#thank you all for being so patient yo

[jensthwa]

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before. 

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much. 

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions. 

The main one being: What the fuck did you do? 

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess. 

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears. 

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it. 

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back. 

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions. 

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal: 

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worn out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn. 

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him. 

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool. 

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back. 

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out. 

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you. 

Yeah, you'll figure it out.  

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you. 

You are fucked. 

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon. 

“Mingi is driving you, right?” 

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation. 

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.” 

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?” 

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?” 

“R-right.” 

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink. 

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath. 

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.” 

“You made it, dear.” 

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!” 

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face. 

Maybe not the smartest option. 

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you. 

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love? 

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well. 

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization. 

The casual texting annoys you. 

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either! 

Oh, maybe that's why. 

But it ticks you off either way. 

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today? 

It doesn't make any sense. 

You hit send. 

> gi: aaaaand?  > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed. 

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf  > gi: my butt is all bruised.  > gi: kiss it better? 

Oh. 

Not casual texting. At. All. 

Or maybe it is? 

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer. 

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late. 

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being. 

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday. 

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way. 

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day. 

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget. 

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.  

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's. 

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue. 

God damnit, Y/N, get it together. 

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door. 

“You do know how to change a tire, son?” 

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile. 

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.” 

“And make sure to—” 

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?” 

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even. 

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning. 

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it. 

“I was just making sure that he—” 

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well. 

“Alright. Love you, take care!” 

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval. 

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief. 

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?” 

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.” 

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door. 

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now. 

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.” 

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.” 

“You can help me with that.” 

“Can I now?” 

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.” 

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation. 

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.” 

A bit of silence passes within the both of you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place. 

Nothing has changed. 

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into a hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing. 

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door. 

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in. 

“You made it!” 

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.” 

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?” 

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.” 

If Seonghwa catches the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—” 

“Mingi!” 

What the hell is she doing here? 

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe? 

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men. 

Right now? She's your worst nightmare. 

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away. 

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid. 

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised. 

“Well fuck me, am I right?” 

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on your shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.” 

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away. 

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.” 

“You can't possibly know that.” 

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.” 

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same. 

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.” 

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri. 

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.” 

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting. 

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.” 

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh. 

“We're just friends now!” 

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—” 

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him. 

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening. 

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend. 

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you. 

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts. 

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before. 

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you? 

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there. 

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!” 

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!” 

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask. 

“Who is sh—” 

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?” 

Huh?! 

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped. 

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—” 

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.” 

Great, that didn't work either. 

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?” 

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.” 

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.” 

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.” 

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this. 

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh. 

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool. 

“Sure thing.” 

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move. 

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi. 

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out. 

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe. 

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs. 

When you're tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you. 

“What the fuck, Mingi?” 

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror. 

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?” 

“People usually knock!” 

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax. 

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so. 

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back. 

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck. 

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.” 

You let out a sigh. 

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?” 

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.” 

“Cool.” 

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.” 

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, buddy.” 

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising. 

“What's so amusing?” 

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?” 

He's such a guy sometimes. 

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—” 

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.” 

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.” 

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—” 

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.” 

“Mingi, don't say that!” 

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason. 

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.  

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—” 

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!” 

“You don't even know her name, love.” 

“That's not the fucking point!” 

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words. 

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy. 

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense. 

You hate it. 

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment. 

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings. 

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you. 

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight. 

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.” 

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs. 

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing. 

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—” 

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.” 

“Did something happen or…?” 

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks. 

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means. 

“Ye—” 

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.” 

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder. 

Immature. Petty. Rude. 

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset. 

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again. 

As he should be. 

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street. 

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is. 

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step. 

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.” 

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head. 

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating. 

He's angry. Shit. 

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it. 

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff. 

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road. 

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment. 

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything. 

“You shouldn't have bothered.” 

“I am bothered. You bothered me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?” 

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!” 

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.” 

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support. 

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car. 

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance. 

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation. 

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.” 

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short. 

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.” 

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.” 

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up. 

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.  

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line. 

“Well, she's a friendly girl!” 

“She didn't even say hi to me!” 

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!” 

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.” 

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.” 

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi. 

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you. 

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back. 

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—” 

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it. 

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you. 

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right. 

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it. 

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…” 

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.” 

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.” 

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.” 

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?” 

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—” 

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later. 

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold. 

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving. 

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop. 

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for. 

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made. 

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again. 

“This goddamn dress, love.” 

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?” 

“Been thinking about it all day…” 

“It worked, by the way.” 

“Woo?” 

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.” 

“And Jongho?” 

“Probably plotting against me right now.” 

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.” 

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick. 

“Worked on you, too.” 

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.” 

“Oh?” 

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience. 

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.” 

This is it. 

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again. 

“I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if it's too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too. 

You kiss him until it hurts. 

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more. 

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time. 

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands. 

And then it doesn't. 

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way. 

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist. 

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and lets his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms. 

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so. 

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?” 

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit. 

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again. 

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question. 

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?” 

“Fuck, Mingi…” 

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right. 

“Y-yes.” 

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.” 

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away. 

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?” 

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.” 

“Mingi…” 

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—” 

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—” 

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.” 

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips. 

What a tease. 

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease. 

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit. 

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second. 

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high. 

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close. 

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth. 

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does. 

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly. 

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.” 

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?” 

“You don't have to, love.” 

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.” 

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods. 

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it. 

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting. 

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it. 

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car. 

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.” 

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier. 

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again. 

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick from touching is your hand. 

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor. 

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable. 

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth. 

“Condom. Now.” 

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.” 

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!” 

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…” 

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously. 

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…” 

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago. 

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling. 

“Baby… Harder.” 

“Yeah?” 

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break. 

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. 

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge. 

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well. 

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple. 

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns. 

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.” 

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does. 

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there. 

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you. 

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?” 

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?” 

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.” 

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.” 

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.” 

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.” 

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.” 

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't see it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.” 

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended. 

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment hanging out. 

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents. 

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason. 

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you. 

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways. 

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions. 

But everyone seems unaffected by it. 

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.” 

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on. 

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff. 

“And no one told us?!” 

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust. 

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.” 

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.” 

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile. 

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh? 

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?” 

“I’m sure Mingi did—” 

“Wooyoung!” 

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all. 

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.” 

“Am not!” 

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.  

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops. 

There's some story there you don't know. 

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.” 

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts. 

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter. 

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away. 

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.” 

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night. 

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis. 

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him. 

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all. 

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.” 

You smile “Well, she's right.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off. 

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth. 

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips. 

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!” 

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[inseobts]

Thank you for all your amazing writing! Your blogs seriously make my day every time. Could you write a Law x reader where the reader falls ill with a rare, incurable disease? I just keep thinking about Law experiencing what Corazon went through back then… 😭 It can have a SE or HE, whatever you feel fits best!"

Terminal

law × reader

you fall ill with a rare, incurable disease and law refuses to accept it.

a/n: this was so sad T.T btw as I said in my rules post I don’t write about this kind of topic, but given that law’s story is about that I wanted to give it a try

words count: 4.2k

tags: terminal illness, soft, angst, worried law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You’re burning up.”

Law’s voice is calm, but you know him well enough to hear the tension beneath it. His hand lingers on your forehead, cool against your feverish skin.

You force a grin, despite the way your body aches “That’s just the effect you have on me.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, his brows knit together further, golden eyes dark with something unreadable.

“Don’t joke” he says flatly.

“Come on, it was funny” you mumble, but your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Law exhales sharply. He presses two fingers against your wrist, checking your pulse. You see the flicker of something in his eyes. Worry.

“Since when?”

“Since when what?”

“Since you started feeling like this.” His voice drops lower, more controlled “Don’t lie.”

You sigh, shifting under the blanket “A few days ago. Maybe a week?”

“A week?” His jaw clenches, and you watch the way his fingers curl into a fist “And you didn’t tell me?”

“You were busy, Law,” you murmur “I didn’t want to bother you.”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes darken, sharp and cutting, and for a second, you swear he’s actually angry. But when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You think I wouldn’t drop everything for you?”

Your breath catches. You can’t look at him. Instead, you force out another weak chuckle “Well, you are a very important pirate, Captain.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Pretending it’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you. The world tilts, your vision swims, and you barely register the way your body sways before Law is already there, steady hands catching you before you can fall.

“Y/N” His grip tightens around you, firm, grounding “I need to run some tests.”

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, too exhausted to protest “…That bad?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. You feel his heartbeat being too fast, too tense.

When he finally speaks, it’s quiet. Almost too quiet.

“I’m going to fix this.”

And for the first time ever since you know him, you don’t believe him.

The beeping of medical equipment fills the silence.

You sit on Law’s examination table, legs dangling as he adjusts the monitor beside you. His brows are furrowed, golden eyes locked onto the screen, and even though he hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

The tension in the air is unbearable.

“Are you always this serious when you play doctor, or am I just special?” you tease, tilting your head at him.

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

You sigh dramatically “Come on, Law. You can’t even crack a smile for your beloved patient?”

“You’re not a patient,” he mutters “You’re my partner.”

His words send a little warmth through your chest, but before you can respond, he steps closer and gently presses his fingers against your wrist, feeling for your pulse again.

The warmth fades when you notice the way his hand lingers just a little too long.

“You like holding my hand that much?” you tease, forcing a grin “If you wanted to be romantic, you could’ve just asked.”

This time, his jaw tightens “Your pulse is weak.”

You try to wave him off with your free hand “That’s just because you’re touching me. Makes my heart stops, you know?”

“Y/N...” he warns, voice sharp.

You falter.

His hand moves to your other wrist, then your neck, fingers pressing lightly against your skin. His eyes are unreadable, but his silence is louder than anything he could say.

“…You’re scared” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

Law stiffens, but doesn’t deny it.

The realization makes your stomach twist, but you force another smile “Don’t worry, I’m still cute even when I’m dying.”

That does it. His head snaps up, eyes blazing “Don’t say that.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy, suffocating.

You swallow “Sorry. Just trying to make you laugh.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You look away, fingers curling against the examination table.

Another long silence. Then, his hands are suddenly on either side of your face, tilting your head up gently so you’re looking at him again. His touch is careful, but his grip is firm, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

His voice is quieter this time “You’re not dying.”

You stare at him. For a moment, you want to believe him, but the way his hands tremble against your skin tells you otherwise.

After a while, Law stares at the test results, fingers tightening around the paper. His golden eyes flick over the numbers, the medical jargon, the hard, undeniable facts.

It’s terminal.

He’s quiet... too quiet. That’s the first thing that unsettles you. You’re used to his silence, but this is different. This is suffocating.

“So?” You swing your legs lightly from the examination table, forcing a smirk “What’s the verdict, Doc? Am I dying?”

Silence.

The smirk falters “Law?”

His fingers crumple the edge of the paper. His jaw tightens. And then, so softly that you almost don’t hear it, he says “…It’s incurable.”

For a second, you swear time stops.

The words don’t register at first. They don’t make sense. It’s like your brain refuses to process them.

And then you laugh.

It bursts out before you can stop it, light, teasing, just like every other joke you’ve made today “Wow, dramatic. You make it sound like I’m already in my grave.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even look at you.

The smile on your lips wavers.

“You’re kidding, right?”

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He still won’t look at you.

Your heart pounds a little faster “Law. Tell me you’re joking.”

Nothing.

The laugh that slips out this time is shaky “Come on, then this is the part where you tell me there’s some rare treatment, right? Some experimental surgery? You’re Trafalgar freakin’ Law, Surgeon of Death. There’s no way—”

“y/n.”

The way he says your name, quiet, strained, makes the air leave your lungs.

Your fingers curl against the fabric of your shirt. The examination table feels too cold beneath you. The walls feel like they’re closing in.

“No...” you whisper.

Law’s lips press into a thin line. His hands twitch, like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t.

“No” you say again, more forcefully this time. You shake your head, heat rising in your chest, crawling up your throat “You’re wrong. There’s... there’s gotta be something. You just haven’t figured it out yet. Right?”

“Y/N—”

“No!” The word cracks as it leaves you “I’m not dying!”

Your vision blurs. Your hands shake. And suddenly, it’s too much.

Your body moves before you can think, you push yourself off the table, right into his chest.

Law catches you instantly, arms wrapping around you, steady, grounding. And just like that, everything shatters.

“I don’t—I don’t want to die” you choke out, gripping his coat like it’s the only thing keeping you here “I want to stay. With you. I want—” Your voice breaks “I want a future. I want us to be happy. I want—”

A sob wracks through you.

“I want a family with you.”

Law stiffens.

The words spill out before you can stop them, you smile at him between your tears “A little version of you, all broody and nerdy and so so cute” You let out a wet laugh, broken and trembling “They’d probably scowl just like you, but they’d love books and have messy hair and—”

Your voice crumbles into sobs.

Law doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

And then his arms tighten around you, crushing, like he’s trying to hold you together, keep you from falling apart.

His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“I’m going to save you.”

You want to believe him.

Only God knowa how much you want to believe him.

But the fear in his voice tells you even he isn’t sure.

The next morning, you wake up to find Law hunched over his desk, surrounded by stacks of medical books and scattered notes.

You sigh “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“Sleep is a waste of time,” he mutters, scribbling something down “I need to go through every known case—”

“You need to stop already.”

He freezes.

Slowly, he turns to look at you. His dark circles are deeper than usual, his face unreadable, but you know him. You know that behind that impassive expression, he’s desperate.

You force a grin “If I really only have a little time left, do you really wanna waste it buried in books instead of spending it with me?”

Law’s fingers tighten around his pen.

“I’m not giving up” he says, voice low.

“I know,” you say gently “But I don’t want to spend my last time watching you drive yourself insane. If I’m gonna die, I wanna die happy.”

The words sting, but they’re true.

Law exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn’t respond.

You hop off the bed, stretching dramatically “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m done being sad. It’s exhausting. So I’m back, and better than ever!” You flash him a grin “That means full-time comedy and flirting, just for you, Captain!”

His brow twitches “Y/N...”

You wag a finger at him “Shh, let me have this.” You strike a pose “Behold, Trafalgar D. Law’s hottest, funniest girlfriend! Incurable disease edition!”

Nothing.

You pout “Wow. Tough crowd.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose “Why do I put up with this?”

“Because I’m irresistible,” you say, leaning closer “And because you love me.”

His breath hitches for just a second.

And then, quietly “Yeah.”

You blink. Your cheeks burn “Whoa, that was easier than I thought. If I’d known getting a lovely love confession was that easy, I would’ve faked a terminal disease ages ago.”

“Not funny” he mutters.

You snicker “Okay, okay, this one wasn't the best.”

Law sighs, shaking his head. But when he looks at you, his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he looks away.

And suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. Because this is too familiar to him.

The way you laugh, the way you grin like you aren’t dying, like none of this is real... it reminds him of Corazon. Always smiling. Always laughing. Even with blood in his mouth. Even when he knew he was going to die.

A lump forms in Law’s throat.

You notice his change in expression instantly “Hey. What’s wrong?”

His fingers twitch at his sides “Nothing” he lies.

But you see it in his eyes, the fear.

You sigh, stepping closer, reaching for his hands. His fingers are cold. You squeeze them.

“Law,” you say softly “I’m not trying to leave you behind. I just... I don’t want you to only remember me as the person who was sick, who died. I want you to remember me smiling. Happy. With you. Because that's what I am.”

His hands tighten around yours.

He doesn’t say anything. But when you squeeze his hands again, he squeezes back.

You think Law has finally accepted things.

You think he’s finally listening to you, finally spending time with you instead of drowning himself in books and medical theories. And for a while, he does.

He stays close, fingers brushing against yours when you walk, arms wrapping around you when he thinks no one is looking. Some nights, he holds you a little too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

It makes you happy. It makes you feel alive. But then, he starts again.

The sleepless nights. The books. The notes. The obsessive, frantic research.

You wake up one night to find the bed empty.

Again.

With a sigh, you push yourself up. You grip the blanket, taking slow, even breaths, waiting for your vision to finally settles, you get up and pad toward Law’s office.

You don’t bother knocking.

“Law...”

He doesn’t look up. He’s hunched over his desk, surrounded by open books, pages filled with diagrams of Devil Fruits and medical notes scribbled in his messy handwriting. His coat is discarded on the chair, sleeves rolled up, hands gripping a pen so tightly his knuckles are white.

You frown “What are you doing?”

“Working.” His voice is hoarse.

“Yeah, I can see that, genius. But on what?”

He finally looks at you. There’s something wild in his eyes, desperation, determination, obsession.

You step closer. Your gaze flickers to the notes. And then your heart stops.

“Law,” you whisper, throat dry “Are you... are you trying to find me a Devil Fruit?”

“Not just any Devil Fruit,” he mutters, flipping a page. His fingers move fast, tracing over diagrams “Something similar to the Ope Ope no Mi. Something that could manipulate your body, enhance cellular regeneration, maybe even reprogram the disease out of you.”

Your stomach drops.

“Law.”

“I just need to find the right one.” He keeps going like he hasn’t heard you “There’s research, fragments of old studies, theories. If I can modify a fruit’s properties, or find a compatible—”

“Law!”

He flinches.

You swallow, hands shaking “You can’t just... you can’t force me to eat a Devil Fruit.”

He glares at you, jaw clenched “If it’s the only way to save you, then yes, I can.”

The air crackles between you.

For the first time, you see that he won’t stop. He won’t accept it. Not like you have.

You take a shaky breath “You’re trying to save me the same way Corazon saved you...”

His body tenses.

“You think if I eat a fruit like yours, I’ll survive just like you did.”

Silence.

“I won’t lose you” he whispers.

Your heart clenches.

You step closer, reaching for his face, cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch immediately, like he’s starved for it.

“Law,” you say softly “You can’t fix this, and it's okay.”

He squeezes his eyes shut “There’s always a way.”

You shake your head “Even if there is… do you really want to spend our last moments like this? Chasing something that might not even exist?”

His breath shudders against your palm.

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer.

Law is different after that night.

He still spends hours in his office, buried in books, chasing after a cure that may not exist. He still barely sleeps, barely eats, his mind running in endless circles of calculations and medical theories.

But now he makes time for you.

It starts small. Sitting next to you on the deck, staring at the ocean in comfortable silence. Letting you lean against him while he reads, his hand absentmindedly brushing over yours.

Then, it becomes more. Stealing moments with you in the kitchen, pretending to help while you cook, though he mostly just watches you with those quiet, golden eyes. Taking you to watch the sunset, fingers grazing against yours but never quite holding on.

And sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he smiles.

It reminds you of something he once told you.

“Even now you’re trying to do what Corazon did for you, aren’t you?” you say one night, breaking the silence.

Law tenses beside you.

The two of you are lying on the bed, facing each other. It’s one of the rare nights he actually gets in bed with you instead of falling asleep at his desk. His fingers hover near your wrist, not quite touching, just barely brushing your skin.

He doesn’t answer right away. But you see it in his eyes.

“I’m not like him” he mutters.

You smile, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear “You’re right. From what you told me, he was goofier. More dramatic.”

His lips twitch “That sounds more like you.”

“Maybe,” you hum “But you’re doing exactly what he did. You’re trying to give me happy memories while working yourself to death behind my back.”

His eyes darken.

You brush a hand against his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. He looks exhausted, but you know that no matter what you tell him, he won’t stop.

“You can’t save everyone, Law” you whisper.

His grip tightens around the sheets “I can save you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling softly.

“Then at least promise me something” you murmur.

He waits.

“When I go—”

“You’re not—”

“When I go,” you say again, firmer this time, “I want you to keep going. Don’t disappear. Don’t close yourself off.”

Law stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“You think I could just move on?” he finally asks, voice raw.

“I think,” you say, fingers brushing against his, “that you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t answer.

But later that night, when he thinks you’re asleep, you feel his hand finally take yours. And for the first time, you wonder who’s more afraid of losing the other, you or him.

For the first time in weeks, Law looks alive.

He bursts into the Polar Tang’s main room, eyes sharp, steps quick, movements filled with purpose. His coat flares behind him as he scans the room, spotting the Heart Pirates scattered around, Shachi and Penguin bickering, Bepo munching on a snack, Ikkaku polishing her tools.

“All of you,” he orders, voice firm, urgent “Meeting. Now.”

The crew blinks at him.

“Whoa, Captain, you good?” Penguin asks, tilting his head “You look—”

“Awake,” Shachi finishes “Which is weird, considering you haven’t slept in days.”

“Meeting. Now.” Law repeats, already turning toward the control room.

Bepo exchanges glances with the others before nodding “Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the crew is gathered. The room is tense, because they can feel it. Something has changed.

Law places both hands on the table, looking at them with determination burning in his golden eyes.

“I’ve found a cure.”

Silence.

Then Penguin nearly chokes “Wait, what?!”

“You...” Shachi’s eyes widen “You’re serious?”

Bepo’s ears twitch “Captain…”

Law nods, rolling out a hand-drawn diagram of an unknown Devil Fruit.

“It’s called the Vita Vita no Mi,” he explains “A Devil Fruit that enhances the body’s ability to regenerate and purge diseases. It was recorded in old medical texts from over a century ago, lost, believed to be a myth. But I found something.”

He flips to another page.

“There were reports of this fruit appearing in a black-market trade just over a decade ago. Tracked to an island in the Grand Line.” His gaze hardens “We’re going there.”

The crew stares.

“You mean—” Ikkaku leans forward “You mean there’s a chance?”

“A damn good one,” Law says “If I can get my hands on this fruit, if I can modify its effects, then Y/N...”

He stops. Swallows.

“Then she survives.”

The weight of his words hits the crew all at once.

Shachi exhales sharply “Tell us what you need, Captain.”

Penguin nods “We’re in.”

Bepo clenches his fist “We’ll get that fruit.”

Law looks at them, the family he’s built, the people who trust him without question.

“Set course,” he orders “We leave now.”

And for the first time since this nightmare started, there’s hope.

The ship cuts through the Grand Line’s turbulent waters, the Polar Tang moving faster than it has in weeks. There’s a sense of urgency now, an undercurrent of hope that the crew has never felt before.

Law is different. His usual calm, stoic nature is there, but there’s a fire behind his eyes, a purpose that drives every action. He barely sleeps, constantly working to map out the island, planning for the worst.

Every night, before he goes to bed, he checks on you. His hands are gentle, his gaze searching, but he says nothing. He only watches you breathe, listens to the soft rise and fall of your chest.

In those moments, you think he’s not sure if you’ll be there when he returns.

But when he talks about the cure, when he speaks of the Vita Vita no Mi, the miracle fruit, you see the fire again. Hope.

And for a while, you let yourself believe.

Days pass. The island is in sight.

Law stands at the bow of the ship, eyes fixed on the shore.

“Keep steady” he commands, his voice cold, calculated.

You’re on the deck, staring at the sky as the island draws nearer. You’ve grown weaker over the past few days. The disease is ravaging your body, and you can feel it. But you smile through it, just like you promised.

Bepo stays by your side, as always. The big polar bear mink is there, standing guard, just as loyal as ever. His presence is a small comfort to you, he’s worried, you can tell, but he never presses.

You want to get up, join the crew, help them find the cure, but Bepo gently guides you back down when you try to stand, his big paw resting on your shoulder.

Bepo says softly “Captain’s got this.”

Law approaches, his figure towering over you, the weight of his gaze unmistakable.

“I’m going with you,” you say, your voice light, teasing “No way I’m letting you get all the glory, Captain.”

He crouches in front of you, his eyes softer than they’ve been in days.

“You’re staying here with Bepo.”

You blink at him “You don’t trust me to keep up with you?”

He smiles, just barely. It’s small, fleeting, but it’s there.

“Stay here, please.” His voice is quiet, almost a plea.

You want to argue, but the look in his eyes stops you.

You smile at him, though the effort is exhausting “I’ll just be here… waiting.”

The crew disembarks, heading into the thick jungle, with Law leading the charge. The air is thick, the path winding and treacherous. It’s as though the island doesn’t want them to succeed. But they don’t stop.

The days blur together as they search, scouring every inch of the land, every forest, every cave. Law is relentless. The fruit is out there. He knows it. He can feel it.

And then a blast of sound cuts through the jungle, a distant rumble that echoes in the air. Law’s eyes widen, his body tensing. Without a word, he sprints while teleporting himself.

The crew follows quickly, but the jungle seems to twist itself around them, the path becoming harder and more dangerous as they go.

Law doesn’t care. He’s focused on one thing now: getting back to you.

You’re lying on the deck, growing weaker by the minute, your breath shallow. You know the end is near.

But Bepo stays with you, his warm presence a steady anchor. He’s the one who brings you water, who keeps you from slipping into a fevered daze. He’s the one who makes sure you’re comfortable, even as your body is slowly shutting down.

“Hang in there,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face “Captain will bring the cure back. I know he will.”

You want to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, but the words won’t come.

You reach for his paw weakly, and he holds your hand with surprising tenderness.

Hours pass. The night grows darker, and the crew has yet to return. The air is thick with tension.

Finally, the sound of heavy footsteps reaches the deck.

Law appears, drenched in sweat, his face hard but his eyes alive.

“Y/N…” His voice cracks as he kneels beside you, his hands immediately going to your face, checking for fever, your pulse.

“You found it?” you whisper, barely able to speak.

He nods, not trusting his voice. He opens his pack, pulling out the Vita Vita no Mi, the fruit wrapped carefully in cloth.

But before he can do anything, you stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Law… don’t…” You cough, a weak laugh escaping you “I don’t know if it’ll work… if it’s too late…”

“No,” he insists, his voice desperate “It will work. I won’t let you—”

“I just wanted to be with you,” you whisper, the words barely audible “I wanted to see you happy… with me.”

Bepo steps back, his heart heavy, but he’s still there, watching over you.

Law hesitates, his eyes locked on yours. The fruit still rests in his hand, but he can’t bring himself to do it—not yet.

“Please,” you whisper, weakly gripping his hand “Just stay… stay with me.”

He looks at you, the flicker of fear in his eyes, fear of losing you, the same fear he’s been running from since Corazon.

“I won’t leave you,” Law says softly “I promised, remember?”

The crew now waits in the background, hearts clenched in their chests. They don’t speak. They don’t breathe.

The night stretches on, heavy with anticipation. But nothing happens.

Law continues to hold the fruit, watching you closely, waiting for a sign, a flicker of hope. But you’ve grown so still. The seconds feel like hours, and when Law finally lifts the fruit to your lips, your eyes flicker open again, meeting his.

You smile, the faintest of smiles.

“I’m sorry for not being stronger…” You pause, each word coming with effort, but you press on “But you have to live, okay? You have to keep going. Don’t waste your life… Please… don’t waste it… for me.”

His eyes widen in shock, and a single tear slips down his cheek.

“I can’t lose you” he whispers, his voice breaking.

But you just smile faintly, your hand weakly squeezing his “Even if this won't work, I need you to know you already saved me… You gave me this life, this love. Now live it, for both of us.”

Your eyes flutter shut once more, and the world holds its breath.

[science-hoes]

Matching

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, blowjob in the bathroom, anxiety and panic attacks

A/N: I’m in a writing frenzy right now. And tomorrow is my birthday so this is a present to myself. This one will almost certainly have a part 2, but not sure if I will write it next or move to another prompt. Thank you for all the suggestions and ideas! They are being filed away for future reference.

—

There wasn’t really a dress code in the Pitt. A lot of people wore black, navy, or gray scrubs. But that just wasn’t you. If you had to work in a place as dark as an underfunded emergency department, then you were going to bring joy where you could. That included wearing fun color scrubs. Pink, green, sky blue, and on and on. But today you wore your lavender scrubs, and they were no match to the blood that stained the fibers while stabilizing a gunshot wound to the chest. The patient came in so fast, and you had no time to grab the yellow PPE apron to protect your beloved scrubs.

After the patient was stabilized and surgery had been consulted, you walked to the lounge, hoping that you had remembered to pack an extra pair of scrubs. You didn’t want to do the walk of shame to the vending machine like Whitaker did the other day.

You snatched your backpack from the cubby and bolted towards the bathroom. Your backpack revealed a spare pair of scrubs in pale pink. Perfect. You usually matched your bra and panties to the color that you wore to work that day, just for fun, but lavender and pale pink go together pretty well.

You pulled the bloodied scrub top over your head and tossed it on the ground. It couldn’t get any dirtier than it already was.

Then the bathroom door swung open. Shit. You forgot to lock the door. You froze where you were, hands on the drawstring of your scrub pants. In walked Dr. Robby, with a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples. The door shut behind him, and he reached to lock it with his free hand out of habit.

Fuck. Your attending was in the room with you. While you were half naked. What were you supposed to do? Say hello? Scream?

But you stayed silent and still, like a deer that doesn’t know the gun is pointed at her forehead. Robby had leaned against the bathroom door, taking in deep breaths, with his face in his hands. Sweat was dripping down his neck, and his signature hoodie was missing. His large biceps threatened to bust through the sleeves of his black scrubs, and you could almost see…oh, a new tattoo? Maybe it wasn’t new, but you had never seen it before. You squinted to focus your eyes, trying to read the script on his skin when a booming “JESUS, FUCK!” snapped you out of your concentration.

Robby was staring at you with wide eyes, and he had stumbled back into the corner where the sink and mirror were, arms spread back on the wall to catch himself from falling.

“I-I am so sorry, Dr. Robby. I think I forgot to lock the door, and you just came in so fast, and I didn’t think to…to…” You rambled, but then caught his reaction.

His face was red, flushed all the way to his ears. And now it was his turn to be frozen. His eyes swept up and down your body, and his breathing became more labored.

You took a step forward to him, with your hand out, like you were trying to calm a wild animal. “Are you okay?” You asked with concern.

Robby slowly lifted his eyes to meet yours, eyebrows drawn together. He licked his dry lips like he was going to speak, but the words wouldn’t fall out of his mouth. His junior resident was topless in front of him. What was he supposed to do? Run? Fall to his knees?

His breathing wasn’t steady, and he began to sink to the ground slowly. You ran to kneel in front of him, grabbing his shoulders to establish a physical connection.

“Dr. Robby. Are you having a panic attack?” You asked, but you knew if he was in his right mind, he would have chastised you for the silly question instead of a proper patient encounter. But this was different. “Robby, it’s just you and me.”

Robby hung his head, trying to get a hold of his breathing, but you could see he was getting dizzy from hyperventilating. You grabbed his face, tilting it to meet your eyes, and then took his hands. You brought one hand to your bare chest, his calloused hands rough on your soft, supple skin. Then you brought his other hand to his own chest, and you could feel his heart racing.

“This is my heartbeat. Let’s try to get yours to match mine, okay? Let’s slow it down.” You said with the same gentle touch that you use with pediatric patients.

Robby’s eyes stayed on yours like they were the only lifeline he had. Those beautiful, sad brown eyes were all yours in that moment. You stroked circles with your thumb on this back of his hand that pressed against your chest.

“I’m right here with you, Dr. Robby.” You promised. His breathing wouldn’t slow down, and your mind shuffled through calming techniques for panic attacks. “Michael.” You finally said.

Robby’s face changed. His furrowed brow relaxed slightly. You had never called him that. Nobody ever calls him that.

“Michael.” You said again. “That’s a sweet name. You look like a Michael. I think your parents were onto something.”

Robby’s lips cracked a small smile. His breathing began to slow. You felt his heart rate decelerating with the breaths.

“Is it a family name?” You asked, with genuine curiosity.

Robby nodded. He licked his dry lips again, but this time he was able to speak. “My dad’s name. And his dad’s.”

You smiled. “I like that.”

Robby matched your smile in full this time. His breathing had calmed, and he laid his head back against the wall. He just stared at you through low eyelids, but kept his hand on your chest and the other on his own. Soon your heartbeats found the same tempo, pumping in near synchronicity.

“How’d you do that?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I have panic attacks, too. I spent a lot of time finding ways to ground myself.” You replied.

Robby nodded, then smirked a little. “Teachers never stop learning either.” He said.

You giggled and shook your head. “I’m glad I could help. Let’s just stay here for a second. Get you back to earth.”

He made no protest, even though you knew he wanted to get back to work. So he decided to change the subject.

“Do you always match them?” He asked.

You tilted your head. “Match who?” You asked.

Robby’s fingers traced your skin to the silky fabric of your lavender bra, which also had been stained with red from the blood that soaked through your scrubs.

Your face flushed, and now it was your turn to struggle to speak. “O-oh. Um…yeah.” You laughed breathily. “I have them in every color of my scrubs.”

Robby chuckled, but his fingers continued to trace across your bra, almost mindlessly.

“Even those bright green ones that you wear on Saint Patrick’s Day?” He asked.

You laughed and nodded. “Yes. But those are more lacy.” You replied.

Robby raised an eyebrow. Oh, he was having a good time now. “That can’t be comfortable.” He mused.

You shrugged. “It can be a little itchy. But it looks really cute. Plus, you never know. I could end up in a car crash, and I’ll want to look good before an autopsy.” You joke, but decided to push it farther. “Or end up in a bathroom with my attending.”

Fuck. Robby’s smile faltered a bit. You shouldn’t have said that. “I am so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have said that. You just had a panic attack, and that was very inappropriate of-“

Robby grabbed your wrist tightly and shoved your hand down to his crotch. Oh. He was rock hard. You swallowed anxiously. You didn’t even know what to say, but your hand was subconsciously rubbing the outline of his cock through his pants. Way bigger than your dirty thoughts during long hours at work had ever imagined. Without a word, you pulled at the drawstring of his pants, undoing them with ease.

Your eyes looked up to Robby’s, asking for permission, and he reached into his pants, pulling out his pulsing cock. Veined and thick, precum beading like pearls on the head. Your mouth watered at the sight.

You lowered your head, and you let the saliva from your mouth drool onto his cock, lubricating it thoroughly. Robby shuddered at the unexpected sensation and gave himself a few strokes, pushing more drops of precum to the head. You puckered your lips and delicately sucked the fluid off his tip, indulging in the salty taste.

Robby groaned lowly, and you felt your pussy pulse against your will at the sound. You looked up to him, and he unraveled at the sight of your doe eyes next to his dick. “You’re so much bigger than I imagined.” You said.

“You-you’ve thought about this?” He stuttered.

You smiled innocently and shrugged. “Probably more than I should.” You said.

And with that, you licked a slow stripe from the base of his cock to the very tip. Robby dropped his head back and sputtered out explicatives. You repeated the action, over and over, feeling every vein that your tastebuds glided over. You finished one final lick, and without warning, you sank your mouth down over his entire cock, shoving it down your throat.

Robby’s entire body flinched, and he snatched a handful of your hair in fist, struggling to be still. You pulled up, letting his cock fall out of your mouth. You grabbed his free hand, pressed it to your throat, and dropped your head down again. Robby could feel himself in your throat as you bobbed up and down, taking him all in every time. You didn’t bother hiding the gargling and gagging sounds of his cock choking you.

“Fuck, baby girl…” He mumbled. “If you keep doing this, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You took that as a challenge. You wrapped both of your hands around his cock, stacking them on each other, twisting them as you sucked. Unholy sounds fell from his lips. Your jaw began to ache from his large diameter, but you were not going to be deterred.

Robby tightened the grip he had on your hair, almost forcing your head up and down with your rhythm. “I’m-I’m gonna cum.” He said as a warning to you.

But you weren’t going to stop. You kept your pace exactly the same until you felt his cock twitch, shooting hot cum into your mouth in a pulsating pattern. The sound of him whispering your name as you gently pumped out his orgasm was heavenly. You waited until his cock pulsed for the last time before you swallowed everything that he had emptied into your mouth.

Robby pulled up on your hair, and you sat up to be eye level with him. He pulled you in for a first kiss, tasting himself on your swollen lips. You ran your fingers through his beard and thinning hair.

“Was that okay?” You asked, feigning innocence.

Your attending chuckled and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “How about you come home with me tonight, and I’ll let you know my answer?” He said before capturing your lips in another lazy kiss.

[melodyreads]

Hamzah x Manager(Reader)

Summary: Y/n is the manager for Slushy Noobz. She loves being apart of such an entertaining team. Being the manager came with a lot of responsibility. However, she was finding it hard to stay professional when Hamzah was around.

a/n: i hope this concept reaches the corporate baddies, enjoy <3

—-

The room buzzed with focused energy as everyone prepped for Hamzah and Martin’s big boxing match. Y/n stood at the edge of the practice room, clipboard in hand, eyes fixed on the monitor as she tracked every play with precision. Managing Slushy Noobz with their growing and dedicated fanbase was both a privilege and a challenge—one of those challenges being the guy currently making a beeline straight for her.

Hamzah.

She exhaled sharply, looking away and pretending to be engrossed in her notes. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go bother someone else.

No such luck.

“You look stressed,” Hamzah said as he stopped next to her, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. “That’s probably because you know the viewers are gonna be bored after I sweep this match.”

Y/n sighed, giving him a side glance. “Or because I know you and Martin are going to be running around bald soon," you said shaking your head, "there goes your TikTok edits.

Hamzah smirked. “That too.”

She had to bite back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned slightly against the desk, glancing at her clipboard. “You actually writing useful stuff, or just pretending to look busy so no one bothers you?”

She huffed. “I don’t pretend to work—I actually do my job.”

He knew this, he just liked to push your buttons.

“Good for you.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s one of us.”

Y/n finally looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”

Hamzah grinned, then tilted his head slightly. “By the way, you've been acting real serious whenever I’m around recently. What’s up with that?”

He was onto her. This wasn't entirely untrue, Y/n had slowly started avoiding Hamzah as her feelings became harder to ignore. This made her feel slightly guilty, but it was the measures she had to take to keep her job.

“Because I have responsibilities?” she shot back while keeping her eyes fixated on the computer in front of her.

He made a face. “Yeah, yeah. Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me.”

Your eyes finally met his as your mouth opened—then closed. He said it so casually like he was commenting on the weather.

"He's just joking", you told yourself

His dark humourous eyes bore into yours as he patiently waited for a response. Before she could formulate a response, Martin called out, “Yo, Y/n! Can you come over here for a sec!”

Y/n took the escape without hesitation. “Duty calls,” she muttered, turning on her heel.

Hamzah watched her get up before he called after her. “Miss you already!”

As she ignored him, she couldn't help but replay that last comment over and over again in her head.

"Or maybe you just don’t know how to act around me."

She didn’t need to dignify that with a response. Mostly because he wasn’t wrong.

---

That evening, you were finishing up an email to a potential sponsor. (There were hundreds of them.) Y/n had just clicked send when Hamzah dropped into the seat next to her.

“So,” he said, resting his elbow on the table. “You avoid me all day just to end up being the last one here. Interesting.”

She groaned. “I did not avoid you.”

“You literally left mid-conversation.”

“Because I had work to do!”

He took a slow sip of his protein shake, eyeing her over the rim. “Uh-huh.”

She scowled. “Not everything is about you, Hamzah.”

“Big talk, considering I’m basically the headliner of this team.”

Y/n let out an exasperated laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And yet, your working for me.”

She rolled her eyes, focusing on her computer, but Hamzah’s voice cut through again—quieter this time.

“For real, though,” he said, “I mess with you a lot, but you know I actually mean it when I say you’re good at what you do, right?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…Thanks?”

“Don’t get weird about it.” He went back to scrolling on his phone like he hadn’t just said something out of character.

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

Hamzah might be blunt. He might be insufferable.

But damn it, he was also kind of impossible to ignore.

---

a/n: part two?

[bmtillerbabe]

~ Body Heat ~

A Reader x Ghoap fic!

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

Written for the amazing @onlyareyyyy ! Sorry it took forever, thank you for being so patient! :):)

Originally one of her posts, I decided to take it and run with it and turn it into a mini fic :D

"sharing a bed with Simon ghost riley and johnny soap mactavish. having a crush on ghost. being unable to sleep because all you can think of is your proximity to ghost and feeling his massive erection against your back. some sort of conversation or confession which results in ghost fucking you on your side which cause the reader to squirt and which wakes up johnny"

Hopefully, I did it justice! Please, enjoy! (and go follow @onlyareyyyy , she got the goods yo ;) )

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

MDNI

18 + ONLY

MDNI

NSFW, and the smut be smuttin' - you've been warned!

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.

.

  A sharp crack of thunder made you jolt back awake, lifting your hands to cover your ears.

  It was raining.

  Again.

  With an aggravated sigh, you gripped the scratchy duvet and threw it over your shoulders, twisting it with a huff and flinging your body over to face the opposite direction.

  Fucking safe-houses. They were never comfortable.

  You tried your damndest to get back to sleep …. Closing your eyes, counting imaginary animals, hell, even trying to meditate. But it was no use.

  Your comfy spot was long gone; the mattress was now cold; the patter of the raindrops against the cracked windowpanes of the old safehouse was anything but calming right now; and the fear of another loud boom of thunder was enough to keep you wide awake.

  Growling to yourself, you tossed and turned again, blinking in the dark.

  Another lightning flash.

  More rain.

  More thunder.

  And somewhere amidst the constant torrential downpour – on top of being uncomfortable as shit – the power decided to go out.

  A flicker-flicker-flicker, and then …. Nothing.

  Great.

  The distant buzz and hum of the lights just outside your room was abruptly cut off, as was the little golden glow from underneath the door.

  You grumbled to yourself and sat upright, wiping your eyes and slumping your shoulders, staring into the darkness.

  Any other time, it would have made you eerily uncomfortable, and you’d have had half a mind to trudge through the blackness and find your two so-called “guardians” who were supposed to be keeping you safe from some so-called “threat”, and see if you could maybe pester them a little into keeping you company. But you never got the chance.

  As if the gods heard your silent plea, the heavy thudding of steel-toed boots was headed your way before your thought had even finished forming.

  Hmm. Maybe they really were taking this “guardian” thing seriously.

  With a flashlight in his hand, Ghost opened your door (without even knocking, the bastard), Soap following close behind.

  “You a’ight, luv?” The Brit asked, shining the sharp white light directly into your face.

  You scrunched your eyes shut, nodding as you held your hand up to ward away the sudden brightness. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Aye, Ghost, yer gonna blind the poor lass.” Soap scoffed, batting Simon’s hand down.

  “I’m fine.” You answer verbally this time looking at them both, illuminated only by the stray flash of lightning and the flashlight that was now reflecting off the scratched wooden floor. “I was awake, anyway. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  Another burst of thunder rolled through the room and made you jump again, covering your ears.

  Jesus Christ, every one was like opening a can of biscuits …

  You watched as Soap walked over to the light switch on the wall, flipping it on and off a few times.

  “Aye.” He confirmed, “Wasn’t just our room, then. Looks like the whole house is without power.”

  Ghost sighed heavily, shaking his head. “In this cold? Great. Tha’s jus’ wonderful.”

  He wasn’t wrong. It was the dead of November, and even if the safe-house wasn’t full of leaky windows and cracked walls, it would have been hard to stay warm all night without any electricity. As it stood now, you were set to freeze.

  As if on cue, your whole body decided to shiver, and you clamped your jaw shut to keep your teeth from chattering.

  You weren’t sure if the men had heard you, but either way you pretended they didn’t when you heard Soap pat Ghost’s shoulder. He nodded for the larger man to follow him out into the hall, turning to you before he did.

  “Stay here, lass. We’ll be right back.”

  And the two left the room.

  You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter, suddenly aware of the intense chill in the room biting at your nose, any heat that had been blowing through the vents quickly being dispersed through the battered house.

  Well.

  This was just great.

  Now what?

  You’d already been at this safe-house for days, and who knew how much longer you three had to wait for exfil. And now you had to go without power – and heat – on top of it?

  You tried to remain positive, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Boots thumping back towards your room caught your attention before you could sink any deeper into your head.

  “A’right, luv.” Ghost clears his throat as he enters the room with Soap in tow once more. You notice their hands are much, much fuller than they had been when they’d left.

  Were those …. Blankets?

  “S’been a change of plans.”

  Your throat went dry.

  He couldn’t possibly mean ….

  “We’re gonna be sharing the bunk wit’ya tonight.”

  Alright. Maybe he could.

  But perhaps it wasn’t really sinking in just yet, the situation not quite made clear, or maybe your brain was just sleep-deprived thanks to the last hectic week; but it wasn’t until Soap just casually sauntered over to your side of the bed and tossed down the armful of quilts and began promptly taking off his overshirt that it finally seemed to hit you in the head like a ton of bricks.

  Sharing the bunk … as in, sharing the bed?

  Your cheeks flush and you sputter out an incoherent strand of mumbles once your brain peels itself away from the shred of toned muscle of Soap’s chest revealed in the lightning flashes.

  “Wh-wh---h-huh?”

  “Good.” Ghost grunted as he, too, began to shed himself of the gear and over-layers of clothing. You heard the clinking of his belt buckle and felt your cheeks flush deeper – suddenly warm all over despite the cold, your mind bombarding you with delicious images of the muscled man undressing just in front of you.

  If only the darkness hadn’t kept you from seeing ...

  “Cuz, er …. ‘Ere’s been a change of plans.” Ghost spoke again in the dark, somewhere to your left now, a sudden weight making you jerk your head to see his shadow crawling into bed with you. You opened your mouth to try and speak again, but another weight on your opposite side made you shift your sights back when you felt Johnny crawling into bed as well.

  Was this seriously gonna happen ….?

  Ghost tossed his boots off somewhere in the room and grunted softly as he removed the rest of his gear. “Since the power wen’ out and we can’t guard ya proper … we’re gonna hafta sleep in ‘ere with you.” He said as trivial as if he were merely telling you about the weather, and not something as monumental as sharing a bed with two, fully grown, fully muscled, toned, beefy military men, sandwiched between them all night.

  If there had been any light in the room, they would have seen your jaw hit the floor.

  Of all the things you’d expected Ghost to suggest for tonight – this situation hadn’t been one of them.

  “W-what?” You finally stammer out again, a little clearer this time, finding your voice.   

  “Aye, we won’ try any funny business with ye, lass, but ye are the precious cargo in this mission. We cannae afford to let anyone get to ye.” Johnny said softly, his voice somehow even darker and sexier than normal in the shadows. “And since the power’s out, and we cannae hear ye over the monitors an’ such, there’s not much of a choice. If anythin’ happened to ye on our watch, Price’d have our heads.”

  “B-but---wait, we---I---” You stutter out, but Ghost abruptly cuts you off with a scoff.

  “Oh, come on, luv. Ain’t no sense in gettin’ all fussy about it. The power’s out and we’re jus’ doin’ our jobs. Ain’t neither of us takin’ no fer an answer. Now, scoot over.”

  Dumbfounded, all you could do was obey orders, and scootch closer to Johnny, accidentally bumping him as you did so. The King-sized bed suddenly felt way too small with these two buff-cakes taking up all the space. Ghost settled into the mattress next to you, his weight making it sink in just slightly, threatening to pull you into his orbit.  

  If the situation hadn’t been so absurd, you might have found it in you to laugh; at the reality that you were currently sitting between two of the biggest, hottest, most handsome men of the 141; and that you were now not only supposed to get sleep, but were supposed to remember how to breathe, too?

  Life was truly unfair.

  “You gonna lay down sometime tonight?” Ghost huffs, but before you can respond, his big, still-gloved hand is on your shoulder, pulling you backwards. You let out a gasp as you fall back onto the bed and hear another snort from the Lieutenant.

  “Fuckin’ hell, you’re a right ice-block, luv. Get your arse back here.” He says, gripping your arm and pulling your back flush against his chest as Johnny straightened out the layers of blankets, throwing them over the three of you in a small pile.

  Suddenly very, very aware of the wall of Ghost behind you, pressing up against the entirety of your body, you stiffen and squirm; trying to get comfortable – maybe even put a shred of distance between your bodies – but the man’s grip is iron-tight.

  “Oi, quit squirmin.’ Get snug and hold the fuck still.” He barks at you, and you immediately calm. Johnny finishes covering you all up and lays back down to face you.

  “Haven’ya ever had ta use body heat before, lass?” The Scotsman asks quietly, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Might not be the most comfortable of situations, but be better than freezin’ ta death, aye?”

  At his words, you feel Ghost’s grip around your waist tighten, and you manage to barely suppress a squeak when his huge palm is suddenly against your side, the intense head radiating off of him in waves.

  Jesus, was this man a walking heater?

  “I’ll take firs’ watch, Johnny.” Ghost grunts leaving no room for argument, and Soap nods, settling in and getting himself comfortable.

  “And you,” Ghost growls in your ear softly, leaning in so that you can feel the warmth of his breath through his balaclava, and pick up the faintest smell of Earl Gray – “Hold still, and get to sleep. Got it?”

  You nod quickly, trying to keep your breathing steady and calm your mind as much as you could. Trying and keep your mind off his huge, hulking form laying comfortably behind you; off his steady breathing and heartbeat that was soothing like a lullaby.

 Fuck.

  It was going to be a long night.

~ * ~

  Maybe hours had passed, maybe minutes. It was impossible to tell with the rain still pouring and the power still out.

  In the shadows, everything looked the same.

  You weren’t even sure if you had even really fallen asleep or not, but you knew at least some time had passed since Johnny had not only rolled over to face away from you but had begun to snore softly.

  Even Ghost, still situated easily behind you with his hand across your midsection seemed to be breathing at a slower rate – deep in his sleep.

  You sighed to yourself quietly, shifting your head on the pillow and blinking in the dark.

  Try as you may to chalk it up to the stress of the situation you were in, or even the unfamiliarity of your surroundings, you knew deep down the warmth settling in your core wasn’t from any of the excuses you tried to convince yourself of.

  You closed your eyes and listened to the rhythmic breathing of Ghost and Soap, humming quietly to yourself.

  Gods, since you’d first seen this man, you’d been smitten with him. I mean, how could you not? Those dark, piercing eyes, framed by the longest, prettiest, most blonde lashes you’d seen in your life; that gruff, British voice; the command and authority he exuded to everyone around him, leaving no room for doubt who’s in charge.

  And that body.

  Ugh.

  Don’t get me wrong, you’d caught yourself more than once eyeing up the Sargeant that currently slept across from you; fresh out of the showers, water still dripping down his scruffy beard; running his hands through his short, tawny-brown mohawk while he laughed at something; catching a stray smile. Fuck, he was just a treat to look at as Ghost was.

  Both of them had biceps that the gods themselves would be jealous of, broad toned chests, firm pecs poking through every shirt they wore as if their bodies were trying to shred the fabric to pieces in order to breathe.

  Both of them were hands down the most attractive men you’d seen in your entire life.

  But it was hard not to pick a favorite when one of them was literally wrapped around you, his scent invading your senses and stealing away your rest.

  His scent.

  Ghost’s scent.

  Cigarettes and Bourbon.

  You swallowed a soft moan as you inhaled deeply, your mind swimming with images of just licking the very smell off his skin, of tasting the salty tang of his body’s natural musk and sweat, wanting to drown yourself in it and never come back up for air.

  Fuck, he smelled amazing.

  And with an internal sigh, you realized your nose wasn’t the only thing enjoying the fragrance of the Lieutenant.

  Shifting your thighs, you realized your entire body was reacting to it …. Your pussy was reacting to it.

  Warm, wet, and nearly dripping already, you could feel your arousal pooling at your centre; your poor cunt aching and empty and eager for something to touch her, please her, fill her, and make her feel good.

  Ghost shifted behind you, grunting softly before breathing steadily once more.

  You held your breath until his movements stilled, suddenly afraid that he’d heard your inner thoughts, or that – fuck – he may have smelled you somehow. But when his breathing evened out once more, you breathed a sigh of relief and let your mind wander back to the dangerous territory you’d been pulled out of.

  And maybe it was wrong. No, not maybe – you knew it was wrong. You knew it was immoral, or bad, or whatever …. But damn, the temptation was there ….

  And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him … right?

  After all, with the rate you were climbing this ladder, it wouldn’t take you long to get there …

  Heart aflutter with the naughty secrecy of your act and the thrill of being caught, you bit your bottom lip and ever so slightly shifted your arm out from under Ghost’s; snaking it down and around into your waistband. Into your panties.

  You kept your lip between your teeth, biting it softly to keep yourself quiet, moving slow as you could stand it, the heat from your core already reaching your fingertips as you slowly reached down.

  You hoped the torrential rain would help cover any sounds you might make.  

  With a small sigh, you pressed a finger to the slit of your entrance, pleased to find that the arousal was indeed seeping out of you, and you grinned to yourself, braving a finger inside.

  Your hips bucked softly, involuntarily, and you closed your eyes; your breathing quickening under your touch.

  This wouldn’t even take two –

  You gasped in shock when a large, thick wrist clamped down around your own, stilling your movements, and another hand flew to your mouth, nearly covering your entire face with its size.

  Your entire world froze and your heart stopped, eyes going wide.

  “Now … what do you think you’re doin’, luvie?” Ghost growls into your ear, his voice like gravel and sandpaper.

  The tone alone had you clamping your thighs shut and letting out a muffled moan of pleasure before you could stop yourself.

  Caught.

  Shit.

  You tried to muffle something to him as a response, possibly even as an excuse, but Ghost merely chuckled darkly in your ear; sending a wave of gooseflesh down your body.

  “Now, now – quiet down, there, luv. Wouldn’t wanna wake up ol’ Johnny boy, now, would ya?”

  With a shift of his hips, you nearly groaned when you felt the thick warmth of his erection pressed into your backside through his trousers.

  You closed your eyes, your mind and body sending mixed signals, unsure of what to do or how to proceed.

  Ghost didn’t have a shred of hesitation.

  “Now, if I was a bettin’ man,” he said, letting his hand go from your mouth to your neck, holding your chin high as he buried his face in your skin and inhaled.

  “I’d say you was turned on by this …. By me.”

  You gulped, trying not to grind against him, your heart hammering in your chest and his hand sliding down the wrist that was currently still in your panties, dancing dangerously close to your core.

  You felt him smirk against your jaw, giving you a nip.

  “Ain’t that right, luvie?”

  You released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding through your nose, closing your eyes and squirming under his touch. You shake your head, trying to deny it, but he’s having none of that.

  His hand around your throat tightens and his voice drops to a grating growl.

  “Oh, come on, don’t play me for a fool. I’ve seen the way you look at me, at Johnny, at us. Seen the way you bite your lip when you think none of us are looking …” His hand delves deeper into your panties, and suddenly, without warning, his long, thick fingers are rubbing through your folds and causing you to gasp.

  “Heard those sweet little moans of yours as you pleasure yourself at night thinking no one can hear you ….” He continues, moving is hand in time with his seductive voice and dangerous words, palming your clit and spreading your slick through and around your entrance.

  Johnny snores loudly, and your breath hitches.

  “Heh. Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Ghost clicks his tongue in mock disapproval. “Now, now little birdie ….” he growled, one of his fingers circling your opening. You clenched, eager and desperate for him to just shove it in already …

  Fucking jack-off was taking his good ol’ easy time, and it was driving you up the wall.

  “If you want me to keep going, you’re gonna have to be very …. Very quiet.”

  You nod desperately against him, willing to agree to just about anything at this point.

  “Say it, luvie … I need to hear you say it …”

  “Yes.” You croak out on a broken whisper. “Please, Simon, please, just—”

  You don’t get the chance to finish, letting out a sharp squeak of pleasure when one of his fingers is suddenly shoved so far into you that you see stars.

  The hand on your neck moves quickly back to cover your mouth and he bites at your earlobe threateningly.

  “I said be fucking quiet.”

  You nod, breathing through your nose in quick short bursts; your pussy clenching needily around his greedy digit. You close your eyes in bliss when he slowly begins to pump it in and out of you, making a delicious slick, squelching noise; and you damn near come apart in his arms when he utters a soft, “Good girl.” Into your ear.

  His finger feels like heaven, and you weren’t sure it could have gotten any better until he slid a second one in and you thought you’d pass out from how good the stretch felt.

  He made quiet grunting noises behind you, brushing his stubbled, scarred jaw over yours, around the shell of your ear, the skin at the base of your neck. Your mouth fell open in a silent sob, tears springing to your eyes at just how good this felt. How good his fingers were splitting you open, brushing every little part of you that drove you crazy with lust.

  He added a third finger, the burn damn near addicting as he grunted into your ear and thrusted them in and out at a brutalizing pace.

  “Fuck, dovey … fuckin’ hell, you’re so fuckin’ tight … Bet this lil’ cunny’s never felt so good, ‘as she?”

  You swallowed a noise in the back of your throat, thrusting your hips in time with his hands to meet his fingers.

  Your eyes rolled into the back of your head in pleasure and you felt the familiar coil of heat build in the pit of your stomach, the tell-tale sign of an impending orgasm approaching.

  Fuck, it felt so good, and you fucking chased it.

  Bucking your hips back and onto his fingers, you whimpered softly as you ground your pussy into Simon’s hand; desperately chasing your high.

  His noises and grunts and growls in your ear were driving you higher and higher up the wall, and you were already so fucking close – but then his fingers are withdrawn and you’re left achingly empty, whining softly.

  “Simon …” You beg on a breathy whisper, but you pause when you feel the hand that was just inside you moments before reaching down to yank his trousers down; and feel his massive, thick cock spring free and smack against the curve of your ass.

  Your throat went completely dry.

  You tried to keep quiet, your eyes locked on the back of Johnny’s sleeping head as you felt Ghost fuck into his fist from behind you; the tip of his cock brushing against the small of your back with each thrust.

  “Tell me, luvie,” he growls against your ear, shifting on the bed so he can rub the tip through your weeping folds.

  The breath left your lungs.

  “You ever had a man this size? Eh?”

  You shake your head, trying to remember how to even speak, but he grips your neck again. Tight. Hard.

  “Answer me.”

  “No,” You gulp thickly, letting your mouth hang open on a pant.

  He chuckles darkly, and you feel him notch himself at the slit of your entrance.

  “Good. I always like to be a first.”

  And he shoves his cock into you without any further warning.

  You let out a soft cry, unable to help yourself as your walls clamp down around him; and then he’s thrusting into you, brushing against your g-spot with painful accuracy; his balls slapping against your flesh with each needy jerk of his hips, pushing his hard, thick length deeper and deeper into you.

  His hand continues to grip your neck, panting into your ear while his other hand slides down to palm at your lower stomach; pressing down where he feels himself stretching you from the inside out. He smiles against your skin, hungry and predatory.

  “Fuck, you’re taking my cock so well, doll … fuck, you’re so tight. So wet. So needy …. Look at you, all desperate for me and my cock. My cum. You want me to fill you up, doll? Fill this tight, little cunny up? Breed you so good and deep, you’ll be walking around leaking me for days? Eh?”

  You groaned at his filthy mouth, trying to stay quiet but failing miserably, nodding.

  He laughed under his breath at you.

  “Such a filthy fucking slut you are. Lettin’ me fuck you nice and hard while Johnny’s just layin’ there in front of you, unawares.”

  You felt your insides clench at his every word, your orgasm building like a tidal wave inside you.

  At this rate, you were going to cum faster than you’d ever remembered before.

  “Wonder if he’d like to join in on the fun?” Ghost grunted as he angled his hips to somehow thrust even deeper into you; the slick, wet, squelching sounds echoing up through the blanket and into the empty room.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little whore? Have bo’f of us men, filling your holes at once, breeding you from both ends? I bet you would. I bet you’d be such a good fucking girl and swallow every last drop Johnny’d give ya, and then turn around and take another load right up this tight, fucking pussy---agh, fuck!” You feel his entire body clench and his thrusts grow choppy and quicker.

  You moaned, closing your eyes, reaching up to grip the back of his head and hold it down against you.

  Almost, you were almost fucking –

  “Oh, fuck, fuck babygirl, I’m---I’m so close---I’m---Fuck!” Simon grunted and with a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, cumming deep within your warm, gummy walls; sliding his hand down to pinch your clit as he did so.

  That little action was more than enough, and your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado – leaving a mess of a trail in its wake.

  Clenching tightly around Simon’s cock, you pulsed and twitched around his length – and also managed to squirt; something you’d never ever remembered being able to do before.

  “Fuuuuck….” Simon grunted in your ear, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts as he slowed down; his cock pulsing the last bit of seed deep into your compliant pussy.

  Moaning softly and panting into Simon’s hand, you slowly came down from your high; the world coming back into focus around you.

  But it isn’t the room that comes back into focus, nor is it the lightning flashes that dance across the walls.

  It’s Johnny’s bright blue crystal eyes; dark with lust and need, his hand on his cock and the front of his shirt drenched in … your squirt.

  You felt your soul leave your body and a bright blush rise to your cheeks in shame, but Johnny just chuckled.

  “Aye, I see you’re havin’ all the fun without me, eh?” He groans when he gives his cock a long, languid stroke; arching his back to meet his fist, his eyes locked on yours as Simon slowly began to thrust back into you again.

  “Think you’ve got another round left in ya, princess?”

[marauroon]

Hellooo! Marauders are taking over my heart my body and my life as well so could I maybe request a fic with James (or poly!marauders whatever you like) with a reader who is avoidant of relationships so once they realize they are loved they try to run away but James wont let her go and patiently convinces her to give them a chance? Thank you so much!

S E L F - S A B O T A G E — POLY MARAUDERS!

poly!marauders x fem!reader | h/c | 4.0k | masterlist!!

the marauders had thrown their hearts at you like it was effortless. and you just couldn’t return the gesture.

cw— relationship avoidant reader, mild miscommunication, mini argument, reader gets anxious and overwhelmed

a/n— thanks for the request ml, this one may require a part two <3

When exactly did it start? All four of you could give a different answer.

Sirius wagers it was the first potions class of fifth year, where you’d been unceremoniously wedged in between him and James as a part of a stupid boy-girl seating plan to stop ‘distractions’.

It didn’t work evidently, and James had managed to talk your ear off almost every lesson since, a familiar glint in his eye that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus would say it was closer to the end of that same year, when they’d somehow managed to invade your table in the library to study for their OWLs and Sirius had managed to get distracted—and distract you—within ten minutes of sitting down, spending almost a whole hour talking at you before Remus had to step in to make sure you both got an ample amount of revision done.

James would probably argue it was the first time the three actually spoke to you, finalised in the way that Remus looked at you as you slid a healing balm across the desk for his increasingly scarred hands with only a mutter that they “looked like they hurt,”.

And you? Well…

You’re not exactly sure.

It was so gradual yet so sudden and now you’re walking down the hallways with three borderline guard dogs at your tail like they’ve collectively decided you were a part of their pack.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

It was endearing to a point, a genuine, unconditional affection shared between the three boys and spread onto you with no request for yours in return, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel almost suffocating.

You were almost constantly in the presence of at least one of the boys, languidly smothering you in unbridled affection like it was second nature to them.

Whether it was Remus slipping you notes for classes you weren’t paying attention in, Sirius insisting on carrying your bag down the hallways, or James sneaking compliments into every sentence he spoke to you, the casual fondness they showed you was never-ending.

And if you were being honest, it was beginning to be a bit too much.

“Here, love,” James passes you a pitcher over Sirius’ breakfast. “You’ll dry out your throat, we need that pretty voice in tact ready for the match later,”

You take the pitcher from him with a raised eyebrow, hoping your fluster isn’t too apparent in your tone. “the… match?”

“The Quidditch match doll,” Sirius takes it upon himself to pour your drink for you, taking the pitcher from your hands like you’ll shatter if he’s not careful enough. “We’re versing Slytherin, it’ll be a sight for sure,”

Oh.

Right.

“Damn right, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when we take the cup for the fifth year in a row,” James hits Sirius’ arm lightly in his enthusiasm, stealing a slice of toast from his plate. “You are coming right?” James blinks at you slowly, honey-brown eyes big and round, like he’s silently trying to hypnotise you into agreeing with him.

“I- yeah,” You give him a half-stunted nod, letting your words speak before you can make up your mind and ultimately pull out of it. “yeah…”

“Excellent,” James clasps his hands together with a satisfied nod. “I’ll dig out a spare jersey for you,”

“Who said she was wearing your name?” Sirius turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and it starts a lighthearted debate that you quickly tune out in favour of the dull ringing in your ears.

The way they were talking made everything sound so final, so… concrete. Like you’d just completely melded into their routine through no input of your own.

“You don’t have to,” There’s a soft nudge against your left side, joined by what’s almost a whisper from Remus. “I don’t go to all of them,”

He’s giving you an out. Or at least trying to. You know that if you suddenly pull out of wanting to go that James and Sirius’d be disappointed, even if they pretend that they’re not.

“It’s alright..” You shake your head with a small smile, attempting to reassure both Remus—and yourself—that you really do want to watch the boys play.

James wins his and Sirius’ debate apparently, and a few hours before the match is due to start he hands you a folded up Quidditch jersey with a smile etched onto his face.

“Here you are m’love, look forward to seeing you in it later,” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, winking as he pulls away. “Gotta run for some last minute practice, wish me luck,”

“Good luck…” your hands curl in around the jumper almost instinctually as you stand stationary watching James run out of the common room waving in your direction, and once he’s out of sight your eyes drop to the clothing in your arms.

You hold it up to let it unfold, signature red and gold stripes adorning the fabric and a large embroidered ‘POTTER’ covering the back where it’d meet your shoulder blades.

Well, James’ shoulder blades. It would probably cover most of your upper back.

You spend the next hour staring at it in your dorm room, left draped over the end of your bed as you internally fought with yourself over whether you should actually put it on.

It was taunting you the way the gold embroidery thread caught the overheard lighting, forcing your focus towards the surname like an ultimatum.

If you put on that jumper, you were committing yourself to whatever you’d been thrust into.

And the thought made you almost physically nauseous.

It was like the boys had handed you their hearts on a silver platter, expecting you to shield them inside your ribcage, nestled against your own until they stop beating.

Like they were giving themselves to you wholely, nothing left behind until it was piled up so high that you couldn’t dig yourself out of the iron hold they’d captured you in no matter how much you tried, slowly asphyxiating yourself under the ever constricting grasp of the cage they’d trapped you in until you turned blue.

It terrified you.

You didn’t go to the Quidditch game.

God knows if you did it would end in nothing less than tears, if not you literally collapsing from hyperventilating at the first sight of any of the three of them.

Instead, you burrowed yourself underneath your satin sheets to seek a dull solace, no comfort found in the way you curled in on yourself, but no growing anxiety either.

You knew you’d have to leave it eventually, face the three boys and force out an excuse whilst desperately hoping they didn’t see just how horrifically anxious they made you.

It was horrible really, they’d done nothing but extend their kindest hands to you, treat you like you painted the stars in the sky and gifted them the oxygen they breathed.

And here you were, dreading the thought of so much as glancing at their blissfully oblivious faces.

“Sweetheart,” Marlene enters the dorm almost cautiously as she edges the door open, still clad in her full quidditch gear, sweat glistening against her forehead. “The boys are outside for you,”

“I’m not here,” You muffle your words into your duvet as you pull it up and over your head, and you can’t faintly hear Marlene sigh as she treads over and pulls you from your cocoon of self pity through dragging the quilt out of your hands.

She raises her eyebrow down at you questioning it, but you can see the concern swirling in her irises.

“Just tell them I’m asleep?” You furrow your eyebrows in silent pleading, echoed through your words as you exhale heavily. “Please?”

Shes clearly not very happy with your request, but she bites her tongue and gives you a small nod anyway, brushing stray hairs from your forehead with a sigh. “Whatever this is about, you should talk to them,”

“Yes mum,” You roll your eyes with a feigned sigh of indignation, pulling the duvet back up underneath your chin.

As she turns to leave, expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, you catch the jersey draped against your bed-post in the corner of your eye.

“Marls,” You point to it almost pathetically. “I really don’t want to face them right now,”

She practically snatches the jumper from the end of your bed with an almost scolding expression, and you flash her a guilty but grateful smile.

“I love you,”

“My love for you is dwindling,” She throws the jumper over her arm with an over-dramatised exhale, but she shoots you a flying kiss across the room nonetheless, and it leaves you with a small smile as the door clicks shut.

Although it doesn’t last very long.

You’d given her the jumper to return for you because you didn’t even want to consider what James’ face would look like when he got it back.

But of course your mind pictured it anyway.

The way his hazel eyes would pool first in disappointment before slowly turning to worry, a small, almost imperceptible frown pulling at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows furrowed just enough that it caused a line to form above the bridge of his nose.

You honestly didn’t know if you seeing it in real life or the picture your brain had unceremoniously forced onto you was worse, but what you did know was that you could not face him now.

The minute that boy saw you—any of them really—you knew that the impending conversation that followed was going to be one you didn’t want to have.

You jinxed yourself pretty hard with that prediction.

You’d managed to avoid the three at breakfast the next morning to no credit of your own, slept in so late after running your mind into the ground the night before you’d basically missed the whole thing, but you didn’t even make it down the hallway towards your first lesson before a pair of running feet crescendo’d in your direction.

“Hey—”

Shit.

“Sirius, morning,” You stop dead in the middle of the hallway, most definitely to the begrudgement of the rest of the students trying to get to class; And whilst you regret it almost immediately, Sirius doesn’t have a care in the world for diverting the foot traffic, concern written in the way his eyebrows knit together as his attention stays devoted to you.

“Are you okay? You didn’t make it to the match yesterday, we were worried about you,” His tone conveys less disappointment that you didn’t go and more genuine concern that something might’ve happened or gone wrong.

“Yeah, sorry,” You reply half awkwardly, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuffs of your sleeves. “I’m alright though,” You echo the end of your sentence with a nod, lips pressed together in a line, a mimicry of a smile.

“You’re sure?” He reaches out his hand to press the back of it against your forehead. “Because if you’re ill Moony’s got a bunch of stuff from Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure something’ll—”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” You don’t let him finish his sentence before you’re gently pulling his hand away from your face and back down to his side. “You really don’t have to worry, I just fell asleep,”

“Alright,” He most definitely picks up on the traces of defensiveness in your tone as he takes a step backwards to give you a little more personal space, and you’d have half the mind to feel guilty if you weren’t so constantly overwhelmed by him and the others.

“I’ll uh,” He presses his lips together half-awkwardly. “Let you get to class then,”

“Don’t you have potions?” It’s genuine curiosity, edged with a small amount of concern that Sirius’ll be late for his own class now that he’s followed you half way to yours. On the opposite side of the castle.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first,” Sirius gives you a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Let me walk you?”

You shake your head slowly, gently pushing on his shoulder. “Go to your own class, Sirius,”

He lingers for a moment before turning to head back in the direction he came from, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering guilt.

__

Your day is largely uneventful until lunch, the smell of parchment still lingering in your nose as you wander out towards the courtyard instead of joining your friends in the great hall.

You knew they’d be there. Of course they’d be there.

And after this morning with Sirius, which he’d definitely told the other two about, you were finding yourself wanting to be in their presence even less.

So you take your lunch to the courtyard instead, settling on a bench farthest from the entrance to avoid any potential encounter. The peace is short-lived, however, as you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

“Thought you might be out here,” James' voice is gentle, his expression a mix of concern and relief as he takes a seat next to you.

You tense up, trying to muster a smile but failing. “Hey, James.”

“Hey,” he echoes, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “You missed breakfast this morning.”

“Yeah, I—“ You search for an excuse, but nothing comes to mind. “I wasn't really hungry.”

James nods slowly, as if he's trying to decode the underlying meaning behind your words. “Is everything alright? You seemed a bit off yesterday.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I'm fine, really. Just needed some time to myself.”

“Time to yourself?” James repeats, his tone soft but probing. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You wanted to curse James Potter sometimes.

How could he be so confident in himself that he could throw his heart at you with no fear of it shattering in your palms?

How could he be so sweet yet so painfully ignorant?

“If this is about you missing the quidditch match yesterday, Sirius and I aren’t—”

“It’s not about the quidditch match James,” You cut him off with a sigh. “Or— It is, but it’s not just about that—”

You stand to release yourself from James’ proximity.

“James, it's everything.” you finally admit, unable to hold back any longer. “I cant so much as breathe without one of you attached to my hip and I can’t do it anymore—”

James' face falls, the concern in his eyes deepening. “We're just trying to show you we care, but if it's too much, we can give you space.”

“It's not just space,” you say, your voice trembling. “It's... even thinking about you three is suffocating me...”

James's face contorts in confusion and a touch of hurt, but he quickly masks it with a forced understanding. "I... didn't realize it was that bad," he says quietly, his usual confident demeanor faltering for the first time in your memory.

You swallow hard, guilt gnawing at your insides, but you can’t take back what you’ve said. You don’t want to. It’s been building inside you for too long—the overwhelming presence of James, Sirius, and Remus in your life. They were everywhere, all the time, and while their company had almost become a comfort, it quickly spiralled into a cage.

“I’m sorry, James. I know you all mean well, but it’s just… too much,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, though the motion seems more for his benefit than yours, as if he’s trying to force himself to understand. “I get it,” he says, though you can tell he really doesn’t. “I guess I never thought about how it might feel from your side. We just… we wanted to make sure you really felt like one of us,”

The way he says "one of us" stings, a reminder of how you were a part of their tight-knit group—no, how they had made you a part of it, pulling you in whether you liked it or not.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t really been given a choice. You had been absorbed into their world, expected to fit perfectly into the space they had carved out for you, without ever considering whether you wanted to be there in the first place.

“I know you didn’t mean any harm,” you say, trying to soften the blow. “But I need to figure out how I feel without… without you all hovering over me all the time.”

James winces at that, and you can see the pain in his eyes. “We never meant to make you feel like that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… We— thought, you… We were trying to prove how much we care…”

The tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, but you blink them away. “I don’t need you to prove anything, James. I need to breathe.”

He looks down at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap. “If that’s what you need, then we’ll give it to you,” he says finally, though his voice is tinged with reluctance. “We can give you space, we can— leave you alone if that’s what you need. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

James doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I— Why wouldn’t you ever be ready..?”

“I don’t know if I can do this, James,” It hurts, coming out of your mouth, echoing back into your ears. But it’s true.

“I— I know being with three people at once can be overwhelming but—”

“It’s not that James,” You shake your head with an almost imperceptible sigh. “I don’t think I’d even be able to date one of you without being overwhelmed,”

James’s eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from hurt to confusion. “Are you saying... you don’t want to be with any of us?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and regrets. You glance away, struggling to find the right words to convey the complexity of your feelings.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” you say slowly, trying to articulate the intricate emotions swirling inside you. “But I can’t… give myself to you, I can’t— hand you three my heart on a silver platter like you did to me. I just can’t.”

James's expression shifts from confusion to a mixture of frustration and sadness. He clearly hadn’t expected this level of honesty.

“I get that you’re overwhelmed,” he says, his voice quiet but determined. “But can you give us a chance to show you that we can handle it? That we can adjust and give you what you need without pushing too hard?”

You meet his gaze, seeing the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. It’s clear he’s invested in making this work, not just for himself but for all three of them. You can see him struggling to reconcile his own desires with your need for space and clarity.

“It’s not just about trying, James,” you reply, feeling the weight of your words. “It’s about whether or not I’m ready to be a part of this—whatever this is. And right now, I don’t even know what I want, let alone if I can handle being part of something with all three of you.”

James nods, absorbing your words. “I understand that you need time. But maybe instead of pushing you away entirely, we could find a middle ground. We could— take things slower, give you room to breathe while still being here for you in a less overwhelming way. If you don’t want us all together then… maybe it’s just one of us you’d be open to starting with? Even if it’s just as friends—”

Your heart softens a bit at his suggestion. The idea of easing into something less intense seems more manageable, though it still doesn’t completely resolve your concerns.

“You can get to know us properly— as people, and let us show you why we care about you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, one that’s mirrored in his irises, swirling in his gaze amidst the sunlight reflecting off of his pupils. “Just… give us a chance,”

You take in James’s earnest plea, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. The desperation and hope in his gaze pull at something within you, a flicker of longing for a connection that feels genuine and real, even amidst the confusion and overwhelming anxiety.

“I... I can try,” you say slowly, the words feeling both heavy and hopeful as they leave your lips. “I can try to get to know you better, as individuals, and see where it goes. But I need you to understand that this isn’t going to be easy, and it might take longer than any of us expect.”

James’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “That’s all I’m asking for,” he says, a small but genuine smile forming on his lips. “We’ll take it slow, no pressure. Just... let us show you that we can be what you need, one step at a time.”

You nod, feeling a tentative sense of hope as you look at him. “Alright. We’ll start with that. But if at any point it becomes too much, I need you to promise me that you’ll respect that.”

James’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting a mix of joy and determination. “I promise. We’ll be patient and understanding. And if you need space, we’ll give it to you. Just... let us try and convince you...”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the tension easing slightly as you both come to a mutual understanding. The path forward is still uncertain, but the willingness to try and the promise of patience create a small but significant shift in the dynamic between you.

You give him a soft nod. “Thank you, James,” you breathe out shortly, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

James gives you a warm, encouraging nod. “Anytime. We care about you, and we want you to be happy. Just remember, we’re here for you.”

And so, the next chapter of your ‘relationship’ began. Starting in a place that preceded even the beginning.

[loverindeepspace]

Rely On Me // Xavier x Reader

This was a request made by @sadfragilegirl for a comfort fic! Thank you for the request, this is for you <3 Concept: Xavier notices you struggling, all he wants is to be there for you. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, a wee bit of angst, burnout, anxiety, gn! reader Wordcount: 1010 Masterlist

Xavier started to notice the signs a couple of weeks ago, at first brushing them off as a bad day. That bad day turned into two, then three, then a week. The sparkle in your eyes started to fade as the days went on, but every time he tried to bring it up, he only received a weak smile and an even weaker assurance that you were fine. 

Fine. He grew to dislike that word, because you were not fine. Cancelling plans, taking longer to reply, sleeping more, your smile that once lit up the room not quite reaching your eyes. He opted to support you on the side, after many failed attempts to get you to talk, waiting patiently for you to open up to him about the worries and thoughts that plagued you, being a silent pillar of support, ready to catch you when you fall. 

He racked his brain about what had happened to make you like this, but nothing came to mind. The frustration that built up in him was almost overpowering. He wasn’t frustrated at you, never, but at the fact that he couldn’t figure out how to make this better, how to stop whatever was hurting you. And so he invited himself over to your place often, bringing food and making sure you ate said food, to ensure that you slept well and knew that he wasn’t going anywhere.

It all came to a point on one of these visits, when you seemed to shut down further, not even having the energy to joke around like you usually would. He needed to do something, anything. He wanted so desperately to be there for you, it killed him to see you so down. So he made his move when the two of you sat on the couch, a movie playing in the background. Your eyes were glazed over when he glanced at you, not paying attention to the movie even slightly. With a sigh, he moved to turn the tv off, turning to face you fully. You snapped out of your daze, confusion painted on your features.

“Okay, wanna tell me what’s on your mind?” His voice was soft, the serious tone and furrow in his brow a striking contrast to the usually easygoing attitude he displayed. Your eyes widened slightly as your breath caught in your throat. His hand settled on yours, thumb stroking across your knuckles in a way he hoped was soothing.

“What do you mean?” You tried to laugh it off, awkwardly glancing to the side. You felt that if you met his gaze, he’d see right through you, and that was the last thing you wanted. You didn’t want to worry him, to burden him with your problems. 

“Please look at me darling,” He says, his other hand gently guiding your face back to him, “Something’s been bothering you for a while now. I tried to give you your space, but I can’t anymore. Talk to me, let me be here for you. Please.” The pleading look in his eyes made guilt stir up inside of you. Has it been that obvious? 

“Xavier, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” A weak argument, you know it was. The hand on your cheek pulled you forward slightly, until he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Don’t shoulder your burden alone, I’m here aren’t I? Your trustworthy partner. Rely on me a little. Don’t shut me out.” With his words, your will began to crumble, as you inhaled shakily. Your hand turned to grip his, as the burn of tears welled behind your eyes. Resignation seeped into your voice as you gave in and told him everything that has been running through your mind these last couple of weeks, the anxiety, the stress, the burnout, the way nothing ever seemed to go to plan. You were drained. Physically, emotionally drained. And you didn’t know how to get out of the pit you found yourself in, not for the lack of trying. 

Tears soon streamed down your face as you got pulled in closer, right into his lap, arms coiling around you in a firm, yet comforting embrace. Your face smushed into his chest as you let go, the more you talked the more tears streamed down your cheeks. He stayed quiet, letting you take your time to unload everything, only letting you know that he was here. He was listening. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was right there with you. 

When you finished venting, he pulled you away slightly, just far enough to brush your tears away, soft kisses left on the corners of your eyes. 

“What can I do for you right now? Do you need comfort? A distraction?” He finally spoke up, his soft blue eyes scanning your face. He already travelled through time for you, he would move mountains, he would scorch the world for you, if you just asked. 

“I… I don’t know. Can… can you just hold me?” Your voice was weak, but the grip on his hand did not let up.

“Of course darling. Come here.” He guided you gently back into his arms and you quickly nuzzled in closer. He was warm, comforting, exactly what you needed. One of his hands traced across your back as he started humming softly, and you felt the adrenaline leave you. Your shoulders sagged, the tension that had built there so long escaping, exhaustion taking over. 

“I love you, my darling. Please, don’t let it build up again like that. I’ll always be there, so don’t try to go through it alone again, because you really don’t have to.” At his words, your arms around him tightened, pulling yourself even closer. 

“I love you too Xavier. I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

“You don’t need to apologise to me. Just rest now, I’ve got you. We’ll work it out in the morning.” You felt a kiss press into the crown of your head as you finally let yourself fall into the enticing lull of sleep.

[loveesiren]

YUCK!

Kwon Jiyong x Reader | Infinity Crew Masterlist

a/n: hi babies! Thank you all for being patient while I wasn't feeling well. I wrote this up last week and just got back to editing it today and I thought I'd post it while I work on the next part of Cross My Heart! Idk how much a love this but hopefully you guys enjoy! Part of the Infinity Crew series.

synopsis: In which Y/n and Jiyong first meet and she is scared of her feelings for him. Inspired by the song Yuck by Charli XCX.

warnings: alcohol, language, Y/n being a little angsty, Jiyong being fluffy, brief mention of grandmothers death

wc: 3.8k+

Your eyelids felt heavy as they fluttered open, sunlight piercing through the half-closed blinds, painting streaks of gold across the rumpled sheets. A dull, pounding ache bloomed behind your temples, making you wince as you let out a groan. The stale scent of alcohol and sweat clung to the air, remnants of last night’s chaos.

It took a moment for your vision to adjust, for your mind to piece together the fragmented blur of the night before. Your room looked like a crime scene—discarded clothes draped over furniture, empty shot glasses and half-drunk bottles littering the floor. A purse, whose owner you weren’t even sure of, had spilled its contents across your dresser.

Beside you, Jaki stirred, her messy hair sticking out at odd angles as she let out a sleepy grunt. On the floor, Bella was sprawled out on a pile of blankets, still snoring, her arm draped over a crushed bag of chips. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, retching sounds echoed from behind your bathroom door. Mari.

Jaki rubbed her eyes, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You reached for your phone, fingers fumbling over the nightstand. Miraculously, it was on the charger. At least drunk you had been responsible enough to remember that.

“10:30,” you croaked before groaning again, the reality of morning-after regret sinking in.

Jaki sighed, pushing herself upright. “God, what did we do last night?” She dragged herself out of bed, stepping over empty cans and rogue heels before nudging Bella with her foot. “Wake up.”

Bella grunted in protest, hugging the chip bag closer.

Still half-asleep, you tapped at your phone, squinting at the bright screen. As you scrolled through the mess of notifications, one stood out—an unfamiliar number. Your thumb hovered before clicking it open.

Hey! I had a lot of fun last night. Hope you all made it home in one piece! - Jiyong

Your brows furrowed. Jiyong? A flicker of recognition tugged at your memory, but nothing solid formed. “Hey, do you guys remember a Jiyong from last night?”

Bella’s groggy voice perked up immediately. “How do you not? You had your tongue down his throat the entire night.”

A jolt of recollection shot through you like static. Sudden, disjointed flashes of neon lights, pulsing music, and warm hands on your waist hit you all at once. The shots of tequila. The VIP section. The group of boys whose presence commanded attention. And him.

Brightly colored hair. A dangerous smile. The taste of liquor on his lips as you lost yourself in him.

“Shit.”

Mari, looking half-dead as she stumbled out of the bathroom, flopped onto the floor beside Bella. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, pulling a blanket over herself.

“You don’t remember?” Bella smirked. “He was hot.”

“And really nice!” Mari added.

You blinked. “He was?”

Your luck with men had always been questionable at best. Back home, you had a tendency to fall for the ones who didn’t give a damn about you. Moving to Korea had been different—men here were blunt, sometimes brutally so, which at least cut through the bullshit. You had stopped looking for anything real a long time ago, opting instead for fun, no strings attached. And it had been working for you.

“Yeah!” Mari stretched with a yawn. “Honestly, they all were. They bought us drinks, let us sit at their table, and even made sure we got home safe. Kind of rare these days.” Her head tilted. “Did he text you?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”

Jaki, suddenly much more awake, clapped her hands together. “Text him back!”

You sighed, biting your lip. So what if you made out with a hot guy last night? That didn’t mean anything would come of it.

“He’s in a baaanddd,” Bella teased, dragging out the words.

You rolled your eyes. “A band?” You knew the type.

“Oh yeah!” Mari snapped her fingers, trying to recall. “Bang something…”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest as you shook your head. Still, curiosity got the better of you, and you tapped out a response.

Hey! Thanks for the drinks and making sure we got home safe. It was fun!

A second later, your phone vibrated again.

You busy tonight? We have a show at the Jamsil. It’s our last show of the tour.

Your heart stuttered. The Jamsil? That place was massive. Stadium-level massive. In fact, it was a stadium. The kind of venue that only serious artists played.

You sat up straighter. “Guys…”

“What?” they all asked in unison.

“I think he wants us to go to their concert tonight.”

Bella groaned, rubbing her temples. “Ugh, I need a hangover cure first. But what bar are they playing at?”

“Not a bar…” You swallowed.

Jaki, raising a brow, asked, “Then where?”

You licked your lips, staring at the message as if it might change. “Jamsil Stadium.”

Silence. Then—

“Wait, what?!” Mari bolted upright. “Are they like…opening for someone?”

Your friends quickly scrambled for their phones to look up who would be playing at the stadium that night.

“Big Bang?” Mari questioned, glancing at the others. None of you had heard of them.

Your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before typing out a new message.

Oh haha, what was the name of your band again?

His response came almost instantly.

Lol, BIGBANG

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The teasing was relentless.

Over the next week, your best friends took every opportunity to poke fun at the way you grinned at your phone, the way your fingers hovered over the screen a second longer than necessary, the way your cheeks flushed every time Jiyong’s name lit up your notifications.

It didn’t help that the memories of that night lingered in your mind like an intoxicating haze—BIGBANG’s concert, the electricity in the air, the way the entire stadium pulsed with their music. You and your friends had been given VIP treatment, watching from backstage before being pulled to the afterparty like you belonged there.

And Jiyong…

Jiyong had barely let you out of his sight.

His hand had found your hip early in the night and never strayed far, his grip possessive but never suffocating, a quiet declaration to everyone in the room. His voice had been a constant in your ear, warm and teasing, sending shivers down your spine every time he leaned in close. The buzz in your veins hadn’t just been from alcohol this time—it had been him.

You had been sober enough to feel every nerve in your body react to his touch, every stolen glance sending a thrill through your chest. And despite the slight nerves that danced in your stomach, you hadn’t pulled away. Because you liked it. You liked the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, the way he tilted your chin toward him with a lazy smirk, like he had every right to.

And then there were the texts.

Jiyong wasn’t like the men you were used to—he didn’t play games, didn’t make you wait, didn’t let hours or days pass before acknowledging you.

With him, there was no guessing, no second-guessing.

You weren’t sure if you liked it.

Or maybe… that was just the wall you had spent years building, screaming at you to run.

And yet, here you were, sitting at brunch with your best friends, stomach twisting as your phone buzzed for the tenth time that morning.

“Is that him again?” Jaki teased, sipping her mimosa with a knowing smirk.

“Oh my god, he’s obsessed with you,” Mari grinned, leaning in with wide eyes.

Bella, ever the devil’s advocate, leaned back in her chair with a smirk. “Ignore him. Make him work for it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You guys are unbearable.”

But even as you protested, you lifted your phone, heart skipping when you saw his message.

May I take you out tonight?

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, your teeth sank into your bottom lip.

“Oh my god, she’s in looooove,” Mari sang, drawing out the words dramatically.

You scoffed, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. Quickly, you schooled your expression, flipping your phone facedown on the table. “No, I’m not.”

Jaki, unimpressed, rolled her eyes. “Don’t let these idiots scare you out of something good.” She reached across the table, squeezing your hand.

“We weren’t trying to be mean!” Mari pouted, leaning in closer. “I think you should keep talking to him!”

“I was being mean,” Bella admitted, giggling—only to yelp as Jaki kicked her under the table. “Ow! Bitch!”

You sighed, shaking your head at their antics, but the truth sat heavy on your chest. “It’s not that serious.”

Jaki snorted. “Please. He was all over you at the afterparty. He texts you nonstop. Y/n, stop being a coward and go out with the man.”

Before you could protest, the sound of your doorbell interrupted.

Your brows knit together. No one was supposed to be coming over, and you and the girls had barely rolled out of bed for brunch.

Grabbing your phone, you opened your Ring app—and blinked.

There was no one there.

Just a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep.

“What the hell…” you muttered, rising to your feet.

Mari, ever the nosy one, was already on your heels as you opened the door. The moment she spotted the flowers, she let out a shriek.

“Oh my god!!!”

Before you could even react, she snatched up the bouquet and bolted back inside.

“Look what Jiyong sent her!!!” she screeched, parading the flowers like a trophy.

“Mari, stop!” you groaned, chasing after her. “You don’t even know if they’re from him!”

Jaki was already on her feet, fingers sifting through the bouquet in search of a card. The moment she found it, her eyes gleamed with triumph.

Clearing her throat dramatically, she read aloud:

'Y/n, I wanted to thank you for coming to our final show. You made the night beautiful. You’re beautiful. xx, Jiyong.'

The room exploded.

Your friends screamed in unison while you dropped to the floor, face buried in your hands, utterly mortified.

“Oh my god, he LOVES you!” Mari gasped, bouncing on her heels.

“This is like a K-drama,” Bella wheezed.

Jaki clutched her chest. “I’m so happy for you.”

This was so weird.

Finally, when the chaos died down and your heartbeat returned to a semi-normal pace, you picked up your phone.

Your fingers hesitated before typing.

Why’d you send flowers? The girls are getting the wrong impression.

Like clockwork, he responded within seconds.

Wrong impression? I like you. That’s the impression I’m trying to make.

You stared at the screen, pulse hammering in your throat.

You wanted to fight it—wanted to roll your eyes, wanted to tell him to fuck off before he got too close, before you started to hope.

But the flutter in your stomach betrayed you.

And for once, you let it.

What time should I be ready?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Dates with Jiyong became addicting in the worst possible way.

He was too much.

Too chivalrous. Too affectionate. Too willing to hold doors open, place a protective hand on the small of your back, press soft kisses to your forehead before pulling you in for something deeper, something dizzying.

Too fucking Kwon Jiyong.

It was infuriating.

He knew exactly what he was doing, the way he’d brush his fingers across your skin like he'd known you for a lifetime, the way his thumb would skim your bottom lip before capturing your mouth with his. It made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.

You weren’t supposed to like it this much. And yet, every time your phone lit up with his name, a warmth spread through your chest before you even had time to think.

You weren’t an idiot—you knew what this meant.

Actual feelings.

Yuck.

You sat on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, as the thought actually liking him played in loops inside your head. You hadn’t had real feelings for anyone in years. And yet, Kwon fucking Jiyong had waltzed into your life and made your heart flutter like some tragic romance cliché.

You refused to text your friends about it. You already knew what they’d say.

"Go for it!"

"He’s so into you!"

"Just let yourself be happy!"

No. Absolutely not.

So, instead, you did what you did best.

You drank.

It wasn’t self-destructive if you were just trying to clear your mind, right?

You set your phone on the charger, ignoring the missed texts from Jiyong, and padded into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of soju.

Shot after shot, you turned the music louder, drowning out the overthinking, the gnawing doubt, the lingering heat of Jiyong’s touch. You lost yourself in the beat, dancing around the empty house, laughing into the dimly lit living room.

And then—

It hit.

A wave of something dark, something hollow, something that made the room spin in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Your laughter faded as you looked around, eyes scanning the walls, the furniture, the memories embedded in this house.

This was where you spent your childhood summers—where you and your cousins wrestled in the living room, where your grandmother sat by the window, humming old lullabies in Korean, always watching, always loving.

She had been your everything.

She had adored you, called you her “Shining Star.” When she passed, she left this house to you, trusting you with it, believing in you.

But tonight? You didn’t feel like a star.

You felt like a fraud. A drunk, struggling, social media star with no real direction, no solid ground beneath your feet.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you even realized it. You blinked them away, shaking your head. No. Not tonight.

You needed something real. Something solid.

Your hands fumbled for your phone, eyes blurring as you found Jiyong’s number and pressed the call button before you could second-guess it.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Jagi!" he cooed, his voice warm, affectionate.

You swallowed, forcing a smile into your tone. “Hey, Jiiii…”

There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m great! Never better!”

He exhaled, a soft chuckle trailing through the receiver. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be calling me. I’m a lame old man, remember?”

You chewed your lip, thinking back to your last date—the one where he had tried to open up, where you had deflected every question, every attempt at something real.

Your chest ached.

Maybe… maybe he wasn’t so bad. Maybe liking him wasn't such a bad thing.

“Well… maybe you’re kinda cool?” you teased, voice slurring slightly.

You could almost hear his smirk.

Then, softly—“Ji… are you real?”

There was a pause, like he was trying to decipher the weight behind your words.

“Yeah, I’m real, baby,” he murmured, voice softer now. Waiting. Hoping, that you needed him.

Your head spun, emotions colliding with the alcohol in your system. “If you’re real… prove it.”

Silence.

Then, his voice came through the phone, calm, certain.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The call ended before you could protest. You let out a breathless chuckle, throwing yourself onto the couch as the liquor coursed through your veins. The room tilted, the world blurring around the edges.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You inhaled deeply, pushing yourself upright, swaying slightly as you found your footing. For a second, you hesitated—wondering if maybe you were hallucinating this entire thing.

But when you swung open the door, there he was.

Jiyong.

Bright hair catching the moonlight, dark eyes scanning you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“Ji!” you cooed, stumbling forward, arms flinging around him. Your cheek pressed against his chest, his warmth sinking into your skin, grounding you.

“You’re really real…” you sighed.

His arms wrapped around you, steady and strong. “Yeah, I’m real, Jagi.”

His voice was soft, patient. “How much have you had to drink?”

You hummed against him, pressing your nose into the fabric of his hoodie. “Mmm, dunno…”

He sighed, but you could feel his smile. He picked you up effortlessly, carrying you inside like you weighed nothing, setting you down gently on the couch.

“I’ll order some food, yeah?”

You blinked up at him, lips curling into a slow smirk. “I can be your food…” you muttered, attempting to be seductive. In reality, you probably just looked like a fish gasping for air.

Jiyong snorted, shaking his head as he helped you sit upright. “Jagi, as much as I’d love that… you’re drunk.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Let’s get some food in you, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

He said it so easily, like he was sure he’d still be here. Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Your chest tightened. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being wanted without conditions.

It made you panic. It made you angry.

“Am I ugly or something?!” you snapped, frustration bubbling up inside you.

Jiyong stilled, studying you with something dangerously close to adoration.

Then, with a knowing sigh, he ran a hand through his hair.

Falling in love with you was going to be a problem.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Waking up in Jiyong’s arms wasn’t something you had planned, nor was it something you ever thought would feel this right.

His warmth surrounded you, his steady breaths fanning against the back of your neck, his arm draped effortlessly over your waist like he had every right to be there.

And God, it felt good.

Too good.

Your heartbeat picked up as reality settled in. How had this happened? Oh, right. You called him. You practically begged him to come over. You clung to him all night, let him be your anchor in the whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t control. You let yourself feel safe.

And now? Now that it was morning, now that the haze of alcohol had lifted, it terrified you.

Jiyong shifted slightly, pressing himself closer, his grip tightening like he could sense the storm brewing inside you.

“I can feel you staring at me, Jagi.” His voice was husky, teasing, laced with that lazy morning rasp that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine.

His eyes remained closed, but his lips curled into a knowing smile.

You tensed.

"What are you doing here?" you asked abruptly, jerking out of bed like you’d been caught in something you shouldn’t have been.

Jiyong's eyes finally fluttered open, watching you with quiet amusement as you stumbled to your feet, your breath unsteady.

“What am I doing here?” he echoed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “You called me, Y/n.”

His tone was calm, patient—too patient. Like he was already used to you pulling away, like he was waiting for it.

Your mind replayed every hazy memory from last night. The drunk dialing. The way you asked him to come over instead of your best friends. The way you curled into him as if he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And now you were running.

Panic gripped your chest.

“You’re acting like a sick puppy,” you snapped, voice sharp, laced with something almost desperate. “Following me around all the time!”

It was a low blow, and you knew it the moment the words left your lips. But Jiyong didn’t flinch.

Instead, a quiet sigh left him, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

And then, he smirked. Like he had already expected this. Like he had already figured you out.

He pushed himself out of bed, the sheets slipping from his toned torso as he stood, stretching slightly before making his way toward you. His sweatpants sat low on his waist, and despite your panic, you stole a glance.

God, he was so unfairly hot.

But it wasn’t just that. It was him.

It was the way he carried himself, the way he knew exactly when to push and when to pull back, the way he had a goddamn patience for you that no one else had ever had.

He stopped a breath away from you, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Tell me you never want to see me again.”

Your stomach twisted.

“W-What?”

His dark eyes burned into yours.

“Tell me you never want to see me again, and I’ll fuck off. I’ll never contact you again.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut. You swallowed thickly, but nothing came out. He wasn’t playing games. He was serious.

Your lips parted, but your voice failed you. Because the truth was, you didn’t want him to go.

You had spent so long building walls, running from anything that felt real, convincing yourself that love wasn’t for you.

And yet, here he was. Kwon Jiyong. Standing in front of you, offering you something real.

And you couldn’t tell him to leave.

His jaw tensed slightly, like he was bracing himself for rejection. But then, with quiet resolve, he added—

"But I like you, Y/n. A lot.”

Your breath hitched.

His voice was steady, unwavering. “If you give me a chance, I want to show you just how much.”

Your heart stopped.

For a split second, you almost ran.

You almost threw up another wall, another excuse, another reason why he should stay far away from you.

But instead—

Your hands reached for his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him into you, lips crashing together in a fiery, desperate kiss.

He didn’t hesitate.

Jiyong’s hands immediately found your waist, gripping you tight, pulling you flush against him. You gasped against his lips, your body molding into his as heat surged through your veins.

And fuck, he felt good.

Every touch, every movement, every hungry press of his lips sent a spark through you.

His hands slid lower, fingers digging into your hips as you felt him—all of him—against your stomach, his arousal evident through his sweats.

A shiver ran down your spine, your head spinning for a completely different reason now.

"I'm sober now. Is that enough consent for you?" you breathed, words tumbling from your lips between heated kisses.

Jiyong pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged.

"As long as you stop pushing me away..." he panted, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin.

Your pulse thundered, your fingers gripping onto his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Deal.”

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled from his chest.

Then—he grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you back toward the bed.

You could feel the raw need in his grip, in the way his lips never left your skin, in the way his hands held you like you were something precious.

And as he laid you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with hunger and something dangerously close to devotion—

You knew.

This boy would be worth it.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[chrissturnsfav]

rapper!chris singer!reader are at a party some guy is making singer!reader uncomfortable she tells chris what’s he doing?

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris doesn't play about singer!reader

the party is in full swing, music pounding through the walls, bass shaking the floor. you’re off in the corner with your friends, sipping on something strong enough to make your chest warm. it’s comfortable and easy—but then...

you notice him first out of the corner of your eye. some guy, tall, loud, one of those guys who think the whole room revolves around him. he’s been circling for a while, and now he’s here, standing too close to you, his voice cutting through your friends' laughter.

"yo, you got a name, or am i just gonna have to call you ‘pretty’ all night?" he says, grinning like he’s some fucking hot shot.

you step back slightly, keeping your smile tight as you ignore the way you cringe at his shitty ass pick up line. "i’m good, thanks."

but he doesn’t back down that easy, leaning in like he owns the air between you. you can even feel his breath on your face, and it makes your nose scrunch up. "don’t be like that. i’m just tryna talk."

his drawl makes your skin prickle, the large and crowded space around you shrinking. you glance across the room, you see chris, manspreading on a couch with his rapper friends along with nick and matt, drink in hand, blunt between his plush lips, laughing at something someone just said.

you know how he gets after a few drinks—more protective, less patient—but you don’t care. you don’t feel safe.

you make your way over, weaving coyly through bodies until you’re standing in front of him. his eyes light up when he sees you, but his smile falters slightly when he catches your expression.

"wassup, kid?" he asks, sitting up straight as he looks up at you, elbows on his knees as he plucks the blunt out from between his lips. his tone is different now, serious.

you nod back toward the guy, not even wanting to look in that direction. "some dude’s being…weird, i dunno. just don't feel comfortable."

chris smirks dangerously, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. he sets his drink down, his jaw tightening as he looks around the sea of people. "where?"

you hesitate, but he’s already on his feet, towering over you even though he’s not that tall—just commanding. you nod toward the guy across the room, and chris follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing.

"yo, hold this," he says to nick over his shoulder, handing the blunt to his brother—who looks confused, but chris doesn't let him ask any questions before he's on the move.

he crosses the room like he’s on a mission, brushing past people like they’re invisible. you trail behind, far enough to not get in his way but close enough to see everything. chris stops in front of the guy, sizing him up before he even says a word.

"yo," chris starts, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise. "sum'n wrong?"

the guy looks confused, glancing between you and chris. "nah, man, nothing's wrong."

"then why the fuck you over here talkin’ to my girl?" chris asks, his tone calm but dangerous. when the guy doesn't respond—processing what's going on and who he's being confronted by—chris scoffs, the same dangerous smirk on his lips again. "you ain't hear what i said, playboy?"

the guy tries to laugh it off, holding up his hands. "i didn’t know she was with anyone."

chris steps closer, and suddenly, the space feels electric. "yeah, aight," he snickers. this guy knows damn well you had a boyfriend. of course he did, everyone knows. "you gonna jus' continue to stand here lookin’ stupid, or you gonna move before i fuckin' make you?"

the guy mutters something under his breath and backs off, disappearing into the crowd. chris doesn’t even watch him leave. he turns to you instead, his hand sliding around your hips.

"you good, mama?" he asks, his voice softer now, his eyes scanning your face.

"yeah, i’m fine," you say, feeling a little more at ease with him so close.

he pulls you in, his lips brushing against your ear. "ain’t nobody messin’ wit' you when m'here. don’t even trip."

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "you’re so dramatic."

he smirks, pulling back just enough to look at you. "nah, i ain't dramatic," he chuckles, his grip on your hips tightening, hang hovering just above your ass. "ion play 'bout my girl, that's all."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast

@chrissturnsfav ™

[pastryfication]

hello! i was wondering if you could write a little blurb for oscar where the reader was having a rough day (people picking on her in the paddock, getting knocked over..) and when she comes home, oscar instantly senses something is wrong and that’s when she finally breaks. maybe ends in some comfort with him being gentle to her and trying to soothe her?

hi thank u so much for this request 🫶🫶 i haven’t proofread this so ignore the mistakes pls!! hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it.

tough day | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of stress? idk

your day had been terrible from the moment you had woken up. the traffic was unbearable, everything had gone wrong at your job, and you could feel the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders even more with each second passing. and as if that wasn’t enough, someone accidentally knocked you over in the bustling crowd on the way home, and instead of offering help, they barely acknowledged your presence. the physical pain was minor, but the emotional toll was crushing. by the time you reached home, you felt like a shadow of yourself.

as you walked up the stairs to your apartment, you wanted nothing more than to curl up under a blanket on the couch and let the day melt away, but even that was too much to ask for apparently. because with sinking heart, you realised you had forgotten your keys.

tears of frustration begins to prick at your eyes as you stare at the closed door. of course this happens to you. as if your day hadn’t been bad enough already.

just when you’re about to turn around and call your mom to get her spare key, the door swings open, and there, in all his glory, stands your boyfriend. your formula 1 driver boyfriend who wasn’t supposed to be home before tomorrow.

“oscar,” you whisper his name to test of he’s really there. maybe this was just some fever dream your brain was making up after such a catastrophic day.

“hi, love.” he smiles and you can’t hold yourself back as you step forward, burrowing yourself in his arms. holding back a sniffle, you press your face into his chest, enjoying the smell of him as it envelopes you.

immediately sensing your shaky breathing, oscar pulls back slightly. “hey, what’s wrong?” he asks gently. “i thought you’d be happy to see me?”

“i am!” you immediately assure him. “i’m so happy to see you, oscar. i just-“ you hesitate for a moment and he looks down at you with a frown. “i just had a terrible day.” you sigh.

“why? what happened?” his voice is filled with so much concern and seeing his face looking down at you with so much love and care is exactly what it takes for you to finally break.

“everything just went wrong.” tears spill over as you collapse in his arms, the stress of the day pouring out as you sob into his chest, clutching his shirt.

oscar just holds you close, his hand softly stroking your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“shh, it’s okay. i’m here,” he whispers, his voice a calming balm to your frayed nerves. keeping you wrapped firmly in his embrace, he guides you inside, shutting the door behind you and leading you to the couch.

he sits himself beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and letting you lean into him.

“tell me what happened,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

you take a shaky breath as you snuggle even closer to him, sitting practically on his lap as you quietly begin to recount your day. the frustration and disappointment spills out while oscar just listens patiently, his presence working to ground you.

when you finally finish your story, he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. “i’m so sorry you had such a rough day,” he says softly. “i wish i could have done something to stop it.”

“it’s not your fault,” you murmur in reply, voice muffled by the way you’ve pressed your face into his chest again. you just want oscar’s warmth and understanding to envelop you, a safe haven after the storm.

he senses that you just need him to hold you, and he’s more than happy to comply. as you sit there in his comforting embrace, you feel the weight of the day lifting, replaced by the soothing reassurance of his love and care.

and you realise something: as long as you have oscar to come home to, no day can be a total disaster.

[whispersoftheton]

Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader. Maybe his wife has quite a childlike innocence that the women of the ton take to be weirdness and they tend to isolate her but she never knows why. Maybe they’re newly married and she decides to invite some of the ladies for tea but no one shows up and she’s upset because she’s confused and Anthony comforts her and joins her for tea instead to cheer her up.

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting this & for being so patient! This wasn't meant to be this long but it sort of took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it <3

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none just comfort :)

Word Count: 1.1K

Every square inch of Aubrey Hall's walls flourished with the season's most stunning flowers, the gardens lush as far as the eye could see. The breeze did little to cool you off from the summer heat as you sat under the tent, sipping your afternoon tea overlooking the meadow alongside Violet Bridgerton. It had been a tedious day of tending to various duties around the household, and you were expecting company from some ladies of society later that evening. It seemed your schedule had been considerably more than full since your wedding a few months ago. Rather frankly, you were just as exhausted as you were delighted in your new marriage to the Viscount. Keeping up with the Bridgertons all while being the latest lady of the house proved to be quite the task. Sure, your introverted preferences to stay within the walls of your home with a good book or spend quiet time in the gardens studying the plants were different than the interests of the ladies of the ton. However, you always tried your very best to keep everyone surrounding you in good spirits while performing your obligations, always looking toward Violet for approval, wanting to stay within your welcome. She was the Viscountess before you, after all. You could only dream of living up to her in your new position. Overseeing every small detail runs smoothly across your home, not to mention the impending weight on your shoulders due to the responsibility of Anthony's sisters coming out in the following seasons. You didn't know how long you could keep this facade up if you were being honest with yourself. But you had standards to upkeep, ways in which the Viscountess held her own beside her husband, and the last thing you ever wanted to do was let Anthony or his family down.

The sun blared upon the exquisitely green grass; surrounding the field on the outer edges were countless trees with blossoming flowers overflowing the gardens. Springtime at Aubrey Hall, indeed, was like no other. You turned your attention toward the Pall Mall game. Your husband stood before his siblings, mumbling something you were sure was some tease towards Eloise, making you smirk. Anthony turned toward the field and adjusted his grip on the mallet before making his final shot. A generous mix of disappointed grumbles and cheers erupted from the handful of Bridgertons as he made the final winning score. Half of them scrambled to debate the shot while the other half stood by, giggling toward them.

Anthony left his siblings to argue among themselves over the game he now reigned as champion over. Eloise was clearly bitter and left feeling she had been made a mockery over this loss after spending her spare time practicing for this very moment. Anthony placed his mallet on the stand alongside the others and approached you. He graciously extended his hand toward you, motioning you to go with him before the both of you bid goodbye to his mama and slipped out of sight and into the grand home.

"Eloise is taking quite hard, isn't she?" You said as he guided you through the doors. "She must have thought her practice would allow her to best you once and for all."

"Having hopes of besting her older yet clearly more skilled brother? Unlikely, my love." Anthony taunted, evidently still on a high from his victory. You stood in the main room while Anthony poured himself a drink, beckoning you to join him before you politely declined.

"I cannot. I am having the ladies over for tea shortly, and I cannot be anything less than perfection for their arrival." Anthony wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a brief kiss. Enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and yearning for more as he pulled away just enough for your noses to brush tenderly against one another.

"No moment in time exists in which you are not perfection, my love." Anthony's smile warmed your heart as you relaxed against him. "They will love you as much as I do; I am sure of it." His validation and loving gaze melted any lingering stresses still dancing around in your head. All that was left was to check off some last-minute preparations, and the tea could commence.

The late afternoon sun cast dispersed shadows across the cobblestone path. Anthony strolled into his home since returning from a lengthy afternoon of business meetings and running several errands around town. Anthony had hoped to come home to you excitedly telling him of your afternoon tea with the ladies of the ton. Instead, he found the halls seemed eerily calm for this time of day. He entered the main room and caught you sitting quietly on one of the sofas in a far corner. You curled up beside the unlit fireplace, twirling your fingers anxiously in your lap when you felt Anthony take a seat beside you.

"Sweetheart." Anthony paused before placing his hand in your lap. You didn't know if it was for comfort or to stop you from fidgeting. His warmth was welcome either way. "Is something wrong?" He cautiously asked.

"No one came." The words strained from your throat. "I know your mama and sisters left this morning on a day's travel, but I hoped-." Your voice broke before resuming. "I hoped at least someone would have-." Tears brimmed your eyes, and scattered tears stained across the top of your dress, some still falling down your cheeks. Anthony's hand cupped your face, his thumb gently preventing the tears from their continued flow. He took your hands in his and placed a lingering kiss on your knuckles before standing before you and offering you his hand. Without another word, Anthony dragged you along the halls and out into the gardens. Various flowers bloomed around you, and he brought you to one of the rarer flowers now flourishing on the property.

"What are we doing here?" You questioned while admiring the intricate patterns in which the vine had taken, the beautiful springtime flora temporarily making you forget the catastrophe of this afternoon. Anthony stepped closer from behind, arms wrapping around you as he whispered in your ear.

"It is when I am gazing upon the most exquisitely beautiful flower in the garden that I think of you." Tears again swelled inside you, but for a different reason this time. "The day will come when the world will see the beauty I am fortunate enough to hold near every day. In the meantime, I get you all to myself, hm?" The warmth and comfort of his words and presence enveloped you, brushing away the day's worries and woes with an ease only he possessed. His voice was a soothing balm for your soul that always had a way of convincing you everything would be okay. Because when you were around Anthony, you knew it would be.

Mini Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @thethreeeyed-raven @ssprayberrythings @fatbottomedvirgo @fictional-hooman (let me know if you would like to added by leaving a comment here or dm me if you’d like to be added.removed)

I DO NOT HAVE WATTPAD. I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: As you can see, I switched up the posting schedule slightly (check out the series masterlist for new "coming soon" dates). Thank you, guys so much for all the responses on Part 1! I hope you have just as much fun with Part 2. 😉

Word Count: 5.9K

Tags/Warnings: "Lies, lies, lies, yeah." ‘80s references, a new mission (and violence), cattiness, and some more cat and mouse tension.  

🎙️ Series Masterlist || YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 2: Foolish Game

“You know, we really are a family here. The whole Payback team,” Crimson Countess said.

Her voice was filled with earnestness as she held the microphone to her ruby red lips with both gloved hands. She smiled and reached out a hand to you.

“But it’s truly my pleasure to welcome Sirena into the fold. It’s about time we got another badass chick on the team, am I right?”

She knew how to play up the packed crowd in the auditorium. They roused with cheers and clapping, and you stepped closer to her in the spotlight.

It wasn’t entirely an act when you gave them (and several cameras) a somewhat shy smile. You’d been on stages almost all your life, but never one like this. You knew you were being seen by the entire country right now.

On Countess’s other side was Soldier Boy and the TNT Twins, while on your side stood Black Noir, Swatto, and Mindstorm keeping himself in the back. Off at the far left of the stage were Arthur and Madelyn Stillwell, both seemingly patient and professional.

“And you look great, hun. I love the new suit,” Countess said, gesturing at you with a playful air.

You smiled a little more and affected some humility. You tried not to adjust the black mask sitting on the bridge of your nose. It felt like a pair of pool goggles.

“Well, a little leather goes a long way,” you joked into your own mic. It earned some laughs from the sea of flashing lights amidst darkness.

Countess laughed, a sultry sound. “I know that’s right.”

“I’m really just so grateful to be here on this incredible stage with you all,” you said, casting a hand at the rest of the team. “I’m just a girl from a dusty little town in Indiana. Seriously. Imagine Smallville, Kansas, but more tumbleweeds.”

Cue more indulgent laughter. The lie was well-rehearsed on your tongue, along with this next bit, as you looked into the closest camera.

“But if you all see some small greatness in me, then I’m honored and ready to serve,” you finished.

Enthusiastic applause met the end of your little speech. You smiled and lowered the mic. Countess nodded in agreement and offered her mic to Soldier Boy next. He stepped up to the center podium and leaned on it like he was John Wayne.

“Well, it’s a good day when another hero joins our ranks. I have a feeling that Sirena,” he paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “Is gonna be a good fit.”  

You didn’t like that smile on his face, but instead of letting that show on yours, you gave him a grateful smile. He had the gall to wink at you. Then he handed the mic back to Arthur and stepped back from the podium.

“All right, one more time, you guys. Let’s hear it for Sirena!” Arthur said to the crowd, and they erupted. You accepted the praise with a demure smile and a congenial wave, like you were Princess Diana or something.

The rest of your team gave perfunctory claps as well, but Soldier Boy was the first to head off stage. Countess and the rest of them followed suit, so you did as well. She and Soldier Boy didn’t even share a glance when she stopped off into the women’s restroom. An idea struck you, and you decided to join her.

“Hey, Countess,” you began to say, but she let out a humorless huff.

“What, are you going to follow me into the fucking stall?” she said dryly.

You were momentarily taken aback by her acidity. You blinked, and she turned to give you a bored look.

“I…just wanted to say that I really look up to you,” you said.

“Do you?” she asked, with a slightly mocking smile. Her gaze briefly ran down your form. “Is that why your suit looks like a Dollar Store knockoff of mine?”

Ah…okay, you thought. You saw what this bitch was about. She’d supported you in the public eye, but she didn’t actually want another woman on the team. She’d been a powerhouse for over a decade, and not just her years at Vought.

But for every icon, there’s the threat of becoming an old has-been, you thought. 

“Well, you’ve got a point there. I asked for a cape too, but they thought it was a bit too…retro,” you remarked, hinting at a smile as you gestured at her suit, and the long red cape that draped down her back. “But really, I’m a big fan. I actually grew up watching you when I was a kid. I remember that little documentary you did with Vought Geographic. The one with the baby chimps? So cute.”

Countess’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. Both her fake smile and yours remained the same.

She broke first with a roll of her eyes.

“Just stay out of my way,” she said. Her cape brushed your arm as she breezed past you. Your smile remained until she was out of the room. Then you took a deep breath.

Be careful, you reminded yourself. You had to prove that you wouldn’t easily bend to whatever bullshit might get thrown at you, but you were still the rookie here. You had a feeling that this was just the first test of many.

You kept your guard up, even at the afterparty hosted at a nearby hotel. Tessa followed Countess’s lead and gave you fake smiles when you passed by her. Otherwise, she ignored you. Mindstorm was the only one who seemed truly indifferent towards you. (You barely ever saw him out of his room anyway.)

You couldn’t much tell with Black Noir. He’d never taken his helmet off in the few days since you’d met him, but you sensed nothing but vague interest from him. The other three men were more obvious in the way they looked at you.

In fact, you could’ve predicted the way Soldier Boy found you in a slightly quieter corner of the banquet hall. His gait was relaxed and arrogant as he made his way towards you.

He annoyed you on sight, no matter how damn attractive he was. All broad shouldered and brown hair coiffed, his face mostly clean shaven, save for some stubble. With his military green supe suit, the silver decal of an eagle stretched across his broad chest—he certainly looked the part of America’s first hero. Too bad he was also a chauvinistic ass.

But you also had a plan. It had started to form after that first encounter with him in the break room.

You kept your true thoughts off your face as you turned to greet him. He was holding his fifth tumbler of whiskey, and he smelled like it too. You sipped at a glass of red wine.

“Small town girl, huh?” he said, smiling with old-world charm. “I happen to be a city boy.”

“Born and raised in South Detroit?” you teased. “I didn’t take you for a Journey fan.”

“The mean streets of Philly, actually,” he said, with a tip of his imaginary hat. “I may be a Sinatra kind of guy, but I don’t mind a little rock ‘n roll.”

You inclined your head. “Same here. Not that my parents approved. Growing up, I had to hide my Rolling Stones records under the bed.”

That much was true.

“Ah, a little rebel,” he remarked. His gaze roamed down your form, and back up to your eyes, shaded by smokey makeup. “Who knew they made ‘em like you in Indiana.”

Your lips curved. “It’s not just cows and cornfields.”

“Evidently,” he said, taking a swig of his whiskey. “How do you like the big city so far?”

“To be honest, I haven’t had a chance to see much of it yet. This whole thing has been a whirlwind,” you said.

Lie.

The truth was, you were born and raised in Brooklyn. Maybe you had never lived in Manhattan before, but you were no stranger to the city.

Ben not only ate up the lie; he took the bait.

“Maybe I’ll give you a tour of the city one day,” he said. He thumbed at your chin once again with half-gloved fingers.

You tipped your face up to him, and you smiled.

“I’d like that.”

Your first mission with Payback was not at all what you expected.

To start with, you’d expected to do some patrolling, run down some leads, do some investigating. Instead, they had a Surveillance & Security team to do all of that for the team. Plus, they were patched in via the local police scanner of any new crimes in progress.

Arthur had paged you to come to his office. There he told you that you’d actually be going for your first save today. You were excited, until he told you that you’d be on a “team up” with Crimson Countess.

Great, you thought.

She didn’t look happy about it either, when you met her in the lobby downstairs. She gave you another frigid look before she swiftly exited the double doors.

Stay out of my way. You got the message loud and clear.   

A black SUV took you two to the Lower West Side, where there was a robbery in progress. The front window of the jewelry story had been shattered, and tens of thousands of dollars in merchandise stolen by two masked men according to the store clerk. He’d been shot in the shoulder before the men took off. The police had yet to find them.

The most unnerving part of this was the cameras that followed you and Countess while you canvassed the area—like catching criminals was some kind of reality show.

“I think I can feel them,” you said, with your fingers on your temples. “They’re headed south through the alley.”

“Which alley?” she asked, waving a hand at the several blocks ahead of you. “And what do you mean you can feel them?”

You shot her a look, endeavoring not to be snarky. “I can sense them.”

Let’s just say, your powers were particularly potent when it came to men. That’s what allowed you to feel the robbers’ energies, set high with adrenaline. They were close.

You pointed the way, and Countess begrudgingly went along with it.

“Follow my lead though,” she said.

You agreed in the moment, but you were filled with maybe too much anticipation and excitement yourself when you turned the corner into the alley without waiting for your companion.

You found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun.

You froze, your breath stilling in your lungs. The safety clicked, and the man holding the weapon quirked his head.

“Haven’t seen you before,” he drawled.

“But you know me. Don’t you, handsome?”

Countess’s fist landed squarely across the man’s jaw. He yelped as the weapon clattered out of his hand. You jumped back as the gun fired, ricochetting off the brick wall. Countess rolled her eyes and tossed a fireball at the next man, who jumped out of his hiding place behind the dumpster. He screamed and dove to the side.

She didn’t wait for him to recover. Grabbing him by the collar with a gloved hand, she threw one hard punch that broke the man’s jaw. You winced at the telltale cracking sound. The other man just held his hands up in surrender, wide-eyed and afraid. You felt his fear radiating off of him. With another swift punch, she knocked him out as well.

You could only stand there with your mouth open in surprise. You managed to close it when Countess turned your way.

“I told you to follow my damn lead,” she said coolly.

The police filtered in shortly after, as did the camera crew. The director sighed at Countess.

“This was supposed to be Sirena’s first save,” he said. Countess turned to him with a sharp look.

“Train her fucking better then,” she snapped.

You chewed the inside of your lip, but you fought not to outwardly show your embarrassment. Why’d they have to partner you with her, for fuck’s sake?

The car ride back to the Tower was just as tense and silent. At least there was a black partition between you two in the backseat and the driver.

Finally, you sighed and tried to offer an olive branch.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got a bit excited,” you said.

“You almost got yourself killed,” she drawled, not even looking at you as she gazed boredly out the window. “Even that would’ve been a challenge for the PR team.”

Your lips pursed in irritation. Oh, my God. Is she that insecure?

“Countess, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m not trying to replace you. I’m not trying to take anything from you.”

“Except my boyfriend,” she shot back. Finally she turned her head towards you with cool disdain. “You think I didn’t see you flirting with him last night at the afterparty?”   

You rolled your eyes, though you hid a sliver of embarrassment. You should’ve known she’d spot that.

“He approached me, okay?” you said. Maybe you were about to let your pettiness to get the best of you, but you couldn’t help it. You smiled slyly. “And from what I hear, I’m the least of your worries. Looks like Ben has quite the appetite.”

The cracks of Countess’s cool façade finally broke through to anger. She glared at you tightly.

“He may have his little toys, but they never last long,” she said pointedly. “The only reason he’s giving you the time of day is because you’re new, and shiny, and full of silicon.”

“And young,” you added with a wink. “Don’t forget young.”

She seethed, and you were almost concerned that she might toss a fireball your way. Mercifully, the car rolled to a stop in the back entrance to the Tower to make it easier to navigate past any paparazzi. You slid out on your side, and you didn’t bother waiting for Countess when you went back inside the Tower.

All the way back up the elevator to your floor, you thought about the way you’d frozen at the sight of the man’s gun. You did have proper combat training. Your dad had paid for the lessons.

“You’re gonna pay us back one day,” as he’d said. “We’re investing in our future, just as much as yours.”

You shook your head and sighed. You should have grabbed the robber’s arm and reached for any flash of skin you could touch to compel him into submission.

The thought continued to unsettle you as you went into the breakroom first for something to eat. You ended up making yourself a sandwich and sat down at the nearby dining table with an unsweetened tea. Swatto happened to fly in for a coke and an old slice of pizza. When he noticed you, his insect-like wings folded back into his back after he landed on the ground.

Out of everyone, his suit looked the most cumbersome with the big shoulder armor and the condom-like mask over half his face. You understood why he wasn’t wearing it now. He was dressed down in an old Ramones shirt and a pair of jeans. He ran his fingers through his short hair and slid into the chair closest to you.

“Hey. How’s it going, beautiful?” he asked, with what was likely meant to be a charming smile.

You were close enough to sense his salacious thoughts. You restrained a sigh. Ordinarily you’d entertain him a bit more, but frankly, he was making a bad day worse and you weren’t in the mood.

So you smiled. While your hand slid over his on the table, you leaned in close to his ear.

“Shoo, fly,” you said. Your words held power as your eyes glowed violet.

Immediately, you felt the way Swatto’s body sat up straighter. With a blankness falling over his face, he got up from the table and left the way he came, forgetting his snacks on the table.

You shook your head and continued eating your sandwich in peace.

A few minutes later, there came an even rarer sighting—Mindstorm snuck into the breakroom next. He glanced at you with wary eyes, like a deer pausing before it took a drink from the pool. When you just stared at him in slight bewilderment, he quickly rucked through the cupboards for a bag of Bugles labeled:

MINDSTORM’S – DO NOT EAT!

As if anyone would want to steal a bag of Bugles.

Just when you opened your mouth to offer him some kind of greeting, Mindstorm quickly ducked out of the room. You blinked in confusion.

“Odd,” you said to yourself. “So very odd.”

“Right?” came a voice behind you. You screamed and nearly jumped out of your skin, but you realized it was only Black Noir, holding a beer.

“Jesus…” You held a hand over your beating heart. It wasn’t the first time he’d snuck up on you like that. Can this guy wear a bell or something?

“Don’t mind him. He’s got a few dozen screws loose,” said Noir.

Unlike the other two, he was fully suited up. However, he took his helmet off and set it on the table so he could drink. You held in a breath, as you were pleasantly surprised to see the face of a handsome black man. It was the first time you’d ever seen him unmasked.

Wonder what else he’s hiding under there, you thought. Your gaze briefly dipped down his chest and strong-looking thighs.

You both chatted over small things at first. According to Noir, Mindstorm’s apartment was completely soundproof, but it didn’t do much good for the guy, since he had a hard time keeping people’s thoughts out of his head. You thought New York City was probably a terrible place for him to live, in that case.

“And you’re smalltown, right?” Noir asked.

You offered a half-smile. “Guilty.”

“Yeah, same here,” he said, raising his beer. “From a nowhere town in Georgia.”

For the first time, you felt slightly bad for keeping up the lie. Noir seemed like a decent guy so far. You clinked your iced tea with his beer.

“Well, Nowhere, it’s nice to find a kindred spirit,” you said.

You two drank for a bit in a comfortable silence, until he turned to you with curiosity in his dark brown eyes as he took you in. 

“So, what made you want to join Payback? The pay, or the free shit?” he asked.

You quirked a smile. You decided to give him the easiest answer he’d believe.

“Well, the free shit is a big perk. But…as vapid as it sounds, I wanted to get out of the background, make a name for myself,” you said. Noir nodded.

“Believe me, I get it. Around here, it can be hard to stand out,” he said. His brows knitted together while he stared hard at the table. You watched him, wondering what he meant.

After a beat, he perked up and met your gaze. “You know, I’ve been wanting to pitch a movie idea to Arthur.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just trying to…you know, find the right words.”

Your expression eased, and you crossed your arms and turned towards him.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you said, waving at him in a bring it on gesture.

Noir’s brows popped up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?” you said. “Give me your best elevator pitch.”

Black Noir stood up from the table, nearly knocking over his empty beer bottle as he went. You grabbed it so it wouldn’t tip over. You were amused by his slightly flustered state. He set his hands on his hips and couldn’t quite meet your eyes when he started speaking.

“So, I’m thinking it could be like 48 Hours meets Trading Places. Except instead of a wise-cracking criminal or a guy down on his luck, I’m like, a wise-cracking ninja.”

“But ninjas don’t typically talk, do they?” you said. Clearly this guy had a thing for Eddie Murphy. “Aren’t they supposed to be stealthy?”

Noir raised a finger. “Okay, yes, but it’s a comedy. So that’s the ironic part, in a funny way.”

“So you’ll make witty quips before you kill your targets?” you said, holding in a laugh. You brandished an invisible sword. “‘You’re gonna need a new carpet.’ Fshh.”

You mimed a cutting motion, then blood spraying from your neck as you made some mock death throes. Noir stared at you blandly. You bit your lip.

And you were the first one to break with a laugh. The sound was infectious enough to break him too though. Noir couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle along with you.

You were almost too distracted to hear a pair of heavy boots, and sense the male presence at the door. You turned at the flash of green in the corner of your eye.

Of course, the cast wouldn’t be complete without Soldier Boy. Or Ben, as he’d insisted you call him.

His gaze roamed the room with feigned disinterest, but you could tell when he looked over at you and Noir that he wasn’t pleased. He clung to stoicism as he approached your table with his usual gait: calm, controlled, and arrogant.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked with a raise of his brow. “Could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“Just working on a pitch for Noir’s new movie,” you said, though the man in question gave you a hard stare. One that warned you to stop talking.

“Noir’s new movie?” Ben said, with a curl of his lip. He turned to the other man. “Trying to compete with Red Thunder before it’s even out in the box office? That’s not very good form.”

“No, no. Of course not,” said Noir. “Just…throwing some ideas around.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard. Some kind of samurai bullshit,” Ben said dryly. His green-eyed gaze was sharp, however. “Why don’t you stop wasting people’s time on tragic fucking ideas, and find something actually fucking useful to do.”

You watched carefully between the two men. Was there some kind of bad blood here?

Noir’s lips pursed, but despite the spark of anger in his eyes, he kept it all inside when he lowered them. He got up from the table and left without another word, putting on his helmet as he went.

Ben shook his head and drew closer to you. You frowned up at him as you stood and crossed your arms below your breasts.

“Well, that wasn’t very kind,” you remarked.

“This is the real world, sweetheart. He still needs to learn his place on this team,” Ben replied. But then, his charm was back. His face eased into a smile. “I’m glad I found you. It’s time I made good on my promise.”

You tilted your head. “What promise?”

“To take you out,” he said. “Give you a little tour of the city.”

After that little display, you had even less interest to spend any more time with this man than absolutely necessary…

Remember the plan, you reluctantly reminded yourself.

“Come on,” he prodded, extending a hand out to you. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Releasing a breath, you uncrossed your arms and slipped your hand into his.

“Okay. I would appreciate you showing me around,” you said, giving him a smile with some feminine charm of your own.

His lips curved into a grin. He raised your hand up to his lips, and despite yourself, his stubble ignited small tingles across your skin.

“Meet me downstairs in half an hour,” he said.

After taking the time to change out of your supe suit and into something dressier, reapplying your makeup and fixing up your hair, you met Ben downstairs out front. He was waiting for you there on a motorcycle, of all things.

“Really?” you asked, giving the vehicle a dubious look. “I thought you’d be a limo kind of guy.”

“Oh, I am. But today we need speed if we’re going to cover the whole city,” he said with a grin. He revved the engine, and it let out a loud, rumbling sound. It looked like a death trap.  

“I don’t know, Ben,” you said, for the first time using his name. You were actually nervous enough to show it.

He chuckled and motioned you over. Reluctantly, you went to him. His hand smoothed down your arm and held your elbow. He peered into your eyes.

“You think I’m going to let you fall on my watch?” he said. 

You held his gaze. Eventually, you bit your lower lip, and you accepted his offer of a helmet (even though he was going without one), then his helping hand to climb onto the motorcycle behind him. You tentatively held onto his waist.

“That ain’t gonna cut it, baby doll,” he said. He grabbed your hands and tugged you closer, until your arms wrapped around his middle. You made a small sound of surprise, feeling the solidness of his frame. You had a feeling he was grinning.

“All right, hold on,” he warned, revving the engine once again.

Your teeth clenched with dread. “Please, go slooow—ahhh!”

Ben peeled out of the curved landing in front of Vought Tower with a screech of tires. You gripped onto his jacket like a lifeline and pressed yourself to his back as closely as you could—something you were sure was his intention.

You sensed his amusement, though he at least had the decency not to laugh at you. He merged onto the street and zipped through the layers traffic, heading towards the center of the city.

Ben didn’t just show you the city. He showed you his world.

He first took you to Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center. Instead of the normal group tour to the observational deck, he had a short chat with management that had them letting you two up to an even higher level, into an exclusive bar. It was apparently so high up that only twenty people could be inside at a time.

You two enjoyed a couple of drinks along with the amazing view of the city, and of Empire State across the way.

“You don’t get views like this in Indiana, do you?” Ben asked.

You nodded indulgently. “You do not.”

Never mind that you had never even been to Indiana. Yet, you had also never seen the city like this either.

“Thank you for taking me out like this,” you said. You reached out and softly touched his hand. You met his eyes with a subtle smile. “I didn’t know what to expect when I got here, but you’ve been really nice to me. Makes me think I can actually belong here.”

He seemed pleased as he sipped his drink, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“What can I say? I’m a nice guy,” he said.

You smiled, affecting demure as you ducked your head. It was an act you’d long ago perfected. Men tended to underestimate you, and you always used that to your advantage.

From there, he took you to clubs you’d never even knew existed, then to a restaurant so old, it still had a dress code. (And it was the best surf and turf you’d ever had in your life.)

When you got to Times Square, however, you were delayed practically an hour by all the fans who wanted Soldier Boy’s autograph. Once the first couple of young women recognized him, even out of his suit, it was all downhill as more and more people got excited by the world’s most famous superhero.

You stood off to the side, watching him be flirtatious to women of all ages, ruffling kids’ hair, and shaking hands with men, and even veterans who thanked him for his service.

You signed a couple of autographs and took some pictures with people yourself, but you knew you wouldn’t be recognized as much. You had to be content with waiting for Ben off to the side. Though admittedly, you were getting bored and more than a little annoyed that he was taking so long.

He seemed to realize it when he finally looked your way.

“Hey, Sirena!” he called out to you by your supe name, drawing your attention in front of a few of his fans. He waved you over, and even introduced you to the small crowd still gathered around him. He set a hand on your lower back.

“I’m sure you all know about Sirena, the newest member of our team,” he said. You looked up at him with some measure of gratefulness. Maybe this part of the day was working in your favor even more than you’d thought.

You intentionally leaned closer to him, laying a semi-innocent hand on his arm as you smiled at the others.

“I’m taking some time to show her around,” he continued, glancing down at you. “She’s from a small town, so this city can be pretty daunting. But it’s my home. My favorite place in the world. Especially because I get to see all of you.”

He swept a hand out towards the crowd, and they ate it up with cheers, clapping, and some flirtatious whistling. He shot a wink and a raised finger at that one.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, with one last parting hand at the people. He ushered you back onto the motorcycle, and off you went.

He was trying his damndest.

He wore that fake, debonair charm like a second skin as he got you a private tour of the Met, and treated you to rich food and expensive wine. He was showing off his wealth, his fame, and giving you the “best” of him.

However, you had already seen glimpses of the true man underneath the gaudy show. And it was ugly, with an edge of darkness.

You had that thought in the back of your mind, even while you two sat side by side on a ledge. He’d brought you to a spot near the Hudson River, close to an overpass. It wasn’t an area meant for parking (according to the No Parking sign), but he didn’t seem to care.

Neither did you, really. The view was too beautiful, with the large orange sun halfway sunk below the water. It cast shades of yellow and red and purple across the sky, even over the dark waters.   

Ben was working on his third hotdog. You were licking your way around a scoop of cookies and cream ice cream on a waffle cone, letting the end of it swirl off your tongue. You resisted a smile, feeling the warmth of his gaze on the side of your face.

“So tell me,” he said, after he finished off his snack. He crumpled his napkin and tossed it somewhere behind him. “I heard you were making a name for yourself as a singer. What made you want to join Payback?”

He was giving you a little too much credit. You’d been making your money by being a background singer for various artists, but your last big break going on Whitney Houston’s latest tour was what finally put you on Vought’s map.

You considered his question with a tilt of your head. Black Noir had asked you the same thing, more or less. You’d given him an easy, predictable answer. With Ben, you edged closer to the truth...or part of it, anyway.   

“I don’t just want people to know who I am,” you said. “I want to be remembered for something good. I want to prove it to my family too, that I can do it. …Is that naïve?”

Ben hummed in understanding, though he shot you a certain look.

“Not if you play your cards right,” he said. 

His leading tone didn’t surprise you. You slid him a smile. 

“And how should I do that?” you asked. You turned to him, setting your finished cone aside. Ben took the opportunity to reach out and draw a line down your cheek with his thumb. He wiped a small smear of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. 

He smirked. “By sticking close to me, baby doll.”

You had to admit, his proximity was stirring you more than you liked. He was devastatingly handsome, and he knew it too. With his face inching so close to yours, it was hard for you to remember the things this man had said about you to Arthur, how he clearly didn’t give a fuck about Countess, and even what a dick he'd been to Black Noir.

Not to mention, how he acted all the time, as if the whole world was his.

Just as his lips neared yours, you leaned back. Your eyes met his knowingly.

“You already have someone close to you,” you pointed out. “What about Countess?”

Ben stilled. He sighed, but he didn’t let go of your cheek. He traced your jawline with the sensuous promise of a practiced hand. It made your breath difficult in your lungs, rising into your throat.

“Ah, Donna,” he shook his head. “We’ve been on the rocks for a while now.”

I’m sure, you thought wryly.

“What you and I have, right here, right now,” he said, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your cheek. “It’s special. The moment I saw you, a pure connection.”

Your brows furrowed. Those words triggered some kind of familiarity in you. A pure connection…

Wait, isn’t that a line from one of his movies? you thought. Oh yeah, A Gentleman’s Promise. 1949.

You had to bite your lip to stifle your laughter. This man did not just quote himself.

Ben took your reaction for a different kind of inner conflict, as he continued pressing tantalizing kisses down your neck. You cleared your throat a little, fighting a sigh of pleasure.

Stick to the plan, you thought.

Because he was right. The fastest way for you to get what you wanted was to be close to him, to use his status to your advantage. Timing was everything, however.  

You slipped your hands between you two and pressed gently, but firm against his chest.

“Ben,” you implored.

You were grateful that he actually stopped. His lips stilled against your skin, and he pulled away with a frown.

“What?” he said.

You looked up at him through your lashes, before you leaned in, stopping just shy of his lips.

“Maybe I’ll consider your offer when there’s a real place for me by your side,” you said with a smile. Then you backed off.

You gathered yourself and stood, coyly sauntering back to the motorcycle. You’d wait for him there.

Ben turned to watch you go, unwilling to admit he was both equally aroused and irritated. His jaw clenched, then eased.

After a moment, he joined you and drove you back to the Tower in silence. All the while, he couldn’t stop thinking. About your lips, your eyes, your voice, your soft body, your smile, and worst of all, the way you’d denied him. For fuck’s sake, you’d given him an ultimatum.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had that kind of audacity, let alone a woman. He wouldn’t let show, or even admit to himself, how much it affected him. But the same thought kept turning through his mind as the streets of New York passed by in a blur.

Just who the fuck does she think she is?

AN: 😅 Lol Ben's got his work cut out for him. Think he'll be able to figure out her game?

Next Time:

“What’s in it for me then?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You blinked your eyes wider. Really?

“I doubt whatever you’re thinking, Soldier,” you said, a little more snidely than you meant to.

Ben's cocky smile said it all.

Your lips pursed in exasperation. You hadn’t thought you would have to bargain to get him to be nice to a kid. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. Clearly you’ve had a long day, so I’ll just get out of your way,” you said, raising your hands in surrender. You turned to leave.

“All right, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he said.

You paused at the door, tossing him an annoyed look over your shoulder.

His smile deepened. “I’ll do it.”

His steps were measured as he approached you. You turned back to face him, albeit warily. As he seemed to like doing, he gently grasped your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll do it for a kiss,” he said.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[fraugwinska]

I know canonically Alastor doesn't sleep but let's assume it's not because he doesn't have to but because he doesn't want to - he feels powerless and vulnerable when he sleeps, also he is tormented by nightmares.

What if one night everyone is waken up by hotel almost falling apart: walls are cracking, everything is shaking, and a green glow is flowing through the corridors. Turns out, Alastor is asleep and having a very bad nightmare. And unless they want the hotel to fall apart, someone has to wake Alastor up... (reader volunteers as a tribute)

LOTS of angst with a comfor ending? :)

You ask, Anon - and I deliver (at last)! Thank you for being so patient with me! Today just felt right to write this, and I sincerely hope you find it worth the wait! <3 TW: Depictions of Blood - Minors DNI - 2.8k words

The Eye of the Storm

"What the fuck is going on?!"

Another loud boom shakes the ground of the corridor, almost making you trip and fall if not for the handrail you managed to grab. Angels door opened at the other end, a scared squeal of Fat Nuggets faintly audible as Angel stumbled out, clearly as startled and scared as you.

"Fuck, toots, what is that?"

"I have no idea!"

You had no idea, but whatever was causing it, the entire building was shaking like in an earthquake and you were terrified some of the older, worn out parts of your floor could collapse any moment. The cracks on the walls were growing with every rumble, and a bright, green glow had overtook the lamps, turning the usually warm and inviting space into an eerie nightmare.

You exchanged a terrified look with Angel, both of you unsure what to do next. He hurried over to you, his piglet shaking in two of his arms, taking your hand with his free one and pulled you with him. "C'mon, we need to find Charlie, before the fucking ceiling falls on our heads."

You didn't even have the time to reply before the lights went off, a terrified scream leaving your mouth before you could stop it. You heard a string of curses from Angel and felt him squeeze your hand tighter. The both of you ran down the stairs as fast as you were able to in the dim darkness. You tripped several times, but Angel held you steady, trying his best to not fall himself. The lights went on again with another rumble, making the stairway moan like it was in pain.

"Charlie! Vaggie!"

You reached the lobby, where you found the rest of the residents already gathered. Everyone was there, looking shaken and confused, but unharmed. You saw them look around and then up to the ceiling, the cracking of the wood and walls sounding louder and more violent than upstairs.

"Ey, you two, are yo' hurt?" Husk yelled over the noise, his eyes scanning Angel with a worried look.

You shook your head, letting the spiders hand go so he could run up to Husk, who took his pig into his arms and hugged Angel close.

"Is everyone alright? Where's Niffty... and Alastor?" Charlie's voice sounded shaky, and you could tell she was doing her best to keep calm and not freak out.

"I'm here!" The little cyclops girl appeared behind Sir Pentious's hat, her eye wide. "But I think Alastor's not okay."

"What do you mean?" Vaggie asked, her hands stiff on Charlies trembling shoulders.

Niffty looked around, biting her lip. "He has bad dreams sometimes, and he's really scary when he does, and then stuff like this happens. He can't control his powers, and-"

"Wait, so it's HIM who's causing all of this?" Vaggie's eye widened in anger and another boom made the whole lot of you duck as the glasses from the bar fall from their shelves, flooding the floor with shards of glass and debris.

"Yes, but he can't help it, it's his brain messing up! We need to help him!"

Vaggie cursed, while Charlie and the others started to ramble over another.

"Someone has to wake him up, before the hotel really collapses."

"Are 'ya crazy, Charls? We can't go in there!"

"Yeah, at this state, yo' won't know that fucker won't rip yo' to shreds befo' you even reach his room."

"It'ssss better to evacuate, I think."

"And leave the building to fall into pieces? Ugh, maldito idiota de la radio..."

Your head turned worriedly back to the green glowing corridor. Alastor. What the hell kind of bad dream would make him lose control over his powers like that? Niffty said it was his brain messing up, whatever that meant - did he really suffer from nightmares? You felt a sting of worry for the deer demon. You didn't even want to imagine the kind of terrors he had to have in his head to cause something like this.

"I'm gonna go."

Everyone stopped talking and looked at you. Husk gave you an incredulous look, still holding Angel and the pig in his arms. "Y-yo' can't be serious. That's straight-up suicide."

You shook your head. "Someone has to. I'll be fine, just... get out of here, wait outside and make sure no one is getting hurt."

Angel tore himself out of the cat demons grasp, taking you by your shoulders, his eyes pleading. "Toots, Alastor is not himself right now. He can't control what the fuck he's doing, and if he hurts 'ya, I don't... Please, don't do this, that bastard ain't worth it."

You knew the spider demon was worried, and you appreciated your friends' concern, but he didn't know the Radio Demon as well as you did. You were aware of his reputation, the stories of his atrocities and his sadistic nature. You knew how cruel and unforgiving he could be, but you also knew that over the last few weeks, he had shown you a softer, less menacing side. You and him bonded over his love of cooking and your love of eating what he prepared, over your shared interest for record players and classical music and your affinity to magic and the obscure. He could be a lot of things, but he wasn't just the bloodthirsty serial killer most of the denizens of hell made him out to be.

You gave the spider a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't worry about me, Angel, it's going to be alright. He's my friend, I can't just leave him in there to get crushed by the building."

Before you could be held back, you started to run towards the stairs. Charlie cried out to you, but you ignored her, you just took a last glance back, shouting as you vanished into the darkness.

"Just trust me, and get your asses out of here."

"Fuck."

The group stood there, unsure what to do, and a loud snap coming from the second floor made them turn and run for the doors.

The higher you climbed the stairs, the more intense the shaking and rumbling got. You had to crawl on the steps at times, because it was too dangerous to walk, and you didn't trust your legs not to give way under you. The walls were splitting, the green light was burning in the lamps, and the air was crackling with what seemed like dark magic, ominous glowing symbols appearing and fading in your vicinity.

When you finally reached Alastor's door, it was already hanging from the hinges. It had probably blown when the magic started to burst out in violent waves, the green glow brightly pulsating and threatening from within the inside. You wondered if your heart could beat any faster without giving way. It wasn't the first time you were scared witless, hell wasn't exactly a carnival. But as much as you believed the best about Alastor, he still was one of hell's most powerful overlords. He still had countless bodies in his name. You trusted him, but if Niffty and the others were right - and it seemed to be the case that they were - he had little to no control over himself when lost in a nightmare. Could a demon like him sleepwalk and kill you in their sleep?

You took a breath and squared your shoulders, turning around to call into the room, not daring to set a foot inside yet.

"Alastor? It's me. Can you hear me?"

The rattling of the sudden radio static made the framed pictures on the wall shatter to the ground, and from the edge of your field of vision you noticed the lights fade once more, turning the already ghost-like bedroom almost black. You reached for the doorway and lowered your voice.

"It's me, you have to listen, okay? It's okay. I just came to check on you. It's safe now. You are safe."

No answer, again. The darkness felt suffocating, as if it was about to crush you any minute. You felt dizzy, disoriented, like a rabbit that had caught the eyes of a fox. You didn't dare say anything else, not until you could at least see him, figure out what was going on. With shaking legs, you took a step over the threshold. The lamps flickered again and you tried your best not to stumble as you scanned the room in front of you in between the shutters of brightness for traces of the other demon.

When you found him, you had to bite down a cry of horror.

You wished you hadn't.

He was curled up and violently shaking on his bed, the covers ripped and laying in pieces around his sweating body. His head was almost between his knees, hair spiky and disheveled and his overgrown and twisted antlers slicing the mattress and pillows with every tremor rushing through him. You could barely see him, the flickering lights making his face obscured in the shadows, but what you could see made your heart sink. He was sobbing in between shattering breaths, his chest heaving up and down erratically and his claws digging deep ridges into his torso as his body jerked and twisted, blood pooling into the covers in deep red.

"Al." You couldn't control yourself anymore. The shock, the dread and worry freed your legs from their stupor and you rushed to the hunched form, nearly stumbling on the ripped fabrics.

His eyes flew open at the touch of your fingers, burning in bright crimson with ticking dials as irises, almost completely overtaking his entire eye sockets. The howling of radio static screeched from his lips as the room shook again as he bared his sharp teeth, his clawed hands swiping at you with violent intensity that send you flying on the ground. You tried to catch yourself, but fell to your side, letting out a pained cry as you felt the wound on your waist, dripping with blood and split wide open.

You watched him with wide eyes as his limbs grew, afraid to even move. His stare was petrifying you, you had never seen such violent, uncontrolled expression on him. He growled, his head turning towards you, his mouth, no, maw opening. He looked like he wasn't there anymore, that nothing left was inside besides a manic creature ready to slaughter everything it crossed. A nightmarish beast in its lair that had cornered a small helpless prey, ready to be swallowed alive.

He got up in one swift motion, the pieces of fabric that once were bedcovers flying through the air and a dark aura creeping into your vicinity. Your breath hitched. You couldn't get out of his range with him like that, the open wound kept you from moving fast, and his maw was so big it seemed he could rip you apart by just inhaling.

"Alastor, it's okay. It's me." you breathed, desperate not to lose hope. There must be something that could call to him in the deepest parts of his mind, something that could snap him out of this lucidity. You scrambled back as he stepped in front of you, lowering his head to meet your eye level. His claws dragged on the floor beside him, and in a sudden, swift move, his large hands grasped you, the pressure on the gash blindingly painful.

"I-It's okay, it's not y-you, it's just a bad dream. I'm here to h-help you. Let me..." You gasped, a sob leaving your throat as his claws started to dig into you.

"Nnnghh... Y...-you c..c-c-an't ...-he..lp...m...m-e-e.."

A snarl left his lips and he raised his face into the air, his arms lifting you effortlessly and you whimpered in fear. Pushing through the hazy fog that invaded your brain, you tried again.

"Please, Al, j-just look at me. Wake up a-and look at me. You'll be okay."

"W...-why d-d..id..-.yo...-u co..-m-e... -h..e-re...?"

The blood loss was making you feel faint, and you lifted a bloody hand, desperate to touch him, to reach the man behind the monster. With blurry eyes, you brushed his cheek, his face just near enough your fingertips reached the fizzing skin. It felt like dipping your hand in pure electricity, numbing and painful, but you didn't care.

"Because you a-are scared and h-hurting, and I care about y-you. What f-friend would I be if I l-let you s-suffer alone?"

At your words, his enormous form shivered, and you felt his grip on you loosen ever so slightly. The dials fixed on you were still ticking, but the red of his eyes dimmed. Your other hand came up, slowly, to take the other side of his face.

"Can you wake up for me, Alastor?"

More growling, more shaking.

"Pl-please. Wake up and come b-back to me."

His eyes flicked, the howling static became more hushed and his ears twitched under the forks of his antlers. You took a shuddering breath of relief as the animalistic stare on his face lost its threatening gaze and felt the buzz under your fingers slowly dying down. The sharpness under your hands subsided fully as you saw Alastor shrink back, slowly becoming aware again of his surroundings. The green glow that filled the room flickered and turned into the familiar oranges and reds. You held onto his face and his eyes, not daring to let him go until he had finally settled and transformed back into his regular form, the last clicks of the vanishing dials fading as his irises turned to dim reds once again.

"What happened. Why are you..." The sound of his familiar voice was all you wanted to hear now. As your legs gave away, you didn't fall however, Alastor's slender hands were quick to catch you, his smile confused and irritated. He let his eyes travel down your arms to the wound and pools of crimson surrounding you, and back at your face, now pale.

"What do you think you are doing, dear." he breathed, settling you down slowly on the ground.

"You had a nightmare. The hotel... everything was chaos. I had to come, had to... get you out of it." you stammered, watching him looking around to see the damage, his face warped in realization as he put the pieces together.

"Fuck!"

It was rare to hear the usually so poised and reserved Radio Demon swear, but for this situation you'd agree it was entirely appropriate. But the hotel still stood and he was back, and that was all that mattered. When he took you up in his arms and buried his face in your neck, you felt the more alive than in the whole time on earth.

"You foolish girl. You could've been killed by my hands."

You let him embrace you, his long arms circling around you protectively and his forehead resting on the hollow of your throat.

"But I wasn't." you said simply, smiling weakly into his hair. Your arms felt heavy but they still managed to find their way onto his back, reassuring and tender, letting him know you were fine, mangled maybe, but alive and there. You stayed that way for a moment, both of you unable to move or say something as you found some grounding in each other's warmth and the now peaceful silence.

The quiet was broken, however, when you heard frantic footsteps in the hall outside and the uproarious group of the hotel staff came charging through the opened door, halting when they saw your display. Alastor didn't lift his head, in fact, he didn't move at all. You turned your head, your hand barely leaving his back to give the speechless group a lazy wave.

"Are 'ya ok? I'll kill 'im if 'yer not, I don't give a shi-"

"You were so incredibly brave, oh gosh, look at all this blood. Vaggie, we need to get the first aid kit!"

"I'll get my mop! And a broom, look at the mess!"

"Aye, this fucker really owes you."

"Umm... this is rather... Should we give thossse two a moment?"

"Lo juro por Dios, un día de estos lo voy a matar..."

Through the mass of noise the others made, talking and fussing and scurrying, you heard Alastor's quiet whisper against your bloodied skin, loud and clear.

"Thank you, dearest."

You smiled, closing your eyes and holding him a bit tighter, even if it made your wounded side sting.

"It's okay, Al. What else are friends for?"

[inkedtae]

xiii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter thirteen : the mysterious angel of seoul ⤑ ❝ the world is desperate to know who you are, but taehyung is the only voice that matters. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, orgasm control, dirty talk, dry humping, ab riding, begging, grinding, teasing, neck kisses/licking, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very huge, massive thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading late into the night for me and being so fucking patient! please send her all the love because she helps me make this so readable and clear for you and she is just over all the best human in the world 💕

Misty cobalt skies blanket the city. Rain falls steadily, blurring the city lights below. You love watching the droplets disrupt puddles and the sea of coloured umbrellas. While most are black or grey, a few pops of yellow, red, blue and pink still bob down the sidewalk. Perhaps your favourite thing about rainy days, however, is how the pavement darkens, glistening under the streetlights. Like how the vibrant green grass of the countryside invokes a reconnection with nature, the vivid black streets of the city draws you into a quiet, almost meditative stillness amid the chaos. 

Flashes– white-hot and blinking. 

You blink, disoriented from the all too bright lights on just a gloomy day. Glancing further down the window, you quietly groan at the growing crowd of reporters. A group of perhaps ten photographers and five journalists huddle near the front entrance, bombarding anyone who walks in or out of the building. Arms crossed, jaw tight, you step away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and make your way back to your desk.

You knew you left an impression on the press the night of the ballet performance. The following morning, you woke up with an ache between your legs and a series of reassuring text messages from Taehyung. He said he’d take care of it, but your face, slightly hidden behind your fur coat with loose strands of hair dancing in the wind, was the top story on every media outlet. Glittering makeup, furrowed brows, and annoyed confusion in your gaze– you cannot believe you’re staring at a photo of yourself. You thought they might have edited it, or adjusted the contrast settings to highlight the whiteness of your coat against the darkness in your eyes. But the same picture was posted thousands of times over. 

When Taehyung told you that he couldn’t get the photo removed, you weren’t surprised. It had been circling around the web for the better part of the day and he would have to track down every device in the city to permanently erase it. However, he reassured you that the details of your personal life will remain hidden.

You hoped that would be enough. Eventually, Seoul would grow tired of looking at your face, you remember thinking. They will move on to the next spectacle and you’ll be able to go to work on Monday with little to no trouble.

So, you locked yourself in your apartment and decided to wait for this all to blow over. You made sure to stay off social media, as per Taehyung’s advice. He said it’s not healthy getting lost in threads and posts about yourself, having been a victim of his own curiosity once or twice before.

 Instead, you watched a handful of movies, avoided Mrs Chu’s prying questions about Taehyung and applied to a few jobs. You baked cookies, brownies and a banana loaf. You reorganized your books, did some laundry, and lost a few board games against Mrs Chu…again. You texted Taehyung until he had a business call to hop on and then tried, with all your might, to finally go to bed. However, the curiosity of how much they knew had finally worn you down. You started with a single thread from a reputable news outlet. But soon, you scrolled too far into toxic netizen territory. 

For hours, you skimmed articles and speculations about your identity. Some think you’re an escort, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but most think you’re some nepo-baby, deeming you too well dressed and poised for any other line of work– a sentiment that still makes your eyes roll. They also point out that The Geraldson Group is known for nepotism hires and so if you are anyone, it must be some rich man’s daughter. 

And while a Daddy did happen to get you an interview, he wasn’t biologically yours. 

This morning, you were sitting in the backseat of the car Taehyung contracted for you. Given your newfound fame, he thought it would be best to have a driver escort you to ensure your safety. While on your way to work,  a series of new photos surfaced. You stiffened in your seat as you clicked on the link Taheyung sent you. He wanted to give you a heads-up about the new pictures and reassure you that he is doing his best to take care of it. 

The photos, seemingly taken from a hidden angle, were from your day off a couple of weeks ago. You were on your way to the Bangtan Building, the same annoyed, distant look in your eyes. There are frames of you getting into the cab, sitting in traffic, and walking into the building with an air of defiance. You suddenly understood why Taehyung had been adamant on disciplining you then. You looked like a total brat.

The media, on the other hand, thinks you’re some sort of notable figure, absolutely in love with your fashion sense and cold demeanor. From recreating your make-up to your style, you start trending online. More than that, the topic of your identity has everyone hooked. People want to know who you are and why Taehyung won’t share you with them. They want to know where you came from, how you met, and if you are the love of his life.

[V] : I think you might be more famous than me.

[angelcake] : are we surprised?

[V] : Careful.

[V] :  Don’t make me come down there and give everyone another reason to talk about us. 

[angelcake] : me**

[V] : Behave or I will tear that little dress off.

You suppress a blush at the memory of the conversation. 

Now, as you walk through the Research and Development floor, you tug at the long sleeves of your tight, ribbed cotton shirt. The high collar covers your neck from the cold and balances out the shortness of your strapless black dress. The smooth fabric clings to your frame, its tailored cut accentuating your curves. You can hear the soft brush of your sheer, black tights between your thick thighs with each high-heeled step down the hall. With your hair up in a high, sleek ponytail, your dangling silver earrings are on full display. Taehyung sent the delicate diamond set, with a matching necklace and bracelet, yesterday to cheer you up after you confessed you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of googling yourself. You opted for the earrings only today, saving the other pieces of jewellery for another time. 

As you near the common area, where an array of desks are meticulously organised for optimal movement and focus, you begin to attract more stares. Some people smirk, others raise brows and the very few you might consider work-friends, draw heavy breaths as they meet your uncertain gaze.

Jackson leans against your desk, arms crossed, while Ethan stands beside him. They both give you tight smiles. 

“Morning,” Ethan greets, taking a step back so you can walk around them to your desk.

“Good morning,” you reply with a polite smile, though your voice is shaky.

You look between the two, about to ask them what’s going on when you notice the magazine on your desk. There, on the front page of The Metropolitan, is your original viral photo. Your face dominates the entire cover. By the fur of your coat, covering your chin to the better part of your nose, is the title: The Mysterious Angel of Seoul. 

Brows furrowed, you grab the magazine. Taehyung never mentioned anything about magazines, but you feel like you should have known. Your face is all anyone has been able to talk about all weekend. You can't even scroll through social media without someone mentioning you. Rolling up the magazine, you toss it into the trash bin behind your desk and take your seat.

“So–”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You don’t even spare Jackson a look as you log into your computer. You can feel them share a look before Jackson straightens up. 

“It’s not about that,” he says, pausing to take a breath. 

You chance a glance at the pair of them over your dual screens. They're still rigid, shifting their weight and sharing uncomfortable looks. You lean back in your seat to offer them your full attention, waiting for one of them to continue so you can get back to work. 

“We’re actually not allowed to talk about… that,” Ethan clarifies, slightly nodding to the magazine. “Didn’t you get the email?”

Of course you did, and you’re certain it was Taehyung’s doing. But no email has ever stopped anyone from whispering about people before. 

“That’s not the point,” Jackson cuts in before you can reply. “Um… Here’s the– So, the thing– uh…”

Face scrunched in confusion, you let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t have time for this. You have a million and one things to do and the last thing you need is Marina finding yet another reason to make your life miserable. You turn back to your computer and open the documents the marketing team had sent over a few minutes ago. With a few clicks, you send them over to the printer. Standing to gather your clipboard and pen, you turn to find Jackson and Ethan still stammering over their words. 

“Look,” you cut in, “whatever it is, can it please wait until after the meeting?”

“It’s about the meeting,” Jackson tries again. “Lucas–”

“Yeah, where is he? I’m not prepping for this meeting by myself again,” you interject, already making your way to the copy room.

The two men follow behind you, trying to keep up with your fast strides. “He’s not an intern anymore,” Ethan informs. 

You pause mid-step. 

Jackson swallows thickly and Ethan rubs the back of his neck as you turn to face them.

“Did he quit?”

He must have quit. In fact– he better have quit. Because if he hadn’t, if he had been promoted to junior coordinator, you might break your stupid clipboard over his head and tear the conference room apart instead. 

The guilty look on your friends’ faces confirms your suspicions. Ethan is the first to redirect his gaze to the floor. To his credit, he’s just some research assistant and doesn’t have much say in who gets promoted. 

Jackson, however, is your supervisor. He’s well aware of the amount of work you put into every assigned task, no matter how meaningless it seems. He knows you’re the one that constantly picks up Lucas’s slack. You even correct his work. You don’t care much for Lucas’s success, but Marina tends to make his failures your own. So, you come in early to do your workload and half of his. You double check all his reports, emails and documents. You taste all the lattes he makes and often remake them yourself. He can barely pour a glass of water without it splashing all over the counters and floors. Jackson knows this, even witnessing it all himself. He could have stopped this, could have advocated for you. 

He takes a step forward. You take one back, blinking back tears. You’re not upset– not sad, but rather angry. 

Lucas should’ve used his fucking brain. Jackson should’ve used his fucking mouth. And Marina, with her imitating outfits and mocking tasks, should’ve used some fucking common sense. 

“Our evaluation is not for another three months,” you mutter. It’s all you can professionally muster as your anger simmers deep in your chest. You bite back profanities, gritting your teeth to keep from screaming.

Jackson licks his lips. He meets your steel gaze with pity and replies, “I was informed about it this morning. I wanted to let you know before you read it in some email.”

So she’s here.

You look over Jackson’s shoulder to find Marina sitting in her office. You narrow your eyes at the striped black and silver blouse, and black pleated mini-skirt combo. She pairs it with charcoal grey, calf-high socks and velvet black heels. You internally roll your eyes at the replication of your outfit last week. She even has her blonde hair pulled back into a tight clipped bun. Her makeup is a complete copy of yours, from the soft smokiness of your eyes, the rosy highlight of your cheeks, to the pink gloss of your lips. She sits with one leg crossed over the other. Phone pressed to her ear, she stares at her screen.

She’s here, dressed just like you, and she was going to hide behind a fucking email. A good manager would call you into her office and inform you of the promotion herself. She would coach you and explain why the promised evaluation had been bypassed, why you did not receive the position. She would give you the space to ask questions, the resources to try and help you eventually work towards your own promotion. 

However, Marina is as good a leader as she is a lover– bitter, vengeful and completely insecure. 

It seems it is not bad enough that she has been feeding the press your personal information and embarrassing you in front of your colleagues. But now she’s hellbent on undermining you in front of the entire department. You know she wants to humiliate you, just like she did on your first day when she forced the entire floor to applaud you for the attention she thought you were seeking– over the colour of your outfit. 

Her irrational, unprofessional and borderline psychotic behaviour stops now.

Handing the clipboard and pen to Jackson, you push between him and Ethan. They part their lips but you can’t hear anything. You are not interested in their pacifying words. You’ve heard it countless times before– Don’t test her. She’s not worth it. Just keep your head down. You’re tired of the same passive advice. It doesn’t make you feel any better, nor is it working. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you react to her abuse. Nothing will ever be enough for her.

You open the door without knocking.

She glances up at you, green eyes turning cold and uninviting. 

Usually, you’d avert your gaze and yield to her superior position, respecting the hierarchy of your workplace. This time, you hold her glare and lock the door. 

The tightness of her jaw wavers. She sits up in her seat, attempting to appear intimidating.

While she is around your height, she does not have your powerful frame. With narrow shoulders and hips, she barely makes a threatening impression. She lacks shape, not only your fullness. Perhaps, at one point in your life, that detail might have caused you to internally spiral, wondering if it was her smaller figure that drew Taehyung to her. However, you are thankfully not that person anymore. And the last thing you can ever imagine being, is jealous of Marina. 

“Hang up.”

Marina raises a brow. Rolling her eyes, she laughs into her phone. “Yes, of course,” she says before shooing you away with a wave of her hand. 

You reach her desk in two strides. Leaning over the cherry oak desktop, you press down on the switchhook, hanging up the call.

“What do you–” 

“We need to talk.”

Your voice is tempered, but edged with bitterness. You suppress a smirk as she falls silent, her angry resolve wavering. 

“You’re not promoting Lucas.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Bo-peep,” she spits. Her tone carries resentment, but voice ever so slightly trembles.

Tonguing your cheek, you refuse to be baited by the stupid name and continue, “No one is getting this promotion. You will wait until the evaluation in three months and make your decision based on merit and management recommendation, as per protocol.”

Marina sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She humorlessly laughs, the sound jagged and irritating– still, it lacks conviction. “Do you think you can just come into my office and order me around? You think because you made it on the cover of one stupid magazine that you’re untouchable? Let me remind you who is in charge here, sweetheart,” she seethes, leaning forward in an attempt to rob you of your space. "You are nothing but some slutty intern who got lucky. Don’t mistake that for power."

You smirk, shaking your head. “Do you think you can just continue to harass me and I won’t do anything about it? Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to the last couple of weeks with your meaningless tasks and constant manipulation? Three research assistants needed to reschedule follow-ups with their suppliers because you had me chasing an ex-employee all over the building the other day. And what did Lucas do, beside sit around and wait for me to hold his hand through a fucking photocopy?” 

Marina swallows thickly. The vehemence in her green eyes falters. She shifts back into her seat, suddenly needing some distance.

“It’s one thing to release information about me, but another to completely fail to do your job as a manager out of pure spite. You have other members on this team that need your support and you’re here bitching because of a man. Get your priorities straight, sweetheart.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I was the one that told them you work here? Everyone knows you’ve been feeding them information yourself. You just love the attenti–”

“I can make one phone call,” you snap, cutting her off, “You’ll be fired within a minute and I’ll take your place within the next.” 

The harshness of your tone silences her, but the possibility of your words rattles the mocking smile off her slim face. In reality, you are certain that one phone call to Taehyung won’t grant you her position, even if she did get fired. You would never attempt such a thing either. While you are bratty, you are not spoiled. You respect Taehyung enough not to put him in that position too. But, Marina doesn’t know that. 

“You are only here because I am allowing it,” you continue. “So, here is what’s going to happen– You are not promoting Lucas, you will wait for the evaluation and you will base your final decision on professional merit. All that petty, personal bullshit ends now.”

Marina scowls but slowly nods. 

You resist the urge to smirk. “Now,” you sigh, “Tell me to sit down.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Sit down.”

You take a seat, avoiding the stares of the entire department. You’ve felt their curious eyes on you the moment you stepped into her office. “Stand up and point your finger at me.”

Marina does so, still clueless as to what you are trying to do.

“Great. Now, tell me to go home.”

“Are you trying to weasel your way out of work again?” 

Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you fight the urge to snap at her again. Through gritted teeth, you try to discreetly reply, “I am trying to help you save face. Now, get your head out of your ass and tell me to go home for the day.”

She tries and fails to hide the shock on her face. For a second, you think you catch the faintest glimpse of guilt in her eyes. But then she blinks and her usual annoyance overtakes her avian features.

“Go home,” she whispers. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

Pushing yourself up, you mutter, “You too.” 

You avoid the cautious stares of your colleagues as you exit her office. Their eyes follow you, but you don’t acknowledge them as you head to your desk to gather your things. They whisper, scurrying around you, yet you remain unfazed. It seems your attempts at salvaging her reputation were successful if everyone’s content to talk about you, but not to you.

When the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor close behind you, you text your driver to meet you at the back exit—the same place he dropped you off earlier this morning. For the first time since you were hired, you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Mr Zhang stands by the black Rolls-Royce Ghost. An older man in his mid fifties, his posture is rigid and dependable. He carries a degree of composure that makes you want to stand straighter and be worthy of his presence. His silvery-blue eyes, the epitome of calm strength, shrink as he smiles at you. Dressed in a crisp black suit, matching long coat and a pair of shiny loafers, he walks towards you with an umbrella to shield you from the rain, even if you are merely three steps away from the car. You let him dote on you, knowing Taehyung must have ordered him to do so.

While he has only been chauffeuring you for a morning, you have learned that Mr Zhang has been driving Taehyung for about seven years. You were surprised to hear this, but as Mr Zhang explained how Taehyung would often spend his time working in the backseat, you assumed his need for a car service was probably required before he built his self-driving car.

 “Thank you,” you say with a smile as he opens the door for you. 

“My pleasure, Miss ____,” he replies with a tender grin of his own. 

You settle into the backseat with a gentle sigh. After buckling yourself up, you take in the interior all over again. You still cannot believe he accented the sleek black leather with gentle notions of pink. From the trimming of the seats, to the door pockets, to the seat belt button, Taehyug has customised the car to reflect your favourite colour. The ceiling is a beautiful replica of a starry night, only instead of silver, rose-white stars twinkle instead. Even the system lights are pink, the same shade EDEN switches to when she talks to you. And if he didn’t outdo himself already, he also made sure to stock the car with your favourite snacks and drinks. Mr Zhang encouraged you to take some with you before helping you out of the car earlier this morning.

“Where would you like to go, Miss___,” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Can you please take me to the Bangtan Building?” 

He nods, flashing you a fond smile as he shifts the car into drive. 

One of your favourite things about the car, besides the celestial ceiling, is the fact that all the windows are tinted. You sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment of peace without the fear of being photographed or talked about, even if it is for a fleeting five minutes. 

When the car slows down, you blink your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the absence of the steady pitter-patter of the rain against the car, the soft beat ceasing as Mr Zhang pulls into a garage. You sit up, looking out the window to find a collection of luxury cars neatly parked in several rows. You recognise two of them: Taehyung’s personal, sleek black car and the black Jeep he used the weekend you went to meet his family.

You wonder if this is possibly the sub-level of the Bangtan Building when Mr Zhang parks the car in front of an elevator. He circles around the back of the car to open your door for you. You tried to open it for yourself this morning when he dropped you off at work and received a gentle scolding. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he helps you out. 

Mr Zhang replies with a polite nod. He shuts the door and asks, “Would you like me to wait?”

“Um,” you hesitate, looking at the elevator as if it holds the answer. If Taehyung is free, Mr Zhang has no reason to stay and wait for you. But if not, then it would be best if he hung around for a few minutes, right?

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here. You can’t go back to work, you don’t want to spend another second locked in your apartment and it’s not like you can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or at a bookstore. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile until this chaos about your identity gets buried by the next news spectacle. 

The Bangtan Building feels like your only opinion.

“How about this,” Mr Zhang suggests, noticing your hesitation. “I will stay for ten minutes. But, if in eleven minutes you change your mind and decide to leave, I am a text message away.”

You let a small smile spread on your pink-glossed lips. Nodding, you thank him again and head towards the elevator. The car door opens and shuts as you look for the buttons only to realise it requires a keycard instead.

Digging through your purse for the pink pass Taehyung gifted you, you wonder if it will work here. It is an all-access authorization card, however this level of the building seems more personal than professional. Twirling the card between your fingers, you wonder if he will be upset that you’re trying to use it to access this elevator.

Maybe I should text him, you think, pulling out your phone by the pink and white charm that dangles from its matching case. You unlock it and stare at his name, wondering what you should even say. You know that if you ask him if he’s busy, he’ll tell you he’s not and demand to know what’s on your mind. He might be able to manage a few minutes away from his work to promptly answer a text. However, you doubt he has enough time to entertain you. 

You sigh heavily, growing tired of the overthinking. You just want to see him, to be in his presence and let his musky, intoxicating cologne soothe your erratic heart. You want to hug him, to be engulfed in his warmth and feel his muscles flex under his clothes as he tightens his grip around you. 

So, without a second thought, you toss your phone back into your purse and scan your card. 

DING!

The elevator chimes, doors opening. 

“Good morning, Angel,” EDEN greets. 

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voice. “EDEN,” you reply through a breathy chuckle as you step in.

“Mr Kim is currently on the fitness and wellness floor. Would you like me to guide you there?”

You smile fondly at the speaker. “Yes please,” you nod before adding, “I’ve really missed you.”

“Should I send you a reminder of my capabilities, or would you prefer a more heartfelt digital hug instead?”

You laugh as the doors shut, the elevator whirling as it moves upwards. If you didn’t know she was created by Taehyung, that comment alone would have given it away.

Tone slightly teasing, you reply, “I suppose I can use a hug?”

“I sense you are mocking me,” EDEN responds. “Mr Kim says you enjoy teasing. As always, he is correct.”

You freeze.

“Taehyung talks about me?”

“Mr Kim often talks about you. He worries about you when you are at work. He says he cannot stand that you are miserable there.”

You know you shouldn’t ask, but your curiosity is louder than your conscience. Biting your lip, you twist your fingers nervously and whisper, “What else does he say about me?”

“He says you’re beautiful, Angel. More than that, though… he believes you’re precious—something to be protected.”

Swallowing thickly, you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself. A shaky exhale escapes as you ask, “He said that?”

“You sound confused. Would you like me to relay Mr Kim’s exact words?”

“Yes.” 

“On numerous occasions, Mr Kim stated: Angel is beautiful, EDEN. She’s delicate and thoughtful, even after everything she has been through. She’s strong. She has a nasty attitude, but I like that she doesn’t yield to just anyone. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Taehyung doesn’t just talk about you, he dwells on you. He didn’t just tell her all this at once, but rather on numerous occasions. He went on and on about you to his AI system, telling her what he liked about you and how you’re one of a kind. There is a certain degree of reverence in his words, even when reiterated through EDEN. It’s as though he is revelling in your existence. 

Your heart pounds so fast in your chest, you can feel the heavy beats in your throat. Gulping, you try to settle your nerves at the new revelation. He really does like you– or at least enjoys your company. All those times you thought you were bothering him, or worried he was obligated to reply based on the origins of your relationship were ignorant and short-sighted. You should have believed him when he told you that you could never annoy him with your messages. 

“Would you like to hear more?” 

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

You’ve invaded his privacy enough. In fact, you should probably try to erase this from EDEN’s history. If he finds out you’ve been snooping, he might not find you so charming and endearing anymore. 

“Is there a way to delete this conversation?”

“Yes.”

You wait, hoping she will give you options. When she doesn’t, you ask, “Can you delete it then?”

“Unfortunately, only Mr Kim is authorised for this action. Would you like me to request his approval?”

Panic surges through you. “No!” you shout, worried that if you take too long to answer, she might ask him anyway. “Can you just not tell him about this conversation?”

“You are not authorised to lock information. However, it sounds like you would like me to omit this conversion from my communications with Mr Kim. Is this correct?”

You raise a brow at her words. Is she… finding you a loophole? 

“Yes, that’s correct,” you confirm.

“Understood. The previous conversation will be omitted from future communications with Mr Kim.” 

Fighting off a smile, you look up and tease,“EDEN, if I could kiss you right now, I would.”

“While I am flattered, Angel, I do value my job.” 

You’re about to ask what she means, when the elevator dings again.

“I’ll leave you to your visit. Let me know if you require further assistance,” EDEN says.

The doors open to reveal an expansive gym. You step out of the elevator after thanking EDEN,  heels softly clicking against polished concrete floors. To your right is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an impressive view of the city below. It’s not as breathtaking as the view from Taehyung’s office, but still looks beautiful. You imagine the sun flooding the space with light, wondering how peaceful it would be to come up here every morning and stretch under its golden warmth. 

The sound of a distant, deep laugh draws your attention to the main section of the room. You cast your gaze over the row of state-of-the-art equipment–treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights all set up to accommodate any fitness routine– and catch a glimpse of three dark-haired heads by bench-presses. You immediately register one of them as Taehyung, his soft mullet easy to spot even from a distance. 

The little smile playing on your pink glossed lips flatters at the sight of his board bare shoulder. He looks so strong and big. You suddenly miss being in his arms, whether you are being hugged or disciplined, you just want to be held against his strong frame and feel safe.

“So, who is she?” an unfamiliar asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

 “Save your breath, Guk. I already tried.” 

You tiptoe down the pathway, between treadmills and stationary bikes, straining your ears to catch Taehyung’s reply. A pang of guilt engulfs your conscience at your sneaky behaviour. You’ve already extracted more than enough information from EDEN. You don’t need to eavesdrop on his private conversations with his friends either.

But Taehyung is so… reserved. He doesn’t share his thoughts unless you bear your own to him first and you’re tired of the emotional drain of doing so. You just want to hear what he thinks of you, without the pressure of trying to comfort your insecurities or fulfil your desires. And talking about you to his AI is one thing, but talking to his friends….

That must mean something, right? 

“Why are you being so secretive?” Guk presses, despite Taehyung’s silence. “I promise I won’t try to take her from you.”

“One more word, Jungkook, and I’ll make you lift this last set on your own,” Taehyung threatens. 

His friends laugh, loud and giddy. You can imagine Taehyung’s small smile as he tries to maintain an annoyed look, but cannot resist the teasing comradery around him.

“Apparently, she’s precious,” the second voice chimes in again.

“I told you that in confidence.” 

Taehyung’s voice is rough and deep, resonating within your bones even from a distance. You catch the slight notions of betrayal. The twinge of hurt in his tone triggers your guilt. It gnaws at you all over again. You shouldn’t have hidden your presence or attempted to violate more of his privacy. It’s bad enough you didn’t tell him you were coming over but you’ve also overheard more of his private conversations than he’d probably want you to. 

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks.

“For like a second— she was sleeping in the back of the limo. Which reminds me,” the second voice says, a hint of conviction in his tone, “Are you ever going to tell me why I had to fire the driver?” 

“Are we going to work out or continue to ask stupid questions?” Taehyung snaps. 

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet Jungkook manages to find some. “That sounds like a stupid question,” he jokes. 

You bite your lip to keep from laughing along with his friends. Rolling your shoulders back, you try to regain your composure. Perhaps this is a good place in their conversation to subtly announce your presence. Jungkook’s joke has diffused the tension enough to build your confidence and finally silence your conscience. 

With a deep breath, you put one foot before the other and allow the rhythmic click-clack of your heels to echo in the now quieting room.

Taehyung peeks his head down the pathway, brown eyes distant and cold until they meet yours. A soft glow of recognition softens his gaze. Then it darkens, trailing up and down your voluptuous frame, taking in every curve, every roll. You notice his attention lingering around your swaying hips. A small smile tugs on his lips.

His gaze alone is often enough to rattle your senses, sending shivers down your spine. One look, and the world fades–every thought quiets, every doubt diminishes and you’re left with only his name burning on the tip of your tongue. However, when that intense gaze is paired with his bare, toned chest, you cannot breathe. Your steps falter as he makes his way towards you, black basketball shorts sitting low enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes slowly fall down from his broad shoulders, to his buff pecs– where that celestial tattoo is inked, then drop to his taut abs.

Heat creeps up your neck and spreads across your cheeks as a wicked thought whispers– what would it be like to grind on them? 

“Hey,” Taehyung greets, smile widening as he nears. 

You blink out of your thoughts as he pulls you into a hug. His usual clean scent, a soothing blend of sage and crisp white tea leaves, is muskier from this sweat. His soft skin feels damp too, but you embrace him tightly all the same, letting his warmth and strength ground you. For the first time since your photo has gone viral, you release a heavy breath.

Sensing the tension in your posture, Taehyung holds you tighter. His fingers brush up and down your spine, relieving the tension from each vertebrate until you are a puddle in his arms. Then, after a few more seconds of peace and security, he slowly untangles himself from you.

Taehyung lowers himself a bit to properly meet your gaze. A teasing smile plays on his lips as he quietly asks, “Playing hooky again, sweetheart?”

The gentle tone of his velvety voice lights your nerves with giddiness. Your body buzzes with desire, and you can’t help giggling–especially when he calls you such intimate terms of endearment.

“Not exactly.”

Hope twinkles in his eyes. He raises a brow, standing back to his full height. “God, Angel, please tell me you quit,” he says. 

You bite your lip, a guilty look settling upon your features. 

Before you can properly explain, Jungkook’s loud voice carries in the empty gym. 

“Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s hot.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hearing such a shameless declaration from his friends startling you. While you don’t think you’re unappealing, you wouldn’t necessarily define yourself as ‘hot.’ You’re not sure what you were expecting from his friends but you can confidently say you didn’t anticipate them to be so… open. Taehyung often maintains a tough exterior and doesn’t let it soften for just anyone. His friends, who flash goofy smiles asTaehyung turns to glare at them, seem more comfortable speaking their minds, even when most are better left unsaid.

You look over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at them. You do not recognise the taller one. In a tight, black tank top and shorts, he stands with most of his weight resting on his right side. His toned arms are covered in colourful tattoos. He winks at you, though his long hair slightly obscures his gaze. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, turning your attention to the slightly shorter one. 

He’s a bit thinner, but still just as ripped. Also shirtless, with the word nevermind inked across the right side of his body, he gracefully stands with his weight evenly distributed and hands in his pockets. You recognise his prominent, full lips and soft brown eyes from the ballet you attended a coupe of days ago. His earlier comment about the limousine driver suddenly starts to make sense.

Upon meeting your curious gaze, he offers a sweet smile and nods as a way of greeting. 

“Can you give us a moment?” Taehyung asks. 

The taller one, who you realise is Jungkook based on the sound of his voice, smiles, seemingly complacent before replying, “No.”

Without missing a beat, the shorter one adds, “So, you must be the girl Tae won’t shut up about.”

You raise a brow, feigning your surprise. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but you try to fight it off. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. He studies your reaction for a moment too long then finally turns back to his friends. 

“Why does he always tell you– Why do you never tell me anything?” Jungkook complains. He furrows his brows and returns Taehyung’s half-hearted glare. “I’m always the last to know.”

“That’s cause I’m his favourite,” the shorter one teases. 

You tilt your head up at Taehyung, whispering, “I thought Wooyoung was your favourite.” 

Within seconds, Taehyung’s glare softens, twinkling with amusement as he looks down at you. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and you’re close enough to watch a droplet of sweat slide down his temple. Without thinking, you reach up, wiping it away with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his throat bobbing. You bite your lip, about to avert your gaze to the floor when he parts his lips to say something. You lean in, eager to hear the vibrations of his deep voice resonate down to your core. 

“You met Wooyoung?”

Jungkook’s voice shatters your fragile bubble of closeness.

Blinking yourself back into reality, you take a small step away from Taehyung and turn to face his friends. “Um–” you start, cutting yourself off when you notice a shift in their demeanour. 

Once foolish, their attitudes become serious, rooted in confusion or perhaps concern. You don’t have much time to decipher it before they share a look and, soon, knowing smiles. 

“It’s not–” Taehyung starts only for Jungkook to fearlessly cut him off.

“You’re his girlfriend,” he states through a chuckle.

You stiffen at his emphasis on the label. “We’re just friends,” you correct, ignoring the sting of that truth all over again. Keen on changing the subject, you step forward with an outstretched hand and introduce yourself.

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Taehyung quickly says, pointing to each one as they shake your hand. “And they were just leaving.” 

“No–”

“Yes.” Taehyung hisses, silencing Jungkook.

His friends share an annoyed look, attention flickering back at you for a moment. Jimin sucks in his cheeks while Jungkook’s tongues his and scratches the back of his neck.

You awkwardly shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest. Regret twists in your gut and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come. You should have told him you wanted to see him before showing up here. Instead, you let your fear of rejection overrule your mind. You bite your lip as shame heats your face. He just wanted to hang out with his friends– they were having such a great time before you arrived. And now a blanket of thick tension settles over the room as they try and fail to silently convey their disagreement with not only Taehyung’s decision, but his tone. 

“Fine,” Jungkook finally sighs. As he grabs his water bottle and walks by Taehyung, he adds,“I want details later.”

Jimin pushes Jungkook along, with a chuckle. “Don’t be gross,” he half-heartedly chastises. 

You stifle your own laughter with a bite of your lip, earning an amused look from Taehyung. He pulls you towards his chest as the elevator dings and his friends' voices eventually fade.

Once he is sure they are gone, he dips his head into the crook of your neck and presses soft, wet kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Finally,” he groans against your throat, then drags his tongue up to your jaw.

You lean your head back. A breathless gasp escapes you when he kisses his way back down your neck to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You clutch onto his strong biceps, feeling them flex under your touch. With a quiet moan, you arch your back and push your full chest against his.

Taehyung groans in reply. His hands slide down from your waist to your rear. He grabs handfuls of your cheeks, kneading your supple fat like a stress ball. His nose nestles up into the space between your jaw and ear, then he whispers, “You like it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You know you should tell him to stop. You should explain what happened at work, what you have been seeing online and how suffocating it feels to be locked in your apartment all weekend. Instead, all you can manage is an eager nod and a strained whine as he smacks one of your cheeks and nibbles on your earlobe.

Trembling, your knees almost give out. Taehyung holds you tighter to keep you from losing your balance. It seems to pull him out of whatever feral state he was previously in. The tenderness in his eyes is so overwhelming, it stirs a quiet ache deep within you. Fraught and breathless, a fragile moan falls from your pouty lips.

“Trying to spoil me,” he teases, rubbing your back.

Your brows furrow, pout prominent as you peer up at him in confusion. 

His smile widens. Nudging your nose with his own, he asks,“What did I do to deserve your company this morning, Angel?”

Your face is so hot, you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. You try to fight off a smile, but he holds you tighter and you can’t deny your heart the satisfaction of giving into him. “Things got complicated at work, but I worked it out and gave myself the day off,” you explain in the steadiest voice you can muster. Running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, you continue, “I didn’t want to go home yet though. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, princess,” he reassures. “You’re welcome whenever, you know that.”

He has told you that countless times over text, but you always thought he was just being polite. You’re starting to realise that you should’ve known better. Taehyung never says anything he doesn’t mean– especially not for the sake of being polite. 

As his words settle in, your hands instinctively slide up and down his biceps. They’re so big, barely fitting in your grip. The solid strength beneath your fingers draws your attention, and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze. He flexes in response, and you gasp.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You playfully glare up at him. He never misses an opportunity to tease you, deep voice dripping in condescension. The urge to tease him back is strong, and you find yourself having to bite your tongue to keep from spewing your most disrespectful remarks– like how he pushed his friends out as quickly as possible to get a chance to touch you. It would be so easy to rile him up, to trigger his unyielding dominance. Instead, you opt for a tamer response. Or, you at least try to, unable to completely subdue your snarky tone.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” you ask, echoing his words. You squeeze his arms again, cinching a moan in the base of your throat.

Taehyung leans his head back to get a better look at you. His eyes darken, mischief shifting to authority. With a lick of his lips, he adjusts his grip to your hips and holds you steady. 

“I think you like touching me like this.”

“Way to answer the question, genius.”

“Is this you flirting?” he smirks. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and resonates deep in your core. 

You press your legs, clenching your jaw as your face flushes. “Do you ever get tired of mocking me?” you ask, slightly raising your voice.

Taehyung tongues his cheek. A hint of quiet challenge flashes in his gaze, but he stifles it, likely giving you a chance to correct your attitude on your own. You swallow thickly and resist the urge to sink into his hold all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of drooling over me?” he questions. 

You’re about to tell him not to flatter himself, surely earning a swift spank but he caresses your chin. Using his thumb, he gently wipes the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. He then brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean.

You gape up at him, lips quivering. 

He fiercely maintains your gaze, holding your chin again, and leans forward. “How come every bit of you always tastes like desperation?” he whispers, feigning curiosity. When you don’t answer, voice shackled in awe and submission, he tightens his grip and hisses, “Do you want daddy’s help?”

“Yes, daddy,” you immediately murmur, nails digging into his muscular biceps. 

“Beg for it,” he orders. “Tell me what you want.”

His voice is so husky and raw, you can’t help the roll of your eyes as it vibrates through your body. Your arousal pools between your thighs, panties clinging to your folds as you squirm and whine. Your attention drifts down to his broad chest, lingering on the intricate tattoo, before settling on his tight abs. Your shaky hands follow the heated trail of your gaze, moving up from his biceps to his shoulders, down his pecs and finally finding their place on his stomach. 

“I–” you start only to cut yourself off. 

Just like when you asked to ride his thigh, your body burns with desire, but you can’t find the words to voice your fantasy. You can see the image so clearly in your mind– he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling his waist. Hands steady on his chest, you drag your wet folds against his abs. But to vocalise it, all needy and weak, feels somewhat embarrassing. Is this normal? Is this something people do– rub themselves against someone’s stomach? 

Taehyung tilts your head by the grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “What do you want?” he asks, gentler this time. 

“I don’t know how–”

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Furrowing your brows, you internally groan. While a part of you is glad he’s not willing to let this go, you’re still worried you might sound stupid. What if he gets turned off by your request, or worse– what if he thinks less of you? 

You part your lips, about to tell him you just want his fingers when you notice the intensity of his gaze. He stares at you with such deep certainty, like you are the only thing grounding him to this moment. Your doubts diminish under their sincerity.

“I want to grind on your abs,” you confess before you can second guess yourself again.

A throaty, rough groan sounds in response. Your knees buckle and Taehyung pulls you closer by the arm wrapped around your waist.

He… likes that? 

“Say please,” he orders.

And now he wants you to beg for it. Your breath hitches and you search his eyes for a hint of mockery or mischief, but only seem to find desire.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, shifting your grip from his waist to his shoulders. Your long, blush pink nails dig into his soft skin as he backpedals towards the bench-press. “Please let me ride your abs. I’ve been trying to be good.” Your voice wavers with desperation, much to his amusement.

“I know you have, princess,” he mutters, pecking the tip of your nose. Slowly detaching himself from you, he nods towards your hips and orders, “Take those off.”

You step out of your heels immediately. Hiking up the tight skirt of your dress, you hook your thumbs in the waistbands of your tights and thong, then tug them down your legs. You quietly gasp at the brush of friction it causes, biting your lip. 

From his place by the weighted bar, Taehyung snaps his attention back at you. He watches your garments roll into each other as he lifts the heavy bar resting over the bench. You pause with your tights off one leg, gawking at the flex of his biceps, the veins that protrude along his forearms. His gaze meets yours and he winks, like he isn’t carrying a massive amount of weight in his hands. 

Your core clenches, clit throbs reminding you of your desire. Swallowing thickly, you hastily return to your task and yank the remainder of your tangled tights off.

Taehyung sets the bar down with practised ease, thumbing his nose with a little sniffle. 

You nervously clutch the hem of your short dress, thick thighs tightly pressed together to relieve the tension between them. 

He smiles at your shy posture, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. “Come here,” he softly beckons with a nod. 

You obey, reaching him in no more than two steps. 

A teasing smile plays on his lips. Stationing his hands on your hips, he maintains your gaze and presses a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach. “You’re so cute when you’re shy,” he whispers, then kisses your hands on the hem of your dress. 

You tremble under his delicate touch. 

His attention snaps up to your face again and his gaze is a dark abyss of feral desire. Licking his lips, he looks ready to devour you. 

You open your mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he lies back against the bench, gesturing you to mount his waist with a causal wave of two fingers.

You don’t need to be told twice, eagerly straddling him. Needy tears prick your eyes as you press your slick folds against the ridges of his stomach. A strangled whine tears through your throat, and you attempt to steady yourself by pressing your hands against his chest. Your clit is aching for stimulation, but you hesitate to put all your weight on him.

Taehyung gently soothes you with soft shushes, gripping onto your hips. “Take a seat, Angel,” he encourages. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sit.”

You seat yourself on him without another word. 

His back slightly arches, as if responding to your full weight with a desire for more. 

You tremble at the pressure, sinking your nails into his strong pecs. Your hips start to move on their own, slow and unsure. You assumed it would feel good, your heat, all wet and sticky, gliding against his soft skin. But the lines of his abs, sturdy and tight, add a layer of texture that causes your toes to curl and eyes to roll. 

“Oh, god,” you cry as your thrusts gain some confidence. “D-daddy!”

Taehyung groans beneath you, his stomach rising and falling against your fervent hips. He shifts your dress even higher to watch your pussy move.

“That’s it, baby, just like that…” he whispers, trailing off with a quiet hiss under his breath. 

Your vision blurs with desperation. You’ve never been this needy for him before, your walls clenching, longing for the familiar stretch of his fingers. It’s just the act of claiming his body this way, sitting on such an unconventional part of him, a part you’re sure none of the others have sat on, and using it–using him–to get yourself off. 

And he encourages you to do so, helping you with your thrusts and guiding you towards a faster pace by the rough hold on your hips. His jaw is clenched tight, attention captivated by the slick sounds of your wetness rubbing against him.

“You feel so g-good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his chest. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when you scratch his nipple. 

Your eyes round at the slight tremor in his voice. Hips still grinding steadily under his guidance, you thumb his right nipple and watch him bite his lip. He meets your gaze and you expect to receive a silent warning. Instead, he gazes up at you with… adoration? 

“I can’t take this,” he growls, shoving your hips down to his crotch. 

You’re about to whine, furrowing your brows and nudging his shoulder in protest at the lack of contact, when his clothed cock presses between your folds.

Taehyung sits up and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist and you cannot sit still another moment longer. Your hips shift forward and back, slow and hesitant. You don’t want to receive a scolding for not asking for permission, but holy fuck you need to do something, anything. 

“Keep going,” he whispers against your jaw. “Faster, Angel.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. Running your hands through his hair, you gently tug at the ends to ground yourself against his hard, throbbing cock. Your legs are already shaking, entire body quaking in his arms as you snap your hips as fast as you can against him. You know you are no match for his speed but the friction stimulates your clit all the same. You can already feel your gut tighten and knot, orgasm building from the impression of his thickness. 

You didn’t come here for this. You didn’t plan to get lost in his touch, or be on the verge of crying for his attention. You just wanted a new place to escape and recharge. You wanted his comfort, sure– but his cock was not the goal. 

So, why the fuck are you salivating at its thickness, at the fact that it barely fits between your folds? Why are you scratching at his back, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to let you feel it against you, unclothed and raw? Why are you on the brink of shattering at the mere thought of it?

You promised yourself you’d set more boundaries and you really do have every intention of doing so. But… Taehyung is just so magnetic, so alluring. You cannot stop yourself from craving him. And what were you supposed to do when you walked out of that elevator and saw him shirtless? How could you really expect yourself not to get distracted? 

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Quick study, huh?”

You cannot hold back a giggle at his teasing tone. Pride blooms in your chest at his words and you find yourself putting a bit more force into your thrusts in response. “I learned from the best,” you moan. 

Taehyung chuckles darkly in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of shivers right down to your core. Your smile falters and you tighten your core to keep from releasing, a loud moan tearing from your throat. The rippling vibrations of his laughter almost put you over the edge, but you know if you cum now without his permission, you will receive a harsh punishment– the denial of a future orgasm. 

“I need to cum,” you whimper.

“So?”

Your eyes roll from the coldness of his tone, and for a second you think you might just let go, but you hold onto your release even tighter, tensing up in his arms.

Taehyung is relentless. Noticing the hesitance of your hips, he grinds up into you, faster than you have ever been able to move. He’s testing you, pushing you further towards the edge.

“Please,” you cry, tears finally splitting, rushing down your face. “I-I can– Daddy, please! Please!”

“Please what?” he coos, the mocking tone not doing you any favours. 

You part your lips to give him what he wants, to scream for his permission but you cannot hold back any longer. Your orgasm ripples through your shaking body. You throw your head back, almost falling off his lap as you squeal and gush all over his shorts. Eyes rolling, jaw slack, you can feel yourself drooling, but cannot be bothered to care when he’s still thrusting.

While your mind feels foggy, blood rushing to your head and muffling your ears, you still catch his whispered profanities. Suddenly, his hips jut forward with renewed force before tensing. You feel a bout of warmth between your folds as he growls your name.

A shuddering sigh falls from your gloss-smeared lips as you lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder, limp and exhausted as your pussy still clenches sporadically. You should feel ashamed for abandoning your decision to keep things professional, but all that fills your thoughts is the aftershock of his touch, the overwhelming ache of your body still quivering from the intensity of a delayed orgasm. His name lingers on your tongue and you cannot deny how sweet it tastes. Even as you try to gather yourself, willing some semblance of strength back to your legs, your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth.

You want to apologise for losing control, but the words don’t come, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re too far gone or because deep down, you don’t want to. Because right now, it’s just you and Taehyung, panting and clinging onto each other.

Because right now, you feel whole.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[stawbeemilk]

⤷ their love language – hq

✩ characters: various

✩ warnings: none

✩ a/n: i finally managed to get the motivation to actually sit down and write something, thank you for being so patient with me!!

⭑ physical touch

he's definitely a little touch starved, regardless of how much he might try to deny it. it was definitely a bit of a shock when you first started dating and you saw a completely new side to him, discovering just how clingy he could be and how much he loves to be close to you. there's nothing that makes his heart flutter more than feeling the warmth of your body against his own, and he finds himself unable to stop from initiating physical contact at every chance he gets. he appreciates the little things such as linking pinkies or having his hand on your lower back when the two of you are in a crowd, but he especially loves cuddling with you after a long day while you play with his hair, and when you randomly hug him from behind he literally melts.

⤷ bokuto, hanamaki, nishinoya, konoha, goshiki, atsumu, yahaba

⭑ words of affirmation

he's always encouraging you, not only with actual words but also through smaller gestures, such as leaving you little notes on the fridge for you to read before you leave for work or by sending you sweet messages throughout the day. he loves to tell you how proud he is of you, congratulating you for all of your achievements, regardless of how small or unimportant you might think they are. if you're ever feeling insecure about yourself he will reassure you as if his life depends on it, complimenting you and reminding you that he thinks you're perfect— but at the same time he also likes to hear encouraging words from you, especially at times when he tends to doubt himself and needs nothing more than to hear that he's enough.

⤷ akaashi, yaku, oikawa, ennoshita, yamaguchi, tanaka

⭑ quality time

he's not always the best with words, and so he prefers to show you he cares by spending time with you. sometimes it's a case of not doing anything in particular, and instead just being in the same room as you and enjoying your company. he really appriciates the fact that the two of you feel comfortable enough to simply be in a room with each other, not feeling the need to try and fill the silence with small talk and finding the lack of conversation to be comforting rather than awkward. he also enjoys doing chores with you such as getting groceries together or cleaning the house, things which others might find mundane, but he likes doing them purely because it means he gets to spend time with you.

⤷ kenma, tsukishima, kyotani, ushijima, kunimi, sakusa, kageyama

⭑ gift giving

he shows his appreciation for you by giving you things, whether that's something he knows you've been wanting for a long time or just an item he's seen when he was out shopping that immediately made him think of you. he's very observant of the things you like and dislike, and when the two of you go out together and you subconsciously start eyeing a particular item in a store he'll definitely notice, making a mental note of it so that he can buy it for you later as a surprise. he's also quite sentimental and will keep absolutely everything you give to him, from birthday cards to polaroids to the matching bracelets you made when you first started dating— no matter how insignificant you think it might be, he keeps it.

⤷ kuroo, hinata, sugawara, matsukawa, semi, yamamoto, suna

⭑ acts of service

he loves doing favours for you, especially when he knows you've been feeling stressed or overwhelmed, and when you're sick and need someone to look after you he'll always be there for you no matter what. he's the type to make sure that you're taking care of yourself and will frequently ask you if you've eaten— if you say you haven't he will insist on making you food or ordering you takeout, telling you that you shouldn't go without a proper meal. while he loves taking care of you, he feels so warm inside when you do the same for him, and having you there to support him when you know he needs it the most will never fail to make him feel loved.

⤷ daichi, kai, fukunaga, iwaizumi, kita, osamu, hirugami

⤷ please do not repost my works on any other sites!

[ginax0916]

₊✧ 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐤𝐥𝐞 ✧₊

Chris Sturniolo x hurt!gf!reader

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Chris’s gf’s ankle is broken and he helps her even when she doesn’t need help.

*I got the idea of writing this from their recent Wednesday video where Chris tried to help Matt down the stairs*

✧˖°⋆⑅˚₊

“So what did the doctor say?” My boyfriend Chris asks as I walk back into the waiting room where he waits with his brothers.

“Well if you couldn’t already tell by the boot on my foot, my ankle is broken” I sarcastically say.

“Oh shit. What even happened?” Matt asks.

“My dumbass got on the kitchen counter to reach something from the top shelf and when I jumped down I landed on it wrong and then I heard a crack and well yall know the rest” I sigh limping to them.

“Yo you sure you’re good to walk all the way to the car love?” Chris asks holding me up by my waist.

“Oh by the way y/n it would be good to invest in crutches for the first few days! Forgot to mention that earlier” The doctor says as she walks out into the waiting room to call her next patient.

“Does that answer your question?” I laugh.

We sign the papers I needed to be discharged and both Chris and Matt help me limp back to the car since I refuse to be carried like a baby.

“I’m gonna stop at Walgreens because they sell crutches there I’m pretty sure” Matt says.

“But I don’t want crutches” I sigh for the hundredth time.

“Y/n the doctor literally walked out to tell you that you need crutches. We’re buying them” Nick retorts.

“Fine whatever” I slouch down in defeat.

“Ok we’re here. Y/n stay in the car so you don’t have to walk all the way there. Do you want anything else?” Matt questions.

“Can you get me some nerd gummy clusters please? Oooh and a bottle of raspberry Iced Tea if there is any” I smile.

“Of course kid” Matt smiles back.

“I’ll stay with her in the car” Chris says.

“Alright just don’t be making out once we get back” Nick rolls his eyes as he closes the door.

“How you feel ma? Does it hurt?” Chris asks and rubs my thigh.

“I’m okay. And no it doesn’t hurt it feels fine actually” I say.

“Alright then that’s good” I nod in agreement.

“So how am I meant to fuck you with your broken ankle”

“Chris! Why is that your first concern” I laugh.

“I literally asked if it hurt 2 seconds ago!” He lifts his hands in defense.

“Wow makes such a difference Christopher” I slap his arm.

“See! Fucking you was not my first concern initially” He points his finger at me laughing.

“Yea but it was your second which is insane” I giggle.

“Come on don’t act like it wasn’t yours” He smiles sheepishly.

“Oh shut up Chris” I laugh again.

“Oh good you’re both decent” Nick says startling us as he opens the car door.

“Come on we aren’t that immature Nick” Chris says.

“Oh trust me you are Christopher” Nick pats him on the shoulder.

“What’s with people and calling me Christopher today damn” Chris turns back around in his seat.

“Y/n I got you the ice tea you wanted and along with the candy. And unfortunately they were out of stock of crutches so they let us order them online so they should arrive in like 2-3 days” Matt comments as he gets in the car handing me my stuff.

“Thanks Matt” I say. “I can go 2-3 days without walking I’m sure” I chuckle.

“I can just carry you around” Chris speaks up.

“What a delight” I sarcastically say.

“Oh come don’t act like you don’t already ask me to carry you around because you’re too lazy” He says slightly offended by my joke.

“I’m joking baby of course I don’t mind being carried around by you” I giggle.

—

“I’m gonna go pick up Canes for dinner is that good with you guys?” Matt yells from the garage.

“Yes that’s perfect thanks Matt!” I yell back.

“Wait I wanna come with you I’m bored and you always get my order wrong any way” Nick says while running down the stairs to join Matt.

“See ya guys!” Nick says.

“Bye Nick!” Both Chris and I say back.

“So what do you wanna do mama?” Chris asks, sitting down on the couch with me.

“I’m not sure. What is there to do?” I turn my body to be facing Chris and I lay my head of the cushions behind me.

“We could watch a movie, watch YouTube, play a board game or just talk. Whatever you want baby” Chris says, grabbing both my legs and draping them over his lap careful to not hurt my ankle.

“Ummm I’m not sure. But I have to pee” I say getting up. Slightly wincing at the pain of my foot touching the ground.

“C’mere” Chris mumbles, picking me up bridal style and carrying me to the bathroom.

“Thank you Chrissy” I kiss him on the cheek.

“You’re welcome and don’t call me that again” He laughs.

“Can you take my pants off for me please?” I pout.

“Oh now you’re just being a baby. Your hands work perfectly fine” Chris rolls his eyes.

“Fine me the injured person who could die any second will pull her owns pants down god” I dramatically say.

“Oh shut up and go to the bathroom babe” Chris says walking out of the bathroom laughing.

As I finish I limp into the kitchen where Chris leans against the counter.

“Hey you’re not meant to be walking you should’ve called me” Chris says picking me up and setting me on the countertop.

“I swear I’m okay love” I smile cupping his cheeks.

“Yea well the boot on your foot says otherwise” He says and grabs my waist pulling me into a warm hug.

“I love your hugs” I say nuzzling closer into him.

“And I love hugging you” He mumbles, kissing my cheek.

“Can we go to your room and watch a movie while Nick and Matt get back?” I politely ask.

“Of course we can ma” Chris smiles helping me down from the counter.

“Alright c’mon I’ll carry you down the stairs baby” He comments as he bends down ready to pick me up.

“No wait I want to do it myself” I shake my head.

“Babe the doctor said you had to be in crutches you most definitely can’t go down the stairs by yourself” Chris sighs annoyed at my stubbornness.

“Please baby? I swear I can do it” I give him my best puppy eyes to convince him.

“No don’t look at me like that ma you know I’m gonna cave” Chris covers his face with his hands.

“I’m taking that as a yes” I giggle.

“But I will be right behind you and I’m going to pick you up the second I see you stumble understood?” Chris sternly says.

“Yes I understand” I smile.

I step one foot on the first step and then the next, grabbing tightly onto the rail I limp my way down to the 4th step. Only about 15 left oh god. I thought I could do it but it hurts really bad. There’s a stinging pain on my ankle every time I step. It’s bringing tears to my eyes. But I don’t want Chris to think that I’m weak and I can’t do it. But god does it hurt. It’s getting obvious that I can’t do it, I whimper in pain every time step, tears threatening to fall. I bring my hand up to wipe my eyes but I also stepped at the same time. I lose my balance and almost fall but Chris catches me. Oh fuck.

“Hey hey I got you, you’re ok” Chris picks me up bridal style and goes the rest of the way down to his room with me in his arms. My head resting on the crook of his next softly crying. I’m not even sure if it’s because of embarrassment or pain, maybe both.

He sets be down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of me.

“What’s wrong baby, why’re you crying that pretty makeup away hm?” Chris sweetly asks, moving my hair out of my face.

“I just- I didn’t want you to think I was weak and couldn’t do it myself” I quietly replied with my voice cracking.

“Oh baby you’re not weak. You just have a literal broken ankle. Asking for help sometimes is never being weak ok? I will never ever judge you for anything especially not being able to go down the stairs with a broken ankle. I’m always here for you ma” Chris comforts me, rubbing my arms soothingly.

“Thank you Chris” I smile leaning it to hug him.

“I love you” He kisses my cheek, hugging me back.

“Who wants Canes!!” Matt yells from the top of the stairs.

“You gonna let me carry you now mama?” He laughs as he picks me up, my legs going around his waist carefully with my ankle.

“Took you guys long enough! I’m starving” Chris laughs.

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