#this whole team is so soft and these two are no exception

[i05wook]

Pika Pika Please - Murata Fuma

summary: taking your boyfriend on a surprise trip to his favourite place...the pokémon centre

genre: fluff

warnings: none

pairing: &team fuma x reader

wc: 1.3k

a/n: happy birthday to our sub-leader and hero, fuma!! can't believe i got to see you perform live twice here in japan♡ being in japan has helped me remember just how much i love my &teamies and hopefully i'll be writing more them soon. also the pictures (except fuma) are mine that i took at one of the pokemon centre here in japan.

also a huge thank you to @hyuukais and @astrae4 for beta reading this!

The late June sun beat down on the busy streets of Tokyo as people went about their day, parasols and iced coffees in hand.

With temperatures of 33°C expected for the whole week, spending the day outside wasn’t exactly ideal. However, today was special—both you and your boyfriend, Fuma, were finally in Tokyo with a rare day off together. 

His birthday was at the end of the week. You’d already bought his presents, but you still wanted to treat him to something a little more personal—something that would make him smile. So, you decided on one of his favourite things in the world: Pokémon.

Sure, there were shops all over Tokyo that sold Pokémon merchandise, but nothing quite compared to the Pokémon Centres. Bright, colourful, and packed with every kind of merch imaginable, they were like stepping into another world.

The walls were lined with plushies of all sizes, from palm-sized Pikachus to life-sized Oshawotts. Shelves overflowed with boxes of trading cards, and statues of fan-favourite Pokémon greeted visitors at every corner. You could find everything from snacks and stationery to posters and accessories. For the average fan, it was paradise. For Fuma? It was heaven on earth.

You could spend hours there together, always stumbling across something new or adorable to take home. Your shared apartment was proof of it—the spare room had slowly evolved into a Pokémon shrine. His card collection took up most of the desk space, plushies were stacked neatly on the shelves, and above the guest bed hung a framed poster of all the Eeveelutions. It made him happy—and seeing that always made you happy, too.

————————

“Babe, fancy a little outing today? Just a few quick stops I need to go, and I’ll even grab us a treat on the way home,” you called out to your boyfriend from your bedroom, as he sat at the breakfast bar eating his breakfast. 

“Sure—as long as we can get coffee first,” he said, making his classic bargain as usual, a grin evident in his voice. You smiled to yourself, knowing full well he’d still tag along even without the caffeine bribe.

Agreeing to his usual caffeine bribe, you left your boyfriend in charge of ordering the coffee while you finished getting ready. Once it arrived—an iced caramel Frappuccino and a matcha latte—you were both armed and ready to tackle the long list of errands ahead. 

Operation errands was a go!

The first of many stops was the post office, where you had to return an impulsive online order—one that seemed like a good idea at the time, but soon realised it was, in fact, not. After a surprisingly short wait, the parcel was on its way. No errand run felt complete without a quick stop at the drugstore to restock sunscreen and lip balm—and maybe splurge a little on a new hair treatment. 

With the first two errands already complete, it was time to make your way to the subway station in order to head to the mall to run your bigger errands. 

The metro was quiet for the time of day, most people at work or school, which meant that it was easy to find two seats next to each other. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the quiet train, Fuma pulled out his earphones and placed one gently into your ear before slipping the other into his. Soft music began to play, wrapping the two of you in your own little world as you let your head rest on his shoulder. There was something deeply serene about sharing music in a nearly silent train, travelling through the busy city. 

————————

Ikea was the next stop on the list of errands. While Ikea was typically where you bought larger furniture from, today shopping consisted of small items only. You needed to buy some more dish towels because someone — Fuma — burnt the last good ones trying to boil pasta. No knows how he managed it, but you’d long stopped questioning these things. You also loved to buy candles from Ikea, however the last time you were there, you couldn’t decide what candle you wanted so you had to bring Fuma to help.

Ikea shopping trips could last anywhere between 20 minutes to 2 hours. Some days you both had to try out all of the beds while others, you were on a mission to get what you needed and leave. Today was in the middle. While you didn't spend time trying out all of the beds, you spent a reasonable amount of time just smelling the different scented candles. Fuma was set on wanting the meatball scented candle, and while funny,  not a scent you wanted in your apartment. However, Fuma said that the bergamot candle you wanted gave him a headache. The pair of you continued to argue over the scent until you both reached for the same lilac candle in a clear glass jar—the colour of wisteria. As soon as you both smelt the candle, you made eye contact and started hitting him lightly on the shoulder. 

“This is the same smell as the candle we lit that one night I stayed at yours and there was a power cut,” you rushed out excitedly. 

“What? The night in which we played uno by candle light, and you decided to commentate the whole game like it was Formula One?” 

It was a moment early into your relationship with Fuma. That night, between laughter and flickering candlelight, something inside you shifted. You knew—without question—that you loved this man with your whole heart. No one else had joined in with such antics before Fuma, but he gave back the same energy as you, commentating on his next moves. Both of you rolling on the floor with laughter by the end of the game. 

“Let’s get that one then, shall we babe?” Fuma said, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, placing the candle into the bag and guiding you through the rest of the aisles. 

————————

It was finally time for the day’s big event. Somehow, Fuma still hadn’t realized you were heading towards his favorite place. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner and faced the store’s entrance that it finally clicked. He glanced at you, and with a silent nod from your side, he practically dragged you inside.

Like a child in a candy shop, his grin stretched from ear to ear as he wandered from shelf to shelf. You quietly grabbed a basket and followed him, watching with a smile as your six-foot-tall boyfriend darted around the Pokémon Center, clearly unsure what to choose. But one thing was certain—he wanted matching plushies. Pikachu and Eevee. When he stopped in front of the plush wall and picked up the two, he looked at you with wide, pleading eyes, silently asking if he could buy them for you. Without a word, you nudged your basket toward him, giving him the go-ahead. He kissed the top of your head as he placed the plushies inside, barely able to hide his excitement.

He made a beeline for the snacks section, scooping up his favourites and waiting for you to catch up with the basket. Once you did, he dropped everything in with practiced ease and headed straight for the Pokémon card shelves, eager to grab the newly released packs. Without hesitation, he bundled about ten into the basket—clearly no time for decision-making—and marched toward his final stop: the stickers.

Every visit, he picked out a new one—Snorlax, Pikachu, Ditto—tucking it into the back of his phone case so he could swap them out whenever the mood struck. Today, he grabbed two Ditto stickers: one for him, one for you. He always liked when your phone cases matched, even in the smallest ways.

After dropping them into the basket, he took it from your hands and tugged you toward the cashier. “If I stay any longer,” he said, eyes wide with faux panic, “I’m buying the whole store.” Leaving the store, two bags in hand, he wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

 “Thank you for today darling.”

[mo-ok]

What's a Red without their Blue?

Dengeki Sentai Changeman

Hiryu Tsurugi & Yuma Ozora

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Giving the nerd a chance

tags: nerd!nanami/fem!reader, college!au, stsg, nsfw, dirty talk, asphyxiation, size kink, mdni!!

a/n: this one’s a long one :) pace yourself and enjoy!

Kento Nanami is a social enigma. He is a total outlier but in the weirdest way possible.

This man is conventionally attractive. Some would even go as far to say Nanami’s handsome, almost in a filthy way. His looks are sneaky too. He’s not someone you’d immediately notice in a room, but once you did…

You would notice his sculpted jaw line first. Then, his naturally high cheekbones that gave way to his soft hazel eyes. He had a serious look on his face always, but his eyes told a different story. Maybe you’d notice his blonde hair that sat neatly on his head, styled with an undercut. Yeah, Nanami was fucking hot.

But that’s not the weird part. No, you haven’t heard him utter a single word except to answer the professor’s unanswered questions once the silence was unbearable.

That’s not exactly weird either. There are tons of people who go through college without the intention of making friends… but Nanami has friends. He doesn’t just have like one friend. No, he’s apart of a friend group.

The weirdest part was he seemed to be close with the most popular guy in your university, star quarterback Satoru Gojo. Gojo was seemingly every college girl’s wet dream. He’s the type to stand out in a room. His looks and personality demand attention.

He’s the complete opposite from Nanami.

Then, there was Suguru Geto… Geto was also a strange friend for Nanami to have. Geto was smart, funny, and well-mannered… when he was in class. But you’ve seen how Geto acts at parties. He smokes cigarettes, shotguns whiskey, and keeps up with all of Gojo’s antics. Shoko was the exact same way, except she didn’t care enough to keep up with Gojo’s buffoonery.

They were the complete opposite from Nanami as well.

Yu Haibara was a cutie patootie. He’s also a sweet social butterfly. Another one of Nanami’s friends that just didn’t seem to be his type.

You caught yourself staring at the friend group as you’re sitting on a couch at a frat house. Your college team just won the game, so Satoru had invited a whole slew of people over. You somehow made it on that list. Your friend, Utahime, is begging you to leave, but something is telling you to stay.

“Go on without me, Uta. I’ll be fine, promise.” You say over the music as you flash her a small smile to assure her.

“I really, really, really don’t want to leave you here alone, yn. I don’t want you to end up on the front page of the news.”

“Don’t wish that shit upon me.” You laugh as you gently nudge her arm, urging her towards the door.

“I’m serious, yn. Please text me. If you’re not back in the dorm by midnight, I’m calling the cops.” She says as she grabs your shoulders, forcing you to face her directly.

You admire your friend’s caring demeanor, but she was being a total cock block for you right now.

“I will text you. I promise.” You assure her once again. “Go back to the dorm. Love you.”

She sighs deeply as she lets you go. She’s still not comfortable with the idea of leaving you here, but she can’t force you to leave. “Love you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m gonna do.” You smirk as she flips you off and leaves the frat house.

You take a drink from your red solo cup to gather your nerves. Nanami has been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all night. He’s alone, but he doesn’t look lonely. Sometimes, Satoru will drunkenly slouch his weight onto the blonde and slur something inaudible to him. From what you can see, Nanami just rolls his eyes and shrugs his friend off his shoulders.

You want to approach him, but you’re still too afraid he won’t talk to you. As you sit down your cup, an intoxicated Satoru is standing over you.

“I’m sorry- I don’t remember your name.” He gives you a slanted smile as he crouches down a bit so you two are face-to-face.

“That’s okay. I don’t remember yours either.” You snip back with a small grin. Something sparkles in his eyes as you give him a little bit of a challenge. He finds it to be endearing.

“Cheeky. Give me your number.” He demands, keeping his smirk on his face.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“Because it’s not for me.” He slurs as he leans in close to you. He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m doing this for my pussy friend over there.”

Your eyes dart towards Nanami. His eyes are glaring holes into Satoru with more anger and emotion than you’ve ever seen from him. Your stomach swirls with butterflies.

“That is a really good reason.” You murmur as you quickly type your number into Satoru’s phone.

*** *** ***

It had been days since the frat party and not a single word from Nanami. Your excitement had honestly fizzled out into sulking. Were you not good enough for him? Did Satoru lie? Was it all a sick prank?

Not even Utahime could get you in a good mood.

“Yn. This is so ridiculous. If you like him that much, just go up and talk to him.” She chides

“Noooo.” You groan into your pillow as you turn onto your stomach in your bed. “He’s too cool. Out of my league.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Kento Nanami? The nerd who barely ever talks? The know-it-all in class?”

“Utahimeee.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Let me wallow in my self pity.” You gripe before you hear your phone buzz. The sound of your phone notifying you doesn’t even excite you anymore. It’s always some lame ass notification.

Unknown Number: Is this yn?

Your eyes widen as you stare at your phone in disbelief. Your body involuntarily sits up in bed, startling Utahime.

“Jesus Christ. What? What happened?”

“He texted me!” You beam proudly. You are embarrassing. Utahime scoffs and walks away from you, unable to take the second-hand embarrassment.

Yn: Yeah, that’s me :)

Unknown Number: This is Kento Nanami. I’m sorry Gojo felt the need to disturb you at the party. 

Yn: No need! He didn’t disturb me too much.

Nanami: That’s good to hear.

God. Now, what do you say? Of course Nanami is a dry texter. You stare at the text conversation for a while, trying to think of something.. anything to break the ice.

Yn: Did you ask him to get my number, or did he do that on his own volition?

Nanami: Gojo does things on his own volition.

Yn: Ah.. I see.

He left you on read.

Goddammit.

You had your chance, and now, you blew it. Sighing, you lock your phone and try to forget he even ever texted you in the first place.

*** *** ***

I mean, who even needs Nanami? He’s really not even that handsome or mysterious. You keep telling yourself as you get ready to go to another party Gojo invited you too.

Oh, also, Gojo kept your number for himself as well. He mostly asked to copy your notes when Nanami refused to let him copy his notes. He would also send the occasional invitation to one of his signature parties.

This one was apparently labeled as “exclusive”. You had no idea what that meant, but you weren’t allowed to bring a plus-one this time.

Luckily for you, Utahime was visiting back home for the weekend, so she couldn’t scold you for going out to another party this weekend.

Black eyeliner was smeared across your waterline, and you puckered your lips as you carefully applied some sheer gloss. You decided to be casual with your outfit, wearing a basic off-shoulder black top with some jeans.

As soon as you got to the frat house, you quickly understood what “exclusive” meant. It was only their closest friends in the house. Satoru and Haibara were on the couch, lounging. Suguru and Shoko were sitting by the window, sharing a cigarette. Nanami was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking as stoic as ever. Immediately, you were grateful for going with a more casual look.

“Yn! So glad you made it!” Satoru grinned in a more sober voice than the last time you spoke with him.

“Am I imposing on something?” You ask as you close the door.

“Of course not, silly. I sent you an invite for a reason.” Satoru says casually as he pats the spot between him and Haibara on the couch. “Come have a seat. Get comfortable. We’re just hanging out tonight.”

You stare at the seat between Gojo and Haibara, and you decide to sit in the open chair next to them instead.

“Afraid that we might bite?” Gojo grins as he leans over the arm of the chair towards you.

“Stop it, Satoru. You’re going to scare her away.” Shoko scolds before taking a drag off her cigarette.

Your phone gently buzzes in your pocket as Satoru and Shoko begin to bicker about his social skills. You sneakily check your phone.

Nanami: You look pretty tonight.

OH. We are so back, baby.

Yn: Thank you :) You look as handsome as ever.

Nanami: Oh yeah?

It is so small and insignificant, but that little “oh yeah?” makes your stomach flutter with excitement.

“Yn?” You snap your attention up to Shoko and realize she has been trying to talk to you.

“Shit- sorry. What’s up?”

Your phone lightly buzzes again, and you quickly glance down to check.

Nanami: You’re blushing.

“I was asking what your major is.” Shoko smiles calmly as she’s sat upon the windowsill. She flicks her cigarette outside before blowing out a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore how your heart is skipping beats right now.

“Oh, I’m just in general studies right now. I’m kind of indecisive. What about you?”

“I’m pre-med right now.” Shoko answers.

“I thought you swapped to nursing.” Haibara asks as he shifts his body to face her. The two start conversing together, giving you a chance to check your phone.

Nanami: Are you ill, or do my words just affect you that much?

Yn: I’m actually ill.

Nanami: You’re also apparently a liar, sweetheart.

How the fuck was this man so bold over text, but wouldn’t speak to hardly anyone in person?

Yn: Sweetheart? I didn’t know we were on that sort of level yet.

Nanami: Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yn: No

Nanami: Good. Then don’t complain.

The throb your cunt just did should’ve been illegal. There was no reason for you to be so turned on by that, but you were.

Yn: What would you have done had I said that it did make me uncomfortable?

Nanami: I would’ve found you a nickname you were more comfortable with.

He was being sweet, and you were over there clenching around nothing like a whore.

You had been so caught up in your phone that you didn’t realize Yu had went and gotten everyone a beer out of the fridge. You decide to risk a glance at Nanami. He looked calm and composed. You wondered if he even knew the effect he had on you truly.

“Shoko, when are you finally going to get some bitches?” Satoru asks with a laugh. Your eyes widen as you notice Suguru is on his lap now. You had really been so distracted by your phone…

“At this rate, I think Nanami will beat me.” Shoko laughed as she took a drink of her beer. You shift slightly in your seat as Shoko cuts her eyes towards you with a small grin.

Nanami: I will

Yn: Will what?

Nanami: I will beat her.

Yn: Confident or competitive?

Nanami: Both.

Yn: You didn’t strike me as the type.

Nanami: You don’t think I can do it?

Yn: I never said that.

Nanami lays his phone on his lap, and you can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body. Feeling your heart skip a beat, you decide to look up at him. Your breath hitches in your throat as you glance over him. He looks relaxed. His head is propped up in his hand, and he’s almost giving you a lazy smile.

Knowing more about Nanami, you recognize it as a cocky smile now.

The rest of the “party” goes without a hitch. You decided it was time to leave once Suguru and Satoru were obnoxiously making out, Shoko was asleep on the floor, and Haibara wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the intricacies of anime.

“I’m gonna head back to my dorm now. Thanks for inviting me.” You say quickly as you stand from your seat.

“Hey yn-!” Satoru says as he tugs from Suguru’s lips. The dark-haired male made quick work of moving down to his neck. “Thanks for coming. You should come out here more often.”

“Oh um, I’ll think about it.” You smile politely as you head out the front door. The cold night air nips at your skin. The only light was from the moon high up in the sky. The dorms were a few blocks away.

You never like walking alone at night, but you try to remember that college campuses have security patrolling at all times. Taking a deep shaky breath, you step off the porch.

The sound of the door closing again immediately startles you. You quickly flinch and look towards the frat house. Nanami was calming walking up to you.

“Let me walk you back.” His voice was calm and steady, just like his presence. He really wasn’t phased at all by your subtle flirting earlier?

“Thanks.. I was actually kinda scared.” You mumble as you two walk side by side on the pavement. Your arms hug your body, trying to hide from the snippy air.

“Why didn’t you ask one of us to walk you home then?” Nanami asks as he slips his coat off from his shoulders. He then loosely drapes it over your shoulders. You feel your heart skip a beat as you mumble a quick thanks. Your body snuggled into his coat as it swallowed your frame whole. It was the first time you realized… Nanami is a big man. He’s not just some scrawny nerd. He’s actually pretty well built.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” You answer quietly, noticing how Nanami shoves his hands into his pockets while you two walk.

“That’s foolish. We invited you. The least we could do is make sure you make it home safely.”

“We?”

Nanami goes silent, and he looks away from your shorter self. The wind blows harshly, making the leaves crinkle and hiss on the trees.

“Yes, we.” He finally answers your question. You smile softly as you look down towards the ground. It seems like Satoru wasn’t the only one who wanted you around.

Standing in front of your dorm door, you slowly slip the coat off from around your shoulders and try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want it.” He answers calmly, making no effort to take the jacket back from you.

“It’s yours, silly.”

“And?”

“Take it.” You gestured the coat to him once more

“No, I want you to have it.” He says as he towers over you. You subconsciously take a step back to create space, and your back hits the door. He leans over you, having to angle his back to see eye-to-eye with you. You can feel his warm breath ghosting over your cheek as he cocks his head towards your ear and neck. “Text me.” He murmurs lowly before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You were left against your door blushing madly as he casually sauntered away.

*** *** ***

You almost think you dreamt that kiss up come Monday morning. You hadn’t texted him all weekend, not even knowing what to say. You felt scared about messing things up and taking his advances the wrong way. He hadn’t reached out to you either.

You were sitting in Neurology, half-ass paying attention as the professor lectured about neuron pruning. Nanami sat a few rows over. He always appeared to he intently listening when you glance over at him. You perk up as you feel your phone buzz on your thigh.

Nanami: You’re not going to do well if you don’t pay attention.

Yn: I could say the same for you.

Nanami: Could you?

Yn: …. point taken

Nanami: You know, you could’ve at least texted me if you didn’t like the kiss.

Yn: Who said I didn’t?

Nanami: So, you disobey my request for fun?

Yn: Disobey is such a strong word. You told me to text you, and I just.. haven’t yet.

Nanami: We’ll come back to the disobedience topic. Why haven’t you texted me “yet”?

Yn: Nervous.

Nanami: You’re adorable. What’s there to be nervous about?

“Can anyone name an example of synaptic pruning?” The professor’s sudden loud voice catches you off guard. You hadn’t been paying attention at all, and you feel your heart start to race at the thought of being randomly called upon.

“Anyone?” The professor asks once again. “Yn-“ She almost says your first name before Nanami interrupts.

“Crown thinning.” He answers the question, saving you from total embarrassment.

“Very good. Thank you, Kento.” The professor praises as she turns back around to start lecturing from the powerpoint again.

Yn: You totally just saved me.

Nanami: Pay better attention.

Yn: Then stop texting me.

Nanami: No.

Nanami: Answer my question. Why were you nervous?

Yn: I just didn’t want to say the wrong things.

Nanami: You’re hopeless.

Yn: You’re starting to sound like Utahime :(

Nanami: Will you coo to me that you love me if I act like her?

You feel your heart start to race as you read his text over and over. He was way more observant than you gave him credit for. You couldn’t even think of a time where you told Uta that you loved her in front of him.

Yn: Is that what you want?

Nanami: That does sound nice. Though, I think I’d rather hear you breathlessly professing your love to me.

oh…

oh.

You sat your phone down. No way were you going to let some simple words over a screen let you get horny in class. You didn’t dare to glance in his direction as you suddenly decided to start paying attention and taking detailed notes on Neurology.

Nanami: You’re blushing again.

Damn him and his observant personality. Damn him and his filthy words that make you squeeze your thighs together to soothe the ache.

Yn: I’m well aware.

Nanami: It’s cute. Makes me want to say more things just to get a reaction out of you.

Yn: Please don’t

Nanami: Why? Scared you might like it?

Nanami: Scared you might like the thought of being beneath me, begging for more?

Jesus. There was no misinterpreting that. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared down at your phone, rereading his message over and over. It painted a picture in your brain.

Yn: As if you could make me do that.

Nanami: I can, and I will. Come over tonight.

Yn: To the frat house?

Nanami: No, to my room. I’ll tell Haibara to not come back until late.

Yn: That seems rather rude.

Nanami: It’s far better than the treatment you’ll be receiving later.

Your head feels like it’s spinning as the professor dismisses class. The rest of the day drags by painfully slow as you feel every little heartbeat and flutter in your chest. Nanami talked big game for someone who seemed too shy to really speak to you. It made you feel intrigued. How could he be so confident in his ability to make you beg?

You took your time once you were back at your dorm: going through your everything-shower routine. You wanted to make sure that every inch of you was soft and smooth just in case! It’s not like he’s actually going to make you do anything.

Knocking on his door, you feel your stomach churn with anxiety. You two seemed to be doing better at keeping up a conversation, but you were still deathly afraid of that awkward silence sinking in.

The click of the lock gains your attention, and Nanami opens the door for you. “Come in.” He says flatly, moving out of the way of the door so you can squeeze past him. He’s wearing his usual button-up shirt with black slacks on. How does this man even relax?

Of course his room is completely clean. His bed was even made military style for crying out loud. What the fuck does this man know about making women beg?

“Your room is nice.” You compliment, trying not to sound too awkward.

“It’s a room.” He shrugs nonchalantly before his eyes travel your body.

“How did you tell Haibara not to come home?” You ask, and he gives you a slightly puzzled look.

“I told him the truth.” He says as he loosens his tie from around his neck.

You swallow harshly as you watch his slender fingers pull at the fabric. His jaw is perfectly sculpted along with his neck, and his adams apple bobs as he steps towards you.

“Which is?” You reluctantly ask.

“I told him not to come home unless he planned on watching me fuck a pretty girl to tears.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you stare up at him with almost a frightened gaze. His movement feels much more predatory now as if he’s been watching you for a while, sizing you up. He had observed and stood by, waiting for the prime opportunity to pounce.

“What is it? Cat got your tongue?” Nanami asks as he steps forward again. The back of your knees hits his bed, and his smile shifts to a lopsided grin.

“No. I just…” You had no idea what to even say to that! You weren’t use to a man so confidently bolstering about his skills without sounding like a total idiot. Nanami was a rarity. He could talk the talk and walk the walk.

“No. I just..” He mocks you. “You’re awfully nervous for someone I haven’t even touched yet.” His fingers gently caress over your collarbone, before he carefully nudged you back. You tipped over and found yourself sitting on his bed, looking up at him with big round eyes.

“Christ. Have you ever even done this before?” He asks as he leans over you. His hand press down on the mattress at both of your sides, effectively trapping you beneath him.

“Yes!” You exclaim with a huffy attitude that makes him chuckle. “Have you?” You ask, trying to even the score.

“No.” He responds before closing the distance between you two. His lips press against yours and move delicately. Your eyes widen before you realize what was going on, and you slowly melt into the kiss.

Lips smack together as he takes the lead on the kiss. His hands gently cup and caress their way down your body before resting upon your hips. His knee finds it’s way between your thighs, and he applies pressure to your core.

Stifling a small whine, you entangle your fingers through his blonde hair. It’s softer than you imagined it to be. His kisses are growing more and more demanding as he’s pushing you back onto the bed more and more.

He gently bites at your lip, and he applies more pressure with his knee. As soon as you let another another small whimper, he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He’s taking complete and utter advantage over your body while you’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact he said “no”. He’s claiming to have never done this before.

His thumbs dig into your hipbones before he makes you grind against his knee.

“That’s right. Use me.” He purrs lowly, encouraging for you to keep rolling your hips. Once you found a steady rhythm, rubbing yourself against his knee like a desperate slut, he releases your hips and grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the bed.

“Ken..” You gasp out lowly, and he immediately eats up your words, forcing his lips right back upon yours.

The grinding was slowly making you feel all dizzy in the head as you slowly start to mess up your rhythm. He immediately notices your messy state. His hands leave your wrists to grab back ahold of your thighs to make sure you don’t stop. If his slacks weren’t black, he was sure there would be a small damp spot on his leg from your delicious juices.

“Hah~” You gasp as you lean your head back.

“Does that feel good?” He questions lowly before carefully nipping at your neck.

“Yes… Yes, Kento.. more..”

“Oh, what was that, darling? I didn’t hear you.” He taunts as he bites his way down your neck.

“M-more!” You whimper out as you grow impatient.

“So greedy…” He murmurs before his sucks a small hickey on your neck all while he’s still making you grind your pitiful pussy against his thigh. “Beg.”

You feel that defiant nature wanting to kick in. You were needy for him, but you weren’t to the point of begging yet.

“Did you hear me? I said beg.” He demands as he forces you down on his leg harder. Your legs tremble around him as he’s making you rock hack and forth.

“Please-“ You finally choke out against your defiant nature. “I-I.. want more, please… I need you to.. to ruin me.”

“Ruin you, hm?” He asks as his hand carefully trails upwards to your neck. He applies just a bit of pressure. “A pretty girl like you asking for me to ruin her… How could I say no?”

He removes his leg from between your leg, and he quickly replaces it with his hand. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth of your leggings. You immediately shudder from the new stimulation. You hold his gaze as he lightly chokes you.

“I think I want to see you come on my fingers first.” He says as he’s quick to shove your leggings and panties down. You gasp quietly as you look down at him. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and he has a determined look on his face. He was set on making you come with his hand.

You push your thighs together with a small whine as he gives your glistening cunt an amorous gaze. Nanami places his hands on both of your knees as he forces your legs back apart. “Now, you know why you came here. What are you running from?”

“I- … You’re looking at me like…” the words ‘like you want to eat me’ die upon your tongue. His aura is just so.. almost intimidating. Not in a scary way, just in a he’s-not-here-to-play way.

“You’re so pretty, but gods, you’re so confusing.” He shakes his head as he carefully drags his tongue up your slippery folds. “Just sit still and let me take care of you, darling.” He mumbles before he laps at your cunt again. He purses his lips and gently sucks on your clit. It almost feels like he’s making out with your pussy.

“Oh.. f-fuck..” You gasp as you lean your head back into his mattress. Your hands fist at the blanket beneath you, ruining his perfectly made bed.

Nanami continues to lick and suck. The sounds in the room were nothing short of erotic. The wet sounds of his lips and tongue smack and almost slurp at you. His hands hold your thighs up, practically wearing them as earmuffs as he eats you like a starved man.

His fingertip gently traced over your opening before he carefully slipped a finger in. He continued to lap at your cunt as his finger pumped in and out and prodded around.

“Oh my-! .. N-Nanami.. ah~” You pant out. In his eyes, your entire body was flushed. You were so subtly grinding yourself against his tongue. In his eyes, you were a goddess in touch with her sexuality and femininity. You just needed a small nudge to get there.

He adds a second finger, and he so carefully curls them upwards to gently press right on the spot that made you see stars.

Your hands abandoned the bed, and you grabbed onto his hair. His hazel eyes flutter up at you, and his glasses were pushed up onto his head.

Your orgasm was building quicker than it ever had before. “Nanami-! fuck, I’m gonna..” You try to warn, but he’s already a step ahead of you. His fingers start pumping a big more aggressively, and he’s pointed with his tongue, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls in tight circles around the small bundle of nerves.

Your orgasm washes over you as you clench around his fingers, spasming on his face. He continues to thrust his fingers, letting you ride out your orgasm on his face and hand. Pressing a few more small kisses to your overly sensitive cunt, he slowly pulls away. “Good girl.” He praises lowly.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you recover from the best orgasm you’ve ever received. Your eyes flutter open weakly to see Nanami ditch his glasses. He uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and chin dry.

He then places the fingers he so deliciously used to fuck you into his mouth, and he sucks them clean with a satisfied groan.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbles as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. It falls to the floor as he starts to unbuckle his belt. You can already feel your arousal building up again as you see the absolute tent in his slacks. Of course the nerd was absolutely hung.

Without another word, his pants and boxers are on the ground. His dick stood hard at attention. It was too heavy to press all the way up towards his stomach. Speaking of stomach, he was absolutely fucking built. He had well-defined solid abs and a broad chest.

You watch carefully as he fists his length a few times. You admire the way the veins bulge from his hands and arms. He wastes no more time: climbing up on top of you. He guides your legs up onto his shoulders, and he leans forward, putting you in a mating press.

His hand suddenly covers your mouth. “Spit.” He orders bluntly.

“W-what-?”

“I didn���t stutter. Spit. Unless you want me to go in dry.”

The thought of that sounded like a nightmare, so you gathered as much saliva into your mouth as you could, and you spat into his hand.

He doesn’t look phased in the slightest as he lubes himself up with your spit. He lets out a soft breath as the wet sounds of him gliding his hand up and down his cock fill the room. He then wipes his hand off on the bed, and he covers your mouth tightly with his hand. “Try not to be too loud, darling. I don’t want anyone to come and bother us.”

He was so fucking confident that he was going to make you noisy. It almost pissed you off, but Nanami was a man of his word.

He aligned himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, he buried himself all the way to the hilt. You let out a silent scream into his hand, and your back arches up off the bed. His eyes darken as he lets out a guttural growl.

Your cunt was just too precious to him, squeezing him so perfectly. You were absolutely sopping wet and so goddamn warm. He actually had to bite his tongue to not come prematurely. Once he tasted the hint of metal in his mouth, the urge to finish subsided.

“Shhh, shh. Be a good girl. The pain will subside soon.” He assures you quietly as his hips gently rock back and forth shallowly.

“Mmmnnf~ K-kento!” You moan into his hand. He hates having to muffle your pretty noises, but he really can’t risk getting a noise complaint right now.

“That’s right, darling.. Take it..” His hips start to roll with a bit more conviction. His thrusts are slow but powerful. Each time he buried himself deep in you, you went all dizzy in the head.

“Oh fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” He praises as his other hand holds one of your thighs up for you. Your body is almost slack from how harsh his hips are snapping into you. His leaking tip was bruising your cervix with each brutal thrust.

Nanami wishes he could take a picture right now. Your eyes are all glossed over. Your face is flushed the prettiest shade of pink, and your lips are all puffy and slightly parted. Your babbling utter nonsense as your greedy pussy takes him in with each thrust.

“F-fuck..! So big.. can feel you right here~” You moan as you point towards your lower stomach.

Nanami looks to where you’re pointing, and as if this man needed anymore courage, he begins to fuck you harder.

Plap! Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Yeah? Y’feel me in your womb, darling?” He groans. Noise complaint can be damned. He lets your mouth go and grabs your hips as he continues to pound your pretty pussy.

Tears involuntarily spring into your eyes from the sheer intensity. When Nanami said he was going to fuck you to tears, you thought it was just a figure of speech. Nah, you were lying in his bed, crying because the dick was so good.

“Look at me.” He demands as he grabs your blushed cheek and forces you to look up at him. “This pussy’s mine from now on, understand me?”

“Y-yes!” You cry out to him. Your stomach starts to coil with white hot pleasure as your orgasm builds up again.

“Tell me you love me when you cum on my cock.” He demands lowly. You’re too fucked stupid to argue.

The bed squeaks and wails in agony as he his thrusts are growing more erratic and sloppy. You could feel him getting closer and closer to his release as he gets more vocal and noisier too.

Your eyes cross as you feel your body gyrate on him. Your second orgasm crashes over you so suddenly you didn’t even have time to warn him. Your soul nearly floats away from you as you feel warm juices flood out from you. “Fuck~.. I-.. I love you, Nanami!” You whimper out. In the heat of the moment, it does feel like love.

Such pure pretty words being uttered during such a lewd time. Nanami is instantly emptying himself into you. His dick throbs as he shoots ribbon after ribbon of cum inside of you. His hands are shaking as they hold onto your hips. “Ngh.. I love you, darling. Take it.. All of it. Don’t waste a drop.” He lowly growls.

The room is quiet as both of you pant softly. After a few moments, you realize you had professed a love to him that you weren’t even sure about. Yes, Nanami was attractive physically and mentally. Sure, he was apparently a god in bed, but love???

What if he wasn’t even being serious when he told you to say that? He probably didn’t even mean it when he said it back. What if you made things weird? Is that why he’s being so silent?

Nanami leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead. “That was intense. Are you alright, darling?” He asks affectionately.

You nod weakly, not wanting to frustrate him with your insecure thinking style.

“Are you sure? I’m not only talking about physically.” He murmurs softly as he slowly allows for your thighs to slip down to around his hips. His hand carefully strokes your cheek.

“I told you I love you..” You murmur out quietly, avoiding his gaze.

He exhales softly in amusement. “You did do that. It was very sexy. Do you regret saying it?”

“I.. I don’t know.” You confess quietly. “You said it back too…”

“I did. Seeing your body in such a vulnerable state as you were trusting me with your very essence made me feel full with love.”

You look up at him as he just said the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think I regret it.”

“I’m glad. I don’t regret it either.” He smiles and presses another small kiss to your temple.

*** *** ***

“Was that really your first time?” You giggle as the hot water coats your body. Nanami’s fingers are attentively massaging shampoo into your scalp.

“It really was.” He laughs quietly. “Why is it so hard to believe.”

“You were too good for a virgin.”

“I’m glad my darling thinks so.” He smiles and carefully leans your head back, so the water can rinse the shampoo from your hair.

“Where did you even learn that stuff from?” You ask curiously, wondering if Nanami just had a secret raging porn addiction.

“I have the horniest friend group. They don’t understand the concept of too much information.”

Ah. That makes sense.

tags: @lemonlimecrystal-blog

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Summary: Bob doesn’t do well with compliments—especially not when they come casually, softly, sincerely, from you.

It started so innocently.

You were both in the Tower’s kitchen late at night, the rest of the team long gone, off doing their own thing or passed out in their rooms, the room quiet except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft clink of Bob’s spoon as he stirred honey into his tea. The light above the stove was the only one on, casting him in this dim, golden glow that made him look soft, and safe, and—

“Fuck, you are so pretty,” you murmured, not even really meaning to say it out loud. Honestly, you thought you said it in your head.

Bob froze mid-stir. His hand stopped moving, his shoulders tense, and his head turned toward you just slightly—like a deer caught in a compliment. “…What?”

You looked up from your mug, confused for a second—until you realized shit I said that out loud. “You’re pretty, like so pretty” you repeated, gently, smiling with a slight eye roll like it wasn’t a big deal. Because to you, it wasn’t. Not in the way it should have been. But Bob? He looked at you like you had just gave him the moon.

“I—” he stammered, feeling his heart rate spike and his palms getting sweat, he doesn't realize the spoon slipped from his grip until a slight clink echoed between the two of you as the spoon fell into the mug. “You think—me?”

“Who else would I be talking to? It's just you here honey” you asked, leaning against the counter. “You’re literally glowing right now. I feel like I need to be paying someone just to stand next to you.”

He blinked. Blinked again. And then backed up two whole steps like he couldn't breathe the same air as you. “You can’t just say that” he whispered, like it was scandalous. “That I mean -- that's just dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” you laughed. “It’s a compliment, Bob.”

“No, it’s a threat to my emotional stability. Do you know what you’ve done? Do you understand how fast my brain is spiraling right now?” He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, only making it worse. “My entire internal monologue is just screaming, ‘She called me pretty, act normal, don’t faint, don’t cry, don’t propose—’”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Propose?”

He clapped his hand over his mouth like he’d just revealed state secrets. “Forget I said that” he muttered into his palm before waving his hand around as he rambles. “Strike it from the record. Rewind time. Go back thirty seconds before I embarrassed myself into a new dimension.”

“Bob.” You stepped forward and gently tugged his hand away from his mouth. “I meant it. You’re pretty. Not just during your glow-in-the-dark god-mode or whatever. You’ve got those kind, beautiful blue eyes, and a warm smile, and your hair does that floppy thing when it’s humid—”

“I hate the floppy thing,” he whispered. “I love the floppy thing,” you corrected, and watched as his cheeks turned a deep, unmistakable red. “You’re gonna kill me with your sweetness,” he muttered, looking down at the floor like it had better answers than you did.

You leaned in closer, nose nearly brushing his, making him look back at you. “Then I guess I’ll have to revive you with kisses.” That earned you a stunned blink, a sputtered half-laugh, and then a wide, dorky smile that split his entire face open like sunlight escaping through clouds.

“…Okay,” he said breathlessly. “But fair warning. You call me pretty again and I’m legally required to build you a shrine.” You grinned and blush slightly. “Noted.”

As always if you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

@my-name-is-baby

@metalarmsandmanbuns

@live-love-be-unique

@disillusioniary

@you-bloody-shank

@sarcazzzum

@itsjustisa

@qardasngan

[buckysm]

2:15 am (and i miss you)

ᯓ★part one, part two,

ᯓ★ Bucky Barnes x fem ex hydra AVENGER reader

ᯓ★ part one word count 6k+

ᯓ★a/n: junie’s first post— so please show some love— i hope you like!! my inbox is always open to chat! (minor edits on jan 27) (more edits on mar 11)

ᯓ★ summary: In the quiet hours of the night, you and Bucky find solace in an unexpected friendship built on sleepless conversations and cigarettes. Slowly, walls come down, and a bond forms, kept hidden from the team. But when crisis strikes, the Avengers are shocked to discover just how deep that connection runs—and just how far you’d go for each other. (i wrote this bc of a little fantasy of being in a secret situationship with bucky and the team finding out when bucky goes feral after reader goes missing during a mission)

ᯓ★ warnings/ tags/ tropes for the whole series: canon? what canon?, haters to lovers -- except you never hated him and he just resented you-- midnight rendezvous, friends to lovers, Anxiety, angst and fluff and smut,  Bucky Needs a Hug, Protective Bucky Barnes Bucky Barnes issues related to past trauma, not so platonic cuddling, slow burn, jealous Bucky Barnes Miscommunication, Mentions of torture off screen (to be added and expanded as i post part two) NOT BETA READ

These are the hands of fate/ You're my Achilles heel/ This is the golden age of something good and right and real

It started with a cigarette.

It started when he had lent you a lighter. He did not smoke, and you didn’t ask why he had one.  

For him, it started months before then.

Bucky was barely coping when you joined the team. His days were muddled by an eternal haze of anger and frustration…His life had been stolen from him, along with his memories from before. He did not feel like he deserved redemption. He had done terrible things, had had horrible things done to him.

He found himself disassociating whenever he wasn’t on a mission. He did not feel real; he couldn’t joke around and feel good without betraying his past. Yet, his past was real; it happened. But Bucky couldn’t just move on, couldn’t just exist without the churning in his gut telling him he was dirty, he was dripping in sin, tarnished by the red in his ledger, filthy to the point of no return.

When he was told about you, his body turned taut with trepidation. Two sides of the same coin. You were injected with serum just like him. Made to do things and had things done to you just like him. And he had heard of you. They had called you serpiente, the serpent, the snake. You were deadly and never made a mistake. No one knew any identifying details about you, not even your gender. 

And it was his mistake, thinking you were a man. He yearned to be understood; maybe he would find companionship in you.

But then, you were not a man. The first time he beheld you, he had just finished a mission for Fury. Secret and dirty, he felt right at home doing SHIELD’s grunt work.

You were walking down the compound, side to side with Black Widow. He had assumed you were one of her brethren; maybe you had trained with her, a black widow yourself. Tony Stark pranced a few paces before you.

“Soldier, good you’re here! Come meet our newest recruit!”

Your smile was disarmingly bright. Pretty. Bucky felt himself grow cold with fury. It was a smile that came easily to you. And your eyes, frustratingly soft. You seemed at peace with yourself, and he hated that.  

He just stared at you in response. Eyes hard. Waiting for you to react to his lack of reciprocity. You didn’t bite his hook. You just slightly pursed your lips and took his glare in stride. 

“Nice to meet you. Stark was telling me about you. All good things, so don’t worry. But I had heard about you from before—you know—we do have in common h-”

“We have nothing in common.” He snarled before walking away, fuming. How dare you? How dare you make chit-chat about the thing that haunted his life. Every waking hour, every nightmare, he was haunted by his past. And you wanted to…what? Talk about it over jokes? No. He decided you had nothing in common.

Maybe your body count was higher than his, and he chose to ignore the elephant in the room. The fact that you were a beautiful woman could be a weapon as much as it could be a vulnerability.

He hated you a bit more each time he saw you get along with the rest of the team. How dare you? 

He had thought, had been so sure, that the reason he was disliked was because of his past. But that wasn’t it, was it? Because you and the black widow seemed to do just fine. Maybe he was just broken, and perhaps you had been too, but you had fixed yourself just fine. Parallel wounds, yours had healed, while he had festered like a virus. How dare you?

His despise grew with each smile, each laugh, each time you were slapped on the back.

Everything came to a head when he found you on the balcony. He had thought it was his balcony. His.

It wasn’t a balcony, more of a ledge. A floor that had been destroyed during a hulk mishap had not been fixed and did not look like it would be anytime soon. 

The wind was strong. You stood at the edge, facing the precipice. You seemed so peaceful. 

He stared at your profile, illuminated by the city lights. Your expression was sad. He had never seen it like that. Your lips were tight, eyes fluttered shut. Were you about to jump?

He walked toward you, deliberately moving his limbs so that you heard his footsteps.

You turned unhurriedly, your eyes opening slowly. There was a small moment where Bucky saw you, your unguarded face. He was too involved in his stupor and had not considered the possibility of it all being a facade. But months had passed, and your mask hadn’t slipped until now.

It was only a fraction of a vulnerable moment before you schooled your features. And it angered him for some reason. Seeing you so easily slip into the practiced mask. It made him like the rest, taking you at face value, not digging deeper past your pretty face, sparkling eyes, and gleaming smile. But then he was angry at himself for not looking past and you for pretending. 

Before he could stop himself, before he could think, words were coming out of his mouth faster than he processed them. 

“Do not do that, don’t do that.”

You sighed, your mask falling to one of disdain. You looked disappointed in Bucky, exasperated. It was a look of derision; he felt scorned, yet it was better than the fake platitudes. 

“Do what? Now, what am I doing that deserves your anger?”

“Pretending,” Bucky grunted.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “So what am I supposed to do according to you, huh?” You walked away from the ledge toward him. He towered over you, head lowered to meet your defiant gaze. “Am I supposed to growl, frown, and hate myself for things I can’t control? Well, guess what? I've been there and done that! And, hey—guess again what happened. I hated it. So what if I am faking it? Maybe if I fake it hard enough, it’ll come true.”

“What’ll come true?” Bucky asked beside himself, snarling.

“Wanting to live, not letting them win. Because if I hate myself, then they win.” Your angry gaze wavered, turning sad. You looked away from him towards the city skyline. “I’ll go now, leave you alone to your self-hatred and whatever….” You started making your way to the battered elevator doors.

Bucky sighed, exasperated. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

You had stopped walking away, your footsteps silent, but some sixth sense told him you had, in fact, paused.

He turned toward you. “I’m sorry.” He echoed.

You nodded, moving towards the ledge and sitting on it.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“Careful there, doll face.” His voice was gruff. “Don’t want you to fall off.”

You stiffened slightly, taken off guard, not for the first time tonight. The sweet nickname, coupled with his harsh voice, made heat rise to your cheeks. You decided to appear as if you took it in stride. Not wanting him to know just how much his words meant to you. Wanting to hear him call you that forever.

Because as much as you told yourself otherwise, it hurt when he brushed you off. You had looked up to him. 

You didn’t have any memories of your past before the experiments or the training, so maybe it was different for him. He had a life that was taken away from him — and you were just now learning to have one.

You heard about him, heard him even.  Heard his screams sometimes. Your handlers wanted to teach you what would happen when you didn’t behave.

It was clear he did not remember you. Why would he? He didn't know who you were when you passed each other in the hydra bases; that was part of your deal. No one expected a pretty girl to have a body count as high as yours. 

Bucky had killed about 20-something people, important ones. You knew that Natasha had a count of about six hundred and had shared the fact with you. Bucky had been Hydra’s tool and was used only in important missions. While you…were a gun for hire, basically. A knife for hire. You used your charms on men and women alike to disarm them enough. Your kills were always up close and personal. Sometimes, you have to put yourself in compromising positions to do so. Bucky never had to. 

You knew that he had to be put under a lot, had to have his brainwashed again and again, and conditioned an inhumane amount of times. His brain rebelled, and he had a life. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he had memories or faint encodings of a life outside.

But you were awake all of the time. You did things because there was no other option. You had to survive. You didn’t know otherwise.

You pondered in silence. And when it became too much for you, you fumbled into one of the multiple pockets on your jacket for your cigarettes. You stiffened when you remembered you had left the lighter on your bedside counter. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong, doll.” His voice was curious, less rough. He was standing somewhere behind you. You could feel the weight of his stare.

You wanted to comment on the pet names but didn’t want him to stop, so you swallowed a snarky remark. “I forgot my lighter.”

He made his way toward you, movements swift as he sat next to you, feet dangling on the edge. You understood him now. You didn’t want him to fall. 

He slid his hand onto the pockets of his cargo pants and came out with a lighter.

You smiled at him. His eyes never strayed from yours as he placed the lighter in your hand. 

His eyes were beautiful, darker than usual under the low light.

You tore away from his gaze. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you cupped the lighter and flicked it on.

You took a drag of the cigarette, enjoying the burn. Enjoying the strong scent, stronger than other cigarettes. It made your head light.

Banner had made them for you after you expressed sadness about not being able to enjoy any substances.

You heard a sniff. He had noticed it, too.

You waited a second, leaving the smoke in your lungs, before exhaling. “It’s enhanced with something, Banner made it for me.”

He hummed. 

“You want one?” You looked at him from the corner of your eyes, not wanting to turn your face entirely.

“Thanks for offering, doll, but I don’t smoke.”

You hummed, taking another drag. “Not even before?” your question was tentative. You wanted to see if he would open up to you.

He hummed softly. “I did, yes, once or twice. But Steve couldn’t handle the secondhand smoke, so I stopped. Little asthmatic punk…”

Silence stretched out as you enjoyed the lightheaded sensation. Your limbs loosened, and you felt free. 

“D’ya miss him?” You turned fully toward him.

His eyes never strayed from the skyline as he answered, “I do. It’s different. We’ve both changed a lot. You know how it is, losing the past.”

“I don’t know, not really…” your voice was soft and resigned. 

His eyes flashed to yours. You didn’t know what to do with the full weight of his stare. “What do you mean by that doll?” His brows were furrowed. 

You sighed, not wanting to get into it. “It’s late…” You took out your AVENGER-sanctioned phone to check the time, 2:15 A.M.

“I’m going to sleep.” You lied. And you couldn’t stop more words from tumbling out of your mouth. Clumsy and rushed. “Same time tomorrow?”

A ghost of a smile pulled slightly at the corner of his lips. “See you doll face. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Jamie.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Jamie. Jamie. Jamie. Jamie….

He had been too quick to judge, and now he couldn’t get you out of his thoughts. His sleep was fitful, but he was granted a reprieve from his nightmares. Dreaming instead of the multitudes in your eyes. 

It was a slow day in the compound. He had a routine during slow days; he would go to his favorite training room and lose himself. The training room itself didn’t lack anything, but he had marked his territory with his glares at anyone who entered. He had achieved an unspoken ownership of that particular room.

After having you torment his dreams, however, he had to see you in person. He tried to contain himself and started his routine in the training room. 

It lasted 42 minutes. 

No amount of dagger throws could get him to calm down. 

He found you on the tower’s common floor.

You hunched over a table, Banner at your side. Coming down was worth it.

“Well, good morning there, Sarge. It's nice of you to come out of your room and join the land of the living.”

And he immediately regretted it.

“Stark!” Two voices proclaimed in tandem. You and Steve jumped to defend him, Steve’s voice was sharp, and yours was a playful whine.

“What? I’m just saying, he’s acting like a teenager!” Stark’s voice was a defensive grumble. He tinkered with the toaster in the kitchen area. 

“Oh, as opposed to you, who behaves so maturely?” The tone of your voice was playful but had a hidden bite to it. Bucky couldn’t help but appreciate it.

You turned to smile at him, and Steve turned to bicker with Tony. Bucky rolled his lips and moved to grab a mug. He poured himself a cup before walking away. 

He barely heard Stark’s remark on his parting, mentally berating himself for caring about the hurt look that soured your face when he did not return your smile. He shouldn’t care; caring was dangerous. It made him vulnerable and put him in a position where he could be easily hurt again.

He had to be careful; he did not want to break down the walls he had put up protecting himself and others from himself.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You almost didn’t show up. Hurt but not surprised by his attitude.

You paced the room you had on Natasha’s floor. She was not home, leaving you to pace away your conflicting thoughts.

Your heart had skipped a beat when he showed up. He never showed up; he was a ghostly presence in the compound. Part of the team, but never there for ‘team building exercises’…

It was 2:14 when you rushed to the elevator, a pounding of indecision in your chest. You told yourself it was curiosity. You needed to know more about him, needed to figure him out - maybe then you would be able to understand why he made you want…-

The silent elevator ride left you time to think.

He is hurt, just projecting/ This could end badly/ This could end with a friendship/ He was an asshole/ He just needs a friend/ At the cost of your sanity?/

Two inner voices argued with each other in the back of your mind. You let them.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and there he was. The voices went quiet as soon as your eyes fell on him.

He leaned against a thick construction support post, overlooking the city skyline, his back to you.

“Nice of you to join me, doll.”

DOLL?! Asshole, he dared to call you doll- yet acted coldly toward you in public?! You grunted angrily, mimicking his usual blasé attitude and walking to stand beside him, not looking at him.

As you stared at the beautiful Manhattan skyline, a storm of anger raged inside you.

“Is everything alright, doll?” His voice was softer, and you weren’t as angry anymore.

Yes, he hadn’t smiled at you, but what exactly made you expect that from him? Yes, he called you doll, but he was from the forties. Plus, he hadn’t smiled at you before. And-what?  You had one conversation, and suddenly, you expected him to smile at you? You were delusional! This man was set in his ways and maybe bored, but it meant nothing. He was bored and lonely, and you were overthinking everything. You were new at this, at socialization. Genuine socializing. You socialized a lot for your HYDRA days, but this was new. You were used to having the upper hand and being in control.

You sighed out your exasperation, letting your tense shoulders loosen.

“Mhm…” your eyes never strayed from the city.

You stood in comfortable silence. You were an expert at working yourself into a stupor. But honestly, you were about… twenty twenty-one (you lost time during HYDRA). Yet you felt emotionally stunted- of course, you did. You never had the chance to actually develop skills people your age did.

“This feels like a dream. Like I am hallucinating being free, and I will wake up from passing out due to torture and be back in my cell…” Words tumbled out of your mouth. You were also bored and lonely. Faking your way with the others made you exhausted.

He made no response, but you could tell he understood. And that was enough.  You fumbled for your cigarettes. He slid a lighter from his pocket, handing it to you wordlessly.

You took it from his hand, inhaling to light your smoke. 

“You know? It’s dumb… but I sometimes feel like screaming at them… like something deep inside me yearns to scream, kick, and throw whatever is around- to get out all my pent-up energy; maybe then I can pass out from exhaustion and sleep. And yea- the novelty of being free, and being in the fucking Avengers is slowly wearing off, and I just-” you sighed, you were talking, and maybe he wasn’t even interested in hearing you whine. “And whatever, I should be grateful… it’s dumb…” You stopped yourself. Letting the chilly New York air into your lungs. 

“No, doll, it’s not dumb.” He turned to look at you, forcing you to face the full weight of his gaze. He was devastatingly beautiful. Your inhale was sharp. “Don’t feel bad about being angry. It’s valid to feel this way.”

You smiled then, “Look at you, giving emotional advice. Who knew you were a big softy underneath that grouchy, grumbling exterior.”

He scoffed, but you could tell there was no real meaning behind it. Your smile grew.

His eyes lowered to your lips for a charged moment before looking back to the city. “Those who can’t do, teach-”  His lips tugged slightly upwards, a glimpse of a smile.

You took a drag of your cigarette, staring unashamedly at his profile. “What do you do when you are not brooding? Like, what does one do for fun around here?”

“At two am in the morning, doll, those who aren’t sleeping…” he trailed off, a soft pink brightening his cheeks.

“Are what?” your grin was teasing.

“Are you on a mission or something?” His voice came out slightly strangled. 

“Or something…” you murmured, a yawn escaping you.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, you really liked big band music? Kind of… classy for a guy who threw himself off buildings.”

 “Hey, a man can appreciate good music and bad decisions.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Stark’s fine, sometimes… but his ego’s bigger than his bank account.”

 “If I had his money, I’d buy a planet and avoid people altogether.” You sighed, 

 “Doll, you’d get bored in two days.”

 “True. I’d need at least one grump to frown at me.” 

He couldn’t hide his soft grin.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “Paris. You think it’s as romantic as everyone says?”

“Probably less if I was there...”

 “You’re right. You’d make it a lot more broody.”

“And you’d make it a lot more… sneaky. You’d blend into the shadows and pickpocket tourists.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I could live off this forever.” You spoke around a mouthful of pizza

Bucky grimaced. “Takeout pizza? You call that food?”

 “Says the man who probably ate spam for dinner in the ’40s.”

“Now, doll, it was a delicacy back then.”

 “Spam’s not a delicacy in any era, Barnes.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever thought about getting a pet? Like a dog or something?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Me, with a dog? Not sure I’d be a good influence.”

“Nah, they’d see through you.”

“I’m more of a cat person.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “I like the quiet moments just before dawn. No one’s around to bother you.”

“Night’s better. Everyone’s already asleep. Feels like you’re the only one left.”

 “Until you realize someone like me is lurking in the dark.”

 “Yeah, lucky me.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “So, any weird phobias? Mine’s spiders. Too many legs.”

Bucky shrugged. “Needles. After Hydra? No thanks.”

You nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. But hey, at least you could crush a spider for me. And I can catch all your bulk when you pass out at the sight of a needle.”

“Ha, ha.” 

Someday, you’d get a real laugh out of him.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

 “If you weren’t a super soldier, what would you do?”

“Maybe a mechanic. Fixing cars, quiet life. You?”

 “Bartender. People tell you their secrets. It’s like espionage, but with cocktails.”

 “Sounds dangerous, doll. What’s in the drink?”

You grinned. “Depends on who’s asking.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“I keep getting these flashes… Steve dragged me to Coney Island, insisting I’d love it. Turns out, I hate roller coasters.”

You rolled your lips, deciding on what to say. “I don’t have any memories of before Hydra, but I dream about falling. Maybe I would love roller coasters.”

“I’ll take your word for it, doll. I prefer solid ground now.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“You ever feel like the idea of ‘freedom’ is just another way to trap us? Like, what do we even do with it?”

“I dunno. Still figuring that out. But it beats following orders like a puppet.”

“Yeah. I just wish freedom came with an instruction manual.”

“If it did, doll, I’d probably ignore it. I don’t need another piece of paper dictating my life..”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You were late, and Bucky was ready to leave when he heard the elevator doors open. You held a full white plastic bag.

“Honey, I’m home, and I brought dinner!” you had a slight spring in your step; he turned toward you, and a smile of pleasure and relief made its way into his expression without his consent. Your steps faltered slightly, your brows furrowing for a moment before a beaming smile took over, your eyes twinkling.  It was real, not a sarcastic grin, a smile! Your response only made his smile more pronounced -slightly, but still-.

“It’s good that you don’t smile; if you did, people would pass out on the spot.”

He couldn’t stop the small laugh coming out of his mouth. “Not you?”

“Not me, I’m made of stronger stuff.” You sat beside him, a bit farther from the ledge than usual. 

He followed suit, crouching in front of you. He noted the way you eyed his legs, your inhale, and the way you had to force yourself to look away.

“I wonder what would make you pass out.” His mouth ran away from his brain.

“Maybe take me to a fancy restaurant, and then you can try to find out.”

The thought made his heart race, and he stopped thinking about it. You were joking, it was friendly— you weren’t serious.

“I could, we could go on a few dates, and you would end it when you realize I’m too old and bitter for you, doll. Maybe it’s best we stay here at 2:15 A.M., where I can lend you a light.”

Your face soured to a pout. “Well I like my men a little bit older. But if you are telling me I’m not your type, and you like old ladies, well then I can handle rejection, not the worst thing I’ve lived through.” Your smile was sarcastic, yet he could tell there was hurt behind your eyes.

“No, doll, I don’t think anyone could reject you even if they tried.” 

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your heart raced at his words, caught off guard by their raw sincerity. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, not ones that felt real. A flippant remark was on the tip of your tongue, ready to deflect the tension, but it got stuck.

“You ever think about it? You know… dating?”

He snorted softly, “Who would date me? I’ve got more shit to deal with than anyone would want to deal with.”

You grinned. “Hey, at least you’re mysterious. I’m more… ‘potential assassin.’”

 “Ah, the classic ‘will she kill me on the first date’ dilemma. I can hide the metal arm, but you can’t hide the serial killer smile.”

You laughed loudly, shoving him playfully.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

It was a few weeks after the initial meeting, and meeting had become a habit, a tradition of sorts. 

You gave him a shy smile when others were present, and he reciprocated with a soft look in his eyes. 

He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn’t help himself from looking at you.

He leaned on the counter, eyes flicking to and from you. He beheld as you smiled and laughed with the rest. He was jealous that you weren’t bestowing a smile upon him, but he held none of the contempt from before.

He sensed an annoying presence beside him.

“Hey, creep, why don’t you join us for drinks tonight? As luck would have it, even your star-spangled ass is joining us.”

Said star-spangled ass turned to glare at Tony, his expression turning into a smile as his eyes shifted toward Bucky.

“Yeah, come with us, you’ll have fun, we promise.” 

A myriad of yeahs chorused from the rest of the team, including you. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he looked at the ceiling. “Whatever.” He muttered.

“Well, that wasn’t a no!” you grinned, acknowledging him.” Your smile was so bright he couldn’t take it. 

He sighed and grumbled incoherently before turning to hide his blush and walking away.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You smiled to yourself as he retreaded. 

Natasha bumped your shoulders together. “He stares at you so much, I have no clue if he hates you or wants you. Maybe both!” 

“Nat, don’t be rude; it’s probably because I’m new.”

She smirked, “Sure.” You hadn’t been new for a while.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

He was anxious. It took him forty minutes to place where the tight feeling in his chest was coming from. But it came down to you. It always came down to you as of late.

Steve had an arm around his shoulders and was babbling on about how much fun these rare night outs were, where everyone was present.

He didn’t know what he expected, but you weren’t talking to some guy. Enthusiastic hand gestures and a dazzling smile on your face as some random guy looked at you with an entranced smile.

He felt bile rising in his throat. 

He wanted to turn around and walk away, but that would have been too obvious. So he walked in with his stomach dropping with anguish.

He was out of it, sipping a drink that Steve had handed him. His taste buds not even processing the taste of his drink.

“Yo! Joe Goldberg, knock it out with the serial killer stare.” 

He felt a smack on his shoulder. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from you.

“What are you talking about?” he grumbled. Smooth. Real smooth.

Even though she was shorter than him, Natasha towered over Bucky. “I don’t know your problem, but you have to check it. It’s getting really weird.”

He felt a hand fist in his heart, tight. He downed the drink and sighed. Think Bucky. Think. “It’s not like that.” He was quiet for a few moments, formulating a response.

“Well, then explain why you keep staring at her like you want to strangle her.”

“I don’t want to— fuck.” He placed the empty glass on the table. “She’s also from Hydra.” He stated.

“Yeah, duh.” Natasha looked at him with contempt.

He needed to fix the fact that she thought he was some sort of obsessed weirdo…. He wasn’t!

“She’s so normal, happy. And she…” he trailed off. 

Natasha’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” He looked to Steve, who tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

“Bucky, you’re-” Natasha placed a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to get another drink.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You could tell something was wrong when you stepped out of the elevator. He was quiet, not the usual kind, brooding. You acted like you always did, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. 

“Bucky, is everything alright?” your voice was soft.

His reply was an irritated huff. You waited for a few moments, letting him have his space.

The night was cold, and you had worn thick cotton clothing. He wore a hoodie and pants; they looked comfortable, but the man in them did not.

You hummed and moved closer toward him. He leaned on a pillar,

“Big mission tomorrow, huh?” You shifted tactics. It wasn’t odd for him to have a quiet night, where you just sat in companionable silence. This was different, though… he was angry about something. Some insecure part of you told you he was mad at you. But there wasn’t any foundation to that, was there? 

He grunted in response. He was making you anxious. You sighed loudly, deciding to smoke or go to bed. The stilted silence made you anxious, a pressure hard on your chest. You tried to exhale it out, but it wouldn’t budge.

You let him wallow next to you for a few minutes before giving up and turning to face him. You placed a soft hand on his forearm, about to say goodnight. He flinched harshly, and your heart twisted. He grimaced, eyes shifting to you before flitting away. 

“Bucky, if you need, I-” Your voice had a nervous tinge, and you hated it. You were glad when he interrupted you.

“Go to sleep, doll.” His voice was sad, his face resigned. 

You furrowed your brows, studying his expression. You had the urge to kiss him on the cheek for good luck but knew that you would break if he flinched away.

“Goodnight Jamie…”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

You walked away, turning your head twice to smile at him sadly. He held your gaze as the elevator doors closed, removing you from his field of vision. Taking you away from him. 

“Fuck.” His voice was soft and defeated. He looked at the city skyline. His eyes glossed over. He wanted to get the self-hatred out, to hit the wall, break his knuckles, and kick at the litter on the floor. But he let it sit, let it fester in his chest. A leech that grew bigger as it fed on the churning,  loathsome thoughts overwhelming his brain.

He crumpled with the ease of a paper, falling to the ground.

His limbs splayed as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t take it. Any of it. He always told himself he was strong. He was The Winter Soldier, for fuck’s sake! And here he was, crying over a girl. But that wasn’t it. Or it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that he was too soft for all of it. And he was still somewhat human at the end of the day. He still had emotions, and he was starved for comfort. He lacked connection. And he was okay without it. Having gone so long without it, he had grown used to the lack. But then you had come into his sanctuary and ruined everything, and he let you. He felt a kinship with you. You had gone through hell and back, had walked the same road as him, and you smiled so big, your eyes twinkled so bright. He couldn’t help but fall into your orbit. Admiring you from afar. 

Maybe it was better when he hated you; it was something he was used to and comfortable. He did not know what to do with all these feelings; he hadn’t felt them before, not even in the 40s. He was happy then; it was normal for him to smile. He didn’t know how to appreciate it. Yes, there was war, but there was hope, and Captain America was there to save him, but then Steve wasn’t there anymore. And any sliver of hope was quickly crushed under gleaming leather Hydra boots. He would die someday on a Hydra mission; he had made peace with that. But Steve did save him, a little too late. He wasn’t Bucky anymore and did not feel like he had any right to the mantle of Captain America’s best friend. Some parts of him still wanted that, but all of him yearned to be your Jamie.

And now bitter and traumatized, he held a flower in his calloused hands, and he didn’t know if he was worthy of it. He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to die here, and he couldn’t go in peace because he wanted to see you one more time. He couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t move; he keened in pain like a puppy. 

Pathetic, get up. Voices from Hydra spewed venom, wracking through his psyche. He clenched his jaw and groaned from deep in his throat.

Broken…unworthy…killer…tainted…

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The mission was successful. The team had divided in two, his group had finished earlier.

He felt better, exhausted. It had been a long mission. He was covered in grime and blood. 

It was rare for him to get to the point of exhaustion, but he had dived head-first into hand-to-hand combat, not letting up, ignoring the black widow’s knowing looks. 

Freshly showered and changed into sweats, Bucky let himself fall face-first into his too-soft bed. Days of restless sleep and today’s exertion weighed his body down and pulled his mind into sweet oblivion.

He awoke with a start, looked at the clock, and sat up. 3:22 A.M. 

He had stood you up. He rushed to the elevator and up to the floor. His thoughts raced with self-criticism and hatred. He breathed out a frustrated sigh, you weren’t there.

Of course, you weren’t there – he had been over an hour late.

He grumbled to himself all the way down to the common floor. His footsteps skidded to a stop when he found all the lights on and a flurry of activity.

Hawkeye typed furiously into a computer; Black Widow paced the floor, her hands fiddling with tech stuff. Steve was curled over a tablet, his hands clenched around the edge of a countertop.

Bucky stopped. The other team hadn’t come back.

“What’s wrong… where is she?” His chest felt tight.

Steve motioned at him to come near while the other two ignored him.

“Look, Bucky, I know you have some fondness for her, but I need you to calm down. She’s — uh— she’s missing…”

His ears started ringing; he didn’t hear anything after that. He took deep breaths, running his hands through his hair. It was longer, and he needed a haircut. Maybe you could cut his hair. Yeah, that sounded nice. 

He stilled. Breathing in deep, “Give me the details. I’ll have her back with me within the hour.”

He didn’t recognize his voice. Black Widow and Hawkeye had turned to stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Bucky, calm down, she’s alive from what we can tell, we can’t deal with y- we have to focus on finding her right now.”

“I am focused. I will find her.” His voice was gruff, and the language wasn’t English. He was reverting back…

Iron Man decided it was the best moment to walk in.

Bucky, The Winter Soldier, turned around with intent. He had some inkling of what he must have looked like, a menace— because Iron Man was opening his mouth to make some snarky remark, his jaw clenching shut, hands rising in surrender. 

“Где она, где моя кукла?” Where is she? Where is my doll?. 

His voice had a deadly cadence. He spoke and meant death.

“She’s okay, Wanda has her.” Black Widow had placed the radio on a table. She walked toward The Soldier slowly.

Wanda, the deadly witch, saved from Sokovia. He remembered her. She was strong. Not strong enough. 

He leveled his eyes on her. “скажи мне где, или ты умрешь.” Tell me where, or die.

Her eyes grew hard. “Calm down, soldier. There is no need to threaten anyone.” 

The tension was palpable then, rising… rising-

The Doors opened to you limping… being supported by the witch and the doctor. 

His shoulders slumped. He shifted toward you, but something blocked his path. He looked down to see Steve’s arm pushing against his chest. The enemy’s stance was on the offense, about to attack, to keep her from him. He was about to threaten his best friend,  The Captain, to move when-

“Jamie…”  

His gaze flashed toward you. You pushed away from them, limping— stumbling toward him.

He met no resistance this time as he rushed softly toward you.

Your knees buckled as he wrapped his arms around you. You collapsed against him. 

You sobbed softly- and he broke. His arms were strong and soft as he held you close.

He didn’t care about anything. He didn’t care how the scene looked. He didn’t care that they all knew for certain now. He loved you.

He just needed to know you were okay.

He held you as you shook, “I thought, I was back there Jamie, I- thought I wasn’t going to to see you again. I thought he would get lonely, and- and- I was going to miss you- they- they- I didn’t care about any of it. I just thought about you….” You sobbed, trying to get words out. “I got out. I killed them all, I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face not- I killed…” For you. 

“Kukla…” Doll. “you’re here, you’re okay, let’s get you to the infirmary. You are hurt and bleeding…”

His voice was so, so soft —dense with remnants of Russian. His arms holding you together.

He ignored it all, ignored the dropped jaws and furrowed brows. You came first. He had shown you his vulnerability, but he first had to be sure his Achilles heel would be okay.

Please remember to leave your kind thoughts in the comments, and if you enjoyed support with reblogs, ok thanks for reading be back with part two soon!!!!

[hoe4hotchner]

hi! can i request a hotch fic with shy!reader? like the reader has been in the BAU for a while and is known to be quiet and they start trying to open more to the team (specifically hotch) and the reader jokingly keeps calling hotch “oldman” or “grandpa” and like they get rlly close and the team wonders if their dating or not? thank you!! :))

Old man | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, Alcohol consumption somewhere in the middle, one kiss. WC: 1.3k

           Working at the BAU had been a whirlwind for you. You’d joined the team a little over a year ago, but even after all this time, you still found yourself feeling quiet and reserved around your colleagues. While they were all kind and welcoming, it wasn’t easy for you to open up, especially when everyone else seemed so close-knit. You were known as the team’s quiet one - efficient and hardworking, but not particularly outspoken.

           Your interactions with Hotch, however, had started to shift things. At first, you admired him from afar, his calm and composed demeanor had made you both nervous and intrigued. He was older, wiser, and had an air of authority that made you hesitate to speak up. But slowly, something began to change.

           It started with small things. Hotch would catch your eye during meetings, offering a slight nod or a barely-there smile when you shared an idea. You noticed how he’d linger after team briefings, giving you subtle encouragement in his own way, telling you that your insights were valuable. It was these small moments that made you feel more comfortable, and a little braver around him.

           Then, one day after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself standing by the coffee machine with Hotch. You were both exhausted, the silence between you comforting. You took a sip of your coffee and glanced at him, noticing how the lines around his eyes seemed a little deeper, the exhaustion written on his face.

           “You alright… old man?” you teased quietly, barely looking up from your cup as you spoke.

           For a moment, you weren’t sure how he’d take it, but when you glanced up, Hotch was smiling - an actual, soft smile that made something in your chest flutter.

           “Old man?” he repeated, with an amused arch of his brow.

           You shrugged, suppressing a grin. “You’ve been at this a lot longer than the rest of us, I mean except for Rossi,” you said, feeling a surge of bravery. “Just calling it like I see it.”

           Hotch chuckled, a sound you rarely heard from him. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice warm. “Though I don’t feel that old.”

           It was a small exchange, but it opened the floodgates. After that, the teasing became a regular occurrence. You’d throw in a playful “old man” here and there, and Hotch would respond with a dry comment about your youth and energy. The team noticed, of course they did. Morgan would give you side glances, smirking whenever you slipped the nickname into conversation, while JJ and Emily exchanged looks with each other.

           The banter became a way for you to feel more at ease, not just with Hotch but with the whole team. But there was something special about the way you and Hotch interacted, a certain closeness that wasn’t there with anyone else. He’d seek you out in quieter moments, asking how you were doing, offering advice on cases or just sharing a cup of coffee during the rare downtime. You started to open up more, sharing little pieces of yourself that you’d kept hidden for so long.

           Then the team began to wonder. You could see it in the way they observed the two of you. During briefings, when Hotch would speak directly to you, his voice a little softer than usual, you’d catch Morgan’s raised eyebrows or Rossi’s grin. JJ had asked you once, out of the blue, if you were seeing anyone. When you’d said no, she’d hummed in response, her eyes darting briefly to Hotch’s office.

           But you weren’t dating. At least, not in any official capacity. Sure, there were moments that felt like something more - like when Hotch would brush your hand as you passed files to each other or the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary when you were deep in thought. But neither of you had acknowledged it, not yet.

           One evening after a case, the team had gone out for drinks. You were sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of wine, when Hotch slid into the seat beside you. You smiled at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, and leaned in slightly.

           “Old man, out at a bar? Didn’t think you had it in you,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

           He chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’m full of surprises,” he said, his voice was low.

           You sipped your wine, feeling bolder than usual, perhaps from the alcohol, or maybe just because it was Hotch. “Guess I’ll have to stick around long enough to see them,” you replied, your tone playful but with a hint of something more.

           Hotch turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d like that.”

           Your breath hitched, your pulse quickening as you stared at him. There it was again - that tension, the unspoken connection between the two of you that was growing stronger by the day. You smiled softly, the warmth in your chest spreading.

           The team noticed. Over the next few weeks, the teasing from Morgan and Emily grew more frequent. “So… you and Hotch, huh?” Morgan had asked one afternoon when you were both working late.

           You’d blushed furiously, stammering something about it just being a joke, that you and Hotch were just colleagues, but Morgan didn’t seem convinced. “Sure, whatever you say, kid,” he’d said with a wink, leaving you flustered.

           But the truth was, even you weren’t sure anymore. You and Hotch had grown close - closer than you’d ever imagined when you first joined the BAU. He made you feel seen, appreciated, and more comfortable in your own skin. And as much as you teased him about the age gap, there was something about Hotch that made you feel safe, cherished.

           One evening, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in Hotch’s office, helping him sort through case files. The room was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of papers and the occasional hum of the air conditioning. You’d just handed him a report when his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

           You looked up, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Hotch's gaze softened, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “We’re not… you know, dating, are we?”

           The question hung in the air momentarily, and you immediately regretted asking it. But then Hotch smiled a soft, almost tender smile that made your heart race.

           “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “But I wouldn’t mind if we were.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped closer, his fingers grazing your hand, and you felt the familiar warmth of his touch.

           “Well… what are you waiting for, old man?” you teased, your voice shaking slightly with nervousness and excitement.

           Hotch chuckled, leaning in just a little closer. “I guess I’ll just have to stop being so old-fashioned.”

           And with that, he closed the gap between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was gentle, sweet, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you smiled, your heart pounding in your chest.

           “So… we’re dating now?” you asked softly, your fingers curling around his.

           He nodded, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Looks like it.”

           And from that moment on, the team didn’t have to wonder anymore.

[wtfaniii]

Thank you for all your support in the first part of this one shot! Here I bring you the second one as you requested, I hope you like it💗

Paparazzi

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warning: Some harassment, angst and violence.

Note: I'm open to special requests and constructive criticism! Sorry for the delay with this second part but I just got back to college and have been a little busy.

—I'm sorry for hitting you like that.

As they walked back to the room, the girl apologized embarrassedly, perhaps she had gone a bit too far and the best way to calm him down would have been to talk.

But it was the tension of the moment.

—Don't worry, I think I needed it —He replied with a soft smile.

They felt the judging glances of the other players for surviving but that didn't bother them, yes, maybe it was a little uncomfortable but the smile and a happy greeting from player 149 made the entrance more pleasant.

After sitting down and talking a little, each one introduced themselves with their respective names. They were a team from now on and they preferred to call each other by their names instead of a simple number that they had on their jackets.

—I’m sorry for that behavior earlier —Young-il apologized to the two girls on the team.

Uncontrolled behavior was common among men, they knew how easily lost their sanity if failed to achieve a goal, especially if it was the life at stake, but having done so in front of two young ladies was frowned upon.

—And Jun-hee, as soon as we get out of here you should go see a doctor, stress is not good for you.

The way he expressed that feeling of concern and empathy for the pregnant young woman was charming to the girl sitting next to him.

She had only known him for a few hours, but the fluid conversation they had managed to make them agree on several things, she was delighted with that player, but the cherry on the cake was the laugh that appeared on him face when he made a joke about Gi-hun's name, no one shared his moment of happiness except for her.

It was impossible for her to remain serious when she noticed that despite the circumstances they were in and the fact that were about to die a few minutes ago, Young-il maintained his humor.

After a few minutes, voting began once again to decide whether to stay or leave, however the majority of participants voted for the blue circle, condemning the rest of the players who refused to continue playing.

The girl continued terrified, this was not her job, Mr. Seong Gi-hun had not hired her for that.

In-ho just watched her, noticing her lips pressed together in a grimace and her brow furrowed, a sign that was frustrated at not being able to get out of there.

While the food was being distributed, In-ho sat next to Gi-hun in complete silence, player 456 was further away from his target and that disappointed him, but his eyes drifted slightly towards 455, the detective was sitting on her bed accompanied by Jun-hee, the disappointment and fear of staying still etched in their expressions.

When Jung-bae came over to apologize for pressing the blue circle he stood up and walked towards the two girls.

—Take it Jun-hee —His voice caught her attention —You need to eat more to maintain your strength —Seeing that she was going to refuse, he insisted with a smile —Besides, I don't drink whole milk.

222 took the little box and thanked her with a slight bow.

—You have to eat too —He said looking at the girl.

She hadn't even gone for food, she was nervous about the next game and more than out of fear, preferred to think about how to get through the next round.

—I'm not that hungry.

—I'll go with you.

In-ho wasn't asking if she was hungry or not, it was a request for her to go get his food and eat it later.

She couldn't refuse and he made that clear when held out his hand for her to take, Jun-hee watched the act with wide eyes and a slight smile, he was quite the gentleman.

—I'll go with the others —222 said, starting to feel like was in the way.

—Come on —In-ho repeated, taking her hand and gently pulling up from where she was sitting.

Her smiled at him and went for she respective portions. As night fell, Gi-hun began to make a kind of fortress where they could stay. They would take turns sleeping or staying awake to stand guard.

—¿Don't you think you're exaggerating? I don't think these people are capable of killing each other —Said 001 with a grimace.

—You haven't seen these games before —Gi-hun argued.

—He's right —the girl said. —We must be alertm

The way she seemed to be able to be afraid and brave at the same time was curious to In-ho.

During the night, everyone was asleep except for Jung-bae and Dae-ho because it was their turn to keep watch, but seeing that the girl was also awake, Dae-ho approached her.

—¿Aren't you going to sleep? ¿What are you doing?

Watching her try to break the zipper of the jacket, he arched an eyebrow.

—¿What are you doing? —Him ask for the second time, this time more curious.

—The bathrooms have ventilation, with something metal I can open the gate.

It wasn't a great plan but it would be useful, or at least that's what she thought.

—¿Are you going to escape? —Dae-ho asked in surprise at her plan.

Those words caught the attention of the man who was barely trying to sleep in his bed, In-ho opened his eyes and listened attentively.

—I hope so —she agreed not very convinced that those ducts lead to a safe exit without guards. —If I manage to do it, I will go for Gi-hun's team and come back for you guys

—¿What if he finds out?

—Well... The worst thing that can happen to me is getting a bullet in the head.

In-ho twisted his lips, it seemed that the detective who was afraid of dying had disappeared, leaving behind a girl who now only wanted to survive but without seeing anyone else die.

That was honorable, he admitted, but still didn't understand how she would risk his life for people she barely knew and for his boss, accept that she escape without looking back but come back for them?

¿For him?

Or at least that's what he thought when he felt her gaze on him.

—None of you deserve to die in here, you are good people, if I am going to die... I will not do it playing, I will do it trying to do something good.

Those words were enough for In-ho to recognize her worth, finally there was the girl he had been following for a whole year who planned her moves well.

It was nice what she wanted to do.

It was also a complete shame that him had to ruin it for her.

Thanks for reading!! 😸😸😸I think the third part will be full of angst and will be somewhat cloying. I love romance sorry

Tag list:

@lucinda-reads @deathsmellzz @autmn4lvs @cvbi @ava-cjkk @ari200027 @claristary

[undyingdecay]

How do you think bob would react if the team walked into him and reader getting it on??

shameful, needy—and protective.

depends on who walks in, but for the sake of setting—let’s say it’s walker, because of course it would be him.

it’s after a mission.

bob’s buzzing under the skin, raw-edged and humming with static.

his pupils still blown wide from adrenaline, golden irises too bright. hands twitching at his sides like they don’t know how to be still unless they’re on you.

you’d barely made it through the door of your quarters before he had you caged against the wall, mouth hot and searching on your throat like he could crawl inside and stay there.

he’d been good today.

so good.

followed orders.

kept the void quiet, even when the noise got too loud, even when the rebels opened fire right in his face.

he didn’t lash out—just stood there, gold-eyed and waiting, his knuckles white with restraint until your voice called him back.

so now?

he’s earning it.

you’re straddling his lap on the bunk, legs spread, hips grinding soft against the heat of him through his pants.

your shirt’s shoved up around your ribs, tits bare, skin flushed and warm.

his mouth is latched around one nipple—suckling slow, greedy, messy—like he’s been dreaming about it all day.

his hands grip the underside of your thighs, thumbs kneading at the plush curve of your ass like he can’t decide whether to worship or claim.

he’s not even fucking you yet.

just tasting.

eyes half-lidded like he’s praying, lips soft and wet and perfect as he tongues at the peak, then pulls off to press tiny kisses to the sensitive skin around it.

and then—the door hisses open.

bob freezes.

his whole body locks up, like someone just shattered glass behind his eyes.

his mouth is still pressed to your breast, pink lips glistening with spit.

your fingers are knotted in his hair, mid-pull, both of you caught in the act like kids with a stolen cigarette.

walker’s standing in the doorway, lit from behind by the cold fluorescent hallway lights.

datapad in one hand, expression unreadable—except for that look of utter disappointment only he seems capable of weaponizing.

he squints.

takes in the scene—your bare chest, your thighs, the tremble in Bob’s arms—and mutters, “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

bob moves. almost immediately—fast.

arms clamping tighter around your waist, trying to shield you with his own body.

his golden eyes spark, wide with shame and something darker. he curls forward to hide your chest, voice low and hoarse as he growls:

“get out.”

but there’s something flickering under his skin now.

heat.

danger.

that hum, that edge, like the void could split out of him with one wrong breath.

walker doesn’t budge at first. his mouth opens to say something—probably something smug, or scathing—

until you speak.

stern. cold. from the chest.

“walker.”

that stops him.

he looks between the two of you—eyes dragging slowly over where bob’s holding you, still trembling, still pressed mouth-to-skin like he can’t bear to let go.

and then walker just mutters something under his breath and turns on his heel, boots heavy as he stomps down the hallway, door hissing shut behind him.

bob doesn’t wait.

doesn’t even exhale.

his mouth’s already back on your chest, his palms sweeping under your shirt like he’s trying to erase what just happened with touch alone.

he’s whispering now, frantic and low—

“wanna be inside now,”

“please,”

“please, need it, need you—”

his hand palms at the soft skin of your stomach like he’s grounding himself there.

not possessive, just desperate.

like if he doesn’t push inside you soon he’ll vanish.

later bucky will say he heard walker grumbling in the hallway, venting to val with too much irritation and not enough shame:

“caught bob nursing like a fuckin’ baby,” as if he wasn’t the one who walked in.

and val? she won’t even look up from her tablet. just snorts, muttering dryly, “at least he’s stable.”

[heejamas]

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (PART 3)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3 <3

summary: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work.

genre:  enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, smut, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c:  22k words warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni!! softdom beomgyu, unprotected sex, drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, petnames.

author's note: hi guys!! i finally finished this fic <3 i hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

Beomgyu had kissed you.

Again. And you had let him. Again.

Except, this time, it wasn’t in a heated argument. It wasn’t in the middle of some stupid, tension-fueled fight where neither of you could tell whether you wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. This time, he had kissed you after taking you out. After buying you dinner. After walking you home with his arm wrapped around you, his touch casual, like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t dangerous.

It had been soft. Warm. His lips had brushed against yours like a promise, like something new and terrifying was settling into place between you. And you had kissed him back. Not because you were drunk. Not because you were mad. But because, in that moment, you had wanted to.

Which meant you were completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because Beomgyu had been your rival for months. He had been the thorn in your side, the storm in your sky, the one person in this industry you were convinced you would never— well. Never this. And now, your face was buried in your hands, while Yeonjun grinned at you like he was about to savor every second of this.

Yeonjun grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching you like he was about to relish every second of this. "Oh, no, no, no. I need to process this properly." You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, but when you opened them, Yeonjun was still grinning, still watching you like this was the greatest night of his life. "You kissed him," he said, dragging out the words. "Again."

"Shut up," you repeated, but there was no heat in your voice.

Yeonjun ignored you completely, tapping his chin. "And not just anywhere—outside our apartment. Right at the front door. Damn, you guys were desperate."

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand. "Now, sit your ass down and start talking."

You sighed but eventually dropped onto the couch, rubbing your temples. "You want the whole story?"

"Obviously."

So, you told him. Not in excruciating detail, but how you and Beomgyu had kissed at work (again), how Seungcheol interrupted, how Yunho and Seungcheol were absolute assholes behind your back, how Beomgyu defended you (which Yeonjun immediately raised an eyebrow at), how you went out for drinks after work, how he walked you home, and finally—

"And then you guys made out in the hallway like a teen drama couple?" Yeonjun finished for you, grinning.

"We didn’t—" you started, then sighed. "Okay, fine, kind of."

Yeonjun cackled. "This is unreal."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am," he said. "Because this is you—and Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The guy you’ve been complaining about for months. The guy you called your arch-nemesis."

You scowled. "I never called him that."

"You did," he said, smirking. "Twice."

You exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "I don’t know how this happened."

Yeonjun gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Holy shit. Someone call Baekhyun—this is bigger news than the album drop."

"Yeonjun."

"No, really, we need a press release—‘Y/N admits she likes Beomgyu after months of acting like she wanted to strangle him in the studio’—"

"I still want to strangle him," you muttered.

"Yeah, but now you also want to kiss him," he shot back.

Your face burned. "I regret this conversation."

Yeonjun grinned, then leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Okay, but seriously? I’m happy for you."

You hesitated, glancing at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His expression was warm now, all the teasing fading into something real. "Look, I know he’s an annoying little shit, but he’s also not a bad guy," Yeonjun continued. "And if he makes you happy—"

You swallowed. "I don’t know if he does yet."

Yeonjun gave you a look. "You literally kissed him at your front door."

You sighed. "Fine. He makes me feel something. I don’t know what yet."

Yeonjun hummed. "Well, whatever it is, just make sure he doesn’t fuck it up."

You raised an eyebrow. "And if he does?"

Yeonjun leaned back, smirking. "Then I kick his ass."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. That’s definitely gonna scare him."

Yeonjun pouted. "Hey, I could be intimidating."

"You’re wearing pajama pants with cartoon bears on them."

"These are very comfortable," he defended. "But fine, point taken. I’ll get Kai to help."

You chuckled. "Kai wouldn’t hurt a fly."

"Okay, maybe not. But he could guilt-trip Beomgyu into oblivion. That’s almost worse." You laughed again, warmth settling into your chest. Yeonjun grinned, nudging your knee with his. "Hey, relax. I think it’s gonna be fine."

You sighed. "I hope so."

He softened. "And if it’s not, I’m here."

Your throat tightened slightly. "Thanks, Junnie."

"Always," he said, stretching. "Now, I desperately need to sleep."

You nodded, getting up from the couch. "Same."

Yeonjun smirked as you turned toward your bedroom. "Don’t dream about Beomgyu too hard."

"Fuck off," you muttered, flipping him off over your shoulder.

His laughter followed you down the hall. And as you crawled into bed, burying yourself under the covers, you realized, tonight hadn’t gone the way you expected. Not even close. But somehow, for the first time in a while, you weren’t mad about it.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Days bled into nights, hours slipped through your fingers like sand, and before you even realized it, the album had started coming together, really coming together.

The instrumentals were finalized. The production was polished. The members of ENHYPEN had begun recording their vocals, each of them bringing something alive to the tracks that you had spent months obsessing over. Heeseung is a perfectionist, nailing his parts with precision but always wanting one more take. Jungwon is a natural leader, making sure the harmonies sit right. Sunghoon takes direction well, and Jake is full of energy, throwing out ideas between recordings. Sunoo brings emotion into every note, Jay hypes up the others, and Ni-ki—despite being the youngest—picks things up faster than anyone. You spend most of your days in the vocal booth, guiding them through runs, adjusting layers, making sure everything blends the way it’s supposed to.

And Beomgyu? He’s there. Not just physically, but in a way you didn’t expect. You don’t even question it anymore, the way he sits at the back of the room, his presence always in your periphery. The way he occasionally throws out suggestions, most of them annoyingly good. The way he watches you work, like he’s trying to figure you out.

There’s no formal arrangement, no spoken agreement. But at some point, without either of you really acknowledging it, you start to rely on him. And outside the studio… there’s that. The moments between work. The coffee he wordlessly hands you when he notices you getting too in your head. The way his hand lingers on your back when he leans in to show you something on the soundboard. The nights when he convinces you to take a break, dragging you to the bar near HYBE, ordering rounds of beer and stealing food off your plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The nights when, after a few drinks, his fingers tangle in your hoodie, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours before he really kisses you, slow, lazy, like he knows you won’t pull away. It’s not something you talk about. Not at work, at least.

But it’s there. And you don’t mind. Because somehow, between all of this, between studio sessions and late-night drinking, between teasing remarks and stolen kisses, you and Beomgyu fit into each other’s lives like you were always supposed to be there.

And then, a few weeks after that night outside your apartment, you finish the album. The final track is mixed, the final arrangement locked in. You sit back in your chair, staring at the screen, your heart pounding. It’s done.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle beside you. “Holy shit.”

You turn to him, still half in shock. “We actually finished it.”

He grins, knocking his knee against yours. “You finished it.”

You exhale, shaking your head. You almost don’t believe it. And then, the door swings open. Baekhyun steps inside, looking way too pleased. “Perfect timing. I was just about to call you both for a meeting.”

Beomgyu groans. “A meeting? We should be celebrating.”

Baekhyun smirks. “We will. That’s what the party is for.”

You blink. “Party?”

“The album launch.” Baekhyun crosses his arms. “Label event, media coverage, important people. Big deal.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

Beomgyu perks up. “Is it open bar?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, muttering, “It’s totally open bar.”

You snort. Baekhyun claps his hands. “Alright, conference room in five.”

You sigh, powering down your setup. “Guess we’re not celebrating just yet.”

Beomgyu stretches. “Give it time.”

The conference room is packed when you walk in. The ENHYPEN members are already seated, along with some producers, managers, and Seungcheol. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. You haven’t seen much of him since Beomgyu told you everything. You don’t want to think about it now.

You slide into a seat, and moments later, Baekhyun starts running through final updates, the release schedule, the media strategy, the logistics of the launch party. "Romance: Untold," Baekhyun says, nodding toward you and Beomgyu. "Love the name."

A murmur of approval spreads around the table. "It’s perfect," Heeseung agrees.

"I told you it was better than ‘Files of Romance,’" Jay adds.

Baekhyun smirks. “Told you it was just a working title.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, voice low. “You hearing this? We won.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be insufferable about it.”

“I live to be insufferable,” he whispers.

Before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks. "You know," he muses, leaning back in his chair, "I have to say—Y/N, you really outdid yourself with this album." You blink, caught off guard. Seungcheol’s gaze settles on you, his smile smooth, too easy. “The vocal production, the arrangement, the way everything blends—it’s all sharp. Easily some of the best work I’ve seen from you.”

A few heads nod in agreement. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap. “Uh. Thanks.”

Baekhyun claps his hands together. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Party’s this Friday—be there, look good, and for the love of God, don’t embarrass me.”

People start filing out of the room, but before you can move, Beomgyu leans closer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then nudges your arm. “Good. Because we have a party to dominate.”

You huff. “That’s not how album release parties work.”

Beomgyu grins. “That’s how we work.” And you have a feeling he’s absolutely right.

The venue was nothing short of extravagant. Dim golden lighting, sleek black-and-gold decor, and a curated guest list that ensured the room was filled with the industry’s best. Label executives, producers, other artists, everyone who mattered was here, celebrating your work.

And you looked good. Not just put-together. Not just presentable. Good. Your dress was sleek—black, fitted, with thin straps and a slit up one side that made walking feel like a power move. Understated but striking. The kind of outfit that made you feel in control.

You hadn’t done it for anyone. Not for the photographers, not for the label executives, and not even for Beomgyu. But the second you walked in, his eyes found you. And you knew. You felt the weight of his stare before you even saw him, the way his gaze flickered down, slowly tracing over you before snapping back up. You pretended not to notice. Pretended you didn’t see the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand. Pretended it didn’t make your stomach tighten.

Because tonight, the two of you were professionals. No one here knew. No one had any idea what had been happening between you for the last few weeks—the late nights, the stolen kisses, the way his hands had started finding your waist when no one was looking. And that was how it needed to stay.

"Alright," Yeonjun hummed beside you, adjusting his blazer. "Where’s the champagne?"

You snorted. "Can you at least pretend you’re here for the album?"

Yeonjun grinned. "Oh, I’m definitely here for the album. But I’m also here for free alcohol."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Come on, let’s find the others."

The three of you wove through the crowd, stopping for brief congratulations from a few producers and label reps. And then, you spotted the ENHYPEN members near the bar.

"Y/N!" Heeseung waved you over, grinning. "We were just talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping up beside him. "Good things, I hope."

Jay smirked. "Very good things. You did produce our album, after all."

Ni-ki grinned. "I think she deserves a toast."

You laughed. "You just want an excuse to drink more."

Jake nudged you playfully. "Maybe. But you do deserve it."

Your chest warmed at the praise. You had spent so much time working on this album that you had barely stopped to consider what it actually meant, not just to you, but to them. You exhaled, reaching for a glass of champagne from the bar. "Fine. A toast, then."

The guys all lifted their glasses, and Heeseung smirked. "To the best producer we could’ve asked for." The glasses clinked, and you took a sip, letting the bubbles fizz against your tongue. The conversation carried on easily, laughter and congratulations blending into the hum of the party.

And throughout it all, you felt him. Felt his presence across the room, the weight of his gaze every time you so much as moved. Beomgyu was talking to Soobin, but his attention wasn’t fully there. Not when you shifted your weight. Not when you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Not when you laughed at something Jay said, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat. His grip on his glass tightened.

And you smirked to yourself, barely resisting the urge to glance at him. If he wanted to play it cool, fine. So would you.

An hour passed. The room had filled out even more, the energy shifting as people relaxed, drinks flowed, and the excitement of the album’s release finally settled in. You had long since drifted from the bar, making rounds, stopping for brief conversations, keeping up exactly the level of professional distance you were supposed to.

And Beomgyu had too. Until now. Because one moment, you were standing by one of the lounge tables, listening to Taehyun say something about the press coverage. And the next, Beomgyu was there, too close.

His hand brushed against your lower back, just barely, and then his breath was at your ear. "You look so fucking good tonight." Your body locked up. Beomgyu’s voice was low, meant for only you. His fingers ghosted over your hip, a touch so fleeting it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. "I’ve been trying to focus all night," he murmured. "But you keep walking around looking like that." Your throat went dry. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked, still too close.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your posture to stay straight. "I was."

He hummed. "Then I won’t keep you."

And just like that, he pulled away. Left you standing there, heart hammering, skin warm where his breath had touched it. Like he hadn’t just completely unraveled you with two fucking sentences. You swallowed, forcing yourself to refocus on the conversation.

Taehyun smirked. "You okay?"

You shot him a look. "Fine."

Yeonjun grinned, sipping his drink. "Uh-huh. Sure."

You ignored them both. But as you glanced across the room, catching sight of Beomgyu’s smirk as he raised his glass to you. You weren’t making it through this party unscathed.

The bathroom was quiet. A rare moment of stillness amid the overwhelming noise of the party. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself before stepping back out into the chaos. But the second you did—

"Hey." You barely had time to register the voice before Seungcheol appeared beside you, his usual easy smile in place. "Didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you tonight," he said, tilting his head. "You’ve been busy."

You exhaled. "Yeah, well, it’s a big night."

"It is." His gaze flickered over you, lingering in a way that made your stomach twist. "And you’re looking— good." The way he said it, too familiar, too confident, made something in you prickle.

"Thanks," you said, keeping your tone even. "Hope you’re enjoying the party."

"Oh, I am." Seungcheol’s smirk deepened. "More now that we’re talking."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "We see each other at work, you know."

"Yeah, but work isn’t exactly the place to have fun, is it?" He took a slow sip of his drink, gaze still fixed on you. "I was serious about what I said in the meeting. You really killed it on this album."

"I appreciate that."

"I mean it." His voice dipped, his body shifting slightly closer. "It’s impressive. You’re impressive."

You forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

"You know—" he mused, "you don’t have to be stuck at HYBE forever. You’ve got talent. People notice."

You stiffened slightly. "I’m fine where I am."

"Are you?" He hummed. "Because I keep thinking about how someone like you deserves better than some minor group’s project. You could be working with bigger names."

Your stomach turned. "ENHYPEN’s album is a big deal."

"Sure." He smiled. "But I bet you could be doing bigger things. Better things. Maybe with better people." There it was. The way his words twisted, the implication lurking just beneath the surface.

Your jaw tightened. "I’m good where I am, Seungcheol."

"Of course," he said smoothly, unfazed. "Just saying—if you ever want to get out of there, I’d be happy to—"

"She’s fine where she is."

The interruption was sharp and familiar. Your breath hitched before you even turned your head. Because suddenly, Beomgyu was there. He wasn’t just standing beside you, he was between you and Seungcheol, his body angled slightly, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were sharp, dark, not teasing, not playful.

Seungcheol sighed, exhaling through his nose. "Ah, Beomgyu."

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said flatly. "Didn’t realize you were so interested in Y/N’s career path."

Seungcheol shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Right." Beomgyu’s lips twitched, mocking. "Well, we were actually in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind—"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of what, exactly?"

Beomgyu smiled. "Leaving."

And before Seungcheol could say another word, Beomgyu’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm. And then, he pulled you away. You barely had time to register it, barely had time to breathe before he was leading you across the venue, weaving through the crowd with purpose, his grip never loosening.

"Beomgyu—" you started.

"Not here," he muttered. He pushed open a door. A small, empty lounge. Dimly lit, tucked away from the main event. The second the door closed behind you, he turned. And the energy in the room shifted. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, his fingers still curled around your wrist like he couldn’t let go.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse erratic, and the air in the small, dimly lit lounge was thick, too thick, pressing against your skin like a second layer. The bass from the party outside throbbed faintly through the walls, but in here, it was silent. Beomgyu stood in front of you, his chest rising and falling with controlled, shallow breaths. His fingers were still curled around your wrist, firm, warm, like he wasn’t ready to let go. The look in his eyes was unreadable, dark, searching, brimming with something that made your stomach twist and your throat go dry.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, voice sharper than intended, trying to ground yourself.

Beomgyu let out a humorless scoff, raking a hand through his dark hair, making it fall messily over his forehead. "Are you serious?"

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "He wasn’t doing anything—"

"He was fucking testing you," Beomgyu snapped. His voice was rough, his jaw tight. "Just seeing how much he could get away with." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Your heart pounded. "It’s not your problem, Beomgyu."

His eyes flashed. "Like hell it’s not."

And suddenly, he was too close. His hand was still on you, his fingers now sliding down, tracing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, and the air between you was buzzing.

"Do you have any idea," he muttered, voice lower now, almost a growl, "how fucking insane you make me?" Your breath hitched. His fingers twitched, like he was holding himself back. Like he was trying so hard not to do something reckless. "I saw you the second you walked into this party," he murmured. "I haven’t stopped looking at you since."

A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Beomgyu—"

"And then I see him—" His jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened. "Talking to you like he fucking owns you, like he has any right to be standing that fucking close—"

"He doesn’t," you cut in, your voice softer this time. Beomgyu’s gaze flicked to yours. Something inside him shifted. And then he stepped closer. So close you could feel the warmth of his skin. So close that if you moved even an inch, your lips would touch.

His next breath fanned against your cheek. His voice was a whisper, but it wrecked you. "I can’t fucking focus when you’re around," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped. A smirk ghosted over your lips before you could stop it. "Good."

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was all it took. A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. And then he was kissing you. Not soft. Not careful. Desperate. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you like he needed to feel every inch of you against him. His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss instantly, his tongue teasing along your bottom lip, demanding more. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing himself closer.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, his voice ragged, "you taste good."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his blazer, clinging to him as heat rolled through you. "We—"

"Not stopping," he cut in, tilting your chin up with his fingers before kissing you again, harder, more possessive. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the sharp sting sent a spark straight to your stomach. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly, and then, he pressed his leg between yours. Your breath hitched. The pressure made you let out a small, helpless sound escaping you before you could stop it, your fingers curling tighter into his jacket. Beomgyu froze. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

And his expression changed. The arrogance was gone. The playfulness was gone. His gaze dropped to your lips, still swollen from his kisses, then flickered back up to your eyes. "Oh," he murmured, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Did you just moan for me?"

Your face burned. "I—"

"Fuck." His grip on your waist tightened, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled sharply. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard."

Your entire body buzzed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say my name again," he murmured against your lips, voice thick with something else, something darker. "Say it while I make you feel good."

And then he moved his leg. A slow, deliberate shift, just enough to press against the heat between your thighs. Your lips parted, a choked noise escaping before you could stop it. Beomgyu groaned. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his grip turning bruising. "You like that, don’t you?"

Your fingers dug into his arms. "Beomgyu—"

"That’s it," he praised, his mouth trailing down, along your jaw, to your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin before his lips soothed over the mark, sucking lightly. You whimpered, your head tilting back on instinct. Beomgyu chuckled against your skin, pleased. "So sensitive." He kissed down, past your collarbone, murmuring against your skin, "I bet I could get you falling apart from just this, huh?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "We—we’re at a party—"

"I don’t give a shit," he growled, nipping at your collarbone, his hands sliding over your thighs, gripping you like he needed to touch you. "I should. I should be worried about someone walking in, but fuck—" He kissed your neck again, hungrier, more reckless. "I can’t stop touching you."

The world outside ceased to exist. The music from the party became a distant hum, swallowed by the heat wrapping around you both. The dim lighting barely illuminated the outline of Beomgyu’s face, his sharp jawline, the messy strands of black hair falling over his forehead. His fingers were still gripping your waist, his breath shallow, his pupils blown wide. His lips were red from kissing you.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, testing. But Beomgyu didn’t hesitate, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth parting against yours, deepening the kiss like he needed it. Your fingers found the lapels of his blazer, gripping tightly as he walked you backward, lips still moving against yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of a small couch. And then, with one swift motion, Beomgyu’s hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly. Before you could process it, he lifted you. A startled gasp escaped against his mouth, but he just smirked, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap as he turned around and sat down, settling you exactly where he wanted you, straddling him.

Your dress rode up your thighs with the movement, exposing the soft skin beneath. Beomgyu’s hands immediately found their place there, fingers pressing into the flesh, holding you tight. His touch was burning. Everything was burning. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice low, almost wrecked.

You shivered, hands sliding up to cup his face, tilting his chin up slightly before diving back in, kissing him harder this time. He groaned into your mouth, his fingers flexing against your skin before one hand slid up to your back, pressing you closer.

His lips left yours just long enough to move to your jaw, trailing down slowly, deliberately, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more access, and Beomgyu took it, sucking lightly against your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted slightly, adjusting your position. The friction made his breath hitch, his hands dig into your thighs. You felt the effect you had on him. And it made something ignite in you. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips against him. The reaction was immediate. Beomgyu let out a low, strangled moan, his fingers gripping you harder. "Shit—"

A slow smirk curled on your lips. "You like that?"

His head tipped back against the couch for a second, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. "You’re gonna fucking kill me," he muttered.

You leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jawline, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded under your lips. Beomgyu swallowed hard, his hands roaming up and down your back, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold you there or pull you impossibly closer. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice raw, almost desperate. "So pretty, so fucking good—"

You kissed along the edge of his jaw, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath you. "You talk too much," you whispered, nipping lightly at his skin.

Beomgyu growled, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you back down for another kiss. This one was messy, hungrier, his tongue teasing against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go. You rolled your hips again, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you. And then, with a frustrated groan, he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it to the side without a second thought. You took the opportunity immediately.

Before he could do anything else, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the newly exposed skin, kissing down the side of his neck, letting your teeth graze over his pulse point before sucking lightly. Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping you tighter. "Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head back, letting you ruin him.

You kissed down his throat, down to the hollow between his collarbones, listening to the way his breath hitched, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. When you pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes were hooded, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. And fuck, he had never looked better. He looked wrecked. All because of you.

His hands slid up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheek before tilting your chin, making you look at him. Beomgyu’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his dark eyes locked onto yours, gaze molten, burning. He held your chin in place for a second longer, like he was savoring the moment, the way you looked, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And then his hand moved lower. Fingers trailing down the line of your throat, slow, deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go. When his fingers wrapped around your neck, his palm warm against your skin, you felt your pulse stutter. And then, a light squeeze. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. Beomgyu smirked when he felt the sharp intake of your breath.

"You like that, huh?" he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, his grip firm but teasing. Your lips parted, and before you could even think of responding, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "Of course, you do." Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure when it had happened, when you had lost yourself so completely to him, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Because his lips were on yours again, and this time, the kiss was even hungrier.

He tilted your head back slightly with his hand still around your throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body ache. You felt his other hand travel up your side, fingers ghosting over your waist, up to your ribs, higher, until his palm was covering your chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress.

A quiet whimper escaped you, and Beomgyu groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as he squeezed lightly, his thumb teasing over your covered skin. "Fuck," he breathed, "you feel even better than I imagined."

Your brain short-circuited. "Imagined?"

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Oh, you have no idea." His lips brushed against your jaw as he spoke, his words dripping into your skin, each one sending heat straight through you. "How many nights I’ve thought about this. About you, sitting on my lap like this. About how fucking perfect you’d feel pressed against me."

Your fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the buttons of his shirt, your breath uneven. "Beomgyu—"

"I should’ve had you like this a long time ago," he muttered, voice darker now, laced with frustration. "Should’ve made you mine the second I realized no one else was ever gonna be enough."

Your fingers worked through the buttons of his shirt with slow precision, the fabric parting inch by inch, revealing golden skin, firm muscle, evidence of how strong he really was, how much restraint he had been holding onto. Beomgyu’s breath was heavy, ragged, his chest rising and falling with each undone button. His hands stayed firm on your hips, his grip bruising, grounding himself, like he was trying to stay in control.

"Fuck," he muttered as your fingers ghosted over his collarbone, your touch featherlight, teasing. "You’re killing me."

A smirk curled at your lips. "Am I?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sharp edge of his jawline, then lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his throat. You felt the way his pulse pounded against your lips, erratic, betraying the composure he was desperately trying to hold onto. "Yes, and I'll make you fucking mine." His voice was rough, dark with something possessive, something unshakable.

Beomgyu ripped the rest of his shirt off, tossing it aside like it meant nothing. And fuck, you had seen glimpses before, the way his shirts fit him, the way he carried himself, but this—this was something else entirely. His body was lean, defined, sculpted by years of muscle memory, of practice, of control. His skin was smooth, warm under your fingertips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you traced your hands down, over his collarbones, over the faint lines of his abdomen.

"You like what you see, mhm?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement, but his tone was strained, like he wanted to keep up the cocky act but was barely hanging on.

You didn’t answer. You just pressed your lips to his collarbone, then lower. Beomgyu sucked in a sharp breath, his hands trembling against you. You kissed down the center of his chest, slow, teasing, feeling the muscles beneath your lips tense as you moved lower, your hands gliding over his stomach. His breath hitched when you sank to your knees.

Still between his legs, still so perfectly in his space, your hands sliding over his thighs as you settled in front of him. Beomgyu let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back for a second before he forced himself to look at you.

And fuck, the way he looked at you. Like you were a prayer. Like you were the thing he had been craving forever. His fingers found your hair, curling around the strands at the base of your skull, holding you there, his grip firm but controlled. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with something between reverence and ruin. "So fucking pretty on your knees for me."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Beomgyu—"

"Ask, baby." Beomgyu’s grip on your hair tightens slightly, his fingers threading through the strands, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His touch isn’t rough but it’s firm enough to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes watch you carefully, taking in the way your lips part, the way your fingers twitch against his thighs, craving more.

He hums, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his smirk lazy, knowing. "You want this, don’t you?" You swallow, nodding instinctively, your throat dry with anticipation. Beomgyu clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly, amused. "Use your words."

You exhale shakily, your grip tightening against the fabric of his pants, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. He’s toying with you, loving the power he holds, and you know it. But you refuse to let the moment swallow you whole. "I want this."

His lips curl slightly, that signature cocky smirk dancing at the edges of his mouth. "Say it properly, baby."

Your stomach tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the control he wields so effortlessly, the sheer enjoyment flickering in his eyes as he watches you squirm. You lick your lips, steadying your voice as you meet his gaze head-on. "I want you, Beomgyu. Please."

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his hand sliding down to cup your chin, his fingers pressing into your jaw just enough to make you tilt your head up to him. His expression shifts—less teasing, more raw, like your words just hit him somewhere deep. "Fuck," he mutters, his voice rasping with unfiltered need. His grip on your chin tightens just slightly before he lets go. "Go on then," he says, voice low, thick. "Take my pants off."

You don’t hesitate. Your fingers move to the button of his pants, undoing them slowly, feeling the heat radiating off his body as you tug the zipper down. You push the fabric down his hips, your hands brushing against the firm muscles of his thighs as you strip him, leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you kneel back, taking in the sight before you. Beomgyu is a mess of contradictions. He’s laid back against the couch, his arm resting over the back like he’s relaxed, in control—but the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, betray him. His body is tense with anticipation, with barely restrained desire, and the way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you whole, sends a wave of heat straight through you.

Your hands skim up his thighs, slow, teasing, as you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just above his knee. His breath catches, his fingers flexing against the cushion beside him. "Please…" you whimper, your voice a delicate plea against his skin.

Beomgyu’s eyes darken, his head tilting down to meet your gaze as his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Please what, princess?" His voice is nothing but a husky murmur, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t answer right away, you let your lips trail higher, kissing along his inner thigh, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath you, his breath shuddering as you tease him.

"Let me…" You murmur, your fingers sliding up to grip his thighs, spreading them wider for you. The sheer power shift, the way he lets you take control, yet still holds all the dominance in his touch, makes you dizzy. You glance up at him through your lashes, your expression caught between innocence and temptation. "Let me… please."

Beomgyu's pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his body trembling slightly with restraint. And then, his smirk returns, slower this time, almost predatory. "Yes, princess…" His voice is a breathless rasp. "Take what you want."

You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down with excruciating slowness, your nails grazing along his hips as you strip him completely. Your movements falter for just a second as your eyes take him in, fully bare before you. Heat blooms across your skin, your pulse stuttering as the sight of him renders you momentarily speechless. He’s beautiful.

Not just in the way you always knew, sharp jaw, plush lips, tousled hair falling into his dark, expectant eyes, but like this. Completely exposed, all golden skin and defined lines, every inch of him sculpted to perfection. And big. Your stomach tightens at the realization, heat rushing between your thighs as your gaze instinctively trails down, taking in the sheer size of him. Your lips part slightly, your fingers hovering over his skin, hesitant, almost reverent, like you’re still processing just how much of him there is.

Beomgyu notices. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips, his chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths as he watches you. His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement. "Speechless?"

You nod softly as you lean in, your lips brushing his lower abdomen, pressing wet, teasing kisses along the dips and curves of his pelvis. You feel the way his breath stutters, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, his self-control slipping with every touch of your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand flying to your hair, fingers curling into the strands, not pushing—just holding. "You’re playing a dangerous game, baby."

You hum softly, feigning innocence as you trail lower, your lips brushing just beside where he wants you the most. You can feel him tense beneath you, his thighs clenching, his breathing uneven. You look up at him again, your tongue peeking out slightly as you hover just close enough to make him ache. "Yeah?" you whisper, teasing. "What do you want, Gyu?"

Beomgyu curses under his breath, his head rolling back before he drags his eyes back down to you, gaze sharp and burning. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip firm but not yet forcing, just holding, reminding you exactly who’s in charge. His head tilts down, dark eyes watching you, unreadable yet burning with something wild, something barely restrained. "Use that pretty mouth on me," he rasps, voice rough, commanding. "Show me how bad you want it."

You don’t hesitate. Leaning in, you press slow, deliberate kisses along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him, teasing, testing. You hear the sharp breath he sucks in, feel the way his thighs tense under your touch. And then, you take him into your mouth. Beomgyu exhales harshly, his head rolling back for just a moment, his fingers flexing in your hair before his gaze snaps back to you, completely fixated on the sight of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick with pleasure. His free hand clenches into a fist against the couch, trying to keep himself grounded. "Look at you… so fucking good for me. On your knees, taking me like so well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, making you moan softly around him. The vibration of it rips another groan from his throat, his hips twitching slightly in response. "Shit—" he grits out, his grip in your hair tightening as you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, gripping onto his thighs for support.

You love how he reacts to you, how his breath stutters, how his muscles tense every time your tongue glides over him. You let your eyes flutter open, glancing up at him through your lashes, letting him see the way you’re completely lost in pleasing him.

And he does. His jaw clenches, his lips part slightly as he watches you, his pupils dark and blown wide with hunger. His entire body is strung tight with restraint, like he’s one second away from completely losing control. "Fuck, take it," he groans, his voice nothing but raw need.

Your response is to moan around him again, sending another delicious vibration up his spine. Beomgyu curses under his breath, his hand tugging slightly at your hair in warning. You pull away just slightly, your lips gliding lower, pressing wet, teasing kisses along his base, then trailing further down. Beomgyu shudders the second your tongue flicks against his balls, his head snapping down to look at you. His reaction is primal.

"Shit—baby—" His breath is ragged, his body jerking at the sensation. His grip tightens, his fingers threading deeper into your hair as he exhales a shaky, desperate groan. "God, you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You smirk up at him, licking slowly, teasing, watching the way his expression twists in pleasure, the way he struggles to keep himself from completely losing control. "Good," you murmur against his skin, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Beomgyu lets out a breathless laugh, but it’s broken by another sharp inhale as you take him back into your mouth, this time moving faster, deeper. His head falls back against the couch, his chest heaving as he fights to hold himself together. But you can tell, he’s unraveling.

"Fuck, princess—" His voice is hoarse, breathless, his control slipping with every passing second. He yanks your hair back slightly, just enough to make you look up at him, just enough to remind you who’s in charge. "You wanna make me come, baby?" he growls, his fingers tangling deeper into your hair, his hips starting to twitch up into your mouth. "Then don’t fucking stop."

Your nails dig into his thighs as you obey, quickening your pace, taking him deeper, sucking harder. The sounds spilling from his lips grow rougher, filthier, his body trembling beneath you. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it, princess—" His voice is wrecked now, completely desperate, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants.

You can feel it. The way he’s holding back, the way he’s teetering on the edge, barely holding himself together. "I’m so close," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening, his thighs clenching beneath your fingers. His dark, lust-blown eyes lock onto yours, and his next words come out in a low, sinful command—

"Take it, baby. Take every fucking drop." A deep, broken moan rips from Beomgyu’s throat as his body shudders, unraveling completely in your mouth. His grip in your hair tightens for a fleeting second before it relaxes, his breath stuttering as he watches you, watches the way you take it all, how you swallow every last drop without hesitation.

And then you look up at him. Your lips are slightly parted, your tongue flicking out to catch the remnants of him, your eyes filled with something that makes his stomach twist—devotion, submission, something entirely yours.

His head falls back against the couch, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, the aftershocks still coursing through him. One hand slides down to your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your lips, his thumb pressing lightly against your lower one, just enough to part them again. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice still thick, still wrecked. "You were made for this, weren’t you?"

He doesn’t let you answer. Instead, he pulls you up effortlessly, lifting you onto his lap, pressing your body against his. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his grip firm, possessive, as if the idea of letting you go is unbearable.

"You took care of me so well, baby… " he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple before trailing down to your jawline. You feel him smile slightly against your skin as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of the moment.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin. "So good," he praises again, his voice softer now, dripping with satisfaction. Your lips press against his jawline in response, a soft, lingering kiss, and his chest tightens at the gesture. Beomgyu’s fingers move to your chin, tilting your head up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His grip is firm, a silent reminder of who’s in control. His gaze burns into yours, something dark and unreadable swirling in his expression. "I told you I would make you mine," he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low, almost predatory growl.

A soft whimper escapes you, and Beomgyu smirks, pleased. He sees the way your thighs twitch in response, the way your fingers tighten against his shoulders, as if you need more, need him. "Gyu—"

"Aww…" He tuts, his tone dripping with amusement. "My eager little princess." His fingers trail down your body, slow, teasing, ghosting over your waist before resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin just above your knee, his touch featherlight, too light. "You want me that bad, huh?" He teases, his smirk deepening as he watches you squirm under his touch. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

His hand moves higher, creeping up your thigh, his fingers a slow, torturous promise. His other hand rests against your lower back, keeping you pressed against him, making sure you feel every inch of his growing need for you. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Are you going to listen to everything I say?"

You nod quickly, breathless, eager and Beomgyu groans at the sight of you like this, so willing, so obedient for him. "Good girl," he praises, his voice softer now, but no less dominant. His fingers finally slide higher, his palm pressing between your legs, feeling the heat radiating from your core. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk against your skin. "Let’s see how badly you want it."

You never imagined Beomgyu would be like this. Dominant. Gentle. Dangerous. From the beginning, you thought you knew exactly who he was—the carefree boy with easy laughter, quick-witted jokes, always playful, always teasing you. But now, here, with his darkened gaze filled with hunger, his touch both possessive and reverent, his voice thick with unrestrained desire, you realize you maybe never really knew him at all.

Not like this. Not the way he strips you down with slow, deliberate hands, unzipping your dress and letting it slip off your shoulders before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Not the way his breath catches at the sight of you in nothing but black lace, his lips parting slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as if he’s already imagining the taste of you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, his fingers tracing along your waist, pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sink into you, warm and dizzying, as his lips find your collarbone, kissing, sucking, worshiping every inch of skin he can reach. Every praise, every whispered “perfect,” every quiet groan of appreciation makes your head spin.

And then, your bra joins your dress on the floor, and he loses it. His mouth is eager, starving as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to hold onto something. His hands wander lower, gliding down your stomach, mapping out the curves of your hips, his touch featherlight as he slides over your thighs. He teases, fingers barely grazing where you need him most, making you whimper in frustration.

And then, everything shifts. In one swift motion, he pulls you back against him, your back colliding with his chest as he leans into the couch, trapping you in his hold. His arms lock around you, forearms pressing into your ribcage, his legs framing yours, keeping you caged.

His breath is hot against your ear as his lips ghost along your jaw, your earlobe, teasing before his teeth sink into the sensitive skin, making you shiver. He hums, satisfied with your reaction, his voice a low rasp against your skin. “I picture you like this…” His hands trail lower, fingers dancing just above the waistband of your underwear, barely touching. Teasing. “Touching yourself when you think of me.”

A shudder rips through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around nothing. His fingers finally slip inside your underwear, dragging through your slick heat before circling your clit, slow, deliberate, just enough to make you whimper. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lips brushing against your temple. “Is it like this?”

You can’t even answer, your breath stutters as his fingers move, lazy and unhurried, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open over him. His hard length presses against your lower back, and the thought of him like this, as desperate as you, makes you whine.

“You like it when I talk about you like this, don’t you?” He whispers against your neck, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. “When I tell you how fucking good you are for me?”

You nod, words are impossible, lost in the haze of him, in the way he’s playing you like he knows your body better than you do. His fingers work you open, his pace torturously slow. “You’re soaking,” he murmurs, his tone almost in awe, his fingers gliding through your wetness with ease. He presses a slow, teasing circle over your clit, his lips curving into a smirk against your jaw. “Fuck, baby. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips twitching in search of more friction, but he takes his time, dragging his fingers through your slick with excruciating patience. He sinks one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his breath hitching at the way you immediately tighten around him, moaning softly. “Yes, fuck—”

“There you go,” he hums, voice rich with praise. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as he moves inside you, curling his finger just right before adding another. He sets a steady, unhurried rhythm, pumping into you, his palm pressing firmly against your clit every time he thrusts deeper.

The pleasure builds steadily, an unbearable coil tightening in your stomach as he continues, fingers fucking you open with perfect precision. His lips stay on your neck, murmuring praises, coaxing out every little sound from you like he’s memorizing them. “So wet, baby,” he groans, his voice raspier now, his own breathing uneven. “Dripping down my fingers—fuck, I could do this all night.”

Your thighs start to tremble, pleasure winding tighter, higher, every brush of his fingers sending sparks through you. “You gonna come for me?” he murmurs, biting down on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

You nod frantically, hands clutching at his forearm, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure inside you nears its breaking point. And then he stops. A broken whine rips from your throat as he pulls his fingers away, leaving you throbbing, aching for release. Your hips jerk, searching for friction, but he tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still.

His lips are back at your ear, dark amusement lacing his voice. “You wanna come, baby?” You nod desperately, frustration clear in the way you squirm against him. His smirk is evident in his tone, teasing, full of control. “Then beg for it.”

A desperate whimper leaves your lips as you try to push back against his hand, chasing your release, but his grip tightens around your waist, holding you in place. You shudder, your pride warring with your need, but the ache between your legs is unbearable, your body throbbing with want. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely there, breathless.

His fingers ghost over your clit, just enough to make you whimper. “Louder.”

“Please,” you repeat, more desperate now, shifting in his hold, but he keeps you still, his restraint only making you needier.

He chuckles, low and dark, his free hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight. “I know you can do better than that, princess.”

You swallow hard, your skin burning under his touch, under his dominance, and finally, you let go. “Please, Beomgyu,” you beg, voice trembling, raw with want. “I need it. I need you.”

His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. “That’s my good girl.”

And then, he gives you exactly what you want. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing firm, deliberate circles, before slipping back inside you, fucking you open with a pace that has you arching against him, gasping his name like it’s the only word you know. “Careful, baby,” he warns, voice low and taunting. “If you’re not quiet, everybody’s gonna hear how good my fingers are fucking you.”

The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The muffled bass of the music vibrates through the walls, laughter and conversation hum in the background—but none of it matters. You’re drowning in him, in the way he’s looking at you, in the way he’s holding you like he owns you.

Beomgyu smirks. “Unless you want them to hear,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “Wanna let them know who’s making you feel this good?”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body burning with both embarrassment and excitement. He chuckles, dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, nipping at your skin before whispering against it. “Go on, then,” he taunts, voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream for me, princess? Come hard for me—tell me who owns you.”

Your only response is a broken moan as the coil in your stomach tightens, every nerve in your body wound impossibly tight. His fingers curl just right, stroking over that perfect spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit with every movement, dragging you higher, closer.

“Beomgyu—” You choke out his name, legs trembling as the pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your entire body clenches around him, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as you come undone in his arms.

He groans, feeling you pulse around his fingers, his own need surging at the way you fall apart for him. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, hungry. “All mine.”

His fingers don’t stop, drawing out every aftershock, making sure you feel every last bit of pleasure. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, loving the way your body shudders against him, the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You did so good, princess,” he whispers, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his fingers still tracing lazy circles over your overstimulated clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch. “So fucking good for me.”

His touch lingers, his fingers gliding over your flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips, his gaze locked onto yours as he sucks them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. “Fuck,” he breathes, his tongue flicking over his fingers before releasing them with a wet pop. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

His hands find your waist again, flipping you effortlessly so that you’re straddling his lap now, facing him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with need as he runs his hands down your sides, over your thighs, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“I need more,” he confesses, his voice low, rough. “I need to feel you completely.” His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel him—hard, straining, aching for you. “You want that too, don’t you, princess?” he murmurs, his fingers digging into your hips. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

His lips find yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything. He’s still teasing you, rolling his hips up against yours, the friction deliciously torturous, but not enough. You whimper into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “Please.” His lips curl into a smirk against yours.

He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you, his breath was shallow, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with need. His hands gripped your waist like they couldn’t bear to let go. "Ride me, princess," he murmured, voice hoarse, laced with the kind of desire that made your stomach tighten. "I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You shivered, heart pounding in your ears as you shifted your hips. The stretch as you sank down onto him was slow, deliberate, breathtaking. His head dropped back slightly, a deep curse escaping his lips as your body took him in inch by inch. You bit your lip at the sensation, your nails digging into his shoulders to keep yourself grounded.

Beomgyu’s hands slid up your thighs, firm and reverent, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or completely ruin you. "God, baby," he groaned. "You feel so tight."

You moved gently at first, adjusting to the rhythm, the feel of him so deep inside you. But the tension built quickly, each roll of your hips sparking a fire in your belly. It wasn’t just the friction, the heat, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. It was the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

"Faster," he rasped, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Let go, baby, fuck—"

You obeyed. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as you picked up pace, riding him harder now, chasing the release that curled in your spine. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize you, palms smoothing over your waist, thumbs brushing your nipples, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you down for another kiss.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he whispered into your mouth, like it was the only truth he knew. You leaned into him, your hands braced against his chest, your forehead resting against his. His eyes never left yours, even when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, even when your moans turned into cries, and his own control began to slip.

"That’s it," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, his voice rough with desperation. "Show me how good it feels. Let me hear you, baby."

And you did. You cried out his name, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, and that was all it took—Beomgyu cursed, his grip bruising as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Your bodies were tangled, your breaths uneven, your heartbeats frantic. Then, slowly, you collapsed forward into his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his neck. And then—

The doorknob rattles.

Your entire body tenses, your breath hitching as your eyes snap open, panic shooting through you. Beomgyu freezes too, his hands still gripping your waist as you both turn toward the door, hearts pounding in unison.

Someone trying to come in. You swallow hard, your mind racing. Shit. Then, voices. Someone outside the door, their footsteps heavy against the floor. “Wait, why’s this locked?” A muffled voice, followed by the sound of someone rattling the handle.

Beomgyu looks back at you, his brows raised slightly, waiting for your call. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling fast with his still-unspent desire, but his grip on you loosens slightly, giving you an out. You hesitate, your body still buzzing, still needing him. But reality crashes back in like a cold wave, if you stay here any longer, someone will figure it out. You shake your head, exhaling shakily. “We should go back.”

Beomgyu groans, tilting his head back against the couch in frustration. “You’re kidding.”

You bite your lip, already knowing he’s going to make this difficult. “If we don’t, someone’s going to know, Gyu.”

He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, his hands flexing against your hips. Then, he leans in, lips brushing against your jaw, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you owe me for this.”

Your stomach tightens at the promise in his voice, at the way his fingers trail one last lingering touch down your thigh before he finally releases you. He watches as you scramble to collect your clothes, his smirk growing when he sees how shaken you still are. He doesn’t move right away, instead, he leans back against the couch, legs spread lazily apart, watching you with dark amusement as he runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s still catching his breath, his lips still swollen from kissing you, his body still burning with the ghost of your touch. And he loves it.

He finally moves, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching slightly before reaching for his clothes. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as if he’s in no rush to leave the little world you two just created. He grabs his shirt first, then his fingers work at his belt, refastening his pants with ease, like this was just another ordinary moment for him. Except, it wasn’t. Not even close.

Beomgyu's jaw clenches slightly as he tugs his jacket back on, shaking his head like he can somehow rid himself of the frustration pooling deep in his gut. Meanwhile, you move toward the door, pressing your ear against it, holding your breath as you listen for any movement on the other side. Your fingers tighten around the handle, hesitating before slowly cracking it open just enough to peek through.

The hallway is empty. You exhale in relief, throwing one last glance over your shoulder at him. "I’m going first," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Wait a minute before you come out."

Beomgyu tilts his head, studying you, his lips curving into something smug. "Scared someone’s gonna find out what a mess you are for me?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "Shut up."

He chuckles, low and knowing, his eyes still dark with amusement. But just as you turn toward the door, reaching for the handle, his fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before you can react, he tugs you back, firm but gentle, until you’re flush against his chest.

He’s looking at you now, really looking, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, something unreadable swirling in the depths of his expression. There’s no teasing smirk, no playful remark. Just the weight of everything unsaid, everything still buzzing between you like a live wire.

And then he kisses you. His lips pressing against yours like he’s memorizing the way you taste. His hand cups your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You melt into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, clinging. By the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Dazed.

His forehead rests against yours, his lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m not done with you.” His voice is low, rough, thick with something dangerous. Your stomach flips, your knees nearly giving out at the sheer promise in his words. But then, he steps back, releasing you, his smirk returning as he watches you struggle to steady yourself. “Now you can go,” he says, voice laced with amusement.

You blink up at him, still caught in the haze of his kiss, before shaking yourself back to reality. With one last glance, one last moment of hesitation, you turn and slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his body finally relaxing as he leans against the door, his forehead pressing against the wood. His fingers drag through his already-messy hair, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. Fuck. He’s so fucked.

He licks his lips, still tasting you, still feeling the warmth of your body against his. His heart is still racing, his skin still burning, and all he can think about is you.

With a quiet groan, he pushes off the door, shaking his head, trying to collect himself. But as he reaches for the handle, ready to step back into the party, there’s only one thought looping through his mind— He needs more. And next time, he’s going to take it.

You stepped back into the party like nothing had happened. Like your entire world hadn’t just shifted in the span of a few stolen moments behind closed doors. Laughter spilled over conversations, and people moved around you, blissfully unaware that your hands were still unsteady, that your lips were still tingling, that your heartbeat was still uneven.

You exhaled slowly, smoothing down your dress, forcing yourself to shake off the lingering haze of him. Then, without hesitation, you made your way toward the bar. A drink. You needed a drink.

The bartender barely glanced at you as he slid a glass across the counter, and you took a sip, letting the cold burn of alcohol ground you. Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass, your mind replaying the last few minutes over and over like a song stuck on loop, his hands, his voice, the weight of his body against yours, the way he had looked at you.

You straightened your shoulders, pushing the thought aside. You had just started convincing yourself that maybe you could pull this off.

"There you are." You barely had time to react before Yeonjun appeared beside you, his presence as effortless as always. He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning your face before narrowing slightly. "You disappeared."

You took another sip of your drink, pretending to be unbothered. “I didn’t disappear. I was just—” You waved a hand vaguely. “Talking.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Talking?”

"Yes, talking," you repeated, maybe a little too quickly.

He studied you for a second, then his lips curled slightly, his gaze flickering over your face before settling somewhere lower. "Then why does your lipstick look like that?"

Your stomach dropped. Shit. Your hand shot up to your lips on instinct. Yeonjun just watched, amusement growing by the second as realization dawned on him. "Oh my god," he breathed, eyes widening before he full-on cackled. "Oh my fucking god—"

"No," you blurted, already turning on your heel, "Nope. Absolutely not."

But it was too late. Yeonjun was already following, laughter spilling out of him like he had just uncovered the world’s greatest mystery. "Wait—" He grabbed your wrist, doubling over slightly. "Wait, wait, wait. Oh my fucking god. You were with Beomgyu, weren’t you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, wrenching your arm free, heat creeping up your neck. "People can hear you."

Yeonjun ignored you completely, still laughing as you beelined for the bathroom. "Oh my god, I knew it," he called after you. "I fucking knew it!"

You slammed the door behind you. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips slightly smudged, hair a little messier than before. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink, trying to steady yourself. What the fuck just happened?

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your lipstick, twisting the tube up with a quiet click. You applied it carefully, slow and methodical, as if fixing your makeup could somehow fix the way your heart was still racing, the way your entire body felt like it was buzzing. But it didn’t. Not when your mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he had looked at you. To the way he had touched you. To the way he had sounded, breathless, wrecked, whispering your name like it was something sacred. God. How had you even ended up here? It had always been like this with Beomgyu, hadn’t it? The back-and-forth, the push and pull. The constant teasing, the relentless competition, the stupid banter that never seemed to stop.

And now? Now, you could still feel him, his hands, his lips, the warmth of his breath against your skin. You swallowed hard, dabbing the corner of your mouth where your lipstick had smudged. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened. And yet, when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

The party eventually began to wind down. You let yourself blend into the crowd, trying to push away the mess of thoughts cluttering your mind, focusing on the conversations happening around you instead. Yeonjun had reappeared at some point, entirely too pleased with himself, and Taehyun had joined him, both of them now perched on one of the couches, drinks in hand. "You good?" Taehyun asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped down beside them.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really feel good at all. "Yeah, just tired."

Yeonjun snorted. "Tired, huh?"

You shot him a look. He just grinned, leaning closer. "You were gone for a while—"

"Yeonjun," you warned. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. The music had quieted a little, the energy in the room beginning to fizzle out. People were leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and quiet goodbyes trailing after them.

You should go too. And judging by the way Yeonjun was now half-asleep against the armrest, you weren’t the only one ready to call it a night. It took both you and Taehyun to practically carry Yeonjun outside. "He’s not that heavy," Taehyun grumbled, adjusting his grip under Yeonjun’s arm.

You huffed. "Says the guy using me as leverage."

Yeonjun, for his part, was completely useless, mumbling incoherent nonsense as you finally managed to get him to stand on his own two feet. Your taxi would be here any minute. You pulled out your phone, glancing at the time.

That’s when you heard your name. You looked up, spotting Baekhyun a few feet away, standing near the curb, engaged in conversation with another man from the industry. When his eyes met yours, he gave you a knowing smile.

"Get home safe," he said smoothly. Then, after a brief pause, "We’ll have a lot to talk about on Monday."

You blinked. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could even begin to decipher what he meant, he was already turning back to his conversation. You frowned slightly, but exhaustion was already pulling at your limbs. Whatever it was, you could deal with it later.

Your taxi pulled up to the curb. You helped Yeonjun into the car, settling into the seat beside him, finally letting yourself breathe. You sank back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

And then, a feeling. Like someone was watching. You turned your head toward the window. And there he was. Beomgyu. Standing on the curb, hands in his pockets, waiting for his own ride. But his eyes were on you. Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t look away. Instead, his hand moved, slipping into his pocket, pulling out his phone. A second later, your own phone buzzed in your lap. You swallowed, pulse unsteady as you glanced down at the screen.

A message. From him.

[beomgyu]: lmk when you get home

Your chest tightened. You stared at the words for a long moment, lips pressing together. You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you didn’t type anything. Not yet. Instead, you let your phone fall back into your lap, exhaling slowly as you turned to the window again. Beomgyu was still standing there, still watching, still waiting for something you didn’t know how to give him.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, slumping slightly against the seat as the city lights blurred past the window. The weight of the night settled over you. The way Beomgyu had looked at you. The way his voice had felt against your skin. The way he had pulled you in, and then, just as quickly, pushed you away.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Of him. Of anything. So you didn’t think about it. Not now. Instead, you closed your eyes and let the hum of the car lull you into something close to peace, if only for a moment.

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over, face half-buried in your pillow as you reached for it blindly. The screen glowed too bright in the early morning light, your vision still hazy with sleep as you blinked at the notifications.

[beomgyu]: i can’t stop thinking about you

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you were very awake. You sat up so fast that your blanket slipped from your shoulders, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the phone, as if gripping it any harder would somehow make the words disappear.

I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed. No way. No fucking way.

You stared at the message, your body frozen, caught between panic and something you weren’t ready to name. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Your throat was dry. Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, but no words came. Nothing would come.

But even as you moved, even as you tried to shove the thought aside, he was still there. Still lingering. The heat of his hands on your waist, the press of his fingers against your skin, the way his voice had sounded, low, rough, wrecked, against your ear. Do you have any idea how fucking insane you make me?

A shiver ran down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to push it away, but the memories came crashing down anyway.

So you did the only thing you could do. You ignored it. For now. You tossed the phone onto your nightstand, exhaling sharply as you dragged your hands down your face. No. Not now. You needed a second. You needed coffee.

You pushed yourself out of bed, slipping on a hoodie as you padded out of your room, making a beeline for Yeonjun’s. His door was cracked open, the faint sound of groaning filtering through. You pushed it open with your foot, leaning against the doorway. Yeonjun was sprawled across his bed like he had been thrown there, an arm slung dramatically over his face, his blanket half on the floor. His entire existence looked like a hangover. "You alive?" you asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Yeonjun let out a painful groan, barely shifting. "Barely."

You snorted, stepping into the room. "You look like death."

"I feel like death," he mumbled, peeking out from under his arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair an absolute mess. "What time is it?"

You checked your phone out of habit, and your stomach twisted. Beomgyu’s message still sat there. You locked the screen before you could think about it. "Almost ten," you said, crossing your arms.

Yeonjun just made another noise of suffering. Then, with zero warning, he peeked at you again, his voice shifting. "You gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost, or am I gonna have to guess?"

Your heart stopped. "I—" You forced a scoff, too quick. "I don’t look like I’ve seen a ghost."

Yeonjun stared at you. Then his lips curled. "Ah," he hummed, way too amused now. "So this is a boy thing."

Your entire body flamed. "Oh my god, shut up."

He grinned, slow and dangerous. "Wait—wait, is this a Beomgyu thing?"

"I’m leaving." You turned on your heel immediately, making a break for the door, but Yeonjun was faster.

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back onto the bed with zero mercy. You yelped as you landed next to him, already struggling to get up, but he just slung an arm over your shoulders, trapping you there. "Spill," he ordered.

You scowled, shoving at his chest. "No."

"Spill."

"No."

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. Then, with a slow, shit-eating smirk— "I’ll start singing."

Your blood ran cold. "You wouldn’t," you whispered. Yeonjun cleared his throat. "Yeonjun, no."

He inhaled dramatically. "OH, I THINK THAT I FOUND MYSEL—"

"OKAY! OKAY!" You slammed a pillow over his face, groaning. "You’re so fucking annoying."

He laughed, victorious, pushing the pillow away. "That’s what I thought. Now talk."

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the blanket, heart pounding again as Beomgyu’s message flashed in your mind. I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed while you showed your phone to Yeonjun, who immediately gasped. You sighed, looking away. "It’s just—" You stopped, frustration bubbling in your chest. "He’s just confusing."

Yeonjun hummed. "Yeah, well. You’re both idiots, so that checks out."

You shot him a look. "Shut up," you mumbled, pushing yourself up.

Yeonjun let you go this time, watching as you made your way toward the door. "You should probably answer him, you know," he called lazily. You didn’t respond. And as you stepped out into the hallway, you definitely didn’t check your phone again. But the words still sat there. Waiting.

You tried to go about your day like normal. Tried. But no matter what you did, he was there. In your head. Even as you made coffee. Even as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Even as you curled up on the couch, flipping through Netflix without actually watching anything.

Beomgyu. Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The words on your screen wouldn’t stop echoing. Your stomach twisted every time you thought about it. Because neither could you.

Yeonjun stayed home most of the morning, alternating between dramatically draping himself across the couch and playing games on his phone. But eventually, in the afternoon, he stretched lazily and grabbed his keys.

"I’m going to the gym," he announced, throwing his bag over his shoulder. You hummed in response. You kept your eyes on the TV, even though you weren’t paying attention to a single second of it. "You gonna survive without me?" Yeonjun teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes. "I think I’ll manage."

He grinned, pushing off the frame. "Alright, if you say so. Try not to combust while I’m gone."

You shot him a glare, but he was already heading out the door, laughing. Your fingers twitched. Your phone was sitting right next to you. Waiting. It would be so easy. You exhaled slowly, staring at it like it might explode. You weren’t the type to text guys. But for some reason, today felt different.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before you got into your taxi. Maybe it was the way he had sent that message in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him too, and it was driving you insane.

Your heart pounded as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers. You opened your messages. Pulled up his name. Took a deep breath. And typed.

[you]: i can’t stop thinking about you too.

The moment you hit send, your pulse skyrocketed. Seconds passed. The message was read. You held your breath. Waiting. Waiting. But nothing came. Beomgyu didn’t respond. You stared at the screen, heart hammering, but he did nothing. You had no idea what that meant. And somehow, it made you even more restless.

You spent the rest of the weekend pretending you were fine. You weren’t.

Beomgyu had read your message and said nothing, and the longer you went without a response, the worse it got. You tried to distract yourself. Hung out with Yunjin for a bit. Had dinner with Yeonjun. Went on an unnecessary grocery run just to get out of the apartment.

But every free second, he was there. The memory of his hands, his voice, the way he had pulled you so close, like he was scared to let go. And now he was ignoring you? You wanted to scream.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you had officially given up on getting an answer. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he had just been drunk. Maybe this was just another one of his stupid mind games.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to respond, you weren’t going to chase after him. Not this time.

Your alarm dragged you out of sleep way too soon, and you groaned, rolling over to shut it off. For a brief second, you thought about skipping work. About calling in sick, or lying about having some urgent errand, or just disappearing off the face of the earth. But no. You had an album to release. And unfortunately, you had to be professional, even when your entire brain was occupied by a certain songwriter. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed, forcing yourself to get moving.

Yeonjun was already up when you entered the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his hair still messy from sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, squinting at you. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself a cup.

Yeonjun snorted, leaning against the counter. "You excited to go back to work?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a long sip of coffee, staring down into the dark liquid. Excited? Not exactly. Dreading it? Maybe.

Because today was Monday. Which meant you’d have to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what to expect. How the hell were you supposed to look Beomgyu in the eye after everything? After the way he had touched you, held you, whispered filthy things against your skin like he had been waiting to say them? After the way you had felt underneath him, pinned between his hands, his voice praising you, ruining you, claiming you?

You pressed your fingers to your temples, exhaling sharply. Fuck. This wasn’t good. You weren’t some naive idiot who got attached just because someone touched you the right way. But something about him—about this—had been different. And he knew it too.

Which was exactly why he had ignored your message all weekend. And yet, your stomach tightened at the thought of seeing him today. Not with nerves, not with anger, but with something far, far worse. Anticipation. You hated it. You hated how much you wanted to see him. How much you wanted to know if he was thinking about you, too. How much you wanted to know if he regretted it. Or if he wanted more.

By the time you stepped into the HYBE building, the album was practically finished. All that was left was refining the final details. You told yourself that’s what you should be focusing on. Not Beomgyu. Not his hands. His voice. The way he had looked at you like you were something he wanted to ruin. God. Focus.

You made your way through the hallways, nodding politely at a few people who passed, ignoring the slight pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. You weren’t even sure why, until you stepped into your studio. And saw the coffee sitting on your desk.

You froze. There was no note. No explanation. But you knew. Your heart skipped. It was him. You stared at it for a long moment, a lump forming in your throat. It was the same drink you always got. The exact way you liked it.

It was so stupid, so small, so insignificant. And yet, it wasn’t. Because Beomgyu didn’t do things like this. Beomgyu teased you, provoked you, argued with you until you were ready to strangle him. He didn’t leave quiet gestures like this behind. Not for you. You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. Should you text him? Call him out for it? Say something?

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed. A message from Baekhyun.

[baekhyun]: hey, can we talk for a sec?

You let out a slow breath, grabbing the coffee and taking a sip as you sat down. You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Ignored the way your skin still felt too hot. And ignored the fact that you knew exactly who was responsible for that. You exhaled slowly, staring at the message on your phone.

[you]: sure. be there in a minute.

Sliding your phone into your pocket, you took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest. It didn’t help. Still, you got up, straightened your posture, and made your way to Baekhyun’s office.

When you reached his door, you knocked lightly before stepping inside. "Hey. You wanted to talk?"

Baekhyun glanced up from his desk, motioning for you to close the door behind you. "Yeah. Come in."

You obeyed, taking a seat across from him, studying his face carefully. Something was off. Baekhyun was usually relaxed, even when discussing work, always carrying that effortless charm that made him easy to talk to. But right now, his expression was unreadable, something hovering between serious and hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. "What’s up?"

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Listen… you know I think you’re one of my best employees, right?"

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Uh… thanks?"

"Which is why," he continued, fingers tapping lightly against the desk, "I need to tell you something. And I need you to understand that this is me looking out for you." Your stomach tightened, as you looked at him, letting him continue. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before meeting your gaze. "So, about Seungcheol…"

Your spine stiffened immediately. "What about him?"

Baekhyun hesitated for a second, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. And then, carefully, he said: "He knows."

Your heart stopped. A beat of silence stretched between you. Your fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, knuckles white. "Knows what?" you asked, voice careful.

Baekhyun gave you a pointed look. "You know what."

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Seungcheol knows. About you. About Beomgyu. Fuck. You swallowed, keeping your expression as unreadable as possible. "That’s… my personal business," you said slowly. "I don’t see how it’s relevant to work."

"You’re right," Baekhyun agreed, nodding. "It’s not. But I’m telling you because I need you to be careful."

You crossed your arms, shifting in your seat. "What does that even mean?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward, lowering his voice. "Seungcheol is creative director. That means he has a lot of influence in this company. And for whatever reason, he’s got his eye on you."

A chill ran down your spine. "And that means?"

"It means he’s paying attention to things," Baekhyun said. "To you and Beomgyu. To how you work together, to how you interact. And while I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, I do know one thing—he’s not the type to sit back and do nothing."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he’ll try something?"

Baekhyun didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, gaze steady, unreadable. "I think he doesn’t like Beomgyu," he said carefully. "And I think he has an interest in you."

You inhaled sharply. There it was. That uneasy feeling in your stomach, the one you had pushed down every time Seungcheol spoke to you. The way his words always felt just a little too… pointed. The way his gaze lingered. The way Beomgyu had told you to be careful. You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. "I don’t—this is insane. Seungcheol can’t just—"

"I know," Baekhyun cut in. "Which is why I’m telling you first. Just be careful. Be smart."

Your fingers tightened in your lap. You hated this. Hated the idea that someone was watching you like this. That Seungcheol was watching you. That Beomgyu had been right. You swallowed down the irritation curling in your chest. "Got it."

Baekhyun studied you for a moment longer before nodding. "Good." Then, just a little softer, "And Y/N?" You met his gaze. "Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it."

Your breath caught. Because the thing was— You didn’t know. And that scared you more than anything else.

You didn’t realize how tight your chest had gotten until you were out of Baekhyun’s office, walking quickly down the hall with your arms wrapped around yourself. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered too brightly, the sounds of your coworkers echoing faintly in your ears as your thoughts raced. Seungcheol knows.

Your heart pounded with each step, and all you could think about was Beomgyu—his smile, his voice, the way he touched you like he didn’t care who saw. But he should. Because now, someone was watching. Someone powerful. Someone who didn’t like him.

You paused outside your studio door, forcing yourself to take a breath, to steady your hands before you reached for the handle. When you stepped inside, the first thing you saw was him.

Beomgyu was already there, perched on the edge of your couch, his guitar on his lap. His face lit up the second you walked in, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, really smiled. “Took you long enough.”

Something inside you clenched. The warmth of his expression, the softness in his voice. He had no idea. “I brought you coffee earlier,” he added. “Cause I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I just guessed. But, y’know, I’ve been working on my psychic powers.”

You smiled, barely, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Beomgyu tilted his head, watching you. “What?” he asked softly. “What happened?”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just… long meeting.”

He set the guitar aside and stood, taking a step toward you. “Was it Baekhyun?”

You nodded, lowering your bag to the floor. “Yeah.”

“He say something about the album?” Beomgyu’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you said too quickly. You avoided his eyes, moving to your desk under the guise of organizing the notes you’d left behind. “Everything’s fine. He just wanted to go over some deadlines.”

Beomgyu didn’t respond right away. You felt his eyes on you, sharp and searching. “You’re lying,” he said eventually, voice quieter. You froze. He stepped closer. “Y/N…”

“I said it’s fine,” you replied, sharper than you meant to. You heard the way his breath hitched, just slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, the softness fading from his face as something more cautious settled there. And that was the worst part.

You didn’t want to push him away. You didn’t want to build walls again. But Baekhyun’s words rang in your ears like a warning bell. Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it. You weren’t even sure what this was.

Beomgyu stepped back, giving you space. “Did I… do something?”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he asked that. Hated the way he looked almost hurt. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to be gentler. “You didn’t.”

But that didn’t make it better. Because you weren’t pulling away from him, you were pulling away for him. And he could tell. He gave a small nod, eyes flicking away. “Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let me know if that changes.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s not you.”

His eyes lingered on yours. “Then what is it?”

You didn’t answer. Because how could you tell him that Seungcheol might be waiting for one misstep? That you could handle it, but he might not be so lucky? That you were scared for him in ways you couldn’t say out loud?

So instead, you offered a weak smile and said, “Can we just… work for a while?”

There was a beat of silence. A single breath. And then he nodded, once, slow, as if the word itself cost him something. “Yeah,” he murmured, but his voice was thinner now, stretched tight across something fragile. “If that’s what you want.”

You looked away, unable to meet the flicker in his eyes, the way it dimmed just slightly as he stepped back. The room suddenly felt too quiet. “Guess I’ll head back to my studio,” he said, and this time, there was no teasing in his tone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And before you could say anything, before you could stop him, he was already at the door. When it clicked shut behind him, the sound echoed louder than it should have. You didn’t move for a long moment. Just sat there, frozen, staring at the coffee cup he’d brought for you, the one you hadn’t touched. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for it, but it had already gone cold. Just like everything else.

The rest of your afternoon passed in a blur of contracts and emails. Finalizing track credits. Budget approvals. Lining up promotional schedules. You barely registered the words anymore, your hand moved, your eyes scanned, your mouth replied when someone entered your office to ask for your signature, but none of it stuck. You were on autopilot.

Because your head wasn’t in the album anymore. It was on him. Beomgyu.

You kept picturing the way his expression had shifted when you pulled away. Not in body, but in presence. Like he felt you slipping. Like he already knew that the warmth between you was being swallowed by fear. And it was. You were terrified.

Terrified of what Seungcheol could do. Terrified of how quickly everything you’d built with Beomgyu—through fights, through tension, through music, through moments—could be taken away just because someone with too much power had decided they didn’t like seeing him happy.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He was happy. With you. And you were ruining it. Because your fear was louder than your hope.

You stared at the screen in front of you, realizing you’d been hovering over the same file for ten minutes without doing anything. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but the words blurred, your thoughts spiraling again. What if he gets fired? What if Seungcheol says something? What if this is all your fault?

You buried your face in your hands, elbows pressed against the desk. You couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t even tell him what was going on. And worst of all: you weren’t sure he’d forgive you if he ever found out you knew and didn’t say anything.

You wanted to keep him safe. But not at the cost of this quiet unraveling between you. Not at the cost of pretending you didn’t care.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, hesitating for a long moment before unlocking it. His name sat at the top of your messages, unread, untouched since the night he told you he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And neither could you. But now you wondered if staying silent had already done the damage for you.

It was late, again. The building had gone quiet, long emptied by interns and execs and artists alike. You sat curled in your office chair, arms wrapped around yourself as your eyes stayed fixed on your phone screen. You’d been staring at it for ten minutes before finally giving in.

[you]: are you still at the company?

The reply came quicker than you expected.

[beomgyu]: yeah. why?

[you]: can we talk?

Another pause. Then:

[beomgyu]: sure. you know where to find me

You hesitated only a second longer before standing. You didn’t bother gathering your things. Just grabbed your hoodie, slipped into your sneakers, and made your way down the hallway. His studio door was cracked open when you arrived. You paused outside for a beat, just long enough to collect your breath, and pushed it open slowly.

He was sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked tired, like the weight of the entire week was pressing down on his shoulders. But when he saw you, he straightened slightly.

Before you could speak, he did.

“Before you say anything,” he said, voice steady but low, “I just want you to know I don’t regret anything.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He scoffed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I mean, I get it. You’re here to break things off, right? Whatever this is.”

You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. “Beomgyu…”

“I mean, technically, we were never even anything, right?” he went on, tone deceptively light, but his eyes were anything but. “So there’s nothing to end. I guess.”

You stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind you. The soft click echoed between you. “Why would you think I’m here to end things?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said. “Because you look at me like I’ve already done something wrong.” His voice softened. “Because something’s changed. And I don’t know what it is.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he asked, a little more sharply now. “Because I’m sitting here, trying to keep it together, trying not to push you, and it’s driving me fucking crazy, Y/N. But you’re here. So what is it?”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. Because you wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: about Seungcheol, about Baekhyun’s warning, about your fear of him getting hurt, losing his job, being targeted just for being with you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it.

So instead, you said the only thing that came close. “I’m scared.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed. “Of what? Me?”

“No!” you said quickly. “God, no. Of everything else.”

“Then tell me,” he said, quieter now. Pleading. “Let me in. Let me help.”

Your arms wrapped tighter around yourself. “I just… I don’t want to do anything that could hurt you.”

“You aren’t hurting me,” he said. “But keeping me in the dark? Not trusting me? That’s what hurts.”

You turned away, pacing a step. “I do trust you.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing now, voice low, but intense. “Because I’m standing here ready to fight for you, and I feel like I’m the only one throwing punches.”

That broke something in you. “I am fighting!” you said, voice cracking. “You just can’t see it.”

“Then show me!” he snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re walking away.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And there he was, raw, open, hurting. For you. Because of you. And for the first time, you saw the vulnerability underneath all the confidence. The boy who had let himself fall, even when he swore he wouldn’t. Even when he thought you were supposed to be just coworkers.

Your voice came out small. “I’m not walking away.”

Beomgyu’s expression flickered. “Then stop acting like you are.”

Silence fell between you. You stepped forward, just a little. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want your protection,” he said. “I want you.”

The words landed heavy between you, honest and unflinching. Your lips parted, eyes burning, heart aching. And even though you still couldn’t say everything, you were closer now. One step closer to crossing that line completely. One step closer to choosing him.

And maybe, he was choosing you too.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart beat so loud it was almost all you could hear. “I want you too,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they almost didn’t feel real. “God, of course I want you, Beomgyu.”

Something flickered across his face, relief, maybe. But it didn’t last long. “Then what the fuck is stopping you?” he demanded, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly, it was hurt, raw, urgent. “Because you keep saying you want me, and then you push me away like you don't.”

You swallowed hard, backing up a step, not because you wanted to escape him, but because you needed space to think. “Because I don’t want to be the reason something happens to you,” you admitted, hands clenched at your sides. “Because I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything you’ve worked for.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” You hesitated. “Y/N,” he said, voice low now. “Tell me.”

You shook your head once, but Beomgyu moved toward you again, gently but firmly catching your wrist.

“I’m not letting you leave here without telling me,” he said, eyes boring into yours. “I’m not playing these half-truth games anymore. Talk to me. Please.”

You stared at him for a long beat. And then you cracked. “Baekhyun called me into his office this morning,” you said, voice hoarse. “He told me Seungcheol knows.” Beomgyu didn’t move. “He knows about us,” you continued, the word still strange on your tongue. “He’s watching us. And not in a vague way. He’s paying attention. Baekhyun didn’t say it, but it’s obvious—Seungcheol’s pissed. And he’s got power, Gyu. Real power. Enough to make your life hell. Enough to kill your career if he wants.” You finally looked up, eyes shining with barely contained panic. “And I know you think you don’t care, but I do. I care. I care so fucking much it makes me sick. And the thought of being the reason you get hurt—”

“Stop,” Beomgyu cut in. Your mouth snapped shut. His eyes were wild with something sharp and intense, but not at you, never at you. “You think I give a fuck about Seungcheol?” he said, taking a step closer. “You think I’m scared of some overhyped director with a God complex?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No, you need to hear this,” he said, voice lowering. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’ve built a name from the ground up. Every credit, every song, every fucking sleepless night—you think I’m going to let him take that from me?” Your breath hitched. “If he tries anything,” Beomgyu said, voice like steel, “I will bury him.”

You stared, stunned. “You can’t say that—”

“I can,” he snapped. “Because he’s not untouchable. And I’m not stupid. I know my worth. And if he so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way again—” He broke off, his jaw tight, breathing hard. Then, more quietly: “He doesn’t get to scare you away from me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was being reckless, that this wasn’t just about pride, that the industry was cruel and unfair and it would never be a fair fight, but the words died in your throat. Because he meant it. Every word.

“I’ve never had something like this,” he continued, softer now. “Never had someone who made me want to try. And I’m not about to lose it because some washed-up director has a stick up his ass and a crush he didn’t get over.”

You blinked. “Wait—crush?”

Beomgyu’s mouth curled into a humorless smirk. “You really think he was complimenting your demos because he liked the reverb?” A beat of silence passed. And then you laughed. Just a little. A short, sharp sound that broke some of the tension in your chest. Beomgyu’s gaze softened. “Look… if this gets messy, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You looked at him, something vulnerable cracking through your guarded expression. “You mean that?” you asked, voice small.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands now. “I mean it,” he said, with the kind of certainty that made your stomach flip. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in. Letting yourself believe him. Because you did. God, you did. And even if the world was about to come crashing down around you… at least you wouldn’t be standing in the wreckage alone.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he moved. Slow, deliberate, like a predator who already knew the prey wasn’t going to run. His steps were quiet, but each one pressed the air out of the room a little more. His hand rose to your cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of your jaw. Featherlight, but grounding. Like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

His thumb swept once beneath your eye, like he could erase everything unspoken. Maybe he didn’t know what to say next. Maybe it didn’t matter. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not with words.

But the space between you, that thrum of silence packed so tight it felt ready to burst, said everything. You leaned into the touch, just enough. Just so he’d know. And that was all it took. Beomgyu kissed you again. It started slow, like he was still afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at the worn cotton of his hoodie. His mouth moved against yours with purpose. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand moving down to your hip, gripping tight enough to make you gasp again. He pressed forward, guiding you back a step, then another, until your spine met the cool wall of his studio. A quiet noise escaped your throat.

His leg slid between yours. You froze, just for a moment, before the pressure shifted. Your body reacted before your mind could. Hips tilting down, chasing it, mouth parting around a soft, broken sound. One that slipped out too fast to stop. Beomgyu stilled.

The kiss paused. Just long enough for your eyes to meet. And something changed. His gaze sharpened, lit with something feral and tender all at once. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you. "God, you sound so good," he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss—this time, to your neck. "So fucking good."

His leg moved again. Just slightly. Enough to pull another breathy moan from you, one you couldn’t swallow in time. Beomgyu groaned into your skin, and the sound of it, low, rough, wrecked, made your knees threaten to give. He pressed his thigh up again, firmer this time, and you arched, unable to stop yourself. "Look at you," he whispered, trailing his mouth along your jaw. "Unbelievably hot," he continued, dragging his lips along your collarbone. "Unbelievably mine."

The last part slipped out—quiet, rough, like he didn’t even mean to say it. But you felt it.

And you didn’t stop him. Didn’t correct him, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t pull away like you sometimes did when things got too real, too close. You just stayed there, letting the weight of his hands and the heat of his breath settle over your skin. Because maybe, as terrifying as it was, that was what you wanted too. Not a confession shouted across a crowded room. Not a title slapped on something that didn’t need a name. Just this. Him. The feeling of his forehead resting lightly against yours, like you were something he’d been trying to find for longer than he’d admit.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, just enough to see you clearly. Your lips were parted, your breathing still uneven, and he looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or fall to his knees. His gaze softened as he reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers slow, reverent.

“I’m not gonna push,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it cost him something to say it. “Not tonight. I just… needed you to know what this feels like for me.”

Your throat felt tight, your pulse erratic beneath your skin. You could only nod, because anything else might have made you unravel completely. But he understood. He always did.

He leaned in again, but slower this time, like he was giving you the space to stop him, to change your mind. You didn’t. And when his lips met yours again, there was no urgency, no hunger, just heat and something deeper. His kiss was soft but intense, all-consuming in its own quiet way. You could feel everything in it, every unsaid word, every fear, every time he’d looked at you across a room and thought I wish I could touch her right now.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, cradling your head like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. His other hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, pressing you just close enough to make your whole body buzz. And when he kissed you again, slower still, deeper, like he wanted to take his time and learn every part of your mouth, your breath hitched against him, and he sighed into you like he was finally getting a piece of peace he hadn’t known how to ask for.

You broke apart only when breathing became necessary, your foreheads resting together, the silence between you thick with everything that had just passed and everything still left to say.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, barely more than a breath between you. The words felt like they echoed, even in the stillness of the room. Your fingers were still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to something you didn’t know how to define.

Beomgyu didn’t open his eyes right away. He just let his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in like he was still steadying himself. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, voice soft but steady. “As long as it’s with you.”

You blinked, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest nearly cracked you open. He pulled back just enough to see your face, and the moment his gaze locked with yours, something in him shifted. Your eyes were glassy, lashes clumped together with the weight of held-back tears, and he stilled.

“Hey…” he said, gently cupping your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, just slightly. “Nothing,” you whispered. “I just…” You swallowed, but the words pushed through anyway. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession cracked open something between you. His thumb swept across your cheek, like he could catch the tear before it fully formed. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, firm but impossibly tender. “Okay? Not over this. Not over them. I’m right here.” You let out a quiet, shaky breath, and he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m serious,” you said, pulling back just a little. “This scares me. You scare me. The way I feel about you scares me.”

Beomgyu blinked, but instead of teasing or brushing it off, he nodded. “Good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Good?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “Means it’s real. Means it’s worth it.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “I think I’m in trouble with you.”

“Same,” he said with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You ruin me.”

You laughed softly through the tightness in your chest, letting your forehead rest against his again. “Then we’re both ruined.”

“Ruined together,” he said, grinning.

You smiled, lips brushing again, slower this time. The kind of kiss that felt like a quiet promise, not a storm. Eventually, he pulled back, his breath still brushing your lips, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your waist. “We should go,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough. “Before staying becomes an excuse not to leave.”

You nodded slowly, still processing the way your body buzzed just from standing this close to him. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Probably a good idea.”

As you moved to turn around, his hand reached past you, grabbing your bag off the floor before you could. He didn’t say anything about it, just slung it over his shoulder like it was second nature, like he’d already decided he was carrying it. You blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the studio, steps in sync, your hand brushing against his once before he took it again without thinking. Not possessive. Just quietly his.

The hallway was dim and silent, the hum of electronics behind closed doors the only sound around you. No one else in sight. The world had shrunk to just the two of you, and it felt oddly comforting. When you stepped outside, the air was cooler than you expected, biting lightly at your skin. He handed you your bag as you adjusted your hoodie, his fingers lingering for a beat too long on yours.

You walked side by side through the empty parking structure behind the building, the silence between you calm now, warm in a way that didn’t need to be filled. Streetlights glowed overhead, casting halos onto the concrete. His knuckles brushed against yours every now and then, and eventually, his hand found yours again like it belonged there.

When you reached the main sidewalk that split toward the metro, you slowed. “This is me,” you said quietly.

He stopped beside you. “No, it’s not.”

You turned toward him, one brow raised. “It’s literally right there.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. “You really think I’m letting you take the train this late?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “You letting me?”

He just stared at you for a beat. “Come with me.” His voice was different now, not teasing, not pleading. Just simple. Firm. The kind of voice that didn’t push, but didn’t give room for argument either.

You sighed, pretending to be more annoyed than you actually were. “Fine. But only because you’re being dramatic.”

He smirked. “Dramatically thoughtful.”

“You really think you’re charming, huh?”

“I don’t think,” he said, unlocking his car with a click. “I know.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already tugging into a smile.

The drive was quiet at first. Not awkward. Just… peaceful. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing low on the stereo. You leaned your head back against the seat, stealing glances at him. The way the city lights shifted over his profile—sharp in some places, soft in others, like the night didn’t know how to settle on him. He looked calm. But there was a tension there too, somewhere in the set of his jaw, in the way he occasionally glanced over at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for in his face. Maybe reassurance. Maybe confirmation that whatever was happening between you hadn’t been imagined or inflated in your head. That this, whatever this was, wasn’t a detour for him.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he didn’t say anything at first. Just shifted the car into park, exhaled, and stared out through the windshield like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

You turned toward him slowly, the weight of the silence between you suddenly heavier than it had been all night. “Are you sure this is okay?” you asked, voice quiet. “Everything?”

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. An intensity, quiet and unwavering. His hand reached across the console without hesitation, resting lightly on your knee at first, then moving up, brushing along your arm, until he was cupping your face with both hands. His palms were warm, steady.

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in a long time,” he said, voice low, almost deliberate. “I know what this is. I know what I want.” Your breath caught. “I want this,” he continued, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he needed the contact to stay grounded. “I want you. And I know I haven’t always made that easy to believe. I’ve been… inconsistent. Confusing. Scared, maybe. But I’m not anymore.”

You stared at him, something tugging at your chest, pressing in from all sides. “I want us,” he said. “Not just in the studio, not just in dark corners or in between deadlines. I want whatever this turns into, whatever it looks like. I want all of it.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed. They weren’t poetic. But they were real. Spoken like someone who had been holding them back for too long. You didn’t respond right away. Just leaned into his touch, closed your eyes for a second. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself believe him.

When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you. Still holding you like you were something worth holding onto. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the instinct to back away. You didn’t flinch. You just smiled—soft, small, but true.

And then he leaned in. His hand still cradled your cheek, warm and steady, guiding you toward him like gravity had already made the decision for both of you. His eyes searched yours for half a second longer, like he was still asking for permission, even if he didn’t need to.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Warm. Sure. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to prove something. It wasn’t frantic or messy or fueled by tension. It was honest. Steady. The kind of kiss that said, I meant everything I said. I’m not going anywhere.

Your hand found his jaw, fingers curling gently there, and for a moment, everything outside the car, outside this, just faded. You pulled back first, lips barely brushing as you breathed him in, eyes still closed for just a second longer than necessary. Like you wanted to remember the exact feeling of him, before it got blurred by distance or time.

“Goodnight, Beomgyu,” you whispered, voice quiet but full.

His smile was soft, thumb brushing your cheek one last time before he let his hand fall away. “Goodnight.”

You opened the car door and stepped out into the cool air, the city humming gently around you. The door shut behind you with a muted thud, and you took a few steps toward the building before instinct made you glance over your shoulder.

He was still there. Still watching.

You gave him one last smile.

And when he smiled back, it felt like a promise.

A month and a half passed. And nothing fell apart.

If anything, things settled into place in a way that felt… unfamiliar. In the best way. Not perfect. Not romanticized. Just real.

The album dropped three weeks after that night. It didn’t go viral overnight, didn’t crash any servers or cause mass hysteria. But it grew. Track by track, it moved through the charts with quiet authority. Critics noticed first, pointing out the nuance in the production, the way the songs spoke to each other without sounding formulaic, the restraint in places where others might’ve tried to be louder. And then the fans followed. Not just ENHYPEN’s fanbase, but people outside that world too, people who had no idea who you were a few months ago. Suddenly, they did. And they cared.

They don’t mention you by name right away. But then they do. And then they don’t stop.

You start showing up in places you hadn’t been invited to before. Articles, panels, inboxes. Your name, spoken out loud, attached to the word producer without hesitation. You try not to let it get to your head, but still, something shifts. You stop apologizing for your place in the room. You stop minimizing what you built.

The fans get it, too. Not just the ones who already knew the members and the brand, but others, people who found their way to track three and stayed for the whole album. Messages flood in. Tweets. Edits. Comments. Most of them are kind. A few aren’t. But it doesn’t matter. Because the music worked. You worked.

And Seungcheol is quiet now. Whatever threats he thought he could make, whatever moves he had lined up, none of them stand a chance against the numbers, against Baekhyun’s support, against your name finally meaning something too loud to ignore. After the album release, he tries to slide one snide comment into a meeting. You don’t even have to look up, Baekhyun handles it before you can blink. You never hear another word from him. Not directly.

And through all of it, Beomgyu is there.

He doesn’t hover. He doesn’t push. He never once corners you into a conversation you’re not ready for. But somehow, he’s always there. At the end of a long day, when your brain is fried and your feet ache from standing in the booth too long, he’s there—jacket in hand, keys dangling from his fingers, already unlocking his car before you even ask.

He takes you home every night. It’s not a discussion anymore; it’s routine. He doesn’t even bother saying “let me take you,” not since the second week. You just pack your things, walk out, and find him leaning against the passenger side door like he’s been waiting for you for years. Sometimes you talk during the ride. Sometimes you fall asleep, head tilted toward the window. He never minds. He always waits until you’re inside your building before driving away.

He buys your favorite snacks when he does coffee runs. Knows when you need space before you even realize it yourself. He never makes a scene at company events, never touches you in public beyond brushing his hand against your elbow or leaning in a little too close when he wants to say something only you should hear. But there’s something about him that always feels oriented toward you. Like no matter where he is in the room, some part of him is paying attention.

You don’t define it. Neither does he. Maybe because if you did, it might collapse under the weight of expectation. Or maybe it’s because this, whatever this is, feels strong enough without the scaffolding.

And you don’t ask what it means. You don’t need to.

Until one night, when you're both at a company event.

It’s formal, but not suffocating. A celebration dinner for the division’s latest wins. The ENHYPEN album is still holding steady on the charts, streaming numbers better than anyone projected. You're being introduced to people, smiling politely, answering questions about upcoming projects. Beomgyu is somewhere nearby, talking to someone from publishing, a glass of something dark in his hand, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that way that makes you forget what you were saying for half a second.

Later, you find yourselves standing near each other, sharing the same plate of appetizers like it’s second nature. One of the senior assistants—someone who works more with Baekhyun than you—passes by, gives you both a quick once-over, then smiles, too casual to mean anything serious. “You two are such a cute couple,” she says with a wink, already walking away.

The words hit you differently than they should.

You glance at him. He’s still chewing, eyebrows raised, like he’s not sure he heard it right either. Then he swallows and looks at you. And smiles. Not in a smug way. Not teasing. Just soft. Like maybe he liked the way that sounded. You feel the heat crawl up your neck.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” you say, maybe a little too quickly.

“I know,” he replies. And then, after a pause, he adds, “Still kind of nice to hear.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you laugh. Quietly. Shake your head like it’s nothing. But your stomach twists a little, and not in a bad way.

When the event wraps up, you both walk out together, the night cool on your skin. He doesn't say anything about the comment again, but when you stop by the curb and he opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushes yours just a little longer than necessary. And later, when you're almost home, he glances at you sideways while stopped at a red light.

“You know,” he says, voice low, careful, “I don’t mind if people think we’re together.”

You turn to him slowly. “Yeah?”

He nods, slower this time, turning to look at you more fully. “It’s not wrong,” he says again, but now there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Actually… it kind of feels right.”

There’s something vulnerable in his tone, bare, honest, but not scared. Just open. The way he’s always been with you, when you really let yourself see it. He isn’t hiding behind charm or sarcasm or the easy smirk he uses when he doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking. He’s just here, right in front of you, choosing not to hold it in.

You meet his gaze and let yourself soften. Let yourself admit it too. “I think so too,” you say. “It feels right.”

He smiles, slow, wide, unguarded. The kind that starts small but stays longer than it should, like maybe this whole time you were bracing for something that never needed to come.

The rest of the ride is quiet, but no part of it feels uncertain anymore.

When he pulls up in front of your building, the car slows to a gentle stop. You undo your seatbelt, expecting the usual goodnight, the steady little ritual you’ve settled into without saying. But before your hand can reach the door, his fingers curl around your wrist, light but purposeful. You glance back at him.

His expression is unreadable for half a second. And then he tilts his head, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “We make such a cute couple,” he says, tone casual, but it lands somewhere deeper. Before you can react, he leans in and kisses you. Just once. Just a press of lips to yours, soft and full of the kind of warmth that makes your heart ache a little.

Then, as he pulls back, he adds, more softly now, like it’s just for you—

“Because you’re such a cute girlfriend.”

You don’t respond right away. Just stare at him, blinking, the words settling over you like sunlight through a window. And strangely, it doesn’t feel like anything changes. It just clicks into place. Like the word had already been there this whole time, quietly waiting its turn.

You smile, then laugh under your breath, because of course that’s how he’d do it, slipping the label in with a kiss and a grin, like he knew you'd say yes before you even said anything at all. “Okay,” you whisper, still smiling. “Okay.”

But when you move to say goodbye, his hand catches yours again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans across the console and kisses you once more. And then again. And again. Not deep, not rushed, just soft little presses of his lips against yours, like he’s making up for all the kisses he hadn’t known he was allowed to give until now. One lands at the corner of your mouth. Another against your cheek. Then your jaw.

You laugh again, quiet and warm, and he just keeps going, brushing his nose lightly against yours like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

“I’m happy,” he says, suddenly. It’s not dramatic. Not a confession. Just a truth he needed to say out loud. “I’m really fucking happy.”

You look at him, blinking slowly, your heart doing something unsteady inside your chest. “Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Every syllable. “I didn’t think I would be. Not like this.”

He smiles, so softly you think you might forget how to breathe. You glance out the window for a second, then back at him. The night’s quiet, and the street’s empty, and something inside you doesn’t want to let this end yet. “You wanna come up?” you ask, voice low. Then, a little lighter, “Yeonjun’s not home. He’s out tonight.”

Beomgyu blinks once. Then grins. “Are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he says, already reaching for the door handle, “you keep saying yes.”

The two of you step out into the cool air together. This time, when he grabs your hand, it’s not cautious or quiet. It’s natural. Like it’s always been there.

You lead him toward your building, and the silence between you feels full, not of tension, not of hesitation, but of all the moments that got you here. Steps that built slowly, carefully. A connection that never needed to be rushed to mean something. He walks a little closer than he needs to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles every few seconds like he’s still making sure you’re real. And you let him. You don’t say anything, don’t tease him for it. Because honestly, you kind of need to make sure he’s real too.

You unlock your door. Let him in. And in the minutes that follow, when he drops his bag by the couch and toes off his shoes and wraps his arms around you in your kitchen like it’s the most normal thing in the world, you realize something. You genuinely liked Beomgyu.

It didn’t happen all at once. That’s what you keep thinking. It wasn’t a spark or a kiss or a single moment that flipped everything. It was a slow shift. A gradual realignment. Like something quietly tuning itself inside you, one frequency at a time. And now, lying in bed next to him, watching the way his lashes rest against his cheeks as he sleeps, peaceful, unaware, you realize just how far from the beginning you are. And how far you’ve come.

You think about how it started. The tension. The miscommunication. The friction of two people trying not to see each other too clearly. You think about the late nights, the studio lights buzzing overhead, the silence between you and him, how it used to feel heavy, and now it just feels safe. You think about how many times you almost said too much. How many times you stopped yourself. How many times he didn’t. And then, how he did.

You think about the way he whispered the word girlfriend like it was a natural conclusion, not a surprise. Like the truth had already existed between you, and he was just giving it a name. Because by then, it didn’t scare you anymore. Because by then, you’d stopped questioning what it meant, or how fast it happened, or whether it was supposed to look a certain way.

Because by then, it just felt right.

He shifts beside you, barely awake, and instinctively reaches for your hand. His fingers find yours without hesitation, even in sleep. You smile into the darkness. Because it’s not about the label. It never was. It’s about the feeling. The choosing. The quiet knowing.

You think about how, for so long, you felt out of tune. Like no matter how hard you worked, something was always off. Too loud in the wrong places. Too soft where you needed strength. Like you were always trying to blend into a harmony that never made space for you.

But now, with him, there’s no effort. No strain. Just this quiet, steady rhythm—imperfect, unpolished, but undeniably yours.

author's note: hi 🫶 i finally finished this fic. honestly, thought it was gonna live in the “part 2 and never more” graveyard forever lmao. but here we are. if you’ve been reading since the beginning, thank you!! really. i know this one took its time, had its messy timeline and all, but if you made it to the end, just know i love you a little extra now.

thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, messaged me about part 1 and part 2. you made me want to come back to this story and give it the ending it deserved 🥹 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

i hope the ending made your heart feel warm. or at the very least made you want to kiss a problematic but kind-hearted music producer called choi beomgyu.

until the next story 💿

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys @stwq2349 @gaonashi @usuallyunlikelyfox @jisungooner @bluecaet@i-am-not-dal @human-misery @jungkooks-right-toe @shihoinyoruichifan-blog @taeandpuppies @90steele @femaleetitan @c-ssiop0eia @beomgyusluver @gumjun @starbear15

[fairyhaos]

❖ marshmallow smile // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.8k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, food mention, yn is a Mess, shua blushes very easily, absolutely cheesy romcom-style trope in this fic, basically shua pretends someone bought yn a drink but surprise!! it was him!!

warnings: 1 swear word

notes: silly soft flustered joshua who rarely consciously flirts but makes an exception for you :((( my beloved. happy shua day <3

“Here, this is a hot chocolate for you from the guy across the cafe.”

It's been a particularly horrible day, that day. Not because of anything specific, but just because sometimes days are like that. Days where the weather is terrible, your mood is terrible, work is terrible, and overall everything is just kind of… shit. 

Seven o'clock in the evening finds you in a cafe: the same cafe you've been in for four hours, clocking in some unwanted overtime because some idiot on your team managed to permanently delete half the spreadsheet you've been updating for weeks and now you have to scramble to fix it in two days before the annual overview meeting is conducted to all of your bosses. 

You’re exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and almost about to burst into tears when the gentle, male voice had spoken, and you look up just as a hand slides a steaming mug onto your table.

This man—he’s absolutely gorgeous, actually, but you don’t get to register it fully because the moment you look up, he suddenly dashes away to the other end of the cafe, bumping into empty tables before sitting down nonchalantly in one of the booths all the way on the other side, crossing his legs and waving, like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” he says, all cool and suave, even as he’s still waving. “I’m the guy from across the cafe.”

You blink, and then the pieces of his charade fall into place and you laugh, flattered. 

“Well, thank you very much,” you say, and then close your laptop, looking down at the hot chocolate on your table. The whipped cream is piled high, and the mini marshmallows are the pink kind. It’s very cute. “That’s very kind of you.” You smile, taking a sip. “I’ll also be sure to thank the handsome server who brought me my drink.”

The man’s smile widens, pleased. “I hope you don’t think the server was more handsome than me, though.”

You hum, tilting your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe if you come over here, I’ll be able to see you properly and make a real judgement.”

The man’s eyes light up, and he makes his way over to you, and—it’s like the whole world stops spinning. You’d already known he was handsome, and he’s been sitting on the other side of the cafe while talking to you, but it’s a whole other thing to be seeing him up close.

You’re now face-to-face with the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, with pretty brown eyes and a pretty lips that are pulled into a devastatingly pretty smile, and you have to fight a blush as he claims the seat opposite you at the table.

“Hi,” he says again, and laughs softly when you can’t quite meet his gaze, shy. 

“Hello,” you say, looking up briefly and feeling your face instantly heat up. What earlier confidence you’d had when calling him over has mysteriously disappeared, flustered in the face of this man’s handsomeness.

He laughs again, obviously finding you endearing as you look away, avoiding his gaze. And then he ducks his head down until he finds your eyes again before slowly straightening up, smiling when your gaze stays on him. “There we go,” he says softly. “Your eyes are so pretty. Please don’t look away.”

You blink rapidly, still very pink in the face. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. “My name’s Joshua,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “May I have your name?”

Somehow, the oddly formal nature of Joshua’s question helps you shake some of your shyness, and you smile back at him, taking a sip from your hot chocolate. It’s sweet.

“I suppose you may,” you say, lightly teasing. “It’s Y/N.”

And then you hold out your hand for him to shake, playing up the formal greeting, and Joshua laughs, taking it in his own, his touch warm and grounding. You kind of want to hold his hand forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Joshua says. Disappointingly, his fingers fall away from your own almost instantly, and he gestures to the mug in front of you. “I hope you like the hot chocolate. I was actually, um, watching you from across the cafe, and you looked quite stressed, and so I wanted to give you the drink.”

“Oh.” His words have you melting a little, and he looks so adorable with his shining eyes and that shy smile on his face, as if nervous about this whole exchange. “Thank you. I was having a bit of a bad day, so this really helps.” You look down at the hot chocolate in mild wonder. “I thought this kind of thing only happened to main characters in rom coms.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed even as he laughs slightly, eyes crinkling. 

“I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he admits. “I’m kind of out of my depth here with this whole… flirting thing. But I thought you were cute, and you were working so hard, and I wanted to just give you something sweet to cheer you on.”

He thought you were cute. Despite his admission that he’s “out of his depth” here, you think he’s actually doing very well in this flirting. Devastatingly so.

Things like this just don’t happen to you. You’re not the type to have handsome men giving you hot chocolate at seven in the evening because they think you’re cute, but here you are, and Joshua’s smiling shyly even as his eyes glow, and he’s so pretty and this entire thing feels like something out of a dream.

“Your presence is sweeter than any drink could be,” you blurt out, and then promptly turn the shade of a beetroot, burying your face onto the top of your laptop lid. 

You can practically hear Joshua’s stunned silence, and then he laughs.

“Oh, please look up,” he says, when you still keep your face firmly buried in the laptop. “That’s the most adorable compliment I’ve ever gotten, seriously. You’re really—you’re really lovely, Y/N.”

“I’m also really embarrassed,” you say, muffled. “That was—I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at flirting. That was so weird.”

Joshua laughs again, and then there’s a light tap on the top of your head, and you lift your head slightly. Joshua takes the opportunity to reach over and lift your chin up with the tips of his fingers, smiling when you finally make eye contact with him again.

He’s blushing, you realise faintly. His fingers are warm on your face, and his cheeks are dusted pink. You did that to him.

“It wasn’t weird,” he assures. “I told you, I’m really bad at this whole thing too. But I came over here because I liked you, so it would be strange for me to dislike the idea of you liking me too.”

Your eyes widen. “You like me?”

Joshua scrunches his nose slightly, looking embarrassed again. He retracts his hand, and again, you miss the warmth of his touch. “This isn’t my first time seeing you,” he confesses. “You come here every Wednesday after work, don’t you? I’m always here around that time as well, and you’re always so bright and bubbly with your friends, and I just—well, like I said, I found you really cute.”

“Oh.” Joshua really is so, so sweet. “I’m sorry I haven’t ever talked to you before, then. Wow.” And then you smile. “But if it’s any consolation, I really do think you’re cute, too.”

Joshua’s whole face seems to glow as his eyes crinkle into crescents and he smiles widely. He’s still blushing prettily, and that makes you smile too, mesmerised by how someone who looks like him actually exists.

“Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up,” a voice suddenly says, and you jump, tearing your gaze away from Joshua, flustered. At the front of the cafe, there’s a barista wiping down the coffee machines. He stops what he's doing, leaning against the counter, watching you both amusedly. His name tag, Yoon Jeonghan, glints in the lights. “We’re closing up soon. You guys have to go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you call back, and quickly drink the last of the hot chocolate that Joshua gave you, before beginning to put your things back in your back. The spreadsheet isn’t fully finished, but oh well. You can get someone else to do it.

“Sorry, I probably distracted you,” Joshua says apologetically, as you put on your coat and shoulder your bag. He picks up your empty mug for you, ready to walk to the counter and give it back to the barista. “Did you manage to finish your work?”

You shake your head, and the two of you make your way out of the cafe. “No, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve been working on it for hours. I’ll get someone else to finish it off.”

Joshua nods and hands the mug back to the barista, who accepts it with a mischievous grin.

“Have a nice night, lovebugs,” the barista, Jeonghan, says, eyes twinkling. It makes Joshua roll his eyes, exasperated and benevolent at the same time, like he was used to such teasing. He bids Jeonghan goodnight and then leads you out of the cafe, opening the door for you and then following you out afterwards, until you’re both standing out on the empty street.

“A friend of mine, unfortunately,” Joshua says, as a way of explaining Jeonghan’s familiarity. “I may have, um, mentioned you to him, before. Once or twice.”

He’s being bashful again, awkward and shy in revealing his liking for you, and goodness, you’re finding him more and more endearing with each passing second you spend in his presence.

“Cute,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Joshua’s eyes widen, surprised, but like hell are you taking it back, because it’s true. “You’re really cute,” you laugh. “I… wow. Yeah. I think you’re really cute and just. Thank you, for spending time with me. This was really nice.”

Joshua’s eyes are still wide, and he swallows. 

“Okay,” he says, “I really, really don’t normally do this, but could I have your number? You’re just so nice and so pretty and I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay. You can say no, of course, and that’s totally fine, but if you’d like to, then—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a smile, and hold out a hand for his phone. “I’d like to. Of course I’ll give you my number.”

Your day did not start well at all. It’s been miserable, and exhausting, and frankly the worst day you’ve had in a while—but then a mug of hot chocolate had slid onto your table in a coffee shop, and you’d started to make conversation with the prettiest guy in the world, and now, now, now…

Now, Joshua beams at you, soft as marshmallow and sweet as chocolate, and well. You have to admit that your day has ended in the best possible way.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[salvieslovenotes]

Blame it on the sun pt.1

summary: you and Vi have been best friends for years, which is fine, only you also happen to be a teensy bit in love with her. You're handling it, except a road-trip and a week at the beach might just prove to be the tipping point... pairing: fem!reader x vi (arcane) contains: modern!au, collage!au, road-trip/beach!au, friends to lovers. 2k a/n: i haven't written before so please be gentle! this is a part one, where i am it's super sunny and i was at the beach and suddenly thought about a vi beach au and wrote this in my notes app. sorry not proofread! might do part two/three soon xox

‘Say it again,’ Caitlyn instructs.

You sigh, exasperated. ‘Cait, this so isn't gonna work.’

‘It is!’ Caitlyn insists. It's hard to take her seriously from where she's seated on her yoga mat, in the lotus position and glaring you with a determined gleam in her eye. ‘This is your mantra. You're pulling in all the strong, independent energy. Go on! Say it!’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Say it!’

‘I am sexy and fearless,’ you say, giving Caitlyn a flat look.

‘And…’ Caitlyn prompts.

You huff another sigh. ‘And I will not spend the whole week pining after Violet.’

‘You won’t,’ Caitlyn affirms. ‘You're too good for that.’ Her smile turns soft. ‘Just relax and have a brilliant time.’

Caitlyn, your college roommate, really is the most patient woman on the planet, and who's been subjected to more than a few of your Vi-related rants. You and Caitlyn aren’t in any classes together but met at pilates, and she's been the best roommate you've ever had. She’s also the only person who knows how you feel about Vi.

It's just... you needed to tell someone. You and Vi have been best fiends for years, since you were small. You grew up together, went to school together, moved away to college together, have the same group of friends. You played in each other’s paddling pools at three years old for god’s sake.

Right now you're waiting for her and your friends to pick you up, and then you're all going to spend a week of summer break on the coast.

You love Vi, of course you do. Only the tiny, totally insignificant problem is that you're also in love with her.

It's fine. You can totally handle this. You have your mantra and everything.

It's not like you haven't tried to get over the way you feel. At first it was just a little crush. So, when your first high school boyfriend asked you out, you said yes. And you liked him, you really, really did.

But your feelings for Vi didn't go away... they just stayed. They just got stronger. But you're best friends, and she doesn't feel the same. You're friends. So you've become excellent at shoving your feelings down, excellent at dating around here and there, excellent at swallowing your jealousy when Vi has another hookup.

She's never dated seriously, but, as captain of the university’s football team, people know who she is. Unfortunately, being on the cheerleading squad, you get to hear just what the girls think of her. Just how they pine for her after a hook up. It's irritating, them always asking you if she's mentioned them, if she's interested. But you've got this. You accept every few of the dates you get asked on, hoping that maybe this time it'll work. That they'll make you forget Vi.

Only they never do.

You're starting to think maybe no one will.

But you're good—you're excellent at pretending. If you happen to slip up and moan to Caitlyn about it then so what. That's what roommates are for. You always make Caitlyn’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, Maddie, pancakes in the morning when Caitlyn is sleeping in.

‘You'll be fine,’ Caitlyn reminds you, eyes soft. ‘Give me a call if you wanna moan. Or put on that little thing that can barely be called a skirt I know you’ve packed, make the whole club want you and she'll regret her whole life.’

‘Ha ha,’ you snort. Vi won't obviously, but Caitlyn’s gentle teasing makes you smile all the same.

There's a loud beep of a car horn from outside.

‘Oh. Guess that's me.’ You grab your bag, swinging the strap over your shoulder and looking around, trying to think if you've forgotten anything.

‘Suncream?’ asks Caitlyn, moving into downward dog with practiced ease. ‘Second bikini? Book? Rose quartz? Passport?’

‘Passport?’ you echo, distracted, checking your bag for the millionth time. There's another loud honk from outside. ‘But we're not leaving the country…?’

Caitlyn makes a shrugging movement. It looks funny from her current position. ‘You never know. Prepare for anything.’

‘Right,’ you laugh, but grab your passport just in case on your way out, calling, ‘bye love!’

‘Remember your mantra!’ Caitlyn yells just as you slam the door of your little flat.

Hurrying down the steps, you find Vi's beaten-up red jeep idling in the middle of the street.

She's twisted around in her seat as you pull open the door, arguing over music with Ekko, Claggor and Mylo, your friends you met at uni. Powder got a scholarship to Oxford for chemical engineering, and so you only see her over the long Christmas break, but you all call often.

‘What's wrong with Sabrina?’ Claggor asks defensively. He's going through a current obsession - his music tastes change weekly based on the girl he's sweet on at the time. Right now, it's Sabrina Carpenter. Juno has been on repeat.

‘Not again,’ groans Ekko. ‘Hey,’ he adds, nodding at you as you drop your bag on the floor of the front seat and swing in next to Violet. ‘Tell him, would you?’

‘I like Juno,’ you shrug, grinning

Ekko groans again, tossing his hands up as Claggor lets out a triumphant ha!

‘It’s good!’ you laugh as Vi makes a loud scoffing noise. It makes you smile; you happen to know Sabrina occupies a significant portion of her workout playlist.  

Something clenches in your chest at the sight of her. She looks unfairly good, wearing a singlet that shows off her tattoos and arms. Around her neck she's wearing a necklace you brought back for her from holiday one time; it's got a mother-of-pearl pendant, and the slightly crazy lady who sold it to you said it carried protective power from giver to receiver.

‘So I’ll be protecting you always,’ you'd said as you gave it to Vi, laughing. It had been a joke, obviously, but her voice was soft as she thanked you. And she hasn't taken it off since. Not once.

Apparently, one time she had a fit before a game when the clasp broke and it fell without her noticing. Ekko, who's also on the team, told you with a funny expression you couldn't decipher that Vi refused to play until she found it.

‘I suppose everyone has funny pregame rituals,’ you shrugged it off. Tying left shoelaces before right, tapping their locker three times.

Still, it makes your heart kick a little faster every time you see the necklace on her.

‘Damn Princess, way to make us all suffer,’ she says, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. It’s an old nickname, left over from the Princess-themed sixth birthday party you had. Vi turns back to the front, glancing at you quickly then whipping back so fast she’s in danger of damaging something, and she stares at your top for a second, eyes wide.

‘Uh...?’ you say, cautious and more than a little confused.

Vi sort of coughs, heat flooding her cheeks. ‘Nothing.’ Turning to face the road, she clears her throat a good three times. ‘Right, everyone ready? Let’s go then.’ She puts the car into gear as you buckle in.

From the backseat you hear Ekko snort. ‘Nice top,’ he says dryly.

You look down at your halterneck. The pattern has small holes everywhere, like a lacy curtain, and maybe it's a bit much normally, particularly as you can’t wear a bra with it, but you figured as you're going to the beach, it’s fine. Powder crocheted it herself and sent it as a gift for your birthday, along with a vaguely threatening and capitalised instruction to MAKE SURE YOU WEAR IT ON YOUR BEACH TRIP. So... here you are, following instructions.

‘Thanks,’ you say to Ekko. ‘Powder made it.’

Vi mutters something you can't quite catch but sounds vaguely like I'm gonna kill her.

‘I love that girl,’ sighs Mylo with a snigger.

As Vi turns off onto the next street, you connect Claggor’s phone, and as Sabrina starts playing you roll down your window and settle back.

Some time later, everyone’s playing fuck-marry-kill to pass the time on the long drive, and Vi’s laughing at something Mylo says. It's almost perfect. If you ignore Vi beside you, the way her hand rests on the gear stick, one elbow on the windowsill as she loosely grips the steering wheel. It's warm; sun pouring through the windows and you’re trying really hard not to stare at veins on her arms, when suddenly she brushes a hand over your thigh.

The gasp that escapes your mouth is frankly mortifying.

Alarmed, you glance around at her to find Vi frowning at you, confused.

‘D’you mind?’

‘Huh?’

‘Uh...’ she makes a face, a small amused smile tugging at her lips, crooked and slipping to one side. ‘I asked if you could get my sunglasses. They're in the front pocket.’

‘Oh. Yep. Sure can do,’ you say hurriedly, fetching them for her and mentally kicking yourself.

You need to get it together.

It's fine.

I’m not gonna pine, I’m not gonna pine, I’m not gonna pine, you repeat in your head. You're distracted enough that you're starting to think Caitlyn has a point with the whole mantra thing, but then...

Then Vi does something completely inane and absolutely devastating (literally just runs her hand through her hair), her bicep bunching as she raises her arm in a way that's unholy, a sight that belongs in a strip club not a sun-filled front seat on a random Tuesday morning. You turn hastily to the window, heart hammering and mouth suddenly very dry.

Oh this is so not fine.

_______________

Damn Little Mix. Damn them to hell.

No one should be dancing like that, to fucking Little Mix of all groups. Like, really. The way your hips are swaying should be studied by hypnotists, because Vi cannot drag her eyes away.

It's magnetic, sensual and playful all in one heady rush. Every time she thinks she’s used to you, thinks she’s got this... yearning for you under control, you go and do something inane, you smile, roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder, and she’s falling all over again.

It feels like she’s fallen so many times. It can’t get any stronger, she can’t feel any more than this—and then somehow she does.

But you’re friends. Friends don’t think about each other like that. Friends don’t have to bite back the other’s name while sleeping with someone else. Friends don’t fall asleep dreaming about each other.

You’re friends, so she shouldn’t go insane when you simply lay a hand on her shoulder, or nudge her hip. Shouldn’t catch herself staring at your mouth and thinking about it against hers—

Nope. Nope, she’s not doing this. Right now, she's busy being mad at fucking Little Mix, who clearly have got it out for her.

What makes it worse is that you two have always been exceptionally close. People often mistake you for being together as a couple, and Vi always tries to laugh it off, make a joke out of it, when in reality it burrows through her like a blade.

Because that's what she wants, it's all she’s ever wanted.

But because of that, how there's always been an easy casualness between you, how your relationship has always been a little touchy-feely, Vi doesn't need to imagine what it would feel like to have you close, she knows.

It’s worse. It’s so much worse. She knows how well her hands fit into the curve of your waist. She knows what the swell of your hips feels like.

Sometimes she can’t help herself, imagining sinking her teeth into the soft flesh, the sounds you'd make. The way you'd moan her name.

Sometimes she feels she's going mad, wanting you. Wanting you when you're right there. Sometimes she feels she is mad already. She'd accidentally broken a mirror last time you introduced her to your latest fling, a boy from another uni you’d met a match. The way he wrapped his arms around you made Vi want to rip his hands off. They touched you. They shouldn't get to do that.

Fuck.

She downs the rest of her drink, swallowing painfully. You’re camping at a beach for a night, mid-way along the coast to your destination. Everyone’s around a fire, stars twinkling in the velvet sky. Mylo has his speaker turned down low, not to disturb the other people on the beach. Firelight flickers across your skin, giving you an otherworldly glow.

Desire and yearning twist inside Vi into something painful, something tinged with ragged desperation. Her hands are shaking slightly where she’s gripping onto her cider can so tightly she accidently crushes it. She's not really sure what's wrong with her.

You're just... dancing. That’s all. Just dancing.

Laughing, swaying in the firelight, twirling as Ekko raises your arm to spin you by the hand.

It feels like Vi’s heart is sitting on her tongue, she has to keep swallowing it back down. Try as she might, she can't look away.

‘Pretty isn't she,’ says Claggor. He sounds slightly amused. Everyone but you seems to know she's got a thing for you. That she's always had a thing for you.

‘She's beautiful,’ Vi hears herself say–confess. She can’t help it; it’s true.

[weneeya]

touch starved

m.list | rules

pairing. msby x reader

characters. hinata, atsumu, sakusa, bokuto

note. omg i heard 2020 is back? guess i'm back with it then

Hinata or touching cheek to cheek

You always came to watch Hinata play, there was no exception to the rule. He was your lovely boyfriend, and obviously your favourite player. It was the first match of the season today, and you were in the front row to see him be as good as he always was. 

When his team won the game, you made your way through the crowd to join him and the rest of his teammates. You waved at Bokuto who saw you first, before your boyfriend turned around and yelled your name with a bright smile. You almost ran and jumped his open arms. 

The second you were in his arms, Hinata pressed his cheek against yours, making both of you chuckle a little. He loved doing this so much. It was a simple touch, leaving no room for imagination on your relationship with him, but without being too demonstrative. 

Hinata did not care, but you were more discreet than him, and he understood that you did not want your intimacy to be shown to the whole world like this. Pressing your cheeks together was the best way he found to keep being clingy to you in public. 

Atsumu or hiding his face in your neck

Everyone knew how much Atsumu loved to be seen, to have all the attention on him all the time. He was the biggest show-off you ever met, and sometimes you wondered how you ended up dating a guy like him. Until you saw the way he looked at you, and how needy he was between your arms when you two were alone. 

Today was no different. It was early in the morning and you were making breakfast for the two of you. Alone in the kitchen, you were softly humming to the song playing on the radio while cooking the eggs. You were stopped by two strong arms sliding around your waist to keep you in place, and a nose nuzzling against the skin of your neck. 

You giggled softly at the feeling, and one of your hands rested on his arm around you. It was too early for Atsumu to be awake, so you were not surprised to see him being so sleepy and touchy. 

“You should have stayed in bed,” you told him in a soft voice, and he grumbled something against your skin. 

“Missed ya…” You understood in his half said words, before you put the eggs on the side and turn off the gas. 

You slowly turned around to be facing him, but it did not last long, his face soon hidden back into your neck. You ran your fingers on the back of his neck, and he hid his face even more, if only it could be possible. It was those moments which made you remember why you loved this man so much.

Sakusa or feeling your pulse

Sakusa hated crowds, it was nothing new : and being a world famous volleyball player did not help at all. He despised them, but he could not simply avoid them all of the time. Thankfully, you were now by his side to help him get through this. 

It was an important meeting for the teams which were about to play a friendly game for both the public and the wellbeing of practices. The real problem was how many people were there for the encounter. Sakusa was in a pretty bad mood, and everyone had noticed it, especially his own teammates. After a quick talk, Hinata made his way to bring you there. 

You were now by your boyfriend’s side, holding his hand while talking to him to try to ease his poor mind. He was glancing here and there from time to time, but his attention slowly began to focus on you. You knew he was solely focusing on you when his fingers slowly moved down to rest on your wrist. 

Sakusa closed his eyes for a second, his touch on your wrist taking note of your calm pulse. It always soothed him down, knowing how relaxed you were next to him while he was a nervous wreck. He stayed like this until he felt his own pulse slowing down, before he looked back at you. 

You gave him a light smile, and he nodded as an answer, as his lips were hidden behind his mask. With that, you waved at him and left, the match about to start.

He waved back at you before a light sigh escaped his lips. He would never be grateful enough for how much you were helping him all the time, with even the smallest details.

Bokuto or resting his head on your chest

It was safe to say that Bokuto could not wait until he finally got home to you. The man was tired from practice ; not physically, but mentally for sure. All he wanted to do was to spend time with his pretty girlfriend and care about nothing else but the comfort of your presence next to him. No surprise he almost ran away when the coach told him they could leave the gym. 

He probably never came back home so quickly before, and it almost surprised you who did not expect him to be here so soon. You were laying in bed, reading a book, when you heard the slam of the main door shutting. You did not have the time to move from your position, Bokuto was already in the bedroom. 

Before you could say anything, your boyfriend let his broad figure fall right on top of you. You gasped slightly for air, putting your book to the side so he would not destroy it. A smile dancing on his lips, he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on top of your chest. Eyes closed, he simply hummed softly in satisfaction. 

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, and it simply made him nuzzle even more against your chest. It was all he needed, your body pressed against his and nothing else around. Your chest was definitely his favorite pillow ; no wonder why you always ended up like this while laying down with him. 

You decided that it was perhaps the right time to take a break from your book and just relax for a moment. You kept playing with his hair while your free hand ran along the top of his back slowly. It didn’t take long before the two of you fell asleep like this, in the warmth of each other's embrace.

thank you for reading!!

[pleaselmhau]

Just imagine the sweet little medic on base, the one always giving those beaming smiles and soft touches is the one who wormed their way into Ghost’s heart. It started with him sitting on the shabby cot, having half the mind to just stitch himself up after waiting so long. He didn’t even want to be here in the first place but infection meant he’d be out of commission and that’s not happening. Eventually the sweetest thing comes sauntering on in and instantly he’s glaring. Of course the universe is taunting him. Why else would it put them in here with him? Their cheesy jokes make him roll his eyes, wanting them to just shut up and finally finishing stitching. He’s surprised though when they do finish rather quickly. The stitches are neat too even though they were yapping the whole time. So now he’s torn between being his grumpy self and his begrudging respect for their skills.

So he starts coming to them whenever he’s busted up, he’s a man of habit after all. Not having to risk whatever medic is assigned to him being more annoying or worse bad at their job is one worry he can tick off. Their cheesy jokes start to work on him, complimenting his dry humor truthfully quite well until he has to catch him self grinning a little and pop back on his scowl. Then their sweet smiles start disarming him until one day he’s just look down at their goofy smile and bright eyes and just thinks fuck.

He starts chatting a little more when he comes and starts seeing them more for smaller injuries. Now all of the sudden he’s stopping by the medbay for bruises and shallow cuts too. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or what he wants, but man does his feet always seem to bring him right back here in front of them. They must notice too as they start tagging along when he’s around base and free, going to the mess hall with him, on his morning walks, even sometimes joining him for training. Until one night they have a few drinks and an hour later they’re under him moaning so sweetly while he’s rutting into them like there’s no tomorrow. Unfortunately for his defenses, there was. He expected the hookup to ruin whatever was blooming between them but nope, they come right back to his quarters a few nights later for seconds, then thirds, then… you get the picture.

Then he’s giving them a spare key to his quarters, not telling them he had to fake losing his own to get the second copy. At that point they should just sleep there every night right? So they do. It becomes his new routine, squeezing his worries and stress away into their soft, pliant body. Becomes an absolute softie at night when he’s sleepy. Grumbling something about not being comfy before plopping down right on them, practically suffocating them with his big meaty self.

Then his team is finding out because they come back late from a mission, two days late, and the medic is barreling right for him, wrapping him up in an embrace. He watches Soap, Gaz, and Price’s brows raise in question but he doesn’t even really have the answers to himself. He just pats them on the back and plants a chaste kiss right on their forehead, telling them to go back to his quarters and that he’ll be up in a bit. Soap and Gaz tease him, earning sharp glares. Price grumbles something about interpersonal work relationships, but Ghost knows the captain wouldn’t snitch. Ghost doesn’t open up to anyone, Price won’t jeopardize his exception. Beneath it all they’re just happy Ghost is becoming a little less tense, still grumpy, but not as constantly on edge as he used to be.

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ EVAN BUCKLEY ⁾⁾ CATS OUT OF THE BAG

﹙ SHOW/FANDOM ⠆911﹚

PAIRING ⠆evan 'buck' buckley x femreader.

CATEGORIES ⠆fluff, secret-family!au, i have a butt load of fics like this in my drafts (if you can’t tell already i love dad!buck and eddie)

buck is usually an open book, he talked about everything and anything- the 118 practically knew his whole life story but then you came along. when things got serious with you he didn’t want to jinx it. being a man of superstition, he just didn’t want to ruin something good. so he never really told anyone. then a year of dating became two, you got engaged and not soon after had maisie. he didn’t mean to keep you away from his family (except maddie, he cannot keep anything from her) it just never came up. they just knew about the vague ‘im seeing someone’ stick that never was pushed because, knowing bucks past dating history, they thought the relationship wouldn’t last long especially when he stopped mentioning anything about it.

you hadn’t planned on coming by, buck had been texting you all day– it’d been a slow morning for them. maisie had just woken up from her nap with the sleepiest gummy smile and an arm stretched toward the door, babbling for him and you couldn’t resist, a surprise visit wouldn’t hurt, right? plus you missed him and you knew maisie did too.

it’s around 3PM, the team was getting ready for family dinner at the 118 when chim catches someone walking into the station. stood at the loft he sees a women with a child on her hip, tucked into her shoulder. the women looks around like she’s searching for something.

“can we help you?” chim asks from above, leaning against the railing of the loft, brows raised in curiosity.

you look up, spotting him. nerves growing in your stomach, one of many colleagues buck has told you about. you clear your throat, nerves betraying you as your voice comes out small and meek. “uh hi… i’m looking for evan.”

evan? no one ever calls him evan.

chims head tilts, turning back to buck who’s lathering on way to much butter on his biscuit. he calls out to buck, mid bite giving chim an unsatisfied look for stealing his attention from the delicious food.

“evan buckley?” hen asks from besides chim, gathered in curiosity looking down at you with a daughter suspiciously looking a lot like buck. eddie coming out from the locker room nearly does a double take, his eyes falling to maisie. “and… who’s this little one?”

buck, who’s now abandoned lunch, joins chim and hen ever the noisiest. comes to see you and your daughter with eddie, behind your shoulder softly speaking to maisie. his heart nearly stops and grows at the same time. his expression went from furrowed brows to a wide gleaming smile, excited to see you both. he practically bolts down the stairs, hen and chim watching him “sweetheart?” his familiar voice calls out, taking long, fluid steps to you. you watch the way the room freezes. hen’s eyes widen. chims jaw already dropped, bobby who’s joined at the railing as well at the sudden commotion. eddie blinks like he’s not sure he heard right.

“what are you two doing here?” a soft grin already forming—one that stretches into a full-blown smile the moment he sees you.

maisie squeals and kicks her feet in your arms, reaching out for him. buck doesn’t hesitate—he scoops her up with practiced ease, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “she missed you,” you say softly, watching the way she burrows into his neck.

“i missed you too, sweet pea,” buck murmurs into her hair, before bending down a bit of give you a chaste kiss on your lips, everyone else in the station forgotten in the moment. the team looks at each other bewildered, what is going on? hen clears her throat, hands on her hips like a mother catching her child doing something bad. buck turns, maisie babbling, pointing at hens glasses. “oh! uhm guys, this is my fiancée.” wrapping his arm around you pulling you close. “and our daughter, maisie.”

you wave albeit a bit awkwardly, telling them your name. you’ve heard about them so much and seen pictures but they all look different in person– more welcoming, like home.

“wait, wait,” chim gasps, holding his hands in front of you “you’re his wife.” he points to you, then maisie “and that’s your daughter who looks basically like a mini version of you!” grasping the concept that buck has his own little family without anyone knowing. then a look of realization hits his face. “does maddie know? you’ve been withholding a little niece and best friend from jee-yun!”

you and buck exchange a look, eyes narrowing– his mouth faltering to a nervous grin “yeah about that… maddie knows”

chimney practically freezes “she’s met jee-yun?” you nod, biting your lip anxiously, buck looks at you the same. you were surprised chim hasn’t caught on, they’ve meet quite a lot since maisie was six months old. maddie even telling you once jee-yun wouldn’t stop saying ‘mai-mai’ the day after they went to your house and chim chalked it up to jee-yun being in her ‘imaginary friends’ phase. the rest of the 118 look at him– unsure how’d he react, then wordlessly he pulls his phone out of his pocket before heading to the locker room, probably calling maddie.

“guess the cats out of the bag.” hen remarks, the rest of the group nodding along. the moment is quick to pass as they turn their attention to your and your daughter, their newest revelation.

“how old is she?” eddie asks, already drifting closer brushing a finger over her small, chubby knuckles. her hand soon enveloping his finger in a tiny fist, he gives the group ‘are you seeing this? someone take a picture!’ look

“just turned one,” you say, shifting into buck’s side. “she’s been crawling but has yet to take her first steps.”

“i—wow,” bobby says with a slow shake of his head. “buck, you’ve been holding out on us.” looking to wear hen and eddie are now clamoring around her trying to make her laugh, making silly faces and playing peek-a-boo.

“i wasn’t trying to hide them,” buck says quickly, eyes flicking to you. “i just… it felt nice, keeping something just for me for a little while, you know?”

you squeeze gently his bicep. you understood. he’d lived so much of his life in the open, under watchful eyes and immense expectations put on himself and his job. but this your little family was something he got to build quietly.

“so this is why you started turning down overtime,” hen says with a knowing smile.

“and showing up to shift early with coffee, black and this aura… should’ve known as a father myself, how did i not notice earlier?” eddie says with a smirk.

buck laughs, bouncing maisie gently as she clutches at his shirt. “yeah. turns out being a dad makes you… grow up a little.”

“a lot,” you tease under your breath.

the 118 gather around slowly, the initial shock fading into curiosity and warmth. chim back after giving maddie a earful and promising a play date with maisie soon. maisie charms them all within five minutes, everyone having a turn carrying her and taking quite a liking to bobby, which who wouldn’t? even sharing her star shaped puffs with the team after they invited you to stay for lunch

you lean into buck’s side as he watches his team interact with your daughter, around the table. maisie in eddies lap as they coo and giggle at her, gnawing on a piece of bread. this was it, this is what he’s wished for all his life, his daughter and you with the people he loves the most. you catch the way his eyes shine a little.

“you okay?” you ask quietly.

he nods, his arm tightening around your waist.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “i think… i think i finally get what home feels like.”

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[sdmnpact]

Secret's out.

George Clarke x Reader, angst, fluff

[] You and George planned on hiding your relationship for as long as possible. One drunken video later and your secret is out.

[]tw: drinking, drunk reader

~~~

The night was cool and crisp. The fresh air felt amazing on your hot, flushed face. Your arms linked with Becky as you walked down the streets of London behind the group of wild boys, one of which your boyfriend, George.

You were out on the streets of London because you agreed to participate in one of Chris' drinking videos. You've visited five pubs already and your team has had six penalties which were mostly caused by you, resulting in them forcing you to take most of the penalty shots. Now it was suppose to be boys versus girls but there weren't enough girls so it's you, Becky, Arthur Hill, and Will- the honary girls versus Chris, George, Arthur tv, and Bach.

You were definitely feeling the effects of seven alcoholic beverages and you were struggling to keep focus. Becky grabbed your arm for support but she wasn't in the best condition herself, beginning to disassociate the more bevs she had. You would cling onto your boyfriend, but you two were a secret. You didn't want to be known as George's girlfriend, disrupt his whole rise to fame, or make your own fame come from dating him so you both agreed it would be best to keep your relationship hidden from the public.

You liked it at first, the thrill of being a secret making the relationship more interesting but as time went by you found it more difficult to spend time together. With George constantly streaming nowadays and his trips to other countries, you were struggling to find some alone time. This night, only pushing you two further apart since all cameras were on you.

It was usually pretty easy to hide your relationship except for George who was the clingy one, always grabbing onto you, or giving you his whole attention at times, leading to fans speculating or shipping you together.

Once you realized how that would look, you began acting like you didn't like it, quickly making fans change their minds. You never showed any type of skinship or affection towards him making it harder to make the relationship work over time. You felt distant, like you weren't in a relationship at all.

You never let yourself slip but tonight, you felt yourself losing control. The next pub completely ruined you. You had to down your Guinness while standing on one leg and if you failed, it was a shot for your team. Luckily you chugged the drink with ease, the balancing made it tricky but you got through it. The drink hitting you like a truck a few minutes later.

You knew you were no longer in control of your actions at this point. You looked over to see George's hazy eyes on you, he looked irresistible. You stumbled your way over to him, sitting beside him, pushing passed Bach who gave you a concerned look. Everyone knew you were a secret and tried to help you hide it. Bach grabbed your arm but you gave him a look telling him it was okay.

"Hey, are you okay?" George asked with a calm tone. "Yes, I just missed you." You said bringing yourself closer to him, nuzzling into his shoulder. You took a huge whiff of that cologne of his you found so intoxicating. The warmth of his body bringing you a sense of security. "There's cameras." He murmered in a deep, tired voice. "I dont care." You picked your head up, looking him in the eyes.

"I don't care if the world knows! I love you and I'm tired of hiding it!" You exclaimed, quite loudly causing the others to turn their heads towards you. "This is my man and I love him!" You almost shouted, pointing at him, standing up but being immediately pulled back down by George. "Babe, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." He said softly, grabbing your hand rubbing circles into the top of it.

"I'm tired, I just want to love you freely." You said quickly cupping his cheeks and placing a soft kiss on his lips. You pulled back to see a red tint on his face. He was never a fan of pda and never had to face it since you were a secret but now it doesn't matter, he would have to get used to it.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

---

The next morning you woke up in George's bed. You don't remember much of the previous night but you know you drank a lot. You sat up, stretching and looked around his room, George nowhere to be seen. You also didn't see your phone anywhere. You quickly began looking for it, afraid that you lost it in one of the pubs. You walked out of George's room into the living area.

You saw George standing in the kitchen cooking food. Your stomach grumbled at the smell of whatever he was making. "Have you seen my phone?" You asked startling him slightly. He walked over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and placing a light kiss on your temple. "Did you sleep well?" He asked softly, his blue eyes looking into yours lovingly. You swooned at this, you love sleeping over at his flat and waking up to his beautiful face in the morning.

"Not really, but better now, knowing you were next to me." You smiled, a huge grin plastered on his face. "You dont remember last night do you?" He asked pulling away from you, going back towards the kitchen. "No." You replied walking over and sitting near him at the counter, grabbing some strawberries off a small plate he set out.

"Well, you smashed your phone by accident." He took a pause. "After filming the rest of the night." Worry evident in his voice. You furrowed your brows confused. You like to post on instagram and snapchat occasionally so it wouldn't be something to be concerned about.

"You told everyone we're dating." Your heart dropped. Panic evident on your face as George quickly walked over and wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into his chest. The soft sound of his heart beat comforting you. "I told everyone?" You asked barely above a whisper.

"You announced it to the pub, and recorded videos of us explaining our relationship." He said quietly trying to keep you calm. "Im so sorry George." You felt horrible about exposing both of you like that. "I didn't mean to. I don't know what-"

"Breathe." He inyerrupted, rubbing your back slowly with the palm of his hand. "It's okay. I've been wanting this since- well since we started dating. I never wanted to hide our relationship but I know how much that meant to you. Whatever happens now, just know, it's gonna be okay." He reassured pulling you into a tighter embrace. You sniffled, not realizing you had tears running down your face.

"I just don't want it to affect you." You looked up at him, his face softening at your state. "It won't. Even if it does. It doesn't matter. I love you and you're first before anything." You didn't know how you pulled such a sweet guy. You were now bawling at not only the situation but the way he was always so gentle with you. "I love you too." You replied softly, wrapping your arms around him, laying your head on his chest again.

"Everything will be okay."

~~~

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @tyna-19, @whisperturnedecho @sundarksposts @wherethezoes-at, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @madsclarkey @xlovergirlx @daliah-xxo @needf0rspeed