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evilmenenjoyer · 1 month ago

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Dead-end roads.

Pairing: Shane Walsh x fem!Reader.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: age gap (legal, reader is 24 years old and Shane is somewhere in his mid-late 30s), drinking, drunk sex (as in both parties are drunk), rough sex, gratuitous use of the word "kid" as a pet name, grief and implications of past familial abuse. Both of them are a mess basically.

A/N: thank you so much to the anon who requested age gap Shane/Reader! I had so many ideas I had to split them into different parts or this would've been ridiculously long, so let me know if you would like to see part 2!

You, Shane, trauma, and way too much booze for your own good. What could possibly go wrong?

–––

Sneaking out of the camp was easy. Dale likes to keep watch on top of his RV, but even he can’t see everything, and when you’re determined to leave a place even trained eyes can’t seem to catch you. With everyone else busy trying to recover from the massacre and digging graves for the dead, it felt like the perfect opportunity.

The graves. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch them do it, much less to step in and help. Four deaths just last night; Ed, Amy, a man whose name you regret not memorizing. And your mother.

You haven’t shed a single tear yet.

Instead, you find yourself alone in the heart of Atlanta, in the apartment you used to live. Your legs dangle from the edge of the tiny balcony, and in your hand you clutch a half-empty bottle of vodka. It’s cheap, the kind you can’t hold back a grimace every time you swallow, but it gets the job done — and more importantly, quickly. Five big gulps in and you can’t even taste it anymore.

The city looks so eerie from up here, empty and dead silent save for the distant groans of walkers below. Every now and again you’ll see one drag itself along the street, aimlessly making its way into one of the nearby buildings or further into the city, oblivious to your presence ten stories above. You briefly entertain the thought of tossing the cap of the bottle down into the concrete, just to see if you could hit one of them from this distance, if they’ll be smart enough to look up and spot you.

Just as you’re considering the pros and cons, the sliding door behind you opens.

Your heart jumps inside your chest and it feels like the vodka hits you all at once, making the world spin and blur around you. You whip your head towards the sound, your eyes taking a second longer to catch up to the movement and to make sense of the shape invading your vision.

“Shane,” you gasp, half in surprise and half in relief. Not a walker. You don’t want to think about how, if it was one, you’d have nowhere to run to except maybe jumping down and taking your chances with the pavement. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ for you. What else would I be doing here?” Shane looks pissed, like he can’t decide whether he wants to snap at you right now or if he should wait until you’re not half-hanging out of the frail balcony fence. He draws in a deep breath, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself down. “You can’t just sneak out like that. We were worried.”

“Sorry.”

You’re not sorry. You don’t even try to sound sorry. You bring the bottle to your lips, swallowing down a mouthful of vodka that goes down your throat like liquid fire. You only vaguely feel it, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep.

Of course Shane would know you’d be here. None of the other remaining survivors in the group would know where to look, but he’s not just any stranger you’ve been camping with for the sake of survival. He had rescued you and your mother from this very place in his departure from Atlanta, before the bombs from the military started coming down on the city.

Shane crouches down beside you, his eyes taking note of the bottle but not lingering on it.

“We’re leaving the camp today,” he tells you. You don’t react save for a tiny nod around another sip of vodka.

“Where to?”

“CDC, or Fort Benning. We’re still working it out.”

You don’t voice your opinion; both sound fruitless to you. Silence stretches on for long enough that he must get the hint, because he takes the opportunity to say, “You’re coming with us.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine here,” you reply, your words slurred as the alcohol works its way through your system.

“You can’t be serious.” He rubs at his face, the same exasperation in his gesture as in his voice. “You’d die in a week, kid.”

The pet name instantly gets on your nerves, even if he’s called you that since the day he met you.

“I come here all the time and I’m still not dead.”

“For supply runs. How the fuck do you expect to live here? All alone? Look around you,” he gestures to the street below, where a walker crosses the street towards an abandoned store. “You’ve never even killed a walker.”

“I can learn.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“How hard can it be? Everyone else does it.” You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you went from buzzed to drunk, but you realize now you’ve crossed that line a long time ago. Your voice goes from soft and nonchalant to increasingly, irrationally annoyed at his concern. “‘Sides, if I’m that useless why’d you want me to come along? I’d just slow you down.”

The worst is you know he has a point. You’re not a fighter; never have been, really. Your entire life, the one thing stopping you from becoming a sitting target was your ability to run, both literally and figuratively. You’re fast, sneaky, crafty. Qualities that have served you well, but they can only take you so far in this new brutal world. What happens when you can’t run? What happens when someone else is cornered and you can do nothing to help them?

There’s still blood from last night under your nails, no matter how hard you scrubbed your hands clean at the river.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

The words, the genuine, unexpected gentleness of his tone, it feels like a knife being jammed into your stomach. You only shake your head, unable to look at him; unable to, even now, admit that you can’t decide whether you’re devastated or relieved that she’s gone. That that woman was capable of leaving you with the deepest scars without ever laying a finger on you.

You stare down at the street. You still don’t cry.

“She would’ve wanted you to keep going,” Shane insists.

Your eyes finally meet his. “You clearly didn’t know my mother, Shane.”

You watch the surprise in his eyes as he tries to make sense of it. Still, he doesn’t relent. He pushes himself back to his feet.

“Come on, we need to go while there’s still daylight.” When you don’t move nor give any indication that you’ve heard him, you feel a hand circle around your forearm.

“I said no!” You yank your arm back like he burned you, even though the touch was gentle. “You’re not a cop anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I sure fucking can when you’re bein’ a danger to yourself.” He grabs you again, this time firmly enough to pull you to your feet. You stumble, too drunk for something as simple as balancing yourself. “Let’s go.”

You do the only thing that crosses your mind — you swing the bottle at him.

It doesn’t break. There’s just not enough power in the movement, no real intention to hurt him; you just want him to let go. It hits him on the shoulder, splashing vodka everywhere as it falls and crashes into a million pieces in the pavement below.

The crash is so loud in the silent city.

Shane’s got you back inside the apartment in an instant, in the bedroom that was once yours. You thrash around in his arms like a wild animal, the differences in strength between you and Shane as well as the alcohol running through your veins making your attempts at best comically futile.

“Stop! Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s pointless, Shane!” You keep on fighting even when you know you’re overpowered, when you can barely move against his grasp. “I’m dying either way! What difference does it make if I die here or at Fort Benning or wherever the fuck!?”

“You ain’t dying, that’s what I’m tryna stop from happening!” He’s got you effectively trapped, your back pressed against the wall and his arm across your chest. “Why do you gotta be so fucking stubborn?”

You try to move away; you can’t. His arm applies pressure across your chest, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just how close he is — close enough that you can feel the body heat emanating off him, your faces inches from touching. You can see every pore on his skin, the light stubble starting to grow, the way his nostrils flare with anger.

“You think you’re the only one who lost someone?” he says. “We all did. And you’re the only one needin’ to be cared for like a little kid.”

“Who did you lose?” you snap back. “Far as I can see, everyone you love is doing just fine. That boy, your girlfriend. Even your buddy came back to steal her away.”

He pushes you even harder against the wall for that, his muscles flexing with how impossibly tight he’s gripping you. Your breath caught in your throat, you try to kick him away only to find his knees also trapping your legs in place, so much of his body pressed flush to yours it’s making you a little dizzy.

“You gonna drag me back, or are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, all drunken defiance and bravado. There’s no way a sentence like that would ever leave your lips if not for the copious amounts of alcohol clouding your judgment. “‘Cause I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

You can tell you’ve caught him off-guard, but neither of you have an opportunity to react to what you’ve just said. Somewhere in the hallway, there’s a bang as something is pushed to the floor, followed by the unmistakable groans and heavy footsteps of a walker.

Shane spins you around so fast you nearly fall over again. His arm circles around your waist, and before you can even think to object, his free hand clamps over your mouth.

He drags you both into the walk-in closet, closing the door as silently as he can. It’s a dark, cramped space, the mess of clothes making it feel even smaller. Shane’s right behind you, his chest molded against your back and arms wrapped around you, his hand still covering your mouth even though you wouldn’t dare to make a sound.

All you can do is listen: Shane’s breath so close to your ear, your own racing heartbeats inside your chest, the walker that has now found its way into the bedroom.

For a few long moments you’re both still as statues, listening in to the sounds outside the closet. Your mind races with the worst possible outcomes; what if there’s more than one walker? What if they realize you’re both here, with no way to escape except for the same door you came in from? What if you both end up dead, and it’s all your fault for coming back here in the first place?

Seconds stretch into minutes that stretch into what feels like an eternity. The walker — or walkers — circles the room quite a few times, in no rush to leave. At some point, you see its shadow right in front of the door, standing there for several beats before it finally, finally walks away.

Shane waits even longer, until you’re certain you can’t hear anything on the other side. Only then does he slowly unwrap his hand from your mouth. He reaches for the door, still holding onto you, pushing it open just enough that he can peek out at the bedroom.

“I think it’s gone,” he whispers. “It probably went to the other room, but we can—”

He looks at you, and his voice dies out in his throat when he realizes you’re weeping.

You don’t know when it began, but the tears just keep on coming, rolling down your cheeks and into your shirt. They’re silent save for a few quick pauses for air, and your body shakes ever so slightly with your sobs, so soft and subtle it could’ve just been mistaken for fear if he couldn’t see your face. You want it to stop, to get your shit together or at least hide from Shane, stop him from watching you fall apart like this.

His grip around your waist loosens, but doesn’t release you. Instead, he carefully wraps his other arm around you as well, cradling you in an embrace.

It’s like the final pillar holding you together crumbles, and you let it all pour out of you, all those emotions you don’t even know how to name taking the shape of tears. Shane feels like a warm blanket at your back, reminding you that things can still feel good, somehow, in the midst of so much sorrow. He coaxes you to turn around to face him, and you immediately burrow your face into his chest, arms clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” he shushes, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” you breathe, your voice quieter than a whisper, but he hears you.

“Yeah, I can. Y’know why?” He pulls back just enough to see your face, the gun callouses on his fingertips scratching your skin when he wipes away a tear. “‘Cuz I’ll be right here the whole time, and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

You know it’s an empty promise, that this is something he can’t possibly guarantee. But he says it so earnestly, like really means it. And, for a moment, you let yourself believe it, let him pull you out of the closet and into an imaginary world where things will be okay.

CDC was the right choice, after all. It’s disheartening to see it empty rather than bustling with doctors and scientists, but there’s electricity, there’s hot water, and there’s dinner with plenty of food and wine, and that’s more than you could ask for.

You continue the party in the room you’ve claimed as your own, with yet another bottle you managed to sneak from the cabinet. It takes you nearly the entire bottle and over an hour of psyching yourself up before you bring yourself to knock on the door you’d seen Shane retreat into.

He doesn’t answer for long enough that you wonder if you should knock again or go away. Right when you’re about to make a decision, the door opens.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice slurred.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted a drink.”

He looks like hell. Attractive, of course, as he always is, but disheveled. His hair is all over the place, shirt ruffled and open just enough for you to catch sight of the tattoo on his chest. There’s an edge to his gaze, matching the red, angry scratches on his neck.

Even in this state, he cracks a smile when he sees the bottle in your hand, the liquid inside not even enough for a full glass.

“Drink what? There’s barely anything in there.”

You smile back. “You have more, don’t you?”

Of course he does. He’s just as drunk as you, and you know for a fact he didn’t get to this point by just drinking a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. Shane runs a hand over his face, pausing to softly pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, kid, ’s not a good time.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, or to feel discouraged. “Come on, I bet I could cheer you up.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but perhaps he finds your confidence endearing, or he simply doesn’t have the energy to send you away. With a tiny sigh, he steps aside to let you in.

You and Shane, alone in a room with a bottle of liquor. It sounds like something you would only dare to fantasize about in the depths of your brain, except it’s happening right now. He doesn’t turn on the lights save for a small lamp at the corner, engulfing the two of you in warm dimmed lighting as you sit on opposite ends of the couch.

“D’you always do that?” he asks.

“What?”

He nods at the bottle in your hand just as he reaches for one of his own, a liquor you can’t make out in the darkness. “Drink like your liver is indestructible.”

You breathe a light chuckle as you bring the bottle to your lips. “Considering everything, I think my liver is the least of my problems. And you’re not too better off tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a grownup. I can drink.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, finally finishing off your bottle.

“I’m not that young.”

“How old are ya, anyway?”

“Twenty-four.” You leave the empty bottle on the coffee table. “And you?”

“Older than you.”

“No shit.”

“Too old for you, kid.”

Here it is; the closest either of you have gotten to giving voice to whatever it is that exists between you. There’s a part of you that had hoped he’d never notice it — the stolen glances and excuses to spend time around him and the way your smile lingered the longest for him than for anybody else —, while the other desperately hoped he felt it too, that he would make the first move you couldn’t find the guts to make.

The rejection burns, as subtle and implicit as it was. If you were sober, maybe this would be it; but you’re not, and your booze-soaked brain refuses to give up that easily.

“I’m not a child, Shane.” You hold out a hand, vaguely gesture to the bottle he’s drinking from. He lifts an eyebrow, but hands it over.

You’re expecting wine; it’s whiskey. You try to push through the burn down your throat, but you choke on it just a fraction of a second later, covering your mouth with your hand as you cough.

In the midst of desperately trying to swallow down the last bits of it, you hear Shane laugh.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“Fuck off.” You huff in embarrassment and genuine annoyance, taking a deep breath to steady your voice again.

“I believe ya, no need t’drink yourself into a coma to prove it to me.”

“There’s a lot of things I could do to prove it to you.”

The sentence just jumps out of your mouth before your brain even catches up to it, surprising you as much as it does him. He recovers quicker, snatching the bottle back from you.

“I’m cuttin’ you off, you’ve had enough tonight,” he says. It’s his turn to take a generous swig of the whiskey, swallowing it down like it’s nothing.

You watch him as he drinks, near-mesmerized for a brief moment. The scratches on his neck are in full view now, exposed to you, but you don’t dare to ask where they came from. His jaw is a firm, set line, clenched and tensed. You’ve seen him stressed enough times to know that this is what it looks like.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothin’.”

“Is it this place?” He doesn’t respond, but you discard the possibility. This is by far the safest, most comfortable place the entire group has spent the night since fleeing the city. Your mind flies to the one other issue that could be on his mind. “… Girlfriend problems?”

Shane sighs, and you can’t tell whether it’s resignation or a warning, like he’s telling you to tread carefully.

“Stop calling her that. She ain’t my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she isn’t now that she’s got her husband back, but—”

“Never been.” He peels off the edges of the label of his drink. “There’s nothing goin’ on between us.”

You wish that were the truth, yet you doubt it. You shift on your spot so that you’re turned fully towards him.

“Then why do you look at her the same way I look at you?”

The silence that follows is heavy, building into something unknown. You force yourself not to look away when Shane finds your gaze, to not take back your words even though your heart is doing cartwheels inside your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t scoff dismissively, doesn’t blame it on the drinking or point out your age difference again. He only regards you with those dark, glassy eyes, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you clearly.

“What good is looking if you won’t do something about it, sweetheart?” his voice is low, raspy, daring you to take a step further.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

Breath caught in your throat, you push yourself to a stand. It feels like the floor under you is spinning, but it’s slow and gentle, like you’re dreaming rather than just shitfaced. Somehow, you manage not to stumble in your own steps, not to make a complete fool of yourself as you make your way towards him. For a moment all you do is stand there right in front of him, eyes locked on his like his gaze is pulling you in. Then, slowly, you plant your knees on both sides of his legs on the couch, and lower yourself onto his lap.

Adrenaline runs through your body like you’re fighting for your life. You’re barely able to think, consumed by the glint of hunger in Shane’s eyes.

He rewards you by laying his broad hands over your hips, pulling you forward until your body is flush with his. He tastes like whiskey when you kiss him — you must taste the same, because he parts his lips for you immediately, greedily sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he wants to intoxicate himself through you. You return the kiss with the same enthusiasm, the exact same intentions.

You exhale a soft gasp into his mouth when his hands slide up your waist, taking your shirt with them, brushing against your bare skin in the process. His hands are so warm and you feel like you’re burning up, skin blazing everywhere he touches. You let him pull the shirt up and off your body, even if you breathe a disappointed whimper when he breaks the kiss to stare at you.

You expect those hands to explore the skin that’s just been exposed, but instead they settle into the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch. “This what you wanted?” he asks into your ear, drawing a shiver out of you.

“Want you to fuck me.” As usual, the alcohol makes you bold, but honest. There’s so much more you want to do with him — getting on your knees for him, for starters, or feeling his thick fingers stretch you out —, but you can tell neither of you will last that long in your drunken state. There’ll be more time for that later, you hope.

You’re only wearing thin shorts while he still wears denim, the roughness of the fabric drawing a moan from you as you rub yourself over the growing hardness between his legs, your knees digging deep into the couch cushions.

His lips press kisses down your neck, along your collarbones. You buck your hips involuntarily when you feel a wet tongue circle your nipple. “Shane,” it leaves you in a small sound, embarrassing if you weren’t far past the point of caring. Shane replies by pushing his hips up against yours.

“Take it out,” he orders. “See what you’ve done to me.”

Your usual defiance and disregard for authority goes out of the window as you find yourself immediately obeying, bringing your hands down to his belt. He removes his shirt while you work to pull his cock out from his boxers. You can’t resist wrapping your fist around it and giving it a few slow pumps.

The sound he makes goes straight to your groin. You pull away to kick off your shorts and underwear as quickly as you can, and Shane grabs you impatiently, pulls you back into his lap like you never left. Your hands are on his chest immediately, covering as much bare skin as they can.

You feel dazed when he lines up his cock with your entrance, unable to see or think about anything other than the way he grunts and shuts his eyes as you slowly sink down on him. For a moment you’re floating, but gravity is soon to pull you back, quite literally; the stretch more intense with every inch you take inside of you.

“Goddamn it, hold on,” you tell him, even though he hasn’t moved yet, even though he’s not even all the way in and you know it. He’s bigger than you’re used to, and you haven’t done this in a long time. You pause for a few moments, thighs trembling with the strain of keeping yourself still.

Shane’s chest heaves with soft pants, but he lets you take your time. He has the beginnings of that usual infuriating cocky smirk at the corner of his lip, like he loves watching you squirm and struggle to take him in.

Only when you start to slowly, tentatively circle your hips does he move, his hands grabbing rough and possessive where your ass meets your thigh. “Gonna take me all the way in, baby?” You feel yourself spread open even more under those strong hands, feel yourself being lifted up with just that grip, then pushed back down. Your head drops to his shoulder with a long moan. “I’ll help you.”

And he does. He guides you to move up and down his cock, controlling the pace with a tight grip on your hips. It starts slow, with long thrusts that demand you feel every single inch of him, gradually growing into a frantic pace that has the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin as well as your combined sighs and moans. It occurs to you that you’re being too loud, that you should probably keep it down, but every sound of approval that leaves Shane’s lips just makes you ride him even harder, eager to hear more.

Once he feels like you’ve got the hang of it, he lets go of your hips and lets you move on your own. His hands run up your body, circling your breasts and your throat before a thumb presses over your lips. You part them obediently, welcoming it into your mouth without losing your momentum.

It’s when that thumb comes to press against your clit that your hips stutter, pulling almost all the way off Shane before you all but jump back down on it.

“That’s it.” He strokes you in firm circles, grunting when you clench hard around him. “That’s good, kid.”

“Fuck, d-don’t call me that.”

You don’t know how to feel about the fact that this is what tips you over the edge despite your protest, his raspy voice in your ear and that damn pet name echoing in your mind. You can’t even feel the strain on your thighs anymore as you keep on moving, uncoordinated but desperate not to lose that high. Shane thrusts up into you and it drives a broken shout of you, like the sensation takes you by surprise, intensifying the pleasure that runs through every vein of your body.

When you come back to Earth, you’re all but collapsed against him, shuddering in his arms that he wraps around you like you’re cold. He’s still inside. Still hard, poking into your sensitive walls. He’s merciful enough to give you the lightest, gentlest thrusts, helping you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm but giving you time to recover.

Out of strength to lift up and down, you focus on clenching around him as hard as you can, on grinding yourself down against his pelvis.

Lifting your head off his chest, your eyes settle back on the mysterious scratches on his neck. Without thinking about it, you lay your lips over them.

It’s like you can feel the heat of them burning into your own skin, before it goes cool against you and you have to push a little bit harder to feel it again. You trace the cuts with your lips, with your tongue, the coppery taste of dried blood overflowing your senses.

Shane moans your name like a warning. It only makes you take the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, a rumble deep in his chest, and before you can soothe the bite with a kiss he’s grabbing at your sides and pushing you to lay down on the couch. You give a sound that’s half a moan, half a yelp of surprise as he digs back inside you, fucking you like a ragdoll. His pace is harder and faster than before, thrusts too rough and erratic for you to push back into any kind of rhythm, to do anything other than lie there pinned under him and take it.

He comes in just a few seconds, a few hard thrusts before he’s pulling out just in time to shoot his release over your stomach. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, grunting and breathing hard against it, occasionally kissing it like a quiet apology.

Shane moves just enough to give you more room, and you feel him fall asleep just a second before you do, both of you still clutching each other tight.

The hangover hits you before you even open your eyes in the morning; the worst one you’ve had in a very, very long time. You sigh, wrap your arms around the pillow underneath you, scared that any sudden move might make you sick. You’re naked, but wrapped up in a warm blanket. The pillow and the cushions still carry the warmth of someone else, but you’re alone.

The memories hit you in flashes, one after the other — surreal, dizzying, unbelievable. But you never once wonder if it was just a dream.

You close your eyes again, promise yourself to stay here just a few more minutes, just in case he comes back. He won’t, and deep down you know it, but you wait anyway. Just in case.

#oops is it too late to post this #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #shane walsh smut #jon bernthal x reader #the walking dead x reader #jon bernthal smut #the walking dead x you

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with-my-calamitous-love · 3 months ago

Text

paper cut stings from my paper thin glands

chuuya n. x reader

the trials and tribulations of dating a criminal executive ❥ angst with comfort, pros and cons format

song: death by a thousand cuts

pro: he’s incredibly romantic

chuuya has seen more than plenty of scumbags in his life. womanizers, cheaters, abusers. he didn’t make it this far as an executive without meeting unsavoury people. he’s seen darker sides of the city, the sides that he’s had to survive in.

meeting all these people, he’s had the good fortune of learning- the hard way- how not to treat someone you love. he does all the classics- fancy dinners, late night joyrides, pretty flowers.

but he also manages to make everything, including the most mundane things, even just a little romantic. he waits for you in the clinic for every appointment, folds clothes while you order dinner (he can’t cook to save his life), and sits through hours of old sitcoms and reality tv while rotting on the couch with you.

you could have skipped a shower, be in yesterdays clothes with crumbs on your lips and he’d still tell you every second: “you’re beautiful.”

you almost laugh, standing up to clean the empty plates and wine glasses. he joins you shortly after. what a pleasure it is to wash dishes at 2am in your apartment.

con: he’s got a temper

perhaps apart of it is survival instinct. everyone loves puppies, but never wounded dogs that bites. chuuya has lived most of his life a wounded dog.

when he’s silent, its because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. when he does open his mouth, he usually regrets what he says about 2 seconds after. he often has so much left unsaid, so many emotions swirling around in him, that he doesn’t know how to not notice. he’s more empathetic than one would imagine, seeing all the anger and hatred in the world, often shouldering those feelings without even realizing it.

he just wants to kiss the ground you walk on, to get inside your mind and see himself through your eyes. he never fully understands why you put up with him, why you’re so patient. but he also chooses not to question it, because he knows its more than he deserves.

“…i was angry but you didn’t deserve what i said. i shouldn’t have taken it out on you. i’m so sorry.” he says firm, biting his tongue. he’s never sure when his apologies will fall onto deaf ears. he hopes you won’t look at him like a bad drug and toss him out.

“is that what you were practicing in the mirror?” you smile a little. for the first time in hours, he breathes.

“does that mean you forgive me?” he asks sheepishly, almost like a child.

you take his hand and pull him into the room. “just come to bed, baby.”

at least he’s not on the couch tonight.

pro: he’s loyal

when people see chuuya, they see the silk clothes and expensive accessories. they see his piercing glare and leather shoes. they see the surface, the hard, shiny exterior, and think that he can get anyone he wants. partly true.

but chuuya bristles at the thought of disposability. anyone who has ever loved him has either died, left, or simply doesn’t know he exists. after all he’s lost, he simply can’t afford to play fast and loose with you. he jumped out of a helicopter for someone he claims he doesn’t like. imagine what he’d do for you.

he knows of your insecurities, but he’ll never brush off jealousy as something silly or childish. he wants to show you off and, at the same time, keep you as something sacred and private to him. your heart, your hips, your body, your love, all of it something he worships. he somehow quiets all your fears with just the touch of his hand.

theres no part of him that you don’t exist in. his eyes, the way they light up upon your arrival. his hands molded like clay just to hold you. lips with your name on them. theres no part of him that you haven’t touched. and he wants you to know it.

con: he hardly knows himself

it isn’t his fault, really.

living on survival mode gives you little time for self discovery. he’s never thought of the future, or of his plans- just day to day. living just to survive the next few hours is how you end up in the shadows of city, a feared criminal, wondering how things ended up this way.

he knows what he doesn’t want to be. he doesn’t want to be a corrupted monster, an amalgamation of all the darkest years of his life. he wishes, more than anything, just to be human. he never wanted to be a god, or a even an executive, just human. but somehow, he still finds himself sinking his teeth into skin, wondering why he’s still biting, wondering why anyone would ever want a wounded dog that bites.

he’s hardly open about his own fears. but its not hard to spot the way it lingers in his eyes when he’s up at night, sweat sticking to his skin, staring down his hands. he’s searching for the humanity you see in him. he wants to believe that its there.

some nights he doesn’t fully find it. its the nights he pulls you closer to him, closing his eyes only when they grow heavy, needing to feel another human presence next to him.

pro: he gives you all he is, and more

his humanity doesn’t come from origin but rather his love and loyalty, devotion to people like you. you feel it in the way he kisses you- pecks on the cheek before he leaves work, or deep longing ones when the night has dawned and you’re in bed. he’s made peace with his mysteries if it means he can give all of himself to you, all the parts of him that you’ve chosen to love.

you’re the centre of his universe, the gravity that keeps him alive. and to you, he’s not chuuya nakahara: the god, or the night warden, or even a dog. he’s funny and faithful. he’s a terrible cook but a good motorcyclist. he’s incredibly handsome, cocky but somehow humble at the same time. he’s yours, for as long as gravity pulls him to you.

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everythingspokenfor · 4 months ago

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𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼~

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Summary: You end up running into your boss, Pro-Hero Dynamight, whilst working your other job...

Pro-Hero Dynamight in his late 30s, so focused on saving the world, he barely gives himself time, has a set routine of wake-up, go to work, patrol, reports and eventually back to bed at 9pm.

Doesn't let anything or anyone mess up his routine, if he went out with the squad, he would work extra hours, all the vacation hours saved up, over the years he worked. Barely ever takes leave even tho he owns the agency.

You have seen him around, perks of working at his agency, it pays decently, enough to pay the bills, but if you want the luxury of early retirement and being the cool aunt, then you'll need more than one job, cons of being born without a quirk. What more would you really expect working data manager, tasks including hours of sitting in front of the computer typing away details of the villains.

The world isn't as harsh to your kind, as it use to be, that doesn't make it easy for you tho, working twice as hard still not being able to land a job, that doesn't matter, not anymore, you are fine have been fine for few years.

The entire time you have been working at the agency, you have interacted with Bakugou enough times to know he is a good guy, someone who has a mental checklist of things to do, of places to be and this is definitely not a place for him to be, as far as you believe.

Dingy strip club, shoved in the back alley, it's more decent that it seems if you were being honest, the bouncers and bartenders always ready to step in if something goes wrong, and it pays well, good enough to allow you to eat out few times a month, good enough to always have that expensive bottle of wine stored in your kitchen.

It's not a posh place moreover, celebrities, heroes, the high-end people seldom come here, place catering more towards the locals, the drinks mostly sugary concoctions with cheap liquor,

Maybe that's why his presence surprised you. He looks out of place, especially hunched over the bar counter, the same one, on which the dancers were shimmying out of their see through lingeries, tossing them around, collecting money from the desperate men.

He wasn't one though, eyes focusing on his glass of scotch, even when one of the dancers kneeled on the table beside him, mumbling something in his ear, but from her sudden retreat you could tell whatever she was offering was rejected.

You contemplate, whether you should approach him or not, afterall you were working here, donned in a lacy red and black two piece lingerie, you still had sheer cover-up on, that barely did anything to cover, tonight you were stationed at the counter, work focusing on getting men to buy more expensive liquor.

You signal your co-worker over your shoulder, gesturing towards your other boss, "he is a friend." Grabbing a bottle of scotch and two glasses to strutted towards him.

"What are you doing in a place like this?" You slide onto the seat next to him, eyes focused ahead as you pour the liquor into the glasses. Locking eyes with the bartender behind the counter, pleading silently, fortunately he moved away to the next customer without questioning you.

He looks surprised, either to see you here or to be caught here, you don't know, neither do you wish to find out.

"The fuck are you doin' here?" He grunts, looking over his shoulder analysing the place again, before turning to look at you incredulously, eyes wide as he put the two and two together, your outfit making sense.

"Working."

He stares at you, eyes twitching as he tried to make sense of the situation,"Why are ya' working in this sketchy strip club?" He huffed out, grabbing the glass from your hand and

"Pays well." You sip on your drink, avoiding looking at him.

"What do ya' mean? Don't we pay you enough?"

"Enough to live by, Bakugou", you wince, not used to calling your boss by his surname,"not enough to afford me an early retirement." You look over to him, finally meeting his eyes, before glancing lower, he wore dark pants, with a loose baby blue shirt.

You snort,"Where you planning on getting lucky tonight?" You tease him, still showing genuine curiosity, maybe the little sips of scotch is getting to you, why else would you ask him that.

"Non' of yer' business, nerd." His ears turned bright red, peachy blush spreading over his cheeks the longer you stared at him, his intentions obvious, despite wanting to, you don't tease further.

"Well, I have to get back to work." you get up from your stool, eye glancing over to where you co-worker was handling your spot, you turn to leave him, before you could move two steps away, his hand darts out, clasping around your wrist.

"Wait! When do you get off?", he sounds a little desperate, for a fleeting moment you wonder why before looking at the clock, it's barely mid night, still few hours before your shift ends.

"Few hours." you sighed out, his palm still wrapped around your wrist, he stands up, moving a bit closer, he towers over you.

"Can ya' not leave early?" He queried, you tilt your head up, the proximity making you dizzy, you tilt your head, eyes finding his,"Where are you gonna take me?" You shouldn't have entertained that idea, should have pulled your wrist away and gotten back to the work, maybe you shouldn't have approached him to begin with.

Alas, you are here, in the middle of the club, contemplating putting your coat on and leaving with him. Your boss wouldn't really mind now that you think about.

"There's a hole-in-the-wall diner a block away." He tilts his head towards the club entrance, somehow already aware of your decision to leave, his shoulders are still tense, waiting for confirmation, his thumbing rubbing circles on the inside of your wrist.

"Lemme grab my stuff." It's impulsive but right now you don't really care, he seems to visibly relax, hand finally letting go of your, you turn around, walking straight towards the side doors, avoiding meeting eyes with your co-worker who is still covering your shift, hopefully she'll forgive you for the impromptu duties.

You don't bother changing our of your 'work' clothes, opting to just put on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt, shoving your cover up in your handbag. You turn around to leave the dressing room, strutted over to wear he was standing by the entrance.

"You could have waited outside, ya' know," you chimed, hands stalling as Bakugou leaned in to take your bag from your hand, glittery bag looking comical hanging on his shoulder.

"Had a word or two with yer' boss," he side-eyes you, opening a door wider, slowly nudging you out with a palm against your back.

"Hopefully you won't get me fired." You snickered, cheeks taking on a rosy hue as you both stepped out of the club, the cold air nipping at your skin, as you followed him to his car.

This was supposed to be part of something I wanna write in future...

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elleaitch22 · 2 months ago

Text

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 4: Terms and Conditions

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Hope you love it! Comments and messages motivate me to write faster! xx Elle

Warnings: References to past abusive relationship, self-worth issues, power imbalances

Word Count: 3.7k

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi hadn’t slept well for the rest of the week. She spent her nights tossing and turning, weighing the pros and cons to agreeing with Paige’s offer.

Paige had reverted to her normal, detached self by Wednesday morning, and Azzi was relieved to know that if she accepted the offer, it wouldn’t be obvious to her coworkers.

When Azzi’s answer was still up in the air on Thursday, she spent the night writing an actual pros and cons list.

Pros

Paige was obnoxiously wealthy, so whatever compensation she offered could have Azzi out of debt in months.

She could seem desirable again, even if she wasn’t truly desired by her “partner.”

She wouldn’t always be so lonely, since she’d able to spend more time with Soleil.

She would feel loved, purely loved, by Soleil.

Cons

Azzi is easily attached, and her heart would definitely break when Paige met someone new and decided to end their arrangement.

She would probably forget that everything is fake at some point.

Worst of all, Azzi might find out that Grant had been right about everything. She wasn’t worth anything by being a pretty little trophy.

The potential benefits greatly outweigh the consequences.

She could gain her livelihood, or she could lose her heart. Or worse, she could feel like she belonged somewhere, just to be reminded that she didn’t.

If something doesn’t scare you it’s not worth it, Azzi.

Her mind was made up.

She was going to accept Paige’s offer — and hope, pray, and beg that she wouldn’t fall for the blonde in the meantime.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi felt confident walking toward room 35, or at least that’s what she told herself. She was wearing a short, black corset and her favorite pair of floor shoes. All of her hair had been gathered to sit on the top of her head, intentional in its imperfection. She wore dramatic makeup — a brown smoked out eye and red lip.

Tonight’s look was armor, but her chest still tightened with every step she took.

She walked into the suite at 10:58, heart racing, and froze for a second.

Paige was already there, stretched lazily across the couch, one arm draped along the back, the other nursing a Dirty Shirley.

“Hi, Paige.” Her voice small, but steady.

The woman in question smirked, lifting her drink lazily to her lips. “Good evening, Azzi. I’m assuming you made up your mind?”

Azzi shifts on her feet, fighting the urge to cross her arms. She needs something to do with her hands. Tug at a curl, fix her corset, hide. “Um, yes. I’d like to accept.” She hesitated, then added, “But I would like more information.”

Paige tilted her head, studying the brunette intently. “Well, first,” she said, her voice smooth, low, and disarmingly soft, “I need you to look at me.”

The words slipped into Azzi’s bloodstream like warm liquor, and she was helpless to do anything but obey. Without thinking, she lifted her chin, locking eyes with her — and immediately felt the air leave her lungs. Paige’s gaze was steady, calm, utterly unbothered, like Azzi’s nerves, her overthinking, her entire body were small and manageable things to her.

“Good. Thank you, Azzi.” A beat of silence. “Come sit.”

It wasn’t a command exactly, but Azzi knew it wasn’t a request either.

A blush bloomed high on her cheeks. Every step across the room felt like a giant’s, even though the only audible sound in the room was the low voice of Brent Faiyaz and the light clicking of her shoes.

When she reached the couch, she hesitated for a second, not wanting to sit too close or too far.

Over the next hour, the mood shifted. Azzi had expected teasing, ogling, or inappropriate comments, but Paige had don’t none of those things. Instead, they went through all expectations, like an informal contract.

No signatures, no pens, no pressure, just Paige steadily outlining terms, giving Azzi the space to breathe, question, or push back if she wanted.

Azzi was completely disarmed by the ten-minute mark.

The arrangement would initially last for six months, with the option to renew if both parties agreed. Like any typical job, Azzi would need to give Paige two weeks of notice before ending it.

Azzi didn’t say it, but she was relieved. She would not be trapped. It was a small kindness that meant everything to her.

She listened as Paige explained the appearances she would have to make as Paige’s partner: business events, charity galas, and dinners. There would also be at least one weekly outing with Paige, Soleil, or both for appearances.

Azzi agreed with everything until Paige added, “Apparel will be styled by Jana. All expenses covered.”

Grant used to dress her, and she hated it. “I can pick my own outfits, right?”

There was a playful glint in Paige’s eye, “Of course, J always provides options.”

When the two discussed physical affection, Azzi bit the inside of her pink cheeks.

It wasn’t mandated, but handholding, hugs, cheek kisses – casual intimacy – would be what sold their illusion.

Azzi sent up a silent prayer because God knows Azzi is a sucker for a forehead or cheek kiss. This was going to end very badly for her.

The confidentiality clause came next. Paige offered an NDA, but when she said it wasn’t required, Azzi declined.

“I don’t really have any close friends in the city.”

When the conversation moved to compensation, the first crackle of real tension sparked between them.

“I want to pay you five thousand a week, “Paige said smoothly, swirling the ice in her glass, a tequila soda now. “Minimum”

Azzi choked on the espresso martini Paige had ordered for her. She stared at the blonde, eyes and mouth wide. “Five thousand a month would be more than enough! I don’t –”

Paige’s answering grin was lazy, slow, and pure trouble. “I think you should just accept the offer, Azzi,” she said, melting deeper into the couch. “Because honestly, I wanted to do more.”

Azzi’s hands curled into fists. “You’re being ridiculous. What if I don’t accept?”

“If you don’t want to agree, that’s fine.” Azzi brightened, not noting the smirk covered by the glass. “I’ll just pay off all your shit now.”

Azzi blinked, cheeks burning. “You don’t even have any of my account information.”

Paige lowered her glass a bit, letting Azzi see her smirk. “You really don’t think I could figure it out?” Azzi’s heart stuttered watching Paige take another sip of her drink, “Now I’m tempted to since you doubt me.”

Azzi’s mouth opened, then shut. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. There was a thrill in the threat. Grant wanted the restrict her money, but Paige wanted to give her more. Her instance helped knock down another wall.

“Please,” Paige added, voice dry as summer heat, “keep arguing, so I can pay you more.”

Azzi folded.

When Paige informed her that she’d be paying an extra thousand dollars for major events, Azzi had to physically restrain herself from crossing her arms and pouting. She muttered something unintelligible under her breath that made Paige laugh, a low and genuine sound that tugged at something vulnerable inside Azzi. “That’s what I thought,” Paige smirked.

They moved through the rest of the agreement without any issues – conduct expectations, social media, and emotional boundaries.

Paige was relaxed a lazily throughout the entire conversation.

But when the subject of perks came up again, Paige shifted slightly. More careful and deliberate now that she had a better understanding of Azzi Fudd.

Azzi listed as Paige explained – the respect, the equal treatment, the way the media would spin the story of Chicago’s favorite bachelorette finally off the market.

It almost reassured her until Paige popped her happy little bubble.

She cleared her through and said, almost casually, “I want you to live in my building.”

Azzi stiffened. She set her martini glass down roughly.

“Absolutely not.”

Paige flushed – the first real crack in her shiny armor – and lifted her hands slightly, almost as if she wanted to show she wasn’t armed. “Hear me out, Azzi. Please.”

Azzi arched a brow and folded her arms across the corset. She fought a smirk at the way Paige’s eyes briefly darted to her cleavage. Another crack in the armor.

“I own the building,” Paige said quickly. “I also –” She hesitated, “I’ve never dated anyone publicly before. Even when I was married, no one knew until after the fact. So, if I’m going to be seen with someone, it’s supposed to be serious. Marriage serious.”

Azzi stared at her, stunned. “No one even knows where I live!”

Paige’s voice sharpened. “You don’t think they’re going to find out?” She pressed her fingers into her temple. “I’m a celebrity, Azzi. They’re going to figure it out. They’re going to know everything about you in a few days.”

A breath.

“I need to protect you. Please let me.”

Paige didn’t command it.

She didn’t even say it like an order.

It was…pleading.

She was pleading to keep Azzi safe.

Something cracked open in Azzi’s chest.

Whether Paige had picked up on her need for safety or simply cared in her own stubborn way, Azzi didn’t know.

But either way – she was sold.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi found out on Saturday morning that Paige Bueckers didn’t do anything halfway. At 7 a.m. sharp, movers were outside her apartment, loading her things into a truck bound for her new home for the next six months.

About thirty minutes in, one of the movers casually mentioned that a car was waiting downstairs.

She scrambled to get dressed, pulling on biker shorts, an oversized t-shirt, and a pair of worn Crocs. She brushed her teeth in a hurry, and her hair was tossed up in an extremely messy ponytail.

Waiting outside the blacked-out Escalade was a tall, slim brunette, way too smiley for this hour. “Good morning Ms. Fudd,” she chirped happily. “My name’s Morgan. Paige assigned me to be your driver.”

Azzi blinked. Obviously, she hadn’t woken up all the way. “Oh. Please call me Azzi. And only for today, right?” She questioned.

“Oh, no,” Morgan shrugged like it was completely normal. “Just whenever she tells me to stop, I guess.”

Her brain buffered. They hadn’t talked about car service. Azzi yanked her phone from where it was tucked in her bra, slowly shutting her eyes and realizing that she didn’t even have Paige’s number. She huffed loudly, stomping to the back door.

“I don’t care what she told you to do, but I need you to take me to her. Now!”

The door opened from the inside.

Paige sat there, legs cross, with a perfectly shaped brow arched like she had been expecting Azzi’s reaction.

“Good morning, Princess,” she smirked.

Azzi climbed in with a scowl, “You didn’t say anything about a driver yesterday.”

“No, but I did say I was going to provide protection.” She turned to the front, “Take us home, Morgan.”

Azzi fastened her seatbelt and crossed her arms dramatically.

“Azzi, the first event is tonight. I meant to tell you last night, but it was a little late. I figured we could kill two birds with one stone. Moving you in and doing your first fitting.”

Azzi glared at the relaxed blonde. “Do we have time for anything I want? Like breakfast?”

“Oh, you’re hangry.” She smiled. Like an honest to God grin. Azzi almost melted. Paige looked to pure, not at all like the hard ass Azzi had been used to seeing.

“We have breakfast together on Saturdays. You can meet the rest of the family. You’ll be interacting at events, so you need to be comfortable with them.” She continued.

The brunette’s mood lifted at the promise of breakfast. She leaned her head back against the seat, the buildings passing in a blur. Of course, Paige owned a building in Downtown Chicago.

But when Morgan finally stopped, Azzi’s jaw dropped.

Paige owned the Aurelia.

Morgan got out and opened the door, giggling at Azzi’s gaping expression. Azzi slid out of the car, jumping slightly at the hand that gently landed on the small of her back.

Paige gently steered Azzi through the lobby. She didn’t speak to anyone, distracted by the fact that she could see her reflection in the glossy, black floors. They had a short trek to the elevator where she pressed her thumb into a seemingly random spot.

“Penthouse 8,” said a soft, robotic voice.

Azzi looked up startled, realizing her gaze had been dropped the entire walk through the lobby. In the mirrored elevator walls, she was able see Paige.

It dawned on her that she hadn’t really looked at Paige since she picked her up this morning. She wasn’t in a flawless suit, there was nothing flawless about her for once. Her gray sweatpants hung low on her hips, and she was swallowed by an old, navy UConn sweatshirt. Her blonde locks were left down, looking effortlessly soft and silky.

She looked soft, not strict. Comfortable, not controlled. Azzi found herself almost craving to see her like this more.

When the elevator doors opened, music filled the metal box. “How Far I’ll Go” was blaring through the surround sound system. Even louder than the music were deep belly laughs.

Azzi’s heart clenched, unable to remember the last time she laughed like that, the last time she could laugh like that. She was frozen in place, unable to move, or breathe, or think.

“You coming?” The sight of Paige’s small smirk snapped Azzi out of her mind.

Azzi was only able to catch glimpses as she followed Paige through the penthouse. There was a dining room that could house a dozen people and a perfectly styled living room, and both were surely untouched.

Though many surfaces were covered in flour, Paige had the kitchen of Azzi’s dreams. The dark sage cabinets brought the kitchen to life without being overpowering. They were beautifully balanced with the large oak island and marble countertops. There were six rust orange bar chairs. The brushed brass added warmth throughout the space. The large gray fridge was completely covered with Soleil’s creations. Handwriting sheets, princess coloring pages, learning activities alike. There were polaroid photos mixed in Soleil’s works. Azzi was able to see some more of the important people and stupidly wondered if she would ever grace the Bueckers Family Fridge. There was a dining nook off the end of the kitchen with floor to ceiling windows casting light over the large round table. It was big enough for six people, and Azzi could almost picture the room being filled with loud laughs, silly stories, and fantastic food like this morning.

Soleil stood with flour on her chest and a grin on her face. Next to her was a tall woman with curly, dark hair. Azzi wondered which aunt this was, KK or Ice.

Then came the squeal. “Mommy!”

Soleil came tearing across the hardwood floors in light blue pajamas, dark curls bouncing. “MS. FUDD!” She gasped, even louder than before.

Azzi had no time to brace herself as the ball of boundless energy buried her face in her legs.

“Good morning, Soleil.” She smiled calmly, a stark contrast to the girl’s energy. She brushed the curls out of her face, heart warming at the affection.

Paige cut their moment short, easily lifting Soleil to her shoulders. “Azzi’s joining us for breakfast today. And after that, Auntie Jana is going to get her a pretty dress for tonight’s dinner.”

Soleil gasped dramatically, turning to her teacher with wide eyes. “You’we coming with us? You can see all my pwetty dwesses!”

“Maybe after breakfast, Lai,” Paige said, gently putting her in a chair at the island. “Everybody’s kinda hungry.”

Azzi crouched by her chair, “I’ll be here all day, Pretty Girl. And guess what,” she lowered her voice like she was sharing her deepest secret, “I just moved into the building, so you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me.”

Unbeknownst to Azzi, Paige stood in the doorway, watching the two brunettes giggling with each other. Her chest tightened before she turned away to message the other girls.

Paige walked back to the kitchen, locking her phone. When she looked up, she was stuck again. Lei was cuddled into Azzi’s lap, waiting calmly while the woman braided her hair.

“I think I need to hire you full time, she never sits still when I try,” Paige smirks.

“I thought you already did,” Azzi said, her voice soft, eyes flicking up to meet Paige’s just as Soleil interrupted with a dramatic, “But you tug, Mommy.”

Their eyes held for a second longer than necessary. Paige smiled, slow and quiet.

Paige stared at the duo until the elevator chimed loudly.

“Hey girly pops!” KK’s voice rings out, “It smells like syrup and rich people in here!”

A few seconds later, four women step into the kitchen. Azzi remembers Nika and Jana from Maison Noire and the talk one who was in the kitchen earlier, but the loudest one is a new face.

“Is that Azziiiii?” Jana sings excitedly.

Azzi chuckles, letting Soleil slide off her lap to greet her aunts. “It’s nice to see you again, Jana.”

“Auntie KK!” Soleil screams, running into the loud woman’s arms.

“Azzi, that’s KK and that’s Ice, and you remember Nika.” Jana beckoned the curly headed woman to her with a subtle tilt of her head. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

The Bueckers’s home was unexpectedly intimate. It didn’t feel like wealth — it felt like warmth. Like being held. That was the only way Azzi could describe it. She had expected lots of silvers, grays, and sharp edges. The penthouse had light oak floors and warm cream walls. There was an underlying smell of vanilla and lavender in every room Azzi had been in. A space built for laughter and softness. She was happy to know that the almost sterile living and dining room were formal and ignored; the rooms the family actually used were deeper into the penthouse.

The living room was flooded with light from the massive windows. It had big, white, boucle couches that looked like they would be perfect to melt into. There were camel-colored sitting chairs that were butter soft. The accents reminded Azzi of a sunset, soft pinks, purples, oranges, and blues. Chunky knit blankets were piled in a basket, with another on the couch. There was a massive television mounted to an eye-catching slat wall. A sidebar was opened to display bins of playdoh, LEGOs, art supplies, and books. Soleil’s family portrait was framed, sitting proudly on the coffee table. As Azzi looked around, she saw more framed pieces that Soleil had made. A series of off-centered rainbows, unicorns, and butterflies were organized in a beautiful collage over the fireplace. The cabinet behind the couch had drawings of their family, each in a different color. The entire room seemed to be a shrine to praise Soleil.

Jana told funny stories for every room the visited. She was sweet and humble. “I appreciate everything you’re doing to help Paige. She does so much for everyone else, and she never asks for any help. She saved all of us, but no one has ever been able to save her.” She paused, “Even if this arrangement ends, you’re help one of us. You’ll always have a family with us.”

Tears welled in Azzi’s eyes. “You guys don’t even know me.” She sniffled.

“You went to bat for Soleil – that’s more than enough to make you family. Everything else you’re doing is just gravy.” Before Azzi could respond, her stomach let out the loudest growl. “Shit girl, I’m sorry. Let’s get you some food.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Soleil stayed cuddled up with Azzi the second she sat down at the table. The girl alternates between eating her French toast sticks and picking at the strawberry and kiwi slices on Azzi’s plate.

The girls made sure she was comfortable. KK and Ice made sure to bring her in on jokes, telling the background stories of all the inside jokes they went through at the table.

Azzi had learned that the women all went through an intense LEGO phase in college. They ate so much Tru Fru that someone had to go to the hospital. After that obsession waned a bit, the Crumbl one started, so intense that there were big arguments about it.

She enjoyed getting a feel for everyone’s personality. Nika spent most of the meal talking with Paige lowly, but she would interject here and there. She was blunt, which Azzi believed added to her charm. KK was loud, energetic, and magnetic. She lightened the mood whenever there was too long of a pause during conversation. She seemed to be the closet with Ice, but physically leaning on Paige several times during breakfast. Ice was warm, always making sure Azzi felt included in the conversation. She spoke with Soleil animatedly and gave a general air of openness. Jana was kind and welcoming. She asked questions and gave Azzi her attention when she answered. She was so smiley, like a mellower version of Soleil. She was realizing that Paige Bueckers is not cold at all. Sure, she had a façade, but that’s all it was. Paige had smiled more today than Azzi had ever seen her smile. It wasn’t for her, but she couldn't shake the warmth she felt each time their eyes met, like being caught in the sun a little too long.

When Soleil lifted a piece of sausage to Azzi’s face without looking, she could almost feel herself latching onto the little girl, to this makeshift family.

Azzi was at war with herself. On one hand, she knew that getting attached to them would lead to months of heartache. But she remembered what Jana had told her earlier; she was already family to them.

Azzi hoped, just for a second, that Jana was right, and that this would be a family she could keep.

#pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #terms of endearment

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rafesteddy · 6 months ago

Text

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛 – 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚞𝚣𝚣𝙲𝚞𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warning: language, pet names, kissing, angst, accidental cheating, manipulation, cheating, skype sex, sex toys, mutual masterbation, mentions of a sex tape, swearing, degredation, dom!rafe, multiple orgasms, overstim., brief oral (fem. receiving), Cam takes the toy and starts using it on her, he also performs brief oral without verbal constant

📖 After meeting Rafe's (CurtainBangs!) twin brother Cam (BuzzCut!) for the first time, Rafe gives you a proposal you can't help but accept: sharing you. What Rafe didn't expect was his jealousy… And what you didn't expect was a text from Cam a week later wanting to see you again.

Reader’s POV:

The text from Cam sat there staring at you. Miss me? ‘Cause I need you princess.’ Those words carry the weight of everything you hadn’t even gotten to process yet. You pace the apartment, thinking about the next steps, your thoughts battling—looping on an endless cycle. Cam’s text wasn’t just a message… That was an invitation.

Rafe told you the night was supposed to mean nothing, but it meant an awful lot. It was supposed to be something fun, maybe a one-time thing… Something Rafe said he had done in the past, but something had changed when it came to you. There were feelings there far beyond anything he had felt before. Now you’re left standing in the aftermath a week later, feeling like the ground is shifting underneath you.

Cam is Rafe’s brother… His fucking twin. Someone he trusts–someone he brought into your life without hesitation. But to you, Cam wasn’t just Rafe’s brother anymore. That night created something new between you that you didn’t think you could handle…

Grabbing your phone, you sit on the couch, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Okay.

The word stares back at you… Simple, but heavy. Sending this message without talking to Rafe first… what am I thinking? But, in a way, it wasn’t just you and Rafe anymore. Rafe had opened that door… And you weren’t ready to close it.

I can’t. You toss your phone down on the couch cushion beside you, heart banging in your chest. Walking to your room, you gather your things, desperately needing to get out of the house and clear your mind. Maybe time is exactly what I need; you think to yourself as you grab your keys and head toward the door.

You bite your lips, guilt creeping in as you come to terms with the fact that Cam is Rafe’s brother… If I don't say anything at all, he’d come regardless. Rafe takes what he wants, and he doesn’t go down with a fight. Hopefully, that runs in the family.

You look down at your phone, the message still sitting there unsent. Your stomach twists as you think about Rafe’s admittance last week in the bedroom. How blindsided would he be if he knew you had been thinking about this as much as you have–letting it affect you the way it is?

Again, you set your phone down and roll out the tension in your neck, weighing the pros and cons and analyzing the risk. As you tip your head back on the couch, you hear your phone buzz. You grab it off the couch cushion, half-expecting another text from Cam, until you see Unkown.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can hear the waver.

“Hey, princess,” Rafe replies, his voice warm and familiar, helping ease your tension. You can hear the commotion of the hotel lobby in the background, the faint hum of noise as the boys gear up to head out to the stadium. “What are you up to, baby?”

You glance at the TV ESPN College GameDay, already loaded. It should be a simple answer… But your mind is a mess, making it hard to wade through your thoughts.

“Baby?” He tries in a gentle voice. “You there?”

“Mhmm…” You hum, pushing the utterance past your lips. “Just scrolling Tumblr, waiting for the game to start; relaxing.”

“Good,” he drawls, his voice warm and smooth. “Just wanted to make sure you got the game to load.”

You pause and close your eyes, feeling the weight of your messages from Cam pushing down on your chest. The words are already forming in your throat. “Rafe,” you blurt.

“Yo,” he laughs nervously. “Uhh… You good, baby?”

You clear your throat, feeling heat pool in your cheeks. “Yeah… I–I got a text from Cam.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. You listen closely, hearing the lobby noise come through a little louder. “Uh, what? What did he say, baby?” He finally asks, keeping his tone calm.

“He said he wants to see me,” you whisper, met with more silence from Rafe.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “He’s my brother… ‘Course he can’t stay away.” There’s a lightness to his tone as if he’s not at all surprised. The tension in your shoulders falls slightly at his response. Unsure of what his response would be—anger or jealousy—no part of you expected this. “You’re fine, princess. Just got in my head a little bit last weekend. It’s not a big deal, aight?”

“Okay…” You breathe, the nagging want to ask if it’s okay if he can come over replacing the previous discomfort. “Is it alright if he does?”

“Yeah, baby. I'll give him a quick call when we off.”

“You sure?” You ask uneasily.

“You gotta relax, baby. I wouldn’t have introduced the two of you if I was worried… I never worry about you.” You take a deep breath, pressing it out slowly, listening to Rafe’s light laugh on the other end. “Stop worryin’, pretty.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“C’mon... You’re my girl. I need you happy before I go out on the field or I'm not gonna be able to concentrate on shit.”

“I’m your girl,” you answer sweetly. “I’m fine. Just fine baby. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rafe adds.

“I’m excited to watch you play,” you smile.

“Mmm… That’s my girl,” he hums. “I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel tonight. Shouldn’t be too late, aight?”

“Sounds perfect,” you reply.

The phone clicks off, leaving you with your thoughts in the apartment's quiet. Rafe’s trust was absolute, making everything much more complicated when you knew you were about to step outside your relationship without him knowing—especially now, discovering he had been okay with it all along.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside you. Looking at the screen, you try your best to relax, smiling as you see your boyfriend’s face pop up.

After a while, the game was on, and Rafe was playing like a star. The commenters praised Rafe, his name coming through the speakers repeatedly, leaving your thoughts ping-ponging between both boys—back and forth, back and forth–the grip on your phone getting tighter by the second.

Buzz.

Cam: Out front

Your eyes widen as you see the notification, making all of those thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Just like you had guessed, Cam didn’t wait for your response, taking the Cameron approach to the matter, leaving you relieved and nervous, stressed and elated, completely fuckin’ torn as you walked to the door. Your body trembles with adrenaline as you grab the handle.

Rafe said it was ‘okay.’ So why am I still so nervous? You feel a familiar rush as you look into his beautiful eyes–that same feeling bubbling just under the surface as it had been night one.

“Hey, baby,” Cam smiles, his voice deep and warm. “M’sorry for just coming. You can tell me to fuck off. I just–I couldn’t wait any longer.” You swallow thickly as he steps closer, waiting for a response.

“It’s fine,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I just didn’t–” Your words get swallowed in a deep, uneasy breath.

“You didn’t know if Rafe would be okay with it,” he answers for you. You look up at him, feeling overwhelmed.

“Yeah…”

“I didn’t think he’d agree either, but he came around,” he assures you as he wraps his arm around your waist. You draw a sharp little breath, and before you can speak, he captures your lips in a tender kiss.

He chuckles breathily against your lips as he feels you tremble in his arms.

“You’re good, alright? We got you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, looking up at him, your nails scratching into his tight buzz cut. “Okay.”

“Atta girl,” he soothes as his lips travel along your cheeks and neck, pressing gentle kisses on top.

“I missed you,” you whisper. He lets out a delighted groan, squeezing you as he lifts you off your feet into a hug.

“Fuck… I missed you too, sweetheart. Haven't stopped thinkin’ about you.”

“Neither have I.” You bury yourself in his arms for a few more moments.

“… Relax,” teases again, and you melt in his arms a little more. You let out a laborious laugh before drawing a deeper breath than you have in days. “Now let’s watch this jackass play ball, huh?” Cam sets you down on the ground, walking into the living room. His fingers stay laced in yours, eyes tracing your body as he follows you. “You look good. Fuck, you look pretty, baby,” he hums.

You let out a little gasp and a laugh as he crashes down on the couch, pulling you on top of him as the second half starts. He wraps you up in his big arms, your head resting on his muscular chest.

You listen to his level breathing and the steady beating of his heart as the game goes on. His big, rough fingers trace your spine lazily during commercial breaks, making your entire body feel electric from that simple touch alone.

You watch proudly as your boyfriend stands with the other team captain for the post-game interview, grinning ear to ear. The interviewer kicks it back to the ESPN studio, leaving Cam with your full attention.

The corners of Cam’s lips curl into the prettiest smile, making your stomach flutter. “Princess…” He mumbles as you rest your chin resting on his chest.

“Mhmm,” you hum.

“I don’t think I could have stayed away even if Rafe said ‘no,’” he whispers, his voice just above a hush. You can tell those words hadn’t left his lips easily— like he had been thinking about them since he left. And, like you, he knew that feeling that was wrong, too.

“Me either,” you breathe, answering honestly.

“We don’t need to tell him, alright?” He asks. “Can you keep that between you and me? I just don’t wanna have him get in the way of this– you and I. Of course, you two still have each other, but I think what we have is different.”

“I think so, too,” you whisper.

The post-game show droned on, and then the highlights of the day’s games, all just background noise as the two of you fell into a steady rhythm together: talking, joking, and snuggling as the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You could feel the connection between the two of you growing stronger, a bond you hadn’t anticipated this early hitting you hard and fast–absolutely impossible to forget.

Buzz.

You watch as your phone trembles on the coffee table with a new message from Rafe, letting you know he is back at the hotel and waiting. “It’s Rafe,” you beam; Cam’s expression softens as he brushes some hair off your face.

“Sounds good, baby…”

You step off the couch and walk toward the bedroom. Pulling open the laptop, you look across the room, fixing your hair and outfit in the mirror as Skype loads.

“Babygirl,” you hear Rafe cheer. His loud voice breaks the speakers a little, crackling in the feedback with his post-win excitement. You swoon, looking at the pretty boy on the other side of the screen. “Get the fuck out, Maybank,” he scoffs.

“What, you’re not gonna let me watch,” JJ smiles and winks as he sees you on Rafe’s end. Rafe shoves him out of focus–the two bickering back and forth, getting their jabs in between laughs. “Goodnight, sweetheart,’ JJ calls to you.

“Yeah, you too, bitch,” Rafe smiles, flicking off the cornerback as he continues to accost Rafe ‘til the door shuts, the room falling silent.

“Hey, princess!” Rafe hums in a deeper tone, glowing with pride and excitement.

“Fuck, baby. That was a good game,” you smile as you crawl closer.

He gets easily distracted, seeing you in his jersey, making your excitement rise as well. “Look at you,” he praises as he leans in a little closer.

“You look good too, baby. Is that new?” You giggle and wink, the man already knowing where you're going as you eye up his new sweatshirt.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s all yours, baby,” he chuckles and his plays with the strings a little before pulling off the hood. “N’thank you, sweetheart. We did alright.”

“Alright?” You puff. “You were amazing.”

He laughs that laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “I wish I had you here to celebrate with me, pretty.” His tone softens as he looks at you; you can tell he means every word. You look over your computer, watching as Cam walks into the room and takes a seat atop the dresser. “Hate leavin’ you alone on a Saturday night,” your stomach falls, eyes fluttering at his words.

“Oh…” Your heart and mind start to race. “I wish I was there too.” Your voice breaks with adrenaline as you try to explain it away in your mind… Maybe he just means without him? Alone… without him?

“You should go out or somethin’... Get some air, have a little fun, get a drink for me. I’ll be home tomorrow, and we can celebrate then, okay?” You nod quickly, trying to push that uneasy feeling aside.

I mean, I got a call from him before the game… I talked to Rafe. Am I going fucking crazy?

“I’ll be fine,” you smile, feeling your lips tremble.

“Missed our pregame chat… And our post-game shower for sure,” he chuckles sleazily.

You look at Cam, he holds your gaze for a moment before burying his face in his hands. No.

“You doin’ okay, baby?” Rafe asks as he cocks his head slightly, looking back at you. “After last week n’all? Seems like you've had a lot on your mind.”

“Mhmm… m’fine,” you answer far too casually for how uneasy you look now.

“Good, baby. That’s good,” he smiles. “So, uhh... You still up for a little fun tonight, princess?”

Cam looks up to the ceiling, fighting his own internal battle. I mean, he lied… He pretended to be Rafe–his own brother, the man who told him to stay away. He throws his gaze back down to the floor, nodding to himself as he pulls himself to his feet, and right when he goes to step toward the door, you reach down, pulling Rafe’s jersey over your head, leaving you in nothing but a lace bra and panties, acting before you can even think it through.

His head turns toward you, and the man draws a deep breath as his eyes fall down your body, taking you in like the first time. Your eyes return to the computer screen, watching Rafe do the same. A deep moan comes through your speakers; his pretty blue eyes rolling back in his skull.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs blissfully, tearing himself out of his shirt. You settle back down on the mattress, thighs spread wide as you look back at Rafe, watching out of the corner of your eye as Cam walks back, taking a more comfortable position on a chair as his darkened eyes lay set on you.

“Why did you stop, baby?” You ask Rafe, letting your eyes flick up to Cam’s as well, running on pure adrenaline. “Strip.”

Rafe chuckles darkly, and Cam smiles and bites his lip, catching the direction meant for both of them. Cam quickly pulls himself out of his shirt as well, making your mind swirl. You feel yourself growing wetter by the second, the chill of the wet lace clinging to your hot skin. And just like clockwork, the two boys pull down their pants, crashing back down onto the seat and the bed, their boxers tented out by their big cocks.

You bite your lip and smile as you reach behind your back, unclasping your bra and holding the lace to your chest as your hand shakes like a leaf, but you can’t stop. “You gonna be a tease, princess?” Rafe asks through a laugh. “M’not there to discipline you. You gonna test me, or are you gonna be a good girl?”

“Always a good girl for you, baby,” you whisper as you flick your bra to the floor.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans as he paws off his last bit of clothing, his long, thick clock hitting his tight abs with a smack as Cam quickly does the same. Goosebumps bloom across your skin and your body, riding an indescribable high. “Got that video, baby?” Rafe asks.

“Mhmm…” You prop up your phone on your computer, pushing play, listening to your soft giggle and Rafe's low moan swell through the phone’s tiny speaker.

“Do you have the video, baby?” You ask as your right-hand drifts between your thighs, rubbing your clit lightly through the fabric. You see a flicker of movement out of the top of your eyes as Cam licks his lips hungrily.

“‘Course I do, princess… I’ve been thinkin’ about it all fuckin’ day.”

Cam straightens up a little, his view obstructed by the laptop, desperately wanting to watch you play with your pussy. He stands up from his seat, his fat cock standing straight–his swollen head already leaking with precum sheened at the tip as he walks to the edge of the bed, taking a seat.

Your fingers work a little quicker, teasing both boys with what they can’t touch. Your head falls back, a soft moan leaving your lips with every even breath. You look down at Rafe, watching his big fist wrap around his thick cock, stroking slowly.

“Take off your panties, baby,” Rafe mumbles. You drag the wet material down your thighs, flicking them to Cam, making the beautiful boy take his bottom lip between his teeth as he runs the material through his big fingers. He rubs this thumb across the wetness, lifting it to his lips to suck it clean with his eyes on you.

“You look so pretty on camera, princess… Tell me why I’m takin’ my eyes off you again?” Rafe chuckles, his eyes dancing between you and the home movie on his phone, the man on Cloud 9.

“I love having your attention, Daddy,” you smile as you glide your fingers wet through your slick folds, “gets me wet,” you tease as you bring them back up to your clit hating yourself for how comfortable you feel—not hating yourself enough to quit.

“So fuckin’ dirty, princess. I love it,” he hums as he starts to stroke his dick a little faster, getting off at the sight of you, spitting on his cock for lube.

Your eyes shift slightly, biting back as you smile as Cam wraps the pretty lace around the base of his thick length, hissing at the contact as he wraps himself tight. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, the boys holding back their sounds just to hear more of it as they watch you close.

You lean out of the screen, reaching into the nightstand, pulling out a vibrator, showing it off for the camera. “Fuck, baby,” Rafe hums as he adjusts slightly, forgoing the video altogether as he catches a glimpse of your toy, “you’re killin’ me.” You look up at Cam, the desperation in his eyes, fighting back his praise and pleasured sounds with his life.

“Babygirl,” Rafe murmurs as his eyes rake over your naked body, the tip of the vibrator replacing your fingers on your sex. “Stop fuckin’ with me.” Chills fall down your spine as you hear Rafe’s deep, commanding voice.

“What do you want, Rafe?” You ask breathily as you push it a little deeper between your thighs, tracing your slit before showing it to the boys; the head drenched with your wetness.

“Shittt… Turn it on,” he mumbles as his breathing quickens, the gold chain on his chest catching the light.

“Yes, Daddy,” you turn it on, making a show of it as the length of it twirls and shakes. You can feel how drenched you are, your drooling hole leaking down your inner thigh. You gasp as the silicone tip meets your plush skin, tracing through the mess before lifting your eyes to Rafe.

“Push it in, pretty.” You gasp as the vibrations hit your clit, muscles jolting from the contact, that shock quickly turning into pleasure. Your thighs tremble as you ghost the tip over your puffy clit, pussy clenching around nothing. “Fuckin’ push it in,” Rafe moans. “Damn, you’re evil for this, baby. Shit… Just wait for tomorrow night I fuckin’ swear-”

“Shit!” You squeal; both boys’ moans cancel each other out as you stuff the toy inside your aching core. Your eyes shift between Rafe and Cam as they work their fists over their throbbing dicks.

“Play with that shit. C’mon, baby. C’mon,” Rafe pleads through a deep groan as he watches you close.

“So pretty, baby. Shit, you look so damn good,” Cam mumbles under his breath as he watches the toy fuck in and out of you, keeping your pace with your strokes.

You let out a hoarse cry as you find your g-spot, the little vibrating nub pressing against your clit perfectly. Your breathing starts to quicken with your heart, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. Your eyes clamp shut as you feel yourself about to near your peak.

“Open your eyes, baby. M’gonna cum… Fuck. I’m gonna cum for you,” Rafe hums. Your orgasm hits you fast, washing over you like a wave. You watch the screen as Rafe strokes a few more times before letting his thick cock go, pulsing as he cums in ropes landing hot on his abs as he pants like a dog.

Cam bites his lips, wrapping his fist around the delicate lace, pulling it down to his tip. His head falls back as he empties himself into the lace. His ab muscles clench as his heavy load dirties your panties, making an absolute mess of the fabric.

The three of you breathe heavily, coming down from your highs together. A broad smile spreads across Rafe’s lips as he tilts his head back, hitting the hotel headboard with a soft thud. “Mmm… Get on your back, baby,” Rafe hums. “You're cummin’ again.”

“Yeah?” You ask with a breathless laugh as you look between Rafe and the video playing on the phone, watching Rafe throw you to the mattress and plunge back in fast.

“Yeah, princess. Wanna hear you cum with yourself. Better hurry up, sweetheart. Sounds like you’re close,” he smiles smugly as you lay down on the bed, starting up the vibrator, your thighs, pussy still quaking from your first orgasm.

Your eyes widen as you look between your thighs, watching Cam take it off your hands before pushing it inside for you. You cry out, back arching off the mattress as he works it in at the perfect angle, the head of the vibration swirls against your g-spot, vibrator flicking at your clit.

“Fuck, you can take dick like a pornstar. Can't you princess?” Rafe praises—his cock still hard, as he shifts his focus between the old video and the pleasure on your face, the rest of your body cut off from the lens as Cam works the toy in and out.

Your bottom lip pouts and trembles in overstimulation as fat tears roll down your hot cheeks. You look down at Cam, scratching your nails into his buzzed hair. His eyes rake up your body, landing on your lips, licking his own—no doubt thinking about his dick sliding in and out and your lips on him.

He turns up the speed to the max, making you fight against him slightly, but he grabs your body, pinning you to the mattress.

“Are you gonna cum, princess?” Rafe drawls, and you nod rapidly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Give it to me.”

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster. “Fuck!” You whine as your damn breaks, pleasure coursing through your body as you flutter around the vibrator, cumming in tandem with the video of yourself.

Cam pulls out the vibrator, making you gasp. He flattens his tongue, licking a line up your silk, causing you to whimper pathetically as he works you through your high. Cam curls his arms, forcing you closer as he locks onto your puffy clit, sucking and flicking his tongue; feeling yourself close to a third release but you trap him between your thighs, throwing him daggers with your gaze.

“Fuck—Fuck, JJ. What the hell?” Rafe calls as you hear the door push open on Rafe’s end, making all three of you jump. Your hand clamps over your lips, as you watch your boyfriend, do his best to cover himself up while his teammate cackles. “Knock on the goddamn door,” he barks.

“Forgot my wallet,” JJ says, his voice on the edge of laughter.

Rafe covers himself more, putting his big hand up to the camera as JJ pops his head in, grabbing his wallet off the nightstand. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Rafe hisses, only half-kidding, but you’re already covered up with a blanket anyway. His eyes track JJ as he walks away, heading out the door.

“Goddamn…” Rafe mutters as he pulls back the dirtied duvet, eyeing the mess. “How many more guys am I gonna have to fight off you today?” He huffs.

Cam looks over his shoulder slightly as he pulls back on his sweats. You can see it in his eyes, Cam hit with the bitter taste of guilt. Rafe smiles at you lovingly, utterly oblivious to the war in your mind and his brother in the room.

“Rafe-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, princess. I love you,” he cuts you off before you go to speak, seconds away from spilling your guts. Maybe it’s for the best…

“I love you too,” you whisper, hearing the slight crack in your voice.

You grab the top of your laptop, pulling it shut, your heart banging in your ears as the weight of the situation starts to pile on you. You felt a rush of panic flood through you—not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

What the fuck did I just do?

#⋆.°🧸๋ྀི࣭⭑ sharing #sharing!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #twin!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #rafe #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe cameron x reader #twin rafe cameron #my library ᝰ.ᐟ #tw twincest

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tteokdoroki · 2 years ago

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☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. what’s one more?

about. now that your kids are all grown up, you’ve gotten to thinking about having another baby with bakugou again.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, suggestive and smutty, fluffy, some dub-con, baby-trapping mention, breeding, unprotected sex mention, reader is a mother, bakugou is getting old hehe, they have three daughters lol, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

i imagine that when your kids get a little older and start becoming more independent — your eldest in their final year of U.A, the middle starting U.A and the youngest still kicking in middle school….you catch a whiff of baby fever again.

it’s not even that everyone around you is having kids, most of theirs are well into their teenage years and giving your old friends trouble. it’s more that you miss the tiny pitter patter of feet throughout your house, the gummy giggles and scent of baby safe soap. oddly enough, you find yourself yearning for the late night feeds and the laughter shared over the inherent explosive bakugou diaper bombs.

speaking of your husband, you kind of hate how good he is with kids. he’s always treated your daughters like princesses, spoiling them rotten and raising their standards so that no possible crush could ever compare to the way their daddy treats them. but he’s so tender with the littler ones he visits as part of hero work, the tiny fans that ask him to sign his trading cards or their backpacks.

it’s adorable and still warms your heart to this day. to the point where you’re jumping bakugou’s bones every chance you get without actually telling him you want another one of his big headed babies. of course, he’s only a man and he’s not going to question why is wife of nearly two decades keeps presenting to him like a bitch in heat after lights out and the kids are asleep.

perhaps that’s why bakugou doesn’t question (on the one night where you have a child-free house) the way you toss away the condom, the way you take it raw and clench down on his cock like your life depends on it. why you squeal all high-pitched for him to fill you up with tears in your pretty eyes — how could he say no to you?

his pretty little wife, his lover, hot piece of ass to love and fuck to his hearts content.

what good, loving man isn’t going to cum in his wife when she begs and cries for it?

it’s not until your trained and doughy thighs lock around his slender waist to pull him into your frothing sex that bakugou realises. you’re doing this on purpose.

and by the time he does realise, he’s filling you up to the brim, sloppy white leaking out of you while you cum around him just like you always do — taking him so well, smiling up at him like you’re on top of the world.

“you fuckin’ leg locked me!” katsuki pants through amused laughter, collapsing on top of you with a sweaty and heaving chest.

“nuh-uh!” comes your quick reply, angling your hips up so that he slips deeper into you.

katsuki gets up soon after and disappears to the bathroom, not before prying your legs off of him — knowing full well he had the strength to do so earlier. if he really wanted to. “my own wife… you tried to fuckin’ baby trap me!”

“no i didn’t!” you pout defensively, brows furrowed and nose upturned. your expression only softens when your husband gives you a pointed look and moves to wipe the mess drying against your inner thighs. “okay…so what if i did?”

you loop your arms around his neck with a purr, toying with the silvery-blonde baby hairs on the back of katsuki’s neck and looking up at him with vixen eyes like you’re about to devour your prey. “we can not have another baby,” he tells you simply, kissing the crown of your head when you hiss at the sensitivity. “was i too rough?”

there’s a rasp to his voice, the kind that’s only prominent after hours of singing your praises in the bedroom. it makes you smile, close your eyes in content, and shake your head ‘no’. “why not?”

“havin’ a baby isn’t like gettin’ a puppy ‘nd you know that, sweetness,” bakugou hums quietly, soothing over the bruises he’d left on the soft handles on your waist. he thumbs at the stretch marks and tigers stripes, the very markings that show you were a mother to three of his beauties children. “we gotta focus on makin’ sure kasumi gets into a good agency, if not mine, and don’t get me started on the other two—“

“—but we could do it. right? i mean we’ve done it three times before. raised a baby, what’s one more?” you do your best to sound convincing while you sit up and cling to your man, pleading with those puppy dog eyes that got you knocked up the first time almost eighteen years ago. “don’t you want a little boy?”

“three girls are more than enough.” bakugou pushes your face away playfully, forcing you back into the sheets so he can lie on top of you. “we’re not as young—“ he starts, but back tracks after being on the receiving end of your heated glare. “i’m not as young as i was when we had our first. ‘n shit, my back hurts and my eyes are gettin’ bad, and our kids… they’re exhaustin’, babe.”

the both of you share a laugh. upon brushing a hand through his hair, katsuki trills happily at your affection. “you’re still a good dad. you’d be an even better to our next. even if you’re a little achey in the knees, old man.” though you’re teasing, you really do mean every word you say. raising your kids has been trial and error from the start, but bakugou’s been strong the entire way through — wanting nothing but the best for his family and always putting them first. “plus, the kids are with the kirishimas for an entire weekend, and you’re telling me you haven’t thought about fucking me raw again?”

“jesus woman, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, aren’t you?” katsuki twitches against your leg once again, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a hungry, syrupy kiss. “you’re right,” he groans against them, loving the feeling of your tongue on his. “fuck, you’re right. spread your legs, sweetness. wanna fill this pretty pussy with my cum.”

“yes daddy…” you mewl in reply while a winning grin tacks itself to your lips l face between uncoordinated kisses and surprised moans once your husband eases his throbbing cock back inside of your tight heat. mumbling something about how it feels like home.

needless to say, neither of you are surprised when the next pregnancy test you take is positive. now you just have to explain the baby supplies in your Amazon basket to your three teenage girls.

3K notes · View notes

winterzsurprise · 1 month ago

Text

Change My Mind [9]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 8.4k

HAPPY BORA MONTH EVERYONE OUR BOYS ARE COMING HOMEEEEEE

to keep the updates somewhat stable, I'll be only posting on wednesdays KST (pretend that its still wednesday, I got caught up playing grow a garden lmao)

Sorry for the late update, our capstone mobile project got scrapped mid production and we now have one month to finish it (damn u prof), with the addition of creating an e-commerce app for a diff subject. So yeah fun :D! (im about to curse them down to their grandchildren)

n e ways, here's the update. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you all for your patience and support!

Maybe it was a mistake cracking your eyes open and making space in your already minimal cubicle room but could anyone blame you for doing so when you’ve got a pouting Jimin and the ringing absence of his body heat against your skin had overcome your better judgment?

“Noona, can I bunk with you?”

It was a simple request, you could’ve said no and Jimin would’ve returned to his seat to sleep alone. But seeing him, with his hair mused from the tossing and churning he must’ve done earlier in his bed, matched with his pouty lips and barely open eyes, you couldn’t dare say no to his face.

Moving aside and inviting him without hesitation was something you never thought you'd ever do in your life—at least while sober.

Scared of crossing boundaries with your best friends, you had stopped yourself from entertaining anything past what you deemed is platonic and acceptable.

Sure there were times you’d let the maknaes snuggle up next to you but other than the few times you had let them do so after they had grown past their teenage years, cuddling had become rare once they were adults.

Maybe it was because you had spent weeks sleeping next to Jimin during the times you had to stabilize the bond but it felt odd not sensing someone else’s body heat next to you, or having the mattress dip from someone’s weight—Jimin’s weight specifically.

Somewhere, sometime during the nights you had Jimin next to you, he had become a beacon of protection and safety. In the short time you were alone in your cubicle, you had found yourself missing his presence and the soft glowing pulse of your soulmark near you. His absence rang and resonated loudly in the quietness of the flight.

You had comforted yourself earlier, reassuring your own longing heart that you’ll get to sleep next to Jimin again once you’re both off the airplane yet.

But the heart is fickle and not easily convinced once it begins to want and yearn.

To be able to welcome Jimin into your bed without going through multiple pages of pros and cons to letting your friends momentarily cross the line, the old you would’ve had an aneurysm and you excuse it as one of your (probably) sleepy mistakes.

“Close the blinds so the stewardess won’t see us and scold us for… bunking together.”

“Just say sleeping together, noona.” He giggled. “It means the same thing, right?”

You said nothing, only moving to make space for him.

Slipping inside the already small space, he closed the slides behind him and laid next to you. Automatically, his hand seeked yours in the dark and pulled it close to his nose, making goosebumps prick your skin as his hot exhales breathed warmth and lit up the golden swirls of your soulmark into your body.

It bloomed elegantly from your palms to your knuckles before eventually fading somewhere mid-forearm. They glowed a soft golden light, a stark brightness in the darkness of your cubicle but you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel bothered by its llight. In fact, it had begun to instill a degree of comfort whenever it gleamed behind your closed lids.

Your heartbeat then began to drum in your chest, the loud thuds resonating through every bone in your limb, rendering you weak under the cold relieving effects of your soulmark.

“Didn’t mean to bother your sleep,” Jimin had murmured softly. “I just… It felt weird not being able to sleep next to you.”

Maybe it was the sleepiness from travelling at midnight that made you put your guard down. After a socially exhausting day of having to lie to a thousand people and dealing with worried friends, you dare to let yourself enjoy the presence of your soulmate without the ugliness of insecurity.

“Me too,” you whispered. “I missed you, Jimin.”

It felt so odd letting such a sentiment slip past your lips yet it felt so right uttering his name next to it.

He giggled and it sounded like the chimes of the sweetest of bells as a large, embarrassed smile cracks through his sleepy expression. Shy, he hid his face into the back of your hand.

“Did you really?” He asked through his giddiness. “You missed me?

“I missed you, Jiminie.” You repeated.

His giggles multiplied and with it, the radiating comfort from where you’re both connected growing warmer and brighter.

“How am I supposed to sleep after hearing that? Noona, I think my heart might explode from how fast it's going.”

Jimin then brought your hand to his chest and pressed it against his rib. Feeling his heart race under your palm, you wondered how he hasn’t exploded from how concerningly quick it’s going.

“The other guys are going to be so jealous. I’m so excited to brag about it.”

“You’re going to tell them?” You asked, curious.

“Rarely do I get anything to brag about. I also wouldn’t miss the chance to hold it over Jin and Jungkook’s head.”

How is it that something you usually regard as a red flag could pale when it comes to your best friends? Telling other people of your business should’ve made you frown yet you found yourself uncaring of the fact. They’re all your soulmates anyways, you mentally shrugged.

Closing your eyes, you prepare yourself to welcome the serenity of sleep, thinking Jimin had fallen asleep already in the short time you were reflecting on your reaction to hearing they share tales with each other about you.

To your surprise, Jimin spoke again.

“Noona, can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“You can say no and not tell me but,” He took a tentative pause. “I just… kept wondering why you feel so undeserving of us.”

After you had fallen asleep after Hoseok’s celebratory dinner, Jimin had sneaked away to tell the others of what you think of the soulmate bond. He had briefly and very vaguely told you what they had talked about the next morning, saying it was just a simple discussion on how they'll proceed with you and left it at that.

And as much as it was frustrating being left in the dark, you knew deep inside to not pry for more information knowing it might become fuel for the bald headed demon of insecurity.

“Don't you already know?”

“I might but I'd like to hear it from you personally.”

You debated on telling him, scared to hear your own faults be spoken out loud in the small space of your cubicle. For a moment, you thought to ignore his question and to talk about the interviews they had lined up on days they were to rest in between shows but don’t they deserve to hear it straight from you?

“I feel bad because not only did I reject some of you, I also talked about my other relationships and my search for a husband with you all. I ignored your feelings for a semblance of normalcy, especially Jin’s, although he'd argue that I didn't know. I still think I should be crucified for that. All I wanted was the closeness we all had before feelings got involved but it only got more twisted.”

Hearing you say it out loud made your sins sound more evil than it should be. It echoed in the silence left by your reply. Your words bounced off the walls, seeming to gain more volume the more it reverberated, sounding more taunting and mocking as it went.

Then all of a sudden, the cold relief that flowed under the swirls on your arms grew hotter as if lava had replaced them. It stinged like dislike and burned like disgust. Panicking, you pulled your hand away but Jimin was faster, tightening his hold around your wrist.

“Noona—”

“I swear I'll try and make it all up to you somehow. It's gonna take a little bit of time but—”

“Listen to me, noo—”

“Please, I don’t

Jimin pressed a finger to your lips and shushed you.

“You don't owe us anything, noona. Don't force yourself to reciprocate our feelings or our efforts preparing for our dates will end up being useless.” He laughed. “But seriously, let yourself feel whatever you want to feel because at the end of the day, we're all connected anyways.”

Your frown deepens and your stomach hollows itself up. It is not how it should be. Soulmate or not, they should make you work for their forgiveness, especially with Jin and Jungkook but instead the two of them had easily waved off your mistakes as if they never existed in the first place.

Normally, you’d have your partner atone after they hurt you, right?

“Why are you guys so accepting? Don't you think that I should redeem myself first? Don’t you at least resent me a little for what I did?”

Being one of their closest friends in and outside work for five years, you were introduced early on to them in their lowest, their ugliest, and them in their happiest. They could forgive betrayals and bullying but they would never forget the names and the faces of those who discredited and snubbed them.

So for those same men to easily shrug off your sins as easily as breathing, you couldn’t help but feel unworthy of their kindness.

“It's such a cliche answer and I know you’ll kill me for saying it but it's because we like you.” You opened your mouth to refute but he shook his head and continued. “I know. I can't believe that I'm saying this too. You know how we roll but ever since the marks manifested, I just… everything doesn't matter anymore now that I'm tethered to you. Because the moment Healing Touch manifested, a new chapter has started.”

Hearing the confusion and reluctance in your silence, Jimin opened his arms for a hug and you surprised yourself with how fast you had leaned in.

“Noona, you know what I realized while we were adjusting to the bond? Love is as powerful as the movies portrayed it to be and it's scary how it can change a person.” He paused, as if he’s mulling over an idea at the tip of his tongue. “Sure, if you really want to and if it makes you feel better, you can ‘make up’ for us but don’t tear yourself down in doing so. Healing Touch could fix anything but I doubt it's powerful enough to revive an exhausted mind.”

Between the effects of the soulmark growing stronger with you both cuddling up to each other and being engulfed in the soft scent of his peach cologne and the subtle fruity scent of his conditioner, drowsiness easily finds its way to you.

Experiencing the same drowsiness brought by the calmness from the soulmark, Jimin yawns.

“Does that answer your question, noona?”

“Yes,” You say, the exhaustion of today finally overcoming your own will to stay awake. “Thank you Jimin.”

“Good night noona, I hope you dream of the sweetest dreams.”

“I hope you do too.”

_______

“Okay so, how about this one?” Taehyung enthusiastically began, showing his screen to you. “Do you and hyung share any existing scars?”

“I don't think so? If we had, the scar on my knee would be reflected on him but there's none.”

His excitement mellows down as he scrolls through the catalog of body-altering soulmate marks.

After waking up in time for brunch, Taehyung hadn't stopped his search for the right soulmark for you and Hobi. His experimentations ranged from observing your shadow by having you hold your arm above the table to see if your shadow could reflect Hoseok's movements back home, to making you meditate and imagine switching bodies with Hoseok, and lastly, pinching yourself to see if their hyung could feel the sting from wherever you currently guys are.

Despite having their own seats to occupy on either side of you, the two men had naturally gravitated to your space and squeezed themselves into the footrest in front of your reclined chair before Taehyung eventually decided he wasn’t close enough and squeezed himself in the small space next to you while Jimin continued to occupy the footrest, taking your legs to rest on top of his thighs to idly pressed his thumbs on your calves.

You and Jimin luckily woke up before the attendants had made their rounds for breakfast.

He was sulking when he left your cubicle with his sleep-mussed hair and jutted out bottom lip while carrying the pillow he brought. Seeing him trudge towards his seat—which is directly to your right as you’ve been placed in the middle—reminded you of a sad, wet pup whose day has been ruined by the sudden downpour of rain.

Breakfast came ten minutes and once the plates were collected, Taehyung had practically bounced from his cubicle to yours with Jimin following soon after, acting casually as if you both weren't cuddling each other barely an hour ago.

It was always odd cuddling up to Jimin with the context of being soulmates. It was awkward and embarrassing whenever you woke up to his arms wrapped tight around your waist and his breath on your skin. The irrational, overly-conscious part of you yelled at you to wake him up and tell him to return to his cubicle yet the more deprived within you demanded you stay silent.

And for the first time with a sober mind, you decided to stay silent.

What can you do against a heart that began to yearn for someone's warmth?

“How long before we land?” Taehyung asked, breaking you out of your trance.

“Three hours or less, why?” Jimin responded.

Tae pursed his lips. “I'm just thinking about something…”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what does that ‘something’ entails?”

“It'll ruin the surprise if I tell you.”

The cheeky grin brightening Taehyung's face was enough to let you know that he's planning something devious and you shared a worried look with Jimin.

Not noticing the shared look, the younger boy continued. “Management agreed to let us drive on our own right? I'd like to take a detour to Walmart before we arrive at our hotel.”

Jimin made a face.

“How about no?”

“Guys, I promise on my necktie collection, I think I've finally figured out what soulmark noona and Hoba got.”

Before you could push him for more information, your mother’s message popped up on your screen and you turned your attention to it.

[Today, 10:23] [10:23] Mom: Have you guys arrived in the states yet? [10:23] You: not yet [10:23] Mom: Always be careful when walking around with those two boys, people can get a little bit crazy even if they know you as their make up artist [10:23] You: dont worry too much, im strong enough to handle them💪💪 [10:23] Mom: Strong my foot, you can barely book a doctor's appointment without me [10:23] Mom: Anyways, the reason why I messaged you was because I had a talk with Guwon’s aunt and found out you used to go to the same high school as him [10:24] Mom: Our town really small is for the two of you to be in the same school before [10:24] You: really? I dont think I remember seeing him at all. Did she tell you which batch he was from? [10:24] You: also im shocked she didn't ignore you after guwon and I ended things on a bad note [10:24] Mom: She said she's not fond of the boy, saying he gives her goosebumps. [10:24] Mom: I honestly don't get why, that boy seems nice [10:24] Mom: But that glistening peach face of his became a squid to me when he said all those things to you [10:25] Mom: However, I won’t deny how kind he was to us before. Did I tell you that he had climbed our trees to pick us fruits after I introduced him to you? [10:25] Mom: Also she didn't tell me what section he was from, only that you used to go to the same school [10:25] You: maybe I'll take a look at the yearbook when I visit [10:25] Mom: Alright. Don't forget to buy me those biscuits you bought me last time, okay? Me and your dad loved those [10:26] Mom: Say hello to the twins for me and your dad😄 [10:26] Mom: Stay safe, alright? [10:26] You: always, I love youu😘 [10:26] Mom: Stay safe and come visit soon with your nexus alright?

Double tapping on her message and sending a quick reply to her, you then notice the obvious interest the boy beside you has over your conversation.

“You used to be schoolmates with Guwon?” Taehyung asks, his eyes shamelessly connecting with yours as if he wasn’t reading your messages not a second ago. “Was your town really that small?”

“Yeah but the thing is, I couldn't remember him. If his stories were anything to go by, he was his batch’s president from start to finish. I was the vice representative of my class so I would've attended council meetings with every class rep from every junior and senior high section. ”

“Wait, how are you schoolmates with Guwon when he's five years older than you?” Jimin chimed in, confused.

“Our town was so small they put elementary, middle school and high school in one place.”

It was to cut costs, the municipal mayor had reasoned. Having all the grade levels in one place not only saved space but also meant the small number of teachers from your town could cycle through the classes from different grade levels in one place, cutting off the time allotted to walking from one school building from one part of the town to another.

Jimin furrowed his eyebrows as he processed the words and grimaced but before he could say his piece, Tae spoke.

“I don't want to hear anything about a shit stain like Guwon anymore. Past is past so let's focus on the future, are we all in agreement? Yes or yes?”

With no one going against his wishes, he smiles and shows you his screen once more.

“Now that's done, I found another one! Hear me out on this, noona—”

_______

Despite Jimin’s best attempts to take the car key from Taehyung, who had practically tackled the guy handing it off to them, the fate of your hair is unfortunately now in the hands of the boxy-smiled boy who swore his plans would never hurt you; not even a sting, he had promised and crossed his heart too.

Never had you thought that approaching a vehicle could feel so daunting now with Taehyung as the driver. You expected this for Namjoon and maybe Jungkook and Hobi but never the rest.

“Stop looking like you guys are walking towards your inevitable death, I swear that what I have in mind is far from harmful.” Taehyung reassures as he tugged along your luggage with his before stopping in front of the trunk to open and load your baggage in. “Besides, I've checked with Joo hyung and he said that he's been planning to bleach Hobi’s hair at some point anyways.”

You broke the speed of light with how fast you spun around.

“We’re going to bleach my hair?!”

Taehyung nodded enthusiastically. “Yup! I’ve been asking our hair stylists’ for permission these past few weeks and they finally gave me the green light earlier!”

“Hobi and the others must be on their way to the airport right now, should we really risk bleaching noona’s hair and in turn, change his hair in public?” Jimin asks, trying to deter the boxy-smiled boy.

Taehyung hummed thoughtfully as he finally lodged the final bag into the truck.

“I know it'll be bad but it'll be so funny.” He huffed out a laugh. “I mean imagine, they'll be leaving early in the morning, Hobi would still be sleepy and as he heads into immigration wanting nothing but to board the plane and finally sleep, his hair color changes and he's suddenly being pulled to the side for questioning which forces him to stay awake a little longer.”

Jimin blankly stares at him for a while, as if his mind is recreating the scene in his head before a small giggle escapes him.

“...Ok, I won’t lie. It’s kinda funny.”

“Right? So, is my dear Jiminie going to help me with my plan?”

“We’ll be sentenced to months long dish washing and house sweeping chores.”

“I know but don’t you want to get back at Hoba for putting us through hellish dance routines?” Taehyung knew what words to use. Years of being friends with Jimin had given him the PhD to understand what stokes his twin’s interests.

You see the shift in Jimin’s opinions as soon as Taehyung said that. You saw it in the way a mischievous light found its way into his eyes and the subtle quirk in the corner of his mouth.

Despite knowing the consequences of their actions, Bangtan's maknaes will always be maknaes. They wouldn't miss the chance of getting back at their Hobi hyung who had made them dance till the soles of their feet melted away from the friction.

Soon enough, you find yourself standing behind the twins under the broken overhead light in the haircare aisle at Walmart after a quick drive-thru—which Jimin had begrudgingly ordered your food despite Taehyung being the driver.

It was a wonder how nobody had figured who they were when they're giggling loudly like devious kids at the hair care section. You had been nervously looking over your shoulders to make sure no one who could recognize them was near as they whispered mischievously to each other.

There’s a woman at the far end of the aisle who’s busy comparing two conditioners and a busy mother with two fussy children trailing behind her going down the aisle. Focusing on the former, you swept over her sling bag for any keyrings and badges that might indicate her being an AMRY and when you found none, you turned your attention back to your soulmates.

Being in public with worldwide superstars is going to turn your hair white.

Should you start mastering SFX makeup to change their appearances?

TUG!

You looked down at the string on your pinky to see it half tangible with a soft glow of red. Wrapping your fingers around it, Yoongi's concern bleeds into you.

‘Okay?’

‘Nervous.’

It was odd how you could feel his eyebrow raise from so far in the temporary absence of his reply.

‘Why?’

‘Twins. Mischief.’

The string thrummed a low tune as if to replicate the sigh he must've let out from hearing it.

‘Good luck.’

Turning your attention to the twins, you find them now debating on what brand is best with Jimin reading reviews out from his phone and Taehyung insisting he had seen people use the dye in his hand more therefore is much better.

‘How are you?’

‘Preparing. Jungkook just woke up. Seokjin screaming. Hoseok stressed. Namjoon lost’

You smiled as the image of Seokjin, possessed by the spirit of an airport dad, ordering and rushing their youngest whose face is contorted into a frown with eyes barely open to gather his essentials while Hoseok sits in the living room with his arms crossed next to Yoongi who’s sitting next to him and both scrolling on their phone.

Namjoon is probably running around for anything he must've forgotten to pack or put into his bag, a hunt Hoseok had purposely put him on to distract him from stressing over his bandmates.

Mind wandering to Namjoon, you closed your eyes to try and focus on his heartbeat. It has faded into the background hours in the flight earlier but it had always been there, although required high concentration to hear.

“Should we try a bold hair color too? I wanna know how he'd look in blue.” Jimin asks his friend in a low voice, unaware he's speaking rather loudly for you to hear. He holds up a box dye and you narrow your eyes at the item in suspicion. “Oh, toxic green sounds good, no?”

Tae tilts his head. “Will noona even let you?”

You didn't have to imagine yourself with the vibrant shade of green for you to interfere.

“Noona will not let you, actually.” You said, letting go of the string as you took the dyes off of his hand and returned it to the shelves. “Bright colors would not look good on me.”

“Then let's stick with bleach but having fully bleached hair is a bit standard, a bit on the boring side so—how about we just bleach your ends for a change?” Jimin suggested, eyes looking up at you and it felt like he’s shooting you puppy eyes even when he’s not trying to.

“If we’re going to only dye the tips, then wouldn’t having a fire-like effect look good?” Taehyung chimed in, holding up an orange and a red dye in both hands while his eyes continued to scan the shelves. “Oh wait! If you really want something that isn’t too eye-catching, how about ash grey tips?”

“As much as I appreciate your confidence in me pulling a red orange ombre, I really don’t think it will, in all honesty.” You say and Taehyung practically wilts, his hands falling to his side yet his eyes continue to scan the shelf for another color to suggest with the eyes akin to a kicked puppy. “I’ll consider the ash grey, though.”

Immediately, Taehyung brightened up.

“I think you underestimate yourself noona, you’re very pretty.” Jimin says with a sheepish smile.

Suddenly feeling shy, you averted your gaze and cleared your throat.

“Thank you, Jimin.”

You don’t even know how a compliment from Jimin, something you get from him weekly, could elicit such a reaction from you. It took everything in you to not widen your eyes in realization when you noticed how bashful you had become.

One night of deep talk and you’re already flushing. You don’t even want to imagine how you’ll react once the relationship deepens.

“What the fuck.”

Taehyung’s eyes bounced from you and Jimin, incredulous with a hint of betrayal.

“Did you guys do it on the plane?!”

“What?” you and Jimin squawked.

“No cause you guys didn’t act this way before! What did you guys do while I was getting my beauty rest?! ‘Cause that would be so disgusting I was literally a few inches away from you!” Taehyung exclaimed and you have never been so grateful he wasn’t screaming in English.

What a scandal it would’ve been. BTS Member Kim Taehyung revealed his co-member Park Jimin had FREAKY SEX in the PLANE with his MAKE UP ARTIST?!?!

“Whatever you might be thinking, we didn’t do it!” Jimin exclaimed, scandalized.

“Then explain what I just witnessed there!”

“You’re hallucinating!”

“That's just the jetlag!”

_______

Due to Taehyung’s excitement, he had made the trip to the hotel a quick affair; moreso the trip to your room when he practically vibrated in front of the desk and snatched the key from the hostess and crossed the distance between where he stood to the elevator with five steps.

The hotel bathroom is too small to fit three people, you think. While not physically a tight fit, your heart seems to beat twice with every tick and expand to fill your entire chest and spread the jittery nerves of anxiousness throughout your entire body.

With Jimin taking out the hair dryer from the cabinet and Taehyung eagerly mixing the solution together in the black bowl they bought next to him, you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bathtub silently relishing the feeling of foreboding doom as you watch the twins flutter around preparing to dye your hair.

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” you asked, fingers fiddling with the hem of the shirt Jimin had randomly picked out to wear while having your hair bleached.

Hair dying has always been the hair stylists job while the idols sit idly in front of them, moving only when the dye is going to be washed off or while waiting for the colors or bleach to set in.

And you’re putting your full trust on these idols who haven't bleached their hair themselves.

Where’s Jin when you needed him?

Taehyung grinned. In a different setting, you’d think his square-shaped smile endearing and cute but with the tint brush and comb tool, and the plastic bowl full of bleaching solution in both hands, he never looked more menacing than he does right now.

“How hard can it be? We’re just going to dye the tips.”

“Remember, if you mess up my hair, you might also mess up Hoba’s hair and an angry dance instructor and second leader is not something you’d want,” you reminded as Taehyung approached you.

Jimin, ever the supportive soulmate, placed his hands on your shoulder and led you to the chair he dragged in from outside. “We know, don’t worry, noona. We had someone teach us how to dye it earlier.”

“Who?”

“I forgot his name but we saw him on YouTube and he’s got a pretty big following so that must count for something, right?”

Hearing that, you began to pray to every divinity out there who could hear your pleas for a successful hair bleaching.

“Alright, I’m gonna start now, noona.”

You watched cautiously as Jimin allocated a bunch of hair into the aluminum foil and Taehyung started his work on dyeing the tips of your hair.

The twins stayed silent throughout the process, as if they’re also holding their breath like you are doing.

It wasn’t the act of having your hair dyed by the twins that had your leg restlessly jumping—you could have the ends cut off if you ever decided it didn’t look good on you—but rather the prospect of facing Namjoon’s disappointment when the sudden change in Hoseok’s hair is noticed by the TSA and delay them.

Yoongi and Jungkook would laugh, Seokjin would feign disappointment and try to lecture you until people turned their backs and he’d shower the twins with praise. But Namjoon, the man is far too stressed from the multiple roles he has to take in as they enter foreign soil, to have their first day in America to start off with one of the members being held off at customs would add unnecessary weight onto his shoulders.

You don’t want to add more to the weight pressuring him down. Not to mention, you also haven’t atoned for your mistakes yet but what can you do against the unstoppable force that is Jimin and Taehyung?

With the final piece of hair being covered in the bleaching agent and foil, the two then stepped back to admire their work.

“See? Nothing to worry,” Jimin says, almost as relieved as you are while picking up one of the foil-wrapped strands and securing them.

Taehyung rotates around you, searching for a strand he had possibly missed.

“Alright, we just need to wait for a couple of minutes before we wash it off.”

But even after those words had fallen out of his lips, he continued to flutter around you as if his hands, who had just learned how to bleach and felt the rush of chemicals from doing great at it, itched to add the alarming amount of leftovers onto your hair. Taehyung pursing his lips solidifying your guess.

Jimin who had finally turned back around after searching the sink for his phone, saw this and placed a hand on Taehyung's shoulder.

“I know that look, don't do it.” Jimin said as he reached for the black bowl.

“I'm not even doing anything, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Cause I know you.”

Taehyung laughed incredulously and waved his hand at the man. “Of course you do, silly. We've been together for six years now.”

“Don't do it.”

“I'm not doing anything!” The younger man pouts. “Matter of fact, I'm not even thinking about doing anything!”

Letting the boys chatter in the background, you open your phone to see messages from Jungkook flooding your notifications.

[Today 15:12] [15:12] Ggukie: NOONAAAA [15:12] Ggukie: namjoon hyung told me to inform you first as courtesy [15:12] Ggukie: but I'll be your first and only handsome date for the weekend :D [15:12] Ggukie: dont tell jin hyung but i definitely cheated to go first [15:12] Ggukie: he just didn't notice HA! [15:13] Ggukie: for our magnificent date, wear something comfortable but also a little elegant☺️ [15:13] Ggukie: just a smallll bit 🤏 [15:13] Ggukie: not that you even need to style urself much tbh [15:14] Ggukie: you'd look cute even if you're wearing garbage bags and those stupid colorful feather accessories😁 [15:14] You: what time are we gonna leave? [15:14] You: what do you have in mind for our date? o.0 [15:16] Ggukie: telling you would ruin the surprise [15:16] Ggukie: so no😁 [15:16] Ggukie: but we'll go after lunch [15:16] Ggukie: is that good for you? [15:17] You: of course [15:17] You: how elegant do you want me to be? [15:17] You: like fancy candlelight date kind of elegant? Or an attending an important social event kind of elegant? [15:17] Ggukie: haha [15:17] Ggukie: nice try noona [15:17] Ggukie: i was raised by seokjin and namjoon, you can't fool me that easily [15:17] Ggukie: just wear something comfortable with a hint of elegance😁

The conversation ended after Jungkook's last reply and you finally turned your attention back to the oddly peaceful twins now discussing what food to order with Jimin looking over Taehyung's shoulder and navigating the man's phone.

Soon enough, it was time to wash your hair and you find yourself bent over the bathtub as Taehyung rinses the bleach out.

Since the moment the bleach had started to take effect and begun to lighten the tips of your hair, the twins had been giggling to themselves nonstop as they unwrapped the foil, murmuring scenarios of how the rest of the nexus must be reacting seeing the tips of Hoseok’s hair changing a different color.

(“We’re not even sure if this is our soulmark, we could just be dyeing my hair for no reason at all.” You chime and Taehyung shrugged.

“Even if nothing were to happen, at least you got yourself a good hairstyle out of this, no?”)

Once the dye was washed off, Taehyung fit a towel over your shoulders and gently placed them behind you before leading you to the chair in front of the vanity sink where Jimin is plugging the hair dryer in before switching it on to try the strength of the air on his hair.

“Is it good, Mr. Park?” Taehyung asks in a formal accented tone as he sets you down on the stool.

“All good here, Mr. Kim. It’s working fine and well! Just set down our pretty client so we can start drying off her hair.”

Before you could offer to do it yourself, Taehyung draped the heavy towel over your head, patting and mushing your face instead of your hair. With a slap on his forearm, he laughed and tugged the towel back to properly dry your hair.

It didn't take long before the three of your phones on the far end of the sink began to vibrate, screens flashing as message after message floods in from individual chats of the members and the group chat. Jimin looks over to see who's getting the most notification before giggling to himself as he picks up his phone.

“Congratulations noona.” He says, making Taehyung stop drying your hair to jog towards Jimin and look over his shoulder.

Taehyung began to gloat about how he ‘knew it’ but it all faded into the background as Jimin turns his phone towards you to show a flustered Hoseok, smiling shyly with the ends of his hair bleached as a hand that seems like Jungkook’s buried into his sleep-mused hair as he looked away.

“I knew it! I told you all it was twin mirror in the first place and nobody believed me!”

“You were telling them to cut their hair or get injured, of course no one would listen.” Jimin deadpanned.

“If you had only trusted my intuition!” Taehyung chided.

Jimin continued to scroll on his phone and you reached for your own phone to face the chaos happening in the group chat when Namjoon's voice echoed in the small space of the bathroom.

“You three better prepare an explanation later when we get there and I better hear something good from you all.”

_______

Namjoon really doesn't know what to do with you.

It has been weeks since Jungkook's birthday and the soulmarks’ manifestation yet he seems to always find himself either awkwardly hovering behind you or staring at you for an inappropriate amount of time as he pondered over the words he wanted to say.

(Not that they mattered anyways, he always ended up tongue tied in front of you.)

They could demand him to convince a businessman to stop running his factories that's effectively harming the environment or to convert an iPhone enthusiast into a Samsung user, yet all of those would be miles easier than knowing how he should treat you.

Should he follow the footsteps of the men in romance novels and movies with the bouquet of flowers, lingering touches and constant reminders of their love for their woman or should he be normal?

But what is the definition of normal in the context of relationships and how you treat your soulmate anyways?

What even is considered as normal in something that sounded so impossible to be real like a fated spiritual connection between people?

Suddenly, he was reminded of the night the mark manifested.

The chaos and the raised voices as his brothers clamoured over each other's opinions on how to proceed with the newfound connections. Namjoon could almost feel the rattling headache he had back then, could even remember the sobering realization as he watched as the rest of the original four soulmates—not including him, he was busy massaging his forehead as a bad headache formed at the front of his skull—actively debated against one another.

He recalled thinking how no man would fight so valiantly for a woman this passionately if they weren't interested in them romantically.

He saw this behavior from the men surrounding him growing up from his friends, his teachers, his classmates to even his cousins and uncles. Namjoon has read of the bloody wars waged for rare beauties and love before then. To be greedy and wanting to capture and have something shiny is human nature, it's ingrained into man’s programming.

Even then, seeing it happen before him surprised him.

Seeing his brother clamor over each other—while more respectful than you'd expect from four guys being tethered to one girl— he remembered thinking: Am I the only guy who never thought of you as a romantic partner?

Namjoon had always thought of you as one of his dearest and closest friends. If he was to put you in a tier, you'd sit next to his family, and the group. You've always been someone he could trust with his worries about fame and the pressure from leading six men and their company to the top. You might be one of his friends but you were special to him, just a little like his brothers, if not more…

Special? Would that be the correct term to describe how he thinks of you?

Sure he had found himself subjected to your warm hugs and a couple forehead kisses—and maybe cheeks too—but all of them were platonic.

At least, that's what he thinks.

Women hugged and gave each other cheek or forehead kisses, it was to show their appreciation through actions. Surely it can also apply to male and female relationships without the romantic context like they do too?

(Namjoon would think back to this day later on and scream profanities into his pillow, embarrassed by his stupidity)

Having to see you sit on the floor next to Taehyung and Jimin had distracted him more than he wanted to. Even when he had scolded the twins from your trips before, he never had to sit you down to reprimand you for encouraging or letting them do all the mischief their heart could ever want.

He’s seen how his dad treated his mother, and he sure as hell hasn't seen his father ever scold his mother.

So when one of their bodyguards, Beomseok, came and said you needed to pick your and Jin’s dinner, he was relieved. He didn’t want to show any favoritism towards you just because of your spiritual connection with him—not that anyone would be upset by this but he’d like to make it fair for everyone in the nexus.

Namjoon waited until you were out of the room before turning back to the troublesome twins who just raised their hands above their heads once again.

“Hyung.” Tae began.

“I don't want to hear your excuses, Tae.” Namjoon sighed, massaging the space between his eyebrows. “While I appreciate you all for helping Hobi to figure out what soulmark he has with noona, would it hurt for you three to do it while we're all in the hotel?”

This soulmate thing atop of his duty as the group's leader might be enough to make him volunteer for a cryogenic sleep pod experimentation. He could use a decade or century long sleep to heal from the heavy mental toll from leading six men and a company to where they are now.

Be a leader, they said.

Being a leader would be mentally stimulating enough, sure! he had replied, stupidly.

“We learned something from noona earlier.” Tae said, effectively catching his attention. When Namjoon said nothing, he continued. “Apparently, she and her ex used to go to the same school together but the weird thing is, they never saw each other despite being in the council at the same time.”

“What are you getting at, Tae?” Namjoon asks.

“Doesn't it feel like a drama-esque cliche where he followed her through adulthood then struck when the opportunity came?”

“I think you've watched too many dramas and read too many comics, Tae.” Jimin giggled lightheartedly. “Your imagination is getting a little creative.”

“No but seriously, I have a bad feeling about this.” Tae insisted and Namjoon almost believed the determined sheen of his eyes if it wasn't for the steadily slow descent of his raised arms. “I’ve always said that he's got the facial structure of a manipulator, even got those hollow and tilted eyes of a creep!”

As much as he likes to entertain every absurd and out-of-the-box idea of Taehyung, there still exists a line where his imagination reaches the point of impossible and frankly, nonsensical. Coincidences exist, and are unpredictable and sudden, there's nothing he can do much about it.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “You're still hung up on that?”

“Let's not speculate, it's most likely a coincidence.” Namjoon interrupts before the twins can begin their banter.

“Of course I am! There's definitely something off about that guy!” Taehyung insisted.

Namjoon sighed, already noticing the boxy-smiled boy’s hand slowly fall to his sides. “Tae, don't think for one second that I'm not noticing you slowly letting your arms down.”

“Can I put my arms down, hyung? I was the one who suggested bleaching the tips of noona's hair instead.” Jimin asks with his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes rounded and glossy as it stared back at him. “Could you imagine if I had let them—”

“No, keep those arms up and repent.”

_______

Staring at the burly man walking in front of you, you began to wonder if his excuse has any credibility behind it.

Beomseok, although a new hire, has quickly become one of your close work friends when he had saved you from an insistent visitor in the BigHit building back in August. It was easy to feel endeared towards a man who looks all intimidating with the tattoos, muscles bulging out of his shirts, and a buzz cut but in actuality has a heart softer than a well-oiled machine and carries the scent of coconuts with him. There is no doubting how safe you feel with him but Seokjin would never ask to save you from Namjoon’s scolding, if anything, he'd be scolding Namjoon for even including you.

“Did Seokjin really call for me?” You asked Beomseok.

The man shook his head. “Someone did call you, but it's not Seokjin. Yoongi had asked me to retrieve and walk you to your room. Said it was better to have Namjoon face a stranger than his band members so he'd let you go without question.”

“Guess I'll be thanking him then?”

“Not a thanks for me?” He asked with a playful lilt in his voice.

Stopping next to him, you then bowed low at the man with hands folded over your abdomen, surprising the man who had jumped at the sudden action.

“Thank you o’ benevolent god Beomseok for saving a poor soul like I from the impending doom that is Namjoon's scolding.”

“Stop that! Oh my god!” Beomseok says as he wildly motions his hands for you to raise your head.

When you looked back up again, the man had a flush of pink dusting his cheeks as he looked away and scratched his nape. Seeing Beomseok, with his muscles proudly bulging out of the black uniform shirt he's wearing and skin designed with loud and bold tattoos, acting shy and faint-hearted, you laughed.

It was unreal how a man almost thrice your size could easily remind you of a shy kid.

“Are you seriously getting shy over that? What's so embarrassing about me expressing my gratitude?”

“I-I don't even know myself.”

“How else can I express my gratitude towards you then?”

He stops and you finally realise that the both of you had finally arrived at the door of your room.

“Buy me lunch tomorrow? I heard they're serving pizzas and carbonara tomorrow.” He offered, voice weak as he shyly scratched his cheeks.

“Deal!”

_______

Your night had continued on with no more excitement for as long as you and Jimin could last without being in the presence of each other. So for a long while after today, the energy winds down to a calm and you find yourself scrolling through your naver feed to catch up on news and celebrity gossip you had missed earlier while you were getting your hair dyed.

It wasn’t until the last minute before the effects of soulbond strain kicked in did Jimin stroll into your room with a pillow in tow and dressed in a hoodie dwarfing his figure matched with a Red Bulls basketball shorts.

Closing the door behind him, a soft smile grows on his face. “Hi noona.”

“Hello Jiminie.”

“I need my noona time before Jungkook follows, I think he wants to start his day a little too early.” He says before throwing himself to the empty spot next to you and pulling up his phone to scroll through his own feed like old time.

It takes him a minute before he's linking his arm with yours, another to have him throw his leg on top of yours before he eventually molds into your side. Healing touch thrummed happily under your skin from the proximity and you find yourself melting in his arms not a second later.

This was the position Jungkook and Hoseok found you both in when they eventually entered the room. Without hesitation, they joined you both with Jungkook taking your other side while Hoseok had snuggled up behind Jimin.

“Look at how cute you and Hobi are with the matching hair!” Jungkook points out, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger before he reaches for the hand holding your phone where the music note tattoo is engraved to the side of your finger. “Can I borrow your hand for a little while, noona? I miss feeling connected to you.”

Switching your phone over to the other, you took his hand in yours and entangled your fingers with him. Cold shivers racked through your body as two soulmarks resonated within you, catching the attention of your soulmates.

The Bangtan pile only grew when the rest of the boys poured into the room with Seokjin tugging Namjoon inside.

Seokjin occupied the spot behind Jungkook, but not without the maknae teasing him when the bed had creaked while Yoongi pulled the chair by the large window pane to sit next to the overflowing bed before opening his laptop and putting his headphones on.

Namjoon followed the older rapper's actions when he had occupied the floor next to the bed, and Taehyung threw himself in the space between Seokjin and Jungkook, to the dismay of the two men.

There's not a single word in the English nor any language’s dictionary that could ever describe the comfort and security you felt being surrounded by your soulmates. No matter how much the ugly head of insecurity whispers about how you don't deserve any of them, it was futile to deny the bond you shared with the boys.

You had begun to get used to the electric sensation Taehyung and Jimin's touch evokes, the constant feeling of Yoongi's presence lingering in the background through the red string, and the faint pulse of Namjoon's heartbeat yet you couldn't even imagine how you had lived for so long without the pulls and the sensations having soulmates has given you.

To be parted from your soulmarks would be like tearing an organ out of you.

It might be overwhelming with all the information your mind and body is receiving from having seven soulmarks but you couldn't trade for the word.

Come the day you lose the calmness from their touch and the constant reminders of their presence in the background, you might find yourself a husk of a human with no more purpose to live in the world.

With Namjoon's calm heartbeat in your ears, the thrum of Jimin and Jungkook's soulmark, and the one-sided activation of your and Yoongi's red string of fate, you let the newfound drowsiness take over you. The sound of your friends’ hushed chatters fade into the background as your eyes fall to a close, the romance comic on your phone blurring.

Someone took the phone from your hand and you vaguely felt a pair of plush lips pressed into your temples before you last heard a sweet whisper in your ear.

“Sleep well noona.”

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amethystwrytes · 11 months ago

Text

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum.

“Can you stop please?”

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands.

“...Sorry…”

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade.

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber.

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign.

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse.

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you.

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes.

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room.

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again.

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again.

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?”

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.”

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.”

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.”

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks.

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation.

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something.

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk.

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.”

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.”

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not.

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.”

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?”

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter.

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump.

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.”

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing.

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?”

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk.

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?”

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.”

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes.

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic.

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.”

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates.

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff.

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.”

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down.

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.”

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.”

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.”

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers.

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.”

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains.

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief.

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?”

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.”

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses.

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer.

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles.

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him.

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.”

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it.

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases.

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh.

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him.

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on.

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile.

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out.

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg.

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?”

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.”

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself.

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable.

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again.

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades.

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee.

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up.

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack.

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing.

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment.

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle.

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease.

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head.

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit.

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat.

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side.

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment.

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?”

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself.

“Never something you what?” he presses.

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.”

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.”

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him.

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares.

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves.

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.”

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.”

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs.

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego.

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins.

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder.

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle.

“Is this your building?” he points.

“Yes, it is.”

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers.

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder.

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard.

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today.

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through.

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag.

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished.

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.”

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes.

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.”

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks.

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.”

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.”

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.”

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!”

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door.

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying.

“Already?” he looks at you.

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.”

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him.

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon.

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?”

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly.

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.”

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?”

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone.

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask.

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares.

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.”

“Good, shall we?”

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?”

“No.”

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back.

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?”

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down.

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles.

“I’ll get those right out.”

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown.

“Is everything alright?” you ask.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.”

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.”

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.”

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?”

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.”

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?”

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly.

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table.

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?”

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon.

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.”

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu.

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.”

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug.

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse.

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door.

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away.

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again.

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues.

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing.

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth.

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?”

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips.

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car.

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.”

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in.

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition.

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up.

“Uh…mine… mine I think.”

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him.

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness.

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric.

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?”

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist.

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel.

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans.

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably.

“God…”

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking.

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily.

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.”

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth.

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road.

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours.

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely.

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth.

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?”

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs.

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease.

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.”

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!”

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room.

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips.

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer.

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs.

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt.

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you.

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…”

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly.

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again.

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs.

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again.

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind.

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it.

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster.

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts.

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest.

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands.

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.”

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?”

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.”

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you.

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.”

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully.

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

#skz fanfiction #Lee know fanfiction #skz smut #lee know smut #Lee Minho #skz romance #Lee know romance #Lee Know x reader #fanfiction #stray kids

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therobbycuepitt · 1 month ago

Note

Robby comforting a chubby reader (resident, nurse, whoever) who got ridiculed by a patient or something and they kiss and then it turns into affirmation sex because I’m a sucker for soft sex. Maybe there was building tension before this but reader didn’t want to fool themselves with hopeless feelings.

warnings: not proofread or spellchecked, verbal abuse on reader by a patient, smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!)

i would've loved to make a whole build up to this but im short on time 🙇

"If you'd stop staring, that would be nice," you mutter under your breath while Robby passes behind you at the central bay. He settles next to you, elbows resting on the island, bumping against yours.

"Why do you let it get to you?" you roll your eyes, thinking about the altercation with a rude patient earlier.

"I don't," you sigh, tapping your fingers against the tablet. 'Does she sit around all day? I thought people around here cared about their wellbeing'

"No, but you actually do," he says, not trying to antagonize you, but just curious. 'She looks like she needs more help than I do.'

"Are you trying to argue with me or make me feel good?"

"Both."

"Look, people are assholes these days. And some days, it hits harder than it should. I'm not letting it ruin the rest of my shift. I'm focused, if that's what you're concerned about," you grind out finally setting down the damn device that had a patient's chart you never bothered to read.

"Follow me for a sec," he whispers, nudging you with his elbow, jutting his head to the side. You both walk slowly to an empty observation room, he closes the door behind you.

"Tell me what you heard them say," you scoff at the absurdity of his ask. Whatever you heard today doesn't deserve your time or acknowledgement. Robby softly places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs lightly rubbing circles. Your eyes meet with his in confusion while he looks at you with soft concern.

Then it breaks. You sound off on every last foul detail you've heard coming from the patient's mouth. Every dirty look they gave you while you tried to perform the best care without having to lose your temper. You got so into it that you didn't even notice your voice shook and tears were free falling from your eyes. Robby's hands pulled you closer and came to cup your cheeks to wipe off every drop.

His warm breath fanned your wet cheeks. The next contact was something you didn't expect--his lips. His lips pressed to each cheek, over each eyelid, on your forehead, til they reached the corner of yours. It was like something snapped in you; hands reaching for his, you angle your face to fully press your lips to his. You both don't move from the contact immediately, but like he sensed your own feelings, his lips moved over yours, taking you in deeper. One hand still on your cheek and the other moved to the back of your neck, you kiss with heated hunger. Your hands grip the front of his scrubs before pulling away breathless.

You stare at eachother with eyes filled with shock and want.

You leave him standing there, rushing to the door trying to believe what just happened was real. You don't look back, falling into the steady flow of the ED and blocking away the last two hours of your shift.

"Headin' home?" Robby asks as you pass him by the exit. You nod and give him a small wave, focusing on your long route back to your apartment. "I can give you a ride, if you want?"

Quickly thinking of the pros and cons, you follow him to his car--silent steps interrupt the sound of wind and traffic. He opens the passenger door for you, bowing his head when you thank him. Your eyes follow him til he walks to the driver's side and tosses his bag to the back seat.

Your hand shoots out to his that was about to start the engine. "Thank you," your voice comes out small, clearing your throat, you say with more confidence, "I-I think I needed that."

"You deserve more than that," his voice deep and full of understanding. His brown eyes, those deep brown eyes, looked at you like he could see everything you want to show but can't put into words or actions. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it, not letting go, the thick hairs of his beard nuzzle against your skin, making you think back to the kiss.

"This body haunts me--every night, in my dreams. Just wanting to know how the real thing feels. Nobody should ever make you feel it isn't perfect," he confesses against your skin, kissing it again. His lips climb higher up your hand, to your arm, then shoulder, when his beard tickles the side of your neck, you try to suppress a moan. His lips replace tongue and teeth at the side of your neck at the feeling of your pulse quickening by his touch, your moans fill the small confines of his car.

"Tell me to stop,"

"Tell me to stop, and I'll do it," he says, breathing harder. Your voice come out weak and breathless, with a single word whispered: 'Don't'.

Leaning towards him, you shift your legs to climb over the console and settle on his lap. The back rest clicks when you reach for the button and you push him down. Lips molding together with recklessness, his hands find your waist, gripping and guiding them down to grind yourself on him. His hardness pressed onto your cunt, feeling him almost fully with the thin fabric that separates you.

"Fuck I don't deserve this. You're perfect." You move your hips faster. You bury your face in his neck, feeling so overwhelmed by the sensation.

You cry in pleasure as his hand takes the back of your head and grips your hair.

"Eyes on me," he says, voice steady and in control. You obey and almost come undone but he tugs on your hair again. Pushing his pants down to his knees, he quickly helps you out of yours, letting you settle back on his lap. His hand reaches under your shirt and roughly pulls your breasts free from your bra. His big rough hands massage your chest while you reach down to take his hard cock in your hand.

Precum already coating his tip, you rub it all over his curved member before guiding him to your entrance. The feeling of your wetness on his tip sends Robby into a frenzy, head tilting back and hands squeezing your breasts tighter as you sink down on him.

You thighs begin to shake when you fully bottom down. You ride him slow to adjust yourself to his width, feeling the tip of his cock brush the deepest part of you.

"Let go, baby. I want to hear how you feel so good," he begs, letting you know he's just as close as you are. Your hips move faster, letting his hands guide your thrusts to meet his--the car rocks with the strong movement.

"Say it. Say you deserve this. Say you deserve to get fucked liked this," he pants out, thumb helping you reach your climax, rubbing circles on your clit. Your moan turns into a yelp at the overstimulation.

"Fuck, Ro-Robby--Michael, I deserve this. I deserve to be fucked like t-this,"

"So fucking perfect for me. I want to hear your beautiful voice when you come, baby. Will you give me that?"

"God, yes!" your thrusts lose tempo and jerk when you finally orgasm, clenching around him in quick pulses. Robby groans at the sensation, your soft walls squeezing him so perfectly, making him chase his own high, thrusting up to you in quick motion.

"Come inside me, Michael," you whisper against his neck. He brushes the stray locks of hair covering your face, trying to confirm what he'd just heard.

"I want to feel all of you," you say and kiss him with fever. He can feel you walls contract around him again while he quickens his pace. He comes with you with a choked groan and a curse, gripping your ass as his hips shudder with shaky movement as he empties himself in you. You stay connected, fully flushed together trying to calm down at the best high you've ever experienced.

He skillfully lifts you off him and puts your underwear back on you, helping you settle back to the passenger side. You both get dressed slowly.

Still feeling his cum inside you leaking and ruining your panties, you feel the car start and let Michael take you back to his place.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfic #michael robinavitch #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x reader #robby x reader #robby x you #michael robinavitch fanfic #michael robinavich x reader #michael robinavitch x you #robbycue dish

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emmyrosee · 1 year ago

Note

Suguwara with 8!!!

8 with sugawara… confessions 🥺🫶🏻

He stands in front of your locker for a concerning amount of time, fiddling with the note in his hand as he ponders the pros and cons of confessing to you.

Pro: you’ll say yes.

Con: you’ll say no, laugh at him, dump your milk on his head and walk away with no regard.

Koushi doesn’t know if he should risk it. After all, you have known each other for years, who would he be to ruin such a stable friendship with feeling that may or may not be reciprocated?

“Koushi?” Your voice snaps him back to reality, and he fists his note in his hand sharply. “You’ve been standing in front of my locker for the past five minutes. Everything okay?”

He says nothing. His mouth feels cottony and dry, and when he tried to choke out words, they only come out as squeaks. His brain decides to shove the note at you, his cheeks blazing with nerves and his hands trembling as he holds it. You smile softly and take the folded note from him, unfolding it and flicking your eyes up at him.

“Koushi,” you begin, and he could throw up right now. This is it, the rejection, the heartbreak, the betrayal- “I know.”

You what. “You what?”

You snicker, “I know; Daichi told me.”

Traitor. Koushi sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Dont- he saved our friendship,” you say, smiling sweetly. “I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore, with how you were avoiding me. I was so hurt, until he told me.”

He swallows thickly- you thought he didn’t want to be friends? That’s the last thing he wanted! Especially if it was hurting you, and-

“What’re you doing?”

“Reading the confession.”

“Dont!” He whines, making a mad dash for the letter, which you expertly flick out of his grip. “I didn’t know you knew, it’s so embarrassing!”

“It’s cute!” You giggle, avoiding his grabs. “Gotta kiss me if you want it back.” He tenses up and his cheeks blaze again, and you laugh and ruffle his hair, “I’m kidding. I’d be an asshole to pressure you into kissing me.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughs, letting you pull him into a hug, your arms tossing around his neck. “I feel the same way, Koushi. I accept your confession.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes,” you snicker. “More than you know.”

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with-my-calamitous-love · 3 months ago

Text

and i know i make the same mistakes every time / least i did one thing right

k. bakugou x reader

the trials and tribulations of loving japan’s fiery, #1 pro hero. pros and cons format, headcanons light nsfw but nothing too explicit, for his birthday ·˚ ༘

·˚ ✎ i have another bk x reader in the drafts but that one is very sad and angsty and i wanted to have a less heartbreaking one for his birthday so here it is (😭🤍)

song: call it what you want

pro: he spoils you

in more ways than just money or materialism. emotionally, he's there. he's so much more attentive than people give him credit for, knowing your little anxious fidgets or little details even you forget. the entire world could be calling you a liar, and he'd see the truth in you.

and physically? he's passionately rough, skin welding into yours, lips grazing your soul, fingers finding all those right places. he has one of two ways of acting in bed: either he's looking into your eyes, lips and tongue working in a perfect melody over your skin, drawing out every gasp from your lips. or, he's practically crushing you between himself and the mattress, making you forget your own name, never daring to stop until the sun comes up.

his love language is acts of service. he'll scoff in annoyance or groan when he holds your bags for you, opens each door and lets you sit in the passenger seat while he drives. he roll his eyes at your "dumb" gifts while he religiously wears the bright pink heart bracelet you got him some time ago. he'd never let you know it, but he's wrapped around your finger. he lives to see your smile. he knows that he's made mistakes, some of them over and over again, but he thinks of you as the one thing he's done right.

"you didn't have to do this." words that fall deaf on his ears as he hands you a bouquet of flowers, surprising you at work. though the surprise part was ruined, considering you could hear the sounds of him shrugging off and yelling at reporters while heading to you. he can deal with the flame, but not when it prevents him from seeing you.

"yeah yeah, just take them. your office needs it." he feigns irritation while pressing a kiss to your head. "dinner's on me tonight."

con: he has a temper

this is obvious. even years after graduating and making a name for himself, you have moments you remember UA high school student katsuki bakugou: the guy who'd call everyone extras because he didn't bother to learn anyone's names. the guy who was muzzled after winning the sports festival because if they didn't, he'd still be kicking and swinging. they guy who is mildly angry on a good day, and dangerously fuming two minutes after.

its one thing you've learned to love about him. he's a guard dog, barking and snapping at anyone who dares to even think badly of you. if he could be summed up in one word, it'd be protector. he'd give up a limb before giving you up, and act offended by the idea that he'd do anything else in that situation.

but similarly, its something both you and him feel exhausted over at times. you may truly be the only person in the world who can deal with him, even when he's saying fuck in every other sentence and his voice goes up 3 decibels. he respects you for it, but won't deny the pinch of guilt in his chest when he sees you taking a deep breath, summoning patience for his impatience.

he isn't sure why you put up with him. but he knows better than to question something he doesn't want to lose.

4 hours after an explosive argument, katsuki comes back to your bedroom. you can tell by his hair and wrinkled clothes that he's been tossing and turning on the couch. and katsuki can most definitely afford good furniture, which means the source of his insomnia is guilt- not bad cushioning.

sometimes, he apologizes like he's practiced and rehearsed it in his heard. for once, he's filtering himself, thinking of what he's saying, because what you hear matters to him. more than anything else does. "you didn't deserve to be yelled at. i'm sorry."

are you still angry? yes. do you miss laying your head on his chest in bed? also, yes.

pro: he’s loyal

the truth is, katsuki could have anyone he wants. models, actresses, other glamorous heroes like him. he's loved and adored and idolized by every flashing camera in the world. but all of that fades to nothing when he looks at you, knowing he already has everything.

his devotion to you is endless, even himself wondering how far he'd go to protect you. he knows deep down that his loves reaches till the end of the world. because with you? he has a reason to push through rubble and flames and blood, to put his life on the line each day, and to watch orange incandescence emerge from his palms and into the sky. hero work means nothing without purpose. you give that reason a whole new meaning.

he has a necklace he never told you about, just something he let you figure out on his own. it was brought to your attention after seemingly everyone on instagram was on some kind of mission to decode the silver letters he wore in a delicate chain around his neck, wanting to decipher what they mean. and when you do find out? he says nothing, just pulls you closer kisses your temple.

"i want one now.' you smile, eyes misty from the gesture. "with your initials."

"yeah, yeah, idiot. you have my card."

con: he’s insecure

and its something that no one would ever even guess about him. how could he, the up and coming number 1 hero, the most dedicated, handsome, strong person in the world, possibly be insecure?

he's used to being a tank, taking hits and punches and fatalities, walking it off before heading back into battle. he's conditioned to ignore the purple arising to the surface of his skin and the cracks in his bones that continue to grow. but you see it in the way he stays up at night, looking up at the ceiling, wondering which day will be his last if he dares to blink and be anything less than perfect. or when he keeps the shower running cold, like trying to wash out those sticky, gloomy thoughts that penetrate his head. he's the best. he's supposed to be the best. what if one day, he suddenly wasn't?

oh, and the reason katsuki knows how to deal with panic attacks is because he's had so many of his own. even after recovering, they've gotten worse after the war. if its not doubts, its memories of the pain, of the blood he didn't realize he could lose, the life he lost for a heartbeat. he knows death. but it isn't his own death that scares him. the thought of losing anyone else to that fate is the worst possible thing that could ever happen to him.

"told you i'm fine." he utters, cocking his head to you as he gets into bed. nobody died, and his agency wrote it off as a miscalculation, but he almost broke down in the shower after he failed to prevent a fatal accident while on patrol.

"its just me and you here." your voice mellows over his hidden anxieties, like honey. the breath he lets out his shakier than he'd like it to be as he starts to open up.

pro: everything he is, is yours

sometimes he wonders what exactly he's able to offer you. a nice life, for starters. protection and security. but beyond that, katsuki looks at you and finally understands why people lost their minds and fought wars. he understands the nervousness, the anticipation, the longing.

he looks at you, and then himself. at his hypothetical or factual shortcomings and imperfections. he sees them and wants to keep growing, to keep getting better until he deserves you. he’s always lived to be the best. but now he lives to be the best, for you.

and at the end of the day, he has nothing to prove. he’s already everything. the world can call it what the want.

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springtyme · 10 months ago

Note

Hi love! I'm not feeling good and have been kinda down so I was wondering if you could write a sweet spencer x fem reader where she's usually the tough one but she goes through a loss and he finds her crying alone in the dark in the office and just comforts her

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun <3 I'm so sorry to hear that you are feeling down. I hope some Spencer comfort might help a little <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: It is not unusual for Spencer to stay late at the office. What is unusual, however, is finding you crying in the conference room.

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: Hurt/comfort. Grief and mourning. Loss of a family member. Spencer being the sweetest. Mutual pining.

The dim glow of the office lights flicker softly in the nearly empty room, casting long shadows that dance against the walls. It is late, far past the hour when most of the BAU team had called it a night. The constant hum and buzz that usually fills the air of the bullpen has faded into a profound silence, leaving only the delicate, rhythmic sound of paper rustling everytime Spencer turns a page of the pile of reports in front of him.

It is not unusual that he stays late to finish his work; in fact, it has become somewhat of a routine, maybe not the most healthy one, but he cherishes the quiet of the after-hours; it is a time when he can think without the distractions of the day, his thought pattern getting the opportunity to fully unfold with uninterrupted clarity.

He stretches his long limbs, feeling the fatigue settle into his bones as he takes a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of stale coffee, and the lingering smell of old paper.

As he leans back in his chair, his gaze lands on the clock on the wall, its clock hands ticking steadily, the sound echoing in the emptiness. It’s late, and he knows he should call it a night, but there’s a stubborn part of him that clings to the work. He eyes the stack of reports one more time, each file holding the remnants of cases that had left their mark on him—cases that never truly leave him, echoing in his mind long after the team has moved on.

The clock ticks monotonously, each passing second weighing heavily upon him. Pushing away from the desk, he stands up, stretching again to relieve the tension that has built in his shoulders. He should really call it a night. He begins packing up his things, methodically sliding reports into a neat pile and shutting down his computer. The soft whirring of the cooling fan fades into silence as the screen goes dark, mirroring the dim ambiance of the office. He tosses his pen into the collection of writing utensils, a small victory for tidiness amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

With a deep sigh, he slings his messenger bag over one shoulder, the slight squeak of the rubber soles of his sneakers on the polished floor the only sound in the quiet office as he leaves the bullpen. The silence envelops him, the weight of solitude pressing in from all sides as he walks through the dark, empty building. As he makes his way past the break room, he considers stopping for one last cup of coffee before his drive home, even though he fully knows that what his body doesn’t need right now is more caffeine. What he needs is sleep, and a reprieve from the steady hum of his thoughts. But his change for a somewhat decent sleep this night has long passed.

But his internal debate about the pros and cons of indulging in his coffee craving comes to a full stop as he walks past the conference room. The door is slightly ajar, and a faint light spills out into the dark hallway, accompanied with a faint sound—a soft, muffled whimper.

Spencer’s heart tightens in his chest at the sound as he instinctively makes his way toward the door. Pushing it open cautiously, he peeks inside, his breath catching in his throat at the scene before him. The sight that greets him tugs painfully at his heart—it’s you, sitting on the cold floor of the conference room, shoulders shaking with hushed sobs, your usually strong demeanor momentarily shattered to pieces.

You, the one who always has the right answer, the sharpest wit, and a comforting strength that seems to radiate outwards, are curled up in the corner, your back against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest and your face half hidden in your hands, tears silently tracing paths down your cheek. The usually composed agent, known for your bravery and unbreakable spirit, now lost and broken. It pierce through him like a knife.

He remembers how you had arrived at the BAU two years ago with a fierce determination, melding graceful resilience with an unyielding strength that never fails to inspire those around you. Whether confronting hard truths or providing support to your teammates, you are always a pillar of strength—invincible in the face of adversity. It was something Spencer couldn’t help but deeply admire, and as he has gotten to know you over the last two years, he finds himself constantly drawn to and captivated by that strength as well as your kindness.

He approaches cautiously, his heart twisting with a painful empathy. The sight of you right now is such a stark contrast to the strong, independent woman he’s come to know, and despite his slightly reserved nature and the hesitant fear of intruding, he feels a strong surge of protectiveness as he watches you now.

He says your name softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him to give you a semblance of privacy. “Hey…” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, infused with a mix of concern and warmth. He takes a step closer, his heart aching as he watches you react to his voice—your head snaps up, wide eyes red-rimmed and swollen, a stark contrast to your usual bright gaze.

For a short moment you’re just frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your gaze searching his face, grappling with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. It’s a moment poised on the knife's edge, and Spencer holds his breath, afraid to disrupt the fragile atmosphere.

Then you blink rapidly, and wipe hastily at your cheeks, trying to regain your composure and to erase any trace of your tears, but the effort only makes it worse, as if the floodgates threaten to open wide once more—the walls have come crashing down, and he can see the vulnerability you usually keep so well-hidden.

He takes another cautious step closer, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly vast, despite the small space of the room. “Can I sit?” he asks gently, indicating the floor beside you. You nod slightly, and he settles onto the cool surface, instinctively mirroring your posture. The silence drapes between you like a thin veil, both comforting and heavy. He doesn’t rush you; there is an unspoken understanding that you need this space to gather your thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally offers, his voice softening into a whisper as he looks into your eyes, searching for an answer, however small. Your gaze drifts, focusing on the ground between you, words trapped beneath the weight of your sorrow.

“I—” you start, but the words crumple like dried leaves in your throat, too fragile to escape. You take a sharp breath, the air trembling slightly as it fills your lungs. The vulnerability in your eyes pulls at him, deepening the ache in his chest, and he feels an overwhelming urge to reach out—to comfort you, to tell you that it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. “I lost someone,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with the depth of your pain. The admission hangs in the air, heavy and tangible, as Spencer processes your words, his heart sinking in solidarity.

“My aunt—she was the one who raised me after…” You pause, your voice quivering, unable to continue. “She was my everything.”

Spencer’s brow furrows, understanding flooding his features. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs softly. “That must be so hard.”

You nod slowly, tears spilling once more, but they feel different now. They aren’t just tears of sorrow; they’re also tears of release. “I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but… I don’t know,” you choke out, words mixing with your quiet sobs. You wipe at your cheeks, but it only seems to make it worse. “I thought I could be there for everyone else, but now… I feel so lost.”

Spencer glances down, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows all too well that grief can shape-shift the toughest person into someone fragile, and he admires your bravery more than he can express. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he offers gently. “It’s okay to feel lost. Grief… it isn’t something that can be carried alone. It’s… it’s a process.”

You look at him. Spencer feels the weight of your gaze, your eyes searching his with a mix of relief and uncertainty. His heart swells with a desire to be there for you, to provide whatever comfort he can in this moment of vulnerability. Something about your anguish makes him want to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain. Spencer shifts closer, an instinctive act of solidarity. “Can I?” he asks, hesitating as he gently rests a hand on your back, his touch light but reassuring. Without any hesitation, you lean into him.

Spencer feels the warmth of your presence as you lean against him, the soft weight of your body a tangible confirmation that you’re letting him in—allowing him to share in your pain, and comfort you. He is not the most used to physical contact like this, but he can’t help but think it is nice at this moment, even though it feels like a pretty selfish thought right now. He just feels an overwhelming sense of purpose wash over him.

As you lean into him, Spencer feels an incredible gravity, both weighty and reliving as you let yourself breakdown in his arms. The scent of your hair, hair, something soft and familiar, fills his senses, grounding him in this moment. For a while, there is only the sound of your quiet sobs. He simply sits with you, holding you, letting you grieve and waits till you are ready to speak again. He can feel the shudders of your breath against his side as your sobs slowly begin to cease.

You let out a shaky breath, a sound that lingers between vulnerability and relief. “I don’t know how to navigate this… I feel like I’m drowning,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, yet so filled with longing for understanding. “I just feel so lost.”

Spencer nods slowly, letting your words settle between you. “You’re not alone in this,” he reassures you softly, leaning slightly closer. “It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel lost.” He pauses, looking into your eyes with sincerity. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for anyone, least of all for me. I feel lost all the time.”

“How do you get through it?” you question, your voice quavering with a sense of seeking. Your vulnerability is evident, and Spencer takes a moment, considering your question as he searches for the right words.

“I let myself be sad,” he finally replies softly, his voice almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret. It’s not a profound revelation, but it’s the truth.

“I guess I’m just so used to being the anchor for everyone else, you know?” you whisper, lifting your chin slightly to meet his gaze. “And I miss her, Spence. I miss her so much. She was my anchor.”

Spencer feels the weight of your words press heavily against his heart, he holds you a little tighter again. Your pain resonates within him. Silence envelops you both, as you take a deep breath, letting your conversation and stillness of the room resonate around you.

“What was she like? Your aunt?” Spencer’s voice finally breaks the silence.

“She was… everything,” you say. “Always the one with a joke to lighten the mood, a listening ear no matter how busy life got. Even when things were tough, she always managed to find a silver lining. And she was so strong, and so smart. She was the toughest, most resilient, yet the most gentle and kindest person I’ve ever known.” Your voice has restored some of its usual strength and spark as you talk about her.

“She sounds just like you,” Spencer says softly, a small, encouraging smile tugging at his lips.

You glance up at him, the corner of your mouth faintly lifting too. “She always said that strength isn’t just about being tough—it’s about knowing when to lean on others,” you express, your voice steadier now as memories of your aunt, filled with warmth and love, wash over you. “I wish I’d listened more when she said that.”

Spencer nods thoughtfully, absorbing your words as they hang in the air. The soft light spills around you, illuminating the moment as you share this piece of yourself—your pain and love for someone who shaped who you are.

A bittersweet yet comfortable silence falls between you. Spencer shifts, adjusting his position, still holding you, as if creating an invisible barrier against the darkness outside the room that feels so vast and all-consuming.

You lean against him a little more, finding solace in his presence. “Thank you,” you softly say.

“For what?”

“For being you, for being here. You mean a lot to me, you know…”

Spencer can’t help but feel a warmth enveloping his chest at your words; he wishes he could always be that presence of comfort in your life. “You mean a lot to me too,” he adds, vulnerability threading through his otherwise composed demeanor. “And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Your gaze meets his again, and in the depths of your eyes—filled with remnants of pain mixed with newfound understanding—he sees the cracks beginning to heal. “Thank you, Spence.”

The two of you sit in that intimate silence for a while longer, until finally, he checks the clock again. “It’s late.”

You nod.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Spencer offers softly.

You take a second to contemplate his offer, Spencer can guess your considerations about his offer, the logistics of you not having your car to drive to work tomorrow, but Spencer doesn’t mind getting up earlier tomorrow to swing by your place and drive together. Eventually, you nod again, this time with a sense of quiet gratitude radiating from you.

“That would be nice.” You agree, your voice still soft, but steadier than before. A weak, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him and Spencer feels how a rush of warmth bloom in his chest.

Thank you for reading <3 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated

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