#this thought has been in my head for weeks and will not leave

[luvrrszn]

friends, right?

RAFE CAMERON x FEM READER

summary being rafe's best friend is already pretty darn good—but it's not enough

warnings angst, fluff, mentions of ward..., not proofread

a/n bruhhh the rafe obsession is real rn...

masterlist

being rafe's best friend had it's perks.

his undivided attention, sharing his kook privileges, and front-row seats to whatever questionable life choices he made (free entertainment 24/7 basically).

it also had it's downsides, being that you were just that. his best friend.

—

you were the camerons' neighbour. you'd lived next to them on figure eight for years, and you'd grown up alongside sarah. being best friends with her meant that you spent most of your time at her house, and that led to you and rafe developing a friendship.

almost everyone thought that you and rafe were dating, especially since neither of you bothered to correct them. however, nothing ever lessened the sting of the harsh reminders that you two were, in fact, not an item.

when sarah started hanging out with john b and the pogues, she didn't leave you behind. you became friends with everyone else too, much to rafe's initial dismay. he eventually came around when it became clear that both you and sarah were not going to stop hanging out with the pogues just because rafe "didn't like it".

so it became routine. almost every day, rafe would come to pick you and sarah up from the cut.

—

it was a day like any other. after hanging out at the chateau, everyone went their separate ways. you and sarah were waiting at the dock for rafe when you saw a familiar boat come into view.

rafe came into view, shirtless. his body was toned, sweat dripping down the side of his forehead. his hair was in a short buzz again, a haircut you'd teased him about multiple times.

you were about to say hello when you noticed a girl in the boat, wearing the tiniest red bikini.

sarah gets onto the boat first, throwing her bag onto a seat as she says, "hey. what's going on?"

"beach day. we're heading home now." rafe replies, offering you the usual hand as you step into the boat.

the girl has an unpleasant expression, as if rotten fish had been dragged on board. barely sparing in your direction, she stands up and wraps her arms around rafe's waist, resting her head against his back as he turns the boat around.

the whole ride back to figure eight, you're left wondering what she has that you don't.

—

and it wasn't like you were delusional either.

rafe had definitely been dropping hints, and giving you signals. there'd be some days where you were cooking for you and sarah in their house, and he'd walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, burying his face in your hair.

there'd even be some days where you'd all be watching a movie in the camerons' home theater, and rafe would cuddle up next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

—

about a week later, you're at sarah's house again. feeling thirsty, you decide to go downstairs to grab a drink of water. you walk past rafe's room and you hear topper saying, "dude, what happened to that chick? the girl you were with last week?"

you couldn't help but stop to eavesdrop.

"dude she was so fucking clingy, i had to get rid of her ass." you heard rafe chuckle.

"bullshit. you just don't want anyone who isn't" topper continues. when you hear him end the sentence with your name, your heart skips a beat. your curiosity is peaked, wondering what rafe will say in response.

"nah. she's too much of a pogue to be anything. plus, she's my best friend."

your heart drops. too much of a pogue?

you thought rafe wasn't bothered by your friends, not anymore.

you go downstairs and walk straight out of the front door, without so much as a word to anyone.

—

sarah has called you, multiple times. you finally pick up and make an excuse about feeling unwell, and that you're sorry for leaving so abruptly.

you'd just stepped out of the shower, trying to scrub off the feeling that lingered on your skin after finding out what rafe truly felt, when your phone buzzed with a text from rafe.

beefy: hey bug, sarah said you left without staying for dinner cause you weren't feeling well but i know you're bullshitting. you were literally fine, i heard you laughing from sarah's room. what's up?

you: i'm fine

beefy: don't lie to me

you: ofc you'd say that

frustrated, you throw your phone onto your bed and ignore the dozen texts from rafe for the rest of the night.

—

for the rest of the week, you ignore rafe. you don't say hi when you go over to his house, you don't say hi at the country club, and you don't text him, not even once.

you walk straight past him at parties, without so much as a glance in his direction.

but he figures he'll leave you alone for a while, just while he figures out what he's done so he can properly apologise.

he realises he's out of time when he sees you dancing with some guy who has his hand resting on your waist.

he storms over, and throws you over his shoulder, walking towards the front door as people around him move out of the way.

"rafe, what the fuck are you doing? put me down!" you whisper angrily, hitting your fists against his back. he doesn't say a word, and only sets you down on the pavement outside the massive mansion the party was in.

you recognise the look in his eyes, the anger. but it was never ever directed at you. except today.

"what the fuck were you doing in there?" he grits out.

"dancing, rafe, mygosh. and i was having fun too!" you groan, exasperated. it had been your pathetic attempt to move on.

"dancing like that? in front of all our friends?"

"not my friends rafe. your friends. my friends are the pogues, which i guess makes me too much of a pogue for you, huh." you don't notice when tears start to roll down your face.

it makes him go pale.

he made his sweet girl cry.

he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears as he says

"look, i didn’t mean it the way it came out. i was just frustrated because you’re always hanging out with the pogues, and it’s been bugging me. i was angry and said something stupid—because the idea of you getting closer to them, it just... it didn't sit right with me. i like you, a lot. more than best friends like each other. i was worried that you spending so much time with the pogues meant you'd develop feelings for one of them, and i was an idiot. i was a jealous prick, and i said something i didn't mean. i'm sorry, bug."

"rafe, you're a fucking idiot." you grumble as you bury your face in his chest while he wraps you in a tight hug. a hug so tight, as if rafe thought you'd slip away if he didn't hold on tight enough.

—

the next morning, sarah catches you slipping out of rafe's room. she chuckles, and says, "took you two idiots long enough."

[primofate]

Death and Regrets - Alhaitham

Notes: This has been written for quite a while. It will be part of my next Genshin book "Primofate's Angst Anthology Volume 1" I was planning on keeping it exclusive to the book, but I hadn't posted in such a long while that I felt that I had to give you guys something. Grateful to all of you who are still here and please look forward to the release of my next book! I'm planning for it to be out late 2025 on Amazon!

Word Count: 2316 (yes, the death and regrets in my next book are quite long)

Others in the series: (Scaramouche and Kaeya Version) (Thoma, Xiao, Diluc and Zhongli)  (Itto, Gorou, Albedo)

Death, Regrets and Second Chances [An Alternate Ending to Death and Regrets]: (Kazuha, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya)

Warnings: not proofread, YOU DIE, no comfort

Characters: gn! reader x Alhaitham

It was not that your relationship with the Scribe was a secret, it was simply because the two of you were private people. There’s no reason to go around telling everyone that the two of you were dating, in fact, it would be rather unprofessional to do that, seeing as both of you held high positions in the Akademiya.

Even before that, however, when you were merely students, there were a few countable times in which Alhaitham and you crossed paths.

“What’s a Vahumana student doing reading a book about ancient runes?” He was a handsome, young man. As he was today. But he was less guarded, less critical of others in his younger years. You had no idea whatsoever that this encounter with him would lead to a blossoming romantic endeavour.

You stared up at him, rather enchanted by his eyes, book held in your hands. You took one look at his uniform and immediately knew he was Haravatat. “…We’re going on an expedition into the Hadramaveth Ruins soon…” you explain, just waiting for him to leave.

He stands in front of you for a good 5 seconds before sighing and exclaiming “…I suppose I can let you have the book for a few more days,” he starts to walk off, adding a brief “Let me know if you’re done with it,” signalling to you that he probably wanted to borrow the book.

It was weeks later that you handed the book over to him, your left arm bandaged up and in a sling. He glanced at the book, then at your arm. “…What happened to you?” it was merely an offhanded question. He was just curious what kind of accident you got into.

You didn’t seem the reckless type.

“Just some trouble in the ruins,” you shrug.

You thought that leaving the book with him was the last you would see of Alhaitham. But, days later, struggling with a broken arm and in a cliché scenario of being unable to reach a book on the highest shelf, it was him who leans forward and retrieves it for you easily.

“…Alhaitham,” he says it with a bit of uncertainty. As if not knowing if he was making the right decision.

“Huh?” You instinctively let out.

“My name. It’s Alhaitham,” You make a sound of understanding, and give him your own.

What happened after that was a whirlwind of intense and exhilarating experiences. Somehow he had made it part of his routine to lend you a hand in the library. Those little butterflies in your stomach start to flutter, wondering why he made such effort for you, when you secretly knew the answer yourself.

Those same butterflies start to fly, flitting about in twists and turns in your stomach when you find yourself sitting side by side with him, studying separate subjects, yet together in each other’s presence.

Until, even when the sun set, the butterflies are awake and alive within you, seemingly escaping your gut and now fluttering with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump in your chest while the two of you meet in the secret corners of the dormitories, head to shoulder, whispering and talking about anything and everything you could think of.

You excelled in your school, as did he, and before long, the two of you were given important roles within the Akademiya. Him as the Scribe, and you, as Vahumana’s Assistant Sage.

“Y/N?” there was a knock on your study door, voice as familiar to you as your own.

“Come in,” you stand as the door pushes open. Alhaitham slips in and just as easily closes the door with his foot, striding over to meet you at the middle of the room.

Knowing that there was no one there except the two of you, both of you walk the full length, up until he opens one arm, and up until you walk into his warmth. His arm wraps you tight for a few seconds, his eyes closing, nose diving into your hair for a quick kiss, before releasing you completely and stepping away from each other.

Just a quick greeting.

Always a quick greeting, in case someone decides to come in.

“Your message…” Alhaitham trails off, he had been out on some sort of task for a few days and the only way to reach him had been through a messenger. The message you sent was clear. Grand Sage Azar was planning something devious, and he had to be stopped. “…are you sure?”

“…At the very least, Azar is suspicious,” you recount how it seems like the Grand Sage had been scheming something. That there was an important project the sages had been working on. That Cyno had suddenly quit his post as General Mahamatra. “…They’re tampering with the Akasha System, and I haven’t seen Naphis in weeks,” you end, face carrying a grim expression.

Alhaitham, as always, remained calm and collected. You had long known that he had been a person of logic. That he was smarter than the average person, his mind always seemed to be working faster than others’ did.

“…Even then, there’s nothing we can do at the moment, without any evidence,” he closes his eyes when he says this, possibly going through all the information that you’ve given him.

“Alhaitham,” you press, words suddenly taking a more assertive edge. “It’s not natural for Naphis to disappear like this. Furthermore, all the other sages assure me that he’s merely busy working on the project.” And it’s here that he detects a hint of your pleading tone. “but he opposed of the project, Alhaitham. They’re hiding something,”

He holds back a sigh, you see it in the way his shoulders tense and his face attempts to remain neutral. “If we don’t have anything against them, then there’s nothing we can do,” he repeats and you almost feel like you’re talking to a wall, but he continues. “I’ll scout around, but there are other things I have to do. We can’t just go by your intuition alone,”

“You’re saying I’m making this all up?”

“That’s not what I said, and you know it. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you, Y/N,”

You bite your lip. He’s right. As he always is. Patience is a virtue, that was always what he said. If he wanted to do something, it had to be mapped out and planned perfectly. It wasn’t his style to go rushing into something, including accusations of people.

“We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” he leaves with only a nod, knowing that the two of you just needed some time to think and gather your thoughts carefully, before hatching a plan. Together, the two of you could easily do it, Alhaitham had always valued your opinions and intelligence.

Early morning the next day the same messenger you had sent to Alhaitham finds his way to your study. Karman, his name was.

“Assistant Sage Y/N,” he respectfully hands you a letter, bows his head and steps away.

The letter is addressed to you, from Alhaitham.

I was on a separate task to the Hadramaveth Ruins and found traces of the sages “project”. I did return to the Akademiya but hadn’t the time to seek you out before leaving for another assignment. I left my letter to Karman. I’ll make quick of my task, and meet you at the Ruins shortly after daybreak.

Karman only watches as you drop the letter on your desk, quickly packing essentials to travel to the ruins.

Pity. He thought to himself. Such a young talent going to waste.

“You’re free to go,” you hurriedly dismiss him and he nods, taking a last glance at the fabricated letter on your table.

Alhaitham wakes far too late to stop the tragedy from happening. When he slips into your study, your door being slightly agape was his first clue that something was amiss. The second was the letter on your table.

‘I didn’t write this,’ was his instant reaction.

‘Y/N’s in trouble,’ was his second,gut-wrenching realization.

He sprinted without a second thought towards the ruins. His legs, as practiced and trained as they were from doing assignment after assignment, burned with a speed that he had never attempted to reach before. He hears his laboured breathing in his ears, hears his heart going faster than he had ever felt it go.

All the while he berated himself. How could he not have seen this coming? Why had he not taken extra precautions?

The desert is brutal, even to him. It was harder to press on, his feet stamping on soft sand, making it difficult to propel forward. He sees the ruins in the far horizon, the doors shut tight.

I can make it! He thinks to himself, pushing his strength to the last limits. You must have been inside,all he had to do was—

BANG!

In a sudden, quick explosion of sand the entrance to the ruins erupt in a lick of flames. And then, one after another bombs set off. The ground shook at the intensity, Alhaitham swayed, tipped over, and fell forward only to push himself up and keep going, his eyes determinedly glued to the ruin entrance despite the sand kicking up everywhere.

I’ll make it. I’m coming.

Explosions were still going off, ringing in his ears. His worst nightmare descended upon him when the ruin doors burst into thousands of pieces, in smithereens and mixing with the sand. The rest of the structure stumbled and caved in, it was sinking so fast into the sand.

Alhaitham pressed on.

There’s no way.

He scrambled forward as the pillars and rocks crumble and sink. For a moment he thinks he hears someone calling his name, but all he can think about is your face.

Your face. In every corner of his life. Now sinking into the sand, trapped for eternity, never to be seen again.

Y/N…!

“Alhaitham!” He’s suddenly jerked backwards, equally strong arms are holding him back, preventing him from going any further into the disaster.

“Y/N!” Alhaitham finally bellows, the sound of his voice echoing through the desert. He struggles against the hold, pulling and heaving himself forward. When he realized that the person holding on to him was just as stubborn as he was, he swerved around with a glare. “I have to go! What’re you doi—” he stopped short, and saw that it was Cyno.

Cyno who had a pained look in his eyes. “It’s too late,” he said as a matter of factly.

Alhaitham stilled, he could hear the structure still crumbling, yet to him it sounded like the whole world falling. He jerked away from Cyno’s grasp, turning towards the crumbling structure, and finally fell to his knees.

His hands grasp on sand, palm stinging at how hard he was gripping on to them. “—Can’t be,” he murmurs something into the wind, only bits of it audible. His frame crumples forward, arms keeping him from falling face first into the sand. “It can’t be…It can’t. can’t. can’t. CAN’T be!” His fist pounds into the sand with each angry word, eyes squeezing shut and wracking his brain for a solution. This can’t be it. Y/N was smarter than that, you might’ve found a way to avoid it.

To Cyno, who had never seen Alhaitham unravel in such a way, who had no idea that the man could even be in such a state, only silently watched. Unaware of what he could do for him. “Alhaitham…”

The Scribe suddenly stood, as if he hadn’t been mourning just a few seconds ago. By now the storm had settled, and where the ruin doors once stood was now just a mound of sand, as if it had never been there before. “Y/N could still be around,”

Cyno could only see his back, now tall and proud. The General Mahamatra watched as Alhaitham picked his arm up, laid it over what would be his face and dragged it, slowly, from left to right. Cyno wasn’t sure if it had been sweat or tears, but the taller man stood there for a moment, and with a hint of a tremble, said “I have to bring Y/N back…”

That’s how Cyno knew, that Alhaitham was conscious of the world, was conscious of the tragedy that had just happened.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back to the ruins every single day, holding out on whatever hope he had, the pain of “We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” repeating over and over and over again in his head, keeping him awake at night.

How could that have been his last words to you?

How could he have passed on the chance to wrap you in his arms, like all those times the two of you shared in your younger years, and passed on the chance to tell you how much he adored, missed and loved you instead?

The worst part of it all was the fact that he had nothing left. Not even a last look of your face, not even a tombstone to visit. Not even a safe space for you to rest.

All of a sudden it didn’t matter how much he had succeeded in life up until this point. He had failed you so miserably.

What had he been doing for the past few years?

What was it all for?

When all was said and done, when the sun set and the tasks were completed, he came home to you.

And now, there was no home to be found. For a while, he would come home and collapse on the cold, hard, floor. It was so, so quiet and all around the four walls he saw your face and your smile, haunting and piercing his soul.

There was no home here.

Only sadness, and solitude.

I’ve published The Ruthless Prince (Reader x Scaramouche) on paperback. Click here.

Consider supporting me to read some exclusive fics:

Ko-Fi

buymeacoffee

Here’s the masterlist:

Masterlist

[darnell-la]

Can you do dark!Logan being kinky and baby trapping you?

summary: Logan knew everything in the past, wouldn’t matter once he did his job, so he decided to go on a side mission to fulfill a dream he’s been dreaming about for years.

btw, this story was a bit rushed just like the rest that we will be posting soon. college has been kicking our main authors ass…

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA TRIGGERS YOU!

———

Logan had woken up on a huge hotel bed, with a hand over him. The man was confused, not understanding what was going on until he remembered he was sent back in time.

Logan quickly got dressed, not wanting to wake up the women that were in his bed. His only thought was on y/n. He even remembered offering his room to these two women because he couldn’t have y/n.

Y/n was and still is dating Scott Summers. Logan couldn’t stand it. Scott had confronted Logan once, telling him and everyone how jealous Logan was of him because he had everything the lonely animalistic man wanted.

Logan couldn’t help but laugh when Scott thought he read him like a book. Logan could have any girl Scott wanted. He proved that by reeling in Jean.

Logan wanted y/n before anyone knew who she was. He was the first to see her, the first to talk to her, the first to make her laugh, and the first to make her upset. Logan hated the fact that they didn’t talk as much because of Scott.

“We can’t talk if you’re gonna keep flirting with me, Logan. I’m not Jean, and I’ll never be her,” y/n said years ago at a party after Logan pulled her into a bathroom.

“I know you’re not Jean. You’re better, and he knows that. He knew I wanted you, so he got you first,” Logan tried explaining to y/n, but she ended up leaving after apologizing. It wasn’t her problem or fault that Logan couldn’t commit.

Logan is currently outside of y/n’s house, debating on whether he should go through with this or not. He bought a basket, hoping he could sweet talk his way into her house, maybe even get her to take him and leave Scott.

“Hello?” Y/n asked in her sweet and soft voice as she opened the front door. “Logan- Hey, what are you doing here?” Y/n asked as she opened her door further, seeing a friendly face.

��Hey, just wanted to stop by. It’s been a few months, right?” Logan wanted to confirm to make sure his dates were right. “Yep — I do miss the team, though. Maybe I’ll visit next week,” y/n smiled.

“Could I maybe come in, and put this down?” Logan asked as he lifted the basket that he had put together for a good hour. “Yeah, of course,”

Y/n and Logan talked for a while, catching up on each other, but she couldn’t help but notice how flirty he was. She had told him not too long ago, that he needed to quit with it.

“Logan, it’s nice to meet you and all, but you can’t just come in here- In my house that Scott pays for, and flirt with me — I-I thought you came by to say congratulations on Scott’s sad mistake,” y/n giggled at the end of her sentence.

“Congratulations? To what?” Logan asked. “Didn’t Scott tell you as well as the others that I was pregnant? Well, at least I thought I was. Sadly, I was only two weeks late,”

Logan felt an instant pressure in his head. He’s never known anything about any close pregnancy. If his calculations are right, this would only be the first six months of Scott and y/n dating.

“Are you okay? Logan, hey,” y/n snapped her fingers in Logan’s face to get him back into reality. “You were almost pregnant? How? Why? When- I-“ Logan couldn’t keep himself from thinking.

It’s almost like Scott took no time to try and claim her — To try and claim what was his.

“Relax, I’m not actually pregnant. We’ve had our small talk, and we think it’s better to wait until it’s our one-year anniversary,” y/n smiled as she sat down on the living room couch.

“You haven’t even been with the man for a year, and you already had a pregnancy scare? Are you serious, y/n?” Logan asked in a tone y/n was surprised by. Why was he so upset?

“I mean, we’re around the age people start making a family, so-“ y/n went to continue, ur Logan cut her off with a loud sigh as he rubbed his hands all over his face. He’s never been this stressed in his life.

“You let him breed you? Are you- Fuckin’ hell, Bub,” Logan cussed as y/m scrunched her eyes. “Logan, what is your problem? Scott has been my boyfriend for months. Why do you care if he breeds me?” Y/n could barely repeat the word Logan had used.

The tall man snapped his neck to look at her. He was upset about how she could see how wrong this was. Opening her legs, and letting Scott go in raw within six months?

“You wouldn’t even kiss me when I tried. You wouldn’t touch me. You wouldn’t let me please you — I was willing to keep it slow and only go down on you, but you rejected me? For what? For Scott!?”

“Logan, it’s fine to leave,” y/n got up to show Logan out of her home, but instead of letting her, he pushed her back down on the couch. “No! No more running. I’m fuckin’ tired of this. Are you even happy? Do you seriously see more in him than me!?”

“Logan, please just leave. Scott will be back in half an hour, and-“ y/n tried getting up again, but this time, Logan pushed her down on her back and hovered over her.

“Then he can come home to a pretty sight if you bread right,” Logan growled before he began tugging at y/n’s leggings that he just knew Scott bought for her. All Scott did was buy things Logan would love seeing y/n in.

“Logan- Stop! Get off of me!” Y/n tried fighting, almost forgetting that Logan was a mutant and she wasn’t. He was automatically stronger than him. He didn’t even struggle.

“Gonna take it easy on you for right now, Bub, but when I get back to my future past, I’m gonna give you think kids you want,”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. He was all over the place. She’s never seen anything like this in Logan. She wanted to talk to him and ask him what was going on, but that left her mind when he got her leggings just under her ankles.

“Logan- Stop this! Get off of me, you can’t- You can’t fucking do this!” Y/n cried out, upset that Logan never got the idea. It’s not like y/n never saw anything in him.

Y/n just hated how he wanted women to chase him, and when he never got them to, he pushed until he got what he wanted. Today, he had to do more the seduce a woman with his looks and words.

“I can do whatever I want. Who’s gonna fuckin’ stop me, huh? You? Oh, you can’t lie, Bub. I smell how sweet you are from up here,” Logan chuckled as he pulled himself out of his jeans.

“You know, when I get back, the date will be set back before Scott met you, meaning, I get to have another chance. I could’ve waited to taste you, but as soon as you mentioned Scott impregnated you — God, that pissed me off,”

Logan held his cock as he pushed pushed into her. He knew his length would be the biggest she’d ever taken, and that only made him want to stretch her out more.

“L-Lo!” Y/n screamed as her back automatically arched. “Yeah, that’s it? Haven’t had a good cock since you’ve been with Scott, huh?” Logan asked as he continued pushing his cock through her lips.

“Logan!” Y/n cried loudly as he slammed himself all the way into her. “Take it, baby — I know you can,” Logan took his hands and pushed her waist into the couch, pinning her down so she couldn’t get away.

“Just look at you — You’re soaked and gripping me so tight,” Logan pounded away as y/n’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. She tried telling herself she couldn’t do this, but the way her body reacted made things so difficult.

“I bet you’ll love it when I fill you up, babe — No matter how much you say no, I know you’ll love it. You’ll love me,”

[emsdevs]

The Return

Bear and Bug 🐻🐞

a/n: surprise!! kirby talked me into splitting this part up, so you all get one more part of the main conflict after this!! enjoy!!!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Bear and Bug Masterlist

Three weeks had passed since you arrived at Cole’s place, and he’s been trying everything under the sun to get you to return to the lake house with him. Today, after getting out of bed, you find out he’s pulled out the big guns. When you walk into the living room, you’re met with not only Cole but also Trevor and Alex. Apparently, Cole had filled them in on the situation, and they changed their flights to Montreal to come help. 

“C’mon. It can’t be that bad. I know for a fact Jack misses you,” Trevor is currently trying to encourage you to come with them, your packed suitcase sitting beside him. At some point during the night, they had snuck into your room and packed your bags, leaving you with no “good” excuse not to go with them.

“You talked to him?” your head shoots toward Trevor, hope filling your eyes. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

“...No,” he looks toward the ground as he speaks, “but! I know Jack, and I know he’s probably falling apart at the seams if you two haven’t talked in three weeks. You’re his person. He’s probably dying right now.”

“Oh, great. I’m killing my best friend! This is exactly what I was worried about when Quinn and I got together. He’s been having such a tough time, and I’ve made it a hundred times worse. I’ll be lucky if he ever talks to me again.”

“You’re right. She is being dramatic,” Alex whispers to Cole before stepping forward to try to comfort you. “Look, sweetheart, the only way to make this any better is to bite the bullet. I know you’re scared, but you can’t keep running away from it.”

You were silent for a moment, shocked by the wisdom from Alex. After gathering your thoughts, you spoke, “You’re right. Let me go be sure you all got everything, and then we can head out.”

“No way that worked,” Cole couldn’t believe their plan worked in their favor.

“Bro, when did you become a shrink?”

~~

The tension at the lake house was higher than ever. Ellen and Jim had given up on trying to help their sons work out their issues, so they drove back home for a while, letting the boys stew in their anger. The boys had done nothing except that. Quinn and Luke silently shared an alliance while Jack either ignored them completely or began picking fights. 

“Hope you two are ready to go running back to your precious Bug,” Jack told the other two boys as he walked to the kitchen to grab a snack.

“What do you mean?” Luke answered, sass written all over his question.

“Trev just texted me. He, Alex, and Cole just boarded their flight. With Bug.”

“She’s coming back?” Quinn couldn’t hide the hope in his voice. He didn’t care how Jack felt anymore. He was miserable, and he needed his Bug. 

“Don’t get all excited. That doesn’t mean she’s getting back together with you,” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you think she’s coming back for you,” Luke doesn’t even attempt to hide the sneer in his voice.

“She’s my best friend, Lukey. Of course, she’s coming back to get in my good graces.” 

“Are you kidding me? Look at how you’ve been treating her, Jack! We’re all lucky she’s even coming back at all!” Quinn is angry now. You’ve probably been hurting more than he has for the past three weeks, and Jack is acting all high and mighty like you’ll come crawling back to him. As far as Quinn is concerned, you don’t need to come crawling back to anybody. If anything, the three of them owe you an apology.

“Of course, you’re sticking up for her! God, she has you wrapped around her finger! You’re so whipped you can’t see that she’s the problem here!”

“No, you don’t get to do that. You know Quinn is right. You’ve been horrible to her, and she deserves an apology. From all of us, honestly. Jesus, I mean, she even put you’re feelings above her happiness. She and Quinn could have been so happy, but you were complaining about how horrible the NHL is every night, so her main concern was protecting you. Mind you, you are not one of the two people in that relationship, so the fact she took your feelings about it into account at all is a kind of grace that you obviously don’t deserve. Why don’t you get down from your high horse and think about everything Bug has done for you? Then, you can tell us if she’s the one that needs to apologize or not,” Luke doesn’t give Jack time to answer, walking off as soon as he finishes his speech. Quinn doesn’t hesitate in following, only giving Jack a sharp look before making his way to your room once again. He found Luke already there, so they sat on your bed together, putting on a movie and soon falling asleep.

Jack, now alone in the living room, takes the time to do as Luke said. He thought back to when he knew you’d be his best friend forever. You two had silently agreed to have separate friend groups at school, but when you saw Jack’s friends had left him alone one day at lunch, you left your friends to go sit with him. They stopped talking to you after that, but you were fine with it because you had Jack. He thought about everything you had sacrificed for him, even skipping out on joining an afterschool club because it would conflict with some of his game times. How many times had you put Jack first, even when you could’ve had something really good for you if you had put yourself first? He could think of at least one: Quinn. He’s a horrible best friend. 

Jack lost track of how long he sat there, losing himself in his thoughts that were slowly becoming more and more self-deprecating, but before he knew it, he heard the front door opening. Moments later, he jumps to his feet when he sees you walk into the living area.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath.

“Hey.”

taglist: @heartsforjh @devilinpradaheels @coldheartedmar @juxmi @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @hockey43 @madebyhappymeals @ccomandercody @kirajessie @beenucks @iamspeed6

join the taglist

[mishaapocalypsse]

I saw you were asking for requests so... Can you do a Dean/reader where the reader has a boyfriend, Dean has feelings but let's her be happy, then her bf uses her and leads her on. Dean comes to her aide makes her feel loved confesses his feelings fluffy and smutty?

|| ceilings and plaster ||

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Description: Dean knows you have a boyfriend, and yet finds himself wanting you more than ever. When he sees that your significant other is just using you and above all not being faithful, he takes it upon himself to take care of it.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and adult themes, language and sexual content. MINORS DNI.

You have been warned. Story continues underneath the line.

Play this song while you listen...and cry really hard...

ceilings, plaster

Your boyfriend, a man by the name of Thomas Devin Monroe, continued to hammer nails into the roof of your house as Dean, your best and closest friend helped him. You knew Dean Winchester to be a fairly hard working man, who definitely knew how to get the job done. So when your boyfriend Thomas needed help, you were so quick to call up Dean who knew a thing or two about construction and fixing things.

The only problem was--was that you could tell that Dean hated your boyfriend. Reasons that were unbeknownst to you entirely.

"Ah, fuck you man!" You heard Thomas holler as you raced outside to see what was the matter.

When you looked up you saw your boyfriend holding his thumb as Dean held the hammer and looked smug as ever.

"Hey...I told you not to put your hand there when I have the hammer and nails." Dean replied. Thomas grumbled a "fuck you" before climbing down the latter.

You calmly walked up to Thomas.

"Let me take a look at it-"

"No. You can tell your fucking asshole of a friend to leave. I already told you I didn't need help with the roof." He hissed brushing past you and into the house.

can't you just make it move faster

You looked up at Dean with your hands on your hips.

"Did you really have to go and do that?" You called up to him. Dean turned his head and craned his neck to look down at you.

"I warned him Y/N." He said. "I really did."

You shook your head with a smile, before you could hear your boyfriend calling you from inside the house.

"I think its best if you go Dean, we can pick this up more tomorrow." Dean sighed and nodded, packing up his toolbox and sliding down the ladder with finesse. He towered over you, with his usual look. His freckles were noticeably more prominent today, and besides smelling like his usual scent of blood, and smoked wood, he smelled much like whiskey and sandalwood. A scent that you favored a lot.

lovely to be sitting here with you

You were mid thought when Dean hugged you goodbye. It was initially quite amusing to see the large man having to bend down to catch you in a tight embrace.

"See you tomorrow Dean." You murmured.

"Mhm." He replied. "You too."

You're kinda cute but it's raining, harder.

A few weeks went by as Dean was on a hunt with his brother and hadn't been around lately, much like your boyfriend who was mostly not around now.

My shoes are now full of water

Thomas wasn't answering his phone when he was supposed to be picking you up from work. So instinctively you asked Dean for a ride. You were soaked head to toe while you shivered typing in Dean's number. The phone rang a couple times before he answered.

"Hey!" You beamed, your teeth chattering.

"Are you outside?" He asks outright. You answered with how you were just waiting on Thomas to come pick you up from work, and that it was just cold.

"Oh...do you need anything?" You were about to answer Dean when Thomas called.

"One second, Thomas is calling." So as you hung up the phone to answer.

"Hell-" You never got to finish your sentence when Thomas spoke.

"I think we should break up..." You froze, not really understanding at first.

"It's not working out, Y/N. I just can't be with someone like you..." He continued. "You should probably find someone else to come pick you up from work, because I am a little busy at the moment." Thomas said that last part as a half-moan and chuckle. Which was how you also came to the realization that he was currently cheating on you with someone else.

The rain poured on while you chose to hang up the phone on Thomas. Overwhelmed you sat down on the sidewalk, getting drenched to the bone. You cried hard into the wet sleeves of your coat. wiping rain water from your eyes, calling Dean back, the phone rang before going to voicemail.

You tried Sam's phone, answering on the first ring.

"What's up Y/N?" He asked, a little concerned by the tone of your voice.

"Is Dean there with you?" Sam hummed.

"No, actually, he said he was going somewhere, are you sure you're okay?" You lied and told Sam that you were okay before ending the call.

You sighed tossing your phone into your pocket and hiding your face into your hands while the rain continued to drench you. You needed a moment to take all of this in. The state of your relationship was in shambles, the weight of how overwhelmed you were hung heavy on your heart.

Before long, you heard the revving of an engine and the sound of the door shutting.

Lovely to be rained on with you

"Y/N..." You glanced up at the sound of your name. Dean's worried face came into view while you buried your face into his chest. Everything came onto you all at once.

But it's

So short and you're driving me home

Dean had gotten you comfortable in his car, driving you home. Your head leaned against the window looking out, as beads of rain water dripped from both the window outside and from you onto his seat and floor mats.

"I'm sorry, Dean... I'm ruining your seat." You cried.

He reached out to grip your thigh with his hand.

"I don't mind." He said softly. "I'm happy that you're safe." He added.

And I don't want to leave

But I have to go

You slip silently out of his car as he comes around to help you out. His warmth that emitted from him made you shiver again, looking up at him.

You kiss me in your car

His eyes eyed your lips before looking up into your eyes. You looked away before he leaned down, capturing your lips in his. You close your eyes, arms reaching to wrap around his neck as he pulled you up into his arms. You pull away...

"Dean..."

"Y/N..." He answered. "Was it too much?"

You shook your head and pulled him back in for more.

Bedsheets, no clothes

Touch me like nobody else does

Feeling Dean Winchester in between your legs was something you never even imagined, yet here he was, your best friend, making you unravel and cum onto his relentless, empowering thrusts. He had one hand on your headboard, gripping it like a vice, the other hand caging you in as he fucked you. Your nails dug into his scarred back while he hissed.

He then moved to kiss you once more, then to kissing your forehead. His hands intertwined with yours as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Dean looked spent as he tiredly thrusted more and more into you, moaning "I love you's" to you. Something you hadn't heard much lately.

"Dean..." You cried out again, reaching your climax. "Dean!" As you came, crashing down, feeling your arousal dripping lewdly. Dean was next to reach his own. You felt him give another thrust before releasing into you. Holding you tightly against him, he stared into your eyes as he did so, giving another soft kiss, another one after that, then another "I love you."

You felt hot tears come flooding before the two of you laughed as he hugged you tightly to him.

Lovely to just lay here with you...

"I've waited so long for you, Y/N...." You heard his mutter, his fingertips brushing your bare hip. Turning to nuzzle his neck with your nose, you pressed a kiss to his throat.

"Me too..."

[cherryeclipses]

the little things

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The moments between hunts where you and Dean can pretend to be a normal couple

Fluff, implied smut, no gender mentioned, Dean is a softie, 1 use of Y/N (also im horrible at writing smut sorry babes), wrote in like 30 minutes so not my best work...

Word count: 1.3k

⛧⃝

Dating Dean was tough at times, he was stubborn, self-sabotaging, and put everyone else's needs before his own. But the most difficult part was the fact that you were both hunters. It left barely any time to connect and do normal couple 'things.' Occasionally there were rare moments in between hunts where you could relax and even have a little fun, these were the moments you two cherished, even if it was just five minutes.

⛧⃝

You sighed, searching your pockets for the motel room key, you had just a finished a week long hunt solo taking out a small nest of vampires. As you pushed the door open, longing for a hot shower and bed to sleep in, you froze, whipping your shotgun out of your waistband. "Woah, woah, it's just me sweetheart." A familiar voice drawled. You flipped the light switch, "Dean?!" "You expecting any other men?" He chuckled as you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, pulling him into a tight hug. You hadn't seen your boyfriend in nearly 2 months. He had been off with Sam, searching for their father and you had been busy with your own hunts. "What are you doing here?" You pulled away to get a good look at his handsome face. "I came for the scenery." He joked, "I came to see you idiot, what else?" "Did you find John?" You questioned. "Ah, it's a long story. A lot has happened since I spoke to you last week. But don't worry about that, I don't want to talk about work tonight." He leant down to kiss your lips, you melted into him, he smelt divine like old leather and vanilla. Your hands travelled up his chest, holding onto the man as if he was about to disappear. Nothing would be able to pull the two of you off each other, except the low growl of your stomach. Dean pulled away from you and your cheeks blushed. "C'mon let's order some food then we can get to the fun stuff." Dean laughed.

The two of you were sprawled out on the old motel couch, fast food wrappers littered the coffee table. You glanced over at your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the TV. It felt so nice to have him back, as much as you were glad him and Sam were getting along again you selfishly missed seeing him everyday. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Maybe I will." You poked your tongue out at the boy. "I really have missed you Dean, thank you for surprising me." "It's nothing, honestly I couldn't stand being away from you a minute longer. Was driving Sammy crazy." You giggled, leaning your head on his muscular shoulder, your eyes suddenly feeling heavy, you had almost forgotten how exhausted you were. Deans hands playing with your hair absentmindedly, sending you to sleep.

⛧⃝

The sound of Dean softly humming ACDC woke you, you sat up straight in your seat, your neck was stiff from leaning against the side of the impala for hours. You had been driving for what felt like forever, leaving before the sun had set, it was now pitch black outside, you looked out the window to see nothing but bright stars in the sky and no other cars on the road ahead. "Hey there sleepy head." Dean teased. "Hey yourself." You looked behind you to see Sam passed out in the backseat, snoring softly. "How far away are we?" "Almost there, another hour maybe." Dean mused, taking your hand in his, running his thumb gently over your knuckles. As much as you hated long drives it was nice to have some downtime with Dean. You leaned forward to turn up the music slightly before placing a kiss on Dean's cheek, his stubble prickling your lips. You softly moved your way down his cheek, placing gentle kisses along his neck. Dean moaned quietly, tilting his head so you had better access to his neck, eyes still focused on the road. You took the encouragement and travelled further down his neck, lingering on his collarbone. He shuffled in his seat, you could tell he was getting worked up but trying to play it cool. You smiled and pulled away, returning to your spot in the passenger seat. "Can you guys not wait until we get to the motel?" Sam groaned from the backseat. You laughed, feeling sorry for the poor guy "sorry Sam. hands off from now on, I promise." You held your hands up in surrender. Dean didn't say a word but put his foot down on the accelerator, determined to get there as fast as his Baby would let him.

⛧⃝

"Hey Bobby, where's the sugar?" You called from the kitchen. "Second cupboard from the left." He answered from the doorway. You had spent the weekend at Bobby's, helping him with research for Sam and Dean. You sang quietly to yourself as you zipped round Bobby's kitchen, the boys were on their way back and you wanted them to come home to some real food. It was also a distraction for you from all the reading and worrying you had done all weekend long. "Would you let me help you?" Bobby asked. "Nope. There's more beer in the fridge, so go sit down, relax, and don't read any more damn lore books." The old man chuckled, nodding in response and leaving you to do what you needed.

"Honey, we're home!" Dean called out as he and Sam walked through the front door. "Hey Bobby, where's Y/N?" "In the kitchen." Bobby answered the eldest Winchester brother. "What are you -" Dean was cut off when he saw the spread on the dining table. The small table was full with all kinds of food, steak, vegetables, salad, fries, you name it, it was probably there. "Hey - woah did you spend all weekend cooking?" Sam asked as he walked in to the kitchen, eyes wide. "I think I'm gonna marry you" Dean faked a tear as he pulled you in for a kiss. "I thought you deserved a nice meal for once and honestly I was sick of reading! So sit, all of you and dig in. Please." As the men settled in for dinner the oven timer dinged. "More food?" Bobby asked, surprised. "Oh um, it's actually a surprise for Dean." You said, standing up to attend to the oven. You returned holding a steaming hot cherry pie. Dean's jaw dropped, "Have I ever told you how much I love you." He asked stunned. "Maybe once or twice." You shrugged.

⛧⃝

You awoke to sunlight streaming through the torn motel curtains, you rolled over, noticing Dean wasn't beside you. You stretched out across the mattress, contemplating going back to sleep until you heard the sound of the shower running. Sleepily you made your way to the bathroom, tossing your oversized shirt (the t shirt Dean wore yesterday) across the room and removing your pyjama pants once you were in the bathroom. You pulled back the shower curtain to reveal your boyfriend, taking a moment to revel in his beauty, his tan skin glistening with water droplets. "Good morning." He said with a goofy grin. "Morning" You replied, stepping into the shower and placing a soft kiss to his lips. Your hands found their way to his hair, gently massaging his scalp Dean hummed with pleasure, his hands travelling down your damp body, squeezing your hips and bringing you closer towards him. You slowly pulled away leaning your head back to allow the water to run through your hair. Dean took the opportunity to sprinkle kisses along your neck and down your chest. You let a moan escape your throat, he pushes you against the shower wall continuing to kiss you all the way down your body, lingering where you were most sensitive before standing up to meet your gaze. "I should wake up early more often." He mumbles, his voice deep, sending shivers down your spine. "I think we should make a habit of this." You say with a grin. Dean's hands find their way to your waist again "I agree." he says with a kiss before spinning you around to face the wall.

⛧⃝

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS BONUS CHAPTER

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlwifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @ohmybueckers

warnings sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! i hit 1k last night so i figured it would be perfect to give you guys this lil thing. thank you guys so much for all the love since i joined this community, i can’t wait to put out more works for y’all 🥹 THANK YOU AGAIN FOR 1K!

August 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You’re really about to go have drinks and leave me here? All by myself?” I whine, my head resting on the mirror where I sit on Raye’s bathroom counter.

The last month of being with Maraye has been nothing short of an adventure to say the least. The honeymoon phase was absolutely real, because I honestly think we’ve spent more time with one another than apart. Aside from my last road trip.

Which I believe is the sole reason for my complaining and frowning in front of her right now.

“I’ve had these plans for weeks. I haven’t seen my girls in forever, it’s the first time everyone’s back in LA.” She explains to me, and I get it. I really do, but something about just landing last night and only getting a few kisses before bed makes the fact that she’s going out even more ridiculous in my head.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you in forever. Do you just hate me, or what?” I continued. I reach for the belt loop of Raye’s denim skirt, pulling her in between my legs. “Ma, c’mon.”

She has this look on her face that makes it so hard to act upset. Wide eyes and a thin lipped cheeky smile. Concealer dabbed under her eyes, blush on her cheeks, Raye got her lashes done yesterday morning and the fresh set makes her dark rimmed eyes look even more enticing.

My girlfriend is fucking hot. I’ve had the privilege of having my eyes blessed by her since we started dating. But God, even the simplicity of her black top and jean skirt— with the tiniest sliver of skin on her stomach showing and skirt just short enough to bring a lot of dirty thoughts to my imagination— makes the realization stick to me like glue.

“You look good.” I murmur as I trail my hand behind her. It finds a home against her waist at first, but I could only be tempted to drag it lower over her ass. “Real fuckin’ good.”

“I know. Which is why I’m going out.” Raye jeers. She pushes off of me, reaching for her just slightly pink lip gloss. It’s sheer when she swipes it over her plump lips, a nice color contrast to the dark brown of her lip liner.

My fingers tap frustratedly against my knee. “Baby. Jus’ stay wimme, c’mon.” I groan again, hoping that my combination of puppy eyes and the line of my jaw is enough to convince her. I watch the way Raye pats her lips together and I know it’s not on purpose but it sure as hell feels that way.

“You had all day to try to keep me home. You didn’t care until I got all dressed up, P.” She rolls her eyes playfully. Raye shutting off the light and leaving me in the darkness of her bathroom. The sexy scent of her Jimmy Choo perfume briefly puts me in a trance but I get up and follow her anyway.

“That’s ’cause I didn’t expect you to look this…this fucking fine.” My bottom lip can’t help but travel between my teeth as I watch her walk, her boots clicking against the hardwood of her apartment.

“That’s not my problem, babe.”

I scoff. “Don’t go out with ‘em, Raye. You’re telling me we wouldn’t have more fun here?” My voice is suggestive, just enough to make her stutter in her step before slowly pivoting to face me.

She’s processing what to say, and a part of me is begging that she’s going to take her boots off and throw herself at me so I have her as I want for the rest of the night.

Raye struts over to me, pressing her palm against my cheek. We’re nearly at eye level like this, the smell of her hair product wafts up to my nose. I jut my lips out towards her, to be honest I’m not sure I even realized how genuinely needy I was until right then.

“‘M gonna get lipgloss on you.” She sighs.

“On my life, I don’t give a shit.”

It seems enough to get her to give in, enough for Raye to lean in and pull me to her by my tank top, slotting her lips against mine. She tastes like that same faint, sweet, coconut scent of her body wash.

I immediately reach for her hands, lacing her fingers with mine and dragging her other hand down my torso as I deepen the kiss.

She grips the waistband of my shorts, my tongue doesn’t even bother being gentle with the way I shove it between her lips, licking at her tongue in a tangled exchange.

Seemingly, she forgets that she had places to be, which fills me with a sense of pride that sends a rush through me, I think I’ve probably soaked my boxers into nothing by now. Maraye’s phone buzzes in her purse, making her hum in almost…realization.

“They can wait.” I grunt against her lips, our teeth continuing to clash in pure want.

Raye breaks the suction of our mouths, a vulgar popping noise cutting through the soft noise of the TV in the back.

“You can wait.”

“It’s been forever, ma. You gon’ let me go over a week without you? For real?”

A laugh erupts from her mouth, Raye’s thumb brushing under my lip, probably ridding me of any of her now transferred lip product. “There’s food on the stove, don’t touch my AC, and I promise—” the girl pauses, taking the opportunity to sneak a kiss off of me, “— I’ll let you have whatever you want when I get back.”

I can’t do anything more than sigh as I watch her walk away, the sway of her hips and swell of her ass and the light that her kitchen illuminates on those long, brown legs. She picks up her keys and slings her jacket over her arm.

Within seconds she’s gone.

—

When I got to the bar, enveloped in conversation with my girlfriends from college, all it really took was a few shots to get me going. The conversation flowed easily, like we really hadn’t even been apart for as long as we really did. I was having a good time. Which honestly, is surprising considering how much work I’ve been doing for the last handful of months.

The night was calm, the soft noise of 2000’s music pumping through the speakers and the occasional cheers at the expense of tipsy women dancing only a few feet away.

That was until Paige, even as wonderful and perfect as I think she truly is, decided to use my obvious obsession towards her to her advantage.

paige: You doin alright angel?

Yk without your amazing girlfriend and all read 10:38pm

I sip on my margarita, the heat of the alcohol and the almost sudden heat in the pit of my stomach is so strong that they’re one and the same. This is how it starts with her, I’ve learned. Short texts, asking how I am or about my whereabouts. I always find the second question amusing considering she has my location. It’s distracting in a way that makes me forget where I am.

“Oh my God, look at Cass.” My good friend who sits to my left, Nia, points up to my sister. The woman is obviously shit faced, too many drinks taken by this part of the evening. She dances carelessly alongside a few of the other girls.

“I swear she only had a few?” I look shocked, taking a mental note and making sure the only thing Cassie has to drink for the rest of the night is water.

“Multiply that by like, four.”

My ready response is immediately cut off by another text, the blinding light that comes from Paige’s contact makes me roll my eyes.

paige: Read? Wow what position y’all in rn 10:40pm

maraye: oh my god you’re dramatic as hell 😭

i’m fine baby, u? 10:41pm

paige: Nah not rlly

I’m wet as fuck rn just thinking about you

Made a mess on your couch :/ 10:42pm

My breath catches in my throat, coming off as a gasp to Nia. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Imma head to the bathroom real fast.” I explain, trying my best to mask any possible stutter as I stand up, fixing my skirt. She doesn’t say much, which is a relief to me as I dart off to the bathroom in the back.

This is classic Paige, trying to do anything to get in my head just because she can. And as much as I’d hate to admit that it’s working, it is.

The way she was so straightforward about it, drawing me into the conversation with lighthearted Paige-esque texts only to flip the script into something much more filthy within a matter of minutes.

I lean my back on the singular porcelain sink, gripping my phone in my hands. I reopen our text thread, racking my brain for what to say to her that won’t lead to me making a mess out of my panties.

maraye: paige quit itttt

i literally just got here 10:44pm

paige: I literally don’t care 🤷🏼‍♀️

Can’t get your ass in that skirt outta my head

Got my fingers all sticky and shit 10:45pm

I swear my heartbeat speeds up times fucking ten, my chest heaving like she sucked all the air out of my lungs without even being here.

The picture she just painted in my head makes my knees weak.

Hot and bothered even more than before I left. Paige’s fingers, long and so ridiculously skilled, between her thighs as she got off to me. The thought of her imagining me or looking at pictures of me, it’s so downright dirty that I can’t believe I didn’t indulge in sexting with her before this.

I take a deep inhale, wanting to blink back my thoughts of her coming on my couch, my name off of her lips like a prayer.

paige: 1 Attachment: 1 Video

I think you should come back home 10:47pm

Fumbling with my phone I finally tap the screen and get the video open. It’s pitch black at first, then the view of her lower body fills my whole screen. Paige’s legs spread wide on my couch, a foot propped up on the armrest as she lets out an audible groan.

Her hand tugs up the hem of her wife beater, then her fingers rub circles over her clit. The sound of how wet she is loud, too loud, almost drowning out her moaning. I whine, crossing my legs and shutting my eyes. Maybe if I stopped looking at her I would keep what was left of my sanity.

And then she moans my name, again. My full name. Over and over and fucking over. I can’t help but drag my hand under my skirt, over my panties.

Then she slips three fingers inside, the stretch is obvious but the moan she lets out. Paige curls her fingers inside herself, I watch the camera tremble in response— she’s struggle to hold it still.

Then she’s slamming them in and out, a repetition that makes her almost cry. It sounds like water sloshing on the other side of the phone. Wet. Wet and fucking messy until she comes with a sound that could really only be described as a scream.

maraye: fuck baby 10:50pm

paige: I can’t stop cumming ma

Needa fuck you so bad

Come home 10:50pm

My breathing is ragged, and I know I shouldn’t but I’m considering it heavily. It’s so hard to believe that not even two weeks without her was making me act like this but it was.

maraye: you gotta come get me 10:51pm

paige: Otw read 10:52pm

—

"So, What'd you tell 'em?" I murmur. We sit at a red light, my left hand gripping the steering wheel so hard that even in the late night lighting you can tell how strained they are. But my right hand, trails slowly up Raye's thigh. She didn't fight me, not at all, her legs spreading further in the seat of my Jeep.

I can feel the warmth exuding from her before I even get a chance to press against her cunt.

"Hmm?"

"Your girls. What was your excuse, ma?" I ask again, pressing my foot to the gas pedal as soon as that green light flashes in my face.

My fingers take their time traveling towards her center and the second they do, Raye adjusts in the seat. She pushes her hips up the leather, tipping her head back on the head rest.

"Told 'em you needed a good fuck?" I pull her panties aside, and the second they touch my fingertips I learn that she's fucking soaked. "That you were so fuckin' needy that you had to go home to me, huh?"

The soft sound of PartyNextDoor fills the car alongside the soft hum of pleasure from Raye's lips. My eyes dart down to her, the way she has her eyes glued shut, the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Then I follow the slope of her nose and the tip of her head. The city streetlights make her look like an angel, just glowing.

"Y’were the one begging for me." She groans as I slip my finger inside. The angle puts a slight strain on my wrist but I don't really care. I look back to the road, it's pure luck that the roads tonight are kind of empty.

“It worked tho’ right? Got you just how I want you.” I smirk at the fact, tapping my free hand against the steering wheel.

Raye is so damn warm against me, hugging my middle finger like a vice. "So jus' lemme know. Did you say how wet I make you, that's why you couldn't stay?"

"Oh fuck you." She moans, biting her lip so hard that I think she might draw blood.

“Imma do that, baby. Trust me.” I hum.

Maraye is reactive, if it’s the one thing I’ve noticed about having sex with her, it’s that. Sure the sound of her pussy around my finger is loud but her moans might be louder. Then when I slip in a second finger she lets out a whimper, an almost helpless one.

She tries to steady herself, splaying a hand on my center console but it only does so much. It stabilizes her for a moment until I curl my fingers in that way I know she likes. Her hips jerk up, riding up her skirt in the process.

“You tryna run? I thought you knew better than that, Raye.” I shake my head. I’m lucky we’re on a straight road, it gives me enough time to briefly let my hand leave the wheel to pin her hips down to the seat.

“Y—you’re so good.” She groans, blinking her eyes open. “M’gonna cum.”

I make a swift turn onto her street, racking my brain for all the ways I could turn this woman to putty until the sun came up. “Nah you gonna hold it until we get to yours.” I mutter, dragging my fingers in and out with a fervor. “Then you’re gonna let me fuck you with my cock.”

I watch her jaw fall slack at my words, either in shock or pleasure but regardless it’s addicting. She nods rapidly, whining as I slow my fingers until they’re barely even moving inside her and I finally get a chance to park the car.

“More, baby. Mor—”

“Gonna soak me up the way you’re soaking my seat. Jus’ fuckin’ up my car, huh? You’re gonna give it to me.” I turn my body to face her, gripping her chin so she’s looking at me. My fingers twist inside of her, the squelch of it all catches us both off guard. “Imma stretch you out so wide it hurts. Ruin that pussy, yeah?”

“Yes. God, yes.” Raye nods.

Her eyes roll back, more than enough to make me moan and pull my fingers out. They’re soaked with her arousal, a sheen that drips to my palm. I’m wrapped in the scent of her— sex, perfume, and coconut— a combination that makes me drip down my legs.

“Then let’s go.” I mutter, turning off the car sticking my keys into the pocket of my shorts. My hand comes up to my lips, cleaning them of the mess she had made. “Lemme get you right.”

—

Paige is fucking hot.

Her skin burns under my touch, yes, but it’s everything else too. How her lips chase after mine like I could run away, capturing my bottom lip in her mouth. Her tongue licking past my lips, into my mouth, and onto my tongue.

Our clothes are mostly long gone, my boots and skirt laying somewhere near my front door, and the rest of them occupied random spots across my bedroom floor.

And then that damn harness.

The first time we had sex and she brought up the strap I thought it was all a ploy to turn me on. Don’t get me wrong, it worked, made me cum so hard my legs shook until I fell asleep. But seeing it, seeing the way the dildo hangs from her hips— a long and girthy dark purple— made me drool.

She was blatantly vulgar with it, my cock, the words off her lips so dirty that i’m surprised they turn me on as much as they do. But that’s just Paige, everything she does turns me on.

She tangles her hand behind me to the clasp of my bra which she unclips and forces down my arms. Following that, a slap meets my ass hard. Hard enough that I’m almost positive she left a bruise.

“I been dreaming about this shit, y’know?” She starts. Her teeth nip at my lips, soothing the slight sting with short and soft pecks. “Tearin’ it open, how good that shit would feel.”

I hum against her, letting the blonde push me back against the bed. “That’s what got you so worked up, baby?” I tease. Paige watches me with wide eyes and an even wider mouth as I trail my panties down my legs, they’re soaked from her stunt over the phone and in the car.

“Fuck, Raye, y’ont even know.” She groans.

I watch the way her eyes flutter shut, like she’s imagining it all over again, and her hand travels to the strap. Her hand wraps around it, enough to remind me of how fucking huge her hand is. She strokes it as if it’s an extension of her. There’s a faint buzzing that I hear on the other end, and just knowing she’s getting off too makes this whole thing even more appealing.

“Been thinking about splitting me open, yeah?” I ask as my hands travel up to my chest, gripping my breast before bringing my other hand to my mouth. I’m putting on a show for her licking my fingers and shoving them between my legs, rubbing over my clit. “Make me cum on your cock, baby. Please?” I beg, widening my legs to make room for her.

“Scoot back.” The blonde instructs. And I do. I know better than to work her up some more.

I watch my girlfriend’s spit drip from her mouth and onto the tip as she hovers over me. She spreads it over the silicon before spitting on my cunt too. Paige teases the tip against me and I swear the minute she pushes it inside me, my body heat rises uncontrollably.

“Oh my—shitttt, baby!” I think I feel it in my chest, the pressure that fills me completely. My inner thighs sting as she slides the dildo in to the hilt, letting out a soft gasp that matches my expletive. Paige’s arms cage me in, palms pressed against beside my head as she starts rocking her hips.

I’ve had my fair share of sex and sexual experiences, but this right here, makes everything else I’ve ever done look like child’s play. The stretch is unbelievable. And even if Paige had taken it upon herself to try and prep me with her fingers all this time, they don’t even compare.

It’s so intimate, Paige’s breath fanning against my face and her thin silver chain dangling against me too. Her strokes are slow, and deep. Incredibly deep. She reaches a spot inside of me that hasn’t been tapped before, and she does it fast, almost instantly.

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” She murmurs in my ear. Paige’s hand wraps around my waist, raising my hips just enough to make my eyes water. “Tell me how that pussy feelin’.”

I gasp. “So… so fuckin’ good. Mmmm it’s perfect, baby.”

Paige speeds up, not rapid but just enough that I’m arching my back and throwing my hips down against her. My legs curl around her hips to pull her in deeper.

“Oh shit.” Paige grunts, the vibrator against her cunt coupled with the movement of my hips is stimulating her heavy. “This whatchu needed? Just good dick, yeah? He wasn’t hittin’ it right?”

I dig my nails into her biceps, which are huge from her All-Star break workouts, and shake my head. Her eyes flutter open, lip tucked between her teeth. She looks fucking incredible, Paige’s hair is down for the first time in a while. She’s always pulling it back, but right now with the way it shadows us in a curtain is goddess like.

“Answer me, angel.”

“Uh huh, yes! Fuck yes, I needed it so bad, P.” I moan. Paige only briefly pauses to change her angle, but then she’s right back against me. Skin to fucking skin. She unhooks my leg from around her, pushing it back as far as she could.

Her nose brushes against my own. “You take me so good. Keep suckin’ me up, ma.”

My eyes roll as the coil in my stomach tightens, I don’t think I’ve ever come this fast in my life. The way the strap rakes laboriously into my cunt is toe curling. “Needa cum. Let me, please.” I hiccup. My fingers tangle into her hair, tugging her locks slightly.

“Tell me you love it.”

Those five words are enough to make me fall under a spell. Paige’s voice is laced with fucking drugs, deep and breathy against my mouth.

“I love this shit. Love your cock, baby.” It comes out as almost a cry.

The admission makes Paige smirk and chase after my mouth, locking our lips in a kiss that draws the orgasm out of my body. She moans all high and drawn out into my mouth meshing our tongues messily.

“You wanna cum, Raye?” She stutters. I notice it, obviously. The change in her pitch and the way she slightly trips over her words. She’s close, probably overstimulated from her activities on my couch.

“Please?”

“I want it, baby. Cum for me.”

And I do. Gushing over the silicone almost instantly. Paige helps me ride it out, kissing the corner of my mouth before trailing her lips to my cheek. “Good girl. My perfect girl.” She hums.

She carefully pulls out, trying to be as gentle as she possibly can but I still hiss at the feeling. A whimper leaves my lips at the empty feeling, I miss her inside me already.

Paige flops beside me on the bed, she’s watching me catch my breath. I can feel her eyes on me even though i’m not looking at her. Her eyes like lasers, scanning over me. The blue says everything she’s yet to.

“Just say you wanna go again.”

She laughs at that while throwing her arm over my hip. It rests heavy on my abdomen. I finally turn my head to her, the sweat on her entire body only makes the chain on her neck glisten in the light.

“C’mere.” It comes out as a whimper and I can only assume it’s from the dull stimulation from the vibrator. Paige reaches for my hips, helping me straddle her hips. I happily lean down to her, kissing her perfect pink lips with a smile. “Ride it.”

I take the length in my hand, my release now decorating my palm. I tease my own entrance then sink down on it slowly. The feeling is even more foreign than taking her in missionary.

Before I even get the chance to take every inch my hands fly to her chest, I plant my palms on her for stability.

“Too big?” It’s one of the first times I’m unsure if she’s serious or just teasing. I press my forehead against Paige’s, my chest heaving and breathless moans leaving my mouth.

“N—No. Jus’ full. So full, P. Fuck.” I dart my head into the crook of her neck whining like an animal as she pushes me down her cock. I swear it sits in my stomach.

Her large and veiny hands grip my ass, she starts the pace off slow, using me like a fucking toy. “Y’know I gotchu.” Paige whispers into my ear.

“It’s—mmph— so fuckin’ deep. I can’t, baby.” I moan again, trailing my hand back to her hair as if the blonde locks would ground me.

It’s like Paige’s demeanor shifted within a matter of seconds. She’d been soft all night, at least for the most part, but the way her hand slaps my ass is anything but soft. “One month with me and you can’t take dick no more? What happened, mama? You were talking all that shit—”

I cut her off by getting on my toes and the first grind of my hips shuts her up. Her groan was thick, the kind of gruff sound that made it seem like she was barely hanging on herself. The blonde nips at my collarbone.

Paige watches me like a hawk, her breathing heavy and jaw slightly slack. “M’fucking God, Raye. Ohhh shit— you’re a fuckin’ slut.” She moans. Her body falls deeper into the stack of pillows, leaning back just enough to look over my body. My tits in her face and her strap sliding in and out of my soaked cunt.

“Your s-slut tho’. Right, baby?”

“Yeah. All fucking mine, ride me like a pro.”

The way her eyes snap shut makes me work harder. I bounce on the balls of my feet, any previous inhibitions disappearing as soon as I saw how good it was for her. How her legs trembled under me.

I bite my lip in an attempt to keep quiet, much to Paige’s dismay. She reaches for my bottom lip, untucking it from my mouth and forcing her thumb inside instead. I suck on it instantly, throwing my hips down harder.

“Feels so good, P…” I mumble around her finger. “S’in my stomach.”

“I know, ma. So tight, for me.” She groans. Paige’s hips snap up into mine, instantly ruining any rhythm I had for myself. I scream erupts from my throat, one I didn’t even know I was holding back until she does it again.

Her thumb leaves my mouth, hands gripping my hips, nails digging into the skin. I meet her halfway, matching her thrusts with my grinds. “Gonna cum. Need it, baby. Needa nut in this pussy, fuck.” Paige babbles, her better judgment clouded by the need to get off.

It’s sexy. Her voice frays around the edges, suddenly becoming much more weak than before.

“You love this pussy, right, baby?”

“Mmm. Love it, love this shit. Oh my God.”

There’s only been a few times I’ve gotten to see Paige fall apart. Like fully lose all of her dominance and just lose herself. This is easily one of those times.

“Raye, I’m— fuuckkkk, you feel so good, damn.” She tosses her head back, moan after moan meeting my ears as she finishes. And there’s a part of me, that hopes all the literal inaccuracies dissipate and she does come in me. Deep inside until I’m dripping with it.

That picture makes me work faster. She’s overwhelmed, clawing at my hips but I don’t care. The need to finish myself clouds my brain.

“Ma, hold on. Fuck, hold on.”

“Needa get mine too. Don’t be selfish, P.” I grumble. I sit back on my knees, grinding my hips back and forth. I don’t hold back anything for a single second, moaning and crying out her name. Paige’s hips jerk up, and that jerk pushes me over the edge.

I squirt. Hard.

I think I go blind for a minute, nothing but stars in my vision. Paige clutches my hips, I hear the whimper that comes from her. Getting off on my own orgasm.

When I finally stop, Paige is quick to turn the vibrator off, letting out a breath I didn’t even know she was holding in. She helps me off of her and my legs, that literally feel like jelly, give out immediately. I fall to her side, and the room is filled with a comforting silence.

Paige looks at me, it was caring at first, eyes silently asking me if I was alright. To which I responded with a small nod. Then it shifts. She looks smug.

“What?”

“I took your girl virginity.” She sings, making me roll my eyes.

“I hate you.” I mutter.

“Oh I bet you do.”

[wordsofelie]

🔭mars

part of my observatory event, requested by @dearru <3

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

summary: you have the biggest crush on your neighbour—turns out he goes to the same gym as you.

content warnings: time skip setting, fluff, iwaizumi hajime is too beautiful for this world

words count: 1.3k

“I swear I’ve never seen something so magnificent,” you say in a fierce whisper.

Your best friend groans on the other end of the call. “Are you talking about that guy again?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous?” she asks, already exasperated, hoping you’ll finally change the subject.

“His awesomeness. This morning, he was on his balcony, hanging out the sheets and still he looked so cool and-”

“Oh god, I’m hanging up now.”

She should be used to it by now. For weeks, your not-so-subtle (and maybe slightly overdramatic) crush on your new neighbour has been the only thing on your mind—and on your lips. But you’re not the one to blame. The man is a pleasure to your eyes—in an unfair kind of way.

You first noticed him when he moved in two months ago.

His arms were stacked with cardboard boxes, his short hair was tousled from the summer heat and a few strands were clinging to his forehead. You were heading to the lift when he walked past, barely glancing up as he unlocked the apartment right next to yours. His brows were knitted in a frown, but the moment he noticed you, a quiet smile tugged at his lips. And you swore you’d never seen such beauty before.

You mumbled something like “good morning”, although you don’t even know if it reached his ears since you hastily turned your gaze away and stepped into the lift.

Then, you started noticing him everywhere.

In the hallway, where he nodded politely but never said much. At the mailboxes, where he always grabbed his letters with an effortless coolness. On his balcony, where he stretched after runs, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts that should probably be illegal.

His balcony isn’t directly aligned with yours—it’s angled just enough that, from your couch, you can see straight into his living room. So really, it’s not your fault if you watch him sometimes. And yes, on the rare nights when you let curiosity get the best of you, you find yourself peeking through your window, catching glimpses of him under the soft glow of his apartment light. Tapping on his laptop. Making coffee. Just being there.

Not that you’re spying. That would be creepy. You’re just—observing.

The gym is the one place where you can let go. Since work has been demanding, you figured exercising might help you find some balance. Physically, maybe—but mentally? Not a chance. Because ever since you laid eyes on him, your mind has been an absolute mess.

Which is how you find yourself, mid-run on the treadmill, calling your best friend for the fourth time this week just to talk about your hot neighbour.

“Wait! Please, don’t leave me alone in this crisis,” you whine into your earphones.

Your best friend sighs. “Crisis? You’re staring at a hot guy and refusing to do anything about it. That’s not a crisis, that’s just cowardness.”

The thought alone makes your heart racing faster in your rib cage. “I am not refusing. I just- I don’t know where to start.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe by asking his name?”

“No, no, no. I could never.”

“Come on, you’ve been eating, sleeping, and breathing this guy for weeks, and you don’t even know his name. I told you—coward.”

You step off the treadmill and catch your breath. Your voice hovers somewhere between a whisper and a complaint as you wipe your forehead with a towel. “Excuse me, but I am not—”

“Hey,” a deep voice interrupts.

Your heart stops.

Your best friend is still talking in your ear, but you don’t hear a word. Slowly, so slowly, you turn your head—

And he’s there.

Right in front of you.

All lean muscle, sun-kissed skin, and olive-green eyes that are even more stunning up close.

Since when does he come to your gym?

“I, uh-hi,” you stammer, yanking out an earbud.

He nods toward the treadmill. “Are you still using this?”

"Yes-I mean no. I-I…"

The corner of his lips turns upwards. “Yes or no?”

Everything in your head seems to come out scrambled, in the wrong order. "No! I mean-I'm done! It’s all yours!"

“Is it your neighbour?” Your best friend, still very much on the call, says. She doesn’t wait for your answer to add, "Ask his name."

"Shut up!" you blurt out and you feel heat scorching your face when you realise what you said out loud. You wave your hands in panic and rush to explain, “Oh my god, not you. Sorry”

Your neighbour looks somewhere between amused and mildly concerned. "Uh… right. Thanks." He still remains polite, almost too kind even though you just made a fool of yourself.

And just like that, he steps onto the treadmill, setting up his workout while you remain frozen in pure, undiluted mortification.

You spin on your heel and flee.

And for the next week, you avoid the gym like the plague and close your curtains.

It’s late Friday evening when the universe decides to ruin you again.

You step into the apartment complex’s lift, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out, stopping them.

You don’t even have time to react before he steps in.

The hot neighbour, whose name still remains a mystery.

He barely spares you a glance as he enters—until his eyes flick toward you, lingering just long enough for a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You quit the gym?" he asks after a moment of silence.

You nearly choke. "What? No! I’ve just been… busy. With work. I work a lot… these days."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Then that’s even more reason to go back. It's good not only for physical health, but also for mental health.”

You clear your throat, grasping for composure. “You talk like a true professional.”

His eyes widen, you’re not sure why but he suddenly seems uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his neck and his eyes fall to the ground. “Sorry, that sounded like I’m mansplaining or something.”

“Not at all.” You smile a little. “But I guess I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

He immediately lifts his eyes and there's relief on his face, the frown that had formed a few seconds earlier, go away. You can see him tilting his head slightly, considering you.

"I’m going tomorrow morning. You coming?"

You swallow. "I-yeah. Sure."

"Cool," he says easily. Then, after a beat, "Wanna grab a coffee after?"

Your heart stumbles.

"Like… together?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I mean, no pressure, you can totally say no."

You open your mouth, then close it again. A week ago, you were a coward who wished to never bump into him again. And now—now—he’s standing in a lift, casually inviting you for coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"I-yeah. That’d be nice."

The lift dings. He steps aside, letting you go first. It only takes a few steps to reach your door, but somehow, it feels incredibly long. You finally turn to wish him a good night, but his voice cuts through the quiet first.

“Oh, and I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You take a second to breathe in his words, his name.

You say yours in return—and you swear you see his cheeks redden just a little.

"Then, see you tomorrow, neighbour." He exclaims, throwing you one last glance over his shoulder.

And just like that, he disappears into his apartment.

While you stand there, staring after him, pulse thudding in your ears.

You finally know the name of your hot neighbour.

And he just asked you on a date.

You call your best friend that night to tell her everything. “What should I wear? More like casual? Or classy?” You ask her at some point.

Though she’s away, you can sense the smile on her face. “Gosh, I really should get paid for this.”

a/n: writing for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer is the best therapy

special tag for @sahrii im glad i can share my iwa obsession with you <3

[watermelonlovershigh]

can you please write something about reader maybe finding harry's stash of sex toys. maybe he uses them during solo play but she doesn't know about that because they're new to dating and he hasn't shared that with her because he's scared she'll judge him. but when she finds them she has a million thoughts running in her head. not knowing if they were for him or if he uses them on other people. with a cute ending of her being super cool with him using sex toys and doesn't judge him.

Finding Harry's Secret Stash of Sex Toys (SMUT)

AN: love, love, love this idea! it was fun to write. i may, key word, MAY write a part 2 to this. no promises though. keep in mind any mentions of sexuality is purely fictional and not real. hope you all enjoy and don't forget to leave your feedback.

This story contains: periods, mentions of sex toys, sex, confrontation, anxiety, comfort, mentions of sexuality, fluff

{ boyfriend!harry - softrry - au!harry - bi!harry }

word count- 1,744

While searching Harry's bathroom drawers for a period product, you discover his stash of sex toys. After waiting about a week, you confront him with all the questions you have about your discovery.

You and Harry have been together for nearly two months. During this time, you've become well-acquainted with each other; however, they're still certain things that you don't know about one another. This isn't due to any effort in hiding information, but rather because those specific matters haven't yet been relevant in any of your discussions.

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

It's a Friday night, and you're at Harry's house for the evening. He had purchased a pizza, and the two of you were comfortably seated in his living room, savoring the pizza and sipping on wine. About an hour after eating, while watching a film, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. In the bathroom, you realize your periods started and you didn't have any period products with you.

Knowing Harry is a mature adult, you promptly step out of his downstairs bathroom and make your way back to the living room to ask if he by chance had anything for you to use. Otherwise, you'll have to go to the twenty-four hour shop down the street. "Um Harry, do you have a pad or tampon I could use? I’ve just started my period and forgot to bring anything." You linger there, feeling somewhat awkward as you await his answer.

Harry turns to you and replies with a gentle smile, "Yeah, of course. You can go to my bathroom upstairs and look in one of the drawers by the sink. I generally keep period products there for when I have female visitors." God created men, and then he created Harry as an apology, you conclude. He's so fucking thoughtful.

With a sigh of relief, you respond, "Thank you. I'll be quick." You hurry up the stairs and proceed to his bathroom with urgency, fully aware that you're currently free bleeding. Upon entering, you close the door and search through the drawers of his vanity to locate the pads and tampons.

The first drawer you open is filled with floss picks and an electric razor. The second drawer holds additional rolls of toilet paper. However, as you open the third drawer, you're met with an unexpected sight that leaves you speechless. You were hoping to find something to assist your period, but instead, you come across a selection of dildos and butt plugs. When you finally open the fourth drawer, you let out a sigh of relief upon finding the items you'd been searching for.

You take a tampon out and make your way to the toilet to insert it. After you're done, you wash your hands and let your thoughts return to the drawer that's filled with sex toys. Harry has never mentioned having any of these types of items. Despite the many times you've had sex, he's never proposed the idea of incorporating sex toys into the mix. Perhaps, he uses them for his own pleasure, or he might enjoy using them on partners. But if that's the case, why hasn't he brought that idea up to you before?

You make your way out of the bathroom before Harry has time to become concerned and head downstairs to resume the movie together. Upon your return to his side, he asks, "Is everythin' alright?" You had a weird expression on your face that he couldn't quite place.

Trying to play off what you've just seen, you reply, "Yep, yeah, I'm fine. Let's finish the film."

For the remainder of the night, you don't bring up what you discovered in his bathroom drawer, but it never leaves your mind. If anything, you're just curious as to why he has those items. You would never judge his reasoning.

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

A week has passed since that evening you discovered Harry's drawer containing phallic-shaped items and butt plugs. You've been looking for the right moment to bring it up, which has now finally presented itself.

Currently, you're in Harry's bed, having sex. He's on top of you, pounding you into the mattress, while your hands rest on his perfectly round bum. As he begins to thrust more vigorously, your hands slowly slide closer to his crack, and when you accidentally graze his sensitive hole, Harry almost collapses on top of you.

Seeing how much pleasure it caused him, you do it again, this time with purpose. "Oh fuck!" Harry curses as you rub your fingers over his puckered rim.

Taking a deep breath, you bravely ask, "Yeah, does that feel good? Like having your tight hole played with?"

With his forehead resting against your neck, Harry affirms with a nod and softly murmurs, "uh-hu." He only confesses this because it's clear that you're open to touching him there; otherwise, he would've refrained from sharing such information due to his fear of being judged.

Eventually, you get lost in your own pleasure and forget about touching his bum. That is, until you're laid lax on the bed, muscles weak from your orgasm, with Harry laying on top of you. As you both try and catch your breaths, you bite the bullet and ask the question that's been on your mind all week.

"So.... does those toys you have in your bathroom drawer have anything to do with you liking your ass played with?" You really hope your question doesn't come off as rude or too invasive. You're genuinely curious.

Harry's body goes rigid at your question. Then he sits up slightly, looking down at you with confusion. "What?"

With a hint of anxiety in your voice, you explain, "Um, it's just, the other night, while I was looking for a tampon in your bathroom, I opened the wrong drawer and discovered several dildos and butt plugs. I was just wondering whether those items were for your personal use or you use them on other people. But just so you know, I'm not judging you in any way, just curious is all."

Harry falls back down and buries his face in your warm skin, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him at your accidental discovery of his sex toys. He usually stores them in his closet, but after cleaning them the other day, he had set them in the drawer to dry.

In truth, Harry does enjoy anal play. Ever since he began puberty and started to explore his body, he discovered the pleasurable sensations that can come from anal stimulation. A few years later, he recognized his bisexuality, which, although not directly connected to his enjoyment of anal play, is certainly a positive in the situation.

Unfortunately, he's only had a handful of male partners. Therefore, when he's not able to experience penetration from a real cock, he frequently utilizes one of the dildos he's purchased for himself.

When he was with women, Harry typically didn't mention his liking for having his ass played with, out of concern for being judged. There were a few instances in the past where they'd end up finding out, leading to a mix of reactions—some supportive and others quite judgmental. So, he opted to keep that aspect of himself hidden and relied on his toys for when he craved anal.

Now that you're aware of his secret, he's filled with dread at the thought of your rejection. Yet, he reckons that if you willingly touched his bum during sex, that implies you're not completely against it.

With his warm breath against your neck, Harry reveals, "Um..... yes, they're mine. When I was a teenager, I realized I enjoyed havin' my bum touched. I usually keep it to myself 'cause I've been judged for it before. So....... that's why I tend to use my toys when I am alone. Sorry for not tellin' you."

The quiver in his voice stirs a sadness within you. Him revealing his anxiety about your potential judgment and the criticisms he's endured in the past breaks your heart. You tenderly hold his face and elevate his chin so he can meet your eyes. "Harry, sweetheart, I would never think less of you for liking that. I suspect many men would enjoy anal if they gave it a chance."

You take a deep breath and continue, "I do have a question, though." Harry nods for you to go ahead, so you proceed to ask, "Have you ever used your toys with your girlfriends before? Like, have they used them on you?" If he's open to the idea, you would definitely be eager to make use of his toys on him. The image of fucking him anally with one of his dildos arouses you more than you care to admit.

"There've been one or two times I shared my likin' of anal with ex's who were particularly kind and acceptin', which I appreciated. But in most cases, my partners didn't last long enough after discoverin' my interest in anal play to allow the use of toys during sex. S'also why I keep my sexuality a secret. 'Cause people can be so judgemental."

"Sexuality?" you question cautiously, allowing Harry to explain at his own pace.

"Um yeah, think I was sixteen when I realized I liked boys and girls. So I reckon m' bisexual. But I've only had two male partners. S'why I have so many toys. But I wouldn't say my sexuality has anythin' to do with my likin' for anal, just a bonus I suppose."

You hold Harry tightly in your arms, hoping to express your appreciation for his courage in confiding in you. It's clear that he feels a sense of safety in doing so.

You become aware of his current vulnerability; he's still without clothes, his soft cock positioned between your legs, your bare body surrounding him. The love you feel for Harry is so big that you struggle to find the right words. You also refrain from voicing it aloud out of fear that it may be too early in your relationship to utter such sentiments. So instead, you mummer against his ear, "Thank you for telling me, Harry."

He's on the verge of tears due to your exceptional acceptance. Harry has long struggled to find a girlfriend who fully acknowledges his sexuality and kinks. In his past relationships with boyfriends, he was often judged for his enjoyment of hetero sex, while his experiences with girlfriends led to criticism for his interest in gay sex. This constant judgment made him feel as though he could never succeed in love. However, with you by his side, there's a chance that you'll offer him the love and acceptance that he's been longing for.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)

taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009

My Masterlist Masterpost

[strawberriesoup]

catch me if you can PT. 1,, ✮⋆˙

☆ street racer!han jisung x cop!fem!reader

☆ genre: street racing AU, angst, fluff, action, strangers to lovers, illegal activity

☆ warnings: lots of breaking of the law (like, felony-level breaking of the law), cursing, fire, injury/pain, near death experience, suggestive content

☆ wc: 6.5k

☆ a/n: i'm so happy i finally got to sit down and write this first part out! honestly i'm pretty pleased with it, and i hope this motivation can stay for the remaining parts! for now, enjoy!

if you make it all the way through, please leave some feedback! i always love to hear other people’s thoughts!! your feedback is what keeps me writing stories like these ❤️❤️

☆ taglist: @jisunggy @holly-here @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools @chancloud8 @hannieslittlerockstar @vixensss @skzpvol @gxtwllsn @yinzgarden @kayleefriedchicken @nightmarenyxx @ick2001 @dwesion

if you would like to be added to my series taglist or my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Unstoppable, that’s what you are. There’s just something about the way your engine rumbles when you shove in the clutch and shift to a higher gear, how you can feel your tires grip the road beneath you, it’s thrilling. Yellow lines blur into one as you grip the wheel tighter, focusing your attention solely on the path ahead. Just a little farther.

Your blinker flashes as you signal your turn into the Wal-mart parking lot.

Really, you can’t imagine anything more unintresting than grocery shopping. There’s no excitement in searching through various assortments of oranges and grapes, no blaring horns and revving engines to go along with determining the best jug of milk to buy.

When you had joined the city police force, it’s safe to say that this is not how you were expecting to spend your wednesday afternoons.

How embarrassing. Yes, you know that shopping is a normal— and necessary— part of life, but that’s just the thing. It’s normal. Mundane, tedious, dull… Must you go on? A normal thing for normal people to be doing on normal days. Definitely not the action-filled life you had always dreamed of for all those years.

The bitter taste of disappointment fills your mouth as you sulk through the isles. It’s busy today. Groups of people bustle past, none of them paying you any mind. Good. You keep your head tucked towards the ground, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with someone who might know you. In the back of your mind, you reason that it’s probably ridiculous to be feeling this way. Even still, you don’t lift your face.

The crime rate has been so low recently, with new police recruits popping up left and right, that you aren't even on duty today. While to most that might seem like good news, to you it’s probably the worst news all week. You wish that someone would just start a car chase or something, that way you might get a chance to break the speed limit. Instead,— since you like to manage your expectations somewhat realistically — you’re here, squinting at your shopping list and trying to keep your squeaking cart under control. The gods of choosing a functional shopping cart had not blessed you today.

After an unnecessarily long chat about missing puppies with the sweet old lady who probably broke the world record for the slowest grocery checkout time, you start the trek back out to your car. It shouldn’t be hard to find, given it’s painted a subtle bright crimson. You search the parking lot for the familiar vehicle. Where did you park again? You probably should have paid more attention.

Then, you hear it. At first, you think maybe it’s just the wind whistling around the building behind you. Are you hearing things? No, because there it is again. An unmistakable scream.

Groceries abandoned, you can feel your pulse leap into your temples as you sprint towards the direction of the sound. Whipping your head around, you struggle to get a grip on your surroundings, the midday sun reflecting off the pavement momentarily blinding you.

Another frantic shout brings you to your senses and you are finally able to pinpoint the source of the commotion. Not far off, a cloud of deep black smoke billows from a car on the street. The car had been capsized, shattered glass scattered in a ten-foot radius surrounding it. On first approach, you can’t even tell the front end from the back end. What’s completely unmistakable though, is the gut-dropping smell of an engine fire.

“Mom!” A childs cry rings out above the other panicked voices. A teenage boy holds the little girl in his arms as she rakes at his shoulder in a feeble attempt to break free and run towards the car.

Bystanders are shouting, trying to tear a man away from the door of the car by his arm, shirt, anything they could get a hold of. You can’t tell if the man’s hands are bleeding from the broken glass or from pulling on the door so hard. Who knows, maybe it’s both.

You don’t know if you’ve ever sprung into action so fast. One second you’re assessing the situation, the next you’re shoving people out of the way to access the door.

The window frame had been crushed so much you can barely even see inside the vehicle, let alone utilize it as a viable method of escape. Judging by the lack of law enforcement around the scene, you can tell the car hasn’t been on fire for long. Good. Even though the foul rank of the engine smoke invades your senses, it’s safe to say the vehicle won’t explode. Yet.

Maybe the other door isn’t stuck. You quickly move to the opposite side and tug at the handle, but immediately jerk your hand back when the metal burns your skin. Angrily, you tug a hand across your face. Think. You need to think. Come on, think.

There. A window that hadn’t been shattered, the back windshield. To access it, you’d have to crawl under the trunk and break it open. If you do that, there’s a good chance you won’t be able to turn back around easily once inside, if at all. You can’t tell to what degree the person inside is injured, but you take the lack of any sort of cry for help as a bad sign.

The desperate wails of the little girl make up your mind for you. There’s no time to lose. You need to get this done, and get it done fast.

Shrugging off your purse, jacket, and anything that could possibly get snagged in the car, you squeeze under the trunk. It’s uncomfortably warm, reminding you of the very real possiblility of explosion once the fire reaches the fuel tank. All your faith is funneled into your pocket knife as you jam the back of it into the windshield. Nothing.

Again, you wind back the knife. A yell escapes you as you once again ram it into the window with all your might. Still, it doesn’t yield.

Shit. shit. You have to get in there. You can see the outline of what looks to be a human form inside the car, but no movement. One more time. You can do this.

The man that had been tugging at the door is kneeling behind you, unable to fit underneath the car. He reaches under, stretching his red-stained fingers towards you. At first, you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. Then, it clicks. Wrapping his hand around your own, The knife is encompassed beneath both of your hands. The man’s voice is hoarse as he counts to three. Together, you drive the tool into the windshield.

Finally, the window shatters with a crash. Dark smoke pours out, stinging your eyes and forcing a cough from your lungs. Wasting no time, you squeeze the man’s hand before taking a deep breath and ducking inside.

Shattered glass slices open your palm and you hiss at the white flash of pain. There’s no time to check the damage right now, you’ll deal with injuries later. You tearily squint through the smoke, finally laying your eyes upon a still figure in the passenger’s seat. Still buckled in, she hangs awkwardly from the seat, supported by the seatbelt.

A drop of sweat falls into your eyes. The heat alone is suffocating, but paired with the smoke the conditions are nearly unbearable. The steadily ticking clock of oxygen deprivation hangs heavy over your head, you won’t be of much help if you’re passed out. You grunt as you stretch your arm up to reach for the buckle.

With a click, the woman falls from the seat. No movement. You can’t even tell if she’s breathing.

How the fuck are you going to get her out of here? The car interior around you suddenly feels too small, your vision beginning to spin. No, get a handle of yourself. These people are depending on you. That little girl is depending on you. The image of the little girl’s face, twisted with fear and desperation, fuels you to set your jaw and grab a hold of the woman’s arm.

If you can just pull her past you, you might be able to push her the rest of the way, getting her out as quickly as possible for medical attention, as EMS should be here soon. As if on cue, you hear blaring sirens steadily approching over the crackling of the fire.

Straining, you are able to tug at the woman until she’s past you. Blood roars in your ears as you use the rest of your energy to try and push her the rest of the way. It’s not graceful by any means, but you manage to shove her far enough towards the shattered window for her to be pulled out by a team of gloved hands.

You collapse onto the floor below. Dark fog breaches the corners of your vision. Is that the smoke? Maybe. You can’t even tell at this point. A cough wracks its way through your body as the pulse of adrenaline leaves you.

Well, at least you were able to help. You can feel your eyelids slowly blinking closed, despite your efforts to fight it.

What’s left of your vision is suddenly blocked by… a face? Holy shit. Did you die? In front of you hovers a face that looks like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. A perfectly angled nose sits between two dark eyes that remind you of the cool blanket of night. His lips are moving and you lament over the fact you can’t hear his voice due to an annoyingly loud ringing filling your ears. If this is what heaven is like, you don’t think you mind dying so much.

You can distantly feel your body being lifted as you drift out of conciousness.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“That was some crazy shit back there, y’know.”

You blink your eyes open, focusing on the source of the familiar voice next to you. It’s Seungmin, your patrol partner. He’s sitting on the edge of the ambulance, knee bouncing up and down. His stare, unreadable as always, greets you. You let out a much-needed sigh of relief. As much as he gets on your nerves, you are definitely more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Seungmin? What happened? Is that— ow, shit!” You sit up too fast from your stretcher and immediately need to lay back down due to a stabbing pain in your skull. “Is that lady okay?” as the sharp pain withdraws into a dull throb, the past events slowly resurface in your mind. Wait. That guy. The one who you saw just before you passed out, who was he? You had never seen him before. Was he even real?

“Well, I’m not sure if ‘okay’ is the right word to use, but she’s alive at least. She was rushed to the hospital along with her family members as soon as you got her out.” Seungmin crosses over to you, leaning on the edge of your stretcher. You can see him better now, and from here you can catch the slightest bit of worry in his features that was not evident in his voice previously. “Which, by the way, that little stunt of yours almost got you killed. If that guy hadn’t gotten you out of there when he did, you would have been crushed.”

So he was real.

According to Seungmin, right after you had been dragged out, the frame of the car completely collapsed; which would have effectively both trapped you inside and squished you. He’s about to continue with details about how next you probably would have caught on fire, before you punch him square in the arm, earning a cry of pain from both you and Seungmin. You shake the pain out of your bandaged hand as you are painfully reminded of that piece of glass that had cut you.

“Anyways,” you scowl at him when he sends you a not-so-apologetic look, “who was that guy? Is he a new police recruit? I’ve never seen him before.” The only reason you know that for sure is because you would never have forgotten that face. You can picture him in your mind right now. You’ve never seen anyone so… well, perfect.

“No, he’s not. Just some civilian who was stupid enough to jump into a flaming car to save your sorry ass,” Seungmin waves away your indignant defenses and heads off towards a group of officers outside the ambulance, “It was a hit and run, the bastard who caused this mess drove off someplace so we’re trying to see—”

“Where did he go?”

Seungmin faces you, caught off-guard. “What?”

“That guy, where’d he go?” You repeat your question, obviously not at all intrested in whatever was going on with the other officers.

Seungmin’s eyebrows lower as he rolls his eyes and turns away once more. “I dunno, haven’t seen him,” he comments over his shoulder helpfully. Then, he’s gone.

Ugh.

Fuck you, Kim Seungmin

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You have to find him. You will not be able to function as a member of society without knowing that he’s an actual person and not just a result of some hallucination. You had asked every single one of the officers and bystanders at the scene if they knew even just his name (you did not appreciate Seungmin making faces at you the whole time, thank you very much) to no avail; nobody knew anything about this mysterious man.

Fine then. You’ll just have to find him yourself.

Weeks go by, and his face never leaves your mind. Sometimes you swear you can see a flash of his honey skin, or those gorgeous eyes, only to look up and realize with disappointment it is in fact, not him. You wonder how many random passerby you have given an unexplainably sour face. Not that it matters what they thought of you. They probably worked a nine to five at some boring old desk.

One night, Seungmin had caught you searching through the criminal records. Maybe it was a stretch, but hey, you were desperate. You had just reached the ‘H’ column when he snuck up behind you. Upon him tapping your shoulder with a “Whatcha doing” on his lips, you had jumped three feet in the air and quickly closed the tab, responding with a very convincing “Nothing!” and rushing out of the room.

Just a name, that’s all you need. Is that really too much to ask?

Suited up in your standard police attire, you wait in line at your favorite coffee place before your night shift with Seungmin. You had finally been scheduled a full eight hours, but honestly your mind was anywhere but work. The bustling coffee shop atmosphere and the overwhelming smell of coffee does nothing for your scattered thoughts. Why the hell are so many people in line for coffee at 10:00 at night?

“One iced americano for Han Jisung?” The barista calls out the next order.

No way. There’s actually no way.

You have to do a triple take to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. It’s really him. You would recognize his face anywhere.

He’s just as stunning as when you had first seen him. Eyes that same dusky brown, nose that same perfect shape. He has a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head, his hair falling from them in loose waves around his face, framing him like an artwork from the renaissance period. The way he holds himself, too. A casual swagger that so few people can pull off, but he wears it so naturally; completely at ease. One hand in his pocket, he smiles at the barista as she hands him his order, somehow lighting up the entire room with simply his expression.

You are so awestruck that it takes you a second to realize that he’s turned his attention directly to you.

When you do realize though, your heart drops right into your ass. Your first instinct is to jump your gaze to the floor or the ceiling, feigning nonchalance, but you’ve been hyper fixated on his face for so long you cannot bring yourself to look away.

His eyes spark with recognition. You can tell by the way his eyebrows raise amicably as he starts heading towards you. Your heart speeds up to about a million miles per hour.

That is until he looks you up and down. His expression drops and his eyes widen for just a fraction of a second before returning to his previous smile, but this time it feels just a little forced. As he passes you, he nods politely and sweeps past without so much as a word.

What just happened? You watch as he exits the coffee shop. Wait, no, you can’t lose him now, you at least need to thank him. He did save your life after all.

You hustle past the long line much less gracefully than he, catching him outside the door before he can cross the street.

“Hey, wait up!” You call after his retreating form. You see him pause, but he doesn't turn around as you jog up to him. “It’s you! Jisung, right?”

Finally, he faces you. His sunglasses now sit neatly on the bridge of his nose, obscuring his eyes from sight. You can’t detect any of the uncomfort from before in his features. Did you imagine that? Maybe he’s just in a hurry.

“That’s me,” Jisung says, a cute little chuckle punctuates the end of his sentence. His voice is sweet, reminding you of warm brown sugar and butter. Your heart skips a beat as he addresses you with that grin of his, “can I help you with anything, officer?”

It takes you a second to respond, the way he tilts his head at you whilst waiting for a response has you feeling all kinds of weird, bubbly feelings in your chest. You stomp them down and clear your throat.

“No, no I actually wanted to thank you. You know, for saving me. You really didn’t— I mean that was really… courageous of you. And stuff. Anyways. yeah, thanks.” You finish awkwardly, stumbling over your words. Damn it.

Jisung laughs. A beautiful sound, really.

“Thought I recognized you! You’re the pretty little thing who saved that lady from the fire. Gotta hand it to you, officer, you’ve got some guts in there.” He gestures to your badge with a tilt of his head, leaning back on the crosswalk pole and sticking one hand in his pocket.

You’re pretty sure your brain short-circuited at the words ‘pretty little thing’ and you’re not quite sure how to answer, your mouth opening and closing a few times, but no words falling from it.

Jisung grins at your tongue-tied state, letting out another amused huff of laughter and hitting the crosswalk button.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, but you stay safe out there ok? Don’t go jumping into any more flaming vehicles if you can possibly help it, next time I might not be there,” He clicks his teeth and you swear you can see him wink from under his shades. The crosswalk changes to give Jisung the right of way and he heads off across the street.

There you stand, a blushing mess, watching as he heads to a nearby parking spot.

Wait a second, is that his car?

Jisung closes the door to a Chevrolet Camaro, colored in a tasteful matte black. Are you kidding? No, this has got to be a joke, there’s no way he has that car. As the engine purrs to life, you can feel the rumbling vibration in your chest even from across the street. When he pulls out, it’s evident just how suped up it is. There’s an added spoiler on the back and… are those LED lights on the rims? That’s it. You might actually be in love.

The hum of the engine steadily approaches as he pulls up next to you on the street, rolling down the window and looking up at you and your wide eyes.

“Like what you see, officer?” Jisung raises his eyebrows teasingly, a smug little smirk playing on his lips. If it had been anyone else, you’re sure you would be enraged by the expression, but there’s something about him that makes it hot rather than insufferable. He hangs an elbow out the window, lightly tapping his fingers to the bass of some song that plays from his speakers as you take in the vehicle.

“Shut the fuck up, this is yours?” You raise your voice over the sound of the engine, leaning in closer so he can hear you. You momentarily forget that you’re technically on duty right now.

There it is again, that hearty laugh of his. Definitely one of your new favorite sounds.

“Yes ma’am, all mine,” Jisung pulls up his sunglasses, finally giving you a clear view of his face. His face that’s looking more mischievous by the minute. “Maybe one day you’ll do me the honor of taking you for a spin, how’s that sound?” He reaches out and lightly flicks his index finger up the bottom of your chin. Your stomach explodes with butterflies as a result.

“I’m…” You consider your options. Is he serious? He’s definitely flirting with you. Right? He literally just touched your chin while asking if you wanted a ride in his car. He’s definitely flirting. Yeah.

“I’m free tomorrow,” You blurt, against your better judgment. There’s no way in hell you’re going to turn down a opportunity like this.

“Same time, same place?”

You glance at your watch. 10:30 p.m. You should be in the patrol car with Seungmin right about now.

“That works,” You nod. Your answer is a little shaky, but you hide it well.

“Guess I’ll see you then, officer,” Jisung flashes you one last smile, scrunching up his nose and throwing you a half salute. He revvs up his engine once, twice, and then he’s gone.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your legs shake as you head back into the coffee shop to re-order a cup of coffee. You’re going to need it.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

This is stupid. Like, really dumb. You can’t believe you’re doing this.

You’ve been sitting on a bench outside of the coffee shop for the past fifteen minutes. Granted, you’re the one who decided to show up fifteen minutes early, but you’re starting to regret that decision. At least it’s not cold out.

You had spent probably a good three hours debating what the hell you were going to wear. Might seem excessive but there were just so many points to consider. What if you come off too strong? but then again, you wouldn't want to underdress. Or overdress. It’s not even a date, he’s just giving you a ride around, right? Why are you stressing so much?

And so here you wait in your cute little mid-thigh skirt, having decided with a nod that it was a safe bet all around. Plus, it makes your legs look great.

You’re definitely thinking about this too hard.

A quick beep of a car horn catches your attention. You look up right as you feel the distinct purr of Jisung’s engine rumbling in your bones. Thank God, he actually came.

You’re not sure if you’re jittering from the excitement of going on a— Date? You really don’t want to make any assumptions because he hadn’t straight up asked you on a date per say— with the most gorgeous man you’d ever laid eyes on or the excitement of getting to ride in his car. Maybe both. You clench and unclench your fists in anticipation. You’re positively itching to feel what it’s like on the road.

Jisung exits the low car smoothly, heading towards you with a wave. His eyes scrunch up at the corners when he smiles, painting his expression with such a lovely friendliness that makes you want to curl up in a ball and cry. His outfit drastically contrasts his inviting face though, he’s dressed in dark grey washed jeans and a burnt orange short sleeve that hugs his upper body almost skin-tight, a jacket tied loosely around his waist. The duality of man, you suppose. The slicked back style of his hair on top of literally everything else about him screams one thing. This man looks like a goddamn racer.

As soon as you realize you’ve been gawping at him for a good couple of moments now, you snap your focus up to his eyes, already feeling a blush creeping it’s way across your cheeks.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, officer,” Jisung gives you a quick up and down, meeting your eyes afterwards with a look that can only be described as playfulness.

Oh he just knows he’s hot, doesn’t he? Obviously you’re not going to argue, because he’s right.

“Oh my god, don’t call me that,” You protest, lightly punching his arm in retaliation. You definitely don’t miss the unmistakable feeling of muscle under your fist, but that’s really besides the point. The point is he has you all bothered and shit with that nickname. You’ve never been called ‘officer’ so… affectionately.

“You’re right,” He raises his hands in defense, “my bad, babe.”

A retort shrivels on your tongue. You’re pretty sure you can feel your body temprature go up at least two degrees as Jisung heads back to his car, beckoning you to follow him. His back is turned but you can already imagine that little self-satisfied smirk on his face.

He’s going to be the death of you.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You can feel the weight of your body being pressed back into the seat as Jisung speeds up his pace, making your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

The engine roars in your ears as you watch the speedometer whip from zero to sixty in the span of three point five seconds. You can’t help but have a wide grin plastered on your face. It feels like a good stretch after a day of sitting on the couch, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve just, well, drove. Carefree, without the looming restriction of a speed limit or the stress of swerving after a runaway car. Just you and the road. And Jisung, but that’s a plus.

One of the biggest reasons you had strived to join the police force throughout the beginning of your adolescence is that you just could not get enough of that adrenaline rush that comes from zooming down the highway at outrageous hours of the night, competing with your high school friends to see who’s car could accelerate the quicket, maintain the best speed, sound the coolest. The amount of sleepness nights you had spent installing countless upgrades on your car just to beat your friends in some silly bet over a couple of dollars instilled in you the certainty that this is what you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

You had foolishly thought that becoming an officer would cure that hunger burning in your gut, but it just made it worse. You didn’t realize just how bad it had gotten until just now, the familiar sound of hopping gears and the healthy rev of a well-loved engine resurfaces so many emotions that you had so carefully stowed away when you had all graduated and moved on to university, no longer having the time or bravery to risk getting caught anymore.

You glance over at Jisung in the driver’s seat. He looks so at ease, you can tell this is his home, his element. You wonder if he feels the same emptiness by adhereing to the law that you do. It seems taboo to think that way, given your occupation, but you can’t help it.

Jisung flicks on his blinker to exit the highway, and you give him a look out of the corner of your eye.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” You inquire as he slows to a stop at the intersection.

“Thought it would be nice to go to dinner, don’t you think so?” He glances down either side of the street to ensure it’s clear as he proposes the offer.

Maybe that empty feeling in your stomach was hunger.

“Yeah, actually, I do think so.”

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The restaurant seems strangely empty. A few of the white-clothed tables scattered about the hall are occupied by the quiet bubble of conversation, but other than that the atmosphere is quite still.

Jisung pulls out your chair for you, flamboyantly flipping his hand into a bow as he waits for you to sit. You roll your eyes, badly supressing a smile as you slide into the seat with as much grace as you can manage.

You had both just picked up the menus that had been set in front of you when a low whistle sounds from behind you.

“Who’s the pretty lady, huh, J? Finally found the time to go through that roster of yours?” Your body tenses as someone approaches from the side. You quickly turn your head to get a better view of the newcomer. Oh wow. Was Jisung just friends with hot people in general?

“Ha ha.” Jisung pulls a half-amused face at the man, and gestures to the seat next to him. “This is Changbin. He’s not usually like this, I swear,” Jisung reassures you, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest as Changbin plops down on the seat over. Despite his bold entrance, he nods politely at you in greeting. It becomes evident that he’s just trying to mess with Jisung, meaning no ill-intent (or even much intrest) towards you. You let your muscles relax.

“Well, were you gonna bring her with us tonight?” Changbin gestures towards you, “you know they always get their panties in a twist when one of us has a girl on our arm—”

“She works in law enforcement, isn’t that cool?” Jisung announces a little too loudly, interrupting Changbin, who immediately snaps his mouth shut.

You don’t miss the way Jisung quirks an eyebrow ever-so-slightly at him, a warning. Huh. Your eyes squint in suspicion. What’s this all about?

“Bring me where?” You question Changbin innocently, pushing past Jisung’s subject change and batting your eyes once or twice, just for good measure.

“Bring you to— well, I mean, It’s a place. Definitely. Yeah. Bring you to a place. Somewhere,” Changbin keeps glancing at Jisung as he speaks, who is currently pinching his nosebridge between two fingers, head tilted towards the ceiling.

Changbin falls silent after that, suddenly very intrested in the condition of his shoelaces. You shift your gaze between the two men as an awkward pause falls over the table.

After a long sigh eminating from Jisung, he leans forwards on the table, hands clasped in front of him. His voice is lowered as he speaks.

“Do you trust me?” His eyes bore into your own, not breaking contact as your mind starts running a mile a minute.

Now, the logical answer you would give to a stranger you hardly know is a resounding ‘of course not,’ but this isn’t just anyone. It’s Jisung. The man who risked his very life to save yours, out of the pure goodness of his heart. You can’t imagine not trusting him, you realize. Because you do, you trust him more than you trust yourself, because he did what you couldn’t that day. Without him, you wouldn’t even be here.

“…Yes, I trust you,” You respond, conviction clear in your voice.

Jisung lets out a breath, once again settling back in his chair.

“Then buckle up babe, ‘cause you’re in for a wild night,” He says with a soft chuckle, just as a loud commotion breaks through the restaurant and crowds of people start to pour in through the front door.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jisung is a racer. A street racer, to be specific. Very dangerous, and definitely very illegal.

The restaurant turned out to be a meeting point for two rival districts to compete in some sort of tiebreaker race tonight, and it seems like nearly the entire city had come to watch. Jisung had dragged you through the bustling hall off into a corner, where he met up with Changbin and one other racer. You think you heard the name ‘Chan’ but you’re not too sure. It’s quite loud when you have a room filled with excited fans shouting bets this way and that, sure that their district will win and that they’ll walk home with the jackpot.

Jisung, Changbin, and Chan form a three person racing team. They call themselves ‘3racha’. You thought the name was a joke at first, but the laugh caught in your throat when you realized they were being dead serious. Right now the three are huddled together, murmuring over the pre-determined race course, deciding on any last minute strategies.

Right about now, you should be alerting your police team of the highly illegal activity buzzing all around you. Troops would be sent in immediately and the whole event would be shut down, arrests being made left and right.

But, you don’t want that to happen. Not in the slightest.

You know could lose everything over this, your career, your friends, your reputation. None of that matters to you right now. All you want is to see Jisung and his team race.

Not far off, a group that you assume to be the opposing team stares daggers at 3racha, the tallest one of them making eye contact with you. He says something with a scoff, but you can’t make it out just by reading his lips. Whatever it was though, his other two teammates found it hilarious, one doubling over with laughter and the other giving him a jovial smack on the back.

You back away from their prying eyes, accidentally colliding with Jisung in the process. He looks up at you as you send him a quick ‘sorry’, then he shifts his gaze to the still chortling trio. You can see something in his normally soft gaze harden as he straightens up and reaches an arm around your shoulder, gently but firmly pulling you flush to him.

His physical presence overwhelms your senses, suddenly wrapped in a blanket that dulls the rest of the chaos out. You’re positive he can feel your heart racing as he leans in to whisper in your ear,

“I need you to ignore them, okay? They’re just trying to get us bothered, and you’re an easy target for them. Just stick by us. Can you do that for me?” His breath tickles your ear with every syllable he speaks, making your legs weak. You manage a nod and he pulls away from you with a reassuring pat to your shoulder.

Changbin sends a not-so-discreet middle finger their way, which earns both a scowl from the them and a reprimanding tap on the back of the head from Chan.

Frankly, you are a bit overwhelmed. Even though it was just for a second, you miss Jisung’s calming arm around you. Without it, you feel like you are drowning in the unfamiliar voices babbling every which way, every conversation fighting to be understood in your mind at once. Usually, you know exactly how to handle any given situation with a clear mind— it’s part of your job after all— but this? It’s all so foreign to you you don’t even know where to begin.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, the crowd forms a clear space around both of the teams, allowing room for them to exit the building and enter their vehicles. You scurry after 3racha, feeling quite out of place.

It was to be a relay race. The rules are simple: Three laps around the entire course, each lap assigned to a respective member of each team. Whichever team’s car crosses the finish line first, wins the tiebreaker and takes home the prize. You can tell that mountains of cash are on the line for the boys. Some of the numbers you hear thrown around have your eyes as wide as saucers. If 3racha really is that good, it’s no wonder Jisung is able to afford the kind of car he has.

You’re watching Jisung do a once over of his car, ensuring that everything is safely in order, when he crosses over to you, extending his hand. You furrow your brows, slightly confused, but you take his hand. He smiles, wrapping his fingers tightly around you and squeezing once.

“I want you to ride with me, please?” He says, eyes never leaving your face. You stand in silence for a moment, just soaking in the weight of his hand and the familiarness of his face. The curve of his eyebrow, the slope of his nose, the way his bottom lip always seems to pout out just a little bit, and, oh, those eyes. You feel like you’ve known him for your entire life.

You feel yourself break into a smile.

“Let’s go then,” you squeeze his hand in return.

Jisung’s engine roars to life as him and the other first racer, the tall one’s name is apparently Hyunjin, line up at the designated starting line. 3racha had implored that Jisung go for the first lap, so they would have a healthy leg up on the competition come the second lap, where Changbin would be waiting.

As you wait for the countdown to start your knee bounces up and down, the sickly feeling of intense anticipation eating its way through your stomach.

You feel Jisung’s gaze as he glances over at you, a half grin on his face. What’s he thinking? Your internal question is soon answered as he reaches over and grabs your hand, guiding it to rest on the gearshift.

“10!” A loud voice bellows from a megaphone from outside. The countdown has begun.

Jisung clasps his hand over your own, capturing you in between himself and the vehicle. He’s so warm. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod when he spots your expression, running a thumb along the back of your hand. Now your heart is pounding for a different reason.

“3!” The revving of engines combines with the rush of blood in your ears, the vibrations sending a chill up your spine.

“2!”

“1!”

“Go!”

[issysh3ll]

Sure ☆ Chris Sturniolo

Summary: After going days without hearing from Chris, you're unsure about his feelings Warnings: Angst, crying, fluff, making up This is based on one of my daily drabbles. I'm going through them and slowly converting them all to proper fics & blurbs

It's been a long week.

Hours of silence had turned into days. The usual animated conversation in your text thread was replaced with the sound of crickets. Four days you went without a single message from your boyfriend.

Now, sitting anxiously beside him on his bed, you prepare to confront him. Really it's not like Chris to disappear like this. Before you became official you spent every spare moment talking on the phone, on messages, on FaceTime. But it's been one month since he asked you to be his girlfriend and everyday the number of responses from him has dwindled. Until this week when it finally hit zero.

The edge of his bed feels cold and empty, unlike it's usual warm and inviting coziness. It feels like rejection. The rejection you much expect to receive very soon. But you can't keep pretending that nothing is happening. Sure, the first few weeks it was fine for you to carry the conversation. But for this long? It's exhausting. Last night after another full day of no contact, you finally decided that if he's going to leave, you need to hear him say it. No matter how much that hurts.

Sucking in a deep breath, and without turning your head to look at the boy sitting beside you, you finally speak.

“Lately you feel… unsure.” The last word tumbles off your tongue with a shaky breath. Your gaze flicks across the floor, the walls, down to your hands balled tightly in your lap, looking anywhere except your boyfriend’s face.

A heavy silence fills the room and your chest tightens, that sense of relief that usually follows after expressing your feelings doesn’t come. Tears sting at your eyes, threatening to spill over but you won't let them, not now. Choking back the pricking feeling of doom, you let out another shaky breath and wait.

The longer you wait for Chris to respond, to say anything, the more your mind spirals. Even in person he can't respond. The one person who always has words, always knows how to make you smile is just sitting there in silence. It's eery, and it's not right. This isn't how you're supposed to feel.

Just as the tight lump in your chest begins to rise to your throat, Chris’s finger hooks under your chin pulling your gaze up to meet his. You expect to find frustration, exhaustion, annoyance, but as your eyes finally shift up to his, the spiralling thoughts hit a wall.

Crying. He’s crying.

His normally cheerful blue eyes are downcast, looking almost ashamed. The red rim under his lashes and the wet stream dripping down his cheek looks so out of place. Shock stills the growing doom in your chest, and you wait again as he draws in a broken breath.

“Baby, I’m not— I-I-I’m not unsure. I am so sure about you I just…” his voice breaks as he tries to stifle the small cries cracking through. “…I’m scared. I’ve never… never felt like this, this much.”

“This much?” you question, that haunting feeling slowly beginning to drain out of your chest, being replaced with hope.

“So much.” Chris nods.

Masterlist

[peachiejeongin]

ink and thorns, part 1 | hyunjin

part 2

synopsis: hwang hyunjin is the tattoo artist you cannot stand for the life of you, always acting so smug, so horrendous, and always attempting to flirt with you. you hate him, but what happens when you end up in his arms after a traumatic night?

pairing: tattoo artist!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

warnings: mature & sexually explicit content (18+ recommended), lower case letters intended, swearing, pet names (sweetheart, princess, etc.), mentions of anxiety, cheating (not hyunjin or reader), mentions of losing a parent.

wc: 15.4k

notice: hello, my darlings! tattoo artist hyunjin has been on my mind for a while with the revelation of hyunjin's buzzcut and after being inspired to write a longer hyunjin fan fiction. thank you jeonginsleftcheek for the latter (please go read hate your guts, it is such an amazing read!). i hope you all like this story! i started working on it the minute hyunjin's buzzcut was revealed, and i have continued it between writing the other fictions on my account, so it has been a while in the making. thank you in advance for reading and enjoy :)

divider by: @cafekitsune

the door to prism ink studio creaked open as you clutched your printed design like a lifeline. a scent mixed of antiseptic and ink filled the air, the smell surprisingly soothing your rampant nerves.

this was going to be an exciting day for you; today was the day you were getting your first tattoo—a delicate flower you had carefully crafted to celebrate the milestone. after hours of sketching, you had perfected it; each thorn and petal was drawn to represent your personality, your story even—a girl who, although tested and tried at times, stood strong and beautiful like a rose.

you were enthusiastic, over the moon even, to get your first tattoo; however, the moment your eyes landed on the man behind the counter, your stomach twisted.

hyunjin.

of course, it had to be him—the sharp-featured tattoo artist with a permanent smirk and a blonde buzz cut that somehow made him even more insufferable. he was leaning casually against the counter, tattooed fingers idly tapping on his phone and occasionally making the cool silver of his rings clink. as soon as he noticed you, his dark eyes sparked with recognition, and a grin curved across his lips.

you had to resist the urge to turn around and leave.

hyunjin was not just some run of the mill tattoo artist; he was the reason your best friend, nari, had spent weeks crying over her half-finished sleeve. he had worked on her design for months, only to ditch her for a "better-paying client" before finishing the job, as nari had told you. sure, nari eventually found another artist, who notably completed the work better than hyunjin could have ever, but the drama left a bitter taste in your mouth. now, seeing him here, smug and unbothered, made your blood boil.

"well, hello there, sweetheart," he said smoothly, tucking his phone into his pocket. "you lost, or are you here for a tat?"

you swallowed your irritation and forced a smile, although it was visibly faux.

"i have an appointment with changbin."

'ah," hyunjin drawled, leaning forward and perching himself on his elbows as he tsked. "sorry to break it to you, but binnie's out today. got the flu."

"oh." your heart sank. "should i just reschedule then?"

"well you could." hyunjin tilted his head, feigning his thoughts. "that would mean waiting at least two months, though. changbin's pretty booked these days."

you hesitated, the urge to leave growing stronger with every second you had to look at hyunjin's stupid face; however, you had planned this appointment for weeks and felt as if you had waited long enough.

"fine," you eventually bit out. "who else is available?"

"let's see," hyunjin trailed off as he looked to the sky in fake ponderation. "chan's booked all day, felix is on break...looks like you're stuck with me." his shit-eating grin widened.

"you're kidding." you froze, your eyes narrowing. of course this would be just your luck.

"afraid not." he pushed himself off of the counter, tattoos shifting along his forearms as he crossed them. "unless you're cool with waiting an eternity for changbin, i'm your guy."

every nerve in your body screamed at you to say no, but practicality won out.

"whatever." you sighed in a resigned manner. "if i have to, i have to. let's just get this over with."

"love the enthusiasm!" hyunjin teased, motioning for you to follow him. as you stepped into the back, the smell of ink grew stronger, and you swore you saw him smirking over his shoulder.

this was going to be a long session.

the station hyunjin led you to was annoyingly perfect. black leather chairs sat gleaming under the warm glow of hanging edison bulbs, and his setup was meticulous, with ink bottles lined up like soldiers and glinting under the light; his sketch pad rested to the side, flipped open and allowing you to glance at some of his work, from skulls to portraits. Despite your feelings on the artist, you had to admit that the space screamed professionalism.

"you can sit," hyunjin told you, pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves with a sharp snap. "or are you going to glare at me all session?"

"i'm not glaring," you shot back, giving him a look full of annoyance and impatience.

"sure you aren't." he smirked, motioning to the chair.

reluctantly, you sat down, clutching your design. he took it from your hand, his fingers brushing over yours for the briefest second but just long enough to send a spark of irritation through you.

"a flower," he mused, holding up the design to the light in order to inspect it. his dark brows lifted, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "how original."

"i like it," you snarled through a clenched jaw.

"good thing that's all that matters." he tossed the paper onto the counter and grabbed a fresh sheet to sketch. "but this could use some life. where you want it?"

"my wrist."

“risky,” he warned. “one of the most painful places for a tattoo.”

“i like taking risks. what can i say?”

hyunjin did not respond; instead, his gaze lasered in on the design as his hand glided over the paper with practiced ease. you hated how skilled he looked, hated the way his lips pursed in concentration and his lashes cast shadows against his chiseled cheekbones. he had no right to be so ethereal while being such an insufferable person.

"i’m making the petals softer," he explained, spinning the sketch around to show you. the design had more depth now, with delicate shading and a subtle curve that made the flower look like it was swaying in the wind. "see? it looks better."

"it's fine, i guess," you muttered, refusing to compliment him. you hated to admit it, but he was right. his artistry complimented the design much better than yours ever could have the potential to, and it looked absolutely gorgeous.

"wow, try to hold back your excitement," he chuckled. "you'll hurt my ego."

you ignored him as he prepped the station, the buzz of the tattoo machine igniting a fresh wave of nerves.

"first tattoo?" he asked, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts.

"yeah," you responded shortly.

"though so." he crouched beside you, his face annoyingly close as he adjusted your wrist with a light grip. "relax, alright? it's not that bad. besides, you can't be scared of needles and be a bitch. pick one."

"excuse me?" you scoffed. "can you just do the tattoo without the comments?"

"where's the fun in that, sweetheart?" hyunjin laughed, the sound low and rich.

hyunjin grabbed a cleaning cloth and quickly dabbed it over your wrist. he then carefully, yet firmly, applied the stencil he had drawn out on the sterilized area.

“look good?” he asked, holding up a mirror so you could see the outline. you nodded, watching as he grabbed the tattoo needle after your response. he dipped it in a fresh bottle of black ink and aligned it carefully over the stencil; its first touch against your skin made you wince, causing hyunjin to pause. 

"you good?"

"fine," you replied, albeit through clenched teeth.

"alright. just breathe for me, princess."

"stop with the pet names."

hyunjin tuned out your last comment, already focused on the work at hand. his teasing demeanor slipped away as he worked. the machine's hum filled the silence as you watched hyunjin constantly wiping the tattoo needle clean, dipping it in different colored inks to complete the intricate shading he had added to the tattoo. for the first time, you saw a different side of hyunjin; he was calm, focused, and precise, completely contradicting his normal cockiness. after what felt like hours, he wiped the tattoo clean and leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh.

"there. not bad for your first time, especially not for a wrist tattoo."

you glanced down at the flower blooming across your wrist, the details soft and intricate, exactly as you had hoped they would be.

"it's nice," you admitted begrudgingly.

"nice?" he raised a brow. "i'll take it. come back when you want another one. maybe get something less basic next time."

“doubt it,” you remarked, shooting him a glare. you swiftly strided to the door, preparing to exit; you did not get too far before hyunjin yelled after you.

“leaving without paying, sweetheart?” he inquired, stepping back behind the counter as he propped his chin up on his palm. you snapped your head in his direction, rolling your eyes as you let out an aggravated sigh. you pulled out your wallet, digging out three twenty-dollar bills and throwing them on the counter before turning to leave again.

“not so fast.” you stopped in your tracks, throwing your hands up in vexation.

“what now, fuckass?”

“only sixty bucks?” hyunjin counted the bills as if to accentuate his words. 

“yeah,” you obliviously responded. “that’s what the price estimate was when i talked to changbin.”

“i’m not changbin, princess,” hyunjin retorted, setting the bills down to the side. “for a two hour appointment, especially with that much detail, you’re looking at about a hundred and twenty for me.”

“a hundred and twenty?!” you repeated, your voice raising out of anger. “i don’t have that much on me!”

“well, you’re in luck,” hyunjin replied with a fakely sweet tone. “there’s an atm right behind you.” he pointed to the grey banking machine right behind you, making you groan in frustration. you stomped the couple of steps it took to get to the atm and infuriatingly inserted your card, extracting another set of three twenty-dollar bills and slamming them in front of hyunjin. the smug, amused smile he had on his face made you want to slap him.

“there. a hundred and twenty bucks. can i go now?”

“what? no tip?” hyunjin quirked an eyebrow, his lips curving as he watched your stature further enrage.

“assholes don’t get tips,” you retorted.

“makes sense as to why you’re so uptight,” hyunjin scoffed.

“oh, fuck off,” you turned towards the door, finally making your leave as hyunjin yelled out a comment about how you did not say he was wrong.

you swore you would never go back.

you convinced yourself that hyunjin’s smug remarks and relentless teasing were not worth the trouble. sure, his artistry was undeniably stunning, but facing him again? absolutely not.

yet, here you were, standing outside prism ink studio for your second appointment; thankfully, changbin was finally back, and he had some free time in his schedule. thus, he offered you what he called a “make-up appointment” to apologize for missing your first one. to make matters even better, you had specifically asked if hyunjin would be working that day, to which changbin assured you he was not. your optimism of avoiding hyunjin was high as the bell above the door chimed. stepping inside, you were greeted by the now familiar whiff of the shop.

"welcome back, princess."

you have got to be kidding.

hyunjin was behind the counter again, leaning casually like he owned the place. his buzzed hair was freshly cut, accentuating his chiseled features even more, and his colorful tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his black shirt. he looked up from his phone, his smirk spreading when he saw you.

"what are you doing here?" you snapped, stepping forward. "where’s changbin?"

"number one, i work here,” hyunjin shot back sharply. “number two, he’s out sick again. i’m covering for him today."

you stared at hyunjin, disbelief and frustration warring in your gaze.

"seriously? he promised he would be here today! does he ever show up for work?"

hyunjin shrugged, clearly enjoying your annoyed stature. "he can’t help getting sick. no use in whining about it."

"whatever. when's his next appointment?" you clenched your fists tightly as you asked, digging your nails into your palms as a way to hold yourself back from unleashing all of your bottled wrath.

"let's see." hyunjin tilted his head, pretending to think. "a couple of months, give or take, but  you're in luck; i just so happen to have an opening right now. if you’re desperate enough, that is."

desperate was not the word, but the idea of pushing your design back another two months made you want to scream. it had taken you weeks after your first appointment to muster up the courage to get another tattoo, and the thought of waiting again was unbearable.

"you're really the only one available right now?” you questioned, sighing sharply.

"yup. seems like fate to me," he remarked, a wolfish grin prominent on his face. you thought fate seemed more like a cruel joke.

"fine," you snarled. "but this is the last time i’ll ever come to you for a tattoo."

"sure it is," he drawled, leading you to the back room.

the session started much the same as last time, with hyunjin throwing in a steady stream of comments designed to test your patience.

"another flower, huh? you're growing an entire garden," he teased, sketching out your new design.

"so what?" you muttered. "sure, flower tats are unoriginal, but they’re pretty."

"that's because i made them look pretty," he shot back. before you could retaliate, hyunjin spun his sketch pad around to show you his newly-crafted drawing. the design, which was a cluster of wildflowers trailing along your forearm, was breathtaking. It had depth, movement, and the same soft elegance as your first piece.

you hated how good hyunjin was at his job.

"it's alright," you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. hyunjin chuckled as he prepared his station.

"you are a terrible liar, you know that?"

hyunjin cleaned the area of your forearm the tattoo would be placed upon before placing the stencil on top of it. once you had confirmed the placement, he dipped the tattoo needle in an ink cartridge ; it touched your skin for a second round, a much more bearable and familiar sensation now. for the next hour, your focus was on any and every thing except the steady hum of the machine. your gaze kept trailing to hyunjin’s hands, which were warm and steady. you noticed how his concentration was absolute, fully devoted to his artwork. you could not stand how professional he could be when he was not preoccupied with driving you insane.

as he worked, your phone buzzed on the counter. hyunjin glanced at it, smirking as he read the notification.

"boyfriend checking in?"

"none of your business," you dismissed quickly, sitting up slowly and swiping your phone away with your free hand, careful not to make hyunjin jerk the needle.

"that's a yes, then," he remarked, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut. "wonder if he knows how much time you've been spending with me lately."

your heart undeniably skipped a beat, but you covered it with a glare of faux annoyance.

"i have spent two tattoo appointments with you, and you act like it’s been two weeks or some shit," you growled. "focus on the tattoo and not my personal life, please?"

"only because you said please, sweetheart."

when the session ended, you analyzed the tattoo; as with the first one, it was absolutely gorgeous, but you would never admit that to hyunjin. 

“looks nice,” you commented, though hyunjin caught the admirable glimmer in your eyes.

“yeah, yeah, i know you love it.”

“love is a strong word, fuckass,” you chuckled, knowing full well he was right. instead of responding, however, hyunjin handed you a business card with his number on it. 

"here. for appointments," he explained. “because i know after two flakes, you’re not gonna want to try changbin again.” despite his words, the gleam in his eye suggested he had other intentions. 

you took the card reluctantly, fully intending to never use it; however, as soon as you had paid and got to your car, you saved the number in your phone, giving hyunjin a contact name that you felt was fitting.

"fuckass."

the days after your second tattoo were quiet.

you could not stop staring at your phone, where hyunjin's number sat in your contacts under the hilarious nickname; at first, you had told yourself you would delete his number. having it felt unnecessary, especially considering his flirtatious manner paired with your relationship status. not to mention, you did not see the point in keeping the number of someone you could not stand.

but every time your thumb hovered over the delete button, something stopped you. maybe it was the nagging curiosity about his ulterior motives aside from “appointments.” maybe it was the urge to blow up his phone, bombarding him with a million questions about his work or about why he dipped out on nari. whatever it was, yet you refrained, keeping to yourself in an uncomfortable, deafening silence.

the last thing you were expecting that wednesday afternoon was a text notification, his contact name bolded above the messages icon.

fuckass: 'bet you're still admiring my work. don't forget to moisturize btw. wouldn't want the flowers to fade.'

you stared at your screen, incredulous.

you: 'how did you get my number? and do you text all your clients, or am i just lucky?'

his reply was instant.

fuckass: 'you put your phone number down on the information sheet before every session, dumbass. and i just text the ones who talk to me like i ruined their lives. it's cute.'

your fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between ignoring him and firing back. against your better judgment, you chose the latter. against your better judgment, you chose the latter.

you: 'wow. professionalism really is dead.' fuckass: 'professionalism is boring. you would hate me more if I was boring.

you rolled your eyes at his response, tossing your phone aside and hoping that this conversation would be the end of your interactions with him.

spoiler alert: it was not.

over the next few days, hyunjin made it a point to text you almost every morning; sometimes, it was about your tattoos, and sometimes it was just to talk to you.

fuckass: 'favorite flower?' you: 'why?' fuckass: 'research for your next tattoo.' you: 'who says i'm coming back to you?' fuckass: 'you will.'

his confidence was maddening, but what was worse? he was not entirely incorrect.

you: 'daisies.'

one particularly bad day, you found yourself staring at his contact again, debating on whether or not to block him. the day was a disaster from the start: work was a mess, your boyfriend had not messaged you all day, and your anxiety was spiraling out of control.

to distract yourself, you scrolled through your messages, finding yourself rereading hyunjin's texts. against all logic, they made you feel...happier. his cocky attitude was infuriating, sure, but it was also humorous, almost grounding in a sense.

before you could stop yourself, your fingers were moving.

you: 'why do you always message me? you have to have a bunch of other clients you could be texting.'

his reply came within seconds.

fuckass: ‘yeah, but none of them are as fun to talk to.' fuckass: ‘don't get a big head about that btw. i can picture your smirk from here.'

despite what hyunjin thought via message, you were not smirking; you were smiling, the tension in your chest easing tremendously.

it was weird how the asshole always knew how to unintentionally make you feel better.

the weeks blurred together, each day filled with an irritating mix of responsibilities, and, somehow, more messages from hyunjin. he had worked his way under your skin in the most obnoxious way possible, texting you things at the most inconvenient times.

the weirdest part? it felt like hyunjin was texting you more than your boyfriend was. here recently, your boyfriend had gotten into a habit of going days, sometimes a week without responding to your messages; he always passed it off as you “overthinking” considering you lived together. yet, as the weeks went on like this, your gut began to unsettle at the feeling. you had thought about asking hyunjin for advice, if this was how guys normally acted; however, you subsided, letting the matter play out for itself. in fact, you were in the middle of staring at your phone, waiting for a message to pop up from your boyfriend explaining where he was at the hour. when your phone dinged, you became hopeful.

the wrong contact name popped  up, however.

fuckass: 'if you had to pick a tattoo right now without thinking, what would it be?' you: 'a stop sign.' fuckass: 'ha. ha. you're sooooo funny.' fuckass: 'seriously tho. what are you getting next?' you: 'don't you have actual clients to bother?' fuckass: 'i’ve already told you, sweetheart. you’re funner to talk to.' you: ‘funner isn’t a word.’ fuckass: ‘i’m a tattoo artist, not an english teacher.’

you did not understand how he had such a flaring ere to him. he had a sense of self-pride that was unmatched, and he talked to you as if it was a natural, flowing thing to do, despite the prior tension to your "professional" relationship. no matter how much you told yourself to ignore him, you never did. there was something infuriatingly safe about hyunjin. he was consistent, yet annoying in the same way every time you spoke, and he was oddly insightful when he was not messing with you.

if only his thoughtfulness could save you from the heartbreak about to ensue.

it was a saturday afternoon when the first red flag appeared. 

you were out with friends, sipping coffee at a small cafe, when your phone buzzed. you glanced at the screen, expecting it to be a social media notification or an annoying reminder to turn your volume down on your phone.

instead, it was a text message; a photo, to be precise.

fuckass: 'this your guy?'

the image was grainy, clearly taken from across the street. no matter the quality, however, you could recognize the face anywhere. 

it was unmistakably your boyfriend; he was smiling as he leaned in far too close to a girl who was not you.

you: 'what are you doing?' fuckass: 'saw him on my way back to the parlor after my lunch break. thought you should know.'

you stared at the screen, your vision blurring. part of you wanted to accuse hyunjin of lying, of stirring up drama just so he could get under your skin; however, you knew that the picture did not lie, that it could not lie.

your fingers shook as you typed out a reply, anger clouding your judgment against all odds.

you: 'stay out of my personal life.' fuckass: 'k. suit yourself.

as soon as you got home, your boyfriend called, acting as if everything was normal. his voice grated on your nerves, every word sounding like a lie. you wanted to confront him, to demand an explanation for the photo hyunjin had sent you, but the thought of it made your stomach churn.

instead, you found yourself rushedly hanging up the phone, claiming to be tired. you did not take a nap, though; you typed out a message to hyunjin.

you: 'do you have any proof that he's cheating on me? like hardcore evidence?' fuckass: 'thought i was supposed to stay out of your personal life?' you: 'i wouldn't ask if i didn't want answers.' fuckass: ‘why is the photo not “hardcore” enough?’ you: ‘idk, what if the girl’s like his cousin or something?’ fuckass: ‘why would he be that close to a cousin?’ you: ‘idk. i just need something else to prove it.’ fuckass: ‘you think i would lie to you about something like this?’ you: ‘hyunjin, please.’

it took a few minutes, but another photo came through. this one was clearer, sharper; your boyfriend was holding hands with the same woman from the previous picture. 

fuckass: ‘there. i ended up walking past them and snapped that.” fuckass: ‘i was trying to send you the one that would break your heart the least, but you’re fucking stubborn so there you go.’ fuckass: ‘there’s one of them kissing, too, but i’m not making you see that one.’

you stared at the picture for what felt like hours, your chest tightening with every passing moment. how could this be? how could the man who claimed to love you, who claimed he would give everything for you ruin your relationship in an instant? you felt your face go hot, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed to yourself.

you were broken out of your thoughts by another text from hyunjin.

fuckass: 'you okay?'

you did not reply. you did not know how to.

a week passed before you found the courage to do anything.

the photo sat on your phone screen like a tragedy you could not take your eyes off of. it was late, midnight to be precise, and well past the hour confrontations should happen; however you did not care. you had spent the past few days trying to ignore it, hoping it was not true, that hyunjin had misunderstood the circumstance. yet, the weight of the photo was overbearing, suffocating you each time you looked at it.

you paced your apartment as you waited for your boyfriend to return home; he had been out all day, doing only the good heavens knew what. every second ticked by like it was a warning. the image burned into your mind: your boyfriend's hand clasped around hers, his thumb just barely over her knuckles in a way he always did with you.

when his key finally turned the lock, your heart dropped to your stomach.

he walked in casually, kicking off his shoes without a second glance in your direction. 

"hey," he greeted, his voice neutral. "why are you still up?"

"where were you?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. "your schedule said you got off at 5:00. it's 12:00."

he froze for a split second before recovering, tossing his bag onto the counter.

"out with friends. why?"

"you didn't think to call?" you gripped your phone tightly, the corners of it pressing into your palm. "which friends were you with?"

he frowned, clearly caught off guard.

"why does it matter?"

"because i want to know who she is," you snapped, holding up your phone to show him the photo hyunjin had sent you. his expression shifted in an instant, his confident mask crumbling. he stared at the screen, his jaw tightening.

"the hell is this?"

"you tell me," you retaliated, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "who the fuck is she? and don't you dare lie to me."

he stepped forward, his hands raised in mock surrender.

"baby, i promise you it isn't what it looks like."

"oh really? because it looks like you're holding her hand," you shot back bitterly. "and it also looks like you've been lying to me for only god knows how long."

"it's not-" he began, but you cut him off.

"don't," you warned, your voice breaking with each syllable. "don't you stand there and insult me with excuses. tell me the truth. are you cheating on me?"

the silence that followed the question was deafening. he looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"it's... complicated."

the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet; your head spun as you formulated a response.

"complicated?" you repeated, your voice hollow. "how is it complicated? you either cheated on me or you didn't."

he did not answer, but his silence was louder than any confession. your chest tightened, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"i trusted you," you told him quietly, your barely-audible voice quivering as you spoke. "i gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?"

"it wasn't supposed to happen," he tried to claim, his voice nearing the octave of a whisper.

his response was all it took to break you. the tears spilled over, smearing your mascara down your cheeks; you laughed bitterly through the pain, almost sounding psychotic.

"i don’t know how being romantic with someone who is not your girlfriend isn’t supposed to happen, but congratu-fucking-lations. it happened." he stepped closer, but you backed away. "don't. get the fuck away from me, and get out."

"y/n, please-"

"i'm not going to say it again," you apprised, your tone crackling with rage. "get the fuck out of my house. we are over."

for a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded, grabbing his bag and his shoes and heading for the door. when it shut harshly behind him, the apartment felt unbearably empty, the quiet pressing in on you from all sides.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, trying to breathe through the asphyxiating pressure in your chest. everything felt raw, like the air itself was too sharp against your skin.

disregarding how you felt in the moment, disregarding every ounce of pain coursing through you, your mind wandered to one thing: the only person who had warned you of what was coming, and the only person you knew could take away your sorrow in the moment.

hyunjin.

you found yourself self-consciously reaching for your phone; this time, there was no hesitation as you scrolled to his contact.

you: 'do you by chance have an opening?' fuckass: 'for you? always.' fuckass: 'everything alright?' you: 'just need a tattoo.'

you did not offer an explanation, and to your bewilderment, hyunjin did not push for one.

fuckass: 'come to the studio in a couple of hours. i’ll be here.'

the studio was quiet when you arrived; quiet was an understatement, as a matter of fact. there were no cars in the parking lot, and there seemed to be no one inside. you walked towards the entrance, your steps hesitant but purposeful. hyunjin was waiting for you at the door, the only semblance of life within the colorful building. his smirk was replaced with a look you did not recognize as he unlocked the door.

"you look terrible," he commented bluntly as you stepped inside; however, his tone seemed uncharacteristically soft rather than demeaning or teasing even.

"thanks. just what i needed to hear tonight," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "can i just get my tattoo?" hyunjin nodded, not arguing and leading you to his station without another word.

"i thought the studio would still be...y'know, open," you remarked, attempting to mask the quiver in your voice with the smug comment. "why did you tell me to come here after hours?"

"i always bring the prettiest clients here," hyunjin replied, his voice seeming more genuine and sweeter than teasing. "no, i just thought you could use the quiet. we were pretty busy today, and i didn’t want the noise to overstimulate you."

his care surprised you, and you found yourself nodding as you kept your gaze glued to the ground; however, your heart warmed at the gesture, at the smallest semblance that he did have some form of a heart.

"thanks."

"no problem. what's the design?" he inquired once you were seated. you handed him a rough sketch you had made a couple days prior as a way to distract yourself from what was happening with your boyfriend; it was a cluster of forget-me-nots, delicate and intricate.

"pretty," hyunjin remarked after a moment, his voice retaining its gentle demeanor. "why forget-me-nots in particular?"

"doesn't matter," you replied, your voice angrier than intended. hyunjin's lips twitched as if there was some sort of sarcastic comment waiting to spill out; however, he just nodded.

"alright. where do you want it?"

"here," you responded, gesturing to the inside of your forearm.

hyunjin studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. instead of pressing, he nodded once again and got to work sketching a stencil.

placing the outline onto your skin, hyunjin flipped on his tattoo gun, its hum filling the silence. for once, he did not try to distract you with his jokes or relentless teasing. his focus was unwavering, more so than usual, and his hands steadied as they moved over your skin.

when the needle paused, you looked up to find him watching you.

"what?" you questioned in a defensive manner.

"nothing." he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "you're just...quieter than usual. it’s weird."

"maybe i'm just sick of arguing with you." you swallowed hard, forcing the accumulated lump in your throat to stay down.

"i highly doubt that," he replied lightly, but the concern in his eyes lingered.

the machine's faint whir filled the tense quietude again as hyunjin resumed his work. you focused on the sensation, the rhythmic buzz and sharp prick of the needle pulling you back into the present.

hyunjin did not speak again until he wiped away the ink and inspected his progress.

"almost done," he commented, his tone calm. "how are you holding up?"

his question seemed to have a double meaning, and you pondered for a moment, wondering if he was referring to your tattoo or your personal life.

"fine," you lied, no matter what circumstance he was referring to. your voice was tight, and hyunjin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide.

"cool."

the final moments of the session passed quietly. when he finished, he leaned back and set the machine aside, turning your arm to show you the tattoo.

"there," he said softly, his tone almost proud. "whatcha think?"

you blinked down at the design, the intricate cluster of forget-me-nots etched delicately into your skin. they looked fragile but strong simultaneously, their soft edges balanced by the clean precision of hyunjin's linework.

they mirrored your current situation to a tee; you were vulnerable because of what had happened, yet you kept standing strong, refusing to blow over.

"it's beautiful," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last syllable. hyunjin did not respond, his eyes locked on yours as if they were searching for something.

that is when it happened.

the dam inside of you broke, the tears spilling over before you could stop them. you pressed your hands to your face, trying to conceal your sadness in order to keep the same strength the forget-me-nots were supposed to represent, but it was no use. the sobs came in waves, years of trust, love, and betrayal crashing down on you all at once.

hyunjin froze, his eyes widening into golf-balls. then, slowly, he leaned forward, his hands hovering just above your back as if he was not sure you would let him comfort you.

"hey," he called softly. "it's okay. let it all out, sweetheart."

"i...i don't even know why i'm crying. it's so stupid." you shook your head, the words tumbling out in broken stutters.

"it's definitely not stupid," he countered firmly, his demeanor low and grounding. "you're allowed to be angry, y/n."

"i feel so pathetic." you dropped your hand, meeting his gaze through the tears.

"well, you're not," he retaliated, his brows furrowing together. "you're human. and a human who has been through hell, at that."

the tenderness in his voice hit you harder than anything else, and before you knew it, you were leaning forward, burying your face in his chest as your arms snaked tightly around his waist.

hyunjin stiffened for a moment, then his arms came around you, strong and steady. he did not say anything; he just held you as you cried, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

minutes passed, feeling more like hours, before the racing panic inside of you quieted. when you pulled back, your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, wiping at your face as your gaze quickly flickered away from hyunjin's. "i didn't mean to-"

"don't apologize," he interrupted softly but firmly. "seriously. you needed that hug." you nodded, unsure of what to say.

"you have a lot of people who care about you, y'know," he spoke after a moment, leaning back in order to give you space; although, his eyes never left you. "you don't have to go through this alone."

"funny." a small, humorless laugh escaped you. "that's exactly how it feels."

"i mean it," hyunjin responded quietly, his tone unwavering. "you are not alone. i don’t care how that douchebag made you feel. you are worth being cared about. you’ve got this, okay?"

for a moment, the weight of his words settled over you, heavier than you expected.

"thank you," you finally stated, your tone barely rising above a whisper. "you know, you aren't the asshole i thought you were."

hyunjin gave a small, genuine smile in response.

"i try not to be. i’m always here for you, princess."

the ride home from the tattoo shop felt heavier than usual, your arm wrapped protectively in the thin plastic film that hyunjin had meticulously applied. the air outside was crisp, the kind that made every breath sting just a little, yet, it did not distract from the hurricane of emotions inside of you.

it was not just your breakup, though the trauma of that alone was enough to leave you reeling. it was hyunjin; his words, his steady presence, the way he held you as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

for someone you had spent so much time resenting, he felt alarmingly like a safe space for you.

when you got home, the silence of your apartment felt suffocating. you dropped your bag by the door, staring at the faint outline of the couch where you had just laid hours earlier, crying your poor heart out from sheer betrayal. the memories lingered in the walls, in the spaces between the furniture, and it was all too much.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you out of your thoughts.

fuckass: 'make it home okay?'

the question was simple, but it hit harder than you had expected it to.

you: 'mhm, i got here alright.'

you hesitated before typing the next part.

you: 'thank you. for earlier.' fuckass: 'anytime.'

you stared at the screen for a moment, longer than you had intended to, before setting your phone down and heading to the bathroom. the forget-me-nots on your arm stared back at you in the mirror, their ethereal petals a sharp contrast to the rawness you felt inside of you.

but they were beautiful, and they were yours.

and for the first time that week, you felt the smallest flicker of hope.

the next few days passed in a blur. you threw yourself into work, hobbies, and anything else that would keep your mind from spiraling too far into its own mental traps. hyunjin had not been messaging, and you did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at that fact.

but you could not stop thinking about him.

you could not stop thinking about the tattoo or the way he had comforted you. you could not shake off the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way his teasing had softened into something resembling protectivity that night. you had spent years building walls around yourself, and somehow, without even trying to, hyunjin had started to tear them down.

you were not ready to face that music. not yet.

not until a week later, when you found yourself back at the shop. you had not planned the visit; your feet had carried you to the parlor before your brain could catch up with your actions.

the door jingled as you stepped inside, and hyunjin's head snapped up from the counter where he had been sketching. his eyes widened, and his lips quirked into a soft smirk.

"well, well, well," he smirked, a hint of surprise present in his voice. "trouble's back."

"don't sound so shocked," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual sass.

"what? you miss me already?" there he was. there was the teasing guy you had grown to know, standing there as he crossed his arms over his chest. you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards despite yourself.

"actually, i need to talk to you."

"about what?"

you hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your bag. 

"the flowers you did. the forget-me-nots. they're absolutely perfect."

"yeah?" hyunjins smirk softened into something warmer, something legitimate. “looks like they’re healing nicely, too.”

"yeah," you agreed, meeting his gaze. "i just wanted to say thank you, but properly this time."

"don't mention it, sweetheart." he shrugged, but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed his nonchalance. "it was nothing."

"but it was," you insisted. “it meant a lot to me.”

for a moment, the air between the two of you shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

"so," hyunjin started. "you want another one?"

"another tattoo?" you blinked at him.

"duh. unless you came here just to flirt with me," he replied, his playful smirk returning. you felt your cheeks heat up, and you cursed yourself for letting him get to you so easily.

"don't flatter yourself."

"too late," he responded with a grin, gesturing for you to follow him to his station. "you're in luck; i've got an opening, so let's see what you've got."

as you sat down, you could not help but notice how his demeanor had shifted. the cocky bravado was still there, but underneath it was something softer, something almost gentle.

something from that night was still lingering.

you pulled out your sketchbook, handing him the simple sheet of paper; the design you had chosen for this occasion was a simple daisy, its petals unfurling in soft, graceful lines.

"your favorite," he remembered, his voice seeming almost reminiscent; the way he had recalled the information made your heart jump, your body becoming overcome by a heat that was previously absent.

"any reason you chose this other than it being that?" his question fixed you back into reality; his eyes fixed on you, the orbs seeming as if they were searching your physicality for an answer.

"it's..." you hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the drawing pad. "it's for me. for everything i've been through these last few weeks. i get a lot of flower tattoos, yeah, but they all represent my strength. this one is a reminder that i’m still me." hyunjin nodded, his gaze softening.

"i get that."

there was something in his tone, something that made you glance up at him. for the first time, you realized how much you did not know about him, like who he was, where he came from, or what had shaped him into the person standing in front of you.

"have you ever gotten a tattoo for that?" you asked, surprising yourself with the question.

"maybe." hyunjin tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint beam. "but you would have to figure out which one."

you rolled your eyes, but your curiosity grew.

“hm…that one.” you pointed to his forearm, where a dragon wrapped itself around his skin; the detail was intricate, almost as if the dragon was breathing fire in real time.

“very good, princess,” hyunjin smirked. “how’d you know?”

“lucky guess, i suppose,” you shrugged, smiling. “what’s it mean?”

“well, dragons are fierce animals,” hyunjin began. “i got this done after going through a breakup to remind me that i was tougher than i thought.”

"how ironic,” you responded with a dry laugh, to which hyunjin’s eyes brightened. “what's your favorite tat?"

"what's with the questions, sweetheart?" he questioned, his gaze turning cheeky once more. "finally warming up to me?"

"don't get ahead of yourself," you warned. "and i don't know. just curious i guess."

his expression shifted then, turning from bright to thoughtful as he turned his other arm over to reveal a small, delicate design on the inside of his wrist; it was a crescent moon, cradled by wisps of clouds.

"this one's my favorite," he told you softly. "did it on myself, actually."

"what's it mean?" you repeated the question, tracing the shape with your eyes, your heart tugging in a way you did not expect it to. hyunjin hesitated, his stare dropping longingly to the tattoo.

"i got it for my mom," he explained after a few brief moments of silence. "she used to say that the moon was watching over us both, no matter how far apart we were." the vulnerability in his demeanor caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless.

"that's beautiful," you responded quietly. hyunjin shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the inked design.

"she passed a few years ago. i guess this was my way of keeping her with me."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly atop his wrist.

"i'm really sorry, hyunjin. i didn't know."

he looked up then, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that felt almost unbearable.

"it's okay," he replied. "it's nothing i really go about parading." the moment stretched between the two of you, silent and fragile, until he cleared his throat and pointed to his station. "i should probably get started on your sketch."

you nodded, sinking into the seat as he began to prepare.

the session went as the others with him had gone, adorned with teasing comments but finishing with a beautiful daisy coming to life on your right shoulder. the only difference is, when the tattoo was finished, you found yourself reluctant to leave. the shop felt warmer than the cold, biting air outside, and hyunjin's presence had a way of anchoring you in a way you had not expected.

nevertheless, you reached hesitantly for the door handle of the parlor, only stopping when hyunjin called for you; the door jingled a little as you opened it slightly before closing it once more, and you slowly turned your head in his direction.

"you gotta be hungry after that session, right princess?" he asked, snapping off his gloves and discarding them in a nearby trash can. you blinked in reply, a tad surprised by his question.

"i mean a little," you reluctantly answered. "why?"

hyunjin grinned, grabbing a ripped jean jacket out of the space behind the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.

"come on," he commanded. "there's a place around the corner that has killer ramen."

you hesitated; the idea of spending time with him outside of the shop felt both thrilling and dangerous. not to mention, you were incredibly skeptical of anyone's attempts to be nice after the revelation of your boyfriend's faux love.

"look, if this is just you trying to act on some sort of feeling because i'm single now-"

"it's not," hyunjin quickly interjected, correcting you as he scoffed. "just think of it as my treat to you. you've been through fuck knows what and i wanna give you something nice. is that so wrong?"

"when we're supposed to keep this relationship professional, just a little," you unintentionally snarled out.

"like i said," hyunjin started, leaning down to meet your height, "professionalism is boring. now, are we getting food or not? my break starts in a minute." you thought about it for a few moments, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you nodded.

"sure. why the hell not?"

hyunjin moved his arm down in a victorious motion, holding the door open and giving an 'after you' gesture as you joined him in the chilling wind.

the ramen shop was tucked away on a quiet street corner, its glowing LED sign swaying gently in the cold breeze. inside, the space was small and slightly closed-in, with warm lighting that bathed everything in a golden glow. the hum of soft jazz music mixed with the quiet clatter of chopsticks against bowls, creating a lively yet comforting atmosphere.

hyunjin led you to a booth near the window, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat across from you. you hesitated before sitting, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were to him in such a cozy, unfamiliar setting.

"order whatever you want," hyunjin told you, gesturing to the laminated menu.

you picked it up, scanning the options, though your focus kept shifting back to him. in the warm light, his features looked softer, less guarded. your eyes drifted from the contours of his jawline, to the tattoos decorating his arms and collarbones, back up to the strange beauty of his buzz cut. there was something disarming about seeing him out of his usual sharp surroundings; it was almost like seeing a different side of him.

"you're staring," hyunjin interrupted your thoughts, his eyes still fixated on the menu.

"i am not," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at his teasing smirk.

"sure, sweetheart. and i'm a model." you rolled your eyes, setting down your menu to look at the artist; his eyes were now on you, boring an unfamiliar look into you. there was a certain...sincerity to his cheeky manner, and the realization made your cheeks heat up.

he certainly could be a model.

"whatever," you mumbled. "i'm ready to order." upon your words, hyunjin waved over the waitress and gave her both of your orders with an ease that suggested he was a regular here.

when the food arrived, steam billowed from the bowls, carrying the rich aroma of miso and chili. hyunjin handed you a pair of chopsticks, and you both dug in, the first few bites melting away the lingering awkwardness.

"so, does the parlor know you bring your clients out to lunch, or are we keeping that secret?" you asked, breaking the silence with daring look at him.

"what do you mean clients?" hyunjin raised an eyebrow, adding extra emphasis on the plurality of the word. "i told you: this is just a pick-me-up for you. seeing you quiet is...weird. do you really think i'd go out of my way for everyone that comes to me for a tattoo?"

"i'm sure the charm works on everyone," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"awe, you think i have charm?" he tilted his head innocently, laying a hand over his heart.

"don't push it, hyunjin," you warned, holding up your chopsticks to punctuate your words. to your shock, he laughed; the sound was low and genuine, and it made your chest tighten in a way you did not expect it to. you shook your head, attempting to brush the matter off, but the small smile on your lips gave you away.

halfway through the meal, the conversation shifted, the teasing giving way to something that had been nagging at your mind since you began your appointments with hyunjin.

"nari came by the other day," you said, carefully testing the waters. hyunjin's chopsticks paused midair, and his expression flickered before he schooled it into something neutral.

"she did, did she?"

"yeah," you responded, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. "whatever happened with that? y'know, her tattoo?" he sighed, leaning back in his seat and running a colorful hand over his buzzed head.

"i'm assuming she told you i bailed on it."

you halted for a moment, unsure whether or not to push on the matter.

"did you?" you questioned, finally looking up to make eye-contact with hyunjin.

"it's...complicated," he answered, his voice quiet.

"i am tired of hearing that from men," you scoffed, unintentionally directing your internalized anger from the week onto hyunjin. "that's not an answer."

hyunjin's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he did not say anything. when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, an edge of vulnerability beneath it.

"nari wanted something really intricate added onto her sleeve. she wanted a phoenix stretching across her entire arm, but halfway through, she changed her mind about the placement and the design."

"so you stopped?"

"i didn't have a choice," he explained, meeting your eyes. "i tried to explain how difficult it would be to start over after we had already done the outline, but she got upset. I told her we could redo it another day, but i guess she didn't take it too well."

"so, you didn't quit on her," you frowned, piecing the story together. "you just tried to be honest with her?"

"yeah," he answered softly. "i don't think she saw it that way though. she said i didn't care enough to finish it, and... i don't know. maybe she was right."

"that doesn't sound like you," you retorted before you could stop yourself.

hyunjin looked at you, his eyes searching your face for something; he was not exactly sure what it was, however.

"you don't even know me."

"maybe i don't know you," you admitted. "but i have interacted with you more than enough to know that you wouldn't give someone a half-finished tattoo without a reason." hyunjin's shoulders relaxed upon your reassurance, which told you that he appreciated the vote of confidence.

"looks like i was right: you are finally warming up to me, princess" he teased, his attention going back to his food.

by the time you left the ramen shop, the sky had morphed into a blanket of stars, the chill in the air biting at your skin.

"c'mon, I'll walk you to your car," hyunjin suddenly insisted, his voice casual but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. you nodded in reply, clasping your jacket tighter around you.

the walk was quiet, the kind of silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward. when you reached your vehicle, you paused before opening the driver-side door. you turned to face him, a small but appreciative smile on your face.

"thanks for tonight," you said gently. "i really needed that pick me up."

"anytime." hyunjin smiled, but it did not reach his eyes; instead, his already dark brown eyes had noticeably darkened, carrying a familiar, intense emotion within them.

the weight of his gaze made your breath hitch, and before you could stop yourself, you stepped closer, looking up at him with pure admiration in your gaze. his eyes flickered to your lips, his body tensing like he was holding himself back.

"don't," he muttered, his voice thick with something you could not exactly determine.

"don't what?" you whispered, a hand unconsciously placing itself on hyunjin's chest.

"don't look at me like that," he responded, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

the air between you felt electric, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. then, as if pulled by some kind of invisible force, your lips met his in a kiss that was slow, passionate, and filled with everything you could not put into words.

for a moment, the world stopped spinning. the only thing that existed was the warmth of his mouth against yours and the way his hand cupped the back of your neck like he never wanted to let go. every emotion you had felt was spilling over into the kiss; hyunjin was an absolute asshole at times, sure, but it was not in the way you had initially envisioned. he never had bad intentions, and his nature only came from the fact that he was an absolute tease with a difficult past.

you were falling in love with the enemy.

"look who's acting on feeling now," hyunjin smirked against your lips, going back in a second after saying it; however, his words contained a different sort of weight. the snapped you back into reality, and you pulled away from hyunjin, your heart racing from a blend of passion and anxiety.

you were falling in love with the enemy…and you were not ready to.

"i...i'm so sorry," you mumbled, your gaze going down to the ground.

"for what, sweetheart," hyunjin questioned, his tone breathy. "don't say for doing that without asking, because you have no idea-"

"i can't do this, hyunjin," you stammered, stepping back until your back was pressed against your car. "I shouldn't have kissed you. i’m not ready for something new."

“sweetheart-”

“no! this was a mistake!”

hyunjin's expression fell, a flicker of hurt crossing his face before he masked it.

"if that's what you think," he shrugged, his demeanor clearly painful. 

you did not know what to say, so you thanked him for the meal once more, your heart pounding as you disappeared into your car. hyunjin watched dejectedly as you drove off, his heart aching with the thought of what could have been.

or what could still be, as a matter of fact.

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Family Jewels (Pt. 1/4)

Pairing: M!Vampire!Father-In-Law x F!Reader x M!Vampire!Husband

Genre: Regency, Gothic, Dark, Yandere, Pining

Series Summary: Months of loveless married life would be taxing on any soul, especially when confined to the secluded country estate of your new family. But a blossoming connection with you reclusive father-in-law offers you comfort where there should be none, bringing respite to your otherwise dreadful nights. After months of disinterest, how will your husband react to such a development?

Series Warnings: Obsessive + Controlling Behavior, Fucked up Family Dynamics, Confinement, Misogyny, Future Non-Con, Degradation, Angst, Jealousy

Chapter Warnings: Slight hints of Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of Infidelity, Degradative Language

A/N: Whoo another series! Been a while since I did one of these, though this one is a bit shorter than others. As you can probably tell from the warnings this series is going to be a darker tone, nevertheless I hope y'all enjoy!

The night time on the estate is cool, even with the sun having just tucked under the horizon. The winds move quicker over the rolling hills, no trees to catch and rustle before it’s billowing across your dress, sending goosebumps across your skin. It’s enough to send anyone scurrying inside at the hint of darkness, but not you. Yes, you dread the cold and the way it pinches at your nose and fingertips, but anything is better than being stuck inside the house, alone with your thoughts. Not again.

“Ahh, yes. It should be ready now dear.”

And especially not when your father-in-law has promised a special treat this particular evening. One that he assured would make the cold worth it.

You tentatively walk toward the telescope, still nervous to touch its magnificence. The craftsmanship alone betrays an elegance far beyond your understanding, even after joining this house nearly a season ago. But your father-in-law is kind, gentle as he guides your eye to the glass, not as reprimanding as your former tutors or even governess’ were.

You peek into the glass, perfectly centered on the main event of tonight; The bright ‘evening star’, whose path perfectly crosses the night sky tonight.

“Is that-”

“It’s Venus, my dear.” A gloved hand settles on your shoulder, your father-in-law’s dulcet voice dancing across your inner ear. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

If he was anyone else, even your husband, the familiar touch would have shocked you out of your reverence. But after weeks of stargazing, nights spent in gentle conversation, you’ve learned that The Earl was just the affectionate type. Nothing untoward, of course, but the sort of casual touches and grazes one would expect of an exuberant father. You have a feeling he’d always wanted someone out here with him, and is simply too unpracticed to restrain himself.

“It is.” You gasp, still reeling on the fact you’re seeing a planet. An actual planet, other than Earth, rendered in such detail. “Oh, Sir, it’s incredible.”

“I knew you’d like it.” The Earl chuckles. “I remember the first time I saw her in such splendor. I was speechless.” The hand on your shoulder rubs its thumb across the planes of your back, never leaving the fabric. “And dear, you know you can call me Edric.”

His voice rings in your ears, an imperceptible shiver running down your spine as the Earl’s, Edric’s, voice grows subtly darker. You swallow a deep breath and convince yourself it’s from the excitement of seeing Venus herself. Pulling back from the telescope, you give him a small smile, unable to meet his deep, black eyes.

“O-of course, Sir-I mean, Edric.” Your head bobs, some emotion caught in your throat.

He is family now. It is sensible.

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, almost wishing there were some servants darting around, something to distract yourself with. But the staff always seems to disappear at the hint of night time. It was rather shocking to you at first, but after a while you assumed maybe the Earl was just diligent in making sure they have proper rest. It did make the house quite…eerie at night. Wandering the long halls, peering out at the endless darkness that was the rolling hills, it was what drew you to the night’s sky in the first place. What drew you and Edric together.

—

“Dear?”

Already on edge by the quiet and the dark, your father-in-law’s voice nearly scares you out of your skin. Jumping from your bench, you turn to him, ashamedly unprepared and ghoulish-looking.

“Earl Gulliver!” You drop into a deep curtsy, hoping your father-in-law doesn’t notice your frazzled appearance. “I w-was not expecting anyone. It is quite late.”

That is an understatement, to say the least. The last person you had expected to see this night was your reclusive father-in-law, a man you hadn’t exchanged a single word with since your wedding two months ago. It could’ve been the size of your newfound home, but you hadn’t seen him once since moving in. Not at meal times, not in the fabulously large library, and certainly not wandering the grounds. You assumed he kept odd hours, working hard on whatever it is that Earls do. Or maybe he enjoyed the lifestyle of your husband, was sleeping all day and then spending his nights out on the town, either at a tavern or a brothel or both.

“It is. I must admit, I was not expecting you either.” The Earl tightens the sides of his jacket, although the cold seems to be not affecting him at all. His face grows no flush; His fine, ivory cheekbones as brilliantly white as they are in the daytime. “If I may, what are you doing in the garden?”

You swallow your saliva, realizing that this is now a full conversation. Darn, your governess was right in saying you should have practiced the art a bit more. 

“I was looking at the stars, sir.” You fight off the urge to curtsy at the end of each sentence, something about The Earl’s regality instilling a need to appease. He was every bit the nobility that your husband wasn’t, his thick black hair combed neatly, even at this late of night. “I used to do it when I was younger, but this estate has a much b-better view.” Your fingers knot in your dress, a frustrating habit you never grew out of. “I quite like…the constellations.”

The Earl stands there, and for a second you wonder if you’re about to be scolded for such a girlish inclination. But the smile that curls up his face is kind, The Earl stepping into the garden with a sweep of his waistcoat. In no time he is by your side, and pointing up at the sky.

“My favorite is the Pleiades.” The Earls’ gloved fingers draw across the sky, expertly pointing out the star cluster. “It’s also known as the Seven-”

“-Sisters! Yes, it’s one of my favorites too!” The excitement bursts out of you before you think better, the first positive interaction in months getting to you. Like a child having sugar after rationing. But the shame is just as quick, the realization of another girlish outburst, causing you to curl in and a heat to spread across your cheeks. The only thing that bats it away is your father-in-laws smile, even wider than ebfore.

“Do you know the story of the sisters?” The Earl moves in closer, leaning down to meet your eye. Your father-in-law is of an impressive height, just like his son, and the way your neck cranes to look at him has a way of making you feel child-like. 

“My nursemaid used to tell me a version of it, though I am not sure how accurate it maye be.” You giggle, now drawing shapes in the fabric of your skirt. “I believed she liked to embellish.”

“Well, there are quite a many versions of it, from all over the globe. Perhaps there isn’t one true version, but many concurrent ones.” The Earl says with a gentle nod of his head. “Humanity has always had a way of crafting myths, of telling stories that make something as big as the world, make a little more sense.” 

“That's beautiful.” You say, looking back up at the constellation, the wonder apparent in your eyes. “Isn’t it strange to think that so many people, even centuries ago, were doing the same thing as us? Looking up at the stars and telling stories?” Your eyes stay locked on the great abyss, dancing from star to star, wondering of all the people before you.

The Earl, however, keeps his eyes on you.

“Indeed, it is beautiful.”

—

That was the start of your connection with your father-in-law, an unlikely friendship which has made me these past weeks bearable. You never knew you could look forward to night time like this, but sitting down and stargazing was the last bastion of comfort and companionship you had here. The Earl would point out different bodies, telling you myths and stories, some versions you had never even heard of. You would tell him your own tales, the ones your maids would make up, or your sisters dramatized, but he enjoyed them all the same. 

To think such a stoic and quiet man was hiding such a laugh, such a loving personality, was astonishing. In a way it baffles you how his son turned out as he did, although you admit you do not know your husband that well. Your wedding had been short and formal, your husband as eager to get it over with as he was to down another cup of foul-smelling wine. Your interaction with him so far had been just as short, your husband rather displeased in every iteration you saw him. Nothing like the gentle, attentive man you now know Edric to be.

“It is getting late now, dear.” The hand on your shoulder moves up, nearly pressing on the hem of your dress. Darn, this is your least favorite time of the night. “I think it is best you go to bed now.”

Just the thought puts a yawn into your mouth, has your eyes drooping. Edric must have a way of sensing these things, you think to yourself.

“You are right. Though I would love to keep watching.”

Edric chuckles, and brushes a stray hair behind your ear.

“The stars will be there tomorrow night too, dearest.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you lock eyes with Edric. Those deep, dark pools are as unfathomable as ever, the same abyss you could get lost in, just like the sky. 

He had never called you dearest before, only dear.

“Y-yes, you’re right.” You swallow another bout of troubling emotion, tearing your eyes away from The Earl’s carved visage. “Have a good night, Edric.”

“You as well, my dear.”

It takes everything in you to depart, to leave the little bubble of you two and head to your bedroom. With him, you are happy. With him, you are safe, and heading to your empty bed is just another reminder.

Of what, exactly?

That thought has you scurrying along. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought. It is the lack of sleep, surely.

The Earl watches as you leave, standing still.

Your night has ended, yet his has just begun.

—

Edric fears he is making a mistake.

Since this immortal life was thrust upon him, he’s always been deigned sentimental. Too sentimental, many others would chide, especially for a beast of the night. This longing he had was so human, so mortal, so unbecoming of a vampire of his station and age. He knew it well, aware of this irritating tendency of his to grow so attached.

He had done much to keep it down. When it had first come to a head, becoming unbearable for his immortal soul, he had compromised and found Caleb. It was the perfect middleground: Siring a fledgling was a perfectly natural, vampiric thing to do. He had made himself a companion, a young vampire to explore the world with, to help guide, he had made himself a son. That had been enough the past couple of decades.

But the boy had become such a brat.

Edric thought the conditions were perfectly tolerable; In order to live the lavish life they do, Caleb and him had to compromise. Rather than sink to the level of so many others, living in alleys and shadows with only the stolen goods on their back, to live like nobility one must have to act like nobility. If it meant marrying every once in a while, so be it. They could find a quiet girl with a proper name, whisk her away from her family with promises of wealth and titles, and enjoy a couple years of peaceful solitude before she died of a mysterious illness. Just a couple years of playing the part and they could have decades of a lavish country life, all with the veil of grief to cover up any of their eccentricities.

But that boy just couldn’t handle it, could he?

Edric thought he raised him better than this, raised him smarter than this. But no, Caleb couldn’t content himself with even one second of his immortal life not being rambunctious. He married the girl Edric selected, all right, yet spat in the name of matrimony at every chance. While Edric stayed at home, managing the estate and growing their profits, Caleb was in town acting every bit a rake: Whores, booze, gambling. Like a petulant child he was throwing a tantrum, appalled that his father would “dare” take away any of his new toys, the utter debauchery of this immortal life.

The worst part of it all is that…it didn’t seem to matter.

Edric honors himself in keeping up with the times, of seamlessly blending with the ever shifting ways of human society. But this new found apathey to men's behavior had thrown him off. It’s a known secret that his son is an adulterous, drink-crazed partier, and yet no one seems to care! All they do is cast the occasionally disapproving gaze and talk amongst themselves, but it hasn’t seemed to affect his son’s social standing at all. In fact, most of the gentlemen of the town seemed to like him even more, embracing his wild ways and straying from their own confinements of proper morality.

Edirc hated to say it, but back in his day, marriage meant something. Men had affairs sure, but either they were secretive or properly shamed once found out. None such flagrant displays were respected, they were spat upon, they were easy weaknesses to exploit. Back in his day, men were either honorable, or good enough at pretending to be honorable.

The real problem now is his new daughter-in-law. His sweet, kind daughter in law. Who loves his library, who loves the stars and the all encompassing universe of which you are only a small speck. Who loves romance and tragedy loves to talk to him, The Earl, of all people. A droll, ancient vampire with nothing better to do but haunt this old house in the countryside. It’s pathetic, just how besotten he has become in such a short time, with this miniscule thing that should be nothing more than a cog in the machine.

Everyone always said he was too sentimental, that he got attached too easily. More in love with the fruits of humanity than with endless possibilities of his own immortality. They all called him weak, and yet he was still here, and many of them were not. His son, for all his problems, was still here, ever indulgent in the base sins which clung to his old mortal life. 

Maybe it was time for him to indulge too.

Maybe it's time for the plan to change.

—

Caleb is lost.

He knows he’s on the property, for sure. But this new estate his master so gracefully bought for them was a goddamn labyrinth. Too many large halls that all look the same, the decorations so methodically similar to match current mortal’s tastes. It's confusing as is when he’s sober, even more so with a full belly of wine and whore’s blood.

It doesn’t help Caleb’s headache, an unfortunate side effect of his unexpected glutton. He had been sloppy tonight, shifting while caught in the raptures with the lady of the night, forced to drain her dry and ditch her in a river. No one would miss her, another forgettable face in a sea of brothels and wenches.

No, they aren’t called wenches anymore. At least, he doesn’t think. Devils, humans could be so confusing.

He stumbled into the first available room he sees, the door big and opulent enough to befit a fine bedchamber. It's probably a guest room, but whatever, he can crash for the day and-

Oh, this is not a guest room.

The sickly sweet smell of your blood alerts him immediately to your presence. If it hadn’t, then the site of you curled up on your bed, the moonlight shining down romantically on your sleeping self, would have. You look like a proper fairy tale princess, chest slowly rising up and down, your soft, long neck bare for all the terrible creatures that go bump in the night.

He lingers, he doesn’t know why. Walking along the side of your bed, pupils roving over your collarbone. His claws trace over the fine velvet of your bedding, luckily licked clean of the filthy blood of the whore and leaving no stains. Your head tosses in your sleep, but your face remains peaceful, completely unaware of your intruder.

You are a pretty thing, Caleb supposes. His creator could’ve done far worse in that department. You had a soft voice too, from what he remembered of the wedding. You had asked what he liked to do in his free time, gentle as a whisper amongst the bustling party going on around you. In another decade, Caleb myself might have pursued you, drawn in by your sweet face and even sweeter blood. He’d have seduced you, ravished you, and savored you like a fine wine.

But Caleb is older now, he isn’t the bumbling fool he was when first risen from the grave. He didn’t need you, didn’t need to have his prey fetched and prepared, like his creator insisted. It was an insult to his charm, to his prowess, that his master somehow couldn't understand.

He thought about killing you, the night of the wedding. Insisting on a witness for your consummation, then defiling you like an animal and ripping your throat out. That would show him that he wasn't a weak-willed child, who needs to play pretend. Who needs some perfectly demure debutante to flout about on his arm, who needs to shackle himself to the ridiculous norms of the bugs beneath them. Why would he crave any of that, when he had finally tasted true freedom?

You have no survival instinct, Caleb thinks as he draws a finger down your jaw. You barely even twitch, no fear from the cool nail that could slit your throat in a second. Just a pretty face, meant to be bought and sold. A warm hearted maiden that only exists in fairy tales.

You turn your head, unintentionally nuzzling into Caleb’s touch. Goosebumps pepper across the line of your jaw, but still you do not stir.

Utterly hopeless.

That's what you were. Hopeless. Useless. A pretty doll to decorate the hallways. It’s why Caleb didn’t even bother consummating your “union”, if one could even call it that. That would imply that he cared, that he wanted you.

Caleb stands at the foot at the bed, and watches the covers rise and fall with each slow breath. Watches your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, your toes curling when the covers pull up and reveal the bitter cold. Even in sleep, you’re just so human.

If he still was one, Caleb’s sure he would have fallen for you. Such a beautiful noble girl, the soft-hearted kind that would have been kind to a peasant farm boy like himself, saw past his poor station. You would've forced him to become this poor, besotted, love struck fool. He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for even a scrap of your attention. He would’ve desired you like an addict does his drugs, like a prisoner does the sun.

He isn’t that anymore. That weak, romantic idiot dreaming of a noble life. Now he’s just….

Caleb's claws dig into the bedframe.

He takes what he wants now, no matter what anyone else says.

[ekkkkey]

there will be games! (chapter III)

…in which we learn that Caracalla doesn’t share his toys

summary: Cassandra, a quiet and loyal wife to the much older Senator Tiberius, accidentally attracts the unsettling attention of Emperor Caracalla at a lavish feast hosted by Senator Thraex...

warnings: 18+ minors dni, noncon, dub-con, insanity + hard drugs is not the best combo

word count: 3k words

chapter I

chapter II

«No woman could feel safe if her beauty or name aroused the emperor's curiosity.»

-Suetonius, The Twelve Caesars (Caligula, Chapter 36)

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

She had become gaunt, nervous, and irritable. Anxiety and fear had taken over her completely.

Seeing his wife in such a state, Tiberius allowed her to skip the next day of the games, leaving her alone to pace her chambers like a trapped mouse.

Her mind was spinning with questions and panic. Who knew that the emperor had dishonored her? The Praetorians? The servants? Had that slave girl told them why exactly Emperor Caracalla had locked himself in the family altar with her?

But above all, she feared the possibility that the emperor’s seed might take root. If it did, the child she bore would be a constant reminder of her disgrace, tormenting her soul with every passing moment.

Her relief was overwhelming when, the next morning, she woke to a sharp pain in her stomach and saw a bloodstain on the sheets.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Cassandra felt joy—a foolish joy, but joy nonetheless! No matter what the emperor had done to her, the gods had spared her.

The following week passed in solitude. No one bothered her, no one forced her to leave her chambers, attend the games, or endure the feasts. Soon, she’d go home and forget about Caracalla’s wild blue eyes, his hot hands, and the scent of his oils and powders.

But all good things come to an end. As soon as she felt better, Tiberius expected her to play the role of the dutiful wife again. She could still refuse him in bed, but attending the feast was non-negotiable.

"Half the games have already passed. You can’t spend the rest of the time hidden away like a recluse!" His frustration was clear. "Rumors are already spreading about your illness—and about my failure as a husband!"

The anger that flared up inside her at his words was something new.

"Oh, you’ve failed, believe me" she thought furiously. "If you hadn’t, you’d have noticed the bruises on my body or the way another man’s eyes were devouring your wife."

But she said nothing, simply pressed her lips together and let the servants dress her. Now, knowing whose clothes she was wearing, Cassandra felt a strange dread. Why did the emperor insist she wear his late mother’s clothes? Why had he taken her by his father’s ashes? The only answer she could come up with was madness—a madness that seemed to be eating away at the young emperor’s mind.

She wasn’t used to the noise of the crowd anymore. She had forgotten how oppressive it felt, surrounded by the finely dressed nobles.

"Ah, my dear, you look as pale as a ghost. How are you feeling?"

Lucilla was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned for her.

Tiberius had left them alone to join the other senators, and Lucilla gently stroked her cheek, looking into her eyes with concern.

"Has your husband been treating you poorly?" she asked, her voice soft with worry.

For a moment, Cassandra wanted to tell her everything—about the pain, the violence, the fear. But instead, she shook her head.

"It’s fine, I’m just tired. All of this…" She waved her hand toward the noisy crowd in the throne room. "It’s exhausting."

"It really is exhausting," Lucilla agreed with a soft smile. "The palace isn’t what it used to be… I envy you. At least you can leave once the games are over."

Her heart skipped a beat. What if she didn’t leave the palace? What if Emperor Caracalla wouldn’t let her go? What if he dressed her like one of his slaves in sheer silk, seated her at his feet, and put a golden collar on her?

Cassandra shook her head. That couldn’t happen! Even he wouldn’t dare insult a senator and the entire Senate like that. She held on to that hope.

The hall grew noticeably quieter as the crowd dispersed, making way for the emperors. Instantly, she lowered her head, stepping behind Lucilla, not wanting to meet Caracalla’s gaze. Still, there was an undeniable temptation to glance at him from beneath her lashes, not raising her head or showing any interest. And she couldn’t help it—she watched as they entered the hall.

Geta walked to the right, closer to Cassandra. His stride was broad, his lips pressed tightly together, and he nervously licked them from time to time. Dressed in black from head to toe, pale with dark-lined eyes, he looked both sickly and focused. His laurel-crowned hair was the only bright spot in his appearance.

Swallowing a bitter lump in her throat, she turned her gaze to the other emperor. Oh, he was always different—nothing like his brother!

Cassandra held her breath. Purple and gold. Oh, how she despised that gold! His clothes were embroidered with it, his cloak shimmered with changing shades—lavender, blue, and deep crimson—as though it held the twilight itself. His rings gleamed, catching the light with every movement, and a large earring swayed with the rhythm of his slow steps. Unlike his brother, he moved with a leisurely, almost lazy pace, smiling as he looked through the crowd, knowing all eyes were on him.

And though Emperor Geta was serious, much more thoughtful and responsible, what did it matter if everyone had come just to gawk at a spectacle? Caracalla had given them that spectacle. Cassandra overheard a group of girls nearby whispering in admiration. Oh, he knew he was liked by many, that much she was certain. But she didn’t like him. She hated him with every fiber of her being, and all she wished for him was death.

Both emperors took their seats. A young slave boy brought Caracalla his pet—a little dressed-up monkey, who immediately climbed onto the emperor’s shoulder, burying its tiny hands in his red hair. Caracalla laughed, a thin, piercing laugh, giving the pet a grape and removing his laurels, leaving his hair in fiery disarray. The monkey squealed, tossing the bitten grape aside and turning back to play with its master’s hair. Nearby, Emperor Geta grimaced, clearly displeased by the noise.

The hall buzzed with life again, half the guests fawning over the emperors, while the other half entertained themselves, waiting for their turn to approach the rulers of Rome.

Her husband finally returned to her, flustered and silent. He barely paid attention to her, making her follow him like a shadow as they moved from one important guest to another.

While he was talking to another elderly senator she didn’t know, Cassandra lazily scanned the hall.

And there it was, what she feared and secretly longed to see. Pale blue eyes, veiled in gold and pink, met hers. She forgot how to breathe. Caracalla was still sitting on the throne, lazily leaning back with his legs wide apart, his foot rocking gently from side to side, as he stroked the monkey on his shoulder. Cassandra had expected him to break into a cruel smirk, his eyes narrowing to remind her of the shame he had made her endure… But no, he looked away, completely uninterested, as though he hadn’t even recognized her.

It felt like she had been struck, her body trembling uncontrollably. This wasn’t a game—he wasn’t sly or far-sighted enough to torment her like this. He truly barely remembered her. The foolish little bird hadn’t been in his sight for days, and he had forgotten her like some useless trash. And this was far worse than if he had continued his game of being the caring emperor, pretending to be the dutiful husband.

Here she was, standing before him in his mother’s clothes, her body marked with dark bruises he had left, her pride trampled into the dust. She hated him, and he didn’t even care, continuing to listlessly scan the hall.

Tiberius kept talking, and she kept staring at the emperor, wishing she could kill him at that very moment. Then, once again, she caught his gaze, now sharper, more deliberate. It was the same look he had given her before he took her on the altar. Her palms went clammy. She didn’t know what was worse: the indifference or the recognition. What would he do? Would he take her to a private place and talk once more about forgiveness? About the gifts he could give her?

A white hand, adorned with rings and bracelets, rose, and he motioned with his finger. Cassandra froze. Publicly? He was calling her in front of everyone?

She hesitated, unsure of what to do, but then, from behind her, a tall, slender girl in a silk blue dress stepped forward. Caracalla grinned wider, showing his gold tooth.

He wasn’t calling her. Her cheeks burned as she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms. Cassandra knew that girl—Antonia, the daughter of Senator Marcus Lecus. They had spoken a few times when her husband and Antonia’s father discussed the gladiator games. She was a noble Roman girl, an enviable bride, and simply a young, beautiful woman. And it was she who obediently settled onto the emperor’s lap, blushing and laughing as Caracalla whispered something in her ear.

Cassandra saw Antonia’s father in the crowd. He looked confused and pale, unable to protest or interrupt what was unfolding before him. She must have worn the same expression: rage, disgust, and revulsion.

"You have a wonderful daughter, Senator," Caracalla burst in laughter, addressing the now-pale man. "So obedient!"

"Thank you, Caesar," the senator replied with a trembling voice, bowing his head as though he truly believed it. "I’m glad you like her."

"Oh, I certainly do!" That cruel laugh came again as his hand slapped the girl’s thigh. What a disgrace.

"I am grateful, my Emperor," the senator continued to babble.

"So why aren’t you smiling?" Caracalla teased. "Have fun, my dear friend, today I’ll give your daughter a truly precious gift." His voice with a hint of taunting amusement, but the underlying meaning was clear: he would violate her in every way possible, then send her back to her father, degraded, miserable, and possibly pregnant. That’s how it had been with Cassandra. Tomorrow, he wouldn’t even remember her name, but for now, he took pleasure in watching the senator’s forced smile.

Emperor Geta, displeased, rose from his seat and approached his brother, whispering something in his ear while holding his shoulder. To humiliate the Senate in front of everyone was too much, even for him.

"This brainless little bastard has completely lost his mind," Tiberius whispered softly beside her. "If that were my daughter, l'd have killed that effeminate little runt."

Her lips twitched. That effeminate little runt had defiled your wife twice, and you hadn’t even noticed. Empty promises from a foolish man. Cassandra couldn’t even recall when she had started to despise her husband so much.

The dark-eyed, beautiful slave who had led her to Caracalla last time approached the emperor with a delicate dish. He inhaled the powder from the dish through his nose, leaned back, and closed his eyes in bliss. Antonia, clearly unaccustomed to this, inhaled the powder next, coughing and rubbing her nose frantically. Caracalla laughed again, stroking her thigh.

Cassandra looked away, feeling both relief and anger at the dishonor. Why hadn’t he chosen someone else from the start? Why had he tormented her so much?

Antonia, who had taken her “honorable” place, had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders. She felt as if she could finally breathe easier. Moving away from her husband, she felt light and free. Inspired, she drank wine, even ate, and chatted with other guests, forgetting the young emperor like a bad dream. He was no longer her problem.

She was engrossed in conversation with a young couple who had come from the provinces for the games. Cassandra hadn’t talked so much in a long time. But then she asked another question, and none of her new acquaintances answered. They stood frozen, staring somewhere behind her.

"Leave us."

No, no, no! The euphoria faded, replaced by trembling. Cassandra turned around. It wasn’t Caracalla, but the trembling didn’t stop.

Emperor Geta studied her carefully, as if seeing her for the first time. His cold fingers lifted her chin, his black eyes scanning her face.

"Where did you get this from?" His fingers slid lower, tracing the edge of her tunic.

"Your brother sent it to me," she replied quietly, trying not to meet his gaze. He, too, was a cause and a witness to her humiliation, though indirectly. She hated him as well.

"Antoninus?" His deep voice faltered.

She almost asked who he meant. Of course, no one ever called Caracalla by his real name. No one but his brother.

"Emperor Caracalla, Caesar, yes."

He continued to study her, not in the same way as his brother of course, but still hardly appropriate, given they were in public.

"Did he say anything to you? Did he do anything?"

She nearly choked on her fury. As if you didn’t see what he did! As if you didn’t stand there and watch the debauchery your own twin brother caused!

"Tell me, domina, why did my brother choose to dress you in the garments of our late mother?" He leaned closer, his voice lowering, growing harsher, as if she had stolen the clothes instead of being forced to wear them. "Let me tell you why. You look just like her, you know? Now I see it clearly—your eyes, your lips, your hair, even the way you furrow your brow." His hand caressed her cheek, the back of his fingers gliding over her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the guests watching them, whispering to each other.

It was disgusting. The whole situation made her stomach turn. She reminded them of their deceased mother. And how could Caracalla… How could he do those terrible things to her!?

"My brother seems chaotic, unserious, but he rarely does anything without a reason," he said, nervously licking his lips before flashing her a smile, one that was anything but kind. "There’s always a meaning, a meaning only he and I understand. You know, we shared the same womb, we’ve always been together as long as I can remember, and we share the reins of power, as you know. Everything that’s mine is his, and everything that’s his is mine. Do you understand?"

The realization of what he was hinting at washed over her like a vile shiver. No, no, not this!

"May I leave, Emperor?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Geta was different, after all—he liked being adored, admired, but Cassandra’s face revealed nothing but disgust. The emperor didn’t enjoy such games. His lips twisted, clearly wounded by her rejection, but he nodded nonetheless, stepping back and removing his hand from her face. It was strange how cold Geta’s hands were, while Caracalla’s had felt like fire.

Cassandra didn’t warn her husband; she left the throne room alone, not wanting to stay. The brief moment of joy she had experienced was stolen from her once more. The emperors had ruined her life without even meaning to.

Rushing through the dark corridors lit only by torches, she dreamed of one thing alone—to seclude herself in her chambers and this time, not to emerge until the games were over. Of course, her dreams were not destined to come true. The foolish, childish dreams of insignificant little girls were unheard by the gods. Here, in Rome, wishes were granted only to those who tormented these very little girls.

"Wait, domina," a rough voice called out to her from the darkness.

The owner of the rough voice turned out to be a Praetorian guard. He walked slightly ahead, with three others trailing behind. Tall, strong, clad in armor, they escorted the delicate, short figure. Even in the dim torchlight, he seemed to glow. Purple and gold, the soft clinking of his adornments, and the cold smile on his lips promised nothing good. How could such a delicate appearance conceal such evil?

The Praetorians were imposing, large, but it was only him that she feared—standing just a few steps in front of her, smiling, his hands clasped together.

"Wait outside," Caracalla nodded, and the Praetorians obediently stepped back, taking position on the other side of the arch. They could likely hear every word spoken in the corridor.

"Well, well, hello, birdie" his voice softer than usual, but his eyes growing more wild, "It’s been a while since we’ve had our little talks, hasn’t it? Is my company no longer to your liking?"

"Emperor, I…" What could she say that wouldn’t anger him?

"Or have you found better company, dear? Forgotten all about our sweet love?" He stared at her from under his brows, his lips trembling. He was furious.

Let him kill her! Let him do it, but not torture her! But no, he chose the second option. It was clear he wouldn’t have come after her today like divine retribution if he hadn’t seen her speaking to Geta. Fool, she was such a fool! He could have fucked every woman in Rome, but she had no right to even look at another man. Her husband was the exception, since taking her was a way of humiliating him; Tiberius wasn’t his equal. But his brother was.

"And what, you’re silent now? You were more talkative with Geta. Or am I not skilled enough at conversation?" Without waiting for her answer, he grabs her wrist, pinning her against the wall. His knee pressed between her legs, forcing them slightly apart.

"Your brother asked me about the garments you gave me—that’s all, I swear!"

"Ah, he recognized them, didn’t he?" He clicked his tongue with satisfaction. "He couldn’t have missed them, of course. Yet, you lie. Geta always wants everything that’s mine! Always!" Suddenly his voice took on a petulant tone, as if he were a big, dangerous child, but children don’t behave like this. "But he won’t get anything. No, not you. You’re mine, aren’t you, birdie?"

She stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, unable to summon the strength to answer.

"Answer me!" he barked.

He had never shouted before. Hissed, purred, laughed—yes. But never raised his voice.

"I am yours, Caesar, only yours."

"Everything in Rome is mine. Everything belongs to me. Do you understand?"

"I belong to you," she breathed.

Hearing her words, Caracalla's expression changed, he lifted his chin, clearly pleased. Though he wore no crown, the flickering torchlight turned his bright curls into a fiery halo framing his pale face, making him seem otherworldly, like a vision. A demon, a true demon, ironically possessing such an innocent-looking body.

A lone tear rolled down her face, and Caracalla's darkened eyes immediately followed its path, stepping closer to Cassandra, licking the salty trail with his hot tongue. The sweetness of oils and powders enveloped her again.

"Good," he finally relented, "and yet, you lied. Lying to the Emperor is a grave crime, you know that?"

"Yes, Caesar," she knew the rules, "I must apologize."

"Apologize?” He burst in laughter. “Oh no, my dear. This time, you’ve earned your punishment for such an offense.”

His lips brushed against hers, but there was no kiss—just a dry touch and a hot whisper, mouth to mouth.

"Where have you been these past days?"

"I… I was unwell."

"Why?" he pressed, sensing her hesitation.

"I…I had woman troubles," she admitted, biting her lip and looking away.

The emperor's pale eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he clicked his tongue in disappointment. His hand slid over her body, pausing on her stomach, pressing down.

"What a tragedy! Neither a senator nor an emperor could plant his seed in your womb!" His palm continued to press against her stomach, forcing her to clench her teeth. "Don't you wish to give your husband an heir?"

"I do," she whispered softly.

"Then why does my seed not please you?" He stared directly into her eyes.

Is he joking? Doesn't he understand this is beyond her control?

"You have pleased me in every way, Emperor," she answered quietly.

His hand was suddenly at her throat, his thumb pressing into the hollow between her collarbones, squeezing,

"You lie! You rejected my gift and lied to me again! This time, you will be punished and I will not be merciful. I’ll teach you how to properly accept gifts from an emperor, and when I’m done, whatever’s left of you, sweet little wife, will be sent back to your husband!"

She was almost choking, but he removed his hand, placing it on her shoulder, pressing down.

"On your knees before the emperor," he commanded.

What? Why? She couldn't fathom what he wanted from her, but certainly not here, in this open corridor where anyone could walk in.

The pressure on her shoulder increased.

"I won’t repeat myself," his eyes crazed, the madness in them burning, fueled by the drug’s effect. His cheeks flushed, as if embarrassed, but no, he had never known such feelings.

Obediently, Cassandra dropped to her knees before him, looking up, her lips pressed together, hands resting on her knees, her thighs touching her heels.

His breath quickened, his fingers tracing her cheek.

"A beautiful garment for a beautiful little thing," his voice trembles with anticipation, and she's clueless about what's about to happen. Caracalla ogles her for one last moment before extending his hand.

"Give me your hand, now."

She obediently slips her hand into his... and then, something she never saw coming happens. She knew he'd force himself on her again, but this? This was beyond her wildest nightmares.

"Feel that? You should be flattered," his voice broke into a rasp.

Her breath catches in her throat as he guides her hand, making her feel his hardness through the fabric. She'd never touched a man like that before, not even her husband.

"That’s it, good," the emperor praised, guiding her further.

Every time Cassandra thought it couldn't possibly get worse, it did. Now, in the corridor leading to her shared quarters with her husband, she was on her knees, like a nameless slave, caught up in something so degrading she never could have imagined it.

"Now, hands behind your back. Keep them there until I say otherwise. Disobey, and I’ll see those pretty hands taken away, understood, dear?" His smile is accompanied by a soft thumb stroke over her lower lip.

Shame burns through her as she slowly clasps her hands behind her back. What now? How will he degrade her this time?

His answer comes as his fingers sliding into her hair, initially petting her like a dog, then his grip tightens sharply, yanking her head back.

"Not a sound, sweetheart, or we’ll have an audience," he warns, "And trust me, I don’t mind at all—I’ll finish either way. But you… think twice."

Then comes the punishment. With a sharp, strong yank, he tears her tunic down, the fabric dropping to her waist. She wants to scream, to cover herself, but his threat keeps her hands locked in place, trembling.

"Sit up straight," he's so close, her eyes locked on his feet, but he grabs her hair again, forcing her to meet his gaze. Shame and fear consume her as his hips are now at eye level.

"Again, I’m doing your husband a favor by showing you what he might enjoy," he said with a sly smirk. "When you kneel before him like this, don’t forget to mention who taught you, hmm?"

The emperor lifts his lavish robes and flings his shimmering cloak aside, letting it fall to the floor. He wouldn't...?

"Come on, open your mouth, don’t give me that foolish look," Caracalla drawls, "if your womb won't take me, then your mouth will. Right, Cassandra?"

Her name makes her flinch—and obey.

He wields it shamelessly, not as a courtesy, but to assert his power. She had thought the young emperor didn’t care enough to remember, yet here, in this moment of utter humiliation, he says her name.

Trying not to look at him, Cassandra complies, fighting the urge to close her eyes, knowing it will only make things worse. Her reward is his raspy moan and the taste of him on her tongue. Unlike her, he's not about to remain quiet.

He doesn’t give her any freedom, holding her firmly with his hand tangled in her hair, his voice raspy as he orders her every move. To her surprise, the emperor is intensely responsive, moaning and biting his lip. His hand moves to the back of her head, the cold press of his rings against her skin sending a shiver down her spine. It’s clear he’s losing patience.

She struggles to breathe, choking on air as he takes her mouth roughly, his grip holding her head in place. Tears blur her vision, but she can't pull away, the pressure in her throat building with each passing second. He doesn't relent, pushing into her harder, more violently.

"Look at me, in the eyes," his voice a half-whisper, half-growl, escaping his red lips, "that’s it, good girl," it didn’t sound like praise, but more like mockery.

Her lip splits at the corner, a taste of blood, but it's insignificant now. All emotions have left her. Disgrace. Disgrace. Disgrace.

His grip grows harsher, his breath ragged, his body thrusting forward. She tries to push him away, her hands coming free to press against him, but he doesn't stop. With deep, harsh thrusts, he goes all the way into her throat, pausing, holding her head by the hair, staring into her eyes, another moan escaping his lips.

Cassandra pulls back as soon as he releases her, coughing, tasting him in her mouth, on her lips. She wants to spit it out desperately but is too afraid. How dare she reject his "gifts"?

Tears streaming, lips swollen, a drop of blood at the corner of her mouth, she's still on her knees in the middle of the corridor, her chest bare, her hair disheveled from his rough grip.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asks, already having adjusted his clothes, looking as innocent as if nothing happened.

"As always, Emperor," she can say nothing else. Now, she just wants to end her life. His taste still lingers.

"Then what kind of punishment is this, little bird? Once again, I've been too generous," he shakes his head theatrically, "you were rushing to your chambers, weren't you? Why are you still here? Come on, come on!" He claps his hands, urging her to move.

Shaking, she stands, head bowed.

"And don't forget who you belong to."

"Yours."

His satisfied laughter follows her as she walks away.

⋆ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋆

Hey friends, thank you so much for all the love and support! It’s honestly so unexpected and makes me so happy that so many of you enjoy my Caracalla 💕 The next chapter is almost done, so you won’t have to wait too long! Love you all, muah!

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 44

Chapter 44 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Eddie doesn’t believe in signs, he is just working on saving people hit by the tsunami. However, a natural disaster forcing you back towards your family is as close to a sign as you can get.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie

Warnings: injury, minor character death mention

~~~

Chapter 44: Looking for a Sign

A tsunami. Eddie honestly isn’t sure why he didn’t expect that when he came into work today with the craziness that is LA, but then again, no one expects a natural disaster a year after the last one. If he has to guess, the only person that expected this is his mom, who expects LA to be the most dangerous place on earth every day of the week.

Eddie is so glad they managed to mollify her with a promise of a few weeks stay in El Paso by Chris over the break, because he doesn’t think he would have survived this last period if she’d been berating him every second.

He’s only just finding his footing again, becoming more confident. He’s not out, far from it, but he’s gotten comfortable thinking of himself as gay.

Work has helped – as has Bosko of course, but work is different – because it’s the same. Neither he nor Buck mentioned their troubles at home, well, Eddie’s troubles, so the others don’t ask questions or send him worried looks. They just treat him like Eddie, like he’s still the same. He needs that.

Right now, though, work is not like usual. A natural disaster is always an all hands on deck situation and this is no different.

It’s unreal to look over the carnage and Eddie is starting to be real glad they live on the other side of town. Chris was a little bummed out in the car on Friday when he brought him home, because they were going to stay in this weekend. Then Eddie felt slightly bad, almost traded his shift to be free today too, but now he’s only relieved that the two of them are far away from here.

They’re in the boats and all they’re passing are dead bodies to tag, which is always unpleasant work. However, the living ones they’re going to encounter are bound to be worse. Disasters like these always leave gruesome wounds.

Indeed, the first call they answer is pretty bad with soon to be official step-father and son stuck together by a pole through the both of them. They get the son out, but the husband to be is a harder call.

Tensions are high as Bobby dives into the water while the rest of them work to keep Chuck alive as a second surge hits the boat and water starts to come in. Underwater CPR is not an experience Eddie would like to relive.

However, they get him alive into transport, which is more than Eddie thought they’d get when they first came upon the scene. Hen and Chim go with him, so it’s out of his hands, because he follows Bobby to the pier to serve as back up.

The back up in question, is necessary at a Ferris wheel with a bunch of people stuck on it without enough transport and hands to get them away, before it comes down.

“Hey, we could use a hand up here,” a very familiar voice suddenly calls down.

Eddie’s head snaps up and he exclaims: “Bosko?”

Indeed, it is Bosko, who looks surprised for a second. She’s completely soaked and not in natural disaster gear, but she grins down at Eddie. “Diaz, hey! You’re late.”

“Oh fuck off,” he calls back, scanning for injuries. She looks okay and she’s not completely devastated or whatever. However, she is definitely putting on a professional front and Eddie can’t spot any more firefighter blue anywhere.

“You know her?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah, that’s Bosko. She works at the 136, she was my partner while I was there,” Eddie says, already getting ready to climb out of the boat and onto the Ferris wheel. “We work well together, should I go help her?” he asks, though he’s not really asking for permission.

“Alright,” Bobby gives it anyway, “grab an extra harness, rope, pulleys, figure eight plates. I’ll coordinate evac and transport some down here.”

“Sounds like a plan, Cap,” Eddie grins, before doing what he was already going to do and climbing up to where Bosko is.

When he gets there, the man in the cart with Bosko seems to be okay, albeit terrified out of his mind, and the Ferris wheel is shaking. Trying to lighten the air a little, he comments: “That’s not part of the ride,” asking for more information at the same time.

“No, the spokes are coming off the hub. This thing’s been trashed,” Bosko says, focusing on the patient and not looking at Eddie. Her face is scratched up.

“What about you?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she answers curtly, before nodding at the man. “And neither is he.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until the water is gone,” the man insists.

“Sir, if you don’t come with us, this whole thing will be gone,” Bosko says rather harshly.

Eddie has never seen her mad like that and the weird reality that he’s going to have to be the calm one between them settles in. He also turns to the man and says: “Don’t worry, buddy. I’m gonna get you down safely. I’m just gonna put this harness around you, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” the man nods, still terrified.

“Alright,” Eddie nods, going to help the man while questioning Bosko. “You guys were on the pier when it hit? Where is everyone?”

“Robin’s out sick today and Daisy was man behind. The others… we got separated to all spin cycle. I haven’t seen any of them. Station’s probably hit too,” she replies, mouth pursed as if angry, though Eddie can see it’s just her brave face.

“We’ll run into them at some point,” Eddie assures her. “Cap will let you join our rescue team, we can search for them while we help others.”

The line on her face turns into a small smile and she thanks him, before the two of them lower the terrified man down. With him safely down, they turn to the next cart. Bosko now manages to joke more, saying: “You didn’t want to go climbing with me tomorrow, let’s see how you do now, huh.”

“I didn’t turn you down because I can’t climb. I was half thinking to surprise Chris then, since he was kind of down yesterday, but that clearly isn’t going to happen,” he says, nodding at the carnage around them. “Besides, you’re friends with way too many of your exes, it’s weird.”

“It’s lesbian culture,” she corrects.

“Still weird,” Eddie complains, before showing her that he can climb just fine.

Their next patient is more what you expect when you hear natural disaster. The man’s a possible spinal and if they don’t get a hail Mary, he has a small chance or recovery, if not survival. It isn’t looking great for Max.

However, just because it’s not looking great, doesn’t mean they’re going to give up on him. So, they all work together to get a headboard and neck brace up there, so they can stabilize his neck, while they keep the two occupants distracted by asking what they’d been doing at the pier. Your divorce papers getting interrupted by a tsunami is certainly a story to tell.

It seems the guy was looking for a sign, a sign to try and save their marriage. Buck believes in signs like this. Eddie wonders if he’d see being on this call as a sign, then wonders if he should see it as a sign too.

He shakes off the thought, he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t believe in signs and he’s not going to start now. It can work out between him and Buck, they can still be friends, maybe even stay married. This doesn’t need to be the end, Eddie just has to figure out how to make it right between them. With slight amusement he makes a mental note not to take Buck to the pier when he finally figures it out.

Still, despite not believing in signs, he is relieved when the chopper comes and Max moves his fingers.

It’s just because he’s glad the guy has a better chance to live, he tells himself, trying to ignore the bit of devastation he feels in his chest when Max signs the divorce papers anyway. He called them a beautiful disaster.

Eddie can’t help but apply it to himself. His years with Buck have been the best of his life by far, but, as they said when explaining why they didn’t divorce, things just kept happening. Maybe they are a disaster too?

He likes to think he’s wrong about that, but the thought haunts him as they watch the chopper take Max away.

They lower the woman down, then he and Bosko start to get ready for their climb down. Before they start, they hear Bobby call out: “Incoming! Debris!”

Both their heads snap out towards the water, indeed seeing a slew of debris coming their way, carried by the receding tide. Eddie looks at Bosko and quirks a brow: “Okay, so maybe you climb better, but how’s your diving?”

“What? You suddenly an artistic diver?” Bosko retorts with amusement, as she also stops getting ready to climb down.

“Nah,” he laughs, before jumping.

Bosko is right behind him, the two of them getting pulled onto the ship by Bobby before the debris hits. Behind them, the Ferris wheel that they were just on collapses and Eddie tries to take that as a sign that whatever happened on there doesn’t matter.

When they get back, the receded water means that they can now wade through the water on foot, which is good news, since the trucks are still stuck on the other side of town, unable to get through to them, and boats are in short supply.

“Hen and Chimney are readying some turnout backpacks until we’re mobile again,” Bobby explains to the both of them, seamlessly incorporating Bosko into their team like Eddie predicted. Then he stops and turns to her. “Bosko, your crew from your house are all alive and accounted for, except for Captain Cooper. He’s still MIA. I’m sorry.”

Eddie knows how much Ronnie means to her and he can see it in her eyes that the relief immediately gets overshadowed by grief. MIA in a situation like this is never good. Still, Bosko tries to swallow down the pain, masking with professionalism. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’m gonna stick around and look for him.”

However, Bobby is annoyingly perceptive sometimes, so he doesn’t agree to that immediately, instead asking: “Why are you holding yourself like that?”

“It’s nothing, bruised rib,” Bosko says, playing it off, but Eddie knows her better than that. He’s seen her get punched in the face and react the exact same way.

“Let me take a look at that,” he says, stepping closer.

“I said it’s nothing,” Bosko insists with a foul look send his way.

He sticks his chin out challengingly. She called him out on his bullshit, he’s allowed, if not required, to return the favor. “Then there’s no harm in letting me take a look at it. The sooner you let me, the sooner you can go look for Ronnie. Unless it’s more than a bruised rib?”

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses.

“So, I’m right and it is more than a bruised rib.”

“I liked you better when your head was still so stuck in your own ass that didn’t even know you were a dick, you know that, Diaz?”

“Hey, no need to get aggressive,” Bobby steps between the perceived start of their fight.

“It’s alright, Cap,” Eddie assures him, as Bobby sends him a weird look. It’s not necessarily the kind of friendship the 118 has with each other and he knows it. He just sends a smile back, before turning to Bosko and says: “I had to be honest with you, now it’s your turn.”

She looks away for a second with her jaw squared stubbornly. For a moment, Eddie thinks she isn’t going to answer, then she grits out: “Fine, it’s broken. But I’m fine. I can go on.”

“You sure?” Eddie pulls a disbelieving face. “Must be hurting like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, breathing isn't super fun,” Bosko says annoyed. “But I’m fine. You know I can take a punch.” “Well, it’s not up to him,” Bobby interrupts them again. “It’s up to me and I’m calling it. You’re out the field. USAR Command is setting up the VA hospital on Sawtelle.” He turns to Eddie. “I want you to stick with her just in case her desire to track down her Captain causes her to lose her way. I’m going to-”

“This is bullshit,” Bosko cuts him off. “You’re not my Captain. My Captain is out there somewhere and I’m not abandoning him to this disaster.”

Eddie winces at that. He knows Bobby isn’t too strict when it comes to decorum, but if she goes on like that, he’s going to have to discipline her. He’s been through that once, would not recommend it in the slightest.

However, before he can say something to soften her words for Bobby, they hear screaming coming from down the street. It’s people calling out for help.

Their little crew is the only ones in the vicinity, so Bobby lets out the big breath he’d just taken and holds up a finger to Bosko. “You’re coming with us on this, only because I don’t trust you enough to let you go by yourself and I might need Eddie’s extra set of hands. You’re going to stand there, help with the light stuff maybe, then you’re going directly to the VA hospital. Am I clear?”

He is most definitely not clear and Bosko would totally argue if there weren’t people screaming for help, but for now she just grits: “Crystal, sir.”

“Good,” Bobby nods after one intense look in her eyes, then he turns on his heel and marches to the people calling out, Bosko and Eddie right behind him.

While they walk behind him, Eddie hisses: “What the hell was that? Do you want to get suspended for insubordination?”

“Of course not, but he can’t stop me,” Bosko frowns back. “You know Ronnie is my friend, you wouldn’t let your friends be alone out here, would you?”

Eddie makes a complicated face, because he knows she’s right, but he also knows Bobby is right. It isn’t that easy. “You’re hurt,” he ends up saying. “Ronnie wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself to look for him.”

“Good thing he’s not here to say that then, so I guess we won’t know for sure, and I say he’d want me to look for him,” Bosko retorts. “What if it were Buck out there?”

“That’s a low blow,” Eddie says, not able to deny it, but still not liking it, sending a glance over to Bobby to make sure he hasn’t heard.

“But it’s true,” Bosko says. “Where is he today? He okay?”

“He’s home with Chris. Lazy day in probably and far away from all this,” Eddie says.

“Did you call them to tell them you’re okay?” Bosko asks and that’s a good point. He hasn’t spoken to Buck yet, not really, but a natural disaster is a good reason to break the habit. It could even be a first step towards coming home. Maybe this is his sign.

“I’ll call when I’m bringing you to the VA hospital.”

“Yeah, like I’m going to let you take me there,” Bosko mutters darkly.

Before Eddie can reply to that, they’ve made their way to a group of people. They’re all standing next to a fire engine or helping people down from it. Upon closer inspection, Eddie realizes it’s the fire engine of the 136. These people must have sheltered on it while the water raged around them.

Once they’re close enough, Bobby calls out: “LAFD, we’re here to help. What’s the problem? Is anyone hurt or stuck?”

“Plenty of people are hurt, but no one serious,” a woman says. “We need you to help us find this man. He saved us all. Pulled us up onto this truck when we drifted by, but he got swept away. He could be hurt.”

“Eddie here can check all of you over,” Bobby tells her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Marissa,” she answers.

“Well, Marissa, we can’t make any promises about finding your rescuer, but if you give us a description, we’ll make sure to keep an eye out for him,” Bobby says

“He’s tall, very tall, and white,” Marissa says. “Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.”

“No, you’re saying it all wrong,” another woman says. “He’s a redhead.”

“No, he’s not,” Marissa insists. “He pulled me out early, I had a good look at him.”

“Well, then you’re blind,” a man is now interjecting himself into the conversation as well. “He is definitely Hispanic.”

Marissa pulls a face. “He’s so not Hispanic.”

“Yes, he is,” the man insists.

The other woman is now picking his side as well, saying: “Yeah, you don’t have to be dark skinned to be Hispanic. You should check your stereotypes.” She turns to Bobby and says: “He’s Hispanic, his kid called him papi. He’s a tall, light skinned, redhead.”

“His hair is more a dirty blond, brownish color,” someone else says.

“No, his hair clashed with his shirt, which was red, so he’s a redhead,” the other woman says as if it is fact.

The three firefighters watch them squabbling about the rescuer’s appearance for a few seconds with confused blinks. It’s truly fascinating how normal people can act even in the face of horrifying events. They see it every day, people who are stabbed and bleeding out, but talking about the weather or complaining that the neck brace is itchy while they might be paralyzed.

Bobby, however, doesn’t have time for it, silencing the crowd as he raises his voice: “Can anyone here give us one description? Or a name? You mentioned a kid, do you still have the kid?”

“I don’t know,” the woman who first mentioned the kid says. “He fell off the truck. It’s why he dove off it again. Didn’t hesitate for a second. It was when the tide receded.” She calls out. “Did anyone see his kid?”

“Yeah, we got him here,” a voice from the back of the crowd calls back. “He managed to grab onto a windowsill a street down.”

“Bring him here,” Bobby calls back.

Eddie is focusing on wrapping the man’s hand, since he still has a job to do. They can’t look for every person, but it’s good to have descriptions of people who are out here so they can get an overview of the total victim count. Maybe give some family out there some closure.

However, he looks up when he hears a sharp intake from Bobby. That’s never a good sound and it seems even worse when he sees Bobby. He’s become white and looks sickened at what is coming towards them through the parting crowd.

He looks to what Bobby might be seeing that is horrifying him this much. It’s a short woman carrying a kid, looking to be between seven or nine. Probably eight. The kid is wearing a yellow striped shirt and brown pants, on his head is a mop full of curls and a strap to hold his glasses in place…

Horror overtakes him too as the kid starts to look more and more familiar. Thoughtlessly he abandons the man’s wound as he gets up from his squat, ignoring the “Hey!” the man lets out.

He feels like he can’t breathe as the woman softly says: “He’s looking for his papi,” before she turns the kid towards them, indeed revealing a face Eddie would usually love to see, but not in these circumstances. Never in these circumstances.

“Christopher?”

Indeed it’s Chris, who blinks more water out of his eyes, before his eyes focus on Eddie. The moment he recognizes him, his face crumbles and he cries out: “Daddy!”

People all but jump out of his way as he rushes towards the woman, realization dawning on their faces of what that must mean for the relationship between him and their rescuer. Eddie’s mind isn’t even there yet, too focused on Chris.

Eddie snatches Chris out of the woman’s arms, hugging him close to his chest as he chokes: “Oh my god, Chris.”

“Daddy,” Chris cries, clutching Eddie as tightly as he can, sobbing into his shoulder much like he’d done in the hospital, now already about four months ago.

He runs his fingers all over Chris’s body, feeling for injuries, relieved when he doesn’t find any broken ribs or other broken bones. He forces Chris’s face away from his shoulder, cupping his cheek as he feels his skull and checks his pupils. “What were you doing out here, mijo?”

“We were going to the pier to celebrate my good grade. I was sad because you weren’t going to be here and papi wanted to cheer me up,” Chris sniffles. “Then the water was gone.”

Suddenly his brain comes back online from where it had dropped off this plane of existence in the face of worrying about Chris. About his son. The description Marissa gave them of their rescuer comes back to him…

‘He’s tall, very tall, and white. Some of the debris must have hit him in the face, because he has a bruise on his eye. He’s blond.’

Buck.

Oh god, Buck.

Eddie maneuvers Chris onto his hip with practiced ease, numb hands fumbling for his phone as he unlocks it and goes to his gallery. Without Buck there, he takes even less photos than he normally would, so his recent pictures all still have Buck in them.

He clicks one blindly and turns the screen back to the other woman – he still hasn’t heard her name and he doesn’t care much either – as he desperately asks: “Is this- Is this him? Is this the man that pulled you out?”

“Y- Yeah, yeah, that’s him,” she stammers, slightly overwhelmed by his intensity.

No.

Just no.

A minute ago, Buck was far from this and at home. He was safe. Now he’s somewhere out here in this hellhole, probably alone, maybe even injured and definitely not back to full strength yet, no matter how far he’s come with his PT.

Buck was out here to cheer Chris up, because Eddie hasn’t been home. If he’d only gone home, then they would be there now. Safe. Now, he has a scared Chris in his arms and Buck is missing. He is missing. And Eddie might never get to see him again.

It’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe and his whole world falls apart around him. He is supposed to find a way to come home. He’s supposed to come home to Buck, he can’t be out here. He can’t be injured or worse. He hoped this disaster was a sign to come home, not a sign that he’s losing it all before he can even try to fix it.

Eddie has to find him. He has to find him right now. Bosko’s hypothetical from earlier is reality and Eddie knows now better than before that she was right. He will do anything to make sure Buck is okay. That he is found.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he spins around to the source. It’s Bobby, giving him a concerned and sympathetic look, his own heartbreak and fear mirrored on the Captain’s face.

“It’s Buck,” he finally manages. “Buck is out there.”

“And we’ll find him,” Bobby assures him. “But you’re too close to this now, Eddie. We both know that. You’re compromised. Take Bosko to the VA hospital and help out there. You can’t be out on the field anymore either.”

~~

A/N:

TSUNAMI ARC! TSUNAMI ARC! I am so fucking thrilled to be here, I’ve been wanting to write an AU of that arc for so long now, so I’m gonna go hog wild! (Also place your bets now people, is Eddie gonna listen to Bobby)

[paperclip-skz]

Hyunjin's Love and Leashes ( part 4 ) Office Blowout

fem*Reader x Hyunjin

*WARNING*

WC: 2.9k

Contains: mentions of sexual content, and BDSM references, second hand embarrassment, this is going to be a lot of parts and little parts to it (there is a cliffhanger at the end)

Also note: This story is HEAVLY influenced by the Netflix movie Love and Leashes. This is just "my" version of it, you could say. I am writing to write and I recommend you watch Love and Leashes. *** This is not an original idea, this IS INSPIRED BY A MOVIE/ANIME**

****

part 1 part 2 part 3

***

Month 2

2 months before the contract ends

In the weeks that followed, you let your imagination run wild with every session. 

You continued your research to be more prepared, which led you to the candles you found online. They were safe and specifically designed for burning on the skin. 

You booked another room in another hotel and let him rest in the grand bathtub in the bathroom. Lit candles were placed around every corner, lighting the room dimly as Hyunjin rested peacefully. He let his whole body relax, his eyes closed, and his heart steady. You walked over with your special candle in hand and traced your finger down the spine of his back. His muscles contracted in anticipation, but when the first droplet of melted wax hit his skin, his back reacted like clouds, creating a storm. His hushed moans filled the air as you painted his skin.

Then, the following week, you decided that sensory play was the best play you both shared. You gathered objects that made his skin crawl with goosebumps. 

Ever since your last “session,” the only thing tying you two together besides work has been stolen glances and hidden commands.

You would hide commands at work, ensuring Hyunjin understood who was in control, even outside the playpen.

“Hyunjin, go grab me the schedule from my desk,” you would say, something completely hidden from everyone else, but the second you made any sort of demand, Hyunjin would sit up straight, a beautiful blush spreading across his cheeks. 

You could tell when he thought of that night, the night he traced his lips across your bare skin. You couldn’t deny that you thought of it, too,  almost every night. You could feel the faintness of his lips; you could imagine the hunger in his eyes…

“Y/N?” you snap back to the presentation before you. 

“Yes,” you say, clearly trying to act unbothered. 

“Umm, anyways, as I was saying,” the presentation continues, and you can hear Hyunjin smirk beside you. His cheeks are the faintest bit of pink, but his smile is mischievous. 

As the presentation goes on, you slowly lose interest. As words drag and sentences seem endless, you wonder when this meeting will end and how long you really have to be here. 

Hyunjin coughs beside you, and you immediately turn your head to look at him. That’s when you notice he’s wearing the glasses you gave him. He seems unbothered and oblivious, as if his body embodies calmness. However, when he adjusts his glasses slightly, his eyes glance toward you, almost as if he’s sending you a hidden message…and you understand instantly.

If anything has taught you about Hyunjin in the past few days and…sessions, it’s taught you how to read him. The difference lies in when he wants attention and when he wants to be dominated. Your spine straightens, and a devilish smirk spreads across your lips.

The presentation soon ends, but you have one last comment: “Thank you for these notes; I’ll get right on them, but I need to discuss something with Mr. Hwang. May we have the room, please?” You ask politely. As each member of your team begins to leave, everyone seems none the wiser. 

****************

He can’t explain why he did what he did. You both agreed that even when he needed your dominance in the workplace, it wouldn’t interrupt a meeting of any kind. So why did he give you the signal?  

Maybe because he was addicted to you, ever since that session where he grazed your skin, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And not just what other parts of your body he could graze, but just you. The way you scrunched your nose when you had a good meal. Or the way your laugh left your lips like a summer breeze. Or just your confidence in everything you did. He was falling, and he was falling fast. 

Once the last member of your team leaves, Hyunjin watches as you crane your head back to him with a wicked smile. “What did you need, pretty boy?” 

He’ll never admit it, but he secretly loves it when you call him that. Such a praising nickname said in such a degrading way; it made the tent in his pants tighten. “Y-you,” he stumbles. 

“Here?” you ask, still smiling. 

He nods his head, already at a loss for words. “Tsk tsk tsk,” you shake your head in mock disappointment, “when anyone could see you.” He didn’t miss the fact you said ‘you.’ Almost acting like you didn’t care to get caught, only thinking about his position in all this, his embarrassment. Why did that make his body want to sing? Want to explode with pent-up tension….. It was official: you were going to kill him, and he was going to have a big fat smile on his face when he died. 

“Answer me,” you demanded. 

He flinched at your sudden tone and stumbled out a shaky “yes.” 

He can see a flicker in your eyes, but you keep your confidence. 

“Be here after work. I need to teach you a lesson,” you say in the most addictive voice he thinks he’s ever heard. 

****( 4 hours later )

You made him flinch. You’ve never seen him flinch like that. Was your tone too strong? Maybe you shouldn’t have been so direct with him….

No. He asked for you to be direct and practically control him. Besides, if he were really scared, he would have said so. 

Still, doubts cloud your mind as your and everyone’s shifts come to an end. “Hey,” one of your coworkers pokes their head in through your office door, “me and some others are going for drinks afterward. Wanna come?” 

“Nah, can’t,” you say. “Already got plans,” you smile kindly. If they only knew your ‘plans’ included something much more sinister. 

They nodded out the door and headed for the elevators, where the last of your team had separated. You had told Hyunjin to return to the meeting room after work, so when you walked in and saw Hyunjin sitting in the same chair in the same spot as before, you weren’t surprised.

You walk into the meeting room, your body in a rush of warmth. 

*********

“You needed me. In the middle of a meeting. Why?” Your voice is cold, cold as ice that pierces the silence of the room. 

His eyes can’t meet yours. He’s so ashamed of his thoughts he can’t bear to look at you. “Why!” you raise your voice slightly, and he snaps his eyes to yours. 

“I-I—” he stutters. How does he explain? He simply can’t. If he did, he would say that he is helplessly falling in love with the woman he asked to be his dominant, but the thought alone makes his stomach turn. 

“You what?” you say, your brows pulling in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he’s defeated. Words are lost, and his head hangs low. “I- I don’t know what came over me. I got jealous and needy and I don’t know. I’m sorry.”  

A pause. A breath of silence fills the air, his words hanging like bait. “Take off your belt.” Blood rushes to his ears, his whole face red and heated. 

“Wha-”

“Do you trust me?” Your voice drips like honey, smooth and enticing.

“Yes,” he breathes, a hint of anticipation in his tone. Deliberately, he removes his belt, the leather sliding through the hoops of his dress pants with a tantalizing slowness. You snatch the thick material from his hands, your fingers brushing against his skin as you stretch it across your palm.

“Stand there,” you command, pointing to the edge of the table, your eyes locking onto his.

Hyunjin moves to obey, leaning against the table with his palms gripping the edge. He casts a quick glance at you, catching the sight of your wet lips and the frantic spark in your eyes, but your posture remains unwavering.

The air thickens with tension, and a heartbeat of silence extends before you raise the belt high above your head. You bring it down against the table with a swift motion, the crack echoing like a thunderclap. He flinches, the sound electrifying, igniting a thrilling rush that races down his spine. It's a feeling he never knew he craved, each sharp sound pulling him deeper into the moment, hungry for the next taste of exhilaration.

“Was that so bad?” your voice lingers in the air, wrapping around him like silk. His chest rises and falls with heavy, intoxicating breaths.

His gaze locks onto yours, and you find yourself holding your breath. The vibrant spark in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a smoldering darkness that sends a shiver down your spine and ignites something deep within.

Hyunjin straightens, a predatory grace in his movements, his knuckles gripping the edge of the table, white with need. “Do it again,” he whispers, each word dripping with desire.

He sits there. And he takes his punishment, letting the slash of his belt pierce the air from how you hit it on the counter. It makes him flinch, but it also sends a wave of electricity through his body, something he can’t describe, something he’s never felt before. 

He’s never trusted anyone so much in his life. Someone he would trust not to hurt him but tiptoe just above the edge of pain. 

“Do you really think I would do this to just anyone?” you scream. 

And then you stop. The chilling air freezes in place, and the silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife. You take a careful step towards him. He shuts his eyes so tightly that tears begin to build, but he refuses to let them fall, not yet. 

He can hear your body shuffle, and then a delicate hand is placed on his cheek. He keeps his eyes closed but leans into the touch, grazing his rosy cheeks. And that is when he feels it. Plush lips pressing against his in a kiss he can barely register. It's so soft he can barely feel it. You were so gentle that he almost didn’t kiss you back. 

He struggles to let go of the table, but his body stays still, unwilling to reach for you. Instead, his lips press forward, seeking a deeper kiss. He pours his heart and soul into every movement, and tears stream down his cheeks. You gently bring him closer, resting your forehead against his while your thumbs tenderly wipe away his tears.

The belt was long forgotten on the ground. You both stay their in silence, Hyunjin studying every breath you release, roses. He smelt those same roses. His eyes closed as he breathed deeply, his lungs swelled with that familiar smell and a smile danced along his lips. “Are you okay?” you said. Your voice shaky, that recent dominate tone gone and forgotten and replaced by something gentle, careful.

“So much better than okay” he replies, his hands finally leaving the edge of the table and grabbing hold of your waist. 

“Don’t worry I just left it in here” a voice call out beyond the meeting room door. 

Both you and Hyunjin’s eyes snap to the door…. Shit.

*****

Shit. Shit .Shit. 

No one. No one can see you like this. Panic courses through your veins like ice water, and every heartbeat feels like a silent drumroll of dread pounding against your ribcage. Hyunjin, ever perceptive, mirrors the raw panic etched across your face, his eyes wide and glistening with fear.

Footsteps thud ominously behind the door, each echo reverberating through the air like a countdown to impending doom. Your breath hitches in your throat as you sense the crushing weight of your situation pressing down on you. It’s only moments before the jingle of the doorknob slices through the tense silence, a chilling prelude to what’s about to unfold. “What do we do?” Hyunjin whispers, his voice trembling with pure horror.

Your lips part in a silent gasp, and your eyes widen as they dart around the cramped room, searching for a way out that isn’t there. The air is heavy and suffocating, thick with the scent of fear and desperation. Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach when the doorknob rattles, sending a fresh wave of panic surging through you. In a frantic rush, you grab the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt, pulling him down toward the cold, unforgiving floor. You collapse with him, your pulse racing like a wild drum.

“Ah, here it is,” a voice calls from just beyond the door, dripping with malice. Instinctively, you bite down hard on your lip to suppress a whimper, and with a surge of urgency, you slam your hand over Hyunjin’s mouth, stifling any sound that could betray your hiding place.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” the voice continues, each word sending icy tendrils of fear spiraling through you. You hear the door click shut, sealing off the fleeting moment of hope. In that instant, the tension in the room is palpable. Both of you release a shuddering breath, but the momentary relief is short-lived as reality crashes back in. 

Memories race to the front of your mind like a gun shooting into the abyss. You brace yourself on your hands above Hyunjin. His cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, but no matter how delicate he looks, no matter how badly you want to feel his lips against yours again. This has all gone far enough. You get up quickly, heart racing as you straighten your outfit and smooth down your hair. Hyunjin mirrors you, but he’s a mess—his outfit is disheveled, his hair tousled, and the worry in his eyes is palpable. He’s terrified you’ll leave, and it grips you.

“I should go. It’s getting late,” you say, avoiding his gaze, the weight of his stare making it hard to breathe.

“Wait, please,” he pleads, reaching for your arm, but you’re already striding toward the door. Each echo of your heels feels like a countdown.

“Y/N, please,” he calls out, urgency lacing his voice.

You hit the elevator button, keeping your eyes fixed forward. You might lose your resolve completely if you dare meet those crystalline eyes again.

“Y/N, look at me, please.” His voice is laced with desperation, tearing at your heart. “Tell me that kiss didn’t scare you away.”

The elevator dings open, and you step inside, spinning around to press the button that seals you both in this small space. Hyunjin slips in right after you, and for a split second, you notice how out of place his tie is and how ruffled his shirt looks. It sends a jolt through you—a mix of desire and fear twisting in your belly.

As the doors close, he stands so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him. “Y/N…” His breathy voice calls to you, normally a melody you’d savor, but now it feels like a siren’s song pulling you deeper into chaos. You both crossed a line, and that knowledge is suffocating. The contract may have left room for this kind of touch, but your own mental barriers were supposed to keep you safe from this kind of connection. 

“This is too dangerous; too much is at risk,” you think, panic gripping you. “Goddamn it, Y/N!” he suddenly exclaims, slamming the emergency stop button, bringing the elevator to an abrupt halt. He grabs your wrist, spinning you around until your back hits the wall, his arms pinning your wrists above your head.

The gasp escapes your lips, sharp and raw—so loud it could shatter glass. The roles reversed have your head spinning out of control. 

“Will you please look at me?” You can’t look away. You're stunned to silence. Your chest is heaving. 

“You- your,” he stumbles. His eyes are frantic, searching yours for something, anything that screams he crossed the line, but he doesn’t see it. He only sees a cocktail of lust and shock.

“I’m being dominated,” you let out in a whisper. You both giggle, but he makes no move to remove your wrists. Hyunjin’s eyes dart to your lips and up to your eyes quickly. 

“Tell me that kiss didn’t scare you away,” his voice low to your ear, but his eyes hold an intensity that makes your heart swell. “It didn’t scare me,” you manage to reply, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. “I just—” The rest falters on your lips, caught in the heat of the moment. You glance up at the ceiling, seeking answers in the shadows above, but nothing comes. Biting your lip, you feel the thrill of vulnerability as you expose your neck, a silent invitation that hangs between you.

As if something urged him, Hyunjin leans forward. His lips smother your neck, and his teeth and tongue dance across your skin. A moan escapes you. Never would you have imagined Hyunjijn taking control in a situation like this. Taking the initiative like he would on any given day, but not with you. He always reserved his commanding side for the office, leaving the gentle, submissive side to you. 

This was different. His kisses felt desperate and needed as if he were communicating a secret message with every kiss. 

In that moment, you don’t think or want to think. All you crave is to feel—every desperate swipe of his tongue, every pleading caress of his lips. 

“Hyunjin,” you gasp, and for a fleeting second, his confidence wavers. He pulls away, his eyes shimmering with uncertainty. 

“Don’t leave,” he pleads, his voice thick with urgency. Those two words crumble your last defenses, unleashing a torrent of emotions that threaten to drown you, plunging you into a chaos you know is dangerous. 

“I won’t,” you promise, though your heart races with fear and longing. 

His smile is a lifeline, reaching his ears as he crashes his lips against yours, sealing this moment in desperation. “Come with me,” he urges, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Come home with me.”

….