag more against the floor, desperate to find your balance only to grab on his shoulders.

“Hey,” He calls out to you, a lame attempt for your attention. “Look,” he says again, and your dumb ass looks.

He grabs the magazine on his lap and tautens the pages together, showing you the spread where he left off before you interrupted his peaceful afternoon. “(Y/N), remember Aya-chan?”

The girl that ruined your life?

How can you forget?

You cannot hide the distaste in your eyes as your eyes scan her beautiful, black hair falling against the sheer material of her white uniform top. The black lace bra she was wearing underneath is apparent as she pushes her two tits against each other, legs spread to reveal an equally seductive pattern on her panties.

Before you even realise, Aomine’s arm begins to wrap itself around your waist as he holds you up, fingers creeping up the side of your torso, tracing invisible lines before resting on one of your breasts. Your stomach begins to churn in excitement, embarrassingly enough, and you press your legs instinctively when the muscle between your thighs tighten as he continues fondling you.

You circle your arm around his neck under the pretence of keeping your balance.

“Mhmm…” He clicks his tongue, resting his face on the side of your upper arm—his nose touching the side of your tit as his hand palms your other one. “I feel like you’re no longer two sizes under Aya-chan. Maybe a size under? Maybe the same size?”

You grit your teeth. “You talk big. Have you ever seen her outside your magazine? She probably edits her photos.”

He grins, gaze shifting to drink in your frustration. “No, but you’re real, and I’m groping you right now. Isn’t that better?”

“Better than your pretty Aya-chan?”

Aomine raises an eyebrow, humming knowingly. You can’t even believe the word escaping your mouth.

“You have a cute side to you after all,” He muses after a short, mocking whistle. “What do you want me to say? Want me to tell you how much better you are than her?”

“Want you to shut the fuck up.”

“Calm down, tiger.” He laughs, pulling away from your arm. He tosses the magazine to the side, straightening his back to press a short kiss to the peak of your cheekbone. His hand begins to work; he slowly kneads your breast while continuously trailing kisses down to your ears. Your nipples brush against the fabric of your damned lace bra, and he stops for a moment only to tug on where your bud is protruding.

A whimper leaves your mouth.

“Excited are we?” He whispers, voice dropping lower as he presses his lips against your ears. “I like hearing you like that.”

“Shut up,” you run out of words, turning your head to the other side, exposing your neck to him. Which turns out to be a bad idea, as he takes it as a sign to sweep his tongue over the skin of your neck.

“A–Aomine—”

“God,” he chuckles. “Who would’ve guessed that you can be this sexy?”

He pulls away from your neck, and drags his hand from your tits to rub against your torso, feeling the material of your uniform. He presses one hand on the small of your back, pressing his forehead against yours. In a swift motion, he pulls on your body, drawing out a squeak as he lays you down against the concrete floor.

“What if…” he trails, rubbing a thumb under your eye as he hovers over rested body. Your cheeks sear with heat, alongside your chest and the pulsating on your cunt. “...I just fuck you right here?”

“W-what?” You whimper.

He laughs. “I’m hard as hell. You made me this way.”

“You were the one groping my tits!”

“You liked it,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of you, forcing both your legs open as he moves between them. His fingers begin to unbutton your uniform, unravelling the bra you are wearing underneath. Sucking in a deep breath, he stops midway down your torso, and without taking his eyes off your chest, he asks, “Want me to stop?”

Your cheeks flare, and you don’t answer him. You don;t even look at him.

He takes a quick glance at your expression.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“...Whatever.”

A wide smirk forms on his face, fingers continuing to unbutton your uniform all the way down.

“Do me a favour and get up for a bit,” he murmurs, pressing one of his hands against your back once again to get you to sit up. The feeling of his palm against your bare skin sends you to shivers, coupled with the soft wind whistling between the two of you.

“What’re you—”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his fingers fumble with the hook of your bra. It took him two wrong moves before getting it right with the third—the fabric loosens around your body, and you pull him closer to conceal your humiliated expression.

“See,” Aomine chuckles after some awkward motion, tossing your stupid bra to the side when he finally gets it off. “You’re so pretty like this.”

“Shut up,” you groan, nails digging into his skin deeper and deeper.

He pulls himself away from your grip, taking a nice hold on your torso to pull your ass up his lap, letting you fall against the hard floor again.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, roaming his touches against your legs. His eyes cannot leave the heaves of your jugs.

“Stop fucking staring,” your hiss, trying to pull your uniform together, hiding your chest away from him.

Aomine scoffs, using one hand to unbuckle his pants. Your eyes travelled from his face to the loose button on his collar to the wet stain on the grey briefs around his hips to the bulge underneath them.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He tilts his head at your question, furrowing his eyebrows as he takes his cock out from under his briefs. “Fucking you?”

The precum leaks from the tip of his cock, little drops of white strings rolling down his length. He pulls your hips closer to his body and presses it flat against your soaked panties.

He groans at the contact. Your warm slick welcomes him entirely as he presses more against the fabric, rubbing his tip along the length of your pussy.

“S’that feel good?” He whispers, hastily hooking his fingers on your panties, pulling it up your legs, then tossing it to go with your bra. He presses his arm on the side of your head, leaning into you again.

“Don’t put it in,” you whine, trying to hold back your hips from rolling. “You’re gonna get me pregnant.”

“You can’t say shit like that,” he groans against your neck. He positions the tip of his cock against your cunt, and even with your sopping lips, you aren’t sure if you are ready to accommodate his size at all. 

“You don’t want to be a teen dad,” you bite your lower lip, hand going to rub his neck.

“I wanna fuck you, though,” he breathes, using his thumb to run along your wet slit. “Wanna fuck you raw, wanna cum inside’a you.”

You tremble with his words, feeling two of his fingers now circling your pussy. “D— don’t be stupid.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your cunt wish it has something to tighten around. “D’you know how long I’ve been wanting to get you like this?”

He pushes himself off of you, and holds your wounded knees as he watches your chest heaves, heavy tits rolling with every staggered breath. He flips your skirt over, exposing even more of your cunt to the chill.

He rubs his length against your slick, his tip now pushing against your swelling clit. “I’d jack off and wonder if you were tighter than my fist,” he wraps his cock with his hand and places it again on your entrance, pushing in a slow, deliberate motion.

Between your drooping eyelids, you saw him inaudibly mutter a curse.

“Used to wanna fight Wakamatsu ‘cus he’d stuff this pussy all he wanted. Right?” He scoffs with a stupid, satisfied smile that you wish you could wipe off his face. “Shame that you broke it off, huh? Did he dump you when he realised how much of a whore you are?”

“Shut up…”

“Well, I don’t care. More fun for me.”

“Aomine—“

“Who else have you fucked in the basketball team?” He grunts. “In Touou?”

“Shut— shut the…”

You slap the back of your hand against your mouth—not willing at all to let him hear you be satisfied with his size—biting down on the flesh as he pushes his cock in. All of his cock in.

“Aomine—”

His cock is dragging against your wall, kissing every possible inch of your insides. Your hole continues to burn as he stretches you wide open, draining every last bit of energy from inside of you.

“ F-fuck…”

Your hand goes to fondle your own tit, rolling your hard nipple between your fingers, sloppily trying to garner more and more pleasure. His dick fills you more and more, stuffing you full, before finally stopping.

“Don’t act all reserved now,” he raises an eyebrow as you mewl out his name. He stays still for a moment, a bud of sweat rolling down his temple before pulling out of your homey cunt. “You don’t have to lie.”

Aomine bites his lips, letting his cock rest between your pussy lips. He sees the way they engulf his dick, moving his hips to rub against your core.

“Letting me fuck you on the school rooftop,” he murmurs, “where’s your fucking self-respect? Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t your first time getting dicked down up here.”

Your eyes slant up at him, but he quickly shuts down any of your retaliation by pressing his thumb flat against your clit, slowly circling the nub. Your teeth press down hard on your bottom lips.

“We aren’t— we are not …” You babble, putting a thumb between your teeth to stop yourself from moaning, “...having sex.”

He scoffs, drinking in how your eyes roll with your head turned to the side.

“I was inside you just a moment ago.”

Filthy noise of his cock squelching against your cunt filled the air—if someone were to come after you, they would hear Aomine’s dick fucking your pussy lips.

“Fuck,”Aomine spits, pressing your legs tightly against each other then down on your lips.

“A-ah,” You gasp as he drills into your thighs, the tip of his cock rubbing quick and hard against your swollen clit. “Oh my God—”

“Are you cummin’?” He breathes, one hand reaching to roll your tit on his hand. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine at the nickname. He snickers, “You’re so sexy like this, y’know that?”

Your back arches, little whimpers of encouragement swallow your pride whole as you fall completely into him. Aomine grunts at the expression, seeing the lewd expression on your face. He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against your ass.

“M’gonna cum,” he hisses. “Fuck. Wish I could shoot my load into your tight little cunt.”

“Fuck it,” you manage to spit between your groans, “F-fuck it. Just— oh God, just don’t stop—”

Your words rile him up even more—he tightens his grip on your leg, his fingers bruising your fragile skin. Your head begins to spin. Your slam your fists against the ground and your mind numbing orgasm comes the moment strings of Aomine’s thick, white cum comes flying down your skirt and stomach.

“Shit,” he loosens the grip on your legs, letting them fall even with your still convulsing ass and core. His gaze stays on the tip of his dick, the white cum oozing from it, then to your face—your parted lips, dumb eyes, and the sweat dripping down the side of your head down your neck.

He feels himself getting harder as he watches your plump lips whine, wondering how they would wrap around his thick length, if the colour of your lipstick would stain the veins of his cock.

“You coming to the onsen trip?” Aomine tries to distract himself.

You roll over, blindly reaching out for the bra that he tossed God knows where.

“Fuck you.”

[allurer23]

TURN THE PAGE TO US

YOU ANNOTATED MY SOUL

In Focus: Mark Lee × Reader

Synopsis: You and Mark Lee: two English Lit majors, one department, zero peace. You can quote The Waste Land by heart, and so can he—but your shared talent for verse usually ends in verbal warfare. Forced to co-lead a competitive research project, Mark’s infuriating intelligence and maddening focus drive you up the wall. Yet, rivalry softens into playful banter, and late study sessions stretch longer than expected. Turns out, the line between rivalry and something softer is written in pencil—easily erased, effortlessly rewritten.

Warnings: Rivals to lovers, Explicit sexual content / verbal kink, Mentions of sexual tension, arousal, and suggestive dialogue, Dom/sub implications (voice kink, praise/degradation mix), Consensual power play, Intense academic rivalry dynamic, Emotional repression / internalized longing, Some strong language (casual swearing), Alcohol (minor party scene), Academic stress / intellectual elitism, Brief reference to being interrupted post-kiss, Heavy use of literary references / sarcasm / metaphor, No actual smut scenes occur, but it’s very hot

Author’s Note:

This is the first footnote in TURN THE PAGE TO US—because nothing screams ‘healthy coping mechanism’ like falling for the one person who annotates your entire existence.”

I didn’t mean to write something this long, but apparently, Mark Lee + academic rivalry + literary thirst = me losing all control. This ended up way longer than planned, and I still haven’t finished it—so I’m posting it in two parts.

This is Part 1, guys

You can read Part 2 here

This is for the girls who annotate their fantasy smut and the guys who smell like books and think arguing about Kafka counts as foreplay. This fic is messy, wordy, and borderline unhinged in the best academic way. To everyone who's ever caught feelings during a debate—this one's for you. Engagement means the world: likes, reblogs, comments, screams in the tags.

Please be 18+ if you’re reading.

"You underlined metaphors. I read between the lines. Somewhere between ink and irritation, we annotated each other."

Third coffee of the day. And I hate coffee. It tastes like existential dread steeped in burnt hope. But like Gregor Samsa waking up as a bug, I didn’t choose this life—I just…adapted. Caffeine is my metamorphosis.

Sips, grimaces, and watches Mark Lee walk in, perfectly on time, of course.

And there he is. Mark Lee. Human punctuation mark. Probably thinks the sun rises because he quoted Woolf at it. He writes like he’s got a personal vendetta against mediocrity and walks like he’s never been told he’s wrong. Spoiler alert: I’ve told him. He didn’t listen.

The academic rival I never asked for but somehow ended up stuck with since freshman year. Ever since our first clash over whether The Waste Land is genius or just a fever dream with footnotes, it’s been intellectual warfare. I don’t know why, but every time I see him, I feel this irrational irritation—like my brain knows it’s about to be challenged, and my ego's already rolling up its sleeves.

And of course, can't forget to mention his group. The ever-infamous Dream boys. The campus golden group. Seven of them, like some mythological fellowship but with more hair gel and less emotional regulation. A cocktail of charisma, chaos, and misplaced confidence.

Professor Jung walked into the classroom with the kind of smile that only meant one thing: chaos was coming. Not the scream-and-run kind. The academic kind. The kind that ruined friendships, ignited crushes, and made someone cry in the hallway after overanalyzing Jane Eyre.

“Let’s start today with a wonderful question,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together like a Bond villain with tenure. “Fate versus free will in literature.”

Of course. Of course. The kind of question that turns polite English majors into caffeinated gladiators wielding highlighters and wounded pride.

“Think Kafka’s labyrinths of absurdity or Austen’s cages of etiquette,” he continued, eyes gleaming like this was the TED Talk he'd been preparing his whole life for. “Who really writes the story—the characters, or some invisible puppeteer called fate?”

Naturally—and I mean this with every ounce of disdain in my soul—Mark Lee’s hand shot up. Instantly. Like he had been waiting for this moment since the womb. Like fate had chosen him, which is ironic, considering he clearly sides with it.

He wore that insufferable smirk—the one that made girls sigh and me want to throw a Norton Anthology at his face. His glasses glinted like they were part of some book-boy cosplay, which, tragically, only made him hotter. Tragic for me, I mean. Not the population of people who thirst after tortured literature boys who quote Woolf on first dates. (Yes, he did that. I overheard. He used To the Lighthouse. Someone really should’ve drowned him there.)

I raised my hand too. Because if Mark Lee was jumping into the ring, I was showing up with verbal brass knuckles and annotated Kafka.

We both started speaking—of course—and Professor Jung smiled like his plan to cause chaos was going exactly as intended.

“Y/n, go ahead,” he said. And I did. With glee.

“Fate? Please. That’s just what authors use when they don’t want to admit they wrote themselves into a corner. The Trial isn’t an ode to inevitability—it’s a primal scream from a man being smothered by bureaucracy and desperately trying to claw meaning out of the absurd. Free will exists. It's just ugly and panicked and gets drowned in paperwork.”

Mark’s smirk—God, that smirk—deepened. Probably because he thought he was about to say something clever. Spoiler alert: he wasn’t.

“Delusional,” he said, all smooth confidence and unjustified cheekbones. “Austen’s characters are textbook fate victims. Emma? Lizzie? They ‘choose,’ sure but only within the bounds of societal programming. It's not free will, it’s conditioned responses. Fate, just wearing a petticoat.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my ancestors. “You’re reducing character arcs to algorithms. Emma isn’t doomed—she’s flawed. And she changes. Growth is a choice, Mark Lee. Free will is messy, but that’s what makes it beautiful. Fate is a cop-out for people too afraid of consequences.”

He leaned back like he was lounging in a coffee shop, not verbally brawling in front of thirty people. “And yet the greatest tragedies rely on fate. Romeo and Juliet, Gatsby… Doomed from the start. Fate is the poetry of inevitability.”

I gave him a smile that could peel paint. “And maybe you just like sounding poetic while ignoring the fact that most tragedies are people screwing up, not the stars aligning. Gatsby wasn’t doomed. He just made garbage decisions and idealized a girl who liked shiny things.”

He adjusted his glasses like he was preparing to deliver an epiphany. “So you’re saying free will is just people being dumb?”

“Exactly,” I said, triumphantly. “Free will is people being dumb, brilliant, selfish, selfless, human. Orwell’s 1984? Winston tries. He chooses resistance. That’s the whole point. Even a doomed choice is still a choice.”

Mark tilted his head, all faux-curious. “And he’s crushed. Crushed by the inevitability of the system. Free will doesn’t win. Fate does.”

I could practically hear the air crackling. Our classmates were silent, hanging on every word like this was a courtroom drama and someone’s scholarship depended on it. Maybe mine did.

Professor Jung finally clapped his hands, grinning like a man watching two tigers fight over a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Exactly what I wanted. Good. Very, very good.”

I slumped back in my seat, heart thumping, and glared at Mark’s profile. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. His smirk. His glasses. His perfect posture, like he didn’t just ruin my blood pressure for the day.

After the verbal warzone had been declared over by Professor Jung, I packed up my notes with all the casual serenity of a boiling kettle. Mark was still smugly tucking his glasses into his collar like he hadn’t just played devil’s advocate for fate, of all things. Fate. I mean, who chooses to side with destiny in 2025?

“Y/N and Mark, please stay back,” Professor Jung said, just as I was plotting the most satisfying way to avoid him for the rest of my life.

I glanced sideways at Mark—or as I affectionately referred to him in my mind, the walking thesis footnote of my irritation. His brow arched, clearly intrigued, and I hated that it looked good on him. Could someone’s face be grammatically correct? I didn’t want to talk about it.

Once the last student dragged their bag out and the door clicked shut behind them, Professor Jung beamed like he’d been waiting to drop a literary bomb.

“I like the way you both think,” he began, steepling his fingers like some benevolent academic overlord. “You don’t just read literature—you wrestle it. Respect it. And occasionally stab each other with it.”

I said nothing, just nodded politely while standing as far from Mark as physically possible without flinging myself out the window.

“There’s an international literary conference hosted by the University at Veritas,” he continued. “It’s prestigious, competitive, and… paired.”

Mark straightened beside me like someone had just offered him a sonnet and a scholarship. I, on the other hand, was already sensing doom wrapped in MLA format.

“It’s on the notice board, but I’m telling you two specifically,” Professor Jung went on, smiling that same evil-genius smile he’d worn this morning. “Because I think—no, know—that if you teamed up, your chances of getting accepted are incredibly high.”

My brain short-circuited.

Team up?

With Mark fate-is-a-poem Lee?

We’d kill each other before we even chose a font.

“That’s… very kind of you, Professor,” I said, my voice politely strangled.

Beside me, Mark let out a soft, amused hum. Like a man already composing the opening paragraph of our academic obituary.

“I’m in,” he said. Instantly. No hesitation. Of course.

I looked at him like he’d just offered to co-author my nightmare.

“I mean,” he added, shooting me a sideways glance that felt like a challenge dressed as a compliment, “if Y/N can handle it.”

Handle what? His metaphors? His smugness? His perfectly organized notes that somehow always smell like cinnamon and ink?

“Oh, I can handle it,” I said sweetly, a dangerous smile curving on my lips. “Just don’t start talking about Austen like she’s a 19th-century NPC again and we’ll get along just fine.”

Professor Jung clapped once. “Perfect. Submit a proposal by next Friday. Surprise me.”

As we stepped into the corridor, I could already feel the words crawling up my throat like they were too irritated to stay inside.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I muttered. “This isn’t a prize. It’s community service.”

Mark had the audacity to laugh. “I don’t know, I think we might actually work well together.”

I stopped walking. He did too, turning slightly with that same irritating eyebrow tilt like he thought this was a scene from some academic rom-com. It wasn’t.

I crossed my arms. “Meet me at 4 p.m. in the book cafe outside campus. We need to figure out a topic before your ego writes a paper all by itself.”

He gave a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of being late.”

Then he walked off, all easy strides and unbearable confidence, like we hadn’t just declared a ceasefire for the sake of intellectual dominance.

I stared after him, jaw clenched.

This was going to be a disaster. A well-researched, peer-reviewed, highly-cited disaster.

I walk toward the field where my so-called friends are lounging like overfed cats under the sun. Chenle’s playing basketball, all fluid limbs and annoying laughter. The rest? Already grinning like they know something I don’t. Which is impossible. Unless…

“Hey, Mark Lee,” Haechan calls, eyes glinting like he’s logged into my brain. “You look like someone tore your ego again today. Was it our Lit Queen?”

I flop down onto the grass beside them with the dramatic energy of a tragic Greek hero. “Today’s topic was free will vs. fate in literature,” I mutter, tugging blades of grass like they personally offended me. “Obviously, I sided with fate—because hello, I’m not naive enough to believe I have control over anything in life—but now I don’t know if I won or if she did or if I just got verbally suplexed by a girl in winged eyeliner.”

Haechan snorts. “Verbal suplex. That’s a new low, even for you.”

“It’s like she thrives on chaos." I continue like a man possessed. "The moment the professor mentioned fate, her eyes lit up like she was summoning literary demons just to argue.”

“She probably lives in hell, Mark. Maybe she’s just giving you directions,” Renjun says without looking up from his notebook.

“The worst part isn’t the debate,” I mumble. “It’s the fact that I’m teamed up with her. For the inter-college conference.”

That gets them. A collective gasp like I just announced I’m marrying her tomorrow.

“Oh,” Jaemin says, eyes wide. “You mean her? The girl who corrected Professor Kim when he misquoted T.S. Eliot?”

“She’s the same one who once sent Sunwoo a list of grammar corrections when he asked her out,” Haechan adds, cackling. “Imagine trying to flirt and getting a red-inked Google Doc back.”

“She brought up Plato at that party last week,” Jeno says, shaking his head. “And they were literally talking about their dating lives. I think someone asked what her type was and she went ‘philosophically or emotionally?’”

Chenle jogs up just in time to drop the final blow. “Rumor says she turned a guy down by sending him a bibliography on why she’s emotionally unavailable.”

“A bibliography?” Jisung blinks. “Like… with citations?”

“I think there was APA and MLA formats involved,” Chenle grins.

I sigh, dragging my hands down my face. “You guys don’t understand. I notice… things now. Like—like the way she rolls her eyes every time I speak. Which is always. She does this dramatic slow blink and I swear, I hear ‘disappointment’ in 4K.”

“She probably keeps a thesaurus in her bag just to judge your vocabulary,” Renjun mutters.

“And the eyeliner,” I continue like I’ve lost control of my mouth. “You know? That perfect little wing at the corner of her eye? Like she’s ready to slice me with it.”

“Oh my god,” Jaemin groans. “He’s noticing eyeliner. This is terminal.”

“She bites her pen when she’s thinking,” I say, ignoring them all now. “Like the cap is a life-or-death decision. And when she drinks coffee, she winces. She hates it. I know she does. She drinks it like it’s a punishment, not a preference. That’s not someone who likes caffeine. That’s someone who’s forcing herself to function in a coffee-drunk world.”

“You’re in deep, man,” Jeno laughs, clapping my shoulder. “You’re starting to sound like her.”

“I am not—” I stop, because, okay. Maybe I am. Maybe the worst part isn’t even being teamed up with her. Maybe it’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how her voice sharpens when she’s passionate about a book. Or how her handwriting looks like it belongs in some old library archive. Or how her smirk makes me want to argue with her just to see it again.

“She’s going to destroy me,” I say aloud.

“She already has,” Haechan smirks. “And we’re just here for the literary funeral.”

I walk into the book cafe and spot Mark Lee instantly—half-slouched in a corner booth, dressed like a Pinterest board for "hot literature major energy" and scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t been waiting here early on purpose.

He looks up the moment I sit across from him and slides a caramel frappuccino toward me like it's a peace offering.

“I don’t drink frappuccinos,” I say, pulling out my laptop and notebook. “Especially not ones pretending to be desserts.”

“You should,” he says smoothly, “it’s better than wincing like you're in physical pain every time you drink coffee. Just spare the Americano your judgmental stare.”

He says it like he’s read the last ten pages of my life.

Which is the worst part.

Because he kinda has.

“I’ve already chosen our topic,” I announce, ignoring his smirk. “‘The Quiet Catastrophe: Literature as a Witness to Absurdity and Human Frailty.’ It’s in line with the conference theme and—”

“Of course you chose that,” he cuts in, leaning back like he’s bracing for impact. “Tell me, what’s your word count goal this year for Kafka-Dostoevsky Existential Crisis Essays? A hundred thousand?”

I glare. “It’s a strong theme.”

“It’s a recycled theme.” He raises an eyebrow. “I'm just saying… have you considered that Franz and Fyodor might want you to move on?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Because damn it, he’s not wrong.

“I was thinking,” he continues, voice casual but eyes very not, “what if we pitched ‘Ink as Ammunition: Literature as Resistance in Postcolonial and Feminist Texts’? It’s bold, fresh, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll meet authors who don’t end their novels in total despair.”

I hate that it’s a good idea.

I hate that my face reacts before my pride does—because he sees it.

His smirk deepens.

“I don’t want to waste time arguing,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “So fine. We’ll go with your idea.”

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “Mark this day, for she has spoken the word: fine.”

We fall into a silence so deep it might as well have its own heartbeat—the kind of silence that says.

I catch his brown eyes catching the light every time he lands on a good point, like he’s just uncovered some secret cheat code for the paper. His eyebrows furrow into that “serious genius” crease, and of course, his damn glasses betray him by slipping down his nose as he leans in to sneak a peek at what I wrote. The way he pushes them back up with one lazy finger? Too casual, too precise—like he knows exactly how distracting he looks.

Focus, Y/N. Focus on the paper, not the guy who plays basketball to ease his tension and somehow looks like he just walked off a runway. And yes, he looks damn hot when he plays, but this is strictly an academic observation, no judging.

Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“Handmaid’s Tale?”

I nod, trying not to make it obvious that I’m really thinking about how his hair falls perfectly messy when he pushes it back, and how the sleeves of his shirt roll up just enough to make me wonder if he knows the effect he’s having.

“What’s running around in that head of yours?” he asks, eyebrow raised, suddenly silent like he’s waiting for some grand revelation.

Definitely not how good you look right now.

"Oh nothing"

“And seriously,” he adds, eyeing my pen like it’s a secret weapon, “you should stop chewing on that thing. I know you’re hunting for a sentence to obliterate me with.”

“I’m not,” I snap, yanking the pen away like it’s a live bomb.

We’re both silent for a while — a rare event, considering we usually argue over everything from font sizes to who gets top billing on the title page. But right now, it’s just the clack of keyboards and the soft hum of the café.

“I don’t like this,” he says suddenly.

I glance up. “What, being productive?”

“No. You being quiet. It’s weird. It’s like I’m watching a thriller with no plot twist. Where’s the snark? The dramatic sighs? The eye rolls?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m saving all my energy for the bibliography.”

He grins. “Oh, I get it now. You’re lulling me into a false sense of security before you hit me with the footnote from hell.”

I sip the Frappuccino — the one I swore I wouldn’t drink. He notices, of course.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It’s tolerable.”

“You say that about everything you like. Just admit you love it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “That line working on anyone else?”

He leans back, smirking. “Only the ones who can spell ‘conscience’ without autocorrect.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out. He notices that too.

“You laughed,” he says like he just won a bet.

“Congratulations. What do you want, a trophy?”

“No, just acknowledgment. It’s rare. Like finding a happy ending in an existential novel.”

I grin. “You’re really trying to make metaphors happen today, huh?”

He shrugs.

We fall back into silence.

Two weeks had passed since our abstract got the green light from Mr. Jung. Since then, it felt like we’d been living in a war zone—bickering over everything from fonts to spacing, to whose point held more weight. Every tiny detail turned into a battlefield.

“I’m taking you to the party,” Giselle declared, even though I was standing right next to her.

“I’m not coming,” I replied, flipping through Onyx Storm. Honestly, can you blame me? The ending was right around the corner.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m taking you. That’s not a request, Ms. Litlady. And please, don’t start in on Plato or whoever. People are still talking about that.”

“They asked me a question,” I shrugged, marking my page before closing the book. “I just answered.”

“It’s a party, not a philosophy lecture. Dress up and come with me. Jungwoo’s picking us up.”

“It’s not like I hate parties.”

She grinned. “Exactly. You like parties—you’re not one of those typical bookworms who lock themselves away all weekend.”

“Yeah, well, I like finishing Onyx Storm more.”

“Whatever. You can finish it later. You’ve been working on that paper with your academic rival nonstop. You need a break from that hot nerd.”

“He’s not hot. More like a mosquito buzzing in my ear and I'm just tolerating him.”

“Speaking of that hot nerd, only you can hold a conversation with him. I heard Jia finally snagged a date with him last month, and he went on about the Renaissance and its impact on literature, the printing press, the first Bible—all that jazz.”

A small smile spread across my face. “That sounds exactly like him,” I said, walking to my closet.

“The red one or the black one?” Giselle asked.

“I like the red one. It looks good on you.”

“Done and done.”

The music was loud, the air smelled like cheap cologne and spilled cider, and the lights were dim enough to make everyone look ten percent more attractive than usual—which meant nothing to me, obviously. I was here for a drink and maybe a reason to leave early.

Then she walked in.

Giselle first—grinning, glossy-lipped and glitter-eyed. Jungwoo next, bouncing like the Labrador he was. And then her, in black. Not the mournful academic black we lived in, no. This was dangerous black. Skin, collarbone, the glint of a necklace that caught the light every time she tilted her head and laughed.

And she laughed.

At him.

Jaehyun.

The golden boy. Soccer star. Her brother’s best friend. The type of guy who didn’t have to work for charm—he just breathed and people adored him. She was leaning in, brushing his arm, and throwing her head back like he’d just told the best joke in the world.

I hated it.

I didn’t even know what he said, and I hated it.

Haechan appeared next to me with a red cup and a knowing look. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re glaring.”

“Same thing.”

“She looks good tonight,” he said. “Not that I noticed. I mean, Jaehyun noticed. And half the team. But not me. Just saying.”

I rolled my eyes, took a swig of something that burned, and tried not to look back. Failed.

“She laugh like that with you during group projects?” Haechan smirked, the devil in a hoodie.

“She doesn’t laugh with me. We argue.”

“And yet,” he drawled, “here you are. Third drink. Sixth stare. First stage of denial. Classic.”

I turned away. “Shut up.”

“She’s just talking to Jaehyun, man. Your crush is allowed to talk to people.”

“She’s not my—”

I paused.

He grinned.

I hated him.

____

I walked into the room after attending a call from Renjun. She was laughing again. That sharp, carefree kind of laugh that somehow always managed to echo over the music. And of course, it was Jaehyun standing next to her. She tilted her head slightly when she laughed, like whatever he said was the cleverest thing she’d heard all night. Whatever.

I made my way to the bar. Not toward her — just the bar. The fact that she was already there? Unfortunate timing.

I stepped into the space beside her, nodding at the bartender. “You do remember our submission’s due next week, right? Or is your strategy just charming Jaehyun into doing it for us?”

She turned toward me, a slow, amused look crawling up her face. “Mark Lee at a party and talking about work? I’m shocked. Blink twice if you’re being held hostage.”

I grabbed my drink. “I just figured your attention span might need the reminder.”

Her smirk widened. “Worried I’ll outshine you again?”

“Again implies it happened once.”

“You’re right. But let’s not forget all those other times I accidentally outdid you — it’s kind of a pattern by now.”

I took a slow sip. “Delusions are getting bold these days.”

She laughed under her breath. Not the same kind of laugh she gave Jaehyun. This one had teeth. “The cafe’s closed tomorrow,” she said, casually, like it was no big deal. “So if you want to get this done before the deadline, you’ll have to come to my place. I’ll text you the address.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting a beat of silence stretch before answering. “You sure your Wi-Fi can handle all that ego in one apartment?”

She looked at me over her glass. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, she turned back to her conversation — not sparing me a second glance.

Fine by me. I got what I came for. A drink. And a reminder that this partnership was going to be the end of one of us.

Probably her.

___

She said her place. Her place. I didn’t ask questions—just said yes like a man trying to win a debate by proximity.

But now I’m standing in front of her door with a backpack full of citations and a mouth that can’t stop thinking about hers. This isn’t about the paper anymore. Not really.

She’s let me in—literally. And I don’t know what I’ll do when she forgets I’m the enemy and starts looking at me like I’m something else entirely.

He stepped into my apartment like he owned the place, tossed his bag onto the floor beside the low table in the hall, and sank onto the opposite side without a word. We didn’t need pleasantries—not in our world of rivalry laced with disdain.

I shouldn’t have said my place. I could’ve picked the library. A cafe, The quad. Literally anywhere that didn’t have soft lighting and shelves full of books that double as secrets and i didn't realise it tho.

But the way he looked at me—like he knew something I didn’t—made my mouth move faster than my brain. And now we were meeting in a space where my defenses didn’t work.

My apartment wasn’t neutral territory. It had favorite pens and worn notebooks and a bookshelf I’d never let anyone touch. Not even the friends who knew what I read when I wasn’t trying to impress professors.

He pulled out his laptop and the familiar clack of keys filled the silence as we settled into rhythm, working through the final citations. I was focused, eyes scanning a paragraph on postmodern consumption—but I felt it the moment his attention drifted.

Not to me. Not yet.

His gaze had shifted—toward the corner.

Bookshelf.

I followed it too late. He was already rising, curiosity pulling him like a magnet to the shelf I usually guarded with selective disclosure. His fingers grazed the spines, pausing over a particular set of titles that didn’t exactly scream Kafka.

Twisted Love. Fourth Wing. Iron Flame. A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I didn’t have to look up to know the smirk forming on his lips.

“Interesting collection,” he murmured, voice laced with something that wasn’t entirely mockery.

I turned my face toward him slowly, schooling my expression into bored defiance. “It’s called research,” I said coolly, though I could feel the heat creeping up the back of my neck.

He pulled a book halfway out. “For our project?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“For the sake of literature as a whole,” I countered, folding my arms across my chest.

Another step. “Didn’t know you were into… dragons, morally grey men, and explicit tension.”

I didn’t move. “Didn’t know you had time to read spines while pretending to be better than me.”

That earned a short laugh, rough and low. He closed the distance until he was standing right beside me, the book still in his hand, his fingers brushing the edge of the cover like it was a dare.

“I guess I underestimated the kind of stories that get your attention,” he said, his voice quieter now, deeper.

I tilted my head. “And I overestimated your sense of boundaries.”

His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second too long before settling back on my eyes. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

I reached out, plucked the book from his hand with deliberate slowness, and placed it back on the shelf.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said, and turned back toward the table and settled into the chair.

I could still feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Unspoken.

The citations could wait a few seconds more.

He didn’t come back right away.

I could feel him still standing there. The air around the bookshelf was thick—static, electric. His presence dragged across my skin like a storm waiting to break.

And then he came back after grabbing another book from my collections.  Not quietly. Not carelessly.

He sank into the chair like he owned it. Like he owned the moment. Like he’d found a secret and was now deciding just how deep he wanted to bury it in me.

No glance at the screen.

Only me.

His eyes were darker than before. Focused. Sure.

“Research purposes, huh?”

Low. Laced with something that tasted like trouble.

I didn’t flinch. “You know—methodology, citations, critical discourse—”

“You mean your collection over there?”

He jerked his chin toward the shelf. “Looks a hell of a lot more like late-night escapism than anything academic.”

My throat tightened. “You’re making assumptions.”

He smirked. “Am I?”

Then he leaned in. Slow. Measured. His voice dipped into something filthy and deliberate.

“You’re the girl who quotes Barthes in class, who sighs at Kafka like he ruined you—but you’ve got a whole row of books with titles like Thorns and Temptation, Credence and Twisted series.”

I blinked.

He didn’t stop.

“Let me guess. The main guy’s always a tortured immortal. Says he’s a monster. Calls her little mortal, my mouse, my princess or butterfly, before bending her over a throne.”

“That’s not—”

He cut in, brutal and soft. “You like that shit.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“And I bet you read it one hand on the page, the other under the covers, acting like you’re too good for it. Telling yourself it’s just fiction. Just tension. Just... literary curiosity.”

He grinned. Dark. Triumphant.

“But you keep going back to the same scenes, don’t you?”

I crossed my arms. “So what if I do?”

“So nothing.” He shrugged. “Except you walk around like your head’s above it all. As if you wouldn’t come apart if someone actually pressed you up against a wall and whispered the things you pretend you hate.”

He was too close. I could smell his cologne—woodsy, dark, intoxicating.

“You think that’s all it takes?” I tried to say it steady, but my voice betrayed me. Too tight. Too breathless.

He tilted his head, eyes on me like a predator amused by how long his prey thought it could pretend.

“No,” he said. “I think you want someone who gets it. Someone who won’t judge you for reading smut dressed in metaphors.”

His hand reached forward. Not touching. Just close. Suggestive.

“I think you want someone who’d highlight those lines with you. The ones where she begs. Where he growls. Where the line between danger and desire blurs and she likes it.”

I felt heat rush to my face. My stomach twisted. My legs didn’t move.

“And I think,” he continued, “you’ve spent so long playing the good girl with her annotated classics and tragic quotes... you’ve forgotten how much you crave someone seeing you. Really seeing you.”

“You don’t know me,” I whispered.

“I do now.”

His voice was a promise. A threat. A challenge.

“And you know what’s wild?”

He leaned in just enough to ghost his lips near my jaw. “I’m not judging you. I’d read them with you. Out loud. Every filthy line. Make you admit which parts made your thighs press together. Make you say it—this one, this is the line that made me want to be ruined.”

My breath shuddered.

His knee slid against mine again. Pressed there. Solid. Heavy.

“You still gonna act like you’re above it?” he whispered. “Or are you gonna let me peel that good girl persona off you page by page?”

I didn’t answer.

Because if I did—I wasn’t sure if I’d stop.

Because the thesis wasn’t the only thing unraveling.

I was.

And God, maybe I wanted him to keep pulling.

He didn’t pull away.

He leaned closer.

Still no contact—just his presence, thick and heavy and humming with a kind of heat that felt almost unfair.

“You’re really going to sit there and act like your thighs haven’t been pressed together for the last five minutes?” he murmured, voice low, velvet over something razor-sharp. “Like you’re not wet under that skirt and trying not to squirm in your seat?”

I raised a brow, careful. Steady. “You always talk like this during research sessions? No wonder your GPA’s hanging by a thread.”

He smirked. “Cute. Deflecting.”

He dragged his chair an inch closer, the scrape of wood jarring in the silence. His knee bumped mine. Intentional. Firm. And then his fingers tapped the table, slow and steady, inches from where mine rested.

“You know the parts you reread the most?” he said, gaze dropping to my mouth. “The ones where he doesn’t even touch her yet. Just tells her what he’s going to do. How he’s going to make her lose control.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” I said coolly, even though my pulse was sprinting and I could feel the heat crawling up my throat.

He leaned in further, his breath brushing my cheek like a secret I wasn’t allowed to hear.

“I bet you love the build-up. His mouth at her ear. The words he says when no one else is listening. You’re already soaked for me, aren’t you? Look how easy it is to make you squirm.”

I didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Because if I did, he’d know.

“You act like you’re above it,” he said, voice going lower. “Like none of it gets to you. But I see the way you shift in your chair. How you stopped breathing when I said ‘wet.’”

I scoffed, leaned back just a little. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, I haven’t even started,” he murmured, eyes locked on mine. “Want me to read aloud your favorite passage? The one where she’s told to shut up and take it? Where he pins her wrists and tells her, You’re not going anywhere until I’ve ruined every part of you?”

I stood abruptly.

His eyes tracked every inch of the movement like a dare.

I didn’t speak. Just reached for the book near his elbow—my copy, spine cracked, pages dog-eared and traitorous—and walked to the nearest bookshelf to shelve it. A small act. Simple.

But it was enough.

He was behind me in seconds. Catching my wrist to turn me towards him.

His hand landed on the shelf above mine, boxing me in. His body close. Too close. Heat radiating from his chest to my neck, not touching, but god, it felt like he was.

“You’re not fooling me,” he said, voice dark against the shell of my ear. “You can act cold all you want. Witty. Detached. But you’re the kind of girl who reads the dirtiest pages twice, then closes the book just to sit there and feel it.”

I gripped the spine of the book tighter.

“You want someone to make it real,” he said. “To tilt your chin up, press their mouth to yours, and say, Don’t run. Take it.”

My chest rose too fast.

“You’d hate how much you’d love it,” he whispered. “How fast you’d fall apart. How easily you’d beg when I tell you, Keep your eyes on me while I make you mine right here.”

I should’ve told him to back off.

Should’ve moved. Should’ve breathed.

Instead, I froze.

And that’s when he kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d waited too damn long and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His hand slid to my waist, dragging me closer. His mouth crushed mine, no hesitation, no apology. Just fire and hunger and everything we’d been pretending not to want.

I gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt as his body pressed against mine, pinning me lightly to the shelf.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating between us, his mouth moving over mine with brutal precision. Tongue teasing. Teeth grazing. Every second pulling me deeper, tighter, unraveling something I hadn’t even realized was wound that tight.

The book fell from my hands, hit the floor with a thud I barely heard.

“You feel that?” he breathed against my lips. “That spark when I touch you? That ache? You think I can’t tell how wrecked you are right now?”

He kissed me again, slower this time, more purposeful. Like he wanted me to remember it later—alone, frustrated, aching.

“I could fuck you with just my voice,” he whispered, mouth trailing to my jaw. “And baby—don’t lie—you’d let me.”

The bell rang.

Sharp. Final. Echoing down the hallway.

“Y/n?” My brother’s voice, too close.

I jerked back, panting.

His eyes were wild. Lips swollen. Still breathing hard.

I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, heart pounding out of rhythm. He didn’t say anything. Just watched me.

“Y/n?” Louder now.

“I’m—coming!” I shouted, hating how wrecked my voice sounded.

I didn’t look at him as I turned.

But I felt his stare all the way to the door.

And long after I left, his kiss still burned like it hadn’t finished yet.

“The problem wasn’t that he kissed me. It was that I kissed him back.”

or

“We were supposed to write a paper. Not rewrite every boundary I ever built.”

___

Author's note:

Well, if you’ve made it this far, congratulations—you survived Part One of You Annotated My Soul without throwing your device across the room. This story is basically my caffeine-fueled brainchild, packed with all the awkward academic tension, chaotic vibes, and just enough cursed chemistry to keep you hooked. If you liked the drama (or even just the mess), drop a comment or reblog—it’s like digital high-fives that keep me writing.

Part Two is brewing, and spoiler alert: that kiss? Just the appetizer. Stay tuned for the main course.

Thanks for sticking around—and try not to ship them too hard.

Now, I see this fic is not that long.

[milkymora]

✧ dl sakamakis - boyfriend headcanons ✧

note: it's been way too many months since I’ve made hdcs about these vampires!!! i gotta make up for that, so here some (sfw) headcanons about the sakamaki bros as boyfriends. pictures used aren't mine, cts to their respective owners on pinterest. enjoy! xoxo

⟡ ayato s.

extremely possessive. will take any opportunity to make you wear his clothes, especially if you guys are hanging out. he takes pleasure in doing it in public spaces; people need to see that you guys are together.

is actually so goofy. many times he tries to be hot, maybe wrapping an arm around your neck or other silly things, but he’s literally the most heedless of the sakamakis and will find a way to make a fool of himself any freaking time.

has the habit of stealing your food. if he sees you eating something he’ll go straight to you and grab it from your plate. even if he’s not hungry, he just likes to annoy you.

⟡ laito s.

loves going shopping with you. has actually good taste in clothes and will often suggest you what to buy and what not. also likes to sneak an eye on you while you’re in the dressing room but shh. you don’t mind either.

lets you put make up on him, do skin care or any other activity that gets you to touch his face. it relaxes him a lot. he feels closer to you, since physical touch is his love language.

kisses you both good night and good morning. every day.

⟡ kanato s.

since you got taken with him, he refuses to sleep without you. he finds calm in your presence, it’s like you’re his melatonin. he doesn’t feel secure if you are not with him.

when you are outside, rest assured you will be holding hands. your hands are probably warmer than his, he likes that feeling.

always gifts you a plushie for christmas. every year is different, maybe a small keychain this year and in the next one is gonna be a huge, human-size, stuffed animal. he makes sure it’s your favorite animal, of course.

⟡ shu s.

sleeps on you. all the time. at first, he would do it to bother you, but as time went on, he begun to enjoy it, making it more comfortable for the both of you; sleeping on your lap, spooning you, ect...

takes you out for dinner all the weekends. he’s pretty old fashioned, he will take care of everything, the restaurant choice, the bill, the limousine taking you two there.

plays violin for you, every time you ask.

⟡ reiji s.

oh, you’re drowning in flowers since you got with this man. all kinds of flowers, or plants if you prefer. he does fancy gifting you roses, though.

cooks for you most of the time. he loves spoiling you and is secretly yearning for your compliments and ways to please you.

he may not be very affectionate with physical touch, but trust me, he makes up for it with love letters. tons of love letters. hundreth of love letters.

⟡ subaru s.

shy. this guys is so shy, he will struggle to keep eye contact with you during any argument or discussion. go easy on him, he may bark a lot but he really isn’t who he shows to be.

the “i’ll come get you at 8 PM” type of guy. will take you to his personal favorite places; it’s his way of letting you get to know him, showing you the places he likes.

will show you his most vulnerable side. he grew so fond of you that whenever he needs to vent, or cry, he comes to you for comfort. has also worked on his communication skills with you a lot. he’s very emotionally intelligent.

ty for reading, i really hope you liked these! if so, feel free to check out my other dl related posts: diabolik lovers nagivation. stick around friends!!! ly

[vespertiliosworld]

Friends

Damian Wayne x Reader

Note: If I made a mistake, please forgive me, English is not my native language.

『••✎••』

You don't even know how you managed to be friends with the little arrogant Damian Wayne. Among the art of the students in the small gallery opened by the school, the arts of the two of you were the most striking among everyone.

You always saw drawing as the best way to express problems. The view 'Art is for people' was valid for you.

On the other hand, the view that 'Art is for art's sake' was more appropriate for Damian. I don't think this arrogant demon will care about people.

Nevertheless, you became friends, You spend many time just talking about art, after that Damian realized that, you are different from others. He appropriated your knowledge. He was start to get interested with you. He was listening your talks closely.

That boy never stopped rattling about you. Especially to Tim. He never miss an opportunity to telling him to how smart you are and your being better Tim, without doing anything. He kept talking about you while criticizing Tim. This take Dick's attention.

Dick get suspended about Damian's attention to you. Even Jason, realized Damian's interest on you. That was unexpected. Of course, Damian was growing, of course he was going to get some love interest but you were the first civilian one, Damian liked.

Just think about that little gremlins just standing there, his arms wrapped around his chest, looking Tim by with his eyes before starting to compare you both and praise you.

While time passes you two get closer. He was now judging every single person who try to flirt with you. He wasn't thinking that anyone can be good for you but him. He invited you to an art gala.

It was simple and quick. You two was sitting on grass at school. You were looking to social media and showed him to an art gala. "Look at that! Most important artist were coming."

He turn his gaze to your phone from his book with frown eyebrows. "Tch, I know that. My family are going to." He said this like nothing.

You turn your phone to yourself. "Gosh! You are so lucky." I whimper to him with a bit jealousy.

He closed his book and turn his eyes to you. "If you want, you can come to."

You look him with widening eyes in disbelief. "Really? But I'm not invited and also I'm not important person like other guests." You turn your gaze back to your phone hesitantly.

He shrug his shoulders. "I bet, you are more intelligent more than others." His eyes catch your hesitant. "Just come with me. It's better to talk with you than talking to my father's adulatorys." He grimaced at the thought.

You chuckled softly. "I can't say no to this opportunity." You take a deep breath with happiness. "What should I wear? Like a long dress?" You looked at him with teasing gaze.

He rolled his eyes. " Just don't exaggeration."

You looked at him giggling. "But I was thinking of coming in a gold-plated dress." You patted his arm jokingly.

His lips curled to up, a little smile's shadow appeared. "Then maybe I should send you a dress so you don't have to do that," He said teasingly as he turned his gaze back to the book.

You turned your head to him with a slight chuckle. "Don't worry, I won't embarrass you. Still, thank you for inviting me." You looked at him with a warm smile.

When Damian's eyes fell on your smile, he couldn't help but feel proud of himself. "I know." He said simply. Before getting up from where he was sitting, he looked at you. "We will pick you up at six on Saturday."

You nodded and smiled. "Okay."

He reached out his hand to to lift you from the grass

***

You started to think about what to wear with worry from the morning on that day. Until a box arrives for you. After receiving the box from the courier, the note on top caught your attention. 'Wear this. -Damian.'

When you opened the box with a smile, there was a dress exactly as you wanted. It was absolutely beautiful, just your style. The thought of Damian getting it for you excited you. After putting on the dress and wearing short heels, you spent a few hours doing your makeup and hair. You were excited and a little worried because it was the first time you would be in such an environment. You were also thinking about not embarrassing Damian.

But when the doorbell rang, you hurried forward in your heels. As you opened the door, you were met with Damian's green eyes. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a stylish suit. From head to toe, her green eyes scanned you. "Looks good."

You looked at him with a smile. "Thank you, you look very handsome too." You tensely pushed your hair behind your ear. "I'm very nervous ." You admitted.

He raised an eyebrow and reached out his hand to you. "There's no need to get tense for a few snobs. Just ignore them."

You took his hand and left the house. Alfred was waiting for you in the car. Damian, as a gentleman, first helped you get in, and then got into the car himself. After entering, you looked at Alfred. "Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, it's a pleasure to meet you," you greeted him with a soft voice and a smile.

He gently bowed his head and looked at you in the mirror, greeting you. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, young lady."

When the car started to going, you started feeling more tense. You tried to calm down by looking at the hands you placed on your knees. Damian noticed your situation and reached out, wrapping his little finger around yours. Although he didn't like physical contact, he always did this when you needed it.

When you smiled at him, you noticed that instead of looking at you, he was looking out the window. Still, the small touch was enough to relax you. When you arrived in front of the gala, Alfred had already gotten out and opened your door for you. Damian get out car reached out his hand for you to hold.

After holding his hand and getting off, you lowered your head uncomfortably because the lights of the cameras of the journalists and reporters around were very bright. Damian, on the other hand, continued to walk upright and strong as if accustomed to this attention.

You relaxed when you entered to art gala room. Damian was still holding your hand, his eyes quickly found his father and directed you in that direction. When he stood in front of his father, he was confident and resolute. "Hello, father. This is my friend, Y/N."

When Bruce's eyes shifted to you, he looked at you with a gentle and rich smile and reached out his hand. 'Nice to meet you, young lady. Damian mentioned you very much."

You smiled at him and reached out your hand to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce's eyes briefly turned to Damian before shaking your hand. "I wasn't actually expecting Damian to make friends, he's usually quite selective." He drank the champagne in his hand and turned to Damian. "How about introducing your young friend to your brothers? They should be around."

Damian frowned. "They are annoying, we'll look at paintings instead." Without thinking, he rejected his father and dragged you towards a random painting.

As your eyes wandered around, he stopped in front of a beautiful painting. When your eyes were fixed on the picture, you carefully examined it, squinting your eyes. "Aren't brush strokes very simple? As if it's done without any emotion." You whispered to him.

When Damian's eyes shifted to the painting, he received a scornful look. "You're right, it is. Even when I was five, I could have done better than this."

You chuckled lightly and looked at him. "Ah, definitely." You moved on to another painting. "This one is more beautiful, I can see the artist's nervousness in the hardness of the brush strokes."

He shook his head. "The brush strokes are too harsh for a picture of a cheerful girl swinging on a swing," he said as he examined the painting.

You looked at him with a smile. "Perhaps he painted this picture with the hatred of his childhood." You came up with an idea.

Damian looked at you. "Maybe." After a while of silence, he turned back to the painting. "You know, I'm glad you came today. If you hadn't come, I might have thought about stabbing someone."

You looked at him with a slight chuckle. "You probably would."

As a slight smile formed on Damian's face, he took your hand and pulled you out to the balcony. "Come on, it's too stuffy inside."

When you stepped out onto the balcony, the sun was setting. Gotham had a rare clear sky, and today was one of those days. It was just you and Damian on the balcony. You took a deep breath and smiled as you looked outside. "The weather is nice."

Damian stood next to you with his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. "It is." When a strange silence passed among you, Damian felt the need to speak. "You know, you're one of the tolerable rare people."

You turned to him with a slight smile. "Thank you, you are also a good friend."

When his eyes shifted to you, the ghost of a smile played on his lips.

After a brief silence, this time you spoke. "You know, your father is very attractive."

Damian took a breath filled with frustration. "You're starting to being annoying now."

You chuckled lightly. "But he is. Is he single?"

Damian turned his stern gaze to you. "Maybe I should stab you."

You chuckled softly, of course he wouldn't do it.

『••✎••』

Thanks for reading♡♡

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: you comfort yuri after the events of chapter 14

COMMENTS: i fixed that bullshit scene in chapter 14 when those assholes made yuri cry. i know the mc isn't very confrontational but i am and i got SO mad when that screen happened that i actually skipped through most of the dialogue. fuck those guys. we comfort yuri in this household.

He wasn’t the one who did the betraying. He’d done nothing but his best at every turn. He would never do anything to hurt his patients. He had always done his best. That’s why he became a doctor—to help people in ways he couldn’t before. How could they just enter his clinic and say that!? How could he stop this from continuing? He wanted to leave, he wanted out, he could do this anymore—!

“That’s enough. Get the fuck out right now.”

Yuri sucks in a shuddering breath, his shoulders trembling. It takes a moment for him to realize that you'd stepped in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. The two Frostheim students don’t look deterred, though.

“Getting someone else to cover for yo—”

“Quiet. You have no right to speak here. Get the fuck out.”

“But—”

“Ah, no. Did you not hear me? You might want to go see Darkwick General if you’re becoming delirious. Did you honestly think you could just walk into Yuri’s lab and disrespect him like that? Take your fucking ointment and get out.”

“You—”

“Why are you still here? Trying to dig your own grave? I can’t understand why assholes like you think you even deserve to breathe the same air as him. Yuri is a very intelligent, compassionate man. He’s a far more valuable person than you will ever be.”

It takes Jiro coming back for them to scatter, but all Yuri can think about is how you’ve defended him. He stays silent, letting the thoughts wash over him, and it isn’t until you hold his face and murmur a soft “hey, let me see you,” that he breaks.

It’s embarrassing, sniffling in your arms like a child. His vision is blurry, but sees your heart broken expression and wishes he could fix it. He's the cause of it, the cause of that brokenness, and Yuri wants nothing more than to hold you together, to tell you that he’s fine and that they didn’t affect him at all, but he can’t speak. He soaks up your comfort, hiding his face in your shoulder as you wrap your arms around him, rubbing the most gentle circles onto his back. You’re talking—he thinks you don’t think he’s really, truly listening—and you say the sweetest things.

“You’ve done more with three minutes of your time than they will do with their entire lives,” you say, “You’re talented and strong and so, so smart. I’m always impressed by just how much you know. You’d think I would stop being surprised at some point, because you’re just such a hard worker, but I don’t think I ever will be.”

Your shirt is wet with his tears, His hands are wrinkling the fabric with the force of his grip.

Don’t go. Please stay. Please, please stay.

Believe him. Believe in him. Please.

He wants to stop the tears from falling, to remind you that he’s a strong person even though you've already confirmed it, but with your words his words die away. Your breath is warm against his ear and he shudders, a gut wrenching sob leaving his lips.

It’s been so hard. It always is and always will be.

“Breathe,” you murmur.

One of your hands finds its place on the crown on his head, and when you begin to stroke his hair like he’s someone precious, he crumbles all over again.

It feels so good to be vulnerable. He hates it, but it feels so good. You’re not shoving him away, or calling him a traitor, or yelling at him for his mistakes. You’ve accepted it, or maybe you don’t believe it, but whatever answer is good enough for him so long as you stay by his side.

“You’re a wonderful doctor, Yuri,” you say, “I’ve never met someone so dedicated to his work. I’ve never met someone as passionate as you about advancing the field. You’re so amazing. Don’t let those lowly bastards get you down.”

He hears you ask Jiro to fetch some tissues. He hears him leave.

Yuri thinks he might believe you.

For once in his life, he might believe the things he says about himself, because they come from you.

You have never lied to him, not even once. You wouldn’t start now.

Yuri knows, after all this is over, he’ll be a scared boy curled up behind the brick walls he’s erected over the years. He’ll deny your touch and blush when you smile or ask to hold his hand. He’ll call you ignorant and watch as your face scrunches up in displeasure.

He’d think you hated him.

Why do you stay!?

What if...he messes up with you, too?

“For the record, I don’t believe a single thing those Frostheimer’s say.” you chuckle, “It all sounds like bullshit to me. But if there is anything you want to tell me, be in now or five years from now, you can. I promise I’ll listen.”

Yuri slumps into you.

“I only want to believe the things you tell me about yourself,” you hum, “Because if I believe what everyone says, I wouldn’t really know you. And that’s what I want to do.”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, meeting your gaze with his bloodshot one.

Yuri opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. What should he say? Thank you? I care about you? I want you to stay by my side? I want to protect you, too?

Your eyes dart around his irises, scooping up all of his emotions with your steady hands like they’re tangible things. Like you can understand him perfectly, even though he says nothing.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you reach up and cup his cheek again, brushing your thumb against the wetness of his cheekbone, “I’m honored to be able to help you in any way I can.”

And then,

“I care about you so much.”

You’re so close.

Yuri turns bright red and averts his eyes, sniffling violently. Jiro, back with tissues, hands him a few. He blows his nose and wrinkles his face in displeasure. How could he let those Frostheim students get to him?

How could he ever be weakened when he was next to two of the people who mattered most to him?

[twistedpink]

Rook Hunt x Shapeshifter!Reader

The hardest thing you’ve ever done in your long, long life is climb the corporate ladder. The idol one, to be precise. Humans just can’t be pleased! It’s proven! With all your visual tweaks, and genre changes, and half-assed performances (that was later - your first couple debuts were flawless), you’re done. Officially, depressingly, quitting. The only thing to do with all the names and character ideas in the back of your head is retire, and focus on the “natural” path. Eating the people you wanted to have love you. In a way, it’s not all that different..

You’ll almost miss the limelight- Certainly not the stalkers and spandex, but definitely the attention. The best place in the modern world to avoid your past identities, believe it or not, is the city! Morphing into someone approachable’s easy game- You smooth out your celebrity cheekbones, let the fat of your chest and thighs redistribute into an average body, and when you’re just about done changing the shape of your teeth, it’s time to meet up with your date!

Humans are easy, a breed of mundane that you’d never find among your own kind- So unguarded in this era of seeing thousands of faces, how are you supposed to pick out things to steal if you don’t have firsthand experience? A mole here, or a scar there, human features definitely outweigh their.. Unfortunate intelligence.

Your date is perfect, as they always are with you. A tall, sunkissed blonde with a strong nose and stronger accent. He’s nothing short of beautiful- So much so you’d offered dropping by your place for some drinks. You wouldn’t mind taking a peek at something a bit more,, personal. He’s gullible enough to agree without further debate. They all are.

You’ve observed him the entire conversation- How his hands are calloused from work in the field, or the way his eyes react dollishly with your every word, not a thought behind those livestock eyes. He looks clean but doesn’t smell it.. He either doesn’t shower enough, or he’s peaked your senses,, You’ve been known for standing to attention with pretty boys.. Your eyes dilate when he speaks. He runs at 62 bpm, his eyes have little specks of gold, and GOD he’s trying to hold your hand! HOLD! HIS! HAND! YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DONT HOLD HIS HAND!

You’re sitting in the same booth, hot coffee sits in front of the both of you- You’re far too distracted to take a drink. You want him, Worse than you’ve ever wanted anything. The bay window’s light bathes him, like an angel.. You’re determined to make him a star. Once you’ve taken his body, of course. He’ll be your pretty muse! Give you motivation for the stage again! Your Rook. It’s torture to not lean into him, you want a bite,, :(

His vacant hand on the table reaches for his mug, and you see it happen like a stone coming at a glass house. It’d be too suspicious to react. You have to let it burn you. With a tink against the table, boiling coffee spills over the edge and onto your empty hand- Mercifully avoiding your date. While he goes to fetch a tissue, (stretching deliciously across the table) the offending wound flashes bright blues and greens in an attempt to colour match.. You really, truly hope you don’t have to explain away anything he might’ve seen. You don’t have the energy for that right now - much less to wipe yourself clean, so you let him do it. You’ve always fancied having a human or two wait on you.

“Ah! Ma puce! A touch off topic, but have you ever followed the lives of celebrities? I’m quite the fanatic, myself.”

Not one to fumble a hunt, you acquiesce. He’s a skilled multi tasker- The best a human can be, at least,,

“I do! I’m a super-fan of a newly retired poster girl for this hyperpop group,, totally gonna’ miss her stuff. Why do you ask?”

“Funny, you really do remind me of her.. In your own way. A fun coincidence, no?”

You consider, briefly, brushing him off- Ditching the project and skipping town,, There’s no point staying if your disguise isn’t perfect. Then again, why are you running in the first place from prey? This is your first human with the intuition to recognize you, even if it’s passing, you need to see how this plays out. You can’t help wondering if you might enjoy being hunted for once, if he’s really so good. The only way of knowing is to jump headfirst!

“So, how’s your schedule next Friday?”

@bju3c0re

[onaswife]

Marked by you

Couple: Alpha!Patri guijarro x Omega!Fem!Reader

Au!Omegaverse, Alpha x Omega.

Words count: 3,7k

Warning: +18

Patri has never been one of those alphas who believes in destiny or the idea that there is an Omega waiting for her somewhere in the world. For Patri, football has always been the only constant in her life, the only thing that really matters. Love, bonding, brands… She sees all of that as a distant, almost unreal concept. It's not that she doesn't understand instinct, but she's never felt that pressing need to claim or be claimed.

At least, until Y/N arrives at Barcelona.

Signed alongside Ewa Pajor, both from Wolfsburg and best friends. Ewa knew everything about Y/N and vice versa. From the moment Patri sees and meets Y/N, something changes in her.

Y/N is not just any forward; she is fast, intelligent and with a presence on the court that makes it impossible not to look at her. But what really throws her off is not her talent, but the way her body reacts to her presence. Her scent envelops her in a way she has never experienced before, her alpha wolf roars inside her every time Y/N gets too close, every time she smiles at her in that playful way that leaves her head in a mess.

“Well, as you may have heard, we have signed two new players,” Pere said during a meeting before the start of preseason. “Both from the same team in Germany… Please welcome Ewa Pajor and Y/N Weisz, we still have one more signing to finish, but the staff and I are quite excited to welcome these great players.”

Y/N POV.

Ewa and I walked slowly into the meeting room where the players of the squad were. As I entered, I automatically grabbed Ewa’s hand, my nerves jumped when I saw how many people were sitting in front of us, I thought it would only be the players, but there were people from the staff, I assumed the physios, that room was full of people.

“Come on Pup, you can do it” she pulled my hand so I could follow her to one side of Pere. While Pere was talking to us and, I assumed, introducing us, I let my gaze wander around the room. I spotted a person in the audience, which made me feel calmer, until I felt someone push me lightly. “You should introduce yourself Y/N”

“Umm, of course. I’m Y/N Weisz, I’m English and ummh… I play forward, nice to meet you”

I heard Ewa laugh beside me, which made me look at her badly as I let go of her hand “stupid” I wherpered just so she could hear. She just laughed. “You can go take a seat, we are going to talk about what is coming up in the preseason”

There were some free seats next to Alexia, where Ewa and I went to sit. As I settled into the seat, I smelled something that made me frown, Ewa noticed it “what is it pup? Is there something wrong?” I looked at her and gave her a small smile “do you remember that a few years ago I told you that I might have found my partner?” She gave me a confused look while nodding slightly “Girls, can you please pay more attention”

“I’m sorry Pere”

I looked to the side before wherpering “I think she is here” I received a surprised look from Ewa, but neither of them said anything else.

A few chairs away, Patri and Pina sat together playing while waiting for Pere to start talking about what he had planned for the preseason. After the new girl came in, Patri had started to feel strange, which was noticeable by not paying much attention to what Pina was saying to her.

“Damn Patri, could you pay more attention to me? I've been talking for more than 5 minutes”

“Sorry Pina, I got distracted by something stupid”

While Patri responded, without having any idea what Pina had said, she couldn't take her eyes off Y/N, there was something about the girl that made it almost impossible for her not to look at her and keep an eye on her.

“Stop looking at her, you look like a stalker... you're scary”

“Shut up, I'm not looking at Y/N”

Pina let out a laugh when she saw how her friend gave herself away “I never said you were looking at Y/N” Patri sighed as she lowered her head in defeat.

Two months had passed since Y/N's arrival in Barcelona and since then Patri has not stopped feeling strange. Despite trying to ignore what her body tells her every time the forward is near, the reality is that every interaction with her makes her self-control become more fragile.

Y/N's scent has become intoxicating to her, impossible to ignore. Her alpha wolf growls every time the omega gets too close to her, every time he brushes her arm in training or smiles at her in that playful way that leaves her head in a mess.

Y/N, for her part, is already fully integrated into the team. She has made friends with several of her teammates and her relationship with Patri has evolved into a kind of constant game of provocations. Sometimes, Y/N gets too close, pretending to need help with a play, when in reality she just wants to see how Patri tenses up in front of her.

u closeness. Other times, she drops comments that make Patri choke on her water in the middle of the locker room, which causes laughter in the rest of the team.

The connection between them is obvious to everyone, except Patri, who continues to refuse to accept what is more than obvious to the rest of the team: Y/N is her omega.

The music boomed in the club, and Y/N enjoyed the company of her teammates. Patri stayed close, always watching, with that intense gaze that sometimes made her shudder. However, in a moment of distraction, an unknown alpha got too close to Y/N. her strong and dominant scent suddenly surrounded her, and before she could react, she felt how they tried to mark her with their scent.

Y/N’s instinct screamed danger. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to get away, but the alpha insisted with a sly smile.

“You have no mark,” he said arrogantly. “You could use someone like me.”

Before Y/N could respond, a deep growl cut through the air. Patri was there, her body standing between them. Her presence was an imposing shadow, her eyes shining with suppressed fury.

“She doesn’t need anything from you,” her voice was low, dangerous.

The alpha raised her hands in mockery, but Patri gave him no chance to continue. He approached Y/N, leaning towards her neck, and without hesitation, he slid her nose along her omega’s exposed skin, releasing her own scent in an unmistakable way. Patri’s fragrance enveloped Y/N, replacing any trace of the intruding alpha.

Y/N felt her body relax, her instincts finally calming at being protected. Her alpha had marked her, at least with her scent.

The other alpha clicked his tongue and walked away in annoyance. Patri, without turning away, looked at Y/Nintensely.

“Are you okay?”

Y/N nodded, but her heart was pounding. “Thank you…”

Patri just looked at her for a moment before muttering, “I’m not going to let anyone touch you.”

And in that instant, Y/N knew that maybe, just maybe, Patri was finally starting to accept the inevitable.

After that occasion, things had undeniably changed. Y/N trusted Patri more, they went out more often and used to meet up at someone’s apartment to watch movies or a series they had recently started watching together.

Although one of them was collapsing emotionally.

Patri was afraid, she was afraid of love and destiny. Y/Nwas her fear made person.

Four months had passed since Y/N had arrived in Barcelona and Patri had already accepted the inevitable. Her alpha wanted that Omega, she wanted to claim her. Although Patri needed advice or to talk to a more experienced alpha.

“I need your help…”

Patri quickly entered the café where she had met Ingrid and Frido.

“Ther sounds serious,” Ingrid commented, leaning on the table in curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

Patri sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s Y/N. I don’t know what to do with her. My alpha wants her, but I don’t know how to take the next step.”

Frido smiled in amusement. “Why don’t you just mark her and be done with it? Easy.”

“Frido…” Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Not all alphas are as direct as you.”

Patri snorted. “Exactly. I don’t want to scare her or do something that will make her back off.”

Ingrid gave her a sympathetic look. “If she’s your Omega, she’ll know. You just need to show her that you’re there, that you’re not going to keep her waiting.”

But Patri still had doubts…

Patri had managed to sneak out of the locker room before Y/N showed up. She didn’t want to see her yet, not after Ingrid and Frido had made her face her own feelings. So she had opted to seek refuge in the gym, only to be found minutes later by Alexia and Aitana looking grumpy.

“What’s wrong with you?” Aitana asked, leaning against one of the machines with her arms crossed.

“It must be because she’s realized she’s completely in love with Y/Nand doesn’t know what to do about it,” Alexia replied with a sly smile.

Patri groaned. “Can you two not jump to your stupid conclusions for five minutes?”

Aitana raised her hands in peace. “Okay, okay. But if you wanted to talk to us, it’s for a reason.”

Patri sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a lower voice than usual.

Alexia and Aitana exchanged a look.

“About what?” Aitana asked, though they both already knew the answer.

Patri pressed her lips together, as if she was having trouble forming the words. “About Y/N. My alpha… wants to mark her. But I don’t want to screw up.”

Alexia burst out laughing. “Jeez, Patri! You say that like you’re going to bite her neck all of a sudden in the middle of a game.”

Aitana joined in. “Though it would be fun to see that.”

Patri rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile a little.

Alexia sighed and patted her on the back. “Look, if you really want her—and from the way you look at her, it’s pretty clear that you do—all you have to do is show her.”

“But if you really want her, you’ll have to do it.”

“Without being a brute,” Aitana added.

“Yes, without being a brute,” Alexia repeated with a smile. “Just be yourself, but don’t hold back so much. Y/Nis waiting for something from you, Patri. Don’t make her wait forever.”

Patri was silent for a moment, letting her words sink in. Then she nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Aitana repeated with an arched eyebrow.

Patri smiled, more confident ther time. “Okay.”

The night when everything changes is nothing extraordinary. There is no special occasion, no event that marks the moment, but the tension between them has been a constant in recent months, growing like a fire that neither of them has wanted to put out.

Patricio and Y/N are at Patri’s apartment, like so many other times. Dinner has been quiet, full of glances that say more than their mouths dare to admit. Y/N sits on the couch, legs folded under her, wearing a Patri t-shirt that's too big for her. The scent of her Alpha permeates the fabric, enveloping her like a constant reminder of who she belongs to, even if she doesn't officially belong there yet.

Patri sits beside her, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the TV screen, but she's not watching anything. She knows. Y/N knows. It's now or never.

"Patri." Y/N’s voice is soft, but firm.

The Alpha turns her face toward her, her dark eyes reflecting something contained, something she's tried to suppress for too long.

"Yes?"

Y/N licks her lips, her heart pounding. She doesn't want to beg, but she doesn't want to keep waiting either. "How much longer are you going to make me wait?"

Silence settles between them, heavy, burdened. Patricio doesn't answer right away. A few minutes pass, with Y/N waiting expectantly for an answer that never comes.

Taking that as a negative, Y/N decides to leave Patri's apartment, with a big wound in her heart.

“I think I screwed up”

“No shit Sherlock”

Patri looked down when she heard the tone of voice Ewa used with her.

“I panicked, understand me”

Alexia let out a sigh as she thought about how to help her friend.

“I know you're young and you tend to panic on certain occasions Patri, but your actions speak for you this time, and she ended up hurt”

“I know Ale, but what could I say to her?”

The conversation ended there, with a rather affected Patria, thinking about how to talk about that subject with Y/N again and be able to explain her reaction.

Before leaving the locker room, Alexia spoke again “Y/N won't come today, apparently she woke up a little sick and asked Pere for the day off” and with that, she left.

Now Patri had only one mission, go and see her omega and let her know that she wouldn't make her wait for her any longer. She went to talk to Pere, convincing her to let her go because she felt a little sick to her stomach and that she wouldn't be able to train. Pere also gave Patri the day off, believing her poorly crafted lie.

With permission granted, Patri went to her car and then headed to the supermarket that was near Y/N's apartment. She bought candy, chocolates, food and medicine for everything, in case she had a cold, in case she had a migraine, in case she had an upset stomach. Patri was prepared for everything.

Or well, almost everything.

She never imagined that the health problem that had prevented Y/Nfrom going to train that day would be her heat.

When Y/N opened the apartment door, thinking it was Ewa who would bring her food for the day, she was surprised to see Patri standing in front of her.

“Patri? What are you doing here, you should be training with the others…”

Patri was standing there without making any movement yet. The aroma Y/N was giving off was driving her crazy, she wasn't thinking very clearly anymore.

“Ewa sent you? Something bad happened to her?”

“Y/N..”

Y/N placed a hand on her shoulder, which made Patri's body react automatically. Y/N realized ther when she looked down to see what she had bought. Patri was having an erection right now in front of her. Y/N's Omega instincts were playing against her at that moment, the only thing she could think about was servicing her alpha's erection, being able to feel it and make her come.

“I... thanks for coming to see me Patri, but it's not the right time” Y/N was sweating, feeling her body beginning to go through another heat wave and her crotch getting wetter and wetter.

“Yes, sorry I...” Patri gripped the bags that were still hanging from her hands tighter. Her breathing was getting deeper and deeper, her face was now more rosy.

Y/N saw that doubt crossed Patri's face and she decided to take the initiative “You can leave the things in the kitchen… I'll go to my room” she moved to the side, leaving enough space for Patri to enter.

It was clearly a lie, as soon as Patri began to put things away, Y/N stood behind her and hugged her. She let her hands rest on Patri's abdomen, leaving light caresses, feeling the warm skin against the tip of her fingers, which made her moan.

Patri let her instincts carry her. She quickly turned around and captured Y/N's lips in hers. Y/N moaned in the middle of the kiss, urging Patri to continue. She grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto the counter.

“Please, Patri…”

Patri growled into Y/N's neck, close to where her mating mark should be.

Patri smiled mischievously, feeling her heartbeat intensely. Y/N's burning gaze turned her on even more, and the atmosphere was charged with an electric tension that enveloped them.

“Yes, that's exactly what I want,” Y/N answered in a small voice, her breathing ragged. Patri's eyes sparkled as she heard her Omega's plea. She knew that the moment was what they both wanted, a crossing of desires and instincts that they could no longer ignore.

Patri leaned forward, her lips barely brushing Y/N’s soft, warm skin, causing her to close her eyes in pure delight. “You have to tell me,” she whispered, her hot breath caressing Y/N’s neck, making Y/N shiver. She wanted to hear it, she wanted to know how far she was willing to go.

“I want to feel your mark, my alpha, please…” Y/N’s voice was almost a wail, an irresistible invitation. Patri’s hands began to roam Y/N’s body, exploring every curve, every angle. She lifted her shirt, exposing her abdomen, and slowly lowered her lips, leaving a trail of kisses that made Y/N’s skin burn.

“You’re so beautiful,” Patri murmured, leaving a kiss on the underside of her breast. The sound of Patri’s voice made Y/N’s body react immediately; her lips parted and a moan escaped her mouth again. She could feel Patri’s need, the palpable desire flowing between them.

With a speed that took her by surprise, Patri lifted herself up a little, positioning herself between Y/N’s legs, who could wait no longer. Her face burned with desire as Patri looked into her eyes, seeking consent in every moment, every touch.

“Are you ready?” Patri asked, her lips just inches from Y/N’s, as if they were dancing in a current of sexual energy.

“Yes, fuck…” Y/Nanswered, eager, her voice full of longing.

Patri smiled, feeling that little phrase light a flame inside her. “Then I won’t stop,” she said in a husky voice, full of promise.

She took the head of her member in her hands, moving closer to Y/N’s entrance, feeling how wet and ready she was for her. With a firm but tender movement she pushed it in, Patri kissed her again, their time with a fierce passion that made both bodies move in perfect rhythm.

Patri began to rock her hips faster and more urgently, while Y/N couldn't stop moaning and asking for her alpha. The counter shook under the weight of their bodies, but nothing mattered. There was only them, unleashing a storm of sensations. Y/N's nails dug into Patri's back, inviting more.

“Yes Patri, right there… God”

Y/N's head fell forward, resting on Patri's shoulder, while she took one of Y/N's legs and lifted it up on the counter to get deeper. “Is that what you want? For me to fill you up and have my puppies?”

“Yes… I want you to call me Patri… Fill me with your cum”

“You feel so good… Y/N, my friend” Patri ran her tongue over the spot of the mark, preparing it to place her mark.

When Patri felt Y/N’s walls begin to close around her cock, she began to make deeper movements. She was turned on by the idea of ​​being able to fill her omega’s pussy, seeing how Y/N then dripped with her cum.

“Take it all Cari… I want to see how good you will look filled with me”

The only sound that could be heard in that kitchen was that of both of their hips colliding, besides the wet sound they made.

“Patri, I'm going to do it... keep going like that, please.”

Y/N bit her lip to avoid making more noise, but Patri stopped her movements a little when she saw that. “No, Patri... why are you stopping?” Patri brought her hand to Y/N's face and her fingers caressed her lips. “I want to hear you, Y/N…”

After that exchange of words, Patri went back to her swing, waiting for her omega to climax.

As soon as she felt the spasms run through Y/N's body, Patri bit Y/N's neck, finally being able to mark her as hers.

Within minutes, they were both in Y/N's room, where she was riding Patri. Y/N was leaning forward slightly, holding onto Patri's abdomen, leaving scratches, but Patri couldn't care less if that meant seeing her omega jump on her cock and have her tits bouncing in her face.

For the next two days, neither of them left that apartment, although well, Patri was forced to stay lying next to her omega (recently claimed) since she didn't want to feel her alpha away from her. When Y/N's heat ended, they both had to go back to training, normally.

As soon as they arrived at the sports city, it was more than obvious to everyone what had happened, and well, if it wasn't obvious, Y/N proudly showed off the recently acquired mark. Behind her, Patri walked in, a small smile on her lips at something Y/N had said on the way to the locker room.

When Y/N walked out onto the field to warm up with Ewa and Keira, Alexia was the first to make a mocking comment to Patri.

"Welcome to the claimed Alphas club, Patri," Alexia says with amusement. "You've got a great life ahead of you." Everyone present burst out laughing at what Alexia said and at the sight of Patri blushing.

"Honestly, I thought it would take you another year," Frido adds with a smile.

I did my best with this. revised I hope you like it