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lxveuntold · 24 days ago

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happy ending, new beginning | hhj (m)

summary: when your friend gifts you an appointment for a massage, he fails to mention one critical detail. luckily, it turns out to be a pleasant surprise with a very happy ending.

pairing: hyunjin x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 8.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; mentions of the reader having a menstrual cycle; graphic sexual content; the “massage with a happy ending” trope; fingering; risky workplace sex; dirty talk; unprotected sex; pullout method

author’s note: i really cannot believe this is as many words as it is because there is seriously no plot here. i hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

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The cozy parlor smells nice, like powder and fresh linens.

The receptionist at the counter smiles. “Hello, good morning. Checking in?”

You smile back and approach them. “Hi, yes. I’m supposed to have an appointment at ten o’clock?”

You give them your name. They tap a few things on their screen and nod.

“All right, you are all checked in. If you want to have a seat, Hyunjin will be with you shortly.”

No sooner have you taken a seat and crossed your legs than the glass door behind the receptionist’s counter opens. Out steps a tall, thin man dressed head to toe in white. Thin, white short-sleeved shirt, loose-fitting white cotton pants, shiny white designer shoes. His blond hair is buzzed short. His ears are decorated with multiple golden piercings. His eyes are a deep brown, and there is a distinctly feline quality to his gaze.

He’s beautiful.

Of course Minho booked you a massage with the most beautiful masseur ever.

The man smiles brightly and says your name as a question. His voice is soft and rather pleasant. A lovely voice to match a handsome face. Of course.

You stand and manage to smile back. “That’s me. Hi.”

He extends his hand and you shake it. His skin is warm. Soft, too.

“Hi, I’m Hyunjin, nice to meet you. Please, come on back.”

He holds the door open and ushers you ahead of him. His hand grazes the center of your back, and your heart flutters for some reason.

“We’ll be in the last room on the right,” he says.

You walk down the short hallway and turn through the last door on the right with Hyunjin right behind you.

In your mind, you pictured a sterile white room. Instead, the walls are painted a beautiful shade of green with paintings of flowers and landscapes displayed upon them. There is a long counter along one wall with a round porcelain sink in the middle. Near the sink are a multitude of candles and small bottles and vials. Rolled towels are stuffed in the shelves beneath the counter. In the center of the room is the massage table, longer than it is wide. A white sheet is fitted on top of it. The smell of powder and fresh linen is stronger back here.

Hyunjin steps around you, and you catch the scent of him when the air moves. He smells of something rich and slightly sweet, like dark chocolate. He pulls a fluffy white towel out from under the counter and sets it on the edge of the massage table. Then he looks to you and smiles again. The groove of a dimple appears in his cheek.

“I’m going to step out for a few minutes,” he says. “I want you to undress entirely, please. Bra, underwear, everything. We don’t want to stain any of your clothing with the oils. Then I want you to lie face down on the table with the towel over you like it’s a blanket, please.”

You nod along to his instructions. When he is finished, you say, “Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He leaves and gently shuts the door behind him.

You undress and pile your clothing on a nearby chair, sliding your shoes underneath it. Then you pick up the towel and shake it open before climbing onto the padded massage table and lying face down under your makeshift blanket.

It takes several minutes, but eventually there is a knock on the door. Hyunjin calls your name and asks, “Are you decent?”

“Yes. Come in,” you say, turning your head to see him enter.

He steps inside and closes the door again. You lock eyes for a second, then he moves to the counter. Music begins playing. A slow, relaxing piano melody. You hadn’t even noticed the speaker there. He also lifts one of the candles, but before he lights it, he turns back to you and asks, “Is it all right if I dim the overhead lights and light a few of the candles? They’re not scented.”

“Oh,” you say. “Uh, sure.”

He gives you a crooked grin. He really is incredibly beautiful. “It’s all right to say no,” he says.

“No, no. That sounds fine. Just seems kind of… I don’t know. Intimate, I guess. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Hyunjin’s face changes. His grin falls and his eyebrows dip in what appears to be confusion. “Is that not what you requested? When you made the appointment, I mean?” he asks.

You fidget with the sheet, plucking at an imaginary loose thread. “I didn’t set it up myself, actually,” you explain. “My friend did. As a gift.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders drop. It seems like realization is hitting him.

“Ah,” he says, turning all the way from the counter to face you fully. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I should have confirmed everything with you before I left the room.”

He steps over to a screen the size of an iPad mounted face-high on the wall by the door. He pulls something up on it and nods to himself. Then he looks back to you and explains, “Your friend booked you with me for the full deluxe package. That’s a two hour session which includes establishing relaxing ambiance—the candles, lighting, music, et cetera—the massage of course, use of any and as many essential oils as you wish, and a… a happy ending, if you’re familiar with the term.”

You nearly choke on the spit in your mouth. “O-Oh! Oh my god,” you stammer. “You mean…?”

“An orgasm, yes,” Hyunjin says. “To be clear. Which I should be and should have been from the start.”

Oh, you are going to fucking kill Minho when you see him. No wonder he had been so excited to give you this gift. He does like giving you things you would never buy for yourself, and this definitely fits into that category. Plus, the main reason he did this for you in the first place is because of the recent breakup you’ve gone through. ‘It’ll take your mind off it for a while.’ ‘You deserve to treat yourself.’

Full deluxe package, huh. That twisted fuck.

“No, you’re fine,” you tell Hyunjin, “it’s my friend who should have been clear from the start. Fucking prick.”

Hyunjin chuckles a little. “If you want to cancel, I totally understand. I’ll refund your friend.”

You chew on your lip in thought for a moment then ask, “You really offer that here?”

“Refunds?”

You laugh, loudly and genuinely. “No. You know what I mean.”

Hyunjin laughs too. “Yes, I get paid to massage people then make them come. Though not as many people book for that as you might think. You’d think they’d at least be curious, but I think they assume it’s a terrible joke. Anyway, I know this was a lot to spring on you. It’s all right to change your mind and decline. That goes for anything that happens in here this morning.”

You think for another moment. Another question comes to mind. “What if I had a partner?” you ask. “You wouldn’t offer this in that case, would you?”

Hyunjin consults the screen on the wall again, scrolling with the tip of his finger. He points to something and replies, “Your appointment form says you’re single, unless your friend lied about that.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No, that’s correct. I was just curious.”

“Everything that happens here is private and confidential,” Hyunjin says, sort of dodging your original question at first, but then he adds, “but no. I wouldn’t offer this service to people in relationships. Unless they’ve lied on their appointment form, of course.”

“Huh. Well I guess that’s on them and not you then.”

Hyunjin gives a tight smile. “What other questions or concerns do you have?” he asks. He sounds patient and genuinely curious. You get the impression he is good at this. At his job.

“What if I was on my period?” you ask.

“We have tampons. Or if you wanted to put your underwear back on and wear a pad, we’d have to get you cleaned of all the oil first. I would also lay an extra towel beneath you.”

“So… you’d still do it?”

Hyunjin flashes an easier smile. “I would use gloves for sanitary purposes, but yes, I would. Are you on your period? Do I need to step out again or get you anything? Or would you prefer to reschedule?”

“No, no. I’m not. Just curious again.”

“These are good questions.” Again, he sounds genuine and kind.

Are you really willing to let this beautiful stranger give you an orgasm though? It wouldn’t be the first time, but this isn’t exactly a dating app hookup or picking someone up at the bar.

Still, if this is what his job entails and it is a totally normal occurrence for him, why not go along with it? What would it hurt?

You shake your head again. “I can’t think of anything else,” you say slowly. “And I… I’ll go with everything that was booked.”

“You sure? No hard feelings if you want to omit some things or reschedule or completely cancel. I promise.”

You swallow and nod. “I’m sure.”

Hyunjin flashes a brighter smile, bringing back the dimple in his cheek. You entertain the idea that he might actually be relieved by your answer, but surely that is not the case. This is work to him, and this is still a customer service type of job.

“All right. So, would you like me to dim the lights and light some candles?” he asks, easily picking up right where he left off.

“Sure. That would be nice.”

He does so quickly, lighting and placing the candles in various places around the room before dimming the overhead lights. You can still see him well enough to watch him move back to the counter and wash his hands at the sink. The faint light catches on the jewelry in his ears. After he dries his hands, he starts examining the bottles. He does not look at you when he speaks again.

“So, you’re booked for a full body massage. No pun intended,” he says, making you laugh. “But are there any specific areas you want me to focus on? And yes, you’re allowed to say something like your breasts or your glutes or your pelvis.”

Heat rises in your face. “No. Nowhere in particular,” you answer.

Hyunjin nods to himself and lifts a couple bottles. “Your form said no known allergies to any oils or lotions or skincare products in general. Is that correct?”

You sigh. “Yeah, that’s correct. Minho might be a prick but he knows me well.”

Hyunjin laughs again. You like that sound.

“All right, what about scent preferences? Dislikes?”

“Uh… what do you recommend? What’s your favorite?”

He looks at you. “Oh. Well, I like green tea and eucalyptus the most. Lavender is nice too, if you want to relax to the point of falling asleep, which a lot of people do. We also have rose oil, coconut, ginger, frankincense…”

“The green tea one sounds nice,” you decide.

“Good choice.”

Hyunjin sets both the bottles in his hands down and lifts another. He opens it and pours a healthy amount into his palm.

“These are all safe for even the most intimate areas,” he says, rubbing his hands together to warm and spread the oil, “but let me know if you feel any burning or unpleasantness at any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

He touches your arm that is closest to him. You automatically lift it because you think that will make his work easier, but he gently pushes it back down and says, “Just relax, please. No need to lift a finger. I’ll do all the work.”

Something in the way he says that has heat rushing south between your legs. How are you supposed to relax when you know what is waiting for you at the end? Maybe it would help if you didn’t stare at the handsome man touching your body the entire time, so you turn your face to fit it into the cutout in the table and mumble an apology to the floor.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says, gliding a firm hand up your arm, coating it in the fragrant, pleasantly tingly oil. He starts making conversation by asking, “So what made your friend book this appointment for you? Work stress? Just for fun?”

It would be easy to answer with one of those choices, but he has been so kind, so you feel compelled to tell him the truth.

“I went through a… sort of a nasty breakup a few months ago. I’m getting over it, but I was pretty down about it for a while.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry to bring it up.”

Hyunjin kneads downward from your bicep to your wrist, then slots his fingers between yours to hold your hand and roll your wrist in a gentle circle. Somehow, that gesture feels every bit as intimate as if he was already touching between your legs.

“You’re fine,” you say.

He lets go of your hand and goes back to your bicep, repeating his earlier motions until he reaches your hand again. He rubs at your fingers, either intentionally or unintentionally popping a few of your knuckles in the process.

“We don’t have to talk at all, by the way,” Hyunjin says. “You can tell me to be quiet.”

You smile at the floor. “No, I… I like conversation. Better than sitting here in silence, I think.”

“Well, your emotional and mental comfort are as important to me as your physical comfort,” he says. His hand moves to your upper back between your shoulders, skirting along the edge of the towel. “Is it all right if I pull the towel down a bit? Just to the middle of your back for now.”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

He folds the towel back just as he said. The air is a little cool on your bare skin, but his warm hands are there to soothe that problem in no time. The oil feels pleasant as he smears it along your skin. The scent of green tea envelopes but does not overwhelm you. The song changes in the background to a different piano melody.

Hyunjin hums in thought as he prods your shoulders with his fingertips. “You have quite a bit of tension up here,” he says. “Do you sit at a desk all day for work?”

You nod against the table. “Yeah, actually. And I’ve been told my posture isn’t great.”

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to lecture you or anything, I swear. I was just curious myself.”

A couple quiet minutes go by as he works the knots in your shoulders. You’re the one to speak up and carry on the conversation this time.

“So how did you get into this job?”

“Oh, a friend of a friend thought I’d be good at it. It sounded fun. I thought it would just be a temporary thing but then I was actually going to school for it, and then I was doing hundreds of hours of training and getting my whole license, so I guess this is my career now. I like it though. It’s interesting, you know. Unconventional. Can’t imagine doing something like sitting at a desk all day.”

You both laugh again. You did not realize your legs were tense, but you feel them relax as you sink just a little deeper into the cushioned table.

“I feel like it could make relationships awkward though,” you say, then immediately wish you hadn’t. That was probably too personal.

Hyunjin hums but does not pause his work for a second. He pushes his thumbs up and down along the upper part of your spine and says, “I went through a rough breakup a while ago myself because of my career. I told her it was just work and there are other jobs out there that involve touching people’s genitals, but that was a mistake. I mean, I know it’s not the same. There’s definitely a difference between what I do and what a cerologist does. I get that.”

“A cerologist?”

“Sorry. A wax specialist.”

“Ah. Right.”

He sighs heavily. “Anyway, I’ve been hesitant to get seriously involved with anyone since then.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you say, shifting your weight a little. “It is just a job though.”

“Easy for someone who’s not my girlfriend to say,” Hyunjin jokes. The laughter in the room is more awkward this time. “Sorry,” he says after. “That was weird. I’m sorry.”

It takes more strength than it should, but you turn your face to look at him. He meets your eyes. The candlelight behind him gives his form a glowing outline. Coupled with his white clothing and golden hair, he looks positively radiant.

“It’s all right,” you say. “For whatever it’s worth, I think you’re really good at your job, Hyunjin.”

There are dimples in both his cheeks when he smiles this time. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

You shrug. “It’s true.”

He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds longer before looking away. He inhales deeply and clears his throat. “Is it all right if I lower the towel again? Down to your lower back this time?”

“Trying to see my tattoo?” you tease.

He lets out that warm laugh. “If you have a tattoo anywhere on your body, I’ll probably see it, don’t worry. May I, though?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

He folds the towel further and sees nothing but naked skin. He laughs under his breath and turns back to the counter to pour more oil into his hands. It squelches when he rubs his hands together.

You wonder how much time has gone by already. He still has your lower back, your legs, then your entire front to do, you assume. And that’s before you even get to the grand finale.

When his hands smooth their way across the small of your back, your thoughts dissipate. Your breathing slows after a while, until a particularly good press of his fingers on your lower spine elicits a moan from you.

“Sorry, I—” you start, then promptly shut your mouth. You should not have acknowledged the sound at all. That made it a hundred times weirder.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Hyunjin says again. “That’s a good thing. It lets me know it feels good, which is important, obviously. And the walls are soundproof, so don’t worry about that.”

You let out a tiny breath of laughter. “It feels really good,” you say honestly.

“The pressure is okay then?”

“You could go a little, uh, harder, actually.”

“No problem.”

He starts using the heels of his palms to rub outward from your spine to your sides, all the way from your lower back up to your shoulder blades. The oil is very slick, but his hands never slip or fumble in their movements. He does this over and over, moving up and down from the center outward. Another quiet moan comes straight from your throat.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin whispers. His voice is so soft you’re not even sure if he meant for you to hear that or not. A crazy part of you wonders if he ever gets hard during these sessions, but you’re definitely not saying that out loud.

After a while of Hyunjin maintaining a steady rhythm, you start to feel boneless, especially when he steps around the table to give your other side the same attention. He is probably running on auto-pilot mode by now, but your heart skips a few beats when he does the same hand-holding move on your other hand. If he notices the change in your breathing, he does not comment on it.

Eventually, Hyunjin says, “I’m going to move on to your legs now, if that’s all right.”

You hum in understanding. Your throat feels a little dry. Hyunjin carefully peels the towel off your legs and folds it upward. Only your butt remains covered at this point.

His touch feels softer when he lays his hands on the back of the thigh closest to him. For a second, it feels like his thumbs swipe back and forth with no real intention behind the movement, but then his hands glide all the way down to your ankles with the same pressure he was using on your back.

“Is the pressure still okay?” he asks.

“Y-Yeah.” You swallow through the scratchiness in your throat. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“Good.”

He squeezes down your leg repeatedly, as if he is trying to push all the tension downward and out through your foot. He keeps you in that boneless state, expertly working your muscles. After a while, you stop feeling embarrassed about your soft moans.

“Are your feet ticklish, or may I move on to those?” he asks. It feels like you have been floating, so it takes you a moment to register his words.

“I mean, they’ve never been especially ticklish?” you say. “Have at it.”

Hyunjin tickles his fingertips against the sole of your foot and laughs with you when you jerk it away. You turn your head to look at him. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes. Or maybe it’s the candlelight.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” he says. Could he possibly be flirting with you?

You swallow again and say, “You better watch it, mister.”

His eyes glimmer when he nods. “I’ll behave, I promise. Permission to continue the professional way?”

“Granted,” you say, giving him a smile before turning your face back into the cutout.

He takes your foot in a firmer touch so as not to tickle you again, even accidentally. For some reason, this part of the massage feels the best yet. His fingers really know the exact ways to release the tension in your body. You knew he was good at his job.

He steps around the table again and switches to your other leg and foot. It seems like he is focusing longer on your inner thigh this time around. Your toes curl at the thought of his fingers moving just a little higher. Of course he notices.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Relax.”

Hyunjin’s touch lingers on your skin after he finishes with your other foot.

“Would you like me to do your glutes before we move on to your front?” he asks. His voice is not only low but also deeper now.

“Sure,” you say, your voice hardly more than a breath.

It takes a second before the towel lifts from your butt. Hyunjin sets it down on the back of your calves, out of his way. It takes another second before you feel his touch. He starts with your hips rather than going straight for your butt cheeks. He kneads them gently. It takes all your willpower to stay relaxed.

His thumbs eventually inch their way onto your butt while the rest of his fingers remain splayed over your hips. He presses his thumbs firmly up and outward over your cheeks. Soon he goes from using only his thumbs to using his entire hands. He easily draws more moans from you this way.

What you don’t expect to do is curse under your breath. A tiny but still audible: “Fuck.”

Hyunjin exhales hard. On one upward stroke, you could swear he gropes your flesh more than presses it, and you find you don’t mind that at all. You were wrong — this part feels the best so far.

You would have been more than happy for him to continue this part for hours, but you are reminded of the limited timeframe when he stops his movements.

He lifts the towel off your legs, but one of his hands is still resting on the small of your back when he asks, “Ready to flip over for me?”

As if you aren’t putty in his hands to mold as he pleases.

You start to turn over but you are still floating and boneless and your arms give out. Luckily your fall is all of an inch and does not hurt at all, but you are embarrassed by the fumble nonetheless.

Hyunjin curls an arm behind your back and says, “Here, lean against me. I’ll turn you over.”

“Sorry,” you say as you do as he asks. He is stronger than you expected him to be. He eases your body back into the center of the table like it’s nothing. The towel settles over you again from your collarbone to your toes. You pull your arms out from under it.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on yours when you settle on your back. “Don’t be,” he says once again. He smiles that beautiful, dimpled smile. His fingers trail down your arm. “Still feeling good?” he asks.

You nod silently.

“Good. May I massage your chest?”

Only when he asks do you become aware of your hard nipples standing against the soft towel.

“Yes,” you say.

His eyes drop to your covered breasts. He peels the towel down, folding it down to your belly button. Then he turns to grab the bottle of oil again. He only adds a little more this time. He purses his lips as he reaches for your chest.

He starts just below your breasts and moves upward, cupping them gently—briefly—before pushing up further. The tips of his thumbs barely graze your nipples, but it’s enough to send a pulse of desire between your legs.

You hiss and bite your lip. You might have gotten comfortable with your moans, but now he can see your every facial expression, so it feels embarrassing again.

His hands lift away from your body and his eyes flick to your face in concern. “Did that hurt?” he asks.

“No, uh. The opposite actually.”

“Oh. Phew.” His face relaxes. “Do tell me if it does hurt though. I know this area can be very… tender.”

You nod and take a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin says gently. “Breathe. Relax. Enjoy my touch.”

You close your eyes. You don’t think you want to risk eye contact with him while he is doing this.

His hands return to your chest. He gently pushes your breasts up, then smooths over your collarbone, again and again. This part feels the most like fondling so far, but as he said, this can be a tender area, so he can’t exactly be as firm as with your back or your legs.

You sigh when his fingers ghost across your nipples again, lips parting ever so slightly. Hyunjin makes a soft noise as well. You crack an eyelid to look at him. He is focused on your chest with his eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed again in concentration. He looks so handsome you can’t help but blink your eyes open the rest of the way.

He smooths his face over and smiles when he notices you watching him.

“How am I doing?” he asks. “Still feeling good?”

“You’re really good at this,” you say. You sound somewhat breathless, which surprises you because you haven’t even done anything to get that way.

“Thank you. May I move the towel down a bit?”

“Sure.”

He tugs it down below your belly button, still leaving your legs and crotch covered.

“Is your stomach ticklish at all?” he asks.

“No, not really.”

He does not pull the same flirty stunt with your stomach as he did with your feet. He simply goes straight back to work, running his hands gently down your sides and across your stomach. It feels more like rubbing than pushing or pressing, probably because of all your organs just below.

His fingers frequently brush the edge of the towel when they move downward. Sometimes they dip right below the towel and skim just above your pelvis, briefly at first, then lingering for longer and longer.

Your heart kicks up when you realize what is next. Is it that time already?

Hyunjin notices the change in your breathing. You lock eyes with him again.

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. His lips hardly move. His eyes are molten chocolate.

He stops dipping his fingertips beneath the towel. It surprises you how much you wish he would continue. You think you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t continue. You have to be honest with him.

“I want to,” you say.

You expect him to move the towel away—or ask to move it away, as he’s been doing—but he merely pushes beneath it again, this time with his whole hand. The hand not beneath the towel curls gently around your shoulder at first, then behind your neck, as if he needs to hold you steady.

“Is this all right?” Hyunjin asks. He has not broken eye contact with you.

You are not sure if he is asking about the hand holding your neck or the one teasing along your inner thigh, but you are enjoying both of them, so you nod and say, “Yes.”

“It will never be too late to change your mind and tell me to stop, okay?” he says. His hand rubs against the crease where your crotch meets your leg. He holds you there too.

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak clearly with words instead of moans.

“Try to relax,” he says. “Don’t undo all my hard work now.”

You giggle at his joke. He smiles down at you. His eyes still have not left yours.

“And tell me if the oil irritates you at all,” he reminds you.

With that, he cups your pussy whole. You both make a noise at the sensation. You can tell you were wet, even before the oil. He must feel it too, along with the heat of you radiating into his palm. You think you hear him swear under his breath, but he clears his throat immediately after and finally looks away from your face.

Hyunjin separates his fingers and drags them down each side of your slit, avoiding your clit and your hole. Your eyelashes flutter closed. Your legs twitch and one of your hands briefly balls into a fist on the table before you relax it again. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly through your mouth. Hyunjin lightly squeezes your neck.

“Very good,” he murmurs. His fingers slowly drag up the edges of your pussy, back down again. “Breathe. Relax. Let me do all the work.”

You lick your lips and keep your eyes closed, enjoying the steady rhythm he builds of gently rubbing you up and down, spreading the oil—and surely your own wetness—over your sensitive skin.

You nearly manage to relax again when the tip of his middle finger brushes the hood of your clit. Electricity forks throughout your entire body. Your eyelids scrunch tighter and your hips twitch against the table. Hyunjin does not say anything; he simply strums that fingertip over your clit every time his hand passes back and forth. His hand continues sweeping up and down a few more times before he rests it in place and uses that wicked fingertip to draw circles into your hardened clit.

“How’s the pressure?” he asks. His voice is low and deep again.

You let out a whimper before you can speak. “Good. S-So good, ah—”

“Should I go faster? Slower?”

“F-Faster, please.”

He does so immediately. Your hips buck an inch off the table at the rush of pleasure from the change of pace. Hyunjin chuckles under his breath, but again, he does not comment on your obvious lack of relaxation.

He does say your name, however, in that low, deep voice. “I want to make you feel so good,” he says.

You’re not sure if he says those words in that tone to all his clients, but you can’t follow that train of thought right now. A fresh wave of arousal takes you, shuddering through all the muscles he just massaged. The area beneath your backside feels wetter than before with the combination of oil and arousal beginning to pool there.

“Hyunjin,” you moan before you can stop yourself.

His breath catches in his throat. You look at him again and see his eyelids are heavy over his deep brown eyes. That glowing halo of candlelight is surrounding him again.

“Fuck,” he says, not loudly, but clearly this time. He bites his lip and skims his gaze down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again. “I swear I never say this to clients, but you are so fucking beautiful.”

You whimper again when his fingertip edges beneath the hood of your clit. When he shifts his weight, you notice the considerable tent in the front of his thin pants. You moan just from the sight of it. He notices that you have noticed his problem, but he does not remove either of his hands from your body to deal with it. Again, you wonder if this always happens, even if he does not call every client beautiful.

“Can I take the towel off you? Please?” he asks in a pleading tone.

You pull it off yourself and let it drop to the floor. Hyunjin immediately looks between your legs at your naked pussy in his hand and lets out a groan from so deep in his throat that you swear you have a tiny orgasm with the next flick of his finger.

He looks back to your face. His sharp cheeks are noticeably flushed. His sharp jawline flexes beneath his flawless skin.

“Tell me if I’m out of line,” he whispers.

You bend your knees and spread them apart, a clear invitation for him to keep going. He gets the message.

“Fuck, I’m going to make you come so hard,” he says. He adds his ring finger to the circles he is drawing on your sticky clit. It feels incredible, but you still feel horribly empty inside.

“Want your fingers in me, please,” you boldly murmur.

“Yeah? You want them inside you, beautiful?”

“Well, not just your fingers.”

You meant to keep that to yourself—you really did—but you must have said it out loud because Hyunjin sucks a breath through his teeth and stops drawing those maddening circles. His cock visibly bounces in his pants. You look up at his face. An almost pained expression crosses his sculpted features.

“I… can’t, I… I never…”

“Sorry,” you say, mortified, “forget I said that. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to,” Hyunjin says, quickly and earnestly. “Trust me, I really fucking want to. I just—my license… I can’t…”

You nod over and over. “I totally get it, I’m sorry. Please ignore me.”

The pained expression does not leave Hyunjin’s face. He bites his plump bottom lip again. His eyes drop in a straight line from your eyes to your mouth to your chest to your pussy and back up again. He dips his middle finger into your pussy, only up to his first knuckle. You automatically clench around it, trying to pull it deeper. It works. He slides his finger the rest of the way inside and curls it, drawing another moan from you. He adds his index finger and curls them both, then scissors them like he wants to work you open.

He breathes hard. He gives the back of your neck another tender squeeze then mutters, “Fuck it,” and moves that hand to the strings on the front of his pants to untie them.

Your heart races. You gasp when he pulls his dick out in front of you. The tip is rosy and thick. The wetness gathered at the slit looks delicious; your immediate thought is how badly you want to lick it up.

“This has to stay between us,” Hyunjin whispers, frantically tugging his pants down to his knees with one hand. His erection stands stiff in the open air.

“I know,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I swear.”

“Come here. Please…”

Hyunjin takes your hands and helps you scoot to the edge of the table in front of him. He stands between your legs and takes the back of your neck again, forehead propped against yours. You breathe hard and stare into his eyes until you notice movement below. You watch him take his cock in hand and guide the head right to your pussy. When he pushes inside, you both gasp over the tight, wet, smooth entry. He shoves his hips forward, easily bottoming out in one stroke.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders. Hyunjin stares at your face and tries to breathe calmly through his nose, but you are not making it easy for him with the way your warm pussy is repeatedly clenching around his throbbing dick.

“Tell me when I can—”

“Please.”

He starts rolling his hips into you. Gently at first, then with more desperation. Your head rocks back and you moan toward the ceiling at the rise of pleasure. He keeps his grip behind your neck, not letting you fall backward. His other hand has a firm hold of your ass cheek, keeping you steady against his frantic thrusts. His dick rubs against almost every sensitive part of you. You shift your hips a little; it’s enough to angle his tip into that perfect spot.

“Oh fuck, right there, right there,” you pant, bringing your head around to press it back to his forehead and look into his eyes again.

Hyunjin moans and holds you tighter, pounding that spot again and again and again.

You notice him staring at your lips, so you tilt your face and lean in. He meets you in a kiss far more gentle than expected for the way the table is creaking beneath you. He ends it too quickly for your liking, studies your face for a second, then he kisses you again, much deeper this time. As soon as you feel his tongue prod against your lips, you part them and let it swarm into your mouth. His tongue tastes of mint and sugar and he moans so prettily into your mouth. He’s perfect.

You voice your pleasure into the tender kisses. “Yes, yes, fuck, Hyunjin, yes—”

Hyunjin pulls away from the kisses with a low groan. He nearly pulls out of your pussy too, to your great dismay. His hips come to a shaky stop with just the tip of his cock left inside you.

“Sorry, I just need a minute,” he says, breathless and smiling sheepishly. “You’re so tight and you sound so hot and it’s… it’s been a while for me.”

“Take your time,” you say. You’re not sure how much time is left in your session, but you won’t complain if he wants to prolong something he shouldn’t be doing in the first place, and you certainly don’t mind being told how tight and hot you are.

Hyunjin’s fingers massage the back of your neck. He pulls you into another tender kiss. You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his smooth skin, and feel his cockhead twitch inside you. He begins moving his hips again, but he only fucks you with his fat tip now. You whine and whimper because it isn’t enough.

“What about my ‘happy ending’?” you tease, pouting against his lips.

Hyunjin laughs and kisses you again, tongue briefly curling against yours, before answering, “I know, don’t worry. I’m still going to make you come so hard, especially now that it’ll be on my dick.”

He says that but he has the audacity to pull all the way out of you. Before you can protest, he takes your hands again.

“Here,” he says, tugging your hands. “Let’s turn you around.”

You slide off the table. He holds your waist in a strong arm to keep your oily feet from slipping on the floor.

Hyunjin turns you around and bends you over the massage table. He whips off his shirt and follows you, draping his warm body over yours. His wet cock throbs against your ass cheek.

“Is this all right?”

“It’s good, Hyunjin, please…”

He takes your hip in one hand and puts himself back inside you with the other. You moan at the stretch, the friction, the raw pleasure.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. Once he is secure enough inside you, he lets go of himself and runs that hand up the length of your spine. “I want to hear all your moans, pretty girl. Let me know how good it feels.”

When he bottoms out this time, he does not give you a moment to adjust; he builds up a relentless pace right away. It takes him a second to find the right angle in this position, but he eventually hits that spot inside you again that has you seeing stars. He hits it over and over, keeping you right there on the end of his pounding cock.

“Fuck—yes—Hyunjin, yes!”

“That’s it, baby, fuck, just like that. You’re so fucking hot, oh my god.”

The hand that is not holding you steady at the hip is making its way all over your body, the body he has had his hands on all morning. He holds the back of your neck again for a while, holding you down to take everything he gives you. He wraps it around your front, pawing back and forth between your heaving breasts, giving each of your nipples a few good pinches. He trails it down your stomach to stuff it between your legs where he finds your clit again. He pinches it the way he pinched your nipples, just to hear you squeal. Then he resumes drawing the circles that started this all.

Hyunjin gets you to come in only a few minutes with his talented fingers. He is like a man possessed, a man with something to prove with how quickly he unravels you.

“Hyunjin, fuck, I’m coming, I’m—” you gasp, though he surely feels it for himself.

He groans and folds himself over you, face pressed to your back, writhing and bucking with you through your orgasm. His hips do not stop bouncing against your backside. He keeps grinding his cock deep inside you, slamming his heavy balls against you. His fingers do not stop playing with your sensitive clit.

He eases the pressure of those fingers once the force of your orgasm wanes, but he never stops completely. His cock throbs hard between your silky, sensitive walls, but he manages to withhold his own orgasm.

“There we go—mmm, fuck—yeah, that’s it,” he says, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your slick, sweaty skin. “So fucking good. That’s just the first one, baby.”

You push yourself up onto your palms against the table, elbows wobbling just like your knees in the aftershocks of your intense climax. Hyunjin moves with you, leaning back to stand straight. He moves a hand against your collarbone to pull you into his chest. You turn your head. He is already there, ready to meet you in a kiss that leaves you even dizzier.

He already alluded to more, but now he asks, “Can you do another one for me, or are you satisfied?”

“You didn’t come yet, did you?” you ask in return.

He exhales a breath of laughter. “No. If you come again, I will. I won’t be able to hold out twice. But that’s not what I asked, pretty girl.”

“Then I’m not satisfied yet,” you say, grinning and kissing his smooth, pink cheek.

Hyunjin chuckles. “All right. Let me turn you back around then. I want to see your face when you come around me this time.”

He has to pull out again to sit you back on the table, which is tragic, but the sight of his veiny cock glistening in a layer of your juices is worth it. You reach for it, letting the weight of it simply rest in your palm for a second before taking proper hold of it in a loose fist. Hyunjin groans and wraps his hand around yours, guiding it up and down his length. The skin is smooth and velvety soft but stretched tight over his solid length and girth.

You only give him half a dozen guided strokes before he pries your hand away.

“I bet you’re pretty good with your hands too, huh baby,” he says, caging you in his arms by planting his hands beside you on the table. “I wish we had more time for you to demonstrate.”

You nearly forgot about the time constraint. You nod and spread your legs. Hyunjin grabs you under one of your knees to help hold you open and also tug you closer to him. He takes his cock and smacks the tip against your clit a few times, still taking the time to rile you up just a little more before sinking back inside you.

“God, this pussy,” he grunts. The grip he has under your knee tightens. His other hand returns to your ass, practically yanking you the rest of the way onto his cock. “It wraps around me perfectly.”

He fucks you again, deep and hard. The table starts creaking again. You hold each other close as he works you both to your highs. He has his face in your neck, kissing and licking and nibbling at your skin. You try to do the same, but all his neck receives in return is a babble of breathless nonsense drawn from your lips with every firm thrust.

His fingers slip their way between your legs again, feeling where his cock is moving in and out of your pussy. His thumb presses against your swollen clit and you lose a bit of your mind. He pulls his face out of your neck to look at you again.

“You first, baby, fuck,” Hyunjin pants. His sweet breath tickles your face. “Please come for me again. Let me feel it again. Let me see it this time, hm? Let me hear how good it feels to come all—over—my fucking—dick.”

“Oh fuck, Hyunjin, don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” you say, moaning it over and over again until your orgasm takes you. You go rigid and then boneless in a different way, trembling through the waves of your second climax.

Hyunjin groans triumphantly and watches it all. “That’s it, that’s it. Fuck yes, that’s so good, baby, oh, yes—”

He fucks you through your orgasm as long as he can but his own quickly catches up to him. He pulls out at the last second and frantically jerks his cock. His cum shoots out in long streaks, landing all over the place — your stomach, your thighs, the table, the floor. Part of your lust-addled brain hoped he would lose himself completely and come inside you, but the sensible part of you is relieved he didn’t.

He squeezes the last few drops out of his tip and lets go of his cock. It hangs heavy between his legs, flushed and spent. Your pussy is in a similar state; aching in the best way, swollen and throbbing after a thorough fucking. You think you can feel your heartbeat in it.

Hyunjin is as out of breath as you are but he reaches for you and claims your lips in another kiss. When he pulls away, you become aware of just how oily and sticky and sweaty you both are.

“Holy fuck,” you giggle, making him giggle too.

“Yeah. ‘Holy fuck’ is right.”

He clears the rasp in his throat but does not say anything else for a little while. He rests his forehead against yours while you both float back down to earth, waiting for your breathing to settle and your heartbeats to calm. One of his thumbs traces mindless circles into your hip. You absently massage the prickly hairs at the nape of his neck.

Finally, Hyunjin takes a deep breath and straightens. He fixes his pants and pulls his shirt back on. You watch him walk to the other side of the table and pick the towel off the floor. He helps get you cleaned up as best he can. You know you will still walk out of here smelling like green tea and sweat and maybe even his cum, which you help wipe off the floor. He tells you not to fuss over the cum stain on the sheet since he will have to strip it and sanitize the table anyway.

The feeling of his skin on yours lingers even after you have both been wiped and patted and dried off. Hyunjin gently takes your hands and meets your eyes again.

“I hope I—um—” he starts, then swallows and tries again. “I swear I don’t do that with clients. Ever.”

“I believe you,” you say. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“I hope I didn’t mess anything up,” he goes on, “because it kind of felt like there was something between us, even before the sex. Unless I’m mistaken?”

Your heart flutters. “No, I… I agree,” you say, the hint of a smile tugging your lips. “Maybe I’ll make an appointment myself next time.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Well I was hoping I could give you my personal number. Maybe take you out on a date sometime. Then you’d never have to make an appointment again.”

“Oh! Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“You’ll have to thank your friend for me for booking you this appointment though,” he jokes.

You burst out laughing because you forgot Minho is the reason you are here in the first place.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank him earlier,” you say, making Hyunjin laugh again, “but yeah, I guess I will now.”

You smile at him. Hyunjin cups your face in his hands for another kiss before he lets you get dressed, puts his number in your phone, then walks you back to the waiting room. He bids you goodbye with a gleam in his eye that makes your heart flutter once again.

You hope this is the start of something happy and new.

---

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arcdocumentsolutions · 2 years ago

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dfwcustomsigns · 2 years ago

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therightbeaches · 5 days ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ⋆ 𝐚. 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

synopsis: following a near-encounter with death, your not-quite-boyfriend slash boss takes it upon himself to take care of you. [5.7k] contents: fem!bau!reader, reader was mentioned to be hurt but no gory descriptions about what happened, but theres semi-graphic (?) descriptions of hypothetical injury, first kiss, soft hotch, this is fully self-indulgent fluff (forgive me) a/n: i've never written for criminal minds before and i am rather nervous so please dont criticize too harshly :') + i tried to not make him too ooc (not sure how well that worked out.) i also beg for one-shot requests because i love writing them :p reblogs and comments are more than appreciated ♡ i hope you enjoy!

Sense by sense you come to.

Taste. On your tongue lingers the metallic taste of blood. It coats your throat thick like petroleum jelly. The aftertaste of artificial sweetener. Saccharine.

Smell. It’s sterile, alcohol swabs. Dully sweet like laundry. Coffee and creamer. So good and warm it’s nauseating.

Hearing. Steady beeping somewhere from your right. The rustle of fabric. Birdsong bleeds through thick walls. A phone rings, shrill and stark amongst the dull hustle and bustle outside of your room, and a woman speaks unintelligibly.

Touch. A pinprick tag itches against the back of your neck. Scratchy cotton sheets and a gauzy blanket and a too-flat pillow. Then a slow-burning hurt that climbs through your limbs like being devoured by flame, and you think that if you didn’t already meet your end then this must be what it’s like.

Your eyes blink open. The fluorescent lights above are too bright for you to see anything. Metal clinks as someone opens the curtains, then, Aaron’s face comes into your view in a hazy blur. He has a big bandage on his left cheek and prominent dark circles but otherwise looks well enough.

“Hello,” he says, and a warm paper cup of coffee is pushed into your stiff hands. “How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry. How much does it hurt?”

“Um... a six and a half. I mostly feel really out of it.”

“They’ve given you as much painkillers as they can. I bet that the brain fog will lift once you have something solid to eat.”

You push yourself up slowly as he edges into focus. In one hand he has a black duffel bag with your old shirt’s dirty sleeve hanging out of the zipper top, white fabric stained rust-brown with dirt and old blood. In the other, a thick manila folder with a seal adorning the front and his pen shoved into the crease.

There’s a strange silence then; strange within itself and strange in the fact that, with him, silence is never strange. His lips twitch downwards: he can feel it too. Then he inhales sharply as though it stings to speak.

“You were more than brave out there. You saved Julia’s life.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to do.”

Your tone must not be convincing enough because he puts the bag down and curls his fingers around the half-rails of your bed, reinforces the idea with a pointed look and sighs, “I’m being serious. We wouldn’t have made it in time to help her without your courage.”

“Thank you,” you say again, milder this time.

He doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t need to. The sort of unspoken communication that blossoms with time and effort; he looks out for you, and in turn you look out for him. It’s the same for the rest of the team, of course, but it’s no coincidence that you’re the one he always picks to watch his six in the field. And, again, he needn’t speak for you to know. Perhaps born from the innate desire to wane the burn of vulnerability; words stamped across his skin invisible to the untrained eye.

It’s different this time, though. He’s leaving not because he wants to — rather, he has to, stolen away from you as you were him by your profession (a whole thirty-six hours he had to spend without you around to nag him, what a tragedy it was!) You’d expected him to come just to leave since the moment you saw him, but perhaps foolishly, you’d clung to a shard of hope that’d cut up and bloodied your palms. You rub them together self-consciously.

He waves the folder in the air unenthusiastically and, despite him knowing you’ve already put the pieces together, voices it anyway.

“I can’t really stay for long,” he says simply.

“Where are you going?”

A prompt, disguised by niceties in typical fashion, though entirely unnecessary with him: when will I be able to see you again?

He sucks on his teeth and flips the folder open. “Albany. I think a day or two at most and we’ll be back.” He spares the details of the case lest you worry yourself to your grave. Your recent brush with death has already been nearly too much for the team to handle.

You don’t mean to slip into the habit of doubting him, not Aaron, who knows better than to lie to you because always he’ll splinter, crack, then crumble into a fine powder under the weight of your gaze. He’s smart, so smart, and so perceptive and by God if you know anything, you know him — down to the lines of his fingerprints and each individual eyelash across his waterlines, and you know now that something is troubling him.

“What is it?” you ask.

His brows crease in the center like you’ve said something offensive. “What is what?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding like he’s sulking.

He knows something that you don’t and he doesn’t want to tell you — evident through the bob of his Adam’s apple with a thick swallow, the whitening of his knuckles around the bed’s guard rails. You give your cup a perfunctory squeeze and the plastic lid pops off and skitters to the ground.

There’s another silence wherein you wait, he waits too, staring at you dumbly. An eternity passes till he brushes his thumb over the length of your forearm, elbow to wrist, then traces the ridges of your knuckles before letting his arm drop limply to his side. He looks around to make sure nobody is within earshot and draws the blue privacy curtains around your bed to enforce extra precaution.

“I was just worried,” he finally says, his voice lowered. “I still am, honestly. You know, seeing you like… this.” Like, sick and weak, strung up with IVs like a puppet and unable to move without strain. “And I don’t want to leave you,” he adds as an afterthought.

In the presence of other agents, doctors, strangers, he’s a professional. He knows how to keep things curt and platonic, but when it’s just you and him, I missed you, I was worried about you, I need you around, I can’t lose you.

The way he speaks to you makes you feel something. He worries about you every moment you’re on the field. He frets over you when you’re ill, misses you when you’re apart, thinks about you all the time. Long ago you’d passed the threshold between mere team members to friends, and now, you’re touching base with what’s next. Beyond friends. Borderline lovers. Whatever that could mean for you. And the vulnerability in his voice strikes you, making him sound so small, so pained by your pain.

“You don’t need to worry,” you say, hoping to soothe his qualms. “I feel alright.”

“I can’t help it. I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” is your light response, then a switch of the topic, and you ask again, “Will you tell me about the case?”

He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then it moves to push your hair out of your eyes. Lingers in a soft caress on your cheek and your palm fits over the back of it when you lift your hand to cover his.

“Like I said, I think it’ll only be a couple days. Don’t stress yourself out over it. I want you to focus on getting better, alright?”

“Can you call me?” you ask.

“Every chance I get.”

And, trapped in the makeshift prison of your hospital bed, you can only croak out a weak goodbye that scratches your throat as you watch him leave.

⊹₊ 𐙚

It’s been a week since they discharged you from the hospital, assigned a lot of rest and fluids. Seldom a word from Aaron, though, and you, too, are beginning to fret just like he had over you. Your cuticles are peeled from existence, you’ve bit your nails too short and raw and red, your lips are chapped to the point your mouth tastes of metal more often than not.

Penelope has been more than kind and has kept you company in your too-empty apartment, even bringing over the case file and a grainy image of the evidence board sent over by the rest of the team for your viewing pleasure. You didn’t have much of value to add and ended up feeling more useless than you were to begin with.

Now, your gaze is trained on the toes of your too-big socks. A seam is misaligned along the top and the heel has pulled up to the back of your ankle. And you think of him. He’s all you can think about as of late. Feels something like nausea crawling up your throat to think of something happening to him.

Nervous. On edge. Sick with worry. He said one or two days. It’s been six and counting, who knows what could have happened to him out there, he was being secretive about it and he’s never secretive with you. Not you, why wouldn’t he tell you what was happening? Why wouldn’t he let on any details about the case? What if he’d anticipated getting hurt or —

You don’t dare entertain the thought. The only reason you’d imagined it up in the first place is because it happened to you. In the end, you’re still very much human no matter how much bureaucratic authority you have. That’s to say, you’re very much flesh and blood and bone, and from the safety of your apartment Aaron is even more so when he’s out on the field. Flesh can be cut, torn apart, blood can spill unstoppably like a faucet, bone can shatter into a million unfixable pieces. A bulletproof vest will do nothing against a knife jammed into his neck or a shotgun to the back of his head. You shudder and tug at your socks to un-bunch them from your heels.

In the middle of your bout of overthinking, the lock on your door clicks and turns and it swings open with a quiet creak. Aaron stands in the doorway, backlit by the dingy lights outside, akin to an angel with the cast of his hair and the contours of his face dipped in shadow.

“Hello? Honey, I have something for you,” is the first thing he says, the silhouette of his arm twisted to hide something behind his back. From his other hand dangles his go-bag, which falls to the floor of your living room with a dull thud. He peels out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair.

The relief chokes you. Strangles you till you’re blue in the face. You’re struck speechless and can only watch as he pushes the door closed behind him and tosses the keys into the catchall on the hall table, toes off his shoes, then comes over to sit with you on the couch. Plastic crinkles behind his back as he moves closer.

“I’ve got something,” he says again. “A present for you.”

“Aaron-”

“Before you say I didn’t need to, I wanted to,” he interjects, waving a hand to stop you. “I saw them while I was out and thought of you.”

“The anticipation is killing me.”

All turbulent emotions vanish like morning dew on a sunny afternoon, your heart thrumming hard against the confinement of your ribs. You let yourself think it’s only because you’re just excited to see him in good spirits, certainly not because he places a hand on your knee and squeezes lightly, or looks at you with poorly-concealed adoration in his gaze, or the knowledge of the fact he thinks of you often enough to go out of his way to get you something nice.

From behind his back, he produces a bouquet of pink roses wrapped neatly in a matching shade of cellophane with a flourish and you nearly fall to the ground. He’s brought you flowers. Roses. He saw roses while he was out and they made him think of you, and that thought alone nearly has you knocked out cold.

You’re able to mutter his name before you reach for his shoulders for a hug, and he lets out a small huff as he’s pushed down to lay back on the couch with your arms around him.

“Consider this my apology for being too busy to call,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. “Consider your apology accepted.”

His free hand rubs up and down your back, lingering flush to the space between your shoulder blades to press you close to his chest. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Has Garcia been taking good care of you?”

You nod into his shoulder. “You know her.”

“That I do. Do you have a vase that I can put your flowers in?”

“There’s one in the kitchen cabinet.”

But he doesn’t yet stand to retrieve it, too engrossed in the warmth of your hug. This is not how a boss acts with his subordinate. Not even how a friend would act. If he were just a friend he wouldn’t come to you first, because your space is his space, and he wouldn’t have brought you a really nice bouquet, and he wouldn’t find such comfort in your embrace and the smell of your perfume that he goes slack under you. Him and you, always, together.

A moment passes and he shifts out from beneath you. You watch him get up with remorse, his hand holding onto yours till the distance draws his fingers away.

“You know,” he begins, rummaging around in your cabinets to find the aforementioned vase, “I’ve been honing in on my cooking skills.”

“That so?” you ask from the sofa, jelly-limbed with your neck craned to watch him.

“I can make stir fry if you want dinner.” His arm retracts from the cabinet, hand around the neck of your vase.

So he cooks for you. Insists upon it, even. Even though the hospital cleared you fine to go home and you feel more or less well, he insists on taking care of you. You let him. Maybe for his peace of mind. A chance to take care of you just like you’ve taken care of him countless times before. You won’t pretend to not like having him dote on you.

The roses sit between you, lit by warm candlelight because the overhead light buzzes too loud and the bulb flickers when you turn it on. It’s sweet and it’s romantic, shit, you really shouldn’t be getting so personally involved with your boss. The no-fraternization rules implemented by the Bureau higher-ups have been hammered into your skull since the day you joined, yet just look at you. Too late for go-backs now.

Over the table, you say, “You can stay the night, if you want to.”

It’s not that you’re implying anything because you’re not, voice void of sexual innuendo. He doesn’t seem to take it in such a way anyway. His gaze meets yours and he draws closer with a hand curled like a cage atop yours.

“I will,” he replies. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

He’s slept over before a secret half-a-dozen or so times, mostly on the couch. Only in your bed once. That one time was after you’d came home from a particularly bad case, and it was the second time you’d seen him as upset as he was. Beaten black and blue, scraped up worse than he’s ever been on the job. You’d diligently cleaned his wounds up (always too proud to sit in the back of an ambulance and let a professional take care of it), sat with him until he fell asleep, then you never spoke of it again.

Tonight he sleeps beside you. Blissfully unaware to the way you stare at his profile — the line of his nose, the mess of his hair where it’s fallen over his forehead, the way the light catches on his fluttering lashes and turns them a pale blue. The back of your knuckles run against his cheekbone. Tender, soft, so unlike most anything else he knows now.

He’s beautiful. All of you belongs to him.

You stir to Aaron’s heavy arm draped across your abdomen and crack one eye open to see him staring at you. The room is warm, sunshine spilling over his back to paint him shining gold, and the tip his of nose presses against your neck when he sees you’re awake. He must’ve gotten up before you woke because you can smell fresh-cut grass from the open window and the scent of coffee brewing floats in from the kitchen, and from outside you can hear the humming drone of a lawnmower, the song of morning birds chirping.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, more a murmur than anything.

You shake your head no. A part of you — the small part that yearned for his care and attention long before now — is awestruck. You’ve got Aaron in your bed, the same Aaron who bleeds and hurts and fights beside you, the man who hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place, and he’s touching you like you’re made of glass.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’m okay for now,” you reply.

“Are you sure, honey? I can cut up some fruit for you. You could do with some vitamins… maybe some sun, too.” Mournfully, he gets up from bed, leaving you with only the warmth of the sheets where he lay just a moment ago. You watch, blinking slow, breathing slow.

“I’m really fine,” you insist meekly, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

With hands planted on either side of your head, he leans back over you in bed, brows pulled in concern like you’re still bedridden in the hospital. His thumb ghosts over the delicate skin of your undereye, then lower, feather-light down the slope of your jaw and to where your collarbone peeks out from the neck of your shirt.

“I’ll bring you a bowl,” he says, disregarding the rejection.

And then he kisses you before he leaves to the kitchen. Nothing full-fledged, only a brief press of his lips to your cheek, but it renders a swell in your gut, too hot beneath your quilt, breathless like your heart is going to rip straight out of your chest and chase him down to kiss him again. The print of his lips burns white-hot. A brand on your skin.

He pauses in the threshold of your bedroom and looks back. “I’m sorry if that was… weird.”

“No! No, it wasn’t weird. I liked it, actually.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron fusses over you incessantly the entire day, from cutting your fruit up to holding your hand to help you to the couch, despite your insistence that you’re fully recovered. He isn’t so used to putting his feelings so brashly on display, but you’ve been walking this tightrope between friends and more for a while and it’s no secret he wants it. Wants you. Wants whatever you may have to offer. No matter if you’re well or not, he’ll want you.

“Thank you,” you say over lunch, picking idly at the tangerine he’d peeled for you. “For staying with me, I mean.”

He lifts his head. He’s opened the window above your sink, citing the lovely weather and your need for sunshine as his reasons for letting the bugs in, and it makes his eyes shine from his seat facing the sun.

You’re like a vampire, he had said. Don’t get me wrong, definitely a beautiful and kind one, but fresh air will do you good, then he’d laughed as he stood in the spill of warmth exuding from the open window.

In his hand is the other half of the tangerine, which he assiduously peels the spongy pith from and discards in a small heap atop your dining table.

“I hope you know that I don’t mind.” Aaron breathes out and hands you two slices stripped of their white viscera. “I like taking care of you. Every so often someone get hurts on the field and it never gets more comfortable to deal with. It makes me feel… good to be here with you.”

“That’s really nice of you to say.”

“It’s only the truth.”

You’ve been better for the greater part of a week and no longer need babying like you did at the start, you think, but withhold on commenting for fear that he thinks you don’t like having him around. You more than like it, really, and you like it even more when he leans over the table enticingly.

He’s smiling widely when he speaks. “And the company is the best part.”

“Even if the company is a vampire?” You touch the side of his throat, flush over his jugular where a vampire might bite. His heart thrums hard beneath the pads of your fingers when you push down with the faintest pressure.

“Even so.”

⊹₊ 𐙚

“Can I see you in my office? There’s something that I want to talk to you about.”

You stand from your desk. Aaron — rather, Hotch, because you’re at work — has been staring at you through his window the entire morning like a reverse-scenario zoo animal in an enclosure. It’s been unsettling to feel someone’s eyes on you perpetually but you let it slide because you know he’s just worried. He made it very clear that he didn’t want you coming back to the office so soon, for worry you might bump a fading bruise on the exceedingly dangerous desks in the bullpen or injure your back further by sitting in the expensive, cushy roller chair.

It’s an overcast Monday in light of your sunny weekend. Aaron had messaged you at five-thirty in the morning, insisted heavily that if you intended on coming in today then it had better be with a warm coat on. You’d come to a tentative middle ground via a knit sweater that he likes because Emily runs cold and makes sure the whole office knows it (Seriously, you can’t remember the last time she’d allowed it to be less than the low eighties, and most of the team would rather bear the heat than listen to her gripe about how cold it is. Today, it’s freezing. The heat is broken and you figure you’ll have to deal with it once she comes in.)

He’s waiting for you when you step in and close the door behind you, drawing the blinds. “How are you?”

“I’m well. I’d be better if you’d stayed home to rest.”

“I promise I’m recovered enough for desk work, Aaron.”

He grumbles with no real upset and beckons for you to come around the other side of his desk. When you do and lean back with palms braced over the lip, a broad hand slips around your waist to touch your back. He drops it quickly. So unprofessional, you might tease, if you weren’t so pleased with the fact that he’s unabashedly touching you at work.

Something in the air has shifted. Following the night you spent together, it’s as if the spark between you has turned into a real firecracker, a sparkling dazzle of neon color and fizzling light. He’d left Saturday afternoon after a lot of coaxing that you’d be alright alone, made you promise you’d eat real food and not just cereal and frozen pizza and TV dinners. Most importantly, he wouldn’t leave without kissing you silly all over your cheeks and forehead and jaw. And when you’d anticipated the killing blow and closed your eyes and parted your lips, he’d bid you goodbye with an affectionate pat to your shoulder.

It was cruel, but you don’t mind waiting for a real kiss. The riper the fruit, the sweeter the juice, isn’t that what they say? This thing, for lack of a better word, with Aaron being as discernible as it is, is still relatively new. Not to mention he’s navigating romance for the first time again after Haley, so you’re more than willing to take it slow with him.

“What did you do over the rest of the weekend?” he asks conversationally.

“You know, the ushe.” You tuck your cold hands between your knees, press your lips together like you’re really devastated by the answer you’d come up with. “I laid around feeling sorry for myself, missing you…” you trail off, wistful.

“You poor thing,” Aaron responds sympathetically. “What can I do?”

You lean forward with a mock show of great sadness, though not without an underlying coquettish, hopeful demeanor. “The only thing that would make it all better is dinner later tonight with someone special.”

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking of asking my own someone special if she wanted to get takeout and spend the night at mine after work.”

It’s awful, the way he’s staring at you and beaming. Like you’re the one who hung all the stars in the sky, crafted the constellations just for him; like you control the tide of the ocean and the spin of the Earth; like you’re the light that makes the moon glow. Makes you want to grab him by his hand and bring him back to your place and never let him leave the comfort of your apartment. Keep him safe and warm and content.

You settle instead on smoothing his lapels down. He isn’t propositioning you when he asks you to stay over — never would he be so blatant, and you don’t think you’re quite involved enough yet for such a risqué offer to be on the table (though the notion has you imagining a torturous handful of things that you wouldn’t dream of telling him about.)

“Tell you what,” he begins. He moves his chair to be positioned in front of you. You have to look directly down to see him face-to-face. “We’ll pick up some dinner and we can watch whatever movie you like. Do you have your go-bag?”

“I do... and if I want to watch Mean Girls?”

“I’ll watch anything you want,” he supplies.

“Oh, how sweet are you?”

“Don’t tell anyone. My professional reputation would be ruined.”

Truth be told, there is a prominent lack of ‘professional reputation’ in Aaron’s department, at least within the team. He can pretend as much as he likes for as long as he likes but it’s their specialty to sniff out lies, pick up on secret cues, and of course they notice when he comes into the office with two cups of coffee instead of one, when he holds your hand to help you up the steps of the jet. You’ve received enough conspiratorial looks to know that they know.

You don’t suppose Aaron is your boyfriend. Your relationship with him is a nuanced thing. Becoming the brunt of office gossip is one thing, jeopardizing your careers is another — Strauss has her suspicions and there’s been, well… talk that stokes the (albeit small) kindling flame. It comes down to having a discussion that will remain on the back burner until the both of you can sit down and discuss the professional implications and the other difficult things that Aaron doesn’t want to talk about.

Dark has long since encompassed the Bureau by the time that he decides to be done working. You’ve been waiting on the couch in his office for the better part of the day, his suit jacket draped over your legs fashioned into an impromptu blanket. And then there’s the shuffling of loose-leaf paper shoved into folders, the scratch of his chair’s wheels as he pushes it in.

The toes of his shiny oxfords come into view and a kind hand pushes a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Are you ready?”

He wedges his hand beneath the small of your back to get you up. You’re tired from your day and limp when he encourages you to sit, but ultimately allow him to prop you up against the back of the couch. You take his hand to stand up when he offers it to you.

One and a half years ago, he wouldn’t dream of holding your hand. Wouldn’t even sit next to you in the conference room or on the jet, in fact. But Aaron didn’t really start liking liking you until eight months ago and didn’t tell you for even longer. It took him a long while to gather the courage to come out and just say it like any normal adult with feelings might do.

If you told your former self you’d wind up holding hands with Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner, going home to eat dinner with him and sleep in his bed, you’d have laughed in your own face. The most you’d ever let yourself indulge in such a fantasy prior to his grandiose confession of more than friendly feelings was maybe, just maybe, in an alternate timeline you’d met Aaron under different circumstances and it would have been history.

But you have him in this timeline. You have him picking up your dinner, driving you to his house, crouching down in front of you to undo the buckles keeping the straps of your kitten heels fastened around your ankles. He rubs your calf after tucking your shoes away before he stands and walks to the kitchen.

“What a long day,” he comments. He loosens the knot of his tie and looks over at you over his shoulder. “For you especially, I imagine. Does it get tiring, laying on the couch in my office?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreeably. “A very long day of very grueling paperwork. My boss can’t stop assigning me more and more when there are other agents who could share the workload.”

You know Aaron is smiling, even as he’s faced with his back to you. It’s clear in his voice. “Maybe your boss just thinks you’re very diligent and produce quality work.”

“That sounds to me a lot like favoritism, Hotchner.” You saunter up behind him, draping your arms around his waist. He tears apart the plastic bag holding your food then separates portions onto two ceramic plates.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly. “You see, honey, favoritism would be more like if I let a member of my team quote unquote lay down to rest her eyes on my sofa instead of doing her work like I very kindly asked — oh wait, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“So I am your favorite? Ooh, how scandalous. Imagine if word got out that you were picking favorites.”

“I must be doing something wrong if you have to ask.” Aaron turns and puts a hand on the back of your neck, scoffs, shakes his head good-naturedly. This mood he’s in, playful, teasing, is so rare, and you love it. “Do you ever see me letting Morgan take a nap during work hours?”

“Derek will nap regardless if you let him or not.”

(This is true. You’d caught him sleeping in the conference room once. He’d made you swear not to tell Aaron in exchange for vending machine money — and who were you to deny such a generous offer? Your silence was easily bought via chocolate bars.)

“In that case, I might have to give him a stern talking to.” His expression is grim.

“Oh, please don’t. He gave me money to buy candy from the machines if I swore not to tell you.”

Aaron is delighted by this answer. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“Does that make me a bad friend?” you ask morosely.

“No, no. You’re the best friend. And an even better subordinate for ratting him out… it’s good to know where your loyalty lies.”

He’s laughing when he says it and then he isn’t laughing a mere moment later. Rather, he’s leaning in on a whim, eyes fluttering shut, a hand over the back of your neck, thumbs a whisper against the curve of your cheek. There’s a perceptible flash that travels like lighting up your spine — he’s going to kiss you for real this time, you know he is, and it’s something you’ve wanted for who-knows how long and it’s finally yours to have. To keep. And it’s not just about the kiss, is it? It’s about Aaron, like it most always is, and you thank your lucky stars one by one to have found a man like him and to be able to keep him.

But it’s over nearly as soon as it began. How torturous for it to end so quickly when you’ve dreamt of kissing him day and night. It’s only right for you to go for another and another and another, and yes, juice is always sweeter when the fruit has had time to ripen.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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cameronsprincess · 8 months ago

Note

really graphic dvp with rafe and jj

when i say i audibly moaned and actually came when i saw this… i mean it…

CW: threesome, unprotected sex, double vaginal penetration, creampie, degrading, praise, strong language.

“that’s it baby, doin’ so well for us”

jj’s voice, thick with gravel and lust, cut through the fog in your brain. you were completely and utterly fucked out at this point, both rafe and jj taking their turns with you, using you like you were nothing but a hole for their pleasure.

“t-too mmmph, fuck”

your strained voice barely broke through, the feel of rafe’s cock pounding into your slick cunt causing your brain to stop functioning completely.

“you know what we should do, maybank?” rafe asks, his large hands planted on your hips as he continues to fuck into you from behind.

jj lets your nipple slip from his mouth with a pop, his eyes finding rafe’s from over your shoulder. “no, but i’m sure you’ll tell me.”

rafe slows his thrusts, stilling inside you completely. he dips his head down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear as he whispers to you and jj, “we should both fuck this sweet pussy.”

jj’s eyes roll. “what’dya think we’ve been doing?”

rafe groans at jj missing what he meant, even through the overstimulation and the fog that clouded your mind, you knew what rafe was proposing, and you weren’t sure you could handle it.

“r-rafe… n-no.” you stuttered out.

rafe’s hand lands a harsh slap to your red, sore ass cheek. “did i say you could talk? you ain’t got a choice in the matter either, doll.” he sighs, thrusting his hips once and pulling a sweet moan from you. “what i’m saying is, we should both fuck her. at the same time. in the same hole. you catching on, pogue? or should i spell it out for you?”

you watch as jj’s face lights up with the biggest smirk you’d seen on his lips yet.

“oh fuck. i like the way your kook mind thinks, cameron.”

you can just see rafe’s cocky grin now. rafe slowly slides himself out of your sore pussy, pushing your body down and flush against jj’s. rafe slightly lifts your hips, allowing jj access to grip his thick, hard cock in his hand. you whimper as jj lines his head with your sopping entrance, slowly pushing the tip in before fully sinking himself inside you.

jj groans, the feel of your warm, wet walls contracting around him causing his dick to twitch. “fuck, i’m in. your turn.”

rafe slouches down further, running the swollen head of his cock against your already full pussy before slowly pushing the tip inside. “jesus, baby. you’re so fucking full right now, think you can handle us both in this pretty little pussy?”

strangled whimpers and moans slip past your lips, your brain is completely gone in this moment, no thoughts or words coming to mind, only the feel of both men’s dicks filling your pussy consumed your mind and body.

rafe pushes himself all the way in, both men still inside you before they begin thrusting, jj first then rafe, repeat.

eventually, they find a nice, steady rhythm, both fucking into you harshly, the feel of both their cocks pushing in and out of you becoming too much.

your legs shake, tears rolling down your face at the intense stretch and burn of being fucked ruthlessly by rafe and jj.

“goddamn, she’s taking us so fucking good. such a good fucking whore for us aren’t you princess?” rafe rasps.

your tear filled eyes find jj’s, his normally bright blue eyes dark and filled with fire and lust. “such a pretty fucking whore, all ours too, right baby?” jj asks, his voice strained as his thrusts grow sloppier.

“i- gonna.. fuck!” you cry out as rafe’s (or jj’s you weren’t sure anymore) cock hits your sweet spot repeatedly.

“she’s gonna cum dude, we might make her fuckin’ squirt” rafe teases, his thrusts growing sloppy as well as he nears his release.

“fuck, can’t hold on, ‘m coming.” jj says, his cock pushing deep inside you once more before the hot ropes of his release spill into you.

rafe gives a few more brutal thrusts of his own before he’s also spilling inside you, your own orgasm rushing through you in white hot euphoria, soaking both of their cocks in the process.

nothing but the sounds of y’all’s heavy breathing fills the otherwise silent room. rafe slips out first, letting his body fall onto his large bed. he places a hand on his chest, his head rolling to the side to look at your limp, fucked out body laying on top of jj’s.

“all fuckin’ ours. you got that, princess? no one else can fuckin’ touch you.”

jj places a soft kiss on your sweat slick shoulder, mumbling in agreement with rafe. “yeah, all fuckin’ ours. this sweet pussy belongs to us.”

HOLY FUCK. my brain is filthy right now😣😵‍💫

tagging some moots: @drewstarkeyslut @rafesthroatbaby @oceandriveab @redhead1180 @rafescurtainbangz @starkeysprincess

completed requests | taglist form

#rafe cameron #jj maybank #rafe cameron smut #jj maybank smut #rafe x jj x reader #rafe x reader x jj #rafe cameron fic #jj maybank fic #rafe cameron brainrot #jj maybank brainrot

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

Text

fluff with a lot of angst, reader is injured and in hospital for one scene but it's not graphic, lovesick!bakugou

during the many years you’ve loved bakugou katsuki, you have only seen him cry three times.

the first time, you were alarmed. where you fell asleep on the couch awaiting your boyfriend’s return, you did not expect to wake up to the sound of sniffles and the sight of drying tears.

“katsuki? what’s the matter?” you asked cautiously, immediately sitting up to wipe his tears away.

your touch, like a healing balm to the blond, lets you treat him like glass when both of you know he is nothing akin to fragile.

“‘s nothin’,” he gruffly huffs, voice cracking a little.

“if you say so,” you murmur skeptically, knowing better than to prod when it’s bakugou involved.

“were ya waitin’ for me?”

you nod. “i thought we could eat together but- what time is it?”

“almost nine.”

“oh. i thought we could eat dinner together but your patrol must have ended a lot later.”

his heart aches pitifully, worsening when he watches you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “‘m sorry, i didn’t mean to come home so late.”

“it’s okay, i get it.”

“we can still eat together, if that’s okay,” he grumbles, looking away bashfully and missing the way your face brightens.

“that sounds lovely, i’ll go heat up dinner-“

“-no, i’ll do it. it’s my fault for coming home later, i’ll call you when it's done.”

bakugou is out of your sight before you can argue any further. as you watch your boyfriend disappear, you’re left pondering on the couch as to why he was acting so uncharacteristically. did he have a bad day? did something happen at work? was he unable to save someone? that’s can't be the reason, he always-

“dinner’s done!” your boyfriend calls from the kitchen, disrupting your thoughts.

when you asked, it didn't sound like he had a terrible day, in fact it sounds like he had a successful patrol, but you cannot fathom any other reason for his melancholy, but if he’s forgotten about it, then you will too.

but... bakugou doesn’t forget. he still remembers when midoriya first alluded to the inheritance of his quirk from all might, he remembers the night vision goggles kirishima broke when trying to save him that one time, he remembers your favourite things and what makes you happy; he remembers everything.

and he’ll never forget that the tears he shed tonight were over the fact that bakugou will never get to show you how much he loves you.

bakugou katsuki, for the first time, realised just how painfully human he is.

he has a heart that beats for you, limbs that longingly ache to be near you whenever he’s not, a mind devoted to you and a cursed mouth so incapable of expressing it all.

if he could, he would wrestle the night sky to give its stars to you instead because you love stars. you love the stupid things in life that bakugou can't give. he can’t give you everything you could ever want and with that realisation, bakugou discovered just how beatable he was.

you may never know the multitude of bakugou’s love for you, and that fact alone brings him to tears as he gazed upon your sleeping figure on the couch, resting peacefully until his arrival.

the second time, you wake up confused.

the lights in the room are dim, there's a machine beeping intermittently and you think it's a heartbeat monitor but you don't really think too hard about it because your body hurts.

you have to blink a few times to get the blurriness out of your eyes, but you eventually comprehend the sterile walls of a hospital room. then the memories come back one by one, a patrol gone awry, evacuating citizens and... ah, being slammed into a wall back-first by the villain. explains the pain.

then you register the looming figure beside your bed, a pair of widened vermillion eyes gazing into your own with untameable blond hair to match, you can't help the smile from spreading on your face when you see your lover.

"hey," you cough weakly, throat dry and scratchy from lack of use.

next thing you know, bakugou's bulky figure is draped over yours, forehead resting on your chest as his arms gently snake around your torso, bringing you into his chest and pressing himself firmly against you.

you feel him; his relief, his sorrow, his devotion, his painful sobs as he shakes against you and it kills you that the only thing you have the strength to do is run a hand through his hair. you want to kiss him, to tell him that it's okay and that there's nothing to cry about, that you're here and nothing will change that, but you're so very sore and barely in tact.

"don't do this shit again," he threatens weakly and you feel his tears seep through your hospital gown. "you had me so fuckin' worried, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, i can't believe you'd do this to me, do you know how much it sucked to be without you?"

"sorry, katsuki," you whisper and he looks up at you, glossy eyes and quivering lip.

"promise me you'll never do this again."

cupping his cheeks with your hands, there's a rush of deja vu as your thumbs catch his tears. "i don't know how realistic that promise is given that this is my job-"

"-your job is to save lives, not go crashin' into buildings, idiot."

you laugh gently, a stabbing pain making itself known in your gut when you do. your wince doesn't go unnoticed by bakugou, who knows you better than the back of his hand and his heart lurches at the slightest evidence that you're in pain. "still, i won't make promises i can't keep, you know how our jobs are, katsuki."

he frowns, furrowing his brows. "then i'll promise to always be there for you. don't go where i can't."

"that's not realistic."

"watch me."

"okay then, deal."

there are questions you still want answers to, but for now, you'll let the blond continue crying with his ear pressed against your chest.

(you won't ever know about the few days bakugou has spent in your hospital ward, absolutely miserable as he looks upon your gaze with anticipation. he hates how helpless he is, that he can't do anything to rid of this horrible feeling in his chest but wait for you to wake up. he hates that he can't any semblance of peace, he hates the man that love has made him, but most importantly, he hates being without you.

you won't ever know the struggle it was to get bakugou out of your room for even just an hour. midoriya and kirishima had to wrestle him in hopes of getting some proper food together, and yaomomo and todoroki had to literally block the door with various items to prevent his entrance.

you won't ever know how alienated bakugou felt, unable to face your shared home without you in it. without your music playing, without your shoes messily thrown at the genkan, without your comforting presence to return to when all is said and done, there isn't much of a home for bakugou.

you won't ever know how desperately bakugou clung to your hand, fiddling with it whenever he needed a safe haven.

you won't ever know the amount of tears the blond had shed by your side, hunched over your bed, with nothing and no one to comfort him but the sound of the heartbeat monitor.)

the third time, you cry too.

it's your wedding day.

when the news first came out, japan practically roared with excitement and anticipation for the special day that their two favourite heroes would wed. the enthusiasm has not dimmed down even months later, and now, as you're one door away from your lover, you feel it buzzing in your bones.

it all goes by in a blur. one second you're about to trip over yourself in nervousness and the next, you're walking down the aisle with a stunned bakugou failing to keep his composure at the altar. despite the amount of close friends and family around you, all you can see is the love of your life who looks at you with unmatched adoration and affection in those ruby irises of his.

up close, however, all you can see are the tears forming in his eyes, and his first sniffle takes everyone in the room by surprise. no doubt, this is their first and last time seeing their beloved hero cry.

more tears are shed and then, it's just waterworks from practically everyone in the room as bakugou breaks down even more.

thank goodness for a private wedding because you know he is never going to live it down if the press got their hands on this image.

a close friend of yours hands you a handkerchief and you wipe away bakugou's tears with a teasing smile, unable to keep your wobbly laughter at bay as your lover- japan's symbol of victory and heroism, turns to nothing but putty in your hands. he lets you treat him so delicately because you've seen him at his lowest, most shaken, and most unlovable, yet still decided to stay.

"sorry," he apologises as you dab at his tears, words reserved for you and you alone. "you're just so... divine. i can't believe i'm marryin' you."

you feel your first tear roll down your cheek and bakugou catches it before it can go too far, wiping it away.

"such an embarrassin' way to start our wedding," he grumbles.

"embarrassing for the both of us, but memorable no doubt," you try to reason.

"everything is memorable as long as i'm with you."

"such a sap," you whack his shoulder lightly. "have you been saving that line for today specifically?"

"you should wait til the vows. bet mine are better than yours."

"i didn't know you could be a poet."

"only for you."

"well then, i can't wait to find out what else you are, katsuki."

"i'll always be yours."

you laugh, "i'm glad to hear that 'cause i love you."

"i love you even more, i'm crying just to prove it."

"your tears are dangerous."

"yeah well, you're marryin' these tears so."

"like i said, i can't wait."

#don't talk to me abt this. this was so bad #lmk if there are warnings i missed #i'm pretty sure this is gn!reader i mean i'm gender neutral so hey if the shoe fits #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader

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208customsign · 2 years ago

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#Wall Graphics Boise #Custom 3D Wall Murals Design Near Me #Wall Graphics

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jobean12-blog · 4 months ago

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Burn for You

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Even though you know Marcus would protect you with his very last breath you still want to learn to defend yourself but what will your husband say when you ask him to teach you?

Author's Note: Just another little story in our happy world where everyone is on the same side and friends haha. This is a stand alone story that I couldn't resist after seeing the new snippets from the movie- and then Pedro himself posts the sword gif and I died all over again. How dare he? It's so hot🔥🫠Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and flirty and tense, he's always soft and perfect, semi public sex, smut, they just can't get enough of each other.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The gold trimmed linen falls over his bare skin, and you smooth your hands down his chest to straighten it.

“When are you going to teach me how to wield a sword General?”

You reach for the fascia, gently placing it over his leg before starting to secure it. When his silence drags on you look up from your kneeling position.

“Are you trying to think of some filthy thing to say right now?” you tease. “I am on my knees.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a mischievous smirk.

“If I didn’t know how much you loved being in that position, I might have something more to say…”

“But…” you finish for him as you slowly slide up his body and meet his eyes.

“Your question has surprised me.”

You take his cuirass and press it to his chest with more force than is necessary.

“And why is that husband?” you ask through clenched teeth.

As you begin to tug on the leather strings at his sides he grabs both your wrists, grasping them in one hand and pulling you against his chest, while the fingers of his other press under your chin and hold your gaze to his.

“You think I do not believe you capable?” he asks with his brows drawn in.

“Why else would you not teach me?” you huff.

“Like my heart, body and soul, you have my sword until my last breath and forever after,” he whispers against your lips.

Your expression softens and you press your fingertips to his jaw, delicately tracing the scar just above the dark hair that lines his cheek.

“I know Marcus…”

“But…” he says, echoing your earlier sentiment.

“I wish to learn. I am strong. And I want to be able to defend myself.”

He remains quiet still, releasing your wrists and smoothing his calloused fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“I could ask Lucius instead…” you start to muse.

“You will not,” he growls.

“He may not have the same reservations you have…whatever they may be.”

Your tone is cheeky as you press yourself closer to him, dancing your fingers down his side to give the leather straps of his cuirass a sharp tug.

He grunts lightly before his lips turn up into a smile.

“As you wish my love,” he murmurs. “I will teach you to wield a weapon.”

“Excellent,” you whisper, loosening your grip and reaching for the Manica to adorn his forearms.

He stops you with a firm hand and you raise a brow.

“On one condition…”

“And what is that?” you ask.

“You will train with me and only me. No other will come near you, touch you.”

“Of course,” you say with a lift of your chin. “Only you.”

He dips his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he presses you against his body.

“How much time do we have?” he mumbles, kissing you, chaste and soft.

He pulls back, licks his lips, and moves forward again, moaning softly against your mouth.

“Marcus,” you chide but it’s lacking vigor, coming out breathier and desperate.

When his hips rock you feel him, hard and ready and it’s like someone lights a match inside your chest and you curl your fingers into the edges of his cuirass and push him back toward the wall.

The draped fabric at your waist falls open and you gasp as cool air finds your skin where you’re wet and aching.

His roughened palm slides down your stomach and his fingers slip between your legs.

“Want to taste this,” he whispers, dragging the tip of his fingers in and out.

“Ah General Acacius. So good of you to grace us with your presence,” Lucius jokes, his eyes twinkling.

The other men stifle their laughter, clearing throats and shuffling feet when Marcus glares at them menacingly.

You step out from behind Marcus and smile at Lucius, whose surprised expression quickly transforms into one of mischief.

“Do we have a new trainee today General?” Lucius asks with a smirk.

Marcus ignores him and deftly twirls the sword between his fingers as he walks along the row of gladiators.

“My wife…, he begins, “wishes to learn how to fight.”

You can see that the men are trying to restrain their shock, and you meet each of their gazes, holding your head high and your shoulders poised.

“You will not touch her or even come near her,” he continues. “She will train with me and only me.”

Marcus turns his covetous eyes to you, dragging them over every inch of your skin that glistens under the warm sun.

With a hard swallow he gets into position and instructs the men on what to practice, giving Lucius control of the group so he can work with you.

“That will keep them busy for now,” he says quietly as he moves toward you, circling.

He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and slowly sliding his hand down from your shoulder to your wrist. Despite the heat, goosebumps crawl along your skin, and you feel his smile at your neck.

“Focus my beloved,” he murmurs. “You will not win any fights if you are distracted.”

The urge to throw your elbow back and into his side is strong but you refrain and strengthen your wrist.

He places the sword in your hand and maneuvers your fingers into the right position, keeping his hand over yours as he shows you the proper grip.

Every word of command is whispered into your ear and every touch of his hand is both soft and firm. Even with his impressive size and strength, he moves lithely, easily disarming you at every turn.

It frustrates you, motivates you but more than anything, and to your utter exasperation, it arouses you.

“Marcus.” You call his name while in a particularly precarious position and he quickly stands and takes you with him, his gaze concerned as it sweeps over your body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

He waits for you to elaborate and you step closer. “Perhaps you should work with the men now. I think Lucius bores them.”

His lips tilt upward at your teasing, but he continues to study you carefully.

“Do you need a break then?”

“Perhaps I can work on my stance with Lucius,” you suggest.

His eyes narrow. “We made a deal.”

“I know,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

Then with resignation you throw back your shoulders and get into position. “I’m ready to continue.”

His body heat at your back sends another wave of tension through your body and when his calloused fingertips ghost along your thigh to fix its position you have to fight back a gasp.

“Relax your muscles,” he says as he presses on your shoulders and lower back.

You let out a slow exhale and try to focus on his direction instead of his touch, but the way his voice is low and deep in your ear drags you right back to your lascivious thoughts.

When he’s satisfied with your positioning he moves in front of you, twirling his sword tauntingly and though his forearms are hidden under the armor adorning his wrists you know the muscles flex and shift enticingly.

He beckons to you, and you advance, remembering the foot work well and making good use of your sword.

But before you can make any real progress he has you on your back and beneath him, the sandy dirt rising and floating around your head as you stare up into his face.

“You are doing well,” he assures you, sensing your frustration. “Remember, it is only your first day.”

Sweat coats his brow and you watch a droplet roll down his temple and along the line of his beard. It settles on his upper lip and the desire to lean up and kiss him is overwhelming. His scent surrounds you, sweat and leather, and his touch burns.

“Marcus,” you breathe out.

“My love,” he answers, pushing up and offering you a hand.

You crash into his chest, your eyes dropping to his mouth and your lips parting. “I need you.”

It takes him only a split second to realize the meaning of your words and his head dips to your ear, his growl full of promise.

“Do you need me to fill you my love?”

You barely get your words of affirmation out when he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the training circle.

“Lucius, you can finish off the training for today. I have to see…to my wife.”

Your quarters are too far away, and you tell him so, letting him lead you to an underground alcove in the basilica nearby.

He kisses you until your back hits the cold stone wall and you can feel every inch of armor and cloth that separates your bodies.

His hands grip your face, thumbs pressing urgently into your skin as he kisses you until you’re lightheaded.

Few rays of sunlight pierce the recesses below and you’re bathed in a soft darkness, hidden, but with the sounds of the world going on right above you.

It reminds you that there are other people on this Earth beyond his kisses, his frantic hands, and the way he can’t seem to get you close enough.

Your armor becomes untied, and you reach under his, tugging at whatever you can find to loosen it. Cloth and linen floats to your feet and his fingers skim the curve of your waist, dipping between your legs.

“Fingers Marcus,” you gasp.

He swears, two fingers sliding deep.

Your hips rock into his hand and you hold onto his broad shoulders, on the edge of something that starts in your stomach and slips up along your spine.

You cry out, too loud and breathing so heavy you might pass out.

“I’m so close Marcus,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes lift from between your legs, and you take him in; messy curls, fallen over his damp forehead and sticking to it, his body shining with a light sheen of sweat and dust clinging to his skin.

You almost come at the sight of him. He feels you tighten around his fingers and pulls them free with another curse.

His knee parts your legs and you feel the head of his cock as it slides through you and you’re so wet that with just the smallest push forward he starts to slip inside.

With a grunt, he tucks his head into your neck, takes deep, steadying breaths.

“I need a moment,” he murmurs and holds your hips still.

He straightens, reaching a hand over your shoulder to brace it on the stone wall.

“You feel too good,” he whispers, pulling out and pushing back in slowly. “Too perfect.”

He builds a rhythm, hips rocking against yours, the sound of his armor thudding into yours as he fucks you.

His hand reaches up, holds your face as his thumb traces your lips, the taste of you lingering on his fingers.

“I want to watch you come,” he says, dark eyes moving across your face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the muscles strained and tight with his restraint, pulling him harder to you.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I want it harder.”

His lips brush yours and he nibbles the lower one, tugging and then soothing with his tongue.

“And…?” he asks, knowing there’s more you want to say. More that you need.

“I want someone to hear us. I want them to know how good you feel.”

He grunts and grips your waist tightly before he starts slamming hard and slick into you.

Voices echo above, the sounds of feet and horse hooves growing louder.

“More Marcus,” you cry out.

You feel so full and stretched and the tight feeling in your stomach grows warmer and hotter until your head falls back against the stone, and you moan out his name as you come.

He follows right after, his movements becoming jagged and frantic before finally stilling with a muffled groan into your skin.

You lean into him, catching your breath and letting your fingers wander over the dips and curves of muscle in his back.

He lifts his head and immediately searches for your mouth, sealing his lips to yours.

When he pulls back his eyes are ablaze, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“What?” you ask, trembling when his fingertips skim along your collarbone, strong but gentle.

They ghost higher, to the hollow of your throat where your pulse beats wildly still, before closing lightly around your neck.

Your breath hitches.

“Was it the fighting that aroused you so?” he asks, pressing his thumb under your chin while he still holds your neck. “Or…?”

You swallow and lick your lips.

“You know what it was General,” you whisper.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He’s still inside you and he starts to thicken, the throb making your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks.

“You, General. It is you. Always you that fills me with an unquenchable need.”

“Then it is a good thing my hunger for you will never be sated,” he whispers as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

#marcus acacius x reader #pedro pascal #marcus acacius #pedro pascal characters #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #marcus acacius x y/n #general acacius #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius imagine

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scarluna · 1 month ago

Text

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 5 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Thank you all so much for the likes and the comments. I did not think this story would become so liked. Again, thank you and enjoy! x

ACT V.

I climbed onto the bus and found an empty seat near the back. The hum of the engine and the faint chatter of passengers filled the air, but it all felt distant. My mind was a swirling storm of everything that had happened, and I couldn’t focus on anything else. I stared out the window as the city blurred past, the gray sky above mirroring the heaviness in my chest.

The tears threatened to spill again, but I clenched my fists and bit the inside of my cheek to hold them back. Not here. Not in front of strangers. I kept my face turned to the window, pretending to watch the scenery, hoping no one would notice how broken I felt inside. I had sunken in that headspace again, where I felt helpless and I didn't felt human at all. It was a nightmare for me. My mind was only stuck in the past and the pain was never ending cycle.

When the bus finally reached my stop, I stepped off into the cool air. My feet carried me the short distance to my apartment automatically, like I was on autopilot. The moment I closed the door behind me, the silence hit, and with it came the flood of emotions I’d been trying to keep at bay.

I dropped my bag by the door and slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My chest heaved as the first sob broke free, and then another, and another, until I was crying uncontrollably. All the frustration, anger, and pain from today—hell, from the past few days—poured out of me in waves. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly, as if trying to comfort myself. Since I was a kid there was no one to comfort me, all the adults I once had believed in were never there for me. My dad was an alcoholic who used to mentally abuse me, my mom and my brother. My mother to this day is obsessed with control and she has always had the mentality of the victim. My brother was always the one who was cherished more, as the only boy of the family. And of course, I was thrown to the side with my emotional needs. So at this point, I had to be there for myself. And as grew up in adult, I felt comfortable crying and picking my pain alone rather than being vulnerable with someone. I knew I was broken, I didn't know how broken until now.

I stayed like that for hours, crying until my throat was raw and my head pounded. Everything became a blur and I felt my body shaking. My breath was cut short and this is when I realized I was having an anxiety attack. I tried to grip at whatever I could find, my bag or my clothing as I sharply braeathed in and out of my nose, counting random numbers. At some point, my phone started buzzing incessantly, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to explain or relive any of it. I was busy prioritizing myself at this very moment and nothing else mattered.

When the tears finally stopped, I felt hollow. My body ached from the tension, and my eyes were sore and swollen. I sat there in silence for what felt like forever, staring at nothing, feeling like I had nothing left to give. Eventually, I forced myself to stand, my movements sluggish and heavy.

I shuffled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stripping off my clothes while the water heated up. The warmth of the shower felt soothing against my skin, like it was washing away the mess of the day and all the negative emotions I have felt until now. When I stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel, drying off quickly before changing into sweats and grabbing Hades’ leash.

My dog greeted me eagerly, his tail wagging as if sensing I needed comfort. “Come on, boy,” I murmured, attaching the leash to his collar. His soft brown eyes met mine, and I felt a small pang of warmth in my chest. At least I had him. Hades was the only one that I felt was giving me the unconditional love I so desperately craved.

We went for a short walk around the block. The cold air biting at my skin but somehow grounding me. Hades trotted happily beside me, occasionally sniffing at patches of grass or barking at squirrels. His enthusiasm was a welcome distraction from the mess in my head, and for a brief moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

When we got back, I gave him a treat and collapsed into bed, wrapping myself in the blankets yet again. My body was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily. My mind replayed everything—the picture, Yoongi’s words, Rya’s betrayal, Tina’s cruelty—until I finally slipped into a restless slumber.

When my alarm went off, it took every ounce of willpower I had to drag myself out of bed. My eyes were dry, almost painfully so, but the crying had done its work—I felt an empty hollow shell of myself. I had realized that I slept for more than ten hours which was a record, yet I still didn't feel refreshed at all. I felt the same slump as I did yesterday. I didn't even manage to have any dinner, not that I felt like eating at all. In the last few days I skept meals way too much and I noticed my clothes growing bigger on me, which was odd because I wasn't a person to skip any meal.

I finally went through the motions of getting ready: a quick shower, brushing my hair, slapping on some concealer to hide the evidence of my breakdown. The reflection in the mirror didn’t look like me at all. I couldn't recognize the person I had became. I was drowning in my own pain and it was getting harder to keep my head above the water. Grasping the sink, I stilled for a moment to give myself sometime to breathe. In and out. Until I felt I was grounded in my body and in my mind.

The bus ride to work felt endless. I kept my headphones in, the music drowning out the world around me as I stared out the window. I wasn’t ready for today, I wasn’t ready to face anyone, but I didn’t have a choice. I had to hold my head high and continue to push further. I shouldn't run away because these things would keep hunting me.

When I stepped into the office, the usual hustle and bustle felt distant, like I was walking through a dream.The people and their chatters almost sounded as an echo as I made my way toward my desk. It was Thursday now, and all I could think about was how close the masquerade ball was.

I sat at my desk, turning on my computer and trying to focus, but my mind was still a jumbled mess. The excitement I’d once felt for the ball was gone, replaced by a dull ache in my chest. What was the point of pretending to care about it? Everything felt meaningless now.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to start working. One task at a time, I told myself. Just get through the day and go home. I was too mentally exhausted with everything at this point. I typed on my keyboard, my eyes raking over the screen and the e-mail I was typing.

The office felt heavier than usual as I worked, staring blankly at the screen in front of me. The steady hum of keyboards and muted voices of my coworkers swirled around me, but I didn’t register any of it.

“Y/N?”

I didn’t have to look up to know who it was. That voice—soft, hesitant—made my stomach churn. I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge her presence. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, fingers tapping faster on the keyboard in an attempt to appear busy.

“Can I talk to you? Please?” Rya’s voice was quiet, almost trembling.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t even turn my head. The silence stretched between us and I could feel her discomfort, her desperation hanging in the air.

“I just... I need to explain. I didn’t mean for it to—”

“Don’t.” My voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. I turned to her slowly, my expression cold and unyielding. “I don’t want to hear any of it, Rya. What's done is done.”

Her face crumpled, her lips pressing together as if trying to hold back tears. “I messed up, okay? I know I did. I—I shouldn’t have sent that picture to Hoseok. I thought it was just—”

“Just what?” I snapped, finally swiveling my chair to face her fully. “Funny? Harmless? What exactly did you think was going to happen?”

Her shoulders slumped, her gaze falling to the floor. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, Y/N. I was just... being stupid. I didn’t think he’d actually—”

I held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t care what you were thinking, Rya. You sent something private—something personal—to someone else without my permission. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

She looked up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please, just—”

“Make it right?” I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “You can’t. It’s done. And I don’t want your apology.”

Before she could say anything else, another voice interrupted.

“Y/N.”

I looked up to see Hoseok standing a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked guilty, his eyes avoiding mine at first before he forced himself to meet my gaze.

Great. Just what I needed.

“I want to apologize as well, it wasn't okay for me to do that—” he asked, his voice low.

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “I don't need your apology.”

“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “I messed up as well, okay? I shouldn’t have shown that picture to anyone. I just wanted to show off how happy you looked that night. It was immature and wrong, and I’m sorry. I—I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear.”

I stared at him, my expression unreadable. “But you did. Both of you did.”

Hoseok sighed, running a hand through his hair. He seemed worried and frustrated. “I know. I was stupid, and I regret it more than anything. I’ve felt like crap ever since. Please, Y/N, I’m begging you. Just give us a chance to make it up to you.”

I shook my head, standing up from my chair. “You don’t get to feel bad about this, Hoseok. Neither of you do. You made your choices, and now you have to live with them.”

Rya sniffled beside me, her voice barely a whisper. I could see that she has been crying, her eyes were red and her face was swollen. “Y/N, please—”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting her off. “We’re done here. Both of you, leave me alone.”

Without another word, I slowly stood up headed to the break room to escape the suffocating tension. My hands were trembling as I leaned against the counter, trying to steady my breathing. Thankfully they didn't follow me or else I'd have leashed on them even worse than I did back there. Soft sigh escaped my lips as I closed my eyes.

They might have been sorry, but their apologies didn’t mean anything to me. Not now. Maybe not ever. I could feel the entire office's eyes on me as I arrived here this morning, their judgy stares, the way they would whisper about me as I passed by . . . it almost felt like I was in high school all over again. I hated it.

The cool stream of water poured steadily into the glass I had picked from the cabinet as I focused on controlling my breathing. The break room felt quieter than usual, the faint hum of the refrigerator filling the space. I brought the glass to my lips, taking a small sip, when the sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness.

I turned my head just as Jungkook entered the room, his sharp suit tailored perfectly, his posture confident yet somehow intimidating. He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice even and professional as he greeted. That man was so cold. I could feel the chills in the room. He stared at my face for far too long to be comfortable. I tried to look away, but he grabbed my jaw. My breath stopped for a moment. The way he touched me, so gently, his skin felt burning sensation on me.* "Have you been crying?" he asked, tone low and demanding. I sighed and shrugged. "None of your business if I did." I could practically hear him roll his eyes. My Boss was not a man who tolerated such answers, but in my case, he remained silent. Instead, he changed the subject rather quickly and I was appreciating that, because I was not ready to talk about how I was with anyone. “About the 2 PM meeting today. You’ll need to be ready with the brief.”

I set the glass down on the counter, nodding. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Good.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added, “Make sure Tina looks over it before you hand it to me.”

The words made me freeze for a split second. I turned to him, my expression hardening. “No.”

He looked up from his coffee cup, eyebrows slightly raised. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not giving Tina my work,” I said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’ll present it directly to you.”

Jungkook sighed, leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms. “Y/N, Tina is your direct manager. It’s her job to review your work before it reaches me.”

“And it’s my job to make sure the work is actually done right,” I shot back, my tone sharper than intended. “Every time Tina gets involved, she messes things up. This is important, and I’m not taking that risk.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine. You can present it directly to me. But don’t let this happen again. The hierarchy is there for a reason, Y/N. We can’t just ignore it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t argue further. It was already a small victory.

He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes briefly studying me. Then, in a tone noticeably cooler, he asked, “I hope you are feeling better than yesterday. That doesn't mean you should slack at your work, understood?” His gaze was sharp, and yet there was something softer lurking beneath the surface.

“I won't,” I said curtly, my defenses snapping back into place.

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a slight nod before turning to leave the break room.

As the door swung shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. My hands still trembled slightly from the conversation me and him had, but I refused to let it show. If there was one thing I had to prove today, it was that I could handle myself—and my work—without interference.

By the time the meeting started, the tension in the room was palpable. Tina sat stiffly across the table from me, her lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, ever the professional, appeared calm, but there was a hint of worry in his expression. Whether it was about Yoongi’s absence that went unnoticed by me as well or something else, he didn’t let on.

As we began, I passed copies of my brief directly to Jungkook and the other key members of the team. Tina shot me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing. Rya and Hoseok looked at me as if they tried to say something but I did not give thim that opportunity.

“Y/N,” she said, her tone clipped, “you were supposed to send this to me first.”

“I decided it was better to present it directly,” I replied, keeping my voice neutral but firm as I reached my seat and sat back down.

Tina’s glare hardened, but before she could say anything further, Jungkook cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Let’s focus on the content of the work,” he said, flipping through the pages. His expression shifted slightly as he reviewed my document, a hint of approval crossing his features. He set the papers down and looked at me.

“Good work, Y/N. This is thorough and well-presented. It shows that you had improvement since last time.” Is he serious? I wanted to roll my eyes so fucking bad but I did not. Soft sigh escaped my lips. At the same time however, I fought to keep the pride from showing too much on my face but couldn’t stop a small, satisfied smile from tugging at my lips.

Jungkook turned to Tina, his tone calm but pointed. “Tina, I understand you’re managing multiple aspects of the team, but when Y/N expresses concerns about her work being compromised, those concerns need to be heard. You should take her input seriously going forward. That said, the two of you need to keep collaborating effectively.”

Tina’s jaw clenched, but she nodded stiffly. “Understood.”

I couldn’t resist. Leaning back slightly in my chair, I fixed her with a steady gaze, my smirk subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes flicked to mine briefly before she looked away, her irritation clear.

Satisfied, I shifted my attention back to Jungkook as he moved on to the next topic on the agenda: the current project documentation.

“The documentation for the ongoing projects needs a thorough review,” Jungkook said. “There have been inconsistencies flagged by the higher-ups, and we need to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The discussion continued, but I barely registered Tina’s contributions. The small victory from earlier left me feeling hyped, even as I knew the real challenges lay ahead. Jungkook’s approval meant something, even if his cold professionalism sometimes made it hard to tell.

As the meeting wrapped up, I caught Jungkook’s gaze briefly. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before gathering his papers and leaving the room. Tina stormed out soon after, her heels clicking against the floor.

I allowed myself one more small, triumphant smile before heading back to my desk to finish my current brief.

The night had already fallen by the time I finally managed to clear my apartment. The chaos from the past few days had left my place in disarray—papers scattered on the floor, dishes piled up in the sink, and the weight of everything I was trying to avoid pressed against the walls. But now, as I wiped down the last countertop and took a deep breath, it was like a small weight had been lifted. At least something in my life felt under control, even if it was just this tiny corner of my world.

I collapsed onto the couch, trying to relax for a moment before I had to dive back into whatever would come next. But just as I settled, my phone buzzed loudly on the table. I picked it up with a sigh, already knowing who it was from.

Tae <3

I’d seen his name flashing on my screen in these days, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind, but now, with everything finally settling down a little, I pressed the green button.

“Hey, Tae,” I said softly, my voice hoarse from the days of tension.

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to reach you for days,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay? I… am worried.”

I let out a slow exhale, feeling a knot form in my chest as I tried to explain what had happened. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… it’s been a rough couple of days. There’s a lot to explain, honestly.”

I spent the next few minutes filling him in on the events that had unfolded at work—about the picture, the drama with Yoongi, Tina’s cruelty, and Rya’s betrayal. Tae listened patiently, his silence comforting. Even though I was exhausted from talking about it all, his kind, calming presence over the phone helped ground me.

“Y/N, that’s… a lot. I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Tae said, his voice tender with compassion. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I’m here for you, okay?”

His words meant more than he probably realized. Despite everything, it felt like a small lifeline.

“I appreciate it, Tae. Really. It’s just… I don’t know what to think anymore. I feel like I’ve been surrounded by lies. It’s all just been too much.”

“I get it. But know that you have people around you that care and you should not forget who you are, stand your ground, Y/N.” he reassured me.

His voice was steady, and for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope. And then I remembered what my parents had told me. Did Tae actually had feelings for me? Did he stuck around all this time because he felt something for me and I blantantly ignored him, oblivious to his advances and words? I felt like such a bad person. I had to figure out what I actually felt toward him, but deep down I was afraid that I might loose him.

“We should hang out this weekend,” he continued, his voice pulled me out of the trance I was falling into. “Maybe grab a bite, just get out of there for a bit. How about Sunday- I mean, we will still see each other at the masquerade ball tomorrow but still?”

“Sunday sounds perfect,” I replied, the idea of spending some time with him lifting my spirits. No matter how many times I was with him, it always felt like a gulp of fresh air.

“Great. I’ll text you the details. And Y/N, take care of yourself, okay?”

The sincerity in his voice had me biting my lip to keep from tearing up. “Thanks, Tae. I’ll see you then.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up feeling lighter. The weight that had been dragging me down all day wasn’t gone, but it had lessened. I had a plan for Sunday after the ball, something to look forward to, and that was enough for now. I should start prioritizing my life and controlling my emotions better. This was such a vulnerable and cruical moment for me. I had let people peel my skin and expose me so bad that it hurt. I was going to fight and not let anyone do that anymore.

I set my phone down and glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was already eleven pm. Time was passing fast when I was lost in my own little world.

Before I could do anything, my phone buzzed again, the screen flashing an anonymous number. I hesitated for a second, but curiosity got the better of me. Who could this be in such hour? I swiped the green button and pressed the phone to my ear.

The line was eerily quiet, nothing but slow breathing on the other end. My heart began to race, a strange chill creeping up my spine.

“Hello?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence continued for a moment longer, making my skin crawl. And then, just as I was about to hang up, I heard a voice.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice came through the phone, gravelly and almost unrecognizable. “Please-” he slurred, "come down, I am in front of y-your apartment."

A cold wave of panic washed over me.

“Yoongi? What the hell are you talking about?” I stood up and my bare feet tapped quickly and hastily toward my large window. I removed the curtain and I saw him. Yoongi's Hyundai Palisade was parked at the front and he was leaning against it. He glanced up but it was as if he was looking straight through me.

The line went silent again. His breathing was slow, labored, like he was struggling to stay awake.

My hands shook as I held the phone, my mind racing. What was he doing here? Why now? How the fuck did he get my phone and address?

I didn’t want to go down there, didn’t want to face him after everything that had happened. But something in his voice, a combination of weariness and something I couldn’t place, made me grab my jacket and slip on my shoes as I headed out of my apartment. My heart pounding in my chest as I walked towards the elevator. There was no way I could ignore this.

When I stepped outside, I froze.

Yoongi was standing there, barely able to stand on his own. His face was bruised, and his clothes were disheveled. His eyes were half-lidded, a bottle of something in his hand. He looked like he’d been through hell.

“Yoongi?” I whispered, my voice shaky. “What happened to you?” I took a few hesitant steps toward him. The view was horrific. It appeared as if Yoongi has fought with someone. And on top of that he was drunk and got here driving. The fuck was wrong with him?!

He didn’t respond immediately, swaying slightly on his feet. His breath was thick with alcohol, and his usually sharp gaze was dull and unfocused. He lifted his head and glared at me, trying to stand on his two feet.

“I… I just needed to see you,” he muttered, his voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. He took a step toward me, his hand outstretched.

“You’re drunk,” I said, my voice rising in panic as I took a step back. “Yoongi, what the hell—why are you even here? Why are you acting like this?”

His eyes flickered to mine, a brief moment of recognition, “I… didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he slurred. I could hear the pain in his voice, it was strained but it was there.

I stood there, shocked and unsure of what to do. My mind screamed at me to walk away, to shut the door and forget this ever happened. But something inside me—something I couldn’t ignore—told me that I needed to help him. Even if I didn’t want to. See, I wasn't a person that would let others in distress or pain. Unfortunately, I'd even help to people who hurt me deeply. It was how I was raised, to always care for other's comfort but ours. It was a wicked game really, I was standing there and stared at his condition. In the months I have been at this company, I have never seen Yoongi drunk and like this. Vulnerable.

"Yoongi, you need to go home," I said, my voice firm despite the confusion swirling inside me. I felt him approach me but for some reason I didn't move. He towered over me, his brown eyes gazed at me but yet again, it felt like he was seeing right through me. Before I could say something he leaned over and pressed his face into my shoulder, sighing quietly. He dropped the bottle and I could feel him grow heavy. Was he about to pass out? Fuck.

I had second to decide what to do. To leave him lay there or drag him inside. "Come on, let’s get you inside." I muttered quickly, wrapping my arms around him.

He didn’t argue, allowing me to help him stumble towards the entrance. He was a mess, and I hated that I couldn’t just leave him out there. I hated that I was a kind and caring person toward people that didn't deserve it at all.

As I guided him inside of the elevators and the doors closed, my mind raced with all sorts of questions.

Yoongi lifted his head and stared at my face yet again. I frowned his way and his lips twitched as he soon gave me a drunkish grin. "You are pretty like this." I rolled my eyes. "You are hallucinating," "I wish I was, then I wouldn't feel like shit for saying all those things to you and making you cry." he muttered lowly.

I dragged Yoongi inside, half-carrying him as he leaned heavily against me, barely able to keep his footing. His breath was labored, and his body seemed to have gone limp. It was like he was a completely different person from the Yoongi I had known—the one with sharp wit and even sharper eyes. This Yoongi was a shell, drunk and beaten, stumbling through the door of my apartment.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I just knew I had to get him off the hallway, away from the peeking neighbours and cold night air. I laid him down on my couch, watching as he immediately passed out, his head lolling to the side. He looked so vulnerable in that moment—so fragile—and it made my stomach turn. I hated seeing him like this.

I stood over him for a moment, my hands on my hips as I was unsure of what to do next. My mind was still reeling from the shock of his unexpected appearance, but there was something deeper stirring inside me. I had to make sure he was okay. Or at least, make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself more.

I didn't really know any people closer to Yoongi than Jungkook. So I grabbed my phone and dialed Jungkook's number. After a few signals, he picked up.

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice came through the speaker, sounding concerned and confused as of to who that might be. He probably didn't have my number saved at all. "It's uh- Y/N..." I trailed off, "sorry to bother you this late," I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was probably asleep. "No, it's fine. Whats going on?"

“Well. . . Yoongi at my apartment. He showed up drunk with his car parked in front of my place and he’s passed out on my couch.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and I could almost hear Jungkook’s mind racing. I heard faint curses and then some rustling before he spoke again.

“Give me your address, I will be on my way shortly,” he mumbled, I took a deep breath and gave him the location and then the line disconnected.

True to his word, Jungkook arrived fifteen minutes later. He was quiet when he walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Yoongi, sprawled helplessly on the couch. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he said nothing. I noticed Jungkook was wearing his pajamas. This is why he was so fast, he just got up and rushed here?

“Will he be okay?” I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Jungkook ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sighed, kneeling beside Yoongi. “Yeah. It's not his first time being like this.”

I bit my lip, watching as Jungkook carefully adjusted Yoongi’s position, making sure he was comfortable. The whole situation felt too surreal.

“Why is he like this?” I asked. The question had been gnawing at me ever since I found him outside, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why would he show up like this, covered in bruises?”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered to me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak immediately, as if weighing how much he could reveal. After a long pause, he finally said, “Yoongi doesn’t handle emotional pain well. He’d rather take physical pain than face whatever’s going on inside. It’s easier for him, in a way.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Physical pain over emotional pain. I had always thought Yoongi was this hard, untouchable person, but hearing that made me realize how much he was hiding beneath that façade.

“That’s… that’s not normal,” I whispered, my heart aching for him.

Jungkook gave me a look, as if to say, You don’t know the half of it. He stood up and turned toward me, his eyes piercing right through me.

“I’m taking him home,” Jungkook muttered, his voice a little softer now. “I’ll make sure he’s settled in. But Y/N…”

I looked up at him, surprised by the seriousness in his voice.

“He won’t admit it, but he needs help. And I don’t think he’ll let anyone in if he knows they’re worried...”

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words.

Jungkook gave Yoongi one last look before he crouched down and gently shook him awake. It took a moment, but Yoongi stirred, groaning as he slowly blinked his eyes open.

“Yoongi,” Jungkook said, his voice low and commanding. “We’re taking you home. Can you stand?”

Yoongi didn’t respond right away. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, and he winced as he tried to sit up. “I don’t want to go home…” he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Jungkook’s eyes softened for just a second. “We don’t have much of a choice. Come on.”

With a little effort, Jungkook helped Yoongi stand, supporting him as they made their way out of my apartment. My eyes followed them as they left, a mixture of concern and confusion swirling inside me. I had no idea what was going on in Yoongi’s life, what demons he was fighting. But I could tell it was more than just the things I saw at work.

I stood in the doorway for a while after they left, the quiet of my apartment settling back in around me. There was a lot more to Yoongi than I had ever realized, and I couldn’t help but wonder—what else was he hiding?

The night felt long, and I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same after tonight.

I tossed and turned in my bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to escape the thoughts swirling in my mind. Yoongi. What was going on inside his head? Why would he let himself fall to such a low point? I had been so wrapped up in my own problems, so focused on myself, that I failed to look outside my bubble.

Was he suffering just as much as I was? Or worse? His words, those harsh, cutting words, still echoed in my head. I couldn’t ignore them, no matter how much I wanted to. The damage had been done. There was no coming back from that—at least not for me. His actions, his words, they had already crossed a line I wasn’t willing to forgive.

I didn’t trust him anymore. How could I? But despite my resolve, I still wondered—why? Why had he let himself get to that point? Why was he hurting like this? Was he just as lost as I felt sometimes?

But that didn’t change anything. I couldn’t let my guard down. Not now. Not after everything he had put me through.

By the time morning came, I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. I forced myself to get up, get dressed, and head to work, though it felt like everything was happening in a haze. When I walked into the building, everything felt louder, more intense. But my mind was still stuck on Yoongi.

As I walked down the hallway, lost in my own thoughts, I almost bumped into Jungkook.

"Hey," he said quietly, his tone almost cautious.

I glanced up at him, blinking a few times as I tried to focus. "How's Yoongi?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Jungkook gave me a quick glance, and I could tell from his expression that Yoongi’s condition was still on his mind, but he didn’t want to dwell on it. “He’s fine. Just a little bruised up. He’ll be at the ball tomorrow.”

I nodded, but the words hit me harder than I expected. The ball? He was going to attend? After everything that happened?

Before I could process any more thoughts, I heard the click of heels approaching. Tina. Of course, she couldn’t leave us alone. She came up to us with that smug look she always wore, her eyes narrowing as she took in our whispered conversation.

“So, what’s going on here?” she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, arms crossed against her chest. “Are you two flirting?”

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to entertain her question. I had better things to do than to deal with Tina and her constant attempts at stirring drama. "She's all yours." I muttered to him.

Jungkook, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He snapped back at her harshly, his tone cold. “No, Tina. We’re not flirting. I suggest you stop with the snarky comments or I will make you regret it.”

Tina’s eyes widened slightly, and I could see the jealousy bubbling beneath the surface. She looked from Jungkook to me, trying to read our expressions, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of a response.

Instead, I just turned and walked away, not bothering to waste my time on her games. Tina was starting to get pathetic even more in my eyes.

Jungkook sighed behind me, clearly frustrated, but he didn’t say anything more.

It was strange—despite everything that had happened, despite the weight of my own emotions, there was something comforting about Jungkook’s presence. Maybe it was his steady calmness, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t play games like Tina. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel as alone when he was around.

But even with that small comfort, my mind couldn’t let go of Yoongi. He was still a mess. And no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for part of it.

I had to focus. On the work. On moving forward. Because if I didn’t, I might drown in all of this.

The afternoon sunlight streamed softly through my apartment windows, warming the room as I sipped my sugarless coffee, the cup cradled in both hands. At my feet, Hades curled up, his soft fur was shining under the soft rays of the sun. My eyes kept drifting to the royal blue dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

Rya had talked me into it—her determination was unrelenting. “You deserve to look stunning, Y/N,” she’d said, dragging me into store after store until she found the dress.

I reached for the diamond hair accessory on my dresser, its glimmer catching the sunlight. My fingers grazed it thoughtfully as I imagined how it would sit in my hair, which Rya had insisted I style in soft, flowing beach curls. I sighed, setting it down again.

Hades stirred, flicking his tail against my ankle as I took another sip of coffee, trying to ground myself. My thoughts were tangled, looping through the chaos of the past few weeks. Yoongi. Jungkook. The picture. The insults. And now, the ball. A part of me was still so anxious, but beneath it all was a simmering determination to get through this. To face everything head-on.

My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting my thoughts. I picked it up, my heart sinking a little when I saw my parents’ number.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.

“Sweetheart,” came my mom’s familiar voice, warm but tinged with hesitation. "Have you been alright, my girl?" I paused, should I tell her about what happened to me or keep it to myself. I swallowed thickly and forced a steady voice, it was tough not being able to be understood by your own mother. I knew what she was gonna say so I did not bother letting her know about this. "I am okay, mom. How's dad?" "Oh, you know, he has a new hobby which is grilling. He is quite alright per say." I humed in response and there was a pause. “Your brother’s parole was denied.” she served it as if it was the most casual thing ever. I frowned and rose up from my bed, biting on my lips. The words hit me like a dull thud in the chest, but I kept my voice steady. “What now? Should we change the attorney?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “We’ll visit him soon and see how we should proceed.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Alright," I trailed off. I couldn't believe his parole was denied. That probably wrecked him completely.

We chatted a little longer before saying our goodbyes, but the call left a small crack in my composure. I set the phone down and took a deep breath. Focus, Y/N. Tonight is about showing up and holding your own.

The drive to the MNT Media headquarters was a blur. Taehyung had picked me up in his sleek black Genesis GV80 SUV, his reaction when he saw me leaving my apartment still fresh in my mind.

“Wow, Y/N,” he had said, his eyes widening as I stepped outside. “You look... incredible.”

I’d smiled, a little shy under his burning gaze. “Thanks, Tae." I was not used to compliments, but I took enough time to look at myself in the mirror. I did look quite well tonight. That dress hugged my curves perfectly and it showed everything that had to be shown and everything that had to stay hidden. The color perfectly contrasted with my skin. The mask was hiding who I struggled to be, it was made from royal blue diamonds and it shined under the lighting of my apartment. And the jewlery in my hair only added to the effect of luxury.

Tae however, he was wearing a black suit, tailored to perfection, with a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. His mask—a gold and black design that made him look impossibly suave—only added to his charm. His brown locks of hair tossled and messy suited him perfectly. He looked like a handsome prince. And for a moment I found the thought of him liking me ridicilous. Why would someone who looked so perfect would like someone like me? As we drove, he threw out compliments like they were second nature, his voice laced with a playful flirtation that made me laugh despite my nerves.

“You’re going to steal the show tonight,” he said, his eyes briefly flicking toward me before returning to the road. "You are exaggerating." I gazed at him with soft grin and my eyes raked over his face and that smug smirk from my response. However, my eyes focused on his veiny hands that held the steering wheel. I stared at them for a little too long as he obviously noticed my stare. "Something wrong?" I snapped out of it and looked away, clearing my throat. "No- not at all." I saw that dumbass smirk smugly at me. I wanted to punch him but instead a small giggle escaped my lips.

When we pulled up to the grand entrance of MNT Media’s headquarters, I felt a wave of anxiety crash over me. The paparazzi were already gathered outside, their cameras flashing incessantly, blinding all the people that passed by. The building itself was a towering masterpiece of glass and steel, lit up like a beacon in the night. It screamed 'you are out of this world, Y/N' in big bold letters.

Taehyung parked, stepping out first before circling around to open my door. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand like the real gentleman he was.

I nodded, placing my hand in his. I felt electricity run down my spine as I felt the warmth and softness of his skin. He held my hand ever so gentle as if he was afraid I'd break. I spared a glance at his face and then my focuse went on my exit from the car. As I stepped out, the flashing lights of the cameras hit me like a tidal wave. I felt overwhelmed for a moment, but Taehyung offered his arm, and I clung to it like a lifeline.

“Just keep your eyes forward,” he whispered, leaning close so only I could hear. “You’ve got this.”

I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and let him lead me inside.

The ballroom was breathtaking. The lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft golden glow. Crystal chandeliers hung high above, their facets sparkling like stars. Guests milled about in masks, their laughter and conversation blending with the sound of a grand piano being played in the corner. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, champagne, and roses.

Round tables draped in white silk lined the edges of the room, while the center was open for dancing. Everything oozed luxury—from the gilded accents on the walls to the servers circulating with trays of expensive champagne.

“Not bad, huh?” Taehyung said, his tone light as we stepped inside.

“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, my eyes sweeping over the scene.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter this time.

I glanced up at him, his expression softer now, less playful. It was cute really, all I could do was give him a soft grin in response.

As we moved deeper into the room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the evening settling over me. And whatever happened tonight, I knew it was going to change everything.

I scanned the room, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Everywhere I looked, there were important people—CEOs, celebrities, politicians—all dressed in their finest. The men wore tailored suits with intricate masks, while the women dazzled in luxurious gowns, their jewels glinting under the chandeliers. The anonymity of the masks made it impossible to identify anyone from Jeon Enterprises however.

Taehyung and I found a spot near one of the round tables draped in white silk. He handed me a glass of champagne, the bubbling liquid catching the warm golden glow of the chandeliers.

“You’re doing great,” he said, leaning closer so I could hear him over the soft murmur of conversation.

I gave him a small smile, grateful for his calming presence. “Thanks, Tae.”

We lounged there for a while, sipping our champagne and observing the scene. Taehyung’s easy charm and lighthearted comments kept me grounded, though my thoughts still occasionally drifted to the potential encounters lurking behind the glittering masks.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw them—Rya and Hoseok.

Rya looked absolutely stunning, as she always did. She wore a deep crimson gown with a plunging neckline, the fabric hugging her petite frame and flowing elegantly to the floor. Her dark hair was pinned up in a sophisticated bun, and her mask—a delicate creation of red lace and gold—perfectly matched her dress. She exuded confidence, but there was a cautiousness in her eyes as she approached.

Hoseok, by contrast, looked sharp and understated in a classic black suit paired with a sleek white mask. The suit was tailored impeccably to his lean frame, and the silk pocket square matched the ivory tones of his mask. His usual bright smile was subdued as he stood beside Rya, his hands in his pockets, his posture slightly hesitant.

They stopped a few feet away from me, and for a moment, the air seemed to hang heavy between us.

“Y/N,” Rya said, her voice tentative.

I smiled softly, deciding tonight wasn’t the time for grudges or rehashing old wounds. The ball was too grand, the stakes too high for petty arguments. “Rya. Hoseok,” I greeted politely, nodding to each of them. “You both look amazing.”

Relief washed over their faces.

“You too,” Rya said, her smile finally reaching her eyes. “That dress... wow. You look incredible.”

“She’s right,” Hoseok added, his tone sincere. “You’re... glowing, Y/N. Like, really.”

I gave a small laugh, shaking my head. “You two are just trying to butter me up.”

“No, really,” Rya insisted, stepping closer. “I’m so sorry about everything. We are. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand—”

“Not tonight,” I interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop her. “Let’s just enjoy the ball, okay? We can talk about it another time.”

They exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. “Okay,” Rya said. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok echoed, his smile finally warming.

I felt a small weight lift off my chest. It wasn’t forgiveness—not entirely—but it was a step in the right direction. Tonight wasn’t about grudges or misunderstandings. It was about standing tall, embracing the moment, and maybe even letting myself enjoy it.

Taehyung, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “See? You’re a natural at this.”

I gave him a playful nudge, but his words made me smile. The night was still young, and for now, I was determined to make the most of it.

The conversation with Rya and Hoseok had settled into an easy rhythm, the earlier tension softening with every passing minute. I was just starting to feel comfortable when the grand double doors at the far end of the ballroom opened, drawing everyone’s attention.

I turned toward the entrance, my champagne glass frozen mid-air. That’s when I saw him—Jungkook.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his broad shoulders commanding attention even amidst the sea of masked guests. His dark mask was minimalistic yet elegant, fitting his sharp, chiseled features like it was made for him. But what truly caught me off guard was the person on his arm.

Tina.

She clung to him like her life depended on it, her smug expression practically radiating across the room. Her gown, a striking emerald green with a dangerously high slit, screamed of someone desperate to make an impression. She looked ecstatic—proud, even—and for good reason. To show up with Jeon Jungkook at her side? That was a trophy in itself.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I watched her lean closer to him, giggling at something he said. But Jungkook didn’t seem invested in her. His eyes were scanning the room, restless, as though he was searching for someone.

Someone?

Before I could make sense of it my eyes shifted to the second couple that had just walked in.

This time, it was Yoongi.

The sight of him stole my breath for a moment. He was dressed in an all-black ensemble as well, but with a velvet jacket that added an edge of understated luxury. His mask, a rich silver that contrasted against his dark hair, gave him an air of quiet mystery. But it wasn’t just him.

On his arm was Gina.

Gina—the same girl from the cafeteria who had made those snide comments about my weight. The same Gina who had once asked Hoseok to this ball and been pushed away. She had traded in her usual uniform for a glittering golden gown that hugged her figure like it had been poured onto her. Her mask sparkled with rhinestones, matching the shimmering confidence in her eyes.

The sight of her with Yoongi made my chest tighten, though I couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe it was because she had made me feel so small that day in the cafeteria, and now she was walking in like she owned the place.

I stared longer than I should have, my gaze flicking between the two pairs—Jungkook and Tina, Yoongi and Gina. "The hell, Tina and Gina?" Rya asked in disbelief. Hoseok giggled. "Their names rhyme." "They are both equally evil." Rya answered with a flat tone, "that's why." I burst out laughing at this, because let's face it. It was true, both of them thrived on attention. I wonder how the Boss and Yoongi fell for their traps.

“You’re staring,” Taehyung’s voice broke through my thoughts. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t let them see they’ve gotten to you,” he murmured, his tone soft but firm.

I blinked, snapping my gaze back to Taehyung. His brown eyes were warm, reassuring, and I gave him a small nod. He was right. I wouldn’t let them have that satisfaction.

But it seemed I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jungkook’s head turn in my direction. His eyes, sharp and focused even behind the mask, landed on me almost instantly. I couldn’t see his expression entirely, but something flickered there—recognition.

And then Yoongi’s gaze followed.

It was as though time slowed for a moment. Jungkook and Yoongi both stared at me, their attention laser-focused despite the room full of people.

I felt exposed, vulnerable, even though I was fully covered by my mask and gown.

“Looks like you’ve been spotted,” Taehyung said, an annoying lilt to his voice as he lifted his glass to his lips.

I exhaled slowly, trying to calm the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach. “Let them look,” I muttered, tilting my chin up slightly.

But as much as I wanted to exude confidence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was about to get a lot more complicated.

A hush fell over the ballroom as a woman walked onto the stage at the far end of the room. The murmurs around me stilled as all eyes turned toward her. Octavia Leeroy, the CEO of MNT Media, stood tall and commanding under the spotlight.

She was stunning—her elegance more commanding than any gown or mask in the room. Dressed in a sleek, black floor-length gown with subtle sequins that caught the light, she radiated power and sophistication. Her mask was a bold gold creation, but her presence alone was enough to command attention.

As she took her place at the microphone, her voice carried through the room, smooth and steady.

“Welcome,” she began, her tone warm yet authoritative. “Tonight is a celebration—a celebration of not only our successes but of the people who make those successes possible. Each of you represents a piece of a puzzle that drives industries, builds communities, and inspires change. But let’s not forget, behind every mask, every polished exterior, are sacrifices, challenges, and battles fought in silence.”

I felt a lump form in my throat as her words resonated. She spoke with a sincerity that cut through the grandeur of the event, sharing stories of her struggles—the nights she worked tirelessly, the people who doubted her and the moments she doubted herself.

Her voice wavered only slightly when she spoke of the cost of ambition, but she never faltered. She had built an empire with blood, sweat, and tears, and now she stood as a symbol of resilience.

A wave of admiration surged through me. This is what strength looks like, I thought to myself, soaking in every word. She was everything I dreamed of becoming—powerful, respected, unshakable. When Octavia finished her speech, a thunderous applause erupted, echoing through the grand ballroom. I clapped along with the crowd, my heart swelling with a renewed sense of determination.

As the applause faded, the music resumed—a gentle, lilting melody that invited couples to the dance floor.

I turned back to Taehyung, who was already watching me with a mischievous glint in his eye. He extended his hand, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “May I have this dance?”

I hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. “You may,” I replied, my voice light. Rya and Hoseok also joined the dance floor and swayed in the slow rhytum of the piano music.

Taehyung led me to the dance floor, his confidence putting me at ease. He placed one hand on my waist, the other still holding mine, and we began to move in time with the music.

At first, our steps were measured, almost formal. But as we swayed, something shifted. The space between us grew smaller, and the intensity of his gaze deepened. His fingers lingered on my waist, his touch light yet deliberate.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” he murmured, his voice low.

“Me?” I countered, my heart fluttering as his gaze dropped briefly to my lips. “You’re the one making all the bold moves.”

He chuckled, spinning me gently. “Maybe I like seeing you off guard.”

Before I could respond, I felt a pair of hands catch me mid-spin, steadying me. The grip was firm, different.

When I turned to look up, I froze.

Jungkook.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. His mask did little to hide the sharp angles of his face, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked, his tone smooth yet edged with something deeper.

I blinked, my breath hitching as I realized I had no choice—Taehyung had already stepped back, a deep scowl at his lips as he let Jungkook take the lead without any other word.

Jungkook’s hand slid to my waist, his other still holding mine as he began to move us effortlessly across the floor. His proximity, the intensity of his gaze, left me completely unmoored.

“You look proper,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. Proper? Really? What should I expect from a man like him.

“Thanks,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

His smirk deepened as he twirled me, his movements confident and precise. “I’d say I look more than ‘not too bad‘.’”

I rolled my eyes, despite the warmth creeping up my neck. “Careful, Jungkook. Your ego’s showing.”

He chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening slightly as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And here I thought you’d be too nervous to handle a dance like this.”

I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him rattle me. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

His gaze darkened, his expression unreadable as we continued to move in perfect synchronization. For a moment, the world around us blurred—the guests, the music, the grandeur of the ballroom. It was just him and me, locked in a silent battle of wills. "You came with Tina?" I asked in a hushed tone as we danced. He frowned but then low chuckle escaped his plump lips. Was he amused? "Are you jealous?" "You fucking wish." I spoke out and Jungkook laughed at that. I have never seen him so cheery.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another familiar figure on the edge of the dance floor. Yoongi.

He was watching us, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but his eyes told a different story. He was intently staring at me and Jungkook as Gina was tugging his arm to go to the dance floor but by his expression and his stoic frame, he refused. Gina gave up and crossed her arms against her chest.

The tension in the air between Jungkook and me was palpable. I couldn't breathe from the closeness of him. He was intoxicating me, like a bottle of strong alcohol making my knees go weak. I had my breath hitched the entire dance before the music stopped and everyone parted. Jungkook refused to let me go. "You are really beautiful tonight, Y/N." he muttered, his eyes exploring my face. I cleared my throat and pulled away immediately, "T-thanks." He hummed and soon I saw a few guys call out to him. Jungkook turned around to see who it was then back at me. "I have to go. Talk to you later." he said before he headed toward the group of people as I was left alone at the dance floor.

Suddenly, a voice called my name from behind me.

“Y/N?”

I turned around, my steps faltering as I came face-to-face with a man I hadn’t seen in years. Richard Delgrassi.

“Mr. Delgrassi?” I stammered, the surprise evident in my tone. What was he doing here?

He smiled warmly, his salt-and-pepper hair adding a distinguished edge to his polished appearance. Dressed in a charcoal-gray tuxedo and a black mask that matched his sharp features, he exuded the same air of authority and charm I remembered from my childhood.

“I thought that was you,” he said, his tone brimming with familiarity. “My, how you’ve grown. It’s been what—ten years?”

“More like twelve,” I replied, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’m surprised you recognized me with this mask.”

“Your eyes, dear,” he said, gesturing lightly. “They’re unmistakable. Just like your father’s.”

At the mention of my father, a pang of nostalgia hit me. Richard Delgrassi had been one of my father’s closest associates back when our family was still living the high life. My father, Benjamin, had owned one of the most successful car manufacturing companies in the country. His name had once been synonymous with innovation and luxury in the automobile industry. Richard had been his right-hand man, helping to expand the business and secure lucrative deals. But as fate would have it, a series of unfortunate events—including betrayal from within the company—had forced my father to sell his empire and move abroad, leaving behind the life he had built so painstakingly.

Now, Richard was a prominent politician, known for his advocacy for economic reform and his push for ethical practices in business. His transformation from a business mogul’s associate to a public figure had been nothing short of remarkable.

“It’s been ages,” I said, trying to suppress the rush of emotions his presence stirred. “How have you been?”

“Well, politics keeps me busy,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on the industry. It’s hard to let go of one’s roots entirely, you know.”

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant.

“And you?” he asked, his tone shifting to genuine curiosity. “What are you doing these days? Last I heard, your family had moved overseas.”

“I’m working here now,” I said, straightening slightly. “At Jeon Enterprises.”

His brows shot up in surprise. “Jeon Enterprises? That’s unexpected. What are you doing there?”

“I’m part of their marketing team,” I explained, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “It’s... challenging, but it’s been a learning experience.”

Richard studied me for a moment, a glimmer of intrigue sparking in his eyes. “Jeon Enterprises, you say? That’s an interesting choice. They have quite the reputation—for better or worse.”

I tilted my head slightly, curious. “You know them?”

“I’ve crossed paths with their CEO, Jungkook, a few times,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes shifting behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know he was staring at Jungkook. “He’s a sharp one, but his company’s ethos has always been... pragmatic, shall we say. I’ve been looking for an organization that values long-term growth over short-term profits, something more aligned with my goals.”

“And you think Jeon Enterprises could be that organization?” I asked, intrigued.

“Perhaps,” he said, stroking his chin. “If they’re willing to adapt. But enough about me—how do you find it there? Are they treating you well?”

The question caught me off guard. I hesitated, the memories of Tina’s snarky remarks and Yoongi’s cold demeanor flashing through my mind. But then I thought of the moments when Jungkook had, in his own quiet way, come to my defense.

“It has its ups and downs,” I admitted carefully. “But I’m learning a lot.”

Richard nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s what matters. And who knows, perhaps our paths might cross again soon in a more... professional capacity.” I saw him pull out a business card out of his pocket and give it to me. Did I just made the first client join our company? My heart skipped. I accepted it. "Then, we should discuss this over a meeting at our company soon. "Excellent. See you soon, Y/N. And give Benjamin my regards."

A mix of nostalgia and newfound curiosity swirling in my chest. For years, I had tried to bury the life my family had left behind, but seeing Richard here, so firmly planted in this world of power and influence, made me wonder if maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t entirely out of reach for me either.

As he excused himself to speak with another guest, I couldn’t help but feel that this meeting was more than just a coincidence. Perhaps, amidst all the chaos, this was the start of something new. Something I hadn’t even realized I was searching for.

The evening had been going surprisingly well so far. I stood among a small group of representatives from various companies, discussing Jeon Enterprises and its potential as a reliable partner. My nerves had simmered down, and I was finally hitting my stride in the conversation.

“So, what makes Jeon Enterprises stand out from its competitors?” a tall, sharp-suited executive asked, his tone curious yet skeptical.

I took a deep breath, summoning the confidence I had been building over the months. “Aside from our innovative approach to market trends, Jeon Enterprises is focused on creating long-term solutions rather than short-term fixes. We prioritize adaptability, ensuring that our clients’ needs are met even as industries evolve. And with the resources we provide, we’re not just a business partner—we’re a growth catalyst.”

The executive nodded thoughtfully, and I could see that I was making headway.

But just as I was about to elaborate further, I heard the telltale clink of heels approaching.

And then it happened.

A sudden cold splash against my side made me flinch, and I looked down to see a vivid crimson stain blooming across my royal blue gown.

“Oh no!” came Tina’s voice, syrupy and fake, as she stood there holding an almost-empty glass of wine. “I’m so clumsy. I didn’t see you standing there, Y/N.”

Her tone didn’t match her words; there wasn’t an ounce of remorse in her expression. Instead, her lips curled into a smug smirk as her gaze swept over me, clearly reveling in the scene she’d just created.

Around me, the small crowd went silent, their eyes darting between Tina and me. The heat of their stares burned on my skin as I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spreading stain.

Tina’s mockery didn’t stop there. “Oh dear, that dress must have cost a fortune. It’s such a shame, really.”

I clenched my fists, biting back a sharp retort. She wanted a scene, and I refused to give her one.

Forcing a tight smile, I turned to the group I had been speaking with. “Please excuse me for a moment.”

Their sympathetic nods did little to ease the weight of humiliation pressing down on me as I stepped away. As I walked past Taehyung, who had been nearby, he immediately stood and reached for my arm.

“Y/N, let me—”

“No,” I said quickly, not wanting to draw more attention. “I’ve got this, Tae. I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated but nodded, his concern clear in his eyes as he let me go.

I made my way toward the restrooms, my chest tightening with every step. The laughter and conversation from the ballroom felt like it was directed at me, though I knew logically that wasn’t the case. Still, the weight of humiliation was suffocating.

Once in the restroom, I tried dabbing at the stain with water, but it was no use. The red had seeped too deeply into the fabric. Sighing, I gave up and left, heading toward the balcony for some air.

The cold night breeze hit me as I stepped outside, the quiet a welcome reprieve from the noise and judgment inside. I leaned against the stone railing, my eyes sweeping over the city lights below. They sparkled like a sea of stars, but even their beauty couldn’t distract me from the ache in my chest.

I felt humiliated, small, like no matter how much effort I put into proving myself, people like Tina would always find a way to knock me down.

“Thought I might find you here,” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I stiffened, glancing over my shoulder. Yoongi stood there, his mask pushed up slightly on his forehead, his bruised face partially illuminated by the soft glow of the lights. I noticed him not taking off his mask at all at the ball room. Probably because he didn't want anyone to see his bruised face.

“Did you come to add to the humiliation?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He sighed, stepping closer but leaving enough space between us to keep it comfortable. “No,” he said simply. “You looked like you could use some air.”

I turned back to the railing, the weight of the evening pressing down on me again. “Well, congratulations. You were right. I don’t belong here.”

His silence was surprising, and when I glanced at him, I saw something I didn’t expect—regret.

“I didn’t say that,” he said after a moment, his voice low.

“You didn’t have to.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’ve been... a jerk.”

I scoffed at the understatement but said nothing, letting him continue.

“I’ve said things—done things—that I’m not proud of,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I can’t take those back. But for what it’s worth... I don’t think you’re out of place here. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and I stared at him, a cocktail of emotions swirling inside me. Regret? From Min Yoongi? It was almost laughable. Almost.

I turned back toward the city lights, gripping the railing tighter. “You think a couple of kind words will fix everything?” I asked, my tone sharp.

He didn’t respond right away, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and searching.

“I’m not trying to fix anything,” he said finally. “I just... I wanted to say it.”

“Well, you can’t just ‘say it’ and expect me to forget everything else.” I spun to face him, the emotions I’d been suppressing all night bubbling to the surface. “You humiliated me, Yoongi. Over and over again. And for what? To make yourself feel better?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve more than that,” I snapped. “But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is what you did that night. Do you even realize what could’ve happened? Driving drunk to my apartment like that? What the hell were you thinking?”

Yoongi blinked, clearly not expecting the shift in conversation. His face darkened, a flicker of shame passing over his features. “I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I needed to see you.”

“To see me?” I threw my hands up in disbelief. “So you thought, ‘Hey, let me risk my life and possibly someone else’s because I’m having a bad day’? What if you’d hurt someone, Yoongi? What if you’d hurt yourself?”

He took a step closer, his expression pained. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I know it was stupid. I wasn’t in a good place—”

“That’s not an excuse,” I cut him off, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to make reckless decisions and then shrug it off because you ‘weren’t in a good place.’”

He looked down, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re right. It’s not an excuse. I just...” He trailed off, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to deal with... everything. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

I let out a bitter laugh, turning away from him. “Clearly.”

Silence settled between us, the tension thick and suffocating. The sounds of the city below seemed to fade as I struggled to rein in my emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “For all of it. For the things I said, the way I treated you, for... showing up that night. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, but I wasn’t ready to let go of my anger just yet. “You’re right, I didn’t,” I said coldly. “And sorry doesn’t erase what you did.”

“I know it doesn’t,” he said quickly, his tone pleading now. “But it’s all I can give you.”

I turned to face him again, searching his eyes for something—anything—that would make sense of the man standing before me. He looked vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before, the usual cool confidence stripped away.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I said finally, my voice breaking. “You hurt me, Yoongi. Over and over. And I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I understand.”

The weight of his gaze was almost too much to bear, and I looked away, my chest tight with a mix of anger, sadness, and something I didn’t want to name.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if that matters to you, but... I thought you should know.”

I didn’t respond, my emotions too tangled to form a coherent thought. Instead, I turned back to the city lights, the cold air biting at my skin.

Yoongi stayed for a moment longer, as if waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, anything. But when it became clear I wasn’t going to give him one, he sighed and stepped back.

“Have fun at the ball, Y/N. You deserve it.” he said softly before turning and walking away, leaving me alone on the balcony with my thoughts.

I gripped the railing tighter, the ache in my chest growing stronger as I watched him disappear into the shadows of the ballroom.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.

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alisonsfics · 22 days ago

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knight in shining armor

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: you knew carmy would do anything for you in theory. when your abusive ex-boyfriend shows up at the bear, you learn carmy has zero hesitations when it comes to protecting you.

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of abusive ex, violence (very minor and not graphic)

“God, I cannot wait to finally go home.” You groaned to Sydney as you cleaned down your station for the night. It had been an especially rough night at the Bear. “Tell me about it,” she responded, laughing to herself.

Carmy walked by the two of you, catching your attention. “I mean, nevermind, I love it here so much. Please, don’t fire me.” You teased sarcastically, glancing over at Carmy.

His lips curved upwards. He tried to hide the way that your sense of humor always brought a smile to his face. But he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

“Don’t worry. This place couldn’t run without you.” Carmy joked. Sydney glanced between the both of you, noticing the pink tint on Carmy’s cheeks. She had to fight the urge to tell you both to get a room.

“Hey guys, Fak left early. Can one of you guys run this check out to table 13?” Richie called out. You quickly nodded and set down your towel. “Sure, Richie. I can do it.” You volunteered, taking it out of Richie’s hand.

You walked out to the one table with guests left: three men sitting in a corner booth. You heard them all deeply chuckling, fully focused on their conversation.

“Thank you for dining with us tonight. I just wanted to drop this off—” you started to say but froze when your eyes landed on one of the men.

It was your ex-boyfriend Anthony, well not just your ex-boyfriend, your abusive ex-boyfriend.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. His cold dark eyes stared back at you, leaving you with a sense of powerlessness.

The check fell out of your hands and clattered onto the table, hitting the silverware. Your only instinct was to run to safety.

Carmy was your safety. He was the only one you’d ever told about Anthony. He was the only thought in your head. You spun on your heel and headed back towards the kitchen.

You felt like the room was spinning around you. Your hands started shaking. You felt unsteady on your feet, like the ground could be ripped out from under you at any moment.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your anxiety clouding the noise in the room. You saw Carmy and Sydney having a conversation and laughing, but you couldn’t hear any of the words, only mumbles.

You ran to Carmy’s side. He turned to face you with a smile, about to explain whatever he and Sydney were talking about, but he noticed the panic in your eyes.

You breathlessly mumbled the word “Anthony,” hoping it was enough to jog his memory. Carmy furrowed his eyebrows at you, wondering if he’d misheard you.

It’d been years since you told Carmy about Anthony, so the name was far back in his memory.

The kitchen doors slammed open, smacking against the walls. Pots clattered onto the floor, falling off a shelf near the door. You jumped backwards, your heart starting to race.

Anthony stomped into the kitchen, and you could see the recognition in Carmy’s eyes.

Carmy grabbed your wrist and tugged you behind him. You cowered behind Carmy, not able to look at Anthony.

“Get the fuck out of here. I want you out of my fucking restaurant, you piece of shit.” Carmy yelled, snapping his fingers and pointing towards the door.

Sydney walked up next to Carmy, confused by all the chaos. “Yo, what the fuck is going on?” Sydney asked, looking at Carmy for an answer. Sydney’s gaze bounced between the rugged man standing in the doorway and Carmy’s death grip on your hand.

The pit in your stomach felt like it was going to swallow you whole. You kept your eyes focused on the floor, trying to convince yourself it was just a nightmare.

“Get this fuckhead out of here. Nobody lets him in ever again, you hear me? Where the fuck is Richie? Richie?!?” Carmy yelled, as the majority of the staff came walking into the kitchen from the locker room.

The silence of the room rang in your ears. Marcus jogged up next to you and Carmy. He’d immediately recognized the panic in your face and rushed to help.

Anthony lurched forward, attempting to grab your hand away from Carmy.

Carmy used his free hand to slap him away. “You don’t get to fucking touch her. You will leave her the fuck alone.” Carmy screamed. His face was bright red, his jaw clenched. Carmy was a fiercely loyal guy, but it was to an even higher degree when it was you.

It was only then that Anthony spoke. His words ran through your chest, making all your muscles feel tight. “You really have this little fucker whipped for you. Little manipulative bitch at it again.” Anthony yelled. His words seemed to hang in the air.

You got up the courage to look over Carmy’s shoulder, and you saw Anthony staring back at you.

Then, he turned his attention to Carmy. “Hey, short stuff, unless you’re her little boyfriend, I suggest you stay out of this conversation. It’s frankly none of your business.” He spoke, and Carmy’s grip on your wrist tightened.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go talk.” Anthony said, holding his hand out to you.

Carmy moved his hand to the small of your back and nudged you to stand behind Sydney. She wrapped her arm around your back, holding you close to her as Carmy stepped towards Anthony.

“Listen up, you bastard. She’s not going anywhere with you, and if I ever see you within a block of my restaurant again, I’ll kick your ass.” Carmy threatened.

You realized what he was doing. He was doing everything in his power to keep Anthony’s attention off of you.

It didn’t work. Anthony ignored Carmy and continued staring at you. “You got yourself a little boy toy here? He acts like your fucking protector and savior, and in return, what? You let him fuck you every now and then? Trust me, dickhead, the sex isn’t that good. You can find better. Nobody needs a little slut like her.” Anthony scoffed down at Carmy.

Anthony smirked, when he saw Carmy clench his jaw.

Before you could even process what Anthony said, Carmy punched him in the face, and Anthony fell back against the wall.

Richie finally emerged from the back door after Tina had gone to get him. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” Richie said, pulling the gun out of his waistband before Anthony could jump towards Carmy.

Richie wouldn’t use it, but Anthony didn’t know that.

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” Carmy snapped as Anthony ran towards the front door and his friends ran after him.

Carmy spun on his heel and pulled you into his arms. He cradled your body, comfortingly running his hands up and down your back. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s gone.” He whispered in your ear.

The room was silent as everyone processed what’d just happened.

“Richie, can you give us a ride back to my place? She can stay on my couch tonight.” Carmy asked softly.

Richie quickly nodded and grabbed his car keys as you both followed him to the car.

Carmy sat in the backseat with you, keeping your hand tightly in his. He was the best friend you’d ever had. He cared about you more than he could explain, which was partially due to his unconfessed feelings.

You didn’t utter a single word on the drive to Carmy’s apartment. Carmy quickly thanked Richie for the ride as he brought you upstairs. He was very aware of the glossy look in your eyes. He recognized and understood the trauma response better than anyone.

He held the front door open for you, keeping his hand protectively on the small of your back. “You want me to start the shower for you?” He asked you softly. You gave him a weak nod and followed him through his bedroom.

You waited silently as he set out a towel and everything you needed. “I’ll order some dinner while you take a shower, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” He said, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You stayed in the shower extra long, letting the hot water run over you. You’d felt grimy since Anthony looked at you, so you hoped you could wash off the feeling.

You finally got out of the shower and dried yourself. You slipped your bra and underwear back on and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You don’t know what about it set you off. Maybe it was the defeated look in your eyes staring back at you. You felt like you were in the past again. You’d spent so many hours staring in the mirror at bruises Anthony had left on you. All the memories you’d forced into a box were spilling out.

You sunk down to the floor, cradling your legs in your chest. The tears poured out of you, and your whole body shook.

Carmy glanced down at his phone, realizing it’d been a while since he heard the water turn off. He cautiously walked over to the bathroom and softly hit his knuckles against the wooden door. “You doing okay?” He mumbled through the door.

You tried to respond but no words would come out. Your muscles stayed rigid, no matter how much you wanted to stand and open the door.

Carmy opened the door a crack, making sure you were okay.

He saw you curled up on the floor with splotchy cheeks and watery eyes. He felt his heart break. He quickly rushed towards you and picked you up bridal style off the ground.

You normally would have been self-conscious of Carmy seeing you in your underwear, but you were so detached that you almost didn’t notice.

Carmy’s eyes didn’t linger anywhere that wasn’t your eyes. He set you down on the side of his bed, and then quickly grabbed some clothes out of his dresser.

He lifted your hands up in the air and slipped one of his sweatshirts over your head. He grabbed the matching pair of sweatpants and slid your feet through the leg holes.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he helped you stand, so he could pull the sweatpants up to your waist and tie the strings.

You stayed completely still, still clinging to him. He wrapped his arms protectively around your waist. “You hungry?” He whispered. You simply shook your head.

“C’mere,” he said, guiding to his bed where he pulled back the covers for you to climb in. He crawled in to sit next to you. He turned on the tv and put on one of your comfort shows.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. He smiled down at you, running his fingers through your hair.

He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say to fix this.

“Carmy?” You said, your voice coming out weak and fragile.

“Yeah, honey? What’s wrong?” He asked. He’d never called you a pet name before, but it just slipped out. “What if he comes back?” You croaked, your voice cracking.

He pressed a kiss against your temple. “He won’t come back, but if he did, I would keep you safe again. I promise, okay?” He assured you. He waited for you to respond and saw you fighting back tears.

“You risked your life for me. I don’t know how to thank you.” You mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

He quickly shook his head, dismissing it. “You don’t need to thank me. I'd do anything for you.” He said.

Carmy was in disbelief that he’d actually been able to admit that after all these years. You paused and looked up at him, picking your head up off his shoulder.

You softly placed your hand on his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes glanced down at your lips.

You were worried he’d hear how fast your heart was beating as you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. He kissed you back gently, with a delicateness you’d never seen from him.

He rested his hand on your hip. You felt weightless when his lips were on yours.

You both pulled away slowly. You searched his eyes for any sign of regret. All you saw was the giant smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

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hiiikiko · 4 months ago

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𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕝𝕦𝕔𝕜 [2] : casual

“well, back at my house.. i got a california king.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

ellie williams x femme!reader | friends with benefits

tlou masterlist | casual masterlist

tw: smut, swearing, alcohol, smoking, and maybe a few more things idk i’m tired leave me alone

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It had been two weeks, TWO whole weeks since that night with Ellie. The lack of communication after didn’t bother you all that much, I mean, she was in a band after all so you didn’t have much hope to begin with anyway but still, she could at lest acknowledge you at her gigs, not because she slept with you but because you were her drummer’s little sister. Whatever, it totally didn’t bother you. You weren’t going to let yourself get hung up on some girl with an ego too big for her own good, besides, you had a new band to focus on, some small band had reached out to you weeks ago, it was actually one of the reasons you decided to go to Seattle.

After your band broke up all because of some petty drama, you felt lost and then your relationship went to shit. You had no band, no friends, and no real family, you were feeling lost and down on your luck when ding!

thwlves: Hey, we’re a small band from Seattle. We saw your videos and heard your band broke up, wanna join ours? We’d pay for your ticket.

Fuck it, a free ride? That’s all you needed to hear, you packed your bags and left the next day. The day after meeting Ellie, you went to the address they had sent you. You’d seen their videos, they were a pretty small garage band, nowhere near the popularity The Infected had accumulated, they were still in their garage band phase but they did buy you your ticket and you owed them for that. Arriving to the house they sent you, it was nice, in the suburbs, you liked it. There was Abby, the drummer, god, she was built, owen the bassist, and Manny, the lead guitarist. They were all pretty nice people but you soon learned that a Abby and Ellie had unspoken beef, nobody cared to fill you in. Whatever, it didn’t bother you that much.

You and the band had great chemistry, your vocals paired perfectly with what they were going for, a grunge kind of feel, typical for the Seattle Scene. You were finally able to organize a gig at a small hole in the wall bar, the band was all very excited for it, including you. Jesse said he would come, despite his extreme dislike for your newfound friends.

…

The day of the gig, you woke up with a headache from not getting much sleep from the previous night. You had performed in bigger bars so why are you so damn nervous? Maybe it was the fact that Jesse had mentioned that Ellie wanted to come so that she could ‘scout the competition.’

She’s just trying to get a better idea of how battle of the bands will turn out, you reassured yourself.

Getting ready for the gig was actually pretty fun, Jesse’s ‘girlfriend,’ Dina, helped you do your hair and even loaned you a cute little black skirt. You decided to dress up a little but not too much. You wore a flannel, a nod at the gloomy Seattle weather, a black denim mini skirt, and some graphic tee you fished out of Jesse’s closet, paired with fishnets and your docs. You felt good as you made your way downstairs, waiting for Abby to pick you up and take you to get something to eat before y’all headed out.

“Hey,” you looked up from your phone to see Ellie, she was looking you up and down.

“Oh, hey,” you give her a soft smile, hoping things wouldn’t be awkward between the two of you.

“Good luck on your, uh, gig,” Ellie said, you could’ve sworn you detected a hint of sarcasm but before you could confront her, Abby drove up and called out your name. Sneaking one more glance at Ellie, you saw a scowl plastered on her face as she looked in Abby’s direction.

“Bye,” you gave a little wave before jumping into Abby’s van.

“Y/n, what the hell were you doing with her?” Abby looked you up and down, with a hint of disgust.

“Oh, calm down, Abs. She’s just there to see my cousin,” you watched Ellie walk into the apartment building through the rear view mirror, “Nothin’s goin on between us. I promise.”

“Good,” and with that, the rest of the drive was filled with friendly conversation and gossip about Manny’s latest venture.

After dinner, you and the rest of the band headed to the venue, butterflies creeping into your stomach as you thought about all the emerald eyes that would be focused on you but as soon as you made your way onto that stage, all the butterflies fluttered out and fueled your energy. The unfamiliar crowd actually gave you some applause, not as much as they would have given the Infected, but enough to bring a smile onto your face. Everything had been going so good that you almost didn’t notice Ellie, leaning against the bar, whiskey in hand, eyeing your figure with a dark look in her eyes.

When you finished the set list, you made your way through the crowd full of girls telling you how pretty you looked and how good you sounded, guys trying to get with you, and old people telling you how you reminded them from some singer of their childhood, then you finally made your way to the bar. Jesse had his armed draped around Dina and Ellie had hers wrapped around some girl’s waist, pulling her in, a smirk on her lips as she whispered something in her ears. You tried not to stare but it was hard not to when Ellie was eyeing you, almost like she was imagining that you were the one she was holding. God, she really was good, wasn’t she? She knew exactly how to get to you, you don’t know why she was doing it but damn, it was effective.

“Thanks,” you smiled at Dina who was totally fingerling over you, “Anyway, I better head out, I have a job interview tomorrow at Valiant Music Shop.” Jesse had been nagging you about bills and rent so you finally caved in and started your job search, so far the Pinnacle theatre and Barko’s Pet Shop had turned you down.

“‘Bout damn time, you got your lazy ass out,” Jesse said, his accent pulling in strong when he said ‘damn.’

You scoff, “Okay, dad,” Jesse playfully shoves you before wishing you good night and turning around to order another whiskey.

It’s another cold and damn night, you pull the thin flannel tighter around you.

“Cold?” A voice rasps out from behind you.

“What gave you that idea? Was it the way i’m shaking like a newborn deer or the way my nose looks like it belongs to Rudol-,” your breath hitches in your throat when you see it’s Ellie, her hair wet and a red hand print across her cheek as she fishes out a cigarette from her back pocket, “What happened to you?”

Ellie looks almost confused by your question until you point to her cheek, “Oh, little miss ‘I’m your biggest fan’ didn’t like the fact that I was staring’ at you the whole night,’ you can’t tell if she’s being serious or if she’s teasing so you decide to tease her back, “I mean, I did look pretty good up there.”

“Damn right you did,” Ellie puts the cigarette up to her lips, rolling it between her teeth before lighting it.

You thank god that it’s dark right now because if it weren’t, Ellie would’ve gotten a good view of how red your cheeks were. Actually, you couldn’t tell if they were red from how fuckin’ cold it was or from the way Ellie wrapped her jean jacket around you, “Thanks,” you mutter. She smells so good, like American Spirit cigarettes and a woodsy cologne. Ellie edged closer to you and whispered against your neck, “You really did look hot up there.”

She laid a few kisses on your neck, making her way down to the edge of your shirt, she let out a dismayed sigh and pulled up your shirt so that she could continue peppering you with kisses. Your whimpers echoing throughout the alley as her hands found their way under your bra and played with your hardened nipples.

“E-Ellie,” you tug at her belt loop, silently hoping she gets the hint.

“Hm?” she mumbles around your neck.

“Can we go back to your place,” you bashfully whisper.

“You sure about that, doll? Wouldn’t your band mates be mad that their precious singer is gettin’ her pretty cunt toyed with by a member of their rival band, hm?”

Your mind races, she’s right, Abby would be pretty fuckin’ mad but on the flip side, this would just be one off night, right?

“It’s fine, they dont havta know,” you kiss Ellies jawline, feeling her muscles curl into a smile.

“‘Kay, wait here, lemme grab my car.’

The rain pattered on the top of Ellie’s truck, creating a serene atmosphere.

“Fuck, sorry, my roommate just texted, said she has some ‘company’ over, if you get my meanin’.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to hide how disappointed tou really were, “Well, back at my house.. I got a California king..”

“Yea?” Ellie says, even though you can’t see her, you can practically hear the smirk on her lips.

Making your way up the apartment, Ellie ha her hands on your waist and is kissing you against any surface she can, when you reach the apartment, you struggle to fish the key out from your bag and Ellie’s not making it easier. She has her chest pressed against your back, her hand trailing down your skirt and her other hand on your stomach as she kisses your neck, “hurry the fuck up,” she mumbles against your skin, barely audible. Did she mean for you to hear that? You don’t know and nor do you care, you just need to get laid.

When you finally get the door open, Ellie, obviously familiar with Jesse’s apartment from when she used to live there, pulls you into your room and pushes you onto the bed, not breaking the kiss the entire time. She trails her denim clad knee up your leg, nudging them open so she can rub her calloused fingers against your soaking wet underwear.

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby,” she says as your hands trail up her chest, signalling her to take off her shirt. She pulls it off swiftly, her wet hair dripping on your exposed chest, your shirt long forgotten in the hallway.

Your hands go back to her chest, making your way under her bra, pinching her nipples as your knee makes it’s way up so it can nudge against her aching clit.

“Mm, fuck, you’re so good at this,” Ellie whimpers out, her hands guiding yours down to her unbuttoned jeans and into her boxers, where you rub her pretty wet cunt.

“Can’t talk this anymore,” Ellie says through gritted teeth, getting up and pulling off your skirt and underwear along with her jeans and boxers. You sat up as Ellie positions herself so that she’s in between your legs, then she slowly starts to grind herself against you, pretty little moans and ‘fuck’s leave her lips, the sensation of your needy clit rubbing against her filled her with need and a thirst for more of you, especially when you would moan out her name. Ellie opened her eyes and sneaked a glance of you, you looked so fuckin’ lewd, your head thrown back, mouth in a perfect ‘O’ shape, your pretty tits bouncing, beggin for her to use them. She needs more of you, she pulls your leg up over her shoulder so she can get as close to you as possible, your whimpers bouncing off the walls, you were getting so close already and Ellie could tell, her teeth gently digging into your shoulder, sending waves of pleasure to your brain as your pussy clenches around nothing, “Close,” you pathetically whimper out.

“Me, too,” Ellie whimpers, god, she sounds pretty. Her voice a little raspy from the cold but still dripping with need, “Cum f’me, baby, I’ll come with you.”

That was all you needed, your hips bucking up against Ellie’s, your body filling with warmth, your back arching, and your hands roaming over Ellie as you rode out your high. You looked at Ellie, who had her head hanging, hiding her pretty eyes, her pretty tits looked so pretty in the moonlight, and her hands placed firmly on your chest. After she came, she collapsed onto you, letting herself linger for a few minutes, savouring the warmth of your chest pressed against hers, before getting up an putting her clothes back on and saying, “Good luck on your job interview tomorrow, doll,” before winking and heading out into the damp night.

Your mind stil fuzzy, you wrap yourself in your blankets and close your eyes, mind racing about what tomorrow would bring.

…

The next morning, you get dressed and make your way downtown, you had ten minutes to the interview. Wearing the same clothes from last night, you were in a rush and didn’t care to put together a new outfit, and only had enough time to throw your hair into a pony tail and do your makeup so you didn’t look like a background character in Night of the Living Dead.

The chime of a bell welcomes you through the door of Valiant Music Shop, you see a young boy working at the counter, “Morning, I’m here for my interview? My names Y/n.”

His face shows that he knows what you’re going on about, “Alrighty, just hold on a sec and I’ll grab out manger, she’ll be out shortly.”

You nod and turn around to inspect some records behind you, thats when you hear an all too familiar voice, “Morning, doll.”

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[a/n:] hope y’all liked this :) sorry for getting it out kinda late, i think the next release will be tmrw :)

tag list: @elliessweetheart

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lady-phasma · 4 months ago

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Fangtober Day 3 - Ejactulation

Rockstar!Lestat x fem!reader

Summary: Rockstar!Lestat picks you out of the crowd at his concert and smut ensues, plot if you squint. It isn’t exactly perfect for the Day 3 prompt, but it still works. 3.7k words.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, graphic sex, unprotected sex/creampie,

a/n: reader is afab but not described, I wrote this to fulfill this request and the amazing and wonderful @aemondsbabe collaborated with me and provided the scenario, ty ilysm! I may pick this up for a future prompt this month, we’ll see.

Lestat couldn’t stop looking at you. There, near the front row, not screaming and crying, but singing along and smiling. That smile… so utterly unselfconscious. He couldn’t resist. His glance returned to you time and time again until he finished the set and strutted off stage.

As you exited the venue, a young woman with a lanyard and shirt bearing STAFF across the back approached you.

“Miss?” She spoke softly, but loud enough for you to hear over the crowd. “Would you follow me?”

“Me?” Like a cliche, you pointed at yourself and looked around you.

“Yes miss, right this way.” She turned and started to walk toward the backstage area. Your heart thundered in your ears and sweat threatened your palms.

What the fuck have I done? you thought, assuming you were in trouble, but you couldn’t think of a thing. As she led you through a door and down a hallway, your mouth went dry. The rooms you passed looked suspiciously like dressing rooms.

The woman stopped at a door near the end of the hall and tapped her knuckles lightly against it.

“Monsieur de Lioncourt?” she paused, waiting for a reply.

“Entré.” How one word could sound so melodious, you weren’t sure, but that thought was fleeting as the door opened and the woman waved you inside.

Lestat sat on a sofa against the wall. The only light in the room was a floor lamp in the corner. A dim respite from the lights of the stage. But his eyes caught all of the low light in the room and shimmered a nearly translucent blue.

“Ah, I see they found you. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. His movements were fluid and graceful, slower than his frenetic on-stage energy.

“Thank you,” you managed as you sat. You tried to get ahold of yourself when he asked your name and you replied with only a slight quaver in your voice.

“I would very much like for you to accompany me to my hôtel this evening. Would you be amenable to that, mademoiselle?” His accent was delightful and didn’t appear to be an affectation. Perhaps that part of his persona was genuine.

“I would be honored,” you never spoke so formally, but something about him brought it out in you. You smoothed your hands over your pants nervously, but you held his gaze.

“Bien.” The word was short and clipped and he stood up more abruptly than you had expected. You tried to do the same but your head swam, not just from the quick rise from your seat. Is this happening? I could pinch myself. Another cliche flew through your mind.

He flashed you a smile and beckoned you to follow him out of the room. You were hardly aware you were doing it at all and then you were outside the backstage exit amidst a crowd of fans. Lestat slid so effortlessly into the limo, one moment he was on the pavement with you, the next only an outstretched hand appeared from the open door. You took a deep breath and slipped your hand into his. Before you could exhale the din of the fans was gone and the door shut behind you. He sat opposite you, his back to the driver and absently gazed around him, seeming to be disinterested in this arrangement.

“So…” his voice was thick, oily, his tone slightly aloof. “You enjoyed the show.”

You swallowed and managed a nod. His eyes flicked up to yours, his dark, smudged makeup making the blue, which was somehow bright in the dim backseat. He leaned forward resting his forearms on his crossed legs.

“You know every word,” he whispered, causing you to lean forward slightly. “Do you sing along as you drive to work, go to the gym, or… in the shower?” Lestat’s smile was unsettling and you felt your entire body go hot. You instinctively crossed your legs. “Humans do so enjoy singing in the shower.”

“I… I, um,” you had never stuttered in your life. Get a grip! you thought. Lestat chuckled softly and you looked at him quickly then away.

“I listen to your music while I do a lot of things. The words just stick. I guess I sing along sometimes too.” You looked back up at him as he reclined back against the seat.

As if the universe saw fit to release you from your embarrassment, the limo slowed and stopped. When the door opened Lestat gestured for you to exit first. The hotel was sleek and modern at first glance. The building had a facelift at some point in the recent past, but the lobby was sumptuous and elegant.

You felt out of place and then froze mid-step when you remembered why you were here and who you were with. Lestat strode past you without stopping and you sped up to catch back up with him at the elevators. The doors slid open and you stepped in after him. A meticulously manicured finger pressed the penthouse button and he then did the most mundane thing possible: he tapped his room key against the panel. It seemed like a lot of work for him to keep up this vampire persona, especially when he was doing everyday things for himself.

You took a moment to look him up and down for the first time since the concert. He was lithe but not slim, his hips jutted seductively just at the waistband of his pants, which you could see because of the slightly too-short-to-be-practical shirt he was wearing. He was disheveled from the concert, possibly even sexier like this and this close. He glanced at you as the elevator neared his floor. He pushed off the wall of the elevator where he had been leaning and took a step toward you. You thought he might speak, but he didn’t. He turned and faced the elevator doors when they opened.

“Siri, play Alexis Ffrench,” Lestat commanded as you entered the penthouse suite. Delicate and entrancing piano music flowed from the speakers. He walked into the living room and sat on the couch. You followed, tentatively beginning to sit in an arm chair across from him.

“No, chère, here,” he gestured next to him. You accepted his offer and sat down. “Now, where were we?” He mused. He looked at you inscrutably now. You glanced around the room, taking in the opulence. There were bottles of water on the coffee table.

“Um, may I?” you asked as you reached for one.

“Of course,” he replied. “So…” he began as you opened the bottle and took a sip. “Are you suitably impressed?” His smile was sly, underlining his jest. He stretched an arm across the back of the couch and crossed his legs. He was so casual, at ease, the total opposite of your own posture.

“I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been in a hotel room like this before.” You looked around again, then back to him. “Would you like one?” you asked holding up the bottle.

“Moi? Non, merci, I haven’t had a sip of water in a century.”

You furrowed your brow, put the lid back on the water bottle, and sat it on a coaster on the coffee table. You tried to get comfortable on the sofa but it was hard to look directly at him while sitting so close. You turned and sat on one of your legs, your foot behind your knee.

“Is that so?” you raised an eyebrow at him, taking the bait. “So you keep the act up as long as anyone is around?” You waved your hand in his general direction when you said ‘act,’ indicating his entire person.

“The act? Hmmm,” he smiled softly and examined the back of one hand and his nails. “Do you not find it appealing?” He dropped his hand to his lap and leaned slightly closer to you.

“Oh it definitely works for you.” You felt your face go hot and almost reached for the bottle of water, but Lestat moved closer to you on the sofa. It was impossible that he moved that fast, you swore you must just not have been paying attention.

“Ha! Oui, it has ‘worked’ for me for quite some time,” he laughed and his once-blue eyes looked almost pale lavender. You blinked at him. Maybe it’s a contact high from the concert, you told yourself.

“No,” Lestat reached his hand out and touched your jaw, holding your gaze with the lightest pressure of his fingertips. “You are not intoxicated by anything. You just refuse to see. May I show you?”

You nodded and swallowed. You felt entranced. This was more than physical attraction, he was magnetic. Before you had time to truly register what he had said and what he was doing, Lestat leaned toward you and kissed you softly. His fingers slid up your jaw to cradle your face in his hand. He lingered for just a moment before murmuring something that sounded like belle and then sat up straight again. His hand moved to your neck, his thumb stroking just below your ear. You watched with a mix of horror and arousal as fangs, actual fangs, appeared in his mouth.

“How…” you began, but the sound barely came out and you couldn’t have finished anyway before he was kissing you again. His lips were cool and hard against yours. He guided you closer to him, seeming to move you himself. Your knee pressed against his now, the inches that were between you completely gone. You felt yourself lean into his kiss, reaching out to rest your hand on his leg, as if to steady yourself. You felt momentarily dizzy and pulled back to catch your breath. Lestat began to cover your neck in kisses and you gasped.

“I…” you took a deep breath. “I don’t understand.” Your words came out almost as a sigh. You closed your eyes. You instinctively moved your hand to his arm as he pressed against you.

“’S’okay,” Lestat murmured against your neck. “Relax. Enjoy.” You groaned quietly as his lips and fangs grazed the skin just above the collar of your shirt. You arched your back when he moved a hand behind you, supporting you.

You began to give into the sensations, to suspend your disbelief, let him continue to play the vampire. Who cares? He’s hot and talented and crazy usually comes with the territory.

“We shall see about that,” Lestat said. He replied as if he has heard your thoughts. Not possible, but again, who cares?

“Fine, whatever, just don’t stop,” you moaned and ran your hand up his arm, over his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

Suddenly, startlingly, Lestat stood, guided you with him, and scooped you up, one hand behind your knees. Okay, he’s strong, you thought, trying nearly-futilely to make sense of him, but not caring all that much. You were in the bedroom before the thoughts were finished running through your mind.

Lestat sat you on the bed and looked at you for a moment, then he sat facing you. He slid your shirt up, his hands on your sides and you raised your arms to allow him to slip it over your head and off your arms. You were moving fast with him in a way that was exhilarating. You still felt half in a dream, but you wanted this, may have even allowed yourself to daydream about this before, a fantasy for millions of fans.

Immediately his mouth went to your breasts, kissing and nipping on them through the fabric of your bra. His hands moved quickly and effortlessly to your bra closure and unclasped it in one movement. You let him slide it off your shoulders. He exhaled softly before taking one of your nipples in his mouth. He held you still with his hands on your back and licked your nipple before grazing his teeth against it. He moved to the other and sucked it between his lips quickly and you gasped. The sensation made you clutch at him, trying to steady yourself. You ran a hand up the back of his neck into his silky hair. The pressure increased and you dug your fingers into his skin.

“Oh god, yes,” you moaned and let your head fall back as he sucked. Slowly he slid his a hand to your other breast and squeezed, not quite roughly. Every movement he made was elegant and deliberate. Before you realized it was happening, Lestat was laying you back on the bed. He slid one thigh between yours and pressed against you slightly. His strength made the movement effortless, his mouth never leaving your breast. You arched your back against him, feeling the wetness between your legs as you tried to grind against his leg. He pulled his other hand from behind your back and cupped both breasts in his hands. Moving from one to the other, he drug his lips along your chest. You felt the gentle scratch of his fangs on your skin.

“You taste fantastic ma petite,” he whispered against you. He ran his thumb over the nipple that wasn’t in his mouth. You pressed your chest up toward him. You wanted to touch him all over, but settled for reaching down to tug his shirt up, trying to get to bare skin. You grazed your fingertips up his sides and around to his back. He moaned around your nipple and goosebumps spread over your body. You dug your fingers into his back as he reached between you to unfasten your pants. Your heart raced and you squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations. Suddenly Lestat pulled back and sat up to kneeling, both hands in the waistband of your pants. With no effort at all, he peeled them off and tossed them on the floor, taking your panties with them. A small chuckled had escaped your lips as you had lifted your legs to ‘assist.’ You covered your mouth with the back of one hand.

“Non, chère,” he murmured and moved your hand from your face. You opened your eyes at his touch. He kissed your lips gently then slid off the bed and stood next to it. You felt incredibly odd for a split second and then you were absorbed in his movements, nearly forgetting your own nakedness. He pulled his shirt off, shaking his blonde hair lightly as the shirt left his head. Far too slowly, he hooked his thumbs in his pants and began to slide them down. You involuntarily licked your lips as he revealed his hip bones. You shifted your hips on the bed, rubbing your thighs together slightly. His eyes darted from yours to your legs then back to meet your gaze. His pants hit the floor and he stepped out of them as he moved to get back on the bed. He slid a hand between your knees and opened your legs again, moving between them.

Your eyes were transfixed on his perfect cock. You noticed the V-shape of his torso, of course, but it only forced your eyes downward to the tidy curls of dusty-blonde hair and absolutely beautiful cock. You tore your eyes away and looked up at his face. He was smirking, completely vain and self-satisfied. You couldn’t care less. You spread your legs a fraction wider and smiled back at him. He looked down the full length of your body then leaned forward kissing your chest and stomach again.

Lestat’s hands roved everywhere. You lost track as he moved against you. You ran one hand into his hair, let the other touch every available inch of his skin. Gently you tugged him upward, encouraging him. His lips found yours and kissed you deeply, fangs grazing your lips. You moaned as his tongue slid between your lips. You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair. He propped himself up on one hand by your head and reached between you with the other. Still kissing you, he slid his cock between your wet folds. Something like a groan came from his lips, vibrating into your mouth. The head of his cock nudged your clit and you lifted your hips.

“So needy,” he muttered as he broke the kiss. You felt him move further back and press against your entrance. His hand slid up your side and grazed your breast as he slipped his hand under your shoulder. You looked at him, eyes almost glazed over with desire, and bit your bottom lip. His lips parted slightly and he exhaled as he began to slide into you. He took his time, savoring your wet heat.

“Mon dieu,” Lestat moaned softly. You moved the hand not in his hair to his lower back and urged him on. You tilted your head back and sighed as he pressed into you completely. Lestat stayed there, filling you up, for a brief moment, then he began to move in short strokes. He kissed down your jaw and neck as he moved. You gripped his hip and pulled him toward you. He lengthened his strokes and made the most delicious sounds next to your ear. You fingers neared the top of his buttocks as you lifted a leg to his hip.

“Yes, fuck, you feel amazing,” you rambled. Lestat slid his hand down your body and behind your thigh, guiding your leg higher. He tilted his hips to find a new angle and his cock rubbed against that spot deep inside you. The sounds you made were unintelligible. You clenched around him, perhaps trying to keep him in place, but he increased his pace, returning to that spot over and over again. You may have groaned his name, you weren’t sure, you couldn’t control the sounds that tumbled from you.

Still propped on one hand, Lestat slid his hand from behind your thigh, across your hip, and down to your belly. Your hips twitched against his. His fingers traveled lightly between you. He found his goal expertly and slid slowly over your clit. The pressure was too gentle and you whined, in truth, an embarrassing sort of sound, but he seemed to enjoy it. He drew the sound from your lips again with a couple more light strokes before increasing his pressure.

Lestat sped up the movement of his hips and didn’t quite match the rhythm with his fingers. He lifted his head and watched you through the curtain of his hair. Your fingernails grazed his scalp and he groaned. You rocked your hips as he made small circles on your clit, meeting his thrusts, chasing the friction and the overwhelming pleasure.

“Just like that that, chère,” Lestat whispered as he watched your face. You couldn’t continue to look into those blue-lilac eyes and squeezed yours shut as you felt your orgasm begin at his fingers. You wanted it desperately, but you also never wanted this to end. Your hand moved to his ass and on his next stroke pulled him as deep as you could. He moaned and dropped his forehead to yours. He never ceased his movements against your clit and your body shook as your climax started to wash over you. You weren’t sure you had ever felt so good. You would think about it later, but the twitch of your hips and ab muscles every time his fingers passed around your clit was a new experience. You thought you heard him chuckle.

His hips moved quicker now, not slowed by your clenched muscles around his cock. You tightened harder around him. Your body curled as you came and you threw your arm around his neck. Your forehead nearly rested on his shoulder, putting your ear next to his lips. He muttered delicate French words you didn’t understand. He finally moved his hand from you and slid it around your waist, holding you close to him. You cried out softly as he pounded into you and were so spent, so delirious from the intensity of your orgasm that you didn’t hear his question the first time.

“Where do you want it?” he repeated. You groaned. How could you answer that? You already knew what you were doing was risky, but your birth control flashed in your mind and you whispered your answer in his ear.

“Come inside me.” Those three little words were enough. Lestat’s hips never stuttered or faltered. He fucked you smoothly through his orgasm, moaning your name. You thought you might have been able to come again, but then you felt his hips stop and his release spill into you. He cursed and stroked into you a few more times before gently laying you back on the bed. He looked down at you, tilted his head, and tucked one side of his hair behind his ear. Then he stroked your cheek and moved back to kneeling. His movement inside you made you groan with the renewed stimulation, but he only smiled at you as he pulled out. It was a fond smile, not exactly taking pleasure in your soft whine as he left you empty, but not not enjoying it.

Lestat lay down on the bed next to you. He didn’t pull you close to him, but he put his arm out for you to lift your head. You lay back, head resting on his arm, your sides touching down the length of your bodies.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered as you caught your breath. “I mean it. Holy fuck.” Lestat chuckled at your exclamation.

“Perhaps that was not enough proof, but I think you might be more open-minded now, no?” His fingers trailed over your upper arm and shoulders, the fingernails grazing your skin.

“Honestly, does it matter?” You looked at him, but you weren’t sure you still had doubts. Your rational mind told you vampires couldn’t exist and he was insane or, at the very least, eccentric. Probably the only thing that would convince me would be him drinking my blood and I might be up for that. He’s a weirdo but he’s fucking gorgeous.

“That could be arranged.” Lestat’s soft laugh caused goosebumps to race over your skin. Your eyes were wide as he turned to lay on his side, propping himself on his elbow to look at you.

Fangtober 2024 prompt list • Main masterlist

#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #lestat x reader #iwtv fangtober 2024 #fangtober 2024 #sam reid #lestat x fem!reader #lestat #x inclusive!reader #lestat de lioncourt x reader #the vampire lestat #auntiegifs #x reader #x fem!reader

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