#tried a new thing with the texting and social media edit

[amyzworldds]

Part Two: Thirteen Cheers for Fourteen

Masterlist | Part 1

In a whirlwind of hate and heartbreak, Y/N, the lone female maknae of Seventeen, faces relentless backlash from fans, pushing her to leave the group and vanish abroad. After a year of silence, she returns to Korea, forging a solo path with a powerful comeback, while the thirteen boys grapple with her absence. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor, lil bit of angst

The past few months had flown by in a whirlwind for Y/N. Her solo comeback was locked and loaded—tracks mastered, choreography polished, music video edits finalized. The announcement had dropped a week ago, a sleek press release from her company that sent shockwaves through the industry. News outlets picked it up fast, headlines flashing her name: “Y/N Returns: Solo Debut Set to Redefine Her Legacy.” Carats—those who’d loved her even through the storm—flooded social media with support. “We’re so proud of you, Y/N.” “You’ve always been enough.” “Welcome back, uri maknae.” She’d scrolled through the comments late one night, her chest tight with something she hadn’t felt in years: gratitude.

Seventeen had finished their world tour a month ago, their triumphant return splashed across every K-pop platform. She’d watched clips—Seungkwan’s goofy waves to the crowd, Mingyu’s dimpled grin, Hoshi’s wild energy. They were back in Seoul now, back in the HYBE building, but their paths never seemed to cross. She’d linger by the elevators sometimes, half-hoping to hear Dino’s laugh or catch Joshua’s quiet hum, but it was always silence. She wanted to see them—God, she was ready—but the thought of texting first made her stomach twist. What if they were mad? What if they’d moved on? She’d left them without a word; maybe she’d look like a fool reaching out now.

That afternoon, she’d been halfway out the door with her manager, headed to a meeting, when she froze. “My laptop,” she muttered, patting her bag. “I left it in the practice room.”

Her manager sighed, glancing at his watch. “Hurry. I’ll wait in the car.”

She bolted back into the HYBE building, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she darted for the elevator. It dinged open just in time, and she slipped inside, tapping her foot impatiently as it climbed to the fourth floor. The practice room was down the hall—she’d grab the laptop and be out in thirty seconds. No big deal.

She shoved the door open, breathless, expecting an empty room. But then she stopped dead.

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The Seventeen practice room was a mess of noise and motion, the kind of chaos only thirteen boys could create. Hoshi and DK were mid-argument over who’d eaten the last protein bar, their voices overlapping in a ridiculous crescendo. “You’re a human vacuum, Dokyeom!” Hoshi shouted, flopping dramatically onto the floor. Vernon lounged against the mirror, scrolling his phone, while Seungkwan tried to mediate, yelling, “Can you two shut up for five seconds?” Mingyu and Jun were laughing at something on Mingyu’s phone, and Woozi sat at the table, scribbling notes for Carat Land, their annual fan event just weeks away.

They’d seen Y/N’s comeback news. It had popped up on their group chat a few days ago—Joshua had sent the link with a simple, “She’s back.” The room had gone quiet then, each of them processing it in their own way. “I’m proud of her,” Seungcheol had said, his voice firm but soft. “She’s doing it on her own terms.” Jeonghan had nodded, twisting that old “Hannie” bracelet around his wrist. “Wonder why she hasn’t said anything to us, though.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re pissed,” Dino had mumbled, kicking at the floor. “We’re not, right?”

“Never,” Mingyu had replied, his eyes sad. “She’s still our maknae.”

They’d spotted her laptop earlier—a sleek silver thing left on the bench. “Someone’s gonna come for it,” Wonwoo had said, moving it to the table. They’d assumed it was a staff member’s.

Until the door flew open.

The room fell silent, a collective breath held as thirteen pairs of eyes locked onto her. Y/N stood there, frozen in the doorway, her chest heaving from the run, her hoodie slipping off one shoulder. She looked different—her hair shorter, dyed a soft ash blonde, her face sharper but brighter, like she’d shed a layer of weight. But those eyes—wide, startled, glistening—were the same ones they’d known for a decade.

She stared back, her mouth parting slightly, no sound coming out. ascended into chaos. The boys didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched her, as stunned as she was.

“Uh…” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper, breaking the spell. She glanced at the table, spotting her laptop. “My laptop.” She stepped forward, grabbing it with shaky hands, and offered a small, nervous smile. “Sorry, I just—forgot it.” She turned to leave, her heart pounding, her feet itching to flee.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol called, his voice rough but warm, stopping her cold.

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and slowly turned back. He stood up, his eyes locked on hers, and the others followed—one by one, rising, closing the distance. She didn’t move, couldn’t, as they surrounded her.

“You’re back,” Jeonghan said, his voice soft, almost disbelieving. He reached out, hesitating, then pulled her into a hug. “God, you’re really back.”

That broke the dam. Mingyu was next, wrapping his long arms around her, lifting her off the ground slightly as he laughed, wet and shaky. “We saw the news. You’re killing it, huh?”

“Proud of you,” Joshua added, his hand resting on her shoulder, his smile gentle but teary. “So damn proud.”

Hoshi barreled in, nearly knocking her over with his hug. “You can’t just leave us hanging like that again, okay? We need updates!”

One by one, they piled on—Dino clinging to her arm, Seungkwan sobbing into her hair, Vernon ruffling it with a quiet, “Missed you, kid.” Woozi hung back, but his nod and small smile said everything. DK squeezed her hand, Jun draped an arm over her shoulders, and Wonwoo just stood close, his presence steady and sure.

Seungcheol stepped forward last, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re still ours, you know that? Doesn’t matter if you’re solo. We love you. Always will.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and the tears came—not the broken, jagged ones of before, but soft, warm ones, spilling over as she looked at them. Her boys. Her family. “I missed you,” she choked out, her voice cracking. “So much. I didn’t know how to—I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” Mingyu’s voice broke, incredulous. “You’re our maknae. We’d never.”

“We’ve been waiting,” Jeonghan said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Whenever you were ready.”

She laughed through her sobs, a shaky, real sound, and pulled them closer, the laptop forgotten on the floor. “I’m sorry I left. I just… I had to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

“Good,” Seungkwan sniffled, clinging to her. “Don’t you dare disappear again.”

They stayed like that for a long time, a tangle of arms and tears and laughter, the chaos she’d missed so fiercely. The silence was gone, replaced by their voices, their warmth. She wasn’t alone anymore.

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The day Y/N’s music video dropped, her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. She’d barely had time to process the release—her album Unraveled hitting streaming platforms, the sleek, cinematic MV racking up views—when a group chat she hadn’t opened in over a year lit up like a Christmas tree. The culprits? Her thirteen former bandmates, now self-proclaimed presidents of her fan club.

“WHERE’S OUR MERCH, Y/N?!” Hoshi’s message screamed in all caps, followed by a string of tiger emojis. “I need that hoodie with your name on it YESTERDAY.”

“Album too,” Mingyu chimed in. “Signed. Limited edition. I’m framing it.”

“Photocards!” Dino added. “I call dibs on the sparkly one.”

Y/N laughed, typing back, “You guys are ridiculous. I’ll bring stuff over later.”

“Later?!” Seungkwan wailed, voice-note dramatic as ever. “We’re dying out here! Do you know how long we’ve waited for this?!”

She showed up at the HYBE practice room that afternoon, arms loaded with a box of merch—hoodies, albums, photocards, even a few keychains she’d thrown in for fun. The door swung open, and she was met with a chorus of shrieks that could’ve shattered glass.

“IT’S HER!” Hoshi yelled, diving for the box like a kid on Christmas morning. “Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

“Chill, dude,” Mingyu said, elbowing him aside to grab a hoodie. He held it up, grinning. “Look at this—‘Y/N: Unraveled.’ I’m wearing this everywhere.”

Seungcheol snatched an album, flipping it open. “Sign it. Right here. ‘To my favorite leader, love, Y/N.’ Go.”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed a marker, scribbling personalized notes as they crowded around her. Jeonghan slid up, smirking. “Make mine pretty. Something like, ‘To the prettiest handsome man alive.’”

“Dream on,” she shot back, writing, “To Hannie oppa, don’t lose the bracelet.”

Joshua hovered politely, holding a photocard. “Can you sign this one? It’s the one where you’re winking. I’m keeping it forever.”

“Forever?” Vernon teased, snagging his own card. “I’m putting mine on my phone case. Look—bam!” He slapped it onto the back of his phone, grinning. “Now I’ve got Y/N watching my back.”

Minghao, who’d been quietly sorting through the pile, held up a hoodie with her logo and name. “This is cool,” he said, his voice soft but his eyes bright. “Sign it for me? ‘To Hao, the chillest brother.’”

“Finally, some class,” Y/N said, winking at him as she signed it. “Why can’t you all be this calm?”

“Because we’re your hype squad!” DK bellowed, pulling on a hoodie that was a size too small. “Look at me—I’m a walking billboard!”

Woozi, ever the practical one, inspected his album. “This production’s insane. Did you write all the tracks?”

“Most of them,” she said, and he nodded, impressed. “Sign mine ‘To the music genius.’ I’m stealing your tricks.”

Jun grabbed a photocard and gasped. “This one’s holographic! Y/N, you’re too cool for us now.”

“Never,” she laughed, signing it as he danced around her.

Seungkwan clutched his chest, holding up a signed album. “I’m crying. This is my most prized possession. Sign it again!”

“You’re so extra,” Wonwoo said, but he was grinning, slipping his own photocard into his wallet. “This one’s mine. No one touch it.”

Dino pounced on her next, waving a hoodie. “Sign the sleeve! I’m wearing it to carat land so everyone knows I stan you!”

She obliged, laughing as they turned the room into a fanboy frenzy—Hoshi posing with his keychain like it was a Grammy, Mingyu snapping selfies with his hoodie, Minghao twirling her keychain with a rare, goofy grin.

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That night, her phone exploded again as the boys flooded their Instagram stories. Seungcheol posted a mirror selfie with her album, captioned, “Proud leader moment. Stream Unraveled now—link in bio.” Jeonghan shared a pic of his signed bracelet note, “She’s back, and I’m crying.” Joshua’s was simple: a shot of his photocard with a heart emoji.

Mingyu went overboard—three stories in a row: him in the hoodie, him with the album, him pointing at her photocard on his phone case, “My bias forever. MV link below!” Hoshi filmed himself dancing to her title track, screaming, “Y/N, YOU’RE A LEGEND!”

DK posted a blurry selfie with her in the background, “Caught her slippin’. Support our maknae!” Seungkwan’s was a tearful video: “I’ve waited YEARS for this. Stream it or I’ll haunt you.” Vernon’s was chill—a pic of his phone case with, “She’s fire. Check it.”

Woozi shared a studio shot of him listening to her album, “Respect. Link up.” Jun posted his holographic card, “Too shiny, like her.” Wonwoo’s was a quiet flex—his wallet photocard with, “Always with me.”

Minghao, ever the aesthetic king, uploaded a minimalist shot of the keychain against a sunset, “Her vibe. Stream Unraveled.” Dino rounded it out with a hoodie selfie, “Pi Cheolin approves. Go watch the MV!”

Y/N watched it all unfold, laughing until her sides hurt, warmth spreading through her chest.

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Her first Music Bank appearance was a blur of nerves and adrenaline. She stood backstage, adjusting her mic pack, when she heard it—a roar from the crowd that sounded suspiciously familiar. Peeking out, she nearly dropped her water bottle.

All thirteen Seventeen members were in the audience, squished into the front row, waving lightsticks they’d clearly stolen from carat land prep. They were loud—louder than the actual fans.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” Hoshi chanted, jumping like a maniac. Mingyu held up a handmade sign: “OUR MAKNAE SLAYS.”

“Go off, queen!” DK hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Seungcheol, trying to keep some dignity, just clapped like a proud dad—until Seungkwan elbowed him, and he yelled, “That’s our girl!”

Jeonghan waved his lightstick with a smirk, shouting, “You’re prettier than me now!”

“Sing it, Y/N!” Joshua called, grinning ear to ear.

Vernon gave a cool nod but ruined it by screaming, “Woo!” mid-verse. Woozi whistled, sharp and piercing, while Jun and Wonwoo chanted her name in unison.

Minghao stood out, waving a glowstick with quiet intensity, then yelling, “You’re the best, Y/N!”—a rare burst of volume that made her laugh mid-note.

Dino was the loudest, bouncing on his toes. “That’s my twin maknae! Kill it!”

She nearly fumbled her choreo from giggling, but she powered through, her heart swelling. After her stage, they swarmed her backstage, sweaty and beaming.

“You were insane!” Mingyu said, pulling her into a bear hug.

“Sign my forehead next time,” Hoshi begged, pointing at his face.

“Voice was perfect,” Woozi said, nodding. “Remix collab when?”

Minghao smiled, soft but genuine. “You glowed out there. Proud of you.”

Seungcheol ruffled her hair. “Told you—you’re still ours.”

She grinned, surrounded by her thirteen fanboys, their chaos the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

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Y/N’s solo album Unraveled was a steamroller. It clung to the top of the charts like a stubborn barnacle, sold out its first run in weeks, and forced her label to scramble for new batches. Fans—especially carats—were feral, hyping her every move and dunking on her old haters with savage glee. “Where’s the ‘talentless’ crowd now, huh?” one tweeted, alongside a clip of her MV hitting million views. “Y/N’s out here proving you wrong, stay mad!” another crowed. She’d scroll through it all late at night, grinning at the chaos she’d unleashed.

The MAMA Awards rolled around, Seoul’s biggest night of glitter and glory, and Y/N was a bundle of nerves. She’d been assigned a solo seat in the third row—standard for a soloist—but Seventeen had other plans. The second she stepped into the venue, all thirteen of them descended like a pack of overexcited golden retrievers.

“No way you’re sitting alone,” Seungcheol declared, grabbing her arm as they swarmed her.

“You look like a lost puppy over there!” Hoshi added, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s sad vibes,” Mingyu said, pouting dramatically. “We can’t let our maknae suffer!”

The organizers tried to intervene—“She’s scheduled for—”—but Seungkwan cut them off, clutching his chest. “Do you want her to cry? On camera? Is that what you want?!”

Joshua flashed his angelic smile, disarming them. “She’s with us. It’s fine.”

“Family seating!” DK bellowed, dragging her toward their row.

Minghao, ever the voice of reason, chimed in with a sly grin. “She’s basically still Seventeen. You can’t argue with that.”

The staff threw up their hands, defeated, as thirteen dorky boys hauled her to their table near the front. Vernon plopped her between him and Wonwoo, while Jun and Dino fought over who got to hold her water bottle. “It’s mine to guard!” Dino insisted, hugging it like a teddy bear.

“Give it here,” Jun countered, yanking it back. “I’m the responsible one!”

Woozi just sighed, sipping his water. “You’re all embarrassing her on live TV.”

“No, we’re hyping her!” Jeonghan shot back, adjusting his hair in the nearest camera lens. “She’s a star tonight.”

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The night rolled on, awards piling up, until the big one—Album of the Year. Y/N fidgeted in her seat, sandwiched between Vernon’s chill vibes and Seungcheol’s tense dad-energy. When the presenter opened the envelope, time slowed.

“And the MAMA Award for Album of the Year goes to… Y/N, Unraveled!”

The crowd erupted—cheers, claps, gasps—but nothing was louder than the thirteen idiots beside her. She froze, jaw dropping, as Seventeen leapt to their feet, turning the elegant event into a frat house rager.

“THAT’S OUR GIRL!” Mingyu roared, fist-pumping so hard he nearly knocked over Jeonghan.

“BODYGUARDS, ASSEMBLE!” Hoshi shouted, and they formed a circle around her, each one striking a dramatic pose—hands to their ears like Secret Service agents, faces deadly serious.

Seungcheol barked, “Protect the queen!” and shoved Dino forward to clear a path.

She burst out laughing, stumbling as they “escorted” her to the stage. DK flexed nonexistent muscles, yelling, “No one’s getting through us!” while Seungkwan wailed, “I’M TOO PROUD TO FUNCTION!”

Vernon gave a lazy salute, muttering, “VIP coming through,” as Minghao smirked and whispered, “We’re so extra right now.”

The cameras caught it all—thirteen dorks in tuxes acting like her personal hype squad, while carats in the audience screamed their lungs out. She climbed the steps, still giggling, and took the mic, the trophy gleaming in her hands.

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Y/N took a deep breath, the laughter fading into something heavier. The spotlight burned, but she felt the boys’ eyes on her, steadying her.

“Wow, uh… I didn’t expect this,” she started, voice shaky. “This album—it’s everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve fought for. I didn’t think I’d make it here, you know? There were days I couldn’t get out of bed, days I thought I’d lost myself forever.”

The crowd quieted, hanging on her words. Back at the table, Seungcheol gripped his chair, eyes glistening. “She’s killing me,” he muttered.

“I’m here because of the people who never gave up on me,” she continued, her voice rising. “My fans—carats—you waited for me, believed in me when I couldn’t. And… Seventeen.” She glanced at them, and the boys erupted again.

“WOOHOO!” Hoshi hollered, waving his arms like a windmill.

“THAT’S US!” DK yelled, jumping so high he nearly fell over Mingyu.

Mingyu cupped his hands, booming, “YOU’RE THE BEST, Y/N!”

She grinned, tears pricking her eyes. “These thirteen idiots dragged me through hell and back. They’re my brothers, my chaos, my home. Seungcheol, who wouldn’t let me quit. Jeonghan, who made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Joshua, with his quiet strength. Jun, who’d prank me just to see me smile. Hoshi, the loudest cheerleader alive. Wonwoo, my silent rock. Woozi, who taught me music is power. DK, my sunshine. Mingyu, who fed me when I forgot to eat. Seungkwan, my drama twin. Vernon, who kept me grounded. Minghao, who showed me calm in the storm. And Dino, my twin.”

Each name hit like a punch, and the boys lost it:

Seungcheol stood, clapping like a proud dad, shouting, “That’s my maknae!”

Jeonghan fanned his face, yelling, “I’m blushing!”

Joshua grinned, calling, “Love you too!”

Jun pumped his fist, “Prank master approved!”

Hoshi spun in a circle, screaming, “I’M YOUR CHEERLEADER!”

Wonwoo gave a rare shout, “Always here, Y/N!”

Woozi smirked, “Music power, baby!”

DK beamed, “Sunshine reporting for duty!”

Mingyu flexed, “Food king forever!”

Seungkwan sobbed, “DRAMA TWINS UNITE!”

Vernon waved, “Grounded and proud!”

Minghao laughed, loud and bright, “Calm storm, that’s me!”

Dino bounced, “Pi Cheolin loves you!”

“I wouldn’t be here without them,” she finished, voice cracking. “Thank you—for loving me, for waiting. This is for us.”

The crowd roared, but Seventeen drowned them out, cheering like they’d won the award themselves. She stepped off stage, and they swarmed her again, a laughing, teary mess of hugs and shouts.

“You made me cry on TV!” Seungkwan accused, wiping his face.

“Speech of the century!” Hoshi declared, spinning her around.

Minghao squeezed her shoulder, grinning. “You named me. I’m honored.”

“Thirteen bodyguards at your service,” Seungcheol said, pulling her into a bear hug. “Forever.”

She laughed through her tears, surrounded by her dorky, loud, perfect family. The trophy was heavy, but their love was heavier—and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

New Routine Comfort

Summary: Tyler Owens x Fe!Reader -> You work with the Tornado Wranglers and have done for a couple of years, but being newly single means you need to find a new routine and Tyler might just be the person to help.

Disclaimer: Mentions and appearance of a cheating asshole ex, Tyler and Reader are more co-workers than anything until that eventually changes..., swearing, love confessions, use of "Sweetheart" from the Cowboy Scientist, two-stepping, teaching to dance, mostly fluff, little angst, and the Cowboy Hat Rule (..kinda..) Not Proof Read.

When you joined the Tornado Wranglers, you joined at the request of Boone. They needed someone who could capture more footage than either him and Lily got and, since they had raised so much for families that had suffered from extreme tornado weather, they wanted to make it more permanent. 

Which was where you came in. You could help with footage collection, fundraisers, social media pages, editing and a couple other things. The rest of the team helped where they could, but you managed it well. 

However, this did mean that you didn’t see the team as much as you’d like save from the videos they sent you and the group chat Boone had added you into. 

However, it was one night sitting in a local watering hole that you found yourself growing closer to one of the Wrangler’s in particular. 

Tyler Owens. 

There was a week here and there that you’d join the team storm chasing each season. Except, this year’s week of you joining them on the road couldn’t have fallen at a worse time. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna sit here all night drowning your sorrows in crappy beer?”

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

Boone tilted his head. “Oh, not the head tilt. Please.”

“Come on, Y/n. He was an asshole. Forget about him.”

“Little hard to forget when I was the one to walk in and catch them,” you looked back at your beer bottle. The label was practically torn to shreds from where you’d been scratching at it. “It’s like it’s burned into the back of my eyelids.” You took a long swig of your beer. 

Just a little over two months ago, you’d watched as your relationship of three years burst into a ball of flames. You’d come home, smiling as you texted the Wrangler’s telling them the company you’d been pestering for a large donation that, with their track record, would put them out of pennies, had not only agreed to donate but also to host and bring all of their more-than-wealthy partners to the event. 

Only, as you called through the door for your boyfriend, you heard a noise. Had he fallen?

Then you found the trail of clothes leading into the kitchen before another one made its way up the stairs towards your bedroom. 

“Have you tried thinking of something else? Maybe watching a horror movie?”

You nodded. “Apparently finding your partner cheating on you in your own bed, and subsequently finding out they’d been doing that for over a year…is the scariest thing for me.”

“Well…screw him! He never deserved you! And you deserve a good night! And some decent beer.”

You gave a slight smile. “Boone. I like my drink.”

And it was true. You did.

You watched as he grimaced and picked up the other beer bottles. “Don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

And away he went back to the dance floor with the others. And you turned back to your drink, your thumb still scratching away at the label. 

An hour or so later, Tyler’s eyes found you in the crowd at the bar once more. He’d watched you all night. He’d watched you for the last two weeks if he was being completely honest with himself. 

Since you joined the team, he saw you maybe for two weeks across the entire year. One week storm chasing, and the next seven days scattered throughout the rest of the year. But when he found out of Boone you’d be joining the team for most of the chasing season, something sparked inside of Tyler. 

He was glad to have you aboard, of course. He might not have known that much about you, but he knew you well enough to know you joining the team for longer than a week meant something was wrong. 

And once you arrived, it took him three days to finally figure out why. 

“Are you sure she’s okay?”

Lily looked behind her, following Tyler’s gaze. Though, she could guess who it was. “Y/n? Oh, yeah. She’ll be fine. She’s hurtin’ right now, but she’ll be okay. Dude was an ass! Glad he’s gone.”

Tyler had met him only a handful of times but he could agree with Lily. He was an ass. An ass to you and an ass for letting you go. 

But, as Tyler watched you, he saw something in you change. You’d gone from slouched on the bar stool to…alert. And nervous. 

Confused, he followed the direction of your eye-line until he saw…

Him. 

Stood with some blonde who couldn’t stop giggling into his chest as his arms were wrapped around her in such a way he was being possessive whilst trying to show her off. 

And it was at that moment Tyler realised he wasn’t the only one watching you anymore. Because your ex had spotted you. 

“No.” Dani and Boone told him as the bottom of his chair scraped the wooden floor. “No, let her handle this. She needs this.”

Tyler didn’t look convinced. So, Lily added. 

“And if she’s not ready, then you can go. But they’re right. Let her handle it.”

So, reluctantly, Tyler sat back down. But he was itching to stand. He was itching to be at your side. 

But you handled it. 

Your ex approached you, and he seemed to make some kind of asshole comment about you. You didn’t seem pleased. Then everything about you…became fake. 

One look around you made you realise there were plenty of people still left inside the bar. More than when you had entered with the team, even. If you caused a scene, you’d get kicked out. And your team would follow. But it had been a long week. They deserved a good night. 

So you took it. You took his comments about smiling more, and setting him free and his thank yous for showing him he could have ‘something more with’ whoever the Blonde was waiting at the end of the bar for him. 

And when he patted your arm, you could have thrown up. You never wanted him to touch you again. You’d told him as much when he tried to hug you, not ten minutes after being caught having sex with someone else. 

And when he finally walked away…you wanted to run. But you had no energy left. Seeing him again zapped it all. You had been in love with him once, and believed he felt the same about you. All the memories of your relationship flashed behind your eyelids, before going back on themselves. The pictures told you of the lies he’d made in the last year you’d been with him. 

Tyler watched as your entire body sighed before you started counting the cash in your pocket to leave for your bill.

Your ex didn’t get to ruin your night by being here. He didn’t get to take away your happiness, or your freedom to have fun in your bar. 

“Okay, come on.”

You looked to your side and found Tyler stood there. He took your hand in his and dragged you with him. 

“Tyler!”

“No, no.” Turning to face you as he finally reached the dance floor, he kept his eyes on yours. “He doesn’t get to take your night away. Fuck that asshole.”

“That’s my problem. I did fuck that asshole. And then he fucked someone else.”

“Then let him.” Tyler told you. “You deserved better than him, anyway. You still do. Do you know how to dance?”

You were in shock. You and Tyler were never exactly close. Sure, you’d talked over text, but that was mostly in the Group unless you needed to contact him directly for something about a fundraiser or an appearance at a school to help students when it came to Tornado warnings. 

After a moment, you shook your head. 

He gave a curt nod and stepped closer to you. “That’s okay. I can teach you. Is it okay if I put my hand here?”

You looked to see where he meant. It was around your back. You nodded. 

“Okay, just keep your eyes on me. I’ll make sure you don’t trip.”

With one hand in his and your other on his arm, your eyes fell to the floor as you mirrored his steps. “I think you’re underestimating my two left feet.”

Tyler smiled with a small chuckle, and pulled you a little closer before tilting your chin up until your eyes met his. “Eyes on me, Sweetheart. I promise, I won’t let you trip. And nobody can be a worse dance partner than Boone.”

“You’ve danced with Boone?”

“Somebody had to teach him how to dance. I think my feet are still bruised.”

You smiled. “I’ll try and not make them worse.”

Tyler smiled as your eyes found his own, again. You were relaxing into the music. You were trusting him to take the lead. And before you knew it, the pair of you were two-stepping further into the dancefloor, a bright smile shared between the both of you. 

Four songs, two line dances, and one group square dance later, you found yourself back in the comfort of Tyler’s arms as he held his hand out to you from where you had both sat down at the table. 

With a nod and a genuine smile, you took hold of his hand and let him lead you towards the middle of the dancefloor. Tonight might have been the first time you’d both danced together, but somehow, it felt familiar. Routine. To be in his arms, to have his hand in yours, to have only him in front of your eyes and in your mind as you both softly danced to the slow song that played from the Jukebox Band on stage. 

“Thank you,” you found yourself saying. 

Tyler lifted his head from yours to look at you, and you did the same. “What do you mean?”

“I was about to go home. I would have spent the next twenty-four hours wanting to be alone and depressed. Instead, you did something else no-one has ever done.”

“And what is that?”

You felt yourself laugh a little. “Taught me to dance.”

Tyler’s mouth broke out into a smile before he took your hand and spun you around and back in. “You’re very welcome, but if I’m being honest, I might have had my own reasons. I need my own dance partner and, as much as I love the guy, Boone isn’t the most graceful.”

“So you’re calling me ‘graceful’? Have to say, that’s never been a word people have used to describe me.”

“Really?” Tyler sounded genuinely shocked. “All because you couldn’t dance?”

You felt a small blush heat under your cheeks. “Maybe I was in need of the right partner.”

Tyler felt himself blush. “Maybe you were. But I’d still call you graceful. I don’t know what people have described you as, but- if you don’t mind me saying.”

You shook your head. Coming from him, something in you didn’t mind a bit. In fact, you wanted to know. 

“I think you’re so much more than whatever people tell you.” 

When his gaze locked on yourself, you felt the rest of the room disappearing. 

“You’re beautiful. In your mind, in your heart and in your soul.”

You could feel your heart beginning to race. 

“Nobody should ever make you feel anything less than that. You’re an incredible human being, Y/n. We’re lucky to have you. I-”

Tyler felt the words catch in his throat. He didn’t want to scare you away. But he needed to tell you. He wanted to tell you. 

“I’m lucky to have you.”

You smiled as you watched Tyler. He was one of the kindest men you’d ever met. Maybe he had a wild side, but that was what made him so good at his job. Beneath all of the adrenaline chasing, Tyler had a heart and soul unlike any other. He loved his team, his family, his job and his life. 

Slowly, leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’m lucky to have you, too.”

Tyler smiled and slowly, the rest of the room started to fade back in, slowly. 

“You should come out with us more. Who knows? You might just catch the bug for chasing Tornados?”

You smiled. “Boone has been trying to get me to come chasing for years. What makes you think I’ll change my mind now?”

Tyler smiled. “We’ll go out tomorrow. The data is showing a small EF-1. Just me and you. After all, you can’t stay in the van forever.”

Tyler could tell by your smile you were deliberating it. 

“You know,” you started. “Boone isn’t going to be happy we’re chasing without him.”

Tyler smiled. You had agreed. “I’ll make it up to him.”

Your smile settled onto your face. “Okay then. But just this one.”

Tyler nodded as you both slowly turned around in a circle. “We’ll see.”

Two months later, you’d been more chases than you could count. That morning Tyler had taken you out in his truck, there was a chance you could have called him an asshole (in a slightly more affectionate term) as he drove towards the tornado. 

You’d edited hours of footage but being the one in the passenger seat was something else. 

But the minute you looked up and out of the window and back to him…something changed. Something changed between you and storm chasing. Something changed between you and your job. Something changed between you and Tyler. 

Boone, once he’d been cleared of his hangover, wasn’t happy about being left out from a chase. But Tyler found a way to make it up to him. And since you left Boone to sit in the front for most of the chases, had you made it up to him, too. 

Sometimes you’d stay in the truck with Dexter and Dani but it was becoming much more routine for you to sit in the back of Tyler’s truck as he drove into another tornado. 

And on the rare opportunity. Boone would give you his seat beside Tyler in the truck. You’d get better pictures for socials that way. At least, that was his excuse. It definitely wasn’t to give the Live Feed viewers what they wanted, which was more of you and Tyler together. 

But in those two months, things had just been…teetering. You knew you felt something for Tyler, but you were too scared to let your feelings known in case he didn’t feel the same. At the end of the day, you loved your job and the team. You didn’t want to give them up because of a school girl crush you had on the Cowboy Tornado Wrangler. 

But the others saw the way Tyler looked at you, too. They’d seen it since he first met you. He never made a move considering you were in a relationship, but that didn’t stop his feelings from growing when he saw you or saw your name pop up on his phone. 

And since you started actually chasing with him…he was a goner. 

He looked at you like you hung the moon, and you looked at him in the exact same way. But apparently only the team and the comments section of the videos could see it. 

“I can’t believe the season’s almost over.”

Tyler shook his head. “We’ve still got a month or so left.”

“I know, but…I’m really enjoying it.”

He smiled proudly. “Told you you’d catch the bug.”

You and Tyler, like every weekend, had found yourselves back in each other's arms on the dancefloor, two-stepping along to another song. And being back in his arms was like your two left feet had disappeared. 

It might have also helped you’d both practised in your hotel rooms over the last couple of months. For the last month, you’d both been sharing a room since every motel that Boone and Lily found only seemed to have so many rooms left. And with the others bunking together, it left you and Tyler together. 

“I got a call, by the way. A school just outside of Wichita is wondering if you and the team will come down and talk to the kids. Most of them have seen your videos, but a lot of them are scared and the city’s local ‘what to do in a Tornado’ has scared them all half to death.”

Somehow, Tyler had this magic about him. Whenever he and the team went into school to explain about Tornados, all the kids walked away a hell of a lot less scared than they were when they walked in. In fact, most of them walked away talking to their parents about meteorology and the science behind a Tornado. 

“Of course we will.”

You smiled. “Good. Because I already said yes.”

He figured you might have done. “When do they want us there?”

“As soon as you're available.”

“We could go after this next chase? There might be an EF-3 in the next couple of days. I want to make sure people are safe.”

You nodded with a smile. “We can go after, then.”

Soon the song came to an end. “I’m gonna get a drink, want one?”

Tyler nodded as he let go of your hand and he went towards the team’s booth. “Please.”

Ordering your drinks, you waited for them to be ready. Only, as you did so, you felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. There was a familiar smell in the air and it made your entire skin crawl. 

Then you saw him. 

“Aren’t you meant to be in a mourning period or some shit?”

You were taken aback by his abruptness. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been broken up for less than six months then I come in here and see you trying to flirt your way into some guy’s pants.”

“What? Like you and her over there? Tell me, is she the one from during me, or after me?”

“You bitch. She’s my girlfriend.”

“And that’s different?”

You ex stood straighter and hissed. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s my girlfriend. He’s just- What? You’re fuckbuddy?!”

Before you could answer, you felt a much more comforting presence behind you followed by his voice and a hat being placed on your head. 

“Boyfriend, actually.”

You turned your head and looked at Tyler who just winked and you relaxed into his arm that laid across your shoulders. 

“And I don’t appreciate you calling her a bitch.”

“How long have you been fucking him?!”

Then Tyler stepped in front of you. The hand on his back let him know he’d done the right thing. 

“You’re done talking to her now. You’re gonna talk to me. Better yet, you’re gonna listen. The biggest mistake you ever made was thinking you could find anyone better than her. Now, I’m sure your girlfriend loves you very much and I think she came out here to enjoy her evening like everyone else and doesn’t want to be kicked out with her boyfriend who’s just been given a black eye.”

“Are you threatening me? You can’t threaten-”

Then Tyler’s voice lowered, making the conversation strictly between himself and your ex. 

“The minute that hat touched her head, it let everyone know who she’s with and considering I know the owners here, them and everyone in this bar will protect her over some scumbag like you. And unless you’d like to spend a night in a cell with the County Sheriff, I suggest you and your girlfriend find some other place to have a drink and you never even think about my girl again. Do I make myself clear?”

One look around the bar to see if anyone else had seen or heard what had gone on let your ex know they had. And from the looks of the patron's faces, they were more than ready to defend both you and Tyler against the asshole standing in front of him. 

“Whatever, Dude.” Walking away, he called out for his girlfriend, grabbed her hand and walked towards the door, constantly looking over his shoulder. Especially after one of the owners followed him out of the door and watched him load himself into his car. 

Once the owner walked back inside and gave a curt nod to Tyler, everyone went back to normal and Tyler turned back around to face you. 

“I’m sorry if-”

“Thank you.”

Tyler was expecting you to tell him off, or yell at him. Say something that made sure he knew never to do that again unless you asked. 

“What-”

“Nobody has ever done that for me before and, if I’m being honest, I was 90% sure he would have done more than just yell at me whilst I was here. So, thank you.”

“I meant what I said. You should never let anyone make you feel less than what you are. You’re beautiful, Y/n. Inside and out.”

You smiled and turned towards one of the beer bottles that had been placed in between you and Tyler in order to hide the blush of your cheeks. “Nice touch, by the way. With the hat.”

There was a slight twinkle in Tyler’s eyes along with his semi-confused and intrigued look. 

“You know about the hat?”

“You explained it to him, didn’t you?”

Then he realised. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. Right.” And nervously took a long swig of his own drink. 

But then you removed it from your head. “You’re gonna want this back.”

And for a moment, Tyler held it in his hand, deliberating on what he wanted to do, vs what he should do. 

He shook his head and handed it back to you. “Keep it. In case he thinks about coming back.”

“I don’t think he will.”

“Well, if he does. He’ll get the message.”

It took you a moment, but keeping your eyes on his, you placed the hat back on your head. Tyler swallowed another gulp of his drink and turned to face you before he fixed the hat on your head. 

“Better?” You asked. 

Tyler nodded as he looked away. He had to hide his blush somehow. “It suits you.”

Then the next song came on. 

“Come on, let's dance.”

Taking Tyler’s hand, you dragged him back to the dancefloor. 

By the end of the night, you all walked back towards the motel considering it was only a block or two away. Down the road, Lily and Boone were giving each other piggy-back rides, Dani was listening to Dexter talk about everything he knew about Tornados and where Tyler would usually be on his own at this point in the night, he found you right next to him, still wearing his hat. 

“Careful.” 

Tyler took your hand in his as he pulled you away from a deep puddle in the path. 

“Thanks.”

When you’d both finally made it to dry concrete, your hand never left Tyler’s. 

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re in deep conversation with yourself under that hat.”

You broke into a small smile. “I am.”

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing important,” you shook your head. 

“Try me.”

Looking at Tyler, you took in a breath and looked back at the sidewalk. “Okay. I’m thinking about what to do.”

“About what?”

You stopped in your tracks and looked at where your hand was interlinked with Tyler’s. Then you looked him in his eyes. 

“I know you were just helping me before, with my ex and…everything. But…”

Shit. You cursed yourself over and over again. But you didn’t want to waste any more time in your life. 

Just spit it out. You told yourself. 

“Is..is there a world…maybe…where…” You took in a tough breath. “Where would you want something more?”

“Something more?”

You cursed yourself for a whole other reason now. You’d dug your grave this far. Might as well hope for it to collapse on top of you. 

“Something more between…us?”

The next ten seconds were the longest ten seconds of your life. You were pretty sure you’d died three lifetimes over by the time you felt like you were back in your body again. 

“You know what, forget I said-”

“Yes.”

You felt yourself physically stall. “What?”

“Yes. I want something more. There is a world where I want something more. And it’s this one.”

You didn’t know what to say. The others were long down the street so it was just you and Tyler. 

“I…I don’t know what to say from here. I wasn’t expecting to actually say anything.”

Tyler smiled and stepped a little closer to you. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

“Where do we go from here?”

Tyler thought about it for a moment before looking around. “Come with me.”

Tyler dragged you back down the street, over the puddle and towards a small field just off the side of the road. 

“Tyler, what are you doing?”

“Getting rid of the light pollution.” 

You felt yourself laugh. “What for?”

He pulled you a little further out into the field before the lights faded away over the hedge and all you were left with was the blanket of stars above you and Tyler. And, being back in the comfort of his arms, he danced you around a small patch of wildflowers. 

“Neither of us knew what to do, so I’m taking you on a date. Usually, we would have gone for dinner or I would have brought something with us but since we’ve done that part without knowing where we’d end up…I’m skipping to the end a little.”

“So you’re saying, for our first date, you would have packed a picnic and we would have gone stargazing? That’s…incredibly romantic.”

“Think it’s corny?” Tyler asked and then he laughed. “You think it’s corny.”

Your eyes narrowed a little. “Maybe. Just a little. But, I love it.”

There was no one else. It was just you and Tyler, dancing, under the stars. 

“I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Would you have kissed me at the end of the date? Would we have danced under the stars then and would you have kissed me?”

“Now who’s the corny one.”

You blushed a little and laughed. “I’m serious. I’d need to know if you were a good kisser. Couldn’t wear my cowboy’s hat and not enjoy kissing him, too. And before you say anything, I know that might not be the rule. But it does come as a part of mine.”

Tyler felt most if not all of his face turn red at the thought. When you had asked him in the bar…you already knew. He was glad there were no bright street lights surrounding either of you right now. 

“Well, then, since you’re already wearing my hat…I can’t start breaking the rules now…”

With another smile, Tyler’s hand cradled your head as he pressed his lips to yours, letting his free hand hold you flush against him by the waist. 

By the time he pressed a final small kiss to your lips, with his forehead against yours, you felt your lungs scratching your chest to breathe. 

“Yep, definitely didn’t break any rules.”

Tyler let a chuckle leave his chest. “Come on, we should get back. Before the others start wondering where we got to.”

Boone and Lily had had too many beers to be left unsupervised. Last time Tyler had left either of them alone, they’d somehow chalked out an entire Tornado on the side of a motel wall. Even if it was exquisite, the motel owner wasn’t the happiest of people to see it. 

“Okay. But we’re doing this again.”

“What? The date, the kiss or the dancing?”

“All of the above.”

Tyler smiled and reached down, lifting his hat from the ground before placing it back on your head. “Good, because I wasn’t finished.”

With a smile that hurt your cheeks, Tyler took your hand in his and you both hurried your way back down the road, over the puddle and towards the motel where you both found Boone and Lily playing a very terrible version of hide-and-seek. 

But something that neither missed was the way yours and Tyler’s hands were intertwined between you both, or that in the morning and the mornings after, you and Tyler rarely left each other's side. 

And neither of you had to be pushed to share a room. 

It became a routine. Along with the dancing, kissing and storm chasing. 

And when the third teacher hit on him at the elementary school he was talking at, despite you finding it a little funny watching him try and shut down each woman with kindness that left them just wanting him more, he proved his point in front of the faculty and his team (even if they already knew) by giving you the millionth kiss of a lifetime from him, with his hat upon your head. 

[callikari]

──────── 💼 WE HUG NOW, LACY

。i have a feeling u got everything u wanted, and ur not wasting time stuck here like me.

... 沉在允 x fem!reader 🥂 angst 。 jake is an idol, reader isn't .. 4200 wc (·•᷄‎ࡇ•᷅ ) emotional neglect , implied cheating , no comfort , mentions of social media

【 more like this 🌙 】

• part 2 | ceilings

you used to love tour season.

it was the time he was his most alive—posting little updates from different cities, rambling in excitement over every performance, voice cracking from rehearsals, face glowing under stage lights. and you? you were always there, in the background. the one he texted after every stage. the one he called when the hotel room got too quiet.

you’d wrap yourself up in his voice like a blanket, whispering goodnights across time zones, promising to wait just a little longer.

“i miss you,” he would say.

but somewhere along the way, that stopped.

and you can’t remember when the shift happened—when the texts started getting shorter, when the replies took hours, then days. when your name stopped showing up in the small ways it used to: no more blurry selfies captioned “missing someone.” no more late-night facetime calls where he asked about your day before venting about his.

he became busy. too busy.

and you told yourself it was okay. he was on a world tour, after all. things were hectic. he had a million things pulling at him from all directions—staff, rehearsals, fans. you were just… one of them.

but it didn’t stop the ache. the coldness that crept in when your messages were left on read. when your good mornings went unanswered. when his instagram stories showed him laughing with people you didn’t know, in places you’d never been invited to.

and then came her.

lacy.

that wasn’t her real name, of course. but it was the only one your brain allowed you to give her—the only way to put a label on the ghost haunting the corners of jake’s life.

a new member of le sserafim. a recent addition. pretty, popular, and everywhere he was.

you first saw them together in a fan edit.

at first, it was just the usual nonsense. stan twitter being delulu again. “they looked at each other for 0.2 seconds!!! they’re definitely dating!!!”

you rolled your eyes, laughed it off.

but then the videos kept coming. then pictures. then interviews, where their names were brought up together just a little too often. jake smiling when hers was mentioned. her giggling at something he whispered during an awards show.

you wanted to trust him. god, you wanted to.

but the silence kept growing. and so did the disappointment.

you tried asking him about it once.

he was in paris. you were sitting in your apartment, curled up in the hoodie he left behind last winter.

“have you been… hanging out with someone new?” you asked, careful, quiet.

there was a pause. static on the other end.

“you mean the new le sserafim member?” he chuckled, and you flinched at how easily he said her name. “we’re labelmates, babe. we see each other all the time. nothing’s going on.”

“okay,” you whispered.

he didn’t say i love you that night.

you started seeing her everywhere after that. maybe she was always there and you were just now noticing. in the background of tour vlogs. tagged in stories. always two steps behind jake. always smiling.

and the worst part?

she was beautiful.

no, not just beautiful—she was unreal. effortless. the kind of girl who floats through a room and makes people stop mid-sentence. skin like porcelain. eyes that held galaxies. every photo of her looked like it had been dipped in gold.

you hated how she made you feel. how every scroll through your feed left you questioning your worth. how you started avoiding mirrors. how you downloaded and deleted every editing app on your phone just to blur out the imperfections you used to never notice.

she became the person you couldn’t stop thinking about.

not jake. her.

how could he look at you, and then look at her?

it was raining the night you found out.

you were on your way home from work, drenched, exhausted, heart heavy. you hadn’t heard from jake in two days. your last text—“call me when you can? miss you.”—was still unread.

you stopped by a corner café, phone in one hand, umbrella dripping rainwater onto your shoes.

and then you saw it.

a blurry photo on some gossip page. not even a dispatch post. just grainy enough to make you hope it was fake.

“rumors spark as jake of enhypen is spotted leaving a parisian hotel with le sserafim’s newest member. insiders say the two have been ‘close’ for months.”

your heart dropped.

you stared at the image—him in a black cap, hand on the small of her back. her leaning into him, soft smile, like she belonged there.

like you never did.

you didn’t cry. not at first. just sat there, blinking at the screen, watching as the rain painted streaks across the glass window.

your phone buzzed.

it was jake.

finally.

you answered, voice already cracking.

“hey,” he said, breathless like he’d just been running. “you okay?”

you didn’t know how to respond. your throat felt tight. your hands shook.

“you’re with her,” you said.

silence.

then a sigh. “look… i was going to tell you. i swear, i just didn’t know how—”

click.

you hung up.

days passed.

then weeks.

he tried to call. once. then twice. you never answered. there was nothing left to say.

your room still smelled like him. your playlists still had songs he sent you. your hoodie still held his warmth.

but you were done waiting.

done shrinking yourself to fit into the corners of his life.

because lacy might be everything you weren’t—perfect, polished, adored—but she didn’t have you.

your loyalty. your patience. your quiet love that wrapped around jake even when he didn’t deserve it.

you weren’t lacy.

and for the first time in a long time, you were okay with that.

维维安的 taglist : @ash-engen @cheruphic @jungwonbropls @chrrific @ijustreallylike2read

© callikari — all rights reserved

[delusional-day-dreamer]

Last Friday Night - n.m

‣ nika muhl x reader!

‣ paige version of this fic

‣ wc: 1953; sorry this is so short and lowkey not that good?

‣‣ synopsis: you and nika have kept your relationship on the dl for a while now, but what happens when your inebriated selves slip up on kk’s live? pretend the ncaa's lift on cannabis for athletes happens before the start of the 23-24 season! (so sorry for the inactivity but I just got back from camp and am ready to feed y'all)

‣‣‣ a/n: so i actually thought of this fic idea when i tried a weed pen for the first time (it's legal in ca) and i passed out with half my clothes on, no fan, forgot to brush my teeth and take my makeup off, and accidentally left a small heater on in my room that ran for four hours and turned my room into a furnace before my mom came in and turned it off and woke me up to yell at me 😊!

8:42 am

To say that you and Nika were in trouble by the events of last night was a little bit of an understatement. Both of your phones were blowing up by your respective coaches, teammates, close friends, and all of your social media accounts.

As you scrolled through your tiktok, text messages, instagram tags, and just about everything else on your phone while laying next to Nika's sleeping figure in her bed, it only reaffirmed one thing in your head.

You and Nika majorly fucked up.

12:07 am; where it all went wrong

With your volleyball season and Nika's basketball season being in their respective peaks during this time of year, you had barely gotten a chance to spend time with your girlfriend alone. The two of you were either travelling for away games, at practice, in class, hanging out with your friends or teammates, or busy studying. Needless to say, you missed Nika. A lot.

Which, combined with the weed pen you were hitting periodically, loosened your inhibitions to a whole new level inside of Ted's fairly crowded bar.

It wasn't jam-packed, but there was a decent crowd of older college students for a Friday night in October, especially since Halloween was soon to be approaching in two weeks.

Normally, you and Nika weren’t big on PDA, at most you would hold hands or give small pecks around the team, considering the fact that the two of you kept your relationship very much on the down low, not so much a secret as very private. You never denied any allegations but basically never posted together on your own, unless the two of you ended up in the background of someone else’s pictures.

Social media had a lot of speculation, edits, rumors, etc, surrounding the two of you, as you had no connection to the team as a volleyball player yet still hung out with them regularly. But either way, you and Nika always just minded your own business and kept everything very hush hush. Except for tonight.

Nika was sort of sober, she had done two shots with some of the other girls while you mostly just smoked a few times, not wanting to get super high, but just enough to let the tingly sense of giggly euphoria wash over you.

Yet one thing you failed to consider when choosing weed over alcohol for tonight was the fact that it made you incredibly horny. That, combined with the fact that you and Nika hadn’t spent any time together in the last three weeks, let alone have sex, were the leading factors of tonight.

The rest of the basketball team was spread throughout the bar, some were at a table not far from the two of you, messing around on KK's live, while others were dancing, drinking, or mingling with their other friends.

Which left you and Nika alone, squished together in the corner of the bar top. You were leaning with your back against the wall, standing in between Nika's spread legs from her position facing you atop the stool. Her hands were holding onto your bare thighs, occasionally removing her left to take a small sip of her drink before dutifully returning to your legs.

"I'm just saying Niks, we could definitely sneak out without anyone noticing, everyone's too busy doing their own thing," you attempted to convince your stubborn girlfriend, sweetening the notion by rubbing your hands up and down her jean-clad thighs.

As D1 athletes, it was obvious that the two of you had toned and muscular bodies, but one of Nika's features you found most attractive were her muscular thighs she built from her time in the gym and on the court, especially the way they would wrap around your head while eating her out.

"We'll leave soon bebo don't worry. Besides," Nika leaned into your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I already promised I would make up the last three weeks to you tonight yeah? What's another hour ljubavi?"

You bit your bottom lip as Nika pulled back, thudding your head on the wall behind you as your eyes trailed over the small smirk Nika held, now using her fingers to draw small circles on your thigh.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy like this Nika," you reached your right hand over to the bar top, desperate to take another hit of your pen to ease the influx of horny thoughts running through your mind.

Before you could bring the vape up to your mouth, Nika grabbed your waist and pulled you into her, and despite her sitting position, you still only had a good two inches over her.

"You're not gonna share bebo?" Her teasing eyes gleamed up at you as she licked her lips in anticipation.

You immediately knew what she meant by that, the two of you doing it all the time whenever you're smoking or vaping together (y'all have seen the watermelon pic of her and let's be frl, they're college students, it's NORMAL).

You smirked at her suggestion, leaning into her before taking a deep inhale of the weed, allowing as much of the smoke to enter your lungs as possible before using your left hand to grab Nika's jaw, pressing your open lips against hers to shotgun the smoke into her mouth.

You didn't even wait to finish exhaling all of the smoke and taking another breath before enveloping Nika's lips into yours hungrily, eagerily gripping her waist with the hand still holding the vape.

You kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as you slipped your tongue into her mouth, the mixture of the rum and coke she was drinking earlier and the earthy taste of weed making your head spin.

You continued to make out for a few minutes, gently pulling away while tugging her bottom lip with your teeth, gazing down at her closed eyes and blissful expression.

"You finally ready to go home Niks?" You teased, licking your swollen lips at her finally needy expression.

"We're getting the fuck out of here, right now," she rushed out, flagging down the bartender to pay off her tab and the second she got her credit card in hand, interlocked her fingers with yours to drag you out of the bar.

Completely unbeknownst to the two of you, KK and her live had been at the table diagonal to you the whole time, and while her body covered the two of you behind her while sitting, the only shield you had quickly disappeared when she stood up, leaning over the table to steal some of Ice's food when it had been set down, completely exposing you to her two thousand viewers, who were no doubt screen-recording.

The camera clearly caught your lips against Nika's blowing smoke into her mouth before leaning in to kiss her, and despite the two of you being on screen for less than a minute, it was enough to cause an internet commotion.

KK's eyes scanned over the comments as she sat back down, blocking your frames as she shoved a few fries in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the sudden influx of comments about you and Nika, leaning in to figure out what was going on.

"I, what? There's no way y'all," she whispered to the table of Paige, Ice, Carol, and Jana. Paige leaned in from KK's right side, trying to figure out what had happened.

Covering the camera slightly, KK, and everyone else, turned around to witness you and Nika's little makeout session ending and the flirty whispers exchanged.

"Unfortunately tonight's live is gonna have to end here girly pops, and if you think you saw something, no you didn't!" KK exclaimed as she quickly turned off the live, the table erupting with laughter at the situation. The whole team had placed bets on how long it would take you and Nika to fumble, and half of them had just lost a hundred dollars at your shennagains.

The walk back to Nika's apartment was brief, filled with flirty touches and short pecks to tide the two of you over until you finally entered home, Nika immediately pushing you up against the front door, moving her lips down your neck and around your collarbones with gentle grazes of her teeth and soothing licks.

"Niks please, stop teasing," you breathed out, grasping Nika's hair tightly from her scalp with your hand, pulling her face up to yours to gaze down at her with a pleading expression.

"Aw, my poor bebo," she cooed, mocking your horny desperation for her, but thankfully Nika wasn't that cruel.

She led you over to her bedroom, slamming her bedroom door behind her as she pulled your shirt over your head, unfastening the bra clipped behind your back all while reconnecting your lips as she laid you down onto the bed.

You moaned into her mouth as her long fingers bunched your skirt up by your waist, rubbing gentle circles on your clit through your panties.

Before you even had the chance to ask for more, she slid the fabric to the side, running her fingers through your slick before inserting two of her fingers, curling them up into you as you let go of her lips to throw your head back, moaning loudly at her ministrations.

"Oh my god Nika, right there baby, fuck," your leg wrapped around her waist tightly as you clenched around her fingers, bucking your hips up to match her movements. Your hands making their way around her neck and back, pressing her body firmly up against yours.

Normally you wouldn't be so close to finishing within a few minutes, but the weed from earlier created a delirious fog that clouded your brain and with the way Nika's fingers were both pressing into your g-spot and rubbing your clit, your orgasm was quickly approaching.

"Fuck I'm so close Niks, please just need a little more," you whimpered into her ear, moving your lips down to nip at the sweet spot under her ear.

Her other hand responded quickly to your begs, twisting and tugging firmly at your nipple as she mindlessly muttered every dirty thought that crossed her mind, knowing how deeply her praises affected you.

"Doing so good for me bebo, always such a good girl. You gonna be my good girl and come for me? Just let go for me ljubavi."

Her words were the final thing to push you over the edge, the tight coil in your stomach snapping as you immediately arched your back into Nika, an endless string of moans and curses falling from your mouth as you let your orgasm wash over you fully.

"God Nika, I don't think I can even feel my legs right now," you giggled in her embrace as she slowly eased her fingers out of you, sucking the remnants of your orgasm off them before wrapping them around your waist, laying you over her as she laid onto her back.

"Hm, fucked you that good huh?" She smirked, using her clean(ish) hand to brush the slightly sweaty strands of hair that had fallen in front of your flushed face.

"I don't know why you're getting so cocky Mühl, haven't even had my turn with you yet," you teased, running your fingers over her stomach, tugging at the remaining fabric on her body.

"Thought you just said you can't even feel your legs bebo?"

"Good thing I don't need them to fuck you then yeah? Don't you think my fingers and mouth will be enough for you Niks," you retorted, shuffling your body down the mattress so you could finally have your way with Nika.

9:13 am

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y/n l/n posted a story

[inkedtae]

xiii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten⎤

chapter thirteen : the mysterious angel of seoul ⤑ ❝ the world is desperate to know who you are, but taehyung is the only voice that matters. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.9k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, orgasm control, dirty talk, dry humping, ab riding, begging, grinding, teasing, neck kisses/licking, a bit of spit play

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very huge, massive thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading late into the night for me and being so fucking patient! please send her all the love because she helps me make this so readable and clear for you and she is just over all the best human in the world 💕

Misty cobalt skies blanket the city. Rain falls steadily, blurring the city lights below. You love watching the droplets disrupt puddles and the sea of coloured umbrellas. While most are black or grey, a few pops of yellow, red, blue and pink still bob down the sidewalk. Perhaps your favourite thing about rainy days, however, is how the pavement darkens, glistening under the streetlights. Like how the vibrant green grass of the countryside invokes a reconnection with nature, the vivid black streets of the city draws you into a quiet, almost meditative stillness amid the chaos. 

Flashes– white-hot and blinking. 

You blink, disoriented from the all too bright lights on just a gloomy day. Glancing further down the window, you quietly groan at the growing crowd of reporters. A group of perhaps ten photographers and five journalists huddle near the front entrance, bombarding anyone who walks in or out of the building. Arms crossed, jaw tight, you step away from the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room and make your way back to your desk.

You knew you left an impression on the press the night of the ballet performance. The following morning, you woke up with an ache between your legs and a series of reassuring text messages from Taehyung. He said he’d take care of it, but your face, slightly hidden behind your fur coat with loose strands of hair dancing in the wind, was the top story on every media outlet. Glittering makeup, furrowed brows, and annoyed confusion in your gaze– you cannot believe you’re staring at a photo of yourself. You thought they might have edited it, or adjusted the contrast settings to highlight the whiteness of your coat against the darkness in your eyes. But the same picture was posted thousands of times over. 

When Taehyung told you that he couldn’t get the photo removed, you weren’t surprised. It had been circling around the web for the better part of the day and he would have to track down every device in the city to permanently erase it. However, he reassured you that the details of your personal life will remain hidden.

You hoped that would be enough. Eventually, Seoul would grow tired of looking at your face, you remember thinking. They will move on to the next spectacle and you’ll be able to go to work on Monday with little to no trouble.

So, you locked yourself in your apartment and decided to wait for this all to blow over. You made sure to stay off social media, as per Taehyung’s advice. He said it’s not healthy getting lost in threads and posts about yourself, having been a victim of his own curiosity once or twice before.

 Instead, you watched a handful of movies, avoided Mrs Chu’s prying questions about Taehyung and applied to a few jobs. You baked cookies, brownies and a banana loaf. You reorganized your books, did some laundry, and lost a few board games against Mrs Chu…again. You texted Taehyung until he had a business call to hop on and then tried, with all your might, to finally go to bed. However, the curiosity of how much they knew had finally worn you down. You started with a single thread from a reputable news outlet. But soon, you scrolled too far into toxic netizen territory. 

For hours, you skimmed articles and speculations about your identity. Some think you’re an escort, which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but most think you’re some nepo-baby, deeming you too well dressed and poised for any other line of work– a sentiment that still makes your eyes roll. They also point out that The Geraldson Group is known for nepotism hires and so if you are anyone, it must be some rich man’s daughter. 

And while a Daddy did happen to get you an interview, he wasn’t biologically yours. 

This morning, you were sitting in the backseat of the car Taehyung contracted for you. Given your newfound fame, he thought it would be best to have a driver escort you to ensure your safety. While on your way to work,  a series of new photos surfaced. You stiffened in your seat as you clicked on the link Taheyung sent you. He wanted to give you a heads-up about the new pictures and reassure you that he is doing his best to take care of it. 

The photos, seemingly taken from a hidden angle, were from your day off a couple of weeks ago. You were on your way to the Bangtan Building, the same annoyed, distant look in your eyes. There are frames of you getting into the cab, sitting in traffic, and walking into the building with an air of defiance. You suddenly understood why Taehyung had been adamant on disciplining you then. You looked like a total brat.

The media, on the other hand, thinks you’re some sort of notable figure, absolutely in love with your fashion sense and cold demeanor. From recreating your make-up to your style, you start trending online. More than that, the topic of your identity has everyone hooked. People want to know who you are and why Taehyung won’t share you with them. They want to know where you came from, how you met, and if you are the love of his life.

[V] : I think you might be more famous than me.

[angelcake] : are we surprised?

[V] : Careful.

[V] :  Don’t make me come down there and give everyone another reason to talk about us. 

[angelcake] : me**

[V] : Behave or I will tear that little dress off.

You suppress a blush at the memory of the conversation. 

Now, as you walk through the Research and Development floor, you tug at the long sleeves of your tight, ribbed cotton shirt. The high collar covers your neck from the cold and balances out the shortness of your strapless black dress. The smooth fabric clings to your frame, its tailored cut accentuating your curves. You can hear the soft brush of your sheer, black tights between your thick thighs with each high-heeled step down the hall. With your hair up in a high, sleek ponytail, your dangling silver earrings are on full display. Taehyung sent the delicate diamond set, with a matching necklace and bracelet, yesterday to cheer you up after you confessed you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of googling yourself. You opted for the earrings only today, saving the other pieces of jewellery for another time. 

As you near the common area, where an array of desks are meticulously organised for optimal movement and focus, you begin to attract more stares. Some people smirk, others raise brows and the very few you might consider work-friends, draw heavy breaths as they meet your uncertain gaze.

Jackson leans against your desk, arms crossed, while Ethan stands beside him. They both give you tight smiles. 

“Morning,” Ethan greets, taking a step back so you can walk around them to your desk.

“Good morning,” you reply with a polite smile, though your voice is shaky.

You look between the two, about to ask them what’s going on when you notice the magazine on your desk. There, on the front page of The Metropolitan, is your original viral photo. Your face dominates the entire cover. By the fur of your coat, covering your chin to the better part of your nose, is the title: The Mysterious Angel of Seoul. 

Brows furrowed, you grab the magazine. Taehyung never mentioned anything about magazines, but you feel like you should have known. Your face is all anyone has been able to talk about all weekend. You can't even scroll through social media without someone mentioning you. Rolling up the magazine, you toss it into the trash bin behind your desk and take your seat.

“So–”

“We’re not talking about it.”

You don’t even spare Jackson a look as you log into your computer. You can feel them share a look before Jackson straightens up. 

“It’s not about that,” he says, pausing to take a breath. 

You chance a glance at the pair of them over your dual screens. They're still rigid, shifting their weight and sharing uncomfortable looks. You lean back in your seat to offer them your full attention, waiting for one of them to continue so you can get back to work. 

“We’re actually not allowed to talk about… that,” Ethan clarifies, slightly nodding to the magazine. “Didn’t you get the email?”

Of course you did, and you’re certain it was Taehyung’s doing. But no email has ever stopped anyone from whispering about people before. 

“That’s not the point,” Jackson cuts in before you can reply. “Um… Here’s the– So, the thing– uh…”

Face scrunched in confusion, you let out an exasperated sigh. You don’t have time for this. You have a million and one things to do and the last thing you need is Marina finding yet another reason to make your life miserable. You turn back to your computer and open the documents the marketing team had sent over a few minutes ago. With a few clicks, you send them over to the printer. Standing to gather your clipboard and pen, you turn to find Jackson and Ethan still stammering over their words. 

“Look,” you cut in, “whatever it is, can it please wait until after the meeting?”

“It’s about the meeting,” Jackson tries again. “Lucas–”

“Yeah, where is he? I’m not prepping for this meeting by myself again,” you interject, already making your way to the copy room.

The two men follow behind you, trying to keep up with your fast strides. “He’s not an intern anymore,” Ethan informs. 

You pause mid-step. 

Jackson swallows thickly and Ethan rubs the back of his neck as you turn to face them.

“Did he quit?”

He must have quit. In fact– he better have quit. Because if he hadn’t, if he had been promoted to junior coordinator, you might break your stupid clipboard over his head and tear the conference room apart instead. 

The guilty look on your friends’ faces confirms your suspicions. Ethan is the first to redirect his gaze to the floor. To his credit, he’s just some research assistant and doesn’t have much say in who gets promoted. 

Jackson, however, is your supervisor. He’s well aware of the amount of work you put into every assigned task, no matter how meaningless it seems. He knows you’re the one that constantly picks up Lucas’s slack. You even correct his work. You don’t care much for Lucas’s success, but Marina tends to make his failures your own. So, you come in early to do your workload and half of his. You double check all his reports, emails and documents. You taste all the lattes he makes and often remake them yourself. He can barely pour a glass of water without it splashing all over the counters and floors. Jackson knows this, even witnessing it all himself. He could have stopped this, could have advocated for you. 

He takes a step forward. You take one back, blinking back tears. You’re not upset– not sad, but rather angry. 

Lucas should’ve used his fucking brain. Jackson should’ve used his fucking mouth. And Marina, with her imitating outfits and mocking tasks, should’ve used some fucking common sense. 

“Our evaluation is not for another three months,” you mutter. It’s all you can professionally muster as your anger simmers deep in your chest. You bite back profanities, gritting your teeth to keep from screaming.

Jackson licks his lips. He meets your steel gaze with pity and replies, “I was informed about it this morning. I wanted to let you know before you read it in some email.”

So she’s here.

You look over Jackson’s shoulder to find Marina sitting in her office. You narrow your eyes at the striped black and silver blouse, and black pleated mini-skirt combo. She pairs it with charcoal grey, calf-high socks and velvet black heels. You internally roll your eyes at the replication of your outfit last week. She even has her blonde hair pulled back into a tight clipped bun. Her makeup is a complete copy of yours, from the soft smokiness of your eyes, the rosy highlight of your cheeks, to the pink gloss of your lips. She sits with one leg crossed over the other. Phone pressed to her ear, she stares at her screen.

She’s here, dressed just like you, and she was going to hide behind a fucking email. A good manager would call you into her office and inform you of the promotion herself. She would coach you and explain why the promised evaluation had been bypassed, why you did not receive the position. She would give you the space to ask questions, the resources to try and help you eventually work towards your own promotion. 

However, Marina is as good a leader as she is a lover– bitter, vengeful and completely insecure. 

It seems it is not bad enough that she has been feeding the press your personal information and embarrassing you in front of your colleagues. But now she’s hellbent on undermining you in front of the entire department. You know she wants to humiliate you, just like she did on your first day when she forced the entire floor to applaud you for the attention she thought you were seeking– over the colour of your outfit. 

Her irrational, unprofessional and borderline psychotic behaviour stops now.

Handing the clipboard and pen to Jackson, you push between him and Ethan. They part their lips but you can’t hear anything. You are not interested in their pacifying words. You’ve heard it countless times before– Don’t test her. She’s not worth it. Just keep your head down. You’re tired of the same passive advice. It doesn’t make you feel any better, nor is it working. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you react to her abuse. Nothing will ever be enough for her.

You open the door without knocking.

She glances up at you, green eyes turning cold and uninviting. 

Usually, you’d avert your gaze and yield to her superior position, respecting the hierarchy of your workplace. This time, you hold her glare and lock the door. 

The tightness of her jaw wavers. She sits up in her seat, attempting to appear intimidating.

While she is around your height, she does not have your powerful frame. With narrow shoulders and hips, she barely makes a threatening impression. She lacks shape, not only your fullness. Perhaps, at one point in your life, that detail might have caused you to internally spiral, wondering if it was her smaller figure that drew Taehyung to her. However, you are thankfully not that person anymore. And the last thing you can ever imagine being, is jealous of Marina. 

“Hang up.”

Marina raises a brow. Rolling her eyes, she laughs into her phone. “Yes, of course,” she says before shooing you away with a wave of her hand. 

You reach her desk in two strides. Leaning over the cherry oak desktop, you press down on the switchhook, hanging up the call.

“What do you–” 

“We need to talk.”

Your voice is tempered, but edged with bitterness. You suppress a smirk as she falls silent, her angry resolve wavering. 

“You’re not promoting Lucas.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Bo-peep,” she spits. Her tone carries resentment, but voice ever so slightly trembles.

Tonguing your cheek, you refuse to be baited by the stupid name and continue, “No one is getting this promotion. You will wait until the evaluation in three months and make your decision based on merit and management recommendation, as per protocol.”

Marina sits back in her seat, crossing her arms. She humorlessly laughs, the sound jagged and irritating– still, it lacks conviction. “Do you think you can just come into my office and order me around? You think because you made it on the cover of one stupid magazine that you’re untouchable? Let me remind you who is in charge here, sweetheart,” she seethes, leaning forward in an attempt to rob you of your space. "You are nothing but some slutty intern who got lucky. Don’t mistake that for power."

You smirk, shaking your head. “Do you think you can just continue to harass me and I won’t do anything about it? Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been up to the last couple of weeks with your meaningless tasks and constant manipulation? Three research assistants needed to reschedule follow-ups with their suppliers because you had me chasing an ex-employee all over the building the other day. And what did Lucas do, beside sit around and wait for me to hold his hand through a fucking photocopy?” 

Marina swallows thickly. The vehemence in her green eyes falters. She shifts back into her seat, suddenly needing some distance.

“It’s one thing to release information about me, but another to completely fail to do your job as a manager out of pure spite. You have other members on this team that need your support and you’re here bitching because of a man. Get your priorities straight, sweetheart.”

She lets out a dry chuckle. “You think I was the one that told them you work here? Everyone knows you’ve been feeding them information yourself. You just love the attenti–”

“I can make one phone call,” you snap, cutting her off, “You’ll be fired within a minute and I’ll take your place within the next.” 

The harshness of your tone silences her, but the possibility of your words rattles the mocking smile off her slim face. In reality, you are certain that one phone call to Taehyung won’t grant you her position, even if she did get fired. You would never attempt such a thing either. While you are bratty, you are not spoiled. You respect Taehyung enough not to put him in that position too. But, Marina doesn’t know that. 

“You are only here because I am allowing it,” you continue. “So, here is what’s going to happen– You are not promoting Lucas, you will wait for the evaluation and you will base your final decision on professional merit. All that petty, personal bullshit ends now.”

Marina scowls but slowly nods. 

You resist the urge to smirk. “Now,” you sigh, “Tell me to sit down.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“Sit down.”

You take a seat, avoiding the stares of the entire department. You’ve felt their curious eyes on you the moment you stepped into her office. “Stand up and point your finger at me.”

Marina does so, still clueless as to what you are trying to do.

“Great. Now, tell me to go home.”

“Are you trying to weasel your way out of work again?” 

Biting on the insides of your cheeks, you fight the urge to snap at her again. Through gritted teeth, you try to discreetly reply, “I am trying to help you save face. Now, get your head out of your ass and tell me to go home for the day.”

She tries and fails to hide the shock on her face. For a second, you think you catch the faintest glimpse of guilt in her eyes. But then she blinks and her usual annoyance overtakes her avian features.

“Go home,” she whispers. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

Pushing yourself up, you mutter, “You too.” 

You avoid the cautious stares of your colleagues as you exit her office. Their eyes follow you, but you don’t acknowledge them as you head to your desk to gather your things. They whisper, scurrying around you, yet you remain unfazed. It seems your attempts at salvaging her reputation were successful if everyone’s content to talk about you, but not to you.

When the elevator doors on the fifteenth floor close behind you, you text your driver to meet you at the back exit—the same place he dropped you off earlier this morning. For the first time since you were hired, you let out a heavy sigh of relief.

Mr Zhang stands by the black Rolls-Royce Ghost. An older man in his mid fifties, his posture is rigid and dependable. He carries a degree of composure that makes you want to stand straighter and be worthy of his presence. His silvery-blue eyes, the epitome of calm strength, shrink as he smiles at you. Dressed in a crisp black suit, matching long coat and a pair of shiny loafers, he walks towards you with an umbrella to shield you from the rain, even if you are merely three steps away from the car. You let him dote on you, knowing Taehyung must have ordered him to do so.

While he has only been chauffeuring you for a morning, you have learned that Mr Zhang has been driving Taehyung for about seven years. You were surprised to hear this, but as Mr Zhang explained how Taehyung would often spend his time working in the backseat, you assumed his need for a car service was probably required before he built his self-driving car.

 “Thank you,” you say with a smile as he opens the door for you. 

“My pleasure, Miss ____,” he replies with a tender grin of his own. 

You settle into the backseat with a gentle sigh. After buckling yourself up, you take in the interior all over again. You still cannot believe he accented the sleek black leather with gentle notions of pink. From the trimming of the seats, to the door pockets, to the seat belt button, Taehyug has customised the car to reflect your favourite colour. The ceiling is a beautiful replica of a starry night, only instead of silver, rose-white stars twinkle instead. Even the system lights are pink, the same shade EDEN switches to when she talks to you. And if he didn’t outdo himself already, he also made sure to stock the car with your favourite snacks and drinks. Mr Zhang encouraged you to take some with you before helping you out of the car earlier this morning.

“Where would you like to go, Miss___,” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

“Can you please take me to the Bangtan Building?” 

He nods, flashing you a fond smile as he shifts the car into drive. 

One of your favourite things about the car, besides the celestial ceiling, is the fact that all the windows are tinted. You sit back, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment of peace without the fear of being photographed or talked about, even if it is for a fleeting five minutes. 

When the car slows down, you blink your eyes open. The first thing you notice is the absence of the steady pitter-patter of the rain against the car, the soft beat ceasing as Mr Zhang pulls into a garage. You sit up, looking out the window to find a collection of luxury cars neatly parked in several rows. You recognise two of them: Taehyung’s personal, sleek black car and the black Jeep he used the weekend you went to meet his family.

You wonder if this is possibly the sub-level of the Bangtan Building when Mr Zhang parks the car in front of an elevator. He circles around the back of the car to open your door for you. You tried to open it for yourself this morning when he dropped you off at work and received a gentle scolding. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, accepting his hand as he helps you out. 

Mr Zhang replies with a polite nod. He shuts the door and asks, “Would you like me to wait?”

“Um,” you hesitate, looking at the elevator as if it holds the answer. If Taehyung is free, Mr Zhang has no reason to stay and wait for you. But if not, then it would be best if he hung around for a few minutes, right?

You’re not even sure what you’re doing here. You can’t go back to work, you don’t want to spend another second locked in your apartment and it’s not like you can kill a couple of hours at a cafe or at a bookstore. You’re supposed to be keeping a low profile until this chaos about your identity gets buried by the next news spectacle. 

The Bangtan Building feels like your only opinion.

“How about this,” Mr Zhang suggests, noticing your hesitation. “I will stay for ten minutes. But, if in eleven minutes you change your mind and decide to leave, I am a text message away.”

You let a small smile spread on your pink-glossed lips. Nodding, you thank him again and head towards the elevator. The car door opens and shuts as you look for the buttons only to realise it requires a keycard instead.

Digging through your purse for the pink pass Taehyung gifted you, you wonder if it will work here. It is an all-access authorization card, however this level of the building seems more personal than professional. Twirling the card between your fingers, you wonder if he will be upset that you’re trying to use it to access this elevator.

Maybe I should text him, you think, pulling out your phone by the pink and white charm that dangles from its matching case. You unlock it and stare at his name, wondering what you should even say. You know that if you ask him if he’s busy, he’ll tell you he’s not and demand to know what’s on your mind. He might be able to manage a few minutes away from his work to promptly answer a text. However, you doubt he has enough time to entertain you. 

You sigh heavily, growing tired of the overthinking. You just want to see him, to be in his presence and let his musky, intoxicating cologne soothe your erratic heart. You want to hug him, to be engulfed in his warmth and feel his muscles flex under his clothes as he tightens his grip around you. 

So, without a second thought, you toss your phone back into your purse and scan your card. 

DING!

The elevator chimes, doors opening. 

“Good morning, Angel,” EDEN greets. 

You can’t help but smile at the familiar voice. “EDEN,” you reply through a breathy chuckle as you step in.

“Mr Kim is currently on the fitness and wellness floor. Would you like me to guide you there?”

You smile fondly at the speaker. “Yes please,” you nod before adding, “I’ve really missed you.”

“Should I send you a reminder of my capabilities, or would you prefer a more heartfelt digital hug instead?”

You laugh as the doors shut, the elevator whirling as it moves upwards. If you didn’t know she was created by Taehyung, that comment alone would have given it away.

Tone slightly teasing, you reply, “I suppose I can use a hug?”

“I sense you are mocking me,” EDEN responds. “Mr Kim says you enjoy teasing. As always, he is correct.”

You freeze.

“Taehyung talks about me?”

“Mr Kim often talks about you. He worries about you when you are at work. He says he cannot stand that you are miserable there.”

You know you shouldn’t ask, but your curiosity is louder than your conscience. Biting your lip, you twist your fingers nervously and whisper, “What else does he say about me?”

“He says you’re beautiful, Angel. More than that, though… he believes you’re precious—something to be protected.”

Swallowing thickly, you clench your fists in an attempt to ground yourself. A shaky exhale escapes as you ask, “He said that?”

“You sound confused. Would you like me to relay Mr Kim’s exact words?”

“Yes.” 

“On numerous occasions, Mr Kim stated: Angel is beautiful, EDEN. She’s delicate and thoughtful, even after everything she has been through. She’s strong. She has a nasty attitude, but I like that she doesn’t yield to just anyone. I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Taehyung doesn’t just talk about you, he dwells on you. He didn’t just tell her all this at once, but rather on numerous occasions. He went on and on about you to his AI system, telling her what he liked about you and how you’re one of a kind. There is a certain degree of reverence in his words, even when reiterated through EDEN. It’s as though he is revelling in your existence. 

Your heart pounds so fast in your chest, you can feel the heavy beats in your throat. Gulping, you try to settle your nerves at the new revelation. He really does like you– or at least enjoys your company. All those times you thought you were bothering him, or worried he was obligated to reply based on the origins of your relationship were ignorant and short-sighted. You should have believed him when he told you that you could never annoy him with your messages. 

“Would you like to hear more?” 

“No,” you breathlessly reply.

You’ve invaded his privacy enough. In fact, you should probably try to erase this from EDEN’s history. If he finds out you’ve been snooping, he might not find you so charming and endearing anymore. 

“Is there a way to delete this conversation?”

“Yes.”

You wait, hoping she will give you options. When she doesn’t, you ask, “Can you delete it then?”

“Unfortunately, only Mr Kim is authorised for this action. Would you like me to request his approval?”

Panic surges through you. “No!” you shout, worried that if you take too long to answer, she might ask him anyway. “Can you just not tell him about this conversation?”

“You are not authorised to lock information. However, it sounds like you would like me to omit this conversion from my communications with Mr Kim. Is this correct?”

You raise a brow at her words. Is she… finding you a loophole? 

“Yes, that’s correct,” you confirm.

“Understood. The previous conversation will be omitted from future communications with Mr Kim.” 

Fighting off a smile, you look up and tease,“EDEN, if I could kiss you right now, I would.”

“While I am flattered, Angel, I do value my job.” 

You’re about to ask what she means, when the elevator dings again.

“I’ll leave you to your visit. Let me know if you require further assistance,” EDEN says.

The doors open to reveal an expansive gym. You step out of the elevator after thanking EDEN,  heels softly clicking against polished concrete floors. To your right is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an impressive view of the city below. It’s not as breathtaking as the view from Taehyung’s office, but still looks beautiful. You imagine the sun flooding the space with light, wondering how peaceful it would be to come up here every morning and stretch under its golden warmth. 

The sound of a distant, deep laugh draws your attention to the main section of the room. You cast your gaze over the row of state-of-the-art equipment–treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights all set up to accommodate any fitness routine– and catch a glimpse of three dark-haired heads by bench-presses. You immediately register one of them as Taehyung, his soft mullet easy to spot even from a distance. 

The little smile playing on your pink glossed lips flatters at the sight of his board bare shoulder. He looks so strong and big. You suddenly miss being in his arms, whether you are being hugged or disciplined, you just want to be held against his strong frame and feel safe.

“So, who is she?” an unfamiliar asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

 “Save your breath, Guk. I already tried.” 

You tiptoe down the pathway, between treadmills and stationary bikes, straining your ears to catch Taehyung’s reply. A pang of guilt engulfs your conscience at your sneaky behaviour. You’ve already extracted more than enough information from EDEN. You don’t need to eavesdrop on his private conversations with his friends either.

But Taehyung is so… reserved. He doesn’t share his thoughts unless you bear your own to him first and you’re tired of the emotional drain of doing so. You just want to hear what he thinks of you, without the pressure of trying to comfort your insecurities or fulfil your desires. And talking about you to his AI is one thing, but talking to his friends….

That must mean something, right? 

“Why are you being so secretive?” Guk presses, despite Taehyung’s silence. “I promise I won’t try to take her from you.”

“One more word, Jungkook, and I’ll make you lift this last set on your own,” Taehyung threatens. 

His friends laugh, loud and giddy. You can imagine Taehyung’s small smile as he tries to maintain an annoyed look, but cannot resist the teasing comradery around him.

“Apparently, she’s precious,” the second voice chimes in again.

“I told you that in confidence.” 

Taehyung’s voice is rough and deep, resonating within your bones even from a distance. You catch the slight notions of betrayal. The twinge of hurt in his tone triggers your guilt. It gnaws at you all over again. You shouldn’t have hidden your presence or attempted to violate more of his privacy. It’s bad enough you didn’t tell him you were coming over but you’ve also overheard more of his private conversations than he’d probably want you to. 

“You saw her, didn’t you?” Jungkook asks.

“For like a second— she was sleeping in the back of the limo. Which reminds me,” the second voice says, a hint of conviction in his tone, “Are you ever going to tell me why I had to fire the driver?” 

“Are we going to work out or continue to ask stupid questions?” Taehyung snaps. 

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet Jungkook manages to find some. “That sounds like a stupid question,” he jokes. 

You bite your lip to keep from laughing along with his friends. Rolling your shoulders back, you try to regain your composure. Perhaps this is a good place in their conversation to subtly announce your presence. Jungkook’s joke has diffused the tension enough to build your confidence and finally silence your conscience. 

With a deep breath, you put one foot before the other and allow the rhythmic click-clack of your heels to echo in the now quieting room.

Taehyung peeks his head down the pathway, brown eyes distant and cold until they meet yours. A soft glow of recognition softens his gaze. Then it darkens, trailing up and down your voluptuous frame, taking in every curve, every roll. You notice his attention lingering around your swaying hips. A small smile tugs on his lips.

His gaze alone is often enough to rattle your senses, sending shivers down your spine. One look, and the world fades–every thought quiets, every doubt diminishes and you’re left with only his name burning on the tip of your tongue. However, when that intense gaze is paired with his bare, toned chest, you cannot breathe. Your steps falter as he makes his way towards you, black basketball shorts sitting low enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. Your eyes slowly fall down from his broad shoulders, to his buff pecs– where that celestial tattoo is inked, then drop to his taut abs.

Heat creeps up your neck and spreads across your cheeks as a wicked thought whispers– what would it be like to grind on them? 

“Hey,” Taehyung greets, smile widening as he nears. 

You blink out of your thoughts as he pulls you into a hug. His usual clean scent, a soothing blend of sage and crisp white tea leaves, is muskier from this sweat. His soft skin feels damp too, but you embrace him tightly all the same, letting his warmth and strength ground you. For the first time since your photo has gone viral, you release a heavy breath.

Sensing the tension in your posture, Taehyung holds you tighter. His fingers brush up and down your spine, relieving the tension from each vertebrate until you are a puddle in his arms. Then, after a few more seconds of peace and security, he slowly untangles himself from you.

Taehyung lowers himself a bit to properly meet your gaze. A teasing smile plays on his lips as he quietly asks, “Playing hooky again, sweetheart?”

The gentle tone of his velvety voice lights your nerves with giddiness. Your body buzzes with desire, and you can’t help giggling–especially when he calls you such intimate terms of endearment.

“Not exactly.”

Hope twinkles in his eyes. He raises a brow, standing back to his full height. “God, Angel, please tell me you quit,” he says. 

You bite your lip, a guilty look settling upon your features. 

Before you can properly explain, Jungkook’s loud voice carries in the empty gym. 

“Is that her?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s hot.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hearing such a shameless declaration from his friends startling you. While you don’t think you’re unappealing, you wouldn’t necessarily define yourself as ‘hot.’ You’re not sure what you were expecting from his friends but you can confidently say you didn’t anticipate them to be so… open. Taehyung often maintains a tough exterior and doesn’t let it soften for just anyone. His friends, who flash goofy smiles asTaehyung turns to glare at them, seem more comfortable speaking their minds, even when most are better left unsaid.

You look over Taehyung’s shoulder to get a better look at them. You do not recognise the taller one. In a tight, black tank top and shorts, he stands with most of his weight resting on his right side. His toned arms are covered in colourful tattoos. He winks at you, though his long hair slightly obscures his gaze. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, turning your attention to the slightly shorter one. 

He’s a bit thinner, but still just as ripped. Also shirtless, with the word nevermind inked across the right side of his body, he gracefully stands with his weight evenly distributed and hands in his pockets. You recognise his prominent, full lips and soft brown eyes from the ballet you attended a coupe of days ago. His earlier comment about the limousine driver suddenly starts to make sense.

Upon meeting your curious gaze, he offers a sweet smile and nods as a way of greeting. 

“Can you give us a moment?” Taehyung asks. 

The taller one, who you realise is Jungkook based on the sound of his voice, smiles, seemingly complacent before replying, “No.”

Without missing a beat, the shorter one adds, “So, you must be the girl Tae won’t shut up about.”

You raise a brow, feigning your surprise. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips, but you try to fight it off. You can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. He studies your reaction for a moment too long then finally turns back to his friends. 

“Why does he always tell you– Why do you never tell me anything?” Jungkook complains. He furrows his brows and returns Taehyung’s half-hearted glare. “I’m always the last to know.”

“That’s cause I’m his favourite,” the shorter one teases. 

You tilt your head up at Taehyung, whispering, “I thought Wooyoung was your favourite.” 

Within seconds, Taehyung’s glare softens, twinkling with amusement as he looks down at you. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and you’re close enough to watch a droplet of sweat slide down his temple. Without thinking, you reach up, wiping it away with your thumb. He leans into your touch, his throat bobbing. You bite your lip, about to avert your gaze to the floor when he parts his lips to say something. You lean in, eager to hear the vibrations of his deep voice resonate down to your core. 

“You met Wooyoung?”

Jungkook’s voice shatters your fragile bubble of closeness.

Blinking yourself back into reality, you take a small step away from Taehyung and turn to face his friends. “Um–” you start, cutting yourself off when you notice a shift in their demeanour. 

Once foolish, their attitudes become serious, rooted in confusion or perhaps concern. You don’t have much time to decipher it before they share a look and, soon, knowing smiles. 

“It’s not–” Taehyung starts only for Jungkook to fearlessly cut him off.

“You’re his girlfriend,” he states through a chuckle.

You stiffen at his emphasis on the label. “We’re just friends,” you correct, ignoring the sting of that truth all over again. Keen on changing the subject, you step forward with an outstretched hand and introduce yourself.

“Jimin. Jungkook,” Taehyung quickly says, pointing to each one as they shake your hand. “And they were just leaving.” 

“No–”

“Yes.” Taehyung hisses, silencing Jungkook.

His friends share an annoyed look, attention flickering back at you for a moment. Jimin sucks in his cheeks while Jungkook’s tongues his and scratches the back of his neck.

You awkwardly shift your weight, crossing your arms over your chest. Regret twists in your gut and you find yourself wishing you hadn’t come. You should have told him you wanted to see him before showing up here. Instead, you let your fear of rejection overrule your mind. You bite your lip as shame heats your face. He just wanted to hang out with his friends– they were having such a great time before you arrived. And now a blanket of thick tension settles over the room as they try and fail to silently convey their disagreement with not only Taehyung’s decision, but his tone. 

“Fine,” Jungkook finally sighs. As he grabs his water bottle and walks by Taehyung, he adds,“I want details later.”

Jimin pushes Jungkook along, with a chuckle. “Don’t be gross,” he half-heartedly chastises. 

You stifle your own laughter with a bite of your lip, earning an amused look from Taehyung. He pulls you towards his chest as the elevator dings and his friends' voices eventually fade.

Once he is sure they are gone, he dips his head into the crook of your neck and presses soft, wet kisses along your sensitive skin.

“Finally,” he groans against your throat, then drags his tongue up to your jaw.

You lean your head back. A breathless gasp escapes you when he kisses his way back down your neck to graze his teeth against your collarbone. You clutch onto his strong biceps, feeling them flex under your touch. With a quiet moan, you arch your back and push your full chest against his.

Taehyung groans in reply. His hands slide down from your waist to your rear. He grabs handfuls of your cheeks, kneading your supple fat like a stress ball. His nose nestles up into the space between your jaw and ear, then he whispers, “You like it when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You know you should tell him to stop. You should explain what happened at work, what you have been seeing online and how suffocating it feels to be locked in your apartment all weekend. Instead, all you can manage is an eager nod and a strained whine as he smacks one of your cheeks and nibbles on your earlobe.

Trembling, your knees almost give out. Taehyung holds you tighter to keep you from losing your balance. It seems to pull him out of whatever feral state he was previously in. The tenderness in his eyes is so overwhelming, it stirs a quiet ache deep within you. Fraught and breathless, a fragile moan falls from your pouty lips.

“Trying to spoil me,” he teases, rubbing your back.

Your brows furrow, pout prominent as you peer up at him in confusion. 

His smile widens. Nudging your nose with his own, he asks,“What did I do to deserve your company this morning, Angel?”

Your face is so hot, you’re certain he can feel the heat radiating off your skin. You try to fight off a smile, but he holds you tighter and you can’t deny your heart the satisfaction of giving into him. “Things got complicated at work, but I worked it out and gave myself the day off,” you explain in the steadiest voice you can muster. Running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, you continue, “I didn’t want to go home yet though. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding, princess,” he reassures. “You’re welcome whenever, you know that.”

He has told you that countless times over text, but you always thought he was just being polite. You’re starting to realise that you should’ve known better. Taehyung never says anything he doesn’t mean– especially not for the sake of being polite. 

As his words settle in, your hands instinctively slide up and down his biceps. They’re so big, barely fitting in your grip. The solid strength beneath your fingers draws your attention, and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze. He flexes in response, and you gasp.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You playfully glare up at him. He never misses an opportunity to tease you, deep voice dripping in condescension. The urge to tease him back is strong, and you find yourself having to bite your tongue to keep from spewing your most disrespectful remarks– like how he pushed his friends out as quickly as possible to get a chance to touch you. It would be so easy to rile him up, to trigger his unyielding dominance. Instead, you opt for a tamer response. Or, you at least try to, unable to completely subdue your snarky tone.

“Do you like it when I touch you like this?” you ask, echoing his words. You squeeze his arms again, cinching a moan in the base of your throat.

Taehyung leans his head back to get a better look at you. His eyes darken, mischief shifting to authority. With a lick of his lips, he adjusts his grip to your hips and holds you steady. 

“I think you like touching me like this.”

“Way to answer the question, genius.”

“Is this you flirting?” he smirks. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest and resonates deep in your core. 

You press your legs, clenching your jaw as your face flushes. “Do you ever get tired of mocking me?” you ask, slightly raising your voice.

Taehyung tongues his cheek. A hint of quiet challenge flashes in his gaze, but he stifles it, likely giving you a chance to correct your attitude on your own. You swallow thickly and resist the urge to sink into his hold all over again.

“Do you ever get tired of drooling over me?” he questions. 

You’re about to tell him not to flatter himself, surely earning a swift spank but he caresses your chin. Using his thumb, he gently wipes the saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth. He then brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean.

You gape up at him, lips quivering. 

He fiercely maintains your gaze, holding your chin again, and leans forward. “How come every bit of you always tastes like desperation?” he whispers, feigning curiosity. When you don’t answer, voice shackled in awe and submission, he tightens his grip and hisses, “Do you want daddy’s help?”

“Yes, daddy,” you immediately murmur, nails digging into his muscular biceps. 

“Beg for it,” he orders. “Tell me what you want.”

His voice is so husky and raw, you can’t help the roll of your eyes as it vibrates through your body. Your arousal pools between your thighs, panties clinging to your folds as you squirm and whine. Your attention drifts down to his broad chest, lingering on the intricate tattoo, before settling on his tight abs. Your shaky hands follow the heated trail of your gaze, moving up from his biceps to his shoulders, down his pecs and finally finding their place on his stomach. 

“I–” you start only to cut yourself off. 

Just like when you asked to ride his thigh, your body burns with desire, but you can’t find the words to voice your fantasy. You can see the image so clearly in your mind– he’s lying on his back and you’re straddling his waist. Hands steady on his chest, you drag your wet folds against his abs. But to vocalise it, all needy and weak, feels somewhat embarrassing. Is this normal? Is this something people do– rub themselves against someone’s stomach? 

Taehyung tilts your head by the grip on your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “What do you want?” he asks, gentler this time. 

“I don’t know how–”

“Yes, you do,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

Furrowing your brows, you internally groan. While a part of you is glad he’s not willing to let this go, you’re still worried you might sound stupid. What if he gets turned off by your request, or worse– what if he thinks less of you? 

You part your lips, about to tell him you just want his fingers when you notice the intensity of his gaze. He stares at you with such deep certainty, like you are the only thing grounding him to this moment. Your doubts diminish under their sincerity.

“I want to grind on your abs,” you confess before you can second guess yourself again.

A throaty, rough groan sounds in response. Your knees buckle and Taehyung pulls you closer by the arm wrapped around your waist.

He… likes that? 

“Say please,” he orders.

And now he wants you to beg for it. Your breath hitches and you search his eyes for a hint of mockery or mischief, but only seem to find desire.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, shifting your grip from his waist to his shoulders. Your long, blush pink nails dig into his soft skin as he backpedals towards the bench-press. “Please let me ride your abs. I’ve been trying to be good.” Your voice wavers with desperation, much to his amusement.

“I know you have, princess,” he mutters, pecking the tip of your nose. Slowly detaching himself from you, he nods towards your hips and orders, “Take those off.”

You step out of your heels immediately. Hiking up the tight skirt of your dress, you hook your thumbs in the waistbands of your tights and thong, then tug them down your legs. You quietly gasp at the brush of friction it causes, biting your lip. 

From his place by the weighted bar, Taehyung snaps his attention back at you. He watches your garments roll into each other as he lifts the heavy bar resting over the bench. You pause with your tights off one leg, gawking at the flex of his biceps, the veins that protrude along his forearms. His gaze meets yours and he winks, like he isn’t carrying a massive amount of weight in his hands. 

Your core clenches, clit throbs reminding you of your desire. Swallowing thickly, you hastily return to your task and yank the remainder of your tangled tights off.

Taehyung sets the bar down with practised ease, thumbing his nose with a little sniffle. 

You nervously clutch the hem of your short dress, thick thighs tightly pressed together to relieve the tension between them. 

He smiles at your shy posture, taking a seat on the edge of the bench. “Come here,” he softly beckons with a nod. 

You obey, reaching him in no more than two steps. 

A teasing smile plays on his lips. Stationing his hands on your hips, he maintains your gaze and presses a gentle kiss against the curve of your stomach. “You’re so cute when you’re shy,” he whispers, then kisses your hands on the hem of your dress. 

You tremble under his delicate touch. 

His attention snaps up to your face again and his gaze is a dark abyss of feral desire. Licking his lips, he looks ready to devour you. 

You open your mouth to ask if he’s okay, but he lies back against the bench, gesturing you to mount his waist with a causal wave of two fingers.

You don’t need to be told twice, eagerly straddling him. Needy tears prick your eyes as you press your slick folds against the ridges of his stomach. A strangled whine tears through your throat, and you attempt to steady yourself by pressing your hands against his chest. Your clit is aching for stimulation, but you hesitate to put all your weight on him.

Taehyung gently soothes you with soft shushes, gripping onto your hips. “Take a seat, Angel,” he encourages. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sit.”

You seat yourself on him without another word. 

His back slightly arches, as if responding to your full weight with a desire for more. 

You tremble at the pressure, sinking your nails into his strong pecs. Your hips start to move on their own, slow and unsure. You assumed it would feel good, your heat, all wet and sticky, gliding against his soft skin. But the lines of his abs, sturdy and tight, add a layer of texture that causes your toes to curl and eyes to roll. 

“Oh, god,” you cry as your thrusts gain some confidence. “D-daddy!”

Taehyung groans beneath you, his stomach rising and falling against your fervent hips. He shifts your dress even higher to watch your pussy move.

“That’s it, baby, just like that…” he whispers, trailing off with a quiet hiss under his breath. 

Your vision blurs with desperation. You’ve never been this needy for him before, your walls clenching, longing for the familiar stretch of his fingers. It’s just the act of claiming his body this way, sitting on such an unconventional part of him, a part you’re sure none of the others have sat on, and using it–using him–to get yourself off. 

And he encourages you to do so, helping you with your thrusts and guiding you towards a faster pace by the rough hold on your hips. His jaw is clenched tight, attention captivated by the slick sounds of your wetness rubbing against him.

“You feel so g-good,” you moan, dragging your nails down his chest. 

“Fuck,” he hisses when you scratch his nipple. 

Your eyes round at the slight tremor in his voice. Hips still grinding steadily under his guidance, you thumb his right nipple and watch him bite his lip. He meets your gaze and you expect to receive a silent warning. Instead, he gazes up at you with… adoration? 

“I can’t take this,” he growls, shoving your hips down to his crotch. 

You’re about to whine, furrowing your brows and nudging his shoulder in protest at the lack of contact, when his clothed cock presses between your folds.

Taehyung sits up and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around your waist and you cannot sit still another moment longer. Your hips shift forward and back, slow and hesitant. You don’t want to receive a scolding for not asking for permission, but holy fuck you need to do something, anything. 

“Keep going,” he whispers against your jaw. “Faster, Angel.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. Running your hands through his hair, you gently tug at the ends to ground yourself against his hard, throbbing cock. Your legs are already shaking, entire body quaking in his arms as you snap your hips as fast as you can against him. You know you are no match for his speed but the friction stimulates your clit all the same. You can already feel your gut tighten and knot, orgasm building from the impression of his thickness. 

You didn’t come here for this. You didn’t plan to get lost in his touch, or be on the verge of crying for his attention. You just wanted a new place to escape and recharge. You wanted his comfort, sure– but his cock was not the goal. 

So, why the fuck are you salivating at its thickness, at the fact that it barely fits between your folds? Why are you scratching at his back, biting your lip to keep yourself from begging him to let you feel it against you, unclothed and raw? Why are you on the brink of shattering at the mere thought of it?

You promised yourself you’d set more boundaries and you really do have every intention of doing so. But… Taehyung is just so magnetic, so alluring. You cannot stop yourself from craving him. And what were you supposed to do when you walked out of that elevator and saw him shirtless? How could you really expect yourself not to get distracted? 

“You’re doing so good,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Quick study, huh?”

You cannot hold back a giggle at his teasing tone. Pride blooms in your chest at his words and you find yourself putting a bit more force into your thrusts in response. “I learned from the best,” you moan. 

Taehyung chuckles darkly in your ear, hot breath sending a wave of shivers right down to your core. Your smile falters and you tighten your core to keep from releasing, a loud moan tearing from your throat. The rippling vibrations of his laughter almost put you over the edge, but you know if you cum now without his permission, you will receive a harsh punishment– the denial of a future orgasm. 

“I need to cum,” you whimper.

“So?”

Your eyes roll from the coldness of his tone, and for a second you think you might just let go, but you hold onto your release even tighter, tensing up in his arms.

Taehyung is relentless. Noticing the hesitance of your hips, he grinds up into you, faster than you have ever been able to move. He’s testing you, pushing you further towards the edge.

“Please,” you cry, tears finally splitting, rushing down your face. “I-I can– Daddy, please! Please!”

“Please what?” he coos, the mocking tone not doing you any favours. 

You part your lips to give him what he wants, to scream for his permission but you cannot hold back any longer. Your orgasm ripples through your shaking body. You throw your head back, almost falling off his lap as you squeal and gush all over his shorts. Eyes rolling, jaw slack, you can feel yourself drooling, but cannot be bothered to care when he’s still thrusting.

While your mind feels foggy, blood rushing to your head and muffling your ears, you still catch his whispered profanities. Suddenly, his hips jut forward with renewed force before tensing. You feel a bout of warmth between your folds as he growls your name.

A shuddering sigh falls from your gloss-smeared lips as you lean forward. You rest your head against his shoulder, limp and exhausted as your pussy still clenches sporadically. You should feel ashamed for abandoning your decision to keep things professional, but all that fills your thoughts is the aftershock of his touch, the overwhelming ache of your body still quivering from the intensity of a delayed orgasm. His name lingers on your tongue and you cannot deny how sweet it tastes. Even as you try to gather yourself, willing some semblance of strength back to your legs, your body betrays you, leaning into his warmth.

You want to apologise for losing control, but the words don’t come, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re too far gone or because deep down, you don’t want to. Because right now, it’s just you and Taehyung, panting and clinging onto each other.

Because right now, you feel whole.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[nadvs]

Hello! Im the anon who asked for a fic with rivaly at college 😍 OMG! I love what this turned in to. You are an incredible writer!! I hope you know that. You have me hooked. You write dialog amazingly. It feels so real. Never stop writing!!

Can you write something about when she get jealous? Maybe when he is in the NBA?

Hope you have a great day!

Love from Sweden

HIII omg it’s such a good premise!! i remember being in love with it the second i read your ask 🙂‍↕️ thank you so much 💘 i’m so touched that people like the au and want more of it 🥹

based on this fic

» au masterlist

rafe can get wildly, intensely jealous. and while they often joke about how similar they are, that’s one trait she doesn’t share with him. until he gets signed and moves away.

he doesn’t have as much time for texts and calls. he’s training with his new team, working up to the season. she gets it. or at least, she tries to.

she already had unwelcome thoughts swimming in her head when he had been signed to a team states away about him getting lost in the fame and potentially being unfaithful. she never worried about him cheating before. and she hates that she’s doing it now.

but she tries to keep it in. things between them are already tense. accusing him of something just because she’s insecure isn’t fair and will likely just push him away.

then, she visits him. they share their first i love you’s. they’re in a good place.

but when the season starts, that’s another story. it’s surreal seeing her boyfriend play on tv on such a massive scale, thousands of seats surrounding the court filled. she’s so happy for him and whenever the camera focuses on him, she can tell he’s nervous and she loves that she’s the only one in the world who knows it.

but then between periods, she catches glimpses of his team’s cheerleaders before the cuts to commercial. and she can’t lie to herself that these girls are beautiful. and she wonders if maybe he already lived out the college fantasy. maybe now that he’s a professional player, he’ll have his eyes on professional cheerleaders. or really, any girl, because she’s sure he could get any girl he wants.

as the season goes on, because she likes to keep up with the nba on social media, specifically him and his team, her tiktok automatically shows her videos and edits of her boyfriend, some comments from fans about how he’s the next best thing, but most from girls going crazy over how hot he is.

it puts her into a funk. he sees gorgeous cheerleaders at every game. he gets comments on his instagram from beautiful girls. the internet is losing their mind over him. how can she possibly compare?

so, the next night she’s on facetime with him, she can’t hold it back any longer. after they talk about their days, she starts to pick at a string on her shirt, looking down.

“so…” she says. “do you ever get a chance to talk to the cheerleaders?”

rafe looks at her with knitted brows. she’s been off since she picked up the phone, seemingly mad at him. it’s not like them to not be direct.

“baby, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“nothing,” she lies. “just wondering if you ever talk to them. they’re good dancers.”

he hates the way her lips are turned into a frown, her eyes off the screen.

“i only wanna talk to one cheerleader and she’s pretending she’s not mad at me right now,” he says.

this earns a smirk from her.

“they’re all so pretty,” she says. “i’m not blind. and you’re not, either. there’s no way you haven’t noticed them.”

“i moved here to play,” rafe tells her.

“and you know girls online are going crazy for you,” she continues. “don’t act like you haven’t seen all the comments on your instagram.”

rafe studies her image on the screen.

“you know you have nothing to be jealous of, right?” he says. he hates to admit it, but it’s kind of flattering, especially because she isn’t usually the intensely jealous type. it shows him she still wants him.

she sighs. of course he sees right through her. not like she’s being subtle anyway.

“i do, though,” she says. “and maybe it’s stupid to talk about because i’m annoying you and making you feel like i don’t trust-”

“you’re not annoying me,” he interrupts. “you’re being really cute, actually.”

“cute,” she scoffs, her eyes still low.

“look at yourself on your phone,” he says. she rolls her eyes and obliges, gazing at her reflection on the screen.

“now what?” she mumbles.

“if you can’t see how beautiful you are, maybe you are blind,” he says.

“stop,” she laughs softly. “it’s not that i don’t trust you. it’s just that… it has to feel like a waste to be getting all this attention and ignoring it all because of some girl back home, doesn’t it?”

“some girl,” he echoes. “you think you’re just some girl?”

she shrugs. his chest aches.

“you’re my best friend,” he says. “i wouldn’t fuck this up for anything or anyone in the world. you’re it for me.”

her vision blurs with tears. she flattens her lips together and finally nods.

“sorry,” she says weakly.

“for what?”

“for being so jealous.”

“i already told you it’s cute,” he says. she smiles again.

“i love you, okay?” she mumbles.

“i love you, too, okay?” he teases.

they talk for another hour, then she tells him she needs to go to sleep so she’s not totally exhausted for her morning lecture. he has the day off the next day, so he stays up a bit longer on his phone after they hang up.

when she wakes up, she sees hundreds of instagram notifications on her phone. rafe posted a photo of them from the last time she visited, tagging her with the caption: All I need.

before she even gets out of bed, she’s crying. because of how good he is to her. because he’s telling the world he belongs to someone already. because she’s sure that he loves her just as much as she loves him.

[winchesterwild78]

A Shattered Heart pt 2

Master List

Jensen x Reader (girlfriend)

Warnings: Angst, language, longing 

A/N: Apparently I made Jensen too much of an asshole and now I feel terrible. 🫣 So, here is the 2nd part of the story. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. All work is my own and absolutely no disrespect to Jensen or his family. No idea why my head is filled with this story…..it’s brutal. It's gonna get better...I promise. I wrote it fast-like 30 minutes, and didn’t do a great job editing. Please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

The days without Jensen blurred together. After you left that night you drove to a hotel to stay until you could figure out what to do next. You called your mom for advice and just to hear her voice. “Why don’t you come home for a visit. We’d love to see you, and maybe some time away will help the two of you. Honey, I’m not making excuses for him, but he’s got a lot of people depending on him and that kind of pressure can break even the strongest of people.” “I know mama, but he told me to leave. The things he said were just so cruel. I’m the one person he’s supposed to turn to when things get hard, and he pushed me away.” 

Your mom offered you more words of encouragement and by the end of the conversation you had booked a flight home for a few days later. After telling her goodbye you climbed into the bed, looking at your phone hoping for a text from Jensen, but there was nothing. It was almost 6am by this point and you were exhausted. You figured he was asleep or passed out. Laying down and turning your phone on silent, sleep quickly overtook you. 

You woke up early in the afternoon. Stretching you glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 2pm. Your eyes were swollen and your head pounding from all the crying. Stumbling out of bed you made your way to get some water and headache medicine. 

After taking the medicine you decided a hot shower might help too. You grabbed your clothes, toiletries, and jumped in the shower. After a very long, very hot shower, you were starting to feel a little better. 

It had been 3 days at this point since Jensen told you to leave. Three days without his arms around you, without his hot breath on your neck, without his lips on yours and without him saying he loved you. Anytime your phone went off you jumped, thinking it was him, but nothing. It had been 3 days and he hadn’t reached out to you. You tried to keep tabs on him through mutual friends on social media, but you saw nothing. 

Your heart ached for any news on how he was doing. Was he just as heartbroken as you were, just as sad, or was he fine with his decision? You took some time off from work to sort everything out, and to fly home for a few days. You packed up and made sure you had everything from the room. 

Stepping out into the cool air your breath hitched. You had an Uber drive you to the airport. You boarded your plane, turning off your phone, settling into your seat for the flight home. 

*Jensen’s POV*

I woke up with a horrible hangover. The most I remember from last night was the fight with Danneel, drinking a ton of whiskey, and….oh shit! I told Y/N to leave. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs looking for her. Going room to room praying it was a dream and she was still there. Then a small piece of metal caught my eye, her key. I grabbed my phone and tried to call her, it went straight to voicemail. I tried again, still voicemail. “Fuck!”

I called Jared, “Jared I fucked up! I don’t know how to fix this.” Jensen said in a panicked voice. “Whoah, Jens, slow down. What happened?” “I fucked up. Danneel called me last night, I had just gotten home from filming and we got into a huge fight. When I hung up I took it out on Y/N. Shit, man. She was only trying to help me. I said some really fucked up things, then I…” His voice trailed off. “Jens, then you what?” “I told her to leave. I got drunk and told her to leave. She left. I haven’t heard from her and when I try to call her it goes straight to voicemail. Shit man, I love her. What the hell did I do?!” 

Jared took a deep breath, “Give me a second man.” He covered the phone and told Gen what happened, asking her to call you and see if she could get you to come over. She pulled out her phone and the call went straight to voicemail. She shook her head at Jared.

“Jens, do you know where she might be?” Jensen sat in silence for a minute, “No, well, maybe she went home. Like her mother’s house.” “Okay, do you have her mother’s number?” Jared asked. “Yeah, somewhere. I’ll have to find it. Damn I said some horrible things, I know I lost her Jared. I saw how much I broke her before she left and I just fucking sat there. What the fuck is wrong with me?!” “We will figure it out, Jensen. In the meantime you need to figure out why you took all of that out on her. If she decides to come back to you, you have to figure out what triggered you and how to prevent it from happening again.” 

Jensen knew why he did it. He was falling for you faster than he expected, and he got scared. Scared that when all the shit was going on with his ex you were the first person he wanted to turn to for help. When he thought about the future and doing things with his kids he saw you there too. He was in deep, so deep he had thought about what marriage would look like with you. He was terrified if he opened up his heart to you, like really opened his heart, you would break it too. Jensen loved you, but he was afraid of another failed marriage.

He knew it was stupid, but people do stupid things when they are scared. 

For three days Jensen, Jared and Gen tried to get in touch with you. Nobody could reach you. Jensen was due back on set in a few days and he had no idea how he could go. Jensen searched everywhere for your mom’s number but couldn’t find it. As the days continued to pass without any word from you, Jensen fell deeper into despair. 

You sat in your seat on the plane, earbuds in and trying to clear your head. You scrolled through your phone, looking at the pictures of you and Jensen. Thousands of pictures of stolen glances, soft kisses, and laughter. There were pictures of Jensen and his children, candid shots of Jensen you thought he didn’t know you took, but he did. He had several of you too. 

Your heart ached for him, but his cruelty played over and over in your head. Frustrated, you tossed your phone in your bag and closed your eyes. 

A few hours later you were standing inside the airport waiting for your luggage. Your phone started pinging with notifications once you turned airplane mode off. You shoved it in your pocket as you grabbed your suitcase and walked towards the front. 

You ordered an Uber to drive you to your parent’s house. Looking at your phone you noticed you had a ton of text messages and an Instagram notification. Climbing into the Uber you sat back and checked your messages.

Gen: Hey sweetie. Jensen told us what happened. I just wanted to check on you. Reach out when you can. We’re worried about you. 

Jared: Hey shortstack. Gen and I are here for you. He’s a fool. Please let us know you’re okay. 

Then you saw Jensen’s name. You swallowed hard, checking the messages.

Jensen: Sweetheart I’m so sorry. Please let me know you’re okay.

Jensen: Baby I fucked up. Please call me or text me. I’m worried about you. 

Jensen: I know you’re angry and hurt. I don’t blame you. Baby, please let me know you’re okay. Nobody has heard from you.

Jensen: I love you

Jensen: Y/N you didn’t deserve what I said and you didn’t deserve me taking all this out on you. I love you, baby. I know I hurt you and I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please just let me know you’re okay. 

Your breath hitched as you read his messages. He hurt you, broke your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the need to reach out to him. You stared at your messages trying to figure out what to do. So you decided to send Gen a text first.

You: Hey Gen. I’m okay. I had to get away for a bit. He broke my heart, told me to leave so I did. I can’t be with someone who pushes me away like that. I love him, but I deserve better than that.

Gen: Oh, Y/N. I am so glad you’re okay. I know sweetie. He called Jared. We understand and support you. Just know he regrets what he did. The past three days he’s been trying to find you and reach out to you. For what it’s worth he does love you, he’s just scared.

You: I’m scared too, Gen. I fell for him fast and then he tossed me to the side. I have to come to terms with not being good enough for him, not being what he needed. I don’t know if or when I’ll reach out to him, but please let him know I’m okay. I should be back in Texas in about a week. I know he has to go back to set, so please let him know I’ll have Jared go by the house with me to get the rest of my stuff. 

Gen: Oh sweetie, you are good enough for him. He knows what he’s lost. I will tell him you’re okay. When you get back we will figure out your stuff. We love you.

You: Thank you, and I love you guys too.

Sitting your phone down you looked out the car window and saw your parent’s neighborhood come into view. You took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When the car pulled into your parent’s driveway you saw your mom at the door. Her bright smile is a welcome sight. 

Getting out of the car, you grabbed your bags and walked towards your mom. Her arms outstretched to pull you into a hug. 

Her arms around you felt like home. You felt safe and loved. The weight of the pain came crashing down again and you sobbed into your mother’s arms. “Shh, it’s okay baby. Let it out. I know, baby.” She whispered into your head as she held you. 

As you pulled away, the tears still falling, you let out a shaky breath. “Mama, I still love him. It just hurts so bad. I don’t know how or if I can fix this.” 

“Let’s get you inside baby. We will figure it out.” She wrapped her arms around you and walked you inside. Your dad was standing in the living room and when you saw him he pulled you into a hug. “Hey baby girl. It’s good to have you home.” His strong steady voice washes over you. You loved your mom but you were a daddy’s girl. He was the first man to ever hold your heart and he had always been protective of you. 

When he found out you were dating Jensen he told him he better not hurt you. Jensen promised him he wouldn’t. “Daddy, I don't know what to do. I still love him so much.” “I know you do, baby. Give it a few days and the two of you should talk. You don’t let him treat you that way. If you go back you tell him he can’t do this to you. You deserve better than that. However, there isn’t ever a perfect relationship. You two have to work at it every single day if you want it to last.” Your dad pulled you tighter. “I know daddy. Thank you.” He kissed the top of your head as you pulled away. 

You went to your old bedroom and put your things down. You sat on the bed and pulled out your phone. That’s when you remembered the Instagram post you were tagged in.

Opening Instagram your breath hitched. It was a post from Jensen. It was a picture of the two of you. One you didn’t know he had taken. The two of you were on the couch, snuggled and you had fallen asleep on his chest and he was smiling softly at the camera. It was a sweet picture of both of you. 

His caption took your breath away. “My love, my beautiful girl, my home. I’m a fool to let you slip away. I’ll spend the rest of my life, until my last breath trying to make this right. I love you @yourusername. Forever and always. 

Tears were streaming down your face. Jensen was usually very private so him making this post about the two of you was incredible. You didn’t know what to say. 

You read through the comments and saw so many supportive comments and some calling Jensen out for whatever he did. You chuckled a little, but your heart ached for him. 

You decided to like the post. Just a little olive branch to let him know you still cared, still loved him. Even if he was being an asshole. 

Jensen’s POV

I was sitting at Gen and Jared’s house. Gen told me she’d heard from Y/N. I wish she’d call me, I miss her voice. The two of them were trying to encourage me but until I was able to talk to her nothing mattered. I needed to tell her how sorry I was. Even if it was too late for us, I needed to make this right. I hated that I made her feel like she wasn’t good enough. 

Jared handed me a beer and as Gen got up to check on the kids she squeezed my arm. “It’s going to be okay, Jens. She loves you so much. It’s just going to take some time.” 

I nodded and smiled softly. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I glanced at it. It was Instagram. I opened it and saw Y/N had liked my post about us. I gasped. Tears filling my eyes. “Jared, she saw my post. She liked it.” Jared smiled “That’s great Jens. It’s a start.” 

“Do you think I should text her?” Jared and Gen looked at each other, “I think you should wait for her to reach out. You’ve let her know you’re ready to talk, so let her make the decision.” 

I nodded and hesitantly put my phone down. 

Your POV

You showed your mom the Instagram post and asked her opinion. “It seems like there is still a lot of love there, Y/N. I can’t tell you what to do, but if it was me I’d give him a chance to explain and you get a chance to let him know how you feel. If you’re in love with him and he’s in love with you, then you owe it to yourselves to give it another chance.” 

You nodded and smiled at her. “Thanks mama. I can always count on you to help me.” 

She hugged you and gave you a soft kiss on your forehead. 

You bit your lip and pulled out your phone. Taking a deep breath you opened messages. 

You: Hey 

Jensen: Hey baby 

You: Are you busy?

Jensen: No, never too busy for you. 

You: Can I call you to talk? 

Jensen: I’d love that baby. 

You swallowed hard and stepped outside on the porch. Your hand trembling you dialed his number. 

Jensen answered almost immediately, “Hey baby. I’m so glad you called.” 

Your voice was soft and shaky, “Hey, Jens. We have a lot to talk about. 

“Yeah I know we do. It’s so good to hear your voice baby. I’ve missed it, I’ve missed you.” 

A tear slipped out from your eyes. “I’ve missed you too, Jens. I have to know why. Why did you make me leave?” 

“Baby I’m stupid. There isn’t a good enough excuse or reason for the way I treated you. I’m an asshole. I need you to know I'm so sorry for what I said and did. If I’m being honest I’m scared, Y/N. I had one failed marriage that ended really bad. I was afraid it was going to happen again.” 

“But Jensen, we aren’t married. Why would you think you’d have another failed marriage?” “Because I’m in love with you, Y/N. It scares me how quickly I fell in love with you, when I see you I see a marriage, I see our lives together forever, I see home.” 

You gasped softly, “Jensen I loved you too, so much. I saw a future with you too, but I didn’t toss you to the side. I deserved better than that. I deserve someone who is my partner, who will turn to me when things get tough, not against me. I deserve someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m not good enough. Dammit Jensen, I would have married you if you had asked.”

Jensen ran his hands through his hair and sighed heavily, “I know baby. I’m so sorry. Me being scared is not an excuse for the way I treated you. Please come home so I can fix this. I’ll head home right now and meet you there.”

“Jensen, I’m not in Texas. I left. You told me to leave, so I did. Besides you have to be back on set tomorrow so I’m sure you’re leaving soon to catch your flight. It was scheduled for 6pm.”

Jensen’s voice cracked as he tried to hold back his emotions, “I didn’t mean it baby. I didn’t want you to leave. Fuck! Where are you baby?” “Jens, it doesn’t matter. You’re expected on set tomorrow, you have all those people depending on you and I know you don’t want to let them down. Maybe when you get home in a month I’ll come by and we can talk.”

You didn’t want to tell him you were at your parents’ house because you knew he’d be there in a heartbeat. 

“Baby I don’t want to wait a month. I want to work on us now. We deserve that, you deserve that. I’ve already called the producers and we’ve pushed back filming. You are more important than any show.”

“Jensen, I can’t ask you to do that. I know how important your career is to you. Please don’t throw it away over me. I’m not worth that. You’ve worked too hard to get to where you are. Please Jensen.” 

“Sweetheart, nothing, you hear me, nothing is more important to me than you and my kids. I love you and I’m willing to fight for us. Please tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.”

“I need some time, Jensen. You hurt me deeply. I should be back in Texas by the end of the week, we will talk in person then if you still want to.” 

Jensen felt a little pang of sadness. He didn’t want to wait to talk to you face to face. He wanted to hold you in his arms and kiss you again. However, he knew this was his fault. All of this was his doing, so he wanted to let you lead. 

“Okay, baby. I understand. When you get back in town, let me know and I can meet you somewhere. I love you, Y/N, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know you do, Jensen and thank you. I’ll let you know.” “Y/N, before you hang up, can we still text or chat? We can keep it neutral and I promise I won’t pressure you.” “Sure, Jensen, and Jensen, for what it’s worth, I still love you.” 

Tears fell from his eyes and his heart clenched in his chest. Now he was determined more than ever to make this right. “I love you too, baby. I’ll talk to you soon, goodbye, darlin’.” “Good bye, Jensen.”

You hung up and the tears fell. Holding the phone to your chest. Your mom watched from the kitchen window and saw the love you still had for him. Her heart ached for you, so she was determined to give you a little push.

She walked into her office and pulled out her phone and called Jensen.

“Hello?” He answered with a questionable tone. “Hey, Jensen. It’s Y/M/N.” “Oh hello, Mrs. Y/L/N. How are you?” “Jensen dear, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Y/M/N?” “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure by now you know I screwed everything up. I want to tell you and Mr. Y/L/N I’m doing everything I can to make it right. I love your daughter so much.”

“I know you do, honey. She loves you too. That’s why I called. She’s here and lord knows she has a stubborn streak. I bet she told you she’d talk to you at the end of the week when she gets back, didn’t she?” Jensen chuckled, “Yes, ma’am she did.” “That sounds like our girl, well how about you fly in for a visit? It’s been too long since I’ve seen you, and I think this is something best dealt with in person.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll book the first flight out. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.” “Okay dear, and Jensen…” “Yes, ma’am?” “You fight like hell to keep her, we really like you.” Your mom chuckled. “I plan to. Thank you Y/M/N, for believing in our relationship and helping me make this right.” 

The next morning you woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. You stretched and smiled. You and Jensen had talked off and on all night, both of you finally saying good night about 1am. The conversation was light and almost flirty, like when you two first started talking to each other. It made your heart flutter. You were still in love with him, but you were still hurt too. 

Getting out of bed you decided to take a quick shower before heading downstairs. Once showered and dressed you walked down the stairs and could smell the breakfast and coffee your mom had made. When you walked into the kitchen you saw a ton of food. 

“Dang mom, I don’t eat that much. Surely you didn’t do all this for me?” She laughed, “No honey, your dad is going to eat breakfast with us before he heads out.” You smiled and grabbed a coffee cup and filled it up. Your mom handed you a plate and smiled widely at you and nodded towards the food. 

“Thank you mama. I’m starving.” You chuckled as you shoved a piece of bacon in your mouth. As you sat down to start eating you heard the doorbell. Your parents and you shared a look. It was almost 9am, so you weren’t sure who would be over there so early. “I’ll get it.” You said. Standing up and walking towards the door you noticed your parents acting strange. 

You looked over your shoulder at them and chuckled as you opened the door. When you turned back towards the door you saw who had rang the bell. Your breath hitched and a lump formed in your throat. You could barely speak, but managed to whisper out, “Jensen.”

“Hey sweetheart.”

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[aziraphales-library]

Hi! Thank you so much for all the work you put into this archive. I've spent so many hours reading fics lately and enjoying every second thanks to you all!

I wonder if you have any recs for human!au fics where Crowley and Azi meet either online, as penpals or some other way that's anonymous, but maybe they don't know each other in real life or they don't know the other is their online friend/penpal. I really like the build-up towards meeting each other and things like that! I hope it's not too confusing. Any suggestions with those themes would be wonderful ❤️

We have loads of fics along these lines on our #social media tag, a specific pen pals post here, and you'll find similar kinds of fics our our #mistaken identity tag. I've got a bunch now, but I'm sure these'll all be on the tags mentioned, because there are only so many (unfortunately; I too love this trope!)...

Texts from an Unknown Number by GaryOldman (T)

The human wrong number AU I have been craving. Trapped at a boring Halloween party, Aziraphale tries to get in touch with Gabriel but his text ends up in the wrong place.

Press L in the Chat (for Love) by Phoenix_Soar (E)

Bickering fan-content creators Aziraphale and Crowley only have three things in common — they are both avid fans of a new revolutionary TV series about pirates, they are popular for their fantastic fanfiction and fanart… and they are members of the same discord server. Neither of them likes the other, but across the chaotic virtual world of a discord chatroom, who knows what can happen when these two unlikely fans are paired up for an exciting collaboration? Us. We know ;) Discord Server AU — a collaboration between Phoenix_Soar (fic) and Djapchan (multivoice podfic organization & editing) for Pod-Together 2022

A Tricky Situation (Entirely of his own making) by sixbynine (E)

"Crowley stood up and went to leave, he turned back just as he opened the door and took a deep breath. “You know I was quite excited to come here and work with you. I enjoyed reading your work. I disagree with a lot of it, but your writing style is lovely and every so often you’d let that privileged rich white boy mask drop and it was fantastic. I was hoping to meet that Professor Fell, but I’m beginning to think maybe he doesn’t exist and I’m going to be stuck with a rude stuck up arsehole for the next five years.” He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond. Aziraphale gaped, open mouthed, at the shut door." -- Aziraphale is teaching at Kings College London. He's been teaching at King College London for a long time now thank you very much and he does not take kindly to new Professors being sprung on him suddenly. Especially when this one has quite publically made his opinon of Aziraphale's work known. Luckily Aziraphale has an understanding penpal...

Readings From the Books of Ashtoreth by Quefish (E)

Vicar Aziraphale Bookman has a comfortable life. He lives in and serves the small village community of Tadfield. He enjoys contributing to local businesses, taking walks, and of course reading. His 'guilty pleasure', which gives him no guilt and all pleasure, is a series of novels by one AJ Ashtoreth. But what happens when he reaches out with an innocent bit of fanmail?

The Anon Before Christmas by foolishlovers (E)

When Crowley’s friend, blogging buddy and business partner Anathema announces her annual Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr, she is very adamant Crowley should join this year. The old-fashioned (but admittedly compassionate) man he gets assigned to send anonymous messages to every day until Christmas sounds awfully similar to the fussy bookseller that his friends adore, yet Crowley tries to avoid at all costs. But surely his friends would have mentioned if Aziraphale had taken an interest in the Bad Omens fandom as well… right? Or: An Enemies to Lovers Secret Santa Tumblr AU.

I Knew I Loved You by AppleSeeds (E)

In September 1999, when his family gets connected to the internet, prospective Marine Biology student Crowley discovers an online forum where he can actually talk to people who share his passion for saving the whales. He begins corresponding with a kind stranger he knows only as Ocean_Angel, and is incredibly excited when the opportunity arises to meet this mysterious person in real life. As their friendship develops, Crowley shares things with Angel that he can't talk about with anyone else, and Angel's insights help him to explore and embrace his own identity. As Crowley works towards finding a place in this world where he feels like he really belongs, he realises that a big part of the answer to that question might actually be right in front of him. What if where he belongs is with Angel?

Big Name Feelings by ghostrat (E)

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

- Mod D

[vhstown]

time out (part 1)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, description of (boxing) injuries, self-destructive behaviours, briefly implied death, pov switch (yay), gtranslate spanish

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ive never written 42 miles before but he's a cool lil guy split into two parts cuz it was too long 😭 semi-edited (for the millionth time)

PART 2 → / THE AU

"Just six rounds in, Miles Morales knocks out the Vulture!"

Screams and cheers exploded from your phone as you laid in bed, watching the recap of your boyfriend's boxing match. Your eyes were straining from how close you were holding the screen to your face; this was probably the third time you’d watched Miles’ win. After training to hell and back, he’d made it to the national league with you and Aaron to support him. He did more than just “make it”, in fact. His “revolutionary” victory was plastered all over social media and the news. Everywhere you looked was: “17-YEAR-OLD NYC BOXER OVERTAKES LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION ‘VULTURE’ IN US NATIONALS”. Miles Morales — your boyfriend — had made boxing history.

The giddy grin on your face only grew wider as he came up again on screen, sporting the stoic expression he'd perfected over the last few months behind the overly-done editing and animations of the recap. As much as you'd wanted to go out and see him live (though begging your family to let you go to Vegas wasn’t exactly feasible), he'd made it clear he didn't want you, or anyone for that matter, in that arena. It was something about having "total focus" — and it must've worked, you thought, as you watched him give his post-fight interview.

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

Despite his boyish, adrenaline-fuelled shout at the mic, the quiet laugh you let out was one of pride rather than embarrassment. He had every right to celebrate, and you were watching, even if it wasn’t live. Everything he'd done up until this point was well worth it: the constant training, sparring, the late nights and early mornings — maybe even the countless unanswered texts and missed calls too. Miles had worked himself to the bone, and while it might've worried you at the time, it was nothing compared to the satisfaction you felt while watching him on screen. He knew what he was doing; Miles was semi-professional at this point. You had to let him do his own thing, even if that meant letting him go for a while.

Right now, though, Miles was home from Vegas. Tapping out of the video, you scrambled to your messages. The last ones were from you, sent weeks ago, a "good luck" and "i love you" read and without a response. Your fingers kept missing the keys, and you frowned at yourself until you finally were able to hit send.

CONGRATS BABY!!! Not delivered

IM SO PROUD OF YOU Not delivered

You tried resending them, only to be met with the same red message.

why arent my texts sending Not delivered

miles??? Not delivered

Not delivered? It'd almost been three days since the tournament; Miles always had his phone on.

"To leave a message, please press one—" The call went to voicemail for the third time. Your stomach swirled with something like uncertainty. It didn't even ring at all. Miles made it a habit to always be available, so why...?

Boxers needed time to recover, he was probably just tired and turned his phone off. Or he could be busy with an interview; Miles Morales was sort of a celebrity right now — who wouldn't want to talk to the 17-year-old boxing prodigy? You knew you wanted to, prodigy or not.

It was probably because you hadn’t seen Miles in so long, but possibilities kept forming in your head, disappearing just as fast. What if he blocked you? Or he could’ve changed his number. Were you over? No. Nope. No way. Not like this.

There was one other reason that made some sort of sense, but you decided to think against it. Miles had made it to the semi-finals in entire the National League. It was over; he'd gotten what he wanted. He was supposed to be resting right now.

Miles wasn't that stupid, right...?

You pulled up Rio's contact. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Riiiiiiing, riiiiiiing…

Better for him to be safe than sorry — or stupid.

"Hello?"

"Hola, tía, uh, could I speak to Miles?" You felt just a little crazy as you held the phone to your ear, but there was no harm in calling his mom.

"Ah, he's not home right now — said he was going out with his tío."

"Oh… Do you know where they went?"

"I'm not sure. Something important. About a... contract?"

"Contract…?" you muttered to yourself. “Okay… thank you.” It wasn't like you knew anything about a contract, though it wasn't like Miles would tell you anyway. At least he was safe, and with Aaron. It was probably important, official — something that didn't involve you. Not a lot of things in Miles’ life involved you, it seemed.

"How have you been?” Rio's voice interrupted your thoughts. You had called her out of nowhere, and after a while. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh, um..." The last time you'd talked to Rio was… right before Miles had left for Vegas. Well, you hadn't exactly talked. All you remember is just comforting her in silence. "Yeah, tía. Have you?"

"I have, but I've just been all over the place recently. So many reporters…" Rio's voice lifted up slightly in exasperation. You could only imagine what it was like for her. Your feelings suddenly felt a lot less significant, and you were back to your comforting mode all over again.

"I see. Must be exhausting." You attempted a polite laugh, which came out more like a sigh. If only you could be as patient as Rio…

"I'm so proud, though." Her voice warmed with a smile. If your chest ached with melancholy or empathy, you didn't know. "I didn't want him to leave home so soon. I still think this whole… professional thing is a bit too much, but… I want to trust him also."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, tía. If he's in the nationals already, he's probably getting a lot of support." It was more like you were trying to convince yourself. "I'm sure he has great coaches... and he's got me and Aar— uh, his uncle, too."

"I know…" For a moment, you weren't sure if either of you had anymore to say.

"…If not, I'll have to go there myself and give them a piece of my mind, eh?" she continued. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, but a smile formed on your lips anyway.

"Yeah…" A quiet laugh leaving your mouth at the image of Rio cussing out Miles' poor manager, in two languages no less. No wonder he was such a good boxer — Rio must have passed down her fighting spirit. "Maybe you'd even get signed,” you joked, the image of that even more amusing (and a scary possibility.)

Rio let out her own laugh, and your smile only grew; talking to her always made you feel better. "Me? Boxing? Nunca (Never.) — I'll work in that hospital until the end of me."

There was another stretch of silence. You thinned out a sigh, trying not to let the smile leave your face, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

"Come over for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell Miles to come and get you."

"Sure, tía, I'd love to." He probably just needed a break. Not from you specifically, but in general.

"You know tú y Miles sois mi vida, ¿bien?" (you and Miles are my life, right?) It wasn’t often Rio said that, but you always remembered every time she did, and how it made you feel — like you were family. Rio was pretty much a second mother to you. It made you wonder what Miles' father would've been like.

"Well, it's getting late, and I have a lot of laundry to fold." Rio's tone had a fake sort of enthusiasm — tiredness? You couldn’t really tell with her; the woman was always upbeat. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." It was late, you realised, and the sky outside your window was a lot darker than it had been before. "You too, tía."

“Descansa, ¿sí?” (Get some rest, yes?)

“Sí, tía.”

The call ended, and you were left facing your messages, a bittersweet feeling hugging you from behind. Right now, Miles was out with Aaron, about some contract, probably to do with boxing…

But why weren't your texts going through?

miles are you ok? Not delivered

im really proud of you Not delivered

i wish i couldve seen you live Not delivered

It wasn’t like there was much point, but…

i love you Not delivered

Maybe it was just out of habit; maybe you just missed him. Your reflection frowned at you behind the messages, thumb hovering over the power button to shut your phone off, until your phone pinged with a notification — Aaron was texting you.

Hey man

Out of town

LMK if miles breaks in

You sat up immediately, fingers floating uselessly above the keys for a moment.

sure Read at 11:24PM

are you out of town already? Read at 11:25PM

Ping!

Yeah

@ Queens

Miles was with Aaron about some “contract”... and Aaron was in Queens?

You knew Miles hadn't blocked you, or turned his phone off — he had no signal. And there was only one place in Brooklyn you could think of that had no reception, and that MIles had any reason to be in. It was also the one place you didn't want him to go to: that damn warehouse.

The place he’d spent training all those weeks — what reason did he have to be there right after finishing the tournament? Putting on your jacket, blinking back the sleepiness and collecting the fleeting remains of patience you had left, you could only hope that Miles had even a shred of common sense with him.

THWACK! THWACK! THWA— Crack!

"Mierda..." (Shit...) Miles hissed, drawing his glove away from the punching bag. His hand was paralysed for a moment, a deep, gnawing pang running through his fingers down to the rest of his arm. The tight gloves only suffocated him more, doing nothing to ease the pain as he gritted his teeth and waited for it to dull down.

Why was he even here? It was over — that Norman bastard had blown him off hours ago. It felt like a couple minutes, the words still fresh in his mind. Searing pain shot through his hand when he tried to flex his fingers, the rest of his muscles starting to ache too. This was going to hurt after the adrenaline wore off. Damn it, Morales.

The walls flashed white all of a sudden, a faint rumble of thunder interrupting the pounding of his heartbeat as he tried to straighten himself out. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the incoming storm. The playlist he was listening to had finished ages ago — your playlist. If he didn’t want to think about you, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Rain blasted quietly against the windows, and Miles’ eyes stung with dryness as he squeezed them shut. There was no way he'd be able to go back now, not to you, definitely not to his mom. She'd probably go on and on about how he should've taken his jacket, how he ruined his hair in the rain again, maybe how he wasted his damn time being a boxer...

It was probably fair; his mom had enough on her plate trying to support them both — especially him right now. She’d done everything in her power to make sure he got to Vegas, and he’d just left her alone again right after. But how was he meant to face her now? He was supposed to make her proud, make his dad proud, but it wasn’t like he had any pride left after he’d lost his contract. The Green Goblin had probably set the record for fastest knockout when Miles lost to him. Of course just the semi-finals weren’t enough; Norman Osborn was the big shot of boxing, and if Miles lost to some rookie in just about 15 seconds, then maybe he wasn’t worth the investment.

It didn’t make sense — nothing about The Green Goblin (or “Harry”, whatever they liked to gossip about) made sense. He’d just debuted, but didn’t even look like a boxer; he didn’t stand right, his style was inconsistent, his head movement was all over the place, but his punch had almost knocked Miles’ brain straight out of his skull. It was almost superhuman. Even with no openings, the freak of nature had forced his way through like an animal. And he was scrawny, not nearly as built as Miles at least, like he should’ve been in the weight class down. Either way, the asshole was being celebrated, and Miles was out of a contract.

And Miles had just stood there, while Norman berated him and tore Miles’ dream apart right in front of his very eyes. Maybe he’d hoped too much as an “amateur” boxer. That’s all he was, apparently — no matter how hard he worked, or what he achieved, or what he promised.

“Why should I keep you? The Vulture was destined to lose at his age.”

“Even rigged matches wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

“I mean, you’re as good at fighting as one of those street kids.”

“That’s all you were before I decided to give you a chance, no?”

The image of the Norman’s uncanny, sneering face sent his good fist reeling towards the punching bag. Should’ve pummelled his pelirojo (redhead) ass to the ground—

"Miles!"

The glove crumpled mid-air against the bag, arm going rigid. It was silent as he let out a breath through his teeth — he wasn’t hearing things, was he?

The rush was starting wearing off, his mind starting to cloud and pain faintly radiating again from his other hand. His good fist tightened inside the glove, pushed against the bag which was still and awkwardly tilted.

You’re losing focus, just punch the damn thing—

"Miles, what the hell are you doing here?"

The noise of the door shutting made him turn around, floor squeaking under his stumbling feet. It was you by the door, breathing just as heavily as him and dripping head to toe with rain, in a jacket that was way too thin for any sort of weather.

Dios... (God...) He knew he couldn’t be hallucinating that disapproving look on your face.

Rain was pattering gently against the glass as he pulled his arm away away from the bag, letting it swing in front of him before his eyes met yours.

"It's midnight, what are you..." A sharp intake of breath interrupted your words — a shiver.

"What’re you doin’ here...?" Miles asked instead through a grimace. His voice came out wrong — hoarse. Cold sweat was clinging to his skin, and his throat was dry and tightening. A mess — that’s what you were talking to right now, barely your boyfriend. All he could do was stare as the rush died down and his senses were coming back to him. The fog in his mind made it hard to speak, even harder to look at you.

"My texts and calls weren't going through— You weren't with Aaron or your mom, I just..." You sucked in another breath through your teeth; raindrops were glistening on your skin. He should’ve just stayed home, damn it. "Was just worried."

Well, he certainly looked worrying, even more so than you. Swallowing back his breathlessness wasn’t helping; it was like he’d ran a marathon with his fists. The pain from his knuckle was starting to bleed into the rest of his hand so much so that it might’ve been broken.

"'M good... You, though?" He let out a bit of a growl to clear his throat before deciding to cut straight to the chase: you’d come here in the middle of the night, in the rain, by yourself. As much as he was being an idiot right now, the amount of times he’d told you to not do any of those things, pleaded with you even, was making you look like the delirious one in his eyes. Miles was being stubborn, but he knew you were worse.

“You insane…?” he muttered, taking a step away from the bag. “Did Aaron tell you to come here or sumn’?"

"No, he was supposed to be with you," you shot back, eyes narrowing at him from under your hood before thunder bellowed from all around. The rain was growing into a loud static noise, and your voice was muffled as your expression grew more exasperated. "You came home 3 days ago and you didn't even text me. Yeah, I probably should've texted you, and I tried, but now you're here training alone again when your mom thinks you're with Aaron and—"

"You come here to scold me?" His jaw crunched a little as he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Miles wasn’t trying to be mad at you — he was just mad in general. It just so happened to be in your direction right now.

“Huh? No, I came here because you scared the hell out of me — and Aaron told me to not let you break into his place.”

If it was supposed to be funny, the laugh he let out was anything but amused. At least Aaron wasn’t here for him to disappoint too, or get a weirdly-phrased life lesson from, or both. “Well I’m not breakin’ in, and I told you, I’m good, so I don’t get why you’re still here.”

You stepped a little closer, and Miles’ heels dug into the ground to keep himself from moving. “Isn’t it obvious? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

“Difficult?” he mirrored dryly, trying to push back the growing exhaustion clouding his head.

“Can you not just take a break for once? It’s over, Miles; you already won—”

“I didn’t win.” The walls echoed with his voice, words having escaped on their own. It wasn’t at you, but he didn’t know what he was mad at, resolve fading as he watched your face straighten with realisation.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here…”

His fingers unconsciously clawed into the boxing glove, pain shoot through his hand. Nothing came out of his mouth, but his silence was loud — incriminating. That was the reason, right? That he didn't win?

“Kid didn’t stand a chance.” What was the point of you being here?

“A one-punch concussion — on a newbie, no less.” It was over, like you said.

“It’s a shame, I bet on him too.” Everyone had given up on him.

“You should be resting right now— you’re shaking, Miles.” So why wouldn't you?

“No ‘m not…” is all he could muster, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably. Your hand was on his arm before he could realise, and he was met with a stern look as he tried to keep his gaze from shaking too.

The velcro on his gloves crunched as you started undoing them, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. It’s not like he had the energy.

“You coulda’ got hurt on your way here.” The croak in his voice made him sound more hopeless than reprimanding as you slipped off the first glove, pausing half-way down his palm. His bare palm.

“…I could’ve got hurt?” Miles held back a sigh as he was made to look at his own hand. Bruised, blackened, branded with anger — it hurt more to look at it than anything. “You didn’t wear your wraps?”

The other glove slid off, revealing the fresh, festering swelling coming from his middle knuckle — the aftermath of that sickening cracking noise. You took his curled hand, easing up his middle finger and making him hiss under his breath.

“Think you can straighten it?” you muttered, gently trying to do it yourself only to lose his hand from your grip.

“’S gonna be fine,” he mumbled, eyes fixed to the side as his hand closed back up.

“It won’t if you can’t move it properly.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Nah, but your mom’s a nurse.” You carefully held his hand by palm, thumb tracing over the tender, split skin, his fingers wrapping around the side of your hand in futile protest. He’d have to bother his mom again — he didn’t even think about that. “You basically just punched yourself.”

Everything you were saying was right — it always was. He hated that fact.

“You a boxing expert too?” he thought to retort.

“Thought that was supposed to be you.” Miles’ eyes narrowed, and yours narrowed in response. “I don’t get it, baby...” you sighed, shaking your head a little as you put down the gloves to the side.

Baby. His breath almost hitched. You were dating, and it didn’t even seem like it anymore. Not after all those weeks apart. The word didn’t even feel endearing, it was condescending, like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was being a baby, and maybe he always had been. You were the one who always had to drag him out of this make-shift gym. Right now was no different, except…

“…Why are you still doing this?” he heard you mutter, still turned away with his hand in your grip. You didn’t even know the half of it.

“Why are you still here?” His hand tried to slip away again, but you only took it by the wrist instead, now facing him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Miles?” Your voice deadened into a whisper, only serving to frustrate him.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He let out a quiet huff, staring at your hand when your grip ceased to relax.

“I care because you look like you’re about to pass out and I can’t let my boyfriend kill himself over something stupid—”

“I’m not killing myse—” A pained groan escaped his mouth as you ruthlessly pushed up his injured finger.

“Don’t push me, Miles.” Oh, you were serious.

“You’re pushin’ sumn’,” he strained through gritted teeth. “Mierda… quit it already.”

The pain tore on another moment, and he was just now realising how bad it actually hurt. All you were doing was staring at him, brows knitted together. “Cariño, please…” he whispered, a wince forming on his face.

Your hand loosened, and he let out a quiet, frustrated, somewhat relieved sigh.

Still a sucker for nice words... He didn’t say them as much as he would’ve liked.

“You need to take a time out,” you stated after a beat of silence. The expression on your face was serious again, killing any sense of tenderness you might’ve shown.

He freed his hand from your grip with the opportunity, before giving you a dubious look. “Like, for kids?”

“Like for boxers, dumbass.” Your gaze followed his retreating hand for a moment before falling back on his eyes. “But if you want me to treat you like a kid…”

“I’m good.” Another roar of thunder rang out before he could add anything, and the rain was so heavy that anything you could see from the windows became a blur.

“…You got your jacket?” you suggested, without much hope.

The idea only made Miles’ eyes squeeze shut again. A shallow exhale left him, and he tried not to let his fatigue cloud his judgement. If he kept talking stupid to you, he’d probably have worse to worry about than a broken knuckle. “You think imma go outside?”

All you could do was sigh. It seemed like the two of you would be in “time out” for a while.

🕸️🔭👾

thank you for reading part 2 soon but then again its not my fav fic in the world 💔 i rewrote this like 8 trillion times and it still wasn't clicking for me 😭 idk i just got sick of editing it again and again

this isn't as short as my usual fics because i felt like i needed to add context... I've never written an au or anything remotely original so this is just yeah... im tryna figure it out! i have . too much lore for this au

reblogs appreciated lmk if you did like it (i hope this is someone's cup of tea lmao)

catch my atsv masterlist here !

[marcelloshdz]

rumors

summary: when some photos of marcello reach your feed, you can't help but read into them. requested by anonymous.

a/n: we all know ~the photos~, so i hope y'all don't mind that i didn't name drop 😭

"baby, i know you said i could come with you tonight, but i'm really not feeling up for a party." you sighed as you watched marcello getting ready for the evening. 

"no worries. i'll probably be home early then." he said to you.

"you don't have to cut your night short on account of me." 

"i don't have to, but i want to." he said, turning to you with a smile. he walked over to you on the bed, pressing a kiss to your lips before leaving the room. you walked him out, kissing him good bye and wishing him a good night.

after marcello left, you moved to the living room and spent the evening at home watching movies, ordering take out, and resting after the stressful week you'd had. it felt good to take time to your self, but you admittedly missed marcello and wished he was home with you. but you didn't want to damper his evening by requesting that he stay home with you.

you fell asleep on the couch a little while later, after you finished your dinner. a few hours later, you were woken up by the front door opening.

"ah shit, sorry." marcello said when he noticed he'd startled you.

"what time is it?" you asked, sleep still heavy in your voice.

"just after 11." he said quietly. "i told you i'd be home early." he added, pressing a kiss to your forehead. he pulled you up from the couch and you stumbled into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed. you got comfortable in the blankets, marcello joining you after he changed into his sleep clothes. he wrapped his arms around you, the both of you quickly falling asleep. 

the next morning, marcello had filled you in on the events of the evening, telling you about the people he'd gotten to see and meet. he joked that despite having a good time at the party, he still wished you'd been with him to enjoy it as well. 

a few weeks passed since that night, and everything was going good, until it all of a sudden wasn't.

your social media presence really only consisted of your instagram account that you largely only used for posting about your work and upcoming projects. but one day, you were bored at home, and decided to scroll for a bit. you were on your explore page when you noticed a picture of marcello edited next to some model that you'd met once. you opened the post, reading the caption that read something along the lines of marcello and this model being seen at the party together reportedly getting frisky with each other. you scrolled through the post, seeing pictures that were taken of them at the party, and as much as you didn't want to believe them, the pictures sure did say a thousand words. unfortunately, this also put you in the middle of cheating rumors, as well as her boyfriend, which was the last thing that you wanted to deal with.

although you didn't question marcello or his loyalty to you, as you'd been with marcello forever. you met your freshman year of high school, and made it through long distance while you were in college before you moved to be with him in new york. but you couldn't help but let your mind wonder.

you thought to text marcello about it, but you knew this was a conversation you needed to have in person. instead, you just text asking him when he thought he was gonna be home. he replied, saying that he was getting ready to leave work and be on his way home shortly. 

"thank god." you said, not wanting to stew in your thoughts for too long. you tried to keep yourself busy while you waited for marcello to get home, which proved easier said than done. you had to force yourself from jumping from the couch once you heard marcello's keys unlocking the front door. 

"hey, is everything okay?" he asked as he came inside. he sat with you on the couch, arm drapped over the back cushions behind you.

"i need to talk to you about something." you began, taking a deep breath before you continued. marcello's eyes were locked on yours, waiting for you to continue. "was there anything else that happened at that party the other night?" you asked him.

"not that i remember. i told you everything." he said, shaking his head. you took another deep breath before reaching for your phone. you opened your photos, pulling up the screenshots you took of the instagram posts. you placed your phone in his hand, watching silently as he studied the screen in front of him. 

"before you say anything, i just want you to know that i'm not accusing you of anything. you know i trust you with my life. but i just want an explanation, becuase i know how this looks, and i already know the shit that's gonna come from this. i just want to get ahead of any rumors." you said, and marcello nodded. 

"y/n, i swear on my life that nothing happened. i didn't even realize these pictures had been taken, but i promise that what you see here is the beginning and end of anything between us. she was super drunk, and stumbling all over the place. i was just helping her off of the floor so she could get home." he explained to you. 

you listened intently as marcello spoke, taking his words to heart, knowing that he was genuine.

"y/n, you know me. we've been together for over ten years, you have all my loyalty, and my entire heart. i would never do that to you."

"i know, but even after all this time i still sometimes get in my head about it all. especially now that we've both come into these huge followings, and have a lot more eyes on us. i just don't want people to get the wrong ideas about us."

"no matter what people think about us, we know that truth, and that's all that should matter." he said to you. you felt his arm move from the couch cushions and wrap around your shoulders. "i love you. more than anything in this world. i would never do anything to jeopardize what we have." 

"i love you too." you said, as he pulled you into his arms. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you tight.

"con todo mi corazón."

[lostintrost]

Day Off

masterlist

ao3 | wattpad (these versions are UNEDITED)

characters: mechanic jean kirstein x female!reader

summary: You finally get a break from work and school, so you decide to take it easy - do some homework and run some errands. When something throws a wrench in your plan, you calls your longest crush Jean. Will Jean be able to help fix your problem, or will their true feelings finally be revealed? (omg i wrote this when i wrote this whole thing like 3 years ago and it sounds so cringyyy im so sorry)

cw: bestie, i don’t even remember. they fuck. that’s it. also, i edited every single YN out of this version - you’re welcome.

wc: 6.4k

The sound of loud crackling thunder wakes you from your peaceful slumber. The glow from the tv screen makes it possible for your tired eyes to make out the room you’re in. You don’t remember falling asleep at all, let alone on the couch in the living room. Light snoring comes from the mouth of your roommate Sasha, who apparently also fell asleep on the couch.

You sit up quietly, trying not to make much movement so you don’t wake Sasha. She’s been pulling extra shifts at the grocery store downtown to help keep you both afloat on bills. You couldn’t blame the poor girl for passing out every other night on the couch. Glancing up at the screen, you laugh quietly at the show you both were watching before you fell asleep – Death Note. How you fell asleep during your favorite anime, you’ll never know.

Another loud boom of thunder shakes the house. You make your way off of the couch, and head to your screened in back porch. Taking a seat in one of the lounge chairs, you sit and watch the storm roll in. The pitter patter sounds of rain hitting your roof brings a calmness to your clouded mind. Between school, working two jobs, and trying to secure an internship, you never really got the time to just relax. This being your first day off from everything in months, you decided to finally take an easy day.

You pull your phone out of the pocket of your black sweatpants, scrolling through notifications you had missed the night before. Nothing out of the ordinary – a couple missed calls from Connie, several texts from Connie, Jean and your parents, and some random social media notifications. You open instagram and check the notifications for your most recent post. One in particular makes your heart flutter.

Jeank-104 : pretty smile for a pretty girl 💛

Seeing comments like this from Jean were anything but unusual. Your relationship was one of those ‘girl loves boy but boy flirts with girl to make her flustered even though he has no feelings’ types. It was frustrating to say the least, but you would endure it as long as it meant he was in your life.

Jean was one of the first people you met when you moved to Trost, and he was one of the few who didn’t bully the absolute shit out of you your first year of school. Being the new girl was never fun, but being the new girl who obviously didn’t come from money was even worse. The bullying got to a point where you tried to pack up and leave, but being only 17 you realized you had no one and nowhere to run to.

On one particularly bad day, one of your biggest bullies had pushed you over the edge. You ran out of the school and didn’t stop. You had no idea where you were going, but you just knew you had to get out. After only a mile, your breathing became labored so you had to slow down. Walking another mile, you finally came upon an empty park. You found a huge tree sitting in the middle of it and plopped yourself down in front of it. There, you cried your eyes out for what felt like hours.

Once you had finally calmed down, you felt a hand pat your back lightly. You jerked away from the touch, sitting up quickly. Glancing up at the person sitting next to you, you met the softest pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. You were entranced by them, watching as little flecks of gold appeared to dance around his pupils.

“Uhm,” he said quietly, not breaking the staring contest you two had started. “Are you okay?”

You nodded your head lightly, bringing your eyes back down to the ground.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

Your head snapped back up to look at him, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“I heard what they said to you,” he started again quietly. “Reiner is such a fucking dick. Someone needs to kick him in his tiny ballsack so maybe he’ll shut the fuck up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. A smile made its way across your features, and he couldn’t help staring at you. To him, you had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. He would do anything to make sure you never stopped smiling if he could.

“I’m Jean,” he said, holding out his hand.

You tell him your name as you extend your hand out, intertwining with his.

You smile at the happy memory as you pocket your phone. Rustling noises started to come from the kitchen, signaling that Sasha had finally woken up. You debate between going back inside or staying in your peaceful spot. Once you hear a faint cackling sound of bacon being cooked, going inside wins the debate. As you enter the kitchen, the smell of breakfast overwhelms your senses. You spot Niccolo at the stove, which would make sense since the food actually smells good and not like something is burning.

“Good morning sunshine,” Sasha sings, skipping over to you and engulfing you in a hug.

“Good morning Sash,” you say, trying to tear her body off of yours.

“Why won’t you accept my love?!” she yells as she struggles against your efforts to tear your bodies apart.

“Sash,” you laugh. “It is seven in the morning! Give me time to wake up.”

She releases her grip on you, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Fine! I’ll just go fuck myself, I guess!”

You can’t help but laugh at her overdramatic self. Ever since you’ve known Sasha, she’s been nothing but overdramatic in any situation. Even though you two were completely opposites, you also balanced each other out perfectly. Anytime she would overreact to a situation, you were able to bring her down – and anytime you needed to put someone in their place, she would be your backup.

Nicolo begins to put food onto plates for the three of you. Taking your seat at the table, Sasha follows as you start to converse about your plans for the day.

“I work from 10 to 6 today,” she says. “I also have an interview for a part time job somewhere around lunch time.”

“Girl you work yourself too much,” you reply. “I’ve got things covered for a while. Please take a break.”

“I have to agree with her, Sasha,” Nicolo starts in. “I feel like neither of us see you anymore unless you’re going to work or going to sleep.”

“I took off this weekend,” she says. “Let’s all go do something as a group!”

You nod your head in agreement as you start to tear into the food Nicolo prepared. Within minutes, Sasha is going back for seconds. By the time she’s finishing her second helping, you’re finished with your first. You place your plate into the sink and say your goodbyes to the couple, retreating to your bedroom to work on some homework. As you sit down on your bed, you put your airpods in and shuffle your study playlist. Cigarettes After Sex plays in your ears as you open your Biology book, settling in for the long day ahead of you.

—

A grueling three hours goes by before you’re finally caught up with all of your assignments in two of your classes. Your brain is throbbing at all of the information it has consumed in that time, and you decide it’s time for a break. You make your way over to your closet and dresser and pick out your outfit for the day. Since it’s still raining and cold, you decide on some black sweats, a cropped tank top, and a cropped jacket to match the top. You grab your dark green and white air forces, adding a touch of color to the simple look. Grabbing your car keys off your nightstand, you make your way to the garage. You needed to run a couple errands today anyways, and now seems like the perfect time to do so.

Entering the garage, you see your pride and joy – your all matte black 2021 Nissan GT-R. Your parents made a deal with you that if you got all A’s in high school, they would pay for at least half of whatever car you wanted. Working your ass off through school isn’t ideal, but you knew exactly what you wanted, and you knew you needed to come up with the other half. By the end of the year, you impressed your parents by getting all A’s, valedictorian, and coming up with half of the money needed to afford it. They couldn’t say no to you.

You enter your car, the smell of Champagne Toast invading your senses. You place your key fob in the cup holder and hit the start button.

Nothing.

“What the fuck,” you mumble to yourself.

After going through the motions a few more times, you hit the steering wheel in frustration.

“You’re brand fucking new,” you yell. “What could possibly be wrong?!”

You get out of the car, popping the hood as you get out. You make your way to the front of the car and look inside.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

You grab your phone out of your sweats pocket and pull up the contact of the only person you trust to work on your baby. The last thing you wanted was to bother Jean, but you knew you had no other option. The phone rang once and he immediately picked up.

“Hey,” Jean spoke in a rough tone, almost sounding out of breath. “What’s up?”

“Hey Jeanboy, I really hate to bother you but my car isn’t starting. Is there any way you could come look at it? No rush or anything, but you know I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Anything for you,” he says sweetly. “I’ll be over in 10.”

He hangs up the phone and your stomach goes crazy. It feels like someone let an entire butterfly exhibit loose in it. You try to think of something to pass the time, but the entire 10 minutes is filled with you just thinking about Jean. Every time he said your name, your heart couldn’t help but get faster. You had been in love with the boy since that first time he sat with you while you cried, and he continued to do that any other time you had a breakdown.

Your garage door opens, breaking you out of your thoughts. You glance up to see the tall brunette boy that holds your heart walk into your garage. Every time you saw him, it was like the first time you had ever laid eyes on him. Even if he was only wearing dark blue jeans and a white tee, you still saw him as the most handsome man ever.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he says, smirking at you.

Feeling yourself become flustered, you turn away from Jean so he can’t see the heat rushing to your cheeks. You try to think of words to respond, but between his flirting and just him in general, your brain was mush.

“Okay,” he says. “So tell me what it’s doing exactly, so I can try and pinpoint the problem.”

“It uh, just literally won’t start. Like no turning over, nothing.”

“Fuck,” he sighs.

Your stomach immediately flips. Never did you think one word could sound so sexy.

Jean reaches into his tool bag, grabbing out a few tools that you have never seen before. The only thing you knew about them was that they cost him a lot of money. He had more than once complained because a wrench would break, saying it was going to cost him over $200. Luckily, his dad owned the shop he worked for, so most of that money came from his dads pockets in the end.

“What do you think it could be?”

“Well,” he started. “It really could be a few things. You might need a new starter, or it could just be a dead battery. I’m hoping for a dead battery, because that’ll only run you about $100.”

“God damnit,” you sighed. “Of course this shit would happen in between paydays.”

“I’ll make you a deal. Make me lunch, and I’ll pay for whatever is wrong with your car.”

You shake your head immediately.

“Jean, no.”

“I don’t remember asking for your permission,” he cuts you off. “Let me do this for you, babe.”

Your eyes go wide at the nickname, and you don’t miss the cocky smirk coming across his face.

“Uh, uhm okay,” you stutter out. “I’ll go, uhm, order something real quick.”

He nods at you as he starts to look under the hood of your car. You dismiss yourself to head to the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, you take a moment to breathe. Jean has never called you babe before, so it had completely caught you off guard. He had you a stuttering mess, and you’re sure if he could hear your thoughts he would die of laughter. A mix of emotions run through your body – everything from nervousness to longing for his touch.

Grabbing your phone out of your pocket, you decide ordering food will be a good distraction from the thoughts running rampant in your head. You scroll through your apps quickly, ultimately deciding pizza would be the easiest and cheapest option. Quickly placing the order, you type in your credit card info and pray it goes through. When the green check mark pops up indicating the transaction went through, you silently thank yourself for keeping up with the payments on at least one card.

As you open the door to the garage, you stop in your tracks at the sight in front of your eyes. Jean is bent over the hood of your car, his attention not swaying from the task at hand. He has an arrangement of tools spread across your engine. His mullet is now pulled back into a small man bun, beads of sweat making his baby hairs stick to his forehead. The thing catching the majority of your attention though, is the fact that he is completely shirtless. You can see sweat dripping down his muscular back – a sight you never knew you longed to see so badly.

Your heart is beating so loudly in your chest that you’re almost sure he can hear it. If you weren’t already turned on him just by seeing him earlier, you sure as hell were now.

“I can feel you staring,” Jean says, never breaking his eyes away from your car. “Is there any way I can get you to help me?”

“Uh yeah.”

You slip off your jacket, leaving you in just your cropped tank top and sweats. Walking up beside him, you silently wait for instruction from him. He hands you a flashlight, glancing your way for a second.

“I just need you to hold this light so it’s shining right over here,” he instructs you.

You nod your head as you turn the flashlight on, making sure the light hits exactly where he pointed. Jean glances in your direction, but turns his attention quickly when he notices how prominent your breasts are in your low cut shirt. Pretending not to notice his glance, you lean yourself forward a bit more, making your breasts pop even more in your shirt. You can feel Jean’s staring in his peripheral vision.

“Take a picture,” you say. “It’ll last longer.”

Jean’s face turns beet red as his eyes focus back to your car. You giggle to yourself, not believing that you were able to make him flustered so easily. He continues to tinker with your car as you hold the light in place. You catch him throwing glances your way every once in a while, but you choose to not say anything.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You scoot closer to him, but not close enough to his liking. You're taken by surprise when he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your body in front of his. He leaves his hand on your waist and brings his other hand around you to show you whatever it is he wants you to see. You hear words come out of his mouth, but the thought of his body pressed against yours takes over everything in your mind. Your hands find the edge of the car as you brace yourself against it, afraid that you might pass out from the unexpected events taking place.

“Did you get all that?”

You try to think of words, but all you are able to muster is a nod.

“You didn’t hear a thing I said, did you?” Jeans asks smugly.

“I, uuhm,” you stutter.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks, pressing your bodies closer together.

A gasp escapes your lips as you feel his hardened length press into you. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of this situation before, but never did you think this would all be happening.

“Jean, what are you doing?”

“I’m just trying to teach my favorite girl about her car,” he says slowly in your ear. “Is there anything wrong with that?”

You feel yourself getting wet from the sensation of his cock pushing into your backside. Feeling the pressure in your clit from being pushed against your car is enough to make you squirm under Jean. He grasps both of your hips tightly, trying to keep your body still.

“Every movement you make is making it harder for me to concentrate,” he says through clenched teeth.

The revelation that he is turned on as much as you are gives you a boost in confidence. Taking matters into your own hands, you turn yourself around to face him. You place your hands on his toned chest, pushing his upper body back slightly.

“Then focus on me.”

Your eyes stare up into his, seeing his pupils are completely blown. The lust is apparent in his eyes, and you’re sure that he can see it in yours too. You’ve wanted Jean for so long, it’s almost hard to believe what’s happening right in front of you.

Jean whispers your name so softly that you barely catch it. “Can I kiss you?”

Your mouth opens in shock at the question. Did you hear him right? Were you imagining he said that?

“You want to kiss me?” you whisper back.

Jean brings his forehead to yours, not breaking the eye contact between you two.

“Yes,” Jean starts. “I want to kiss you, so fucking bad.”

You can barely comprehend the words coming from his mouth. Not sure how far he was willing to take this, you know you need to set boundaries with him. You weren’t going to take this all the way just to be thrown to the side after everything was done.

“I don’t want to be another one of your girls, Jean,” you say quietly. “I can handle rejection from most guys, but not you. So, if you don’t want anything else from this, then let go of me and we’ll continue to be friends.”

Your breathing is heavy after you confession. You never expected it to come out, especially like this. Jean is just as stunned by it. Why would you ever think you were one of those girls? He had never been up front about his feelings, but he never wanted to distract you from your busy life. Every girl he slept with was just a disappointing reminder that he would never get you to himself. You always talked about being too busy for a relationship, so he just assumed that put him out of the running.

Your name softly falls from his lips as he pushes your chin up with his hand. “Why would you ever think you’re one of those girls? Those girls could never compare to you.”

You feel your heart beating rapidly at his words.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he continues. “Every time we hang out, it takes everything in me to not just grab you and kiss you for hours on end. Those girls mean absolutely nothing to me. You are everything to me. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how badly I’ve wanted to do everything with you – hold you, kiss you, touch you, make you forget every other man in your life. I want you to be mine.”

You stand there staring into his eyes, shocked at his confession. Words are spilling out of Jean’s mouth, and you know if you don’t shut him up soon that he won’t stop. You wrap your arms around his neck, but he’s so lost in his confession that he doesn’t even notice.

“Jean,” you say, finally getting his attention on you. “Shut up.”

You pull his face down to yours, finally kissing his lips. Your stomach feels like someone has released butterflies again. This is the moment you’ve waited so long for, and you don’t plan on letting it slip away from you.

Jean deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entrance. You oblige, opening your mouth. As your tongues explore each other’s mouths, he pulls your body closer to his. His cock rubs against your already sensitive clit, making you moan into the kiss. You feel his grip tighten on your hips, keeping you place as he continues to slowly grind against you. Your hands make their way into his hair, slightly pulling at the strands. He moans into the kiss, and that’s when you start to lose your composure.

Jean slightly lifts you up so you’re sitting on the edge of your car. Immediately wrapping your legs around his hips, he pulls you even closer. He grinds his cock along your entire cunt, adding more friction to your clit. The friction makes you whimper, something Jean never thought he would hear. He slides one of his hands underneath your shirt, cupping your breast. As he lightly kneads it, your moans become completely uncontrollable, your body getting lost in the pleasure.

“Jean,” you whine. “Not here.”

He removes his hand from your shirt, bringing them both under your thighs.

“Up,” he demands.

You help pull yourself up as his hands move to your ass, picking you up with ease. Your legs tighten around his waist, causing more friction between your sensitive clit and his hard length. He makes his way through your apartment, never once breaking the heated kiss between you two. As soon as he leads you through your bedroom doorway, he slams the door shut with his foot. You gasp as he tosses you onto your bed as if you weigh nothing. He looms over you, taking in the sight of your body lying below him.

He says your name quietly. “Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause if we do this, there’s no going back. You are mine.”

“Jean,” you respond quietly. “Please make me yours.”

Jean brings his lips down to yours, kissing you hungrily. Your hands roam his chest, feeling his muscles under your fingertips. As your hands make their way down his chest, they stop at the waist of his jeans. Your fingers find their way to the button on his jeans, unclasping them. You slowly start to shimmy them down his legs, his calves finishing the task. He breaks the kiss, and you whine at the loss of contact.

“It’s not very fair that I’m sitting here in my underwear, yet you’re still fully clothed.”

He grabs the waistband of your sweatpants and tugs on them, signaling that he wants them off. You hurriedly grab them, pulling them off easily. Jean moves himself to the edge of your bed, grabbing your wrist to pull you over to him. You get off the bed and stand in front of him. He pulls you closer to him by your waist, putting one of his legs in between yours. His hands grip your waist roughly, moving your body down to sit on his thigh.

“Show me how good you can ride my thigh.”

His hand makes its way under your shirt again, kneading your breast with his calloused palm. The feeling of his rough hands against your soft breast is already driving you crazy. He bounces his thigh causing a whimper to spill from your lips. You grab his shoulders for support as you slowly start moving yourself against him. You bring your lips to his, letting your moans fall into his mouth. He trails the kiss from your lips down to your neck. His lips search for your weak spot, earning a moan when they finally find it. You feel his cocky smile as he nibbles on it, making you moan loudly.

Feeling desperate for more, you rock your hips faster. The moans and whimpers spilling from your mouth are music to Jean’s ears. He moves his lips from your neck up to your jaw, placing soft kisses along it. His hand releases your breast, making its way up to your neck, applying light pressure to the sides. His other hand stays firmly on your hip, helping you keep your balance as you continue to grind onto him. Your hands grip tighter onto his shoulders, nail marks becoming apparent on his skin.

“Does that feel good?” he asks in a gruff voice. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Feels so good.”

“You’re so good at riding my thigh,” he says lowly in your ear.

Your wetness is practically soaking Jean’s thigh, a sight he had dreamed about many times. Jean bounces his thigh lightly again, causing you to sharply take in a breath. The pleasure was starting to overwhelm you, and your orgasm was quickly approaching. Your rhythm starts to get sloppy, and Jean knew you were there.

“Jean,” you whimper. “I’m close.”

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

A wave of pleasure crashes over you as Jean releases your throat, grabbing your hips with both of his hands. He continues rocking your hips, helping you through your high. Once the your orgasm wears off, you lay your head on his shoulder, breathing heavily. Jean runs a hand through your hair.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says quietly in your ear. “But I’m far from being done with you.”

“Jean, I’m so sensitive. I don’t know if I can handle anymore.”

Jean grabs your face gently with his hands, pulling you off his shoulder. His rough thumb rubs lightly along your cheek.

“We’ve both waited too long for this,” he starts. “I’m going to make you cum as many times as I can until you’re screaming my name.”

Redness makes its way across your cheeks as you try to bury your face back into Jean’s shoulder. He stops you just in time, cupping your face in his hands.

“Don’t you ever hide your beautiful face from me.”

You nod your head lightly.

“That’s my girl.”

You can feel yourself getting wet again from all the praises you were receiving from him. Jean presses his lips against yours, much softer this time than the rest. You wrap your arms around his neck as he places his hands on your ass. He stands up while holding you, turning around and placing you back down on the edge of the bed. You pull back and gave him a confused look.

“I wanna show you how good I can make you feel.”

He lightly grabs the bottom edge of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head. Your breasts bounce as the fabric releases the hold on them, and you swear you see Jean drooling at the sight. His hands immediately take hold of each breast, lightly rubbing them in his palms. He leans forward and takes one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. The sensation makes your head fall back, quiet moans falling from your mouth.

He lets go of your other breast, his hand working its way down to your core. It stops on your thigh, and you feel his thumb making small circles on it. You push your hips forward, trying to get him to touch where you want him most. Jean chuckles at the sight of you being so needy for him. He removes his mouth from your nipple, a small string of saliva in between.

“Look at my girl being so needy,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”

“Need your touch,” you whimper. “Please.”

Jean’s thumb makes contact with your clit, making you gasp as his thumb lightly draws circles on it. You try to quiet the moans that escape your lips, but the immense amount of pleasure is making it difficult to stay quiet. He slips your dark green lace thong to the side. One of his fingers lightly runs up your wet pussy, making you arch your back.

“So wet for me,” Jean whispers in your ear.

He continues to rub your clit as his finger runs up and down the folds of your dripping cunt, every pass making you ache for more.

“Jean, please,” you moan out.

“Anything for you, princess,” he says, slipping a finger into your wet pussy.

You whimper at the feeling, trying to keep your moans quiet still. Jean pulls his hand away from your core, making you whine at the loss of contact. You pull him down into a heated kiss as you feel him sliding your thong off you. He lays you on the bed as his hand finds your pussy again, easily slipping his finger back into you. You become a whining mess underneath Jean as he breaks the kiss. His lips make their way down to your core, kissing every inch of you along the way.

His lips make their way to your inner thigh, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin. He stops moving his finger, letting it rest inside you. You try to buck your hips, but his arm laid across you prevents any movement from happening. As you let out a whine in frustration, Jean brings his mouth to your clit, letting his warm breath fan over it.

He says your name gruffly. “Don’t hold back your moans. I wanna hear you scream my name.”

He places his mouth on your swollen clit as he begins to move his finger again. His tongue flicks it, causing a loud moan to fall from your lips.

“Oh my god!”

Jean smirks as his tongue continues to lick circles on your clit. Your hands reach down to his hair, pulling at his strands, earning a moan from him. The sensation of his finger and his tongue licking your clit is enough to form another knot in the pit of your stomach. Your hips try to match the movement of his finger, trying to get yourself closer to a release. Jean slips a second finger in, earning an even louder moan from you than before.

“Don’t stop Jean,” you breathe out in between moans.

You don’t know what comes over you as you push his face deeper onto you.

“If you want more, pretty, all you have to do is ask.”

“Want more, Jean,” you moan.

Jean flattens his tongue against your clit, curling his fingers inside you to hit your sweet spot. The sensation has you practically shaking underneath him. You push yourself harder onto his tongue, desperate for the friction to help you get closer to your release.

“Don’t, stop, please.”

He adds a third finger, making you lose your composure completely. The rhythm your hips created was completely lost. Pleasure takes over you as your orgasm rips through you. Jean continues his pace licking and fingering you, helping you ride out your high. Once he notices your breathing start to go back to normal, he slips his fingers out of you. You whimper at the loss of them, but he replaces the feeling when he slides his tongue up your pussy, cleaning up your mess.

“Jean,” you loudly moan. “Too sensitive, please –“

“Just cleaning up your mess,” he says with a smug grin on his face.

You feel heat immediately rush to your cheeks, your hands reaching up to try and hide it. Jean leans over you, pulling your hands down.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he says, staring down into your eyes. “Don’t hide your face from me.”

Nodding your head obediently, you can’t help but stare into his eyes. You can see the lust in them practically begging you for more. Your hands seem to take control of themselves, moving to the waistband of his underwear. As you slowly pull them down his legs, he bends down and kisses you. The moment his underwear hit the floor, Jean spreads your legs slowly, putting himself in between them.

He stops the kiss to look down at your entrance. Grabbing his cock, he slides the tip slowly through your folds, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You whimper as he continues to edge you, driving you crazy.

“You’re sure about this?” Jean asks in a sincere tone.

“Yes, Jean,” you whine. “Please, fuck me.”

Jean brings his lips to yours again, capturing them in a passionate kiss. He lines his length up with you, and slowly pushes himself in. You both moan loudly into the kiss as he bottoms out inside of you. He breaks the kiss to look at you, waiting for your confirmation on when he can start moving. After a few seconds, you nod your head as you bring his lips back down to yours.

He starts out slow, letting his cock slide out just enough for only the tip to be left inside. It takes everything in him to not completely hammer into you, but he wanted to make this special. Your hands grab onto the sheets, gripping them tightly in your fists as he slowly thrust into you.

“Jean,” you moaned. “Faster, please.”

Jean happily picks up the pace, grunting every time he fills you. His grunts and moans get louder as he starts kissing down your neck. He finds your sweet spot, letting his teeth nibble on it. Letting go of the sheets, you wrap your arms around his back. You can’t help as your nails scratch down his back, leaving marks that he would most definitely feel later on.

Your moans get louder as you feel the knot build in your stomach again.

“Jean,” you loudly moan. “Oh, fuck!”

“Not yet,” he groans back.

His hands gripped your hips firmly as he flips you onto your back, his length not leaving your dripping pussy once. Your eyes go wide as he handles you like you weigh absolutely nothing.

“Ride me, baby.”

You do as he commands, placing your hands on his chest as you move yourself up and down on him. Jean brings one hand down to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles on it. You throw your head back moaning in pleasure as he brings his other hand up to your neck, squeezing the sides rougher than the last time. You clench your walls around him, making him moan louder than he has.

“Fuck,” Jean says loudly through breaths and moans. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Look at you taking my cock so well.”

The praise itself is almost enough to send you over the edge, but you hold yourself back. Jean lets go of your throat, bringing both of his hands to your hips. He grips you tightly as he begins to slam into you fervently, his pace much quicker than what you were doing by yourself. You put one of your hands on your clit, rubbing it vigorously as you felt your orgasm approaching fast.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks roughly.

You try to nod your head, but the pleasure is too much.

“Jean!” you yell. “Gonna –“

“Cum for me,” Jean moans your name loudly.

Your third orgasm crashes over you as Jean continues to thrust wildly into you. You keep your hands firmly on his chest, trying to keep yourself steady as he helps you through it. Your pussy grips onto his cock like a vice as he fucks deeper into you. His brows furrow together, and you can tell he’s getting close.

“You can cum in me, Jean” you lean down and whisper into his ear.

“A-Are you sur-“

“I’m on the pill, Jean.”

“Oh fuck yes!” he moans out loudly.

Jean grips you harder as his thrusts start to lose rhythm. The praises you moan out to him are working.

“Ah, Jean! Don’t stop!” you yell out, your fourth orgasm approaching. “Feels so good!”

“C’mon baby,” Jean says loudly. “Show me how good you feel.”

Your sweet moans echo through his ears as you come undone on his cock, feeling his cum fill your cunt at the same time. You fall onto Jean’s chest, too exhausted to hold your body up any longer. He slowly takes himself out of you, the mess spilling onto the sheets below. You stay laying on his chest as he wraps his arms around your back. The sound of yours and his heavy breathing fills the room.

“That was –“

“I really like you, Jean,” you admit quietly.

Realizing you said that out loud, you nervously burrow your face into Jean’s neck. He chuckles quietly as he brings a hand up and runs it through your hair.

“I really fucking like you too,” he says. “Always have.”

You lift your head up slightly, just enough so you can see his face. He looks down at you with nothing but love and adoration on his face.

“Really?” you ask, tears brimming your eyes.

He moves a piece of hair out of your face gently.

“Of course, baby,” he says, kissing your nose. “Will you please be mine?”

You pull him into a deep kiss. Your wildest dreams are coming true right in front of you. Who knew your one day off would become the best day of your life?

“Absofuckinglutely.”

banner cred: @saradika

[copperbadge]

Well, Still Salty.

I was cranky yesterday and I thought a good night's sleep would provide some adjustment in perspective, but unfortunately "spending yesterday not on tumblr" also offered perspective and got there first.

Up front: feel free to comment or reblog on this post (replies may be heavily delayed) but if you feel the urge to Like, I'm going to ask you to take one more step and go to https://www.tumblr.com/support, select "feedback" as the category, and enter a line or two about the new dash. It can be as simple as "Your new dash design is difficult to use and is driving people off the site". I'm not asking everyone to do it, but if you're going to Like this post, that would be a helpful action in addition. You can delete any response they send; no reason to expose yourself to the unique combination of incompetence and condescension with which they handle feedback generally.

Also up front: yeah, if I find somewhere else to go and go there, I will certainly let you guys know beforehand, I'm not going to just evaporate. I'll be broadcasting about Tumblr's replacement on Tumblr very heavily. But I can't deny that it is now an active goal of mine to find a viable replacement for this site. (More on this in a moment.) You will always be able to find me on AO3 as copperbadge, or via copperbadge@gmail.com. (More on this in a moment also.)

This kind of thing is why I refuse to fuck with staff now or ever; I don't trust them and I never will. Watching @wip respond to almost every complaint or suggestion with "but that would be really hard" is telling. Whoever is pushing blocks around at Tumblr wants a lucrative site that's easy to code, but lucrative is hostile to community and code is difficult by nature, and when the architecture of the meeting hall is hostile and cheap, people don't stick around.

I've been watching the site as every change made it incrementally worse, from a buggy post window that doesn't allow ease of editing to the new dash (which is the reason I'm writing this in a text window off Tumblr). I genuinely do not think I can use desktop Tumblr like this unless I can install something that will put it back the way it was, and roughly 40% of the content you guys get HAS to come through desktop. It's impossible to do on a phone or so time-consuming it's not worth it. I cannot code Radio Free Monday on a phone; it's a struggle to code it on a single-monitor laptop (I usually write it on my work computer, where I have two monitors). Even writing image IDs on the phone is difficult and something I rarely do. Tumblr is becoming an actively difficult place for me to make content, introducing friction left and right.

But where does one go? I've tried other platforms and they're either worse to use or they don't have the constituency. The problem with a lot of discourse around internet addiction is that it often points out how glued people are to their phones without asking what it is they're doing on those phones. I'm not addicted to social media; I don't doomscroll, I don't care what celebrities have to say, I don't find 140 characters useful or interesting, I don’t find most “funny” videos very interesting. I create a lot of original content for public consumption, significantly more than many social media users, and if that becomes difficult, then the site suffers more than I do. But it's undeniable that social media, and this social media in specific, is where my people are, and yeah, I like seeing you all every day. It makes it difficult to leave even when Tumblr is the best of a bad set of options.

It seems like a lot of the internet, lately, is the best of a bad set of options.

All that said, Tumblr forced a sudden, unwanted, and unchangeable reskin on me a day after I listened to a two-hour podcast about addiction while working on building a newsletter system for my author site. I spent the evening before this happened in contemplation of my relationship to social media and to my readership and how I might alter it to my benefit regardless of whether that's also to Tumblr's detriment. Their poor timing, I suppose. A lot of the theories advanced on the podcast were, to put it kindly, bunk, but one of the suggestions for people questioning their relationship to an activity was a dopamine fast -- removing something in your life that gives you quick but unsustained dopamine hits, so that you can take some time to level out and examine your behaviors. On the one hand, that's not at all how dopamine works; from the jump it's a bad theory. But on the other, pulling back from something you think may be causing you difficulty is generally speaking a good tactic.

Removing myself from Tumblr yesterday was an active process: because I have ADHD and often will forget something exists if I don't systematize my engagement with it, Tumblr is normally pinned to my browser, with the app on my phone's top screen. Removing the app and closing the window meant that while I occasionally reached for Tumblr, it was less frequently than I expected, and the lack of access reminded me why I wasn't there. I missed you guys, but I didn't miss getting distracted from work by my dash, or the pressure to respond to the volume of communication I receive through the site daily. I don't think my use of tumblr as my sole social media has been unhealthy, per se, but certainly yesterday felt both quieter and calmer after I walked away.

But that's a temporary relief, because you are my community, and not only do I not want to leave my community, it's a resource for me. One of the reasons I do things like Radio Free Monday and the weekly Hug on Saturdays is that I try to make sure that resource is reciprocal. Leadership involves service. Leaving would be easy in the short term, but in the long term, leaving my community without having another place to meet it, or another community to go to, would be harmful to both of us. I'm already someone who isolates, and while I have a strong brickspace circle of friends, they fulfill sometimes different needs.

Though I do appreciate the wild vote of confidence from the comments to my last post telling me people would come with me where I went. That means a lot to me. I will attempt to make it either unnecessary or as painless as possible. Just know, I see your faith and friendship and I appreciate it.

Sometimes at my old job I'd be in very tumultuous meetings where a lot was discussed and not much agreed on, and the most useful thing to me was always to say, "What are our next steps? What would you like me to do because of this meeting?" So what are next steps, all this being the case?

First, I'm going to be off Tumblr, mostly, for another couple of days, because clearly I need the break and a few days won't matter too much. Again, I will be back either to continue on the site or to let you guys know, at length and volume, where I'm headed. The former is much more likely.

Second, I'm going to be actively looking for both a widget I can install to reset the dash (recommendations welcome, I currently don't even use xkit) and a wholly new platform that's a realistically viable alternative. Even if the dash gets reset, the shitty post editor is here for good. Attempts to source alternative platforms in the past have taught me that it needs to have a mobile-friendly site or an app, a similar structure to tumblr, and a reasonable chance of actually attracting users. That's a heavy venn diagram unlikely to be fulfilled anytime soon, but I'm now invested in finding it, instead of just passively waiting for it to happen to me (as Tumblr did when it pulled me off LJ).

Third, I do have an email newsletter in the works! I'm just wrestling currently with setting up how people sign up for it. This wasn't meant to be "my main broadcast platform"; it's meant to be a once-monthly email to share book news, targeted at people who aren't on socials or who just really love content from me, I guess. :D The plan was for me to assure Tumblr users that it was not extra content, just select content repackaged into a digest. But it will be one way to ensure that if I'm moving around outside of Tumblr, you'll know about it. I hope to have a link to a signup page soon. (I'm....dealing with some code issues.)

Fourth, I'm going to be combing through the last ten years I've spent here and pulling anything I think is of value into an archive. For now everything will remain here as well, and I'll let you guys know if I think that's going to change, but it's clear that this space is moving only one direction, towards a place I can't exist, and when/if it crumbles I want to have already evacuated what's important.

So there you go. I'll possibly be posting sporadically (the Saturday Hugs are queued six months in advance so that'll happen) but if nothing else and if not sooner, I'll be back full-time next week starting with Radio Free Monday. I appreciate your patience and your kindness in the meantime!

[lazleylazarus]

A bunch of my monster high redesigns💀💀💀!! mostly g1-inspired

pt. 1

there were so many things I wanted to write about them but I couldn’t (im still working on it, text and pics may be edited later, there may also be mistypes)

FRANKIE!!!⚡️

even though frankie is basically the result of her father’s experiment, she doesn’t like being referred as an object and tries living her life as a normal ghoul. frankie was made to be a perfect humanoid student. though she actually isn’t perfect and constantly struggles with social adaptation issues and some of her studies (such as swimming and other disciplines that require contact with liquids), frankie also sometimes confronts other students who demonstrate their disrespect to her for being “too good” and beloved by many teachers so that she wouldn’t give others a chance to shine bright (even though that’s not 100% true). oh, and for being “just a rag doll”. however, that doesn’t stop fran from being herself. she eventually learned to ignore the bullies and even managed to become friends with a bunch of meanies thanks to her lack of social adaptation evolving into pure ghoul simplicity and kindness. as well as that, frankie sometimes shows signs of overprotection not realizing that it potentially may cause problems or may be simply annoying. loves stem subjects, handicraft, helping others sincerely and obscure media no one talks about

note: frankie herself rarely uses they/them pronouns, they’re mostly used in reports of frankenstein and his wife and official documents. frankie is ok with it unless she’s referred as “it”. that’s just how she feels

DRACULAURA!!!🦇

a little bat crybaby aristocrat who sometimes faces disrespect from others for being a human-born vampire. it’s not like a sin or something, just teens being assholes to each other. she’s mostly seen with frankie and clawdeen or clawd wolf, drac’s boyfriend. draculaura becomes very anxious when she’s not with her friends. she and clawdeen founded a club for “hermit” or “rejected” monsters (they haven’t decided on the name yet) but they were the only permanent members until they met frankie who not only became a part of the club herself but also helped to bring new monsters and even friends, which is quite ironic. draculaura is a vegetarian and her current eating habits presumably developed from the illness which almost killed her before turning into a vampire. well, more like they were caused not by the illness itself but by the cause of this disease. kinda theatre kid. loves romantic stuff, gothic lolita fashion, sweets and writing her own novels which she rarely shows to others

note: later I remembered vampires don’t tolerate crosses but I really love it how they turned out so maybe there would be unholy unconsecrated crosses which do not affect them?? they’re not demonic, they just can be used as accessories by vampires. yeah that’s it. im yet to figure it all out

CLAWDEEN!!!🌖

a sassy werewolf who appreciates fashion, art and also designs her own clothes. clawdeen is a fashionista who dreams of becoming a popular model and designer. but she’s not a typical high school hyperfeminine diva girl, she really loves sports and she may act like a tomboy. clawdeen’s biggest flaw that makes her different from other werewolves is her inability to fully transform into a wolf at her age which is seen as some kind of rare disability. clawdeen doesn’t like talking about it and rarely hangs out with other werewolves except her siblings. as an extremely loyal ghoul, she also seems to have some traumatic experience in romance. that may explain why she tends to avoid romantic interactions and looks seemingly anxious when she witnesses them or when someone flirts with her. clawdeen is secretly envy for some of her friends and elder brother being happy in relationships but she can’t do anything about it. who knows, maybe she’ll find her happiness one someday. loves fashion, art, grunge music and true crime documentaries

[wallaceyouslut]

Summary:

Todd’s been chasing after Wallace. They meet at an afterparty - situations ensue.

Edit: Since the original seems to have been deleted I'll send a link to a saved version if anyone wants, just DM.

POSESSIVE YET TENDER TODD AAAHAHAHJDJDKSKFNDN

It's nice to see fics where Todd takes initiative yet is still so clearly desperate uwu

Wallace giving into him...we love to see it

Fic:

Wallace pushes through the busy crowd, frowning when some guy almost spills his booze onto his shirt. It’s one of his vintage Ralph Lauren sweaters, and it’d piss him off to no end if it got stained.

He feels a hand grab his wrist at some point, but he’s too tipsy to care. He only gets startled when the hand actually starts pulling him towards its direction.

“What the hell?” Wallace frowns, shooting his head up to see who it was. It’s dark, and the only source of light is a stupid disco ball on the ceiling that doesn’t help him at all.

Somebody pulls him to the corner of the room, now trapping his body between the rest of the crowd and the wall. When Wallace looks up, he immediately lets out a groan.

"Is that how you’re gonna greet me, huh?”

Todd frowns above him, a shadow casted across his face as he’s turned his back against the light.

He’s the very thing Wallace has been trying to avoid for months - he’d blocked his email address, phone number, social media accounts, everything. Yet he’s breathing, glaring down at him angrily, holding his wrist tight all while being in front of him right then and there.

“Todd, seriously,” Wallace frowns now, trying to pry his wrist away from Todd’s grip. He doesn’t seem to have any intentions in letting go, like he finally has him there after trying so, so hard.

“Seriously what? Why have you been ignoring me?” Todd doesn’t look away, not even once. He’s staring straight down into Wallace’s eyes.

“…look, I’ve been busy. I was looking for new apartments to move into. Scott’s also thinking about moving out, so.” Wallace holds the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling nervous now.

“That’s some bullshit. You could’ve checked your texts.” He grips his wrist tighter now, tilting his head slightly as his gaze remains firm on Wallace.

“What’s your problem? Don’t you get the idea - I’m not interested in you.” Wallace frowns as he tries to push Todd away. He doesn’t budge.

“Come on, Wallace,” His voice sounds a little wrecked now, even desperate, evident within their proximity. “I know how I made you feel.”

Wallace swallows thickly. He really doesn’t want to do this right now, but the way Todd’s eyebrows knit makes his chest tighten a little. Todd lowers his head a little to Wallace’s ear, his voice low but audible amidst the noise of the crowd—

“I can do it all over again. For you.”

Wallace feels a small shock of electricity travel up his spine. He sighs softly as the air remaining inside him leaves his lungs. He feels Todd’s lips against the shell of his ear now, kissing chastely and biting at the lobe.

Wallace will yell at himself for this in the future, but that’s a problem for his later self. He grabs Todd’s hand and pulls him to the men’s restroom behind them.

Todd is the first one to reach for a stall, unlocking the door while picking Wallace up with his other free arm. Wallace cups his jaw with both of his hands, gasping when his back bumps against the (now closed) bathroom door behind him. He lets out a breathless sigh, moaning softly as Todd squeezes his hips.

Wallace bites his lip nervously as he watches Todd undo the fly of his jeans, pulling his waistband down and hastily reaching for his cock. The girth of it sobers Wallace up, makes his mouth water a little bit.

Todd pumps it a few times in his hand, gazing at Wallace through half lidded eyes as he does. Wallace loops his arms around Todd’s neck and kisses him again - eagerly clinging onto him. He can feel Todd’s hands squeezing his ass, and he moans in anticipation.

Todd is the first to pull away. He turns Wallace around and bends him down, practically yanking his jeans down to his thighs as he aligns the head of his cock with Wallace’s ass.

With no preparation? - He wants to ask, but Todd’s out of it, unfocused from everything else except Wallace. He pushes in slowly, and it burns, but Wallace can’t make up the words for it. He’s gasping and moaning underneath, his hands propped up against the bathroom door as he arches his back to take Todd’s cock better. They both let out an airy moan when Todd is fully inside, with Wallace feeling full and stretched out. Todd pulls out, then slams back in, leaving no room for Wallace to gain composure.

“Tell me whose cock this is,” He says with a particularly hard roll of his hips as Wallace lets out a strained shout.

“G-god,” Wallace places his palms on the surface of the door, the stall rattling in rhythm with Todd’s thrusts. “Yours, yours, f-fuhhhh,”

Wallace dips his head and shouts as his cock twitches - he comes, white stripes dripping down the red bathroom door. He gasps heavily when Todd doesn’t stop.

“Does that feel good? Tell me how it feels.” Todd growls into the shell of Wallace’s ear, as Wallace shakes his head and lets out a loud moan.

“Feels s-so good. So good,” He can barely register the sound of his voice and Todd’s grunts beside his ear as he shouts again, unprepared for the second orgasm building up inside him again.

“Wallace,” Todd kisses the back of his neck, licking up in wide swaths. He whispers into his ear, breathlessly. “I can be so good for you, we could do this every day. Every hour. If you let me.”

Wallace presses his forehead against the stall door, unable to make out proper words nor any sentences. He just moans when Todd keeps hitting that spot, until they both get unwinded and Todd spills himself inside of Wallace.

There’s about a minute of silence, their heavy breathing the only thing that’s audible except the muffled music. Wallace is surprisingly the first one to turn around and latch himself onto Todd, kissing chastely at his lips. He’s tired, fuck this, so he just clings onto whichever part of him he could hold onto.

/

Wallace wakes up at his apartment the next day, on the bed. He sits up straight on the sheets, eyeing at his phone. He reaches for it after a minute of consideration, and unblocks Todd Ingram from his contacts.

‘Maybe I should text him.’ He thinks.

[tryslora]

Do you have any suggestions for making book covers without having to pay someone?

If you know since you're pretty much the only writer person I follow

(sorry I'm nervous to ask out of anon 😅)

No worries, don't be nervous, anon! Totally cool question.

I will say that I tried making my own covers originally, and uhhhh I have standards I couldn't reach, so I failed at that and went the paid route (and OMG the artists I have found are AMAZING, I just have to say that the fandom community ROCKS).

First things first, start by looking at covers of books in the same genre that appeal to you. Look at what you like about them, and what's consistent about them. Are they clipart type graphics? Are they simplistic? Is it photorealistic? Are there images at all other than scrolls and flowers?

What are the placements and sizes for the title and author name? Usually the author name is smaller than the title unless it's a super famous author who gets to be more important than the title.

Also, if you put a subtitle or series on the cover, and you plan to sell the book, this information MUST be listed in the records for selling (like your ISBN). KDP has been known to bounce books for not matching up.

Anyway. Some things I know people have used.

Canva (you can get a 30-day trial of the paid version, if you need to). They have templates, graphics, all kinds of things available. Check licensing!

Actually, pause here for a sidebar, because that's a huge theme for all answers--always check what licensing is available for any graphics/art/font you're including. Depending on how you're using your cover, you may need a different license. If it's for personal use, you only need basic personal use licensing. But if it's for sale (paperback or ebook) it requires to be allowable to be used commercially.

Anyway, back to Canva. I know some indie authors who swear by it and put together really simple text and graphic covers.

I've collected a small group of links I use when I do need something quick, or I need a graphic for use online. Some of them I haven't played with fully myself, so for all of them, look carefully at what they offer, what their licensing is, and how and whether they include AI (and check for things tagged AI vs not).

DIY Book Covers - I found this one linked from an indie writing site. I have not played with it.

BookBrush - this one is for creating social media images once you have a cover.

Pixabay and Unsplash are two sites I use all the time for graphics. They have started to have more AI art on them in recent times (and beware of links that lead to images that do cost--they are mostly free, but have advertised paid links, too). Last time I looked, the AI art was tagged. All the promotional images I do when I'm getting ready to launch a new PHU book come from these sites.

Pexels looks to be similar, but I don't think I've used it much. I have a bookmark for future me tho!

There's also Wikimedia but in my mind, that one's more for personal use than commercial. I've linked to their page on licensing.

So. You've found imagery, and now you need to put it together.

In terms of free graphics editors, I can only list the ones I'm most familiar with. I've already mentioned Canva. I have used Adobe Express (it's actually handy for stripped down video editing). I know folks who swear by GIMP.

I... know there are places to get cool fonts, but um, I don't have them bookmarked. Sorry!

All of this covers the basic cover image at the front, and not constructing the actual wraparound book cover you need if you're doing a print edition. Most places (I've dealt with DraftToDigital and Amazon KDP) have a template that you can download then edit in GIMP or Adobe Express and those contain instructions.

And I know you don't want to pay someone, but I am going to mention one site that has come up often in indie/small press panels I've been on this year: GetCovers. I have not used them, and cannot vouch for them. I don't know whether they do or do not use AI. But I do know the folks who have spoken about them were happy with their covers, and with the service. And depending on what you need, they are super inexpensive compared to other options.

This does mean that they are using art they've bought and that your cover might have the same art as someone else (this happens a lot where stock photos are concerned--I read two books this year from different authors where the covers obviously came from the same photoshoot).

But anyway, they are an inexpensive option if you get frustrated with doing it yourself.

Best of luck, nonnie, and I hope your book adventures take you far!

[lazardotsocial]

LAZAR GEN 7: VARIANCE

PRE-LAUNCH ESSAY

Welcome back to Lazar dot social and to Generation 7. This one is about editing.

1. Oulipo-Likes

Returning to the categorization system I discussed last time, Gen 7 is an Oulipo-like, same as Gen 2. Oulipo, short for Ouvroir de littérature potentielle ("Workshop of Potential Literature") is a 1960s French literary movement focused on constrained writing techniques. If you’ve ever heard of something writing a whole book without using the letter ‘e’, that’s the kind of stuff they were into (1). Raymond Queneau, one of the founding members, describes Oulipo as "rats who construct the labyrinth from which they plan to escape."

Thanks to modern technology, one rat (me) can construct a labyrinth and we can all attempt to escape together. An Oulipo-like is any social network which puts a significant constraint on the subject or structure the user's creations. You might ask why anyone would put up with these kind of limitations – isn’t it better just to write whatever you want ? But I’d remind you that twitter was an Oulipo-like (2) and it was one of the most influential social media sites of our era. Other notable examples include oulipo.social, dolphin.town, and yo (arguably).

A social network is a tool for making art. It's other things also - a distribution network, a community, a database, a website - but it's also an art tool. Everything people put on a social networks is art and it's all made with the help of the site. Some of Tik Tok’s success can be attributed to it’s robust video editing tools and people often spoke positively about how Twitter’s character limit forced them to be succinct. Constraints breed creativity and by imposing constraints, a network can influence what gets put on it. People often talk about how social networks manage their outputs (who see’s what, how that is presented, who gets banned, what algorithms recommend, etc) but I think how they shape their inputs is under considered by creators and critics alike.

2. Editing and Distance

I had two major inspirations for this generation. The first was discussions of editing posts. I feel like in most cases where you’d to want edit a post, you could just allow people to make a few changes (most typos could be fixed just by changing a few characters) and then show the edit history, but this an approach I've never seen it tried. The second was a detail from Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota novels: in the books the Emperor is bound by an oath and each Emperor is permitted to add or change three words in the oath before passing it down to their successor. Thinking about these, I wanted to build something to let you experiment with making edits. Given a pre-existing text, what can you build out of it?

The standard I’m using for distance here is Levenshtein distance, which measures how many additions, subtractions, and substitutions it would take to get from one string of text to another. Meanwhile I’m using the Myers diff algorithm to make the diffs you see while editing. This series of blog posts by James Coglan were very useful in figuring out how to get that working. I played around with different ways of displaying text diffs before settling on the one you see right now. I wanted a display method that let you read both the new sentence and the old one, just by shifting your attention, and that didn't use any of the usual approaches (so no green and red). This kind of intentional contrariness, where I refuse to use the same solutions as everyone else for no particular reason, is an important part of the Lazar experience (3).

3. Harvard Sentences

The texts I use as the roots are Harvard sentences – list 34 from this site to be specific. Originally developed to test phones, Harvard sentences are sets of 10 sentences which contain all common English phonemes at the same frequency they occur in English generally (3). The idea being that if these ten sentences could be understood through your new phone, then anything else you’re likely to say would also be. I think Harvard Sentences are neat – they’re all very anodyne in a "written in 1965" way but they’re still slightly off, in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. They’re one of those invisible test items which shape our world (see also Lenna or Tom’s Diner). (4)

4. Technical Notes

Previously I was hosting Lazar on heroku, because it was easy, but then they changed their payment structure in a way that I didn’t appreciate, so I migrated to DigitalOcean. This took some effort but it was educational. I didn’t bring the old database along, which is why everyone’s accounts were lost, for the same reason I don’t let users reset their passwords: it would’ve been work and Lazar isn’t about giving people things they want.

Lazar can now be followed on Mastodon at @lazar@lazar.social and you’ll receive a feed of all the posts people make. It’s called Lazar Firehose cause you get everything, no differentiation. This is about half of a proper ActivityPub implementation – there’s a followable account and it publishes posts, but you can’t follow external accounts or receive posts from outside - but I think it's good foundation for future experiments in federation. The fire hose will likely continue to exist for all future variants, so long as what’s being produced remains vaguely post shaped, and more features will be added as needed. Darius Kazemi’s "A Highly Opinionated guide to learning about Activity Pub" was very helpful as a starting point, as was ActivityPub.Academy once I started testing what I'd built. I’m only mostly sure I’ve implemented everything correctly, so if anyone notices it working bad or being an impolite neighbor to other servers, please do tell me.

5. Conclusion

Lazar Forever!

Footnotes

1. Although they didn’t invent that trick. That honor goes to Gadsby by Ernest Vincent Wright in 1939. Although reading the Wikipedia page on lipograms, they apparently reaches back to ancient Greece ? Neat.

2. Before it burned down that mysterious Halloween night. Sad, but that is sometimes the nature of things.

3. Perhaps, this too is Oulipo.

4. Also see also the album Lenna Was a Test Image, if you’re into this sort of thing. I particularly like the track "Hello World".