#we’ve got candidates now?????

[halfratsalready]

OH????

[spideypawz]

A BOY IS A GOONER*

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Actors on Actors || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: Actress!reader and Drew partaking in Variety's Actors on Actors!!

Warnings: not proofread sozz

Word count: 3,057 loooong one

A/n: damn I felt like I was in the interview room for this one

MASTERLIST

Drew couldn’t keep his eyes off you as the crew flitted around, prepping for the Actors on Actors interview with Variety. You were standing just a few feet away, laughing lightly at something one of the staff members had said, your head tilted back, eyes sparkling. To him, you looked utterly breathtaking—ethereal, even. Everyone knew Drew Starkey had the biggest crush on you.

He was never subtle about it, often caught in candid interviews or behind-the-scenes clips praising you, his admiration so obvious it became a running joke among his friends and colleagues. But right now, as he adjusted his mic and watched you from the corner of his eye, he wished he hadn’t been so vocal about it. His nerves were getting the best of him.

What if he said something dumb? What if you already thought he was just some lovesick fool? He swallowed hard, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest as you walked toward the set, your heels clicking softly against the floor. “Drew Starkey,” you greeted warmly, a radiant smile lighting up your features as you settled into the armchair opposite him.

You sat first, crossing your legs effortlessly, the picture of poise. “Y/n,” Drew smiled back, leaning forward slightly to kiss both of your cheeks. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent his pulse racing, but he played it cool as you let out a soft laugh, your perfume lingering faintly in the air.

“How’s it going?” he asked, his tone steady, though there was a barely perceptible edge to it—a nervous undertone that betrayed just how much this moment meant to him. His gaze lingered on yours, longer than what might be considered polite, but you didn’t seem to mind. “I’m good, and—” You paused mid-sentence as Drew suddenly leaned forward, his brows knitting together.

“Sorry—hold on,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, softer, as his fingers reached toward the hem of your dress. “You’ve got a little something.” Before you could respond, he gently plucked a stray piece of lint from the fabric, his fingertips brushing ever so lightly against the material.

The touch was fleeting, almost inconsequential, but it sent a quiet thrill up your spine, one you quickly masked with a polite chuckle. “Oh—thanks,” you said, your voice airy as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re welcome,” Drew replied, his lips curving into a shy grin, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by something more boyish and endearing.

For a moment, you could swear his ears turned a little pink. You leaned back, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you studied him. Of course you knew Drew Starkey had a crush on you. It wasn’t exactly a secret.

But there was something undeniably flattering about it—something that made you feel just a bit lighter, a bit more self-assured. However, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. It was Drew Starkey after all.

Your eyes met again, and the silence between you stretched into something that felt almost electric. Both of you wore soft, bashful smiles, the moment teetering between unspoken words and playful tension. Finally, you broke into a small laugh, breaking the spell, and Drew looked away, scratching the back of his neck, his own smile lingering despite himself.

“You know,” you began, shifting slightly in your seat, “it’s kind of funny. We’ve both been at so many of the same events, but we’ve never actually talked until now.” Drew chuckled, his posture relaxing just a little. “I know, right? It’s crazy. First time was… the Glass Onion premiere, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, humming in agreement. “Yeah, I was there supporting Madelyn," Drew spoke. "Ugh, I miss Maddie," You give a small pout as Drew chuckles. “And then Immaculate, I remember standing right behind you in the photo line.” You laughed, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“Oh my god, yes! And somehow, we still didn’t even say hi.” “And then the Queer premiere a couple weeks ago,” Drew said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Right,” you said, leaning forward slightly as your laughter softened into a chuckle. “It’s wild how we’ve been orbiting around each other this whole time.”

“Crazy, huh?” Drew murmured, his voice lower now, his eyes soft as they lingered on you. The way he looked at you was different—not just admiration, but genuine warmth, curiosity, and something else you couldn’t quite place. “How’s everything been?” Drew asks, leaning back in his chair, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity, as if he genuinely wants to know every detail.

“It’s good,” you reply with a soft smile, shifting slightly in your seat. “I’m here in LA, which is nice—” Before you can finish, he interjects, his brow arching in curiosity. “You’re from New England, right?” You click your tongue playfully, tilting your head at him. “I see someone’s done their research, Mr. Starkey,” you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

Drew’s grin widens, and he throws his head back in laughter, the sound rich and easy, like he’s completely at ease for the first time since the cameras started rolling. “I had to, didn’t I? You’re not exactly an open book. I had to dig deep.” “Oh, is that so?” you challenge, your voice lilting with mock skepticism.

“Well, since you’re so curious, tell me—what do you know about New England?” you challenge, leaning forward slightly. He grins, but it’s a little sheepish. “Not much, if I’m honest. You’ll have to fill in the blanks for me. What’s it like there?” Your eyes widen in exaggerated disbelief, your hand fluttering to your chest like you’ve been insulted.

“Wait—you’ve never been? My goodness, Drew! Come with me, and I’ll show you around properly,” you say, your tone teasing but full of warmth. His smile softens, and he leans in just a little. “I’d like that very much,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that makes your breath hitch for a fraction of a second. “Well then,” you reply with a chuckle, regaining your composure.

“I think we can organise something. You’re from North Carolina, yeah?” Drew hums in confirmation, his grin widening. “Born and raised. But I gotta admit, New England sounds pretty tempting now.” “It should,” you quip, pointing at him playfully. Then, after a beat, you lean in slightly, an amused gleam in your eye.

“Can I just say—and I’m sure you get this a lot—I’m a huge fan of Outer Banks.” Drew raises an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly bashful as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re team Pogue,” he jokes, but his eyes are fixed on you with a playful sparkle.

You snort softly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “Not quite. But I’ve gotta say, you play Rafe so convincingly. How do you approach a character like Rafe? I mean, you’re, you know… the complete opposite of him.” You chuckle, your words carrying a mix of admiration and disbelief.

Drew leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before clearing his throat. “Well, Rafe is a challenge, to say the least. He’s not your typical villain. It’s easy to hate him on the surface, but if you dig deeper, he’s this broken guy with so many vulnerabilities. That’s where I try to focus—on making him human. I want people to see why he makes those awful decisions, even if they don’t agree with them. It’s all about balance.”

You nod, your expression softening as you listen. “That’s fascinating,” you say earnestly. “It’s definitely what makes him such a compelling character.” Drew smiles, but you notice something different about his gaze. He isn’t just answering your question—he’s watching you, his eyes holding a softness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Before the moment can linger too long, Drew shifts the focus back to you. “And your character in Ghosted,” he says, his voice warm and curious. “It’s so different from anything you’ve done before. How did you prepare for that role?” You smile at the question, grateful for his genuine interest.

“It was a lot of emotional work,” you admit, leaning back slightly. “She’s so different from me in so many ways. I spent a lot of time understanding her motivations, her fears, and what drives her. It’s a very internal role, so the process was… draining, to say the least. But also rewarding.” Drew’s lips curve into a soft smile as he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Sounds intense,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always wondered in the film how you guys manage to keep it together when the emotions run that deep.” You shrug lightly, a thoughtful smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not easy, but that’s the beauty of the craft, isn’t it? Tapping into those emotions and channelling them into something real.”

Drew nods, his expression softening even further. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something that lingers longer than words can express. “Yeah,” he says finally, his voice dropping just a fraction. “I get that. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible. I’ve seen your work—it’s inspiring.” His words hang in the air, heavy with sincerity, and you can’t help the rush of warmth that floods your chest.

A small, genuine smile spreads across your face. “I could say the same for you,” you reply softly, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, it’s like the rest of the room fades away, leaving just the two of you, sharing something unspoken yet deeply understood. Drew shifts in his seat, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity evident. “So, let’s talk about Saltburn. You played Venetia Catton. How did you even begin to prepare for a role like that?"

You smile, the mention of Saltburn immediately bringing back memories. “Honestly, Venetia was one of the most challenging but rewarding roles I’ve ever taken on. Emerald Fennell has such a sharp, specific vision as a director, and she brought so much depth to every single character. Venetia wasn’t just the surface-level socialite that she might appear to be at first glance. She’s deeply entrenched in this world of privilege, but there’s a kind of desperation underneath it all—this need to hold it all together, to maintain this facade of control.”

Drew nods, his expression thoughtful. “I feel like Emerald has this incredible knack for creating characters who feel both larger than life and painfully real. What was it like working with her?” “Incredible,” you answer without hesitation. “Emerald is so collaborative and detail-oriented, but she also gives you the freedom to bring your own interpretation to the role. She’s this powerhouse of creativity, and you always feel like you’re in safe hands with her. She’s also hilarious—like, incredibly funny—so even on the more intense days, there was always this underlying sense of ease on set.”

Drew smiles at that, clearly invested. “And then there’s the cast. I mean, Rosamund Pike, Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi—they’re all such giving actors. What was it like working alongside them?” You exhale softly, recalling the dynamic energy of the cast. “It was surreal, honestly. Rosamund Pike is… well, she’s Rosamund Pike. She’s this commanding presence on set, but she’s also so warm and generous as a scene partner. Barry, on the other hand, is just a chameleon. He’s fearless in the way he approaches his craft, and watching him work was like taking a masterclass every day.”

“And Jacob?” Drew asks, his tone light but curious. “He’s been everywhere lately.” “Jacob’s amazing,” you reply with a smile. “He’s so grounded, which is kind of funny considering the larger-than-life characters he’s been playing lately. But on set, he’s just this really laid-back, thoughtful guy. We had a lot of fun with our scenes together—he brings this kind of effortless charisma that makes everything feel natural.”

Drew leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a stacked team. No pressure at all, right?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, no pressure whatsoever. Just casually working with some of the most talented people in the industry.” “Well, you pulled it off,” Drew says sincerely. “Venetia felt so fully realised—like, even in her silences, there was so much going on beneath the surface. It was fascinating to watch.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, his compliment catching you off guard. There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat. “So,” you say, shifting into the next topic, “you’ve played a lot of interesting characters—Rafe Cameron, of course, but also roles like Zach in The Other Zoey and the projects you’ve got coming up. Do you feel like people expect you to stick to certain kinds of roles because of how iconic Rafe has become?”

Drew’s smile fades just a little, his expression turning thoughtful. He seems to appreciate the question, his blue eyes searching yours for a moment before he answers. “Yeah, there’s definitely that expectation sometimes,” he admits. “Rafe is such a big character, and I think when people see you in one role, they assume that’s all you can do. But as actors, we want to stretch ourselves, you know? Surprise people.”

He pauses, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s kind of like you, actually,” he adds softly. “You’ve done dramas, you’ve done comedies… you’ve proven that you’re not just one thing. I think that’s what makes people really root for you—you're versatile. You don’t let them put you in a box.” The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and you can feel heat rise to your cheeks again. You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to let his words completely throw you off balance.

“That’s… really nice of you to say,” you murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s the beauty of what we do, right? Showing people different sides of ourselves, through the characters we play.” Drew nods, his eyes softening. “Exactly. You just said it better than I could.” You smile, letting the moment hang between you for just a beat longer than it probably should.

You adjust in your seat, leaning forward slightly as you shift the focus of the interview. “Alright, let’s talk about Queer. You play Eugene, and from everything I’ve heard, it’s such an emotionally rich and complex role. What drew you to it, Drew?" You smile as he laughs. “Honestly, it was the script. You know with it being based on William S. Burroughs’ novel, and the way it explored themes of longing, identity, and self-destruction… it was just so raw. Eugene is such a fascinating character because he’s flawed, but you can’t help but empathise with him. It felt like a challenge I couldn’t pass up.”

You nod, smiling softly. “It sounds like it required you to really dig deep emotionally. Was it intimidating stepping into a story like that?” “Completely,” Drew admits with a laugh. “But it was also the kind of role that forces you to grow as an actor. I had to be vulnerable in a way I hadn’t been before, which was scary but also freeing. And having someone like Luca Guadagnino directing—it felt like a safety net, you know? He creates such a safe, collaborative environment.”

“Luca’s brilliant,” you agree, your voice filled with admiration. “And then there’s Daniel Craig. What was your experience working with him? I mean- I remember working with him on Glass Onion and being blow away by how meticulous he is." Drew grins, a flicker of boyish excitement crossing his face. “Oh, he’s incredible. Daniel is one of those actors who’s just so present in every scene. He has this intensity, but he’s also really generous as a scene partner. He listens, reacts—he makes you feel like what you’re doing really matters.”

You smile, nodding your head, "He's also got such a great sense of humour!" Drew laughs, nodding. “Exactly! Like, he can go from delivering this super heavy, emotional scene to cracking a joke that has the entire crew in stitches. It’s such a unique balance, and it keeps the energy on set really light, even during the intense moments.”

“Do you have a favourite memory with him from filming?” you ask, genuinely curious. “There’s this one scene we did that was really emotionally charged—like, full-on tears and everything,” Drew begins, his smile softening. “After we wrapped the take, I was still kind of in that headspace, and Daniel just clapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, that was bloody exhausting, wasn’t it?’ It snapped me out of it, and we both just started laughing. It was one of those moments where you realise, ‘Okay, this is heavy, but it’s also what we love to do.’”

You laugh at the image of Daniel’s bluntness, shaking your head. “That’s so him. He has a way of grounding you, doesn’t he?” “Completely,” Drew agrees. “And honestly, having him on set made me feel like I had to step up my game. He’s such a pro, and you can’t help but want to match that level of commitment.”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment. “It sounds like Queer really pushed you as an actor, in the best way.” “It did,” Drew says earnestly. “And, you know, hearing you talk about working with Daniel—what was it like for you? I mean, I imagine Glass Onion had a very different vibe, but I’m sure he brought that same energy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply. “Daniel has this way of making everyone feel like they’re part of something special. And with Glass Onion, there was this playful energy because the story is so twisty and fun, but Daniel was always so focused and intentional with every scene.” Drew leans in slightly, clearly fascinated. “Did you ever have one of those moments with him where you just stopped and thought, ‘Wow, I’m working with James Bond’?”

You laugh, nodding. “More than once! It’s impossible not to. But then you get to know him, and he’s just… Daniel. Down-to-earth, funny, and incredibly kind. It makes you forget about the whole ‘James Bond’ thing—at least for a little while.” Drew grins. “That’s good to know. I feel like we’ve both been lucky to work with him, even if I’m still a little starstruck.”

“That’s what Daniel Craig does to you, ladies and gentlemen,” you teased, your laughter light as you pointed at the camera, winking playfully. Drew’s amused chuckle followed, a soft sound that matched the warmth in your tone. The atmosphere of the interview had shifted, the playful banter between the two of you creating an easy camaraderie as the conversation drew to a close.

“Well, I think we’ve discovered we have a lot in common after all,” Drew said, his smile widening as he turned toward you. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and genuine appreciation. “This has been a great pairing, truly.”

Your smile softened as you met his gaze, the connection between the two of you almost palpable. “I think so too,” you responded, your voice light and sincere, a soft chuckle escaping you as your gaze lingered on him. “Very great pairing,” you added, your words more than just agreement—there was an unspoken understanding, a mutual respect that hung in the air.

Drew’s smile widened slightly at your reply, the chemistry between the two of you becoming more evident as the final moments of the interview came into focus. Despite the cameras and the public personas, there was something undeniably real in the exchange, something that hinted at more than just a professional connection.

[seospicybin]

NATIONAL ANTHEM.

Seungmin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: At first, you knew Seungmin as the guy you made out with on a flight home but once the plane landed, you discovered that he's the son of your father's rival candidate for the upcoming election, causing you to be caught between love and loyalty. (13,6k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the agent of chaos, Seungmin ☆

Some people might call it fate, serendipity, or kismet, but you're not the type to believe in romantic clichés like that, so let's just call it a coincidence.

It's merely a coincidence that the car got a flat tire on the way to the airport, causing you to miss the flight you were supposed to be on. Otherwise, you would have been sitting in seat 4B on a completely different plane next to a completely different passenger in seat 4A.

As you make your way to your seat, you notice him immediately. A young man sitting in the window seat next to yours, he possesses a rare, gentlemanly beauty. With refined features, a charming smile, and tousled dark hair, he exudes a sophisticated appeal. In other words, he’s the kind of guy who instantly catches your eye.

He glances up as you stow your bag in the overhead compartment, offering a polite nod. You take your seat next to him, trying to keep your cool even though your heart skips a beat.

There’s something about him that draws you in, something magnetic—a quiet confidence that doesn’t need to be loud or showy to be felt.

After you settle in and the plane takes off, you feel the urge to talk to him. You're usually not the type to strike up conversations with strangers, but for some reason, with him, you can't help it. Also, you realize that if you want something to happen, you have to start somewhere.

“Is this your first time flying out of here?” you ask, turning to him with a smile.

He looks at you, his lips curving into a small smile. “No, I’ve been here before, but it’s been a while," he answers, his voice smooth and calm, making something flutter in your chest.

You introduce yourself to break the ice and make interacting easier.

"Seungmin," he says, taking your hand and holding it for a moment as he introduces himself. "Traveling alone?"

"Yes," you answer innocently.

"Business or pleasure?" he asks, a playful glint in his warm brown eyes.

You stare into his eyes and faintly bite your lower lip before answering, "Hopefully, pleasure."

From there, the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about everything—from favorite travel destinations to the books you're reading. Something about Seungmin makes it feel so natural, and before you know it, two hours have passed in the blink of an eye.

“I can’t believe we’ve been talking for hours,” you say with a low laugh, glancing out the window at the darkened sky.

The Atlantic stretches endlessly below, and the flight attendants have dimmed the cabin lights, casting a soft, intimate glow over the rows of seats.

“Time flies when the company’s good,” he says, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race.

The space between you feels charged now, the conversation slowing as the connection deepens into something more. You can feel the pull—the undeniable attraction that’s been simmering since you sat down. Then you catch him glancing at your lips, and you know he feels it too.

Daringly, you lean in slightly, testing the waters, and he responds by shifting closer. The air between you is electric, and when his hand brushes yours, a spark shoots through you.

Both of you hesitate for a moment, caught in that intoxicating space where everything hangs in the balance until neither of you can resist any longer.

Your lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, and the world outside the window seems to fall away. His kiss is gentle at first, cautious, testing, but when you respond, he takes it as permission to deepen it. He rests his hand on your cheek, and warmth spreads through you as his lips move against yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, making you forget you’re on a plane surrounded by strangers.

For those few moments, it's just you and him, lost in each other, the quiet hum of the plane fading into the background.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, you exchange a look that says everything. This isn't just some fleeting attraction. There’s something real here, something undeniable.

However, once the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker back to life, reality begins to creep in. It's the altitude, the change in air, and the fact that you now have both feet on the ground. The intimacy of your shared moments with Seungmin starts to fade as you both prepare to disembark.

Everyone stands from their seats to gather their things, and you can feel Seungmin watching as you reach for your bag in the overhead compartment.

"So…" Seungmin begins as you both shuffle out of the row and into the aisle. "Can I get your number? Or at least, a last name?"

Your heart is still fluttering from the kiss you shared just hours ago, but you hesitate. There’s an inexplicable tug in your gut telling you not to give in so easily, to be cautious. You like him—really like him—but you're not going to make it that easy.

You flash him a playful smile. “Hmm... I’m not sure I should make it that easy for you,” you tease, shifting your bag onto your shoulder.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. “You’re going to make me work for it?”

You nonchalantly shrug, trying to keep things light despite your racing heart. “Let’s just say I like a challenge.”

As you walk together through the terminal, the chemistry between you still crackling, you step outside and notice a car waiting at the curb. The driver, standing beside it, is holding a sign with Seungmin’s name. At first, nothing seems out of the ordinary, until you notice his jacket. The driver is wearing a dark blazer, but pinned to it is a familiar emblem—the logo of a political campaign.

Not just any campaign. It's your father’s rival’s campaign.

Your smile falters as you look more closely, and your heart drops when something clicks. You turn to Seungmin, your mind racing.

“Is that your driver?” your voice comes out sharper than you intended.

Seungmin follows your gaze, looking a bit confused. “Yeah. Why?”

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You clear it before asking the big question. “Are you from the Kim family? The same Kim family running for governor?”

"Yes," Seungmin answers, clearly puzzled.

The Kim family. The Kim family. Your father’s bitter rival in the upcoming election. This isn’t just some random guy you met on a plane—he's the son of the man your father has been railing against for weeks. You feel the blood drain from your face as the realization crashes down.

Seungmin’s expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You unconsciously take a step back. "You’re... you’re a Kim," you say, still in disbelief.

Seungmin opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. "Your father and mine—they’re both running for governor."

For a moment, Seungmin seems to be processing what you’ve said. Then his face hardens slightly in understanding. You take another step back, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

“This changes everything,” you whisper.

He looks at you, his eyes searching. “No, it doesn’t have to," he says.

If only he knew how badly you wanted to believe him. But you can’t ignore the reality of the situation. Both of your families are in a brutal political war, and no matter how much you like him, getting involved with Seungmin could blow everything up—for both of you.

"How is it not? Your father accused mine of siphoning money from the city’s budget for his campaign."

"Because he did!" Seungmin says boldly.

"There’s no concrete proof!" you counter.

"Of course, because they know how to make things disappear. Your family is known for their generosity with hush money," he remarks bluntly.

You’ve never been one to argue about things that aren’t your business, but when it comes to your family, you naturally defend them.

"As opposed to your father’s blatant hypocrisy," you calmly reply. "He’s fighting the climate crisis, but his wife keeps taking private jets for her shopping trips."

You come up with a concrete data point. "According to the data, those trips contributed 58 metric tons of carbon—the same amount emitted by 4,625 cars in a day."

That seems to shut him up. His jaw clenches, and it's unfair how good he looks when he's mad.

The driver awkwardly clears his throat, glancing between you both. “Sir, we should get going. Your father’s waiting.”

"It was good to see you," Seungmin says before storming off, childishly bumping your shoulder as he passes.

"Goodbye, I guess," you mutter, scoffing in disbelief as you watch him walk away.

That concludes everything, officially making it an unpleasant coincidence.

-

It was just a coincidence!

That's what Seungmin has been telling himself after spending days wrestling with his feelings, convincing himself that it doesn’t matter, that you are just a fleeting moment, a passing fancy. But the truth is undeniable: no matter how much he tries to push you out of his mind, he just can’t stop thinking about you.

When his friend mentioned that you’re living separately from your family, something shifted inside him. The tension between your families has always been an obstacle, a reason to stay away, but now it seems more like an excuse. If anything, the fact that you aren’t on good terms with your family only deepens his curiosity—and somehow, his feelings.

Seungmin hadn’t planned to find your hotel room, but once he knew where you were staying, he couldn’t help himself. And now, as he stands there, waiting for you to open the door, his heart races in anticipation despite the cool facade he tries to maintain.

After a moment, the door creaks open, and there you are—your hair slightly tousled, your expression showing slight shock to see him there. His heart leaps at the sight of you, but instead of the warmth or excitement he hoped to see, your face remains cold, indifferent.

“Are you stalking me?” your voice is cool, a little too casual, as if you haven’t been thinking about him at all.

There's no going back now, so Seungmin pushes forward. "Well, you're not that hard to track."

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say flatly.

Seungmin notices the flicker in your eyes, something you’re trying to hide. He takes a small step closer, his gaze softening, and playfully says, “Maybe."

You stare at him for a moment, your expression hard, but he sees the hesitation in the way your fingers grip the edge of the door. You’re fighting something, trying to keep a wall between the two of you. He understands why you keep your guard up so high—you’re trying to protect yourself, your heart, and maybe even protect him from the mess that is your life right now.

“You shouldn’t be... with me,” you make it even clearer, but even as you say the words, your voice wavers.

Seungmin takes another step forward, placing his hand near where yours rests. “Let me in, and we'll find out."

Your eyes soften for a brief moment before you quickly look away, the conflict clear in your expression. It’s obvious that you want to shut the door, to push him away, but something is holding you back. Maybe it's the same thing that brought him here in the first place—the connection, the spark between you that refuses to be ignored.

The conflict in your eyes only encourages Seungmin. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving yours. "Why are you staying in a hotel anyway?" he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.

You remain aloof, folding your arms across your chest as you raise an eyebrow. “Why should I let my enemy know?"

The coldness in your tone is deliberate, a shield to guard against him, against what you’re really feeling. But he doesn’t back down; his smirk only grows wider.

His hand inches closer to yours as he leans in just a bit closer, making his presence suddenly more overwhelming.

“See, that’s the thing..." his voice drops lower, with a teasing edge.

“What?” you ask, trying to keep your cool even though the proximity makes your heart race.

“We’re enemies,” he states the obvious, his gaze locking onto yours with such intensity that it sends a shiver down your spine.

You let out a sigh, already prepared for whatever line he’s about to throw at you. “And what’s your point?”

Seungmin’s smirk deepens as he leans in even closer, his face now mere inches away from yours. His voice is low and soft, almost a whisper, but filled with mischief.

“Sleeping with the enemy is hot.”

Your breath hitches slightly, but you keep your expression in check, refusing to let him see just how much his words affect you. You tilt your head a little to the side, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of your mouth betrays you with the slightest hint of a smile.

“Is that so?” you respond with a daring smirk.

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with something dangerous and alluring, like he knows exactly how this game is going to end.

As you stand there weighing your options, the tension between you and him becomes unbearable. You can feel the electricity crackling in the air, and despite everything, you find yourself taking a step back, opening the door wider without saying a word.

Seungmin’s triumphant smile tells you that he understands your silent invitation. Without wasting another second, he steps inside, the door closing softly behind him as the world outside fades away.

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s on you—his lips crash against yours with a force that makes you dizzy. The kiss is urgent, an explosion of passion and frustration that has been building between you and him for so long.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as if the mere touch of your skin isn’t enough to satisfy the hunger between you.

All the walls you’ve built, all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this, crumble in an instant. It doesn’t matter that he’s your enemy. Right now, all that matters is the way his lips brush against yours, the way his breath mingles with yours, the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

In that moment, nothing else exists but the two of you.

-

Doing it on the bed is overrated to Seungmin, so he grabs you by the waist and swiftly hoists you up, setting you on the nearest table. Fortunately, it's sturdy and at the perfect height for whatever he's planning next.

He plants his hands on the table behind you and aligns his body with yours, fitting just right—hardness to softness, curves to hollows. Oh, he has so many ideas of what to do with you. On second thought, he's fine with paying the fine for property damage if it comes to that.

He leans in slowly, teasing your lips for a kiss, but just a millimeter away from contact, he moves to the side and whispers softly into your ear, "Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this moment?"

You look up at him, eyes wide and seductive, a grin peeking at the corner of your mouth. "I don’t want to know. I want you to show me."

Something flickers in his eyes—something that both scares and thrills you. He places a hand on your waist and glides it up your side, stopping at your ribcage.

"What is it about you..." His words trail off as he places a deep, slow kiss on your lips.

As he keeps your mouth busy, his hand palms your breast through your nightdress. When he pinches your hardening nipple, you gasp at the jolt of sensation.

To return the favor, you slide your fingers beneath his shirt, feeling the hard ridges of his stomach. He's soft yet firm, and if it weren't for the warmth under your fingertips, you’d think he was carved from marble.

"I just can’t stop thinking about you and our kiss," he says, a mix of wonder and disbelief in his voice, before capturing your lips again in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

Seungmin’s thumb rubs your nipple just right, making your insides melt.

"Look at you, getting weak in the knees for me," he says with a triumphant grin.

He pulls his hand from the table and gives it a new task, sliding under your dress to grip your inner thigh, pulling your hips against his arousal, letting you feel the heat of his desire.

"And what we could have done after that kiss..." he continues, your lips meeting again in a breathless kiss.

Seungmin breaks the kiss to move his lips elsewhere—your neck, your chest. His hand roughly pulls down the front of your nightdress, sending your breasts spilling out. He wastes no time, his lips closing over your skin.

Your hand flies to his hair, tugging as he sucks hard on your breast. You watch as his tongue swirls around your nipple before he fills his mouth with your flesh.

"Seungmin..." you call breathlessly, unsure whether you want him to stop or keep going.

Hearing his name roll off your lips soothes something deep inside him, and he wants to hear it again and again. He pushes the hem of your nightdress up around your waist, and in return, you rip open the fly of his jeans, freeing his swollen member.

"Mmh..." you hum with delight, wrapping your hand around his length, hot and pulsing with desire.

Seungmin mirrors your action, palming your clothed core, his thumb tracing your engorged bundle of nerves. Soon, your underwear is damp with arousal.

"What is it about you, mmh?" he asks, eyes locked on yours.

He pulls your panties aside and runs his long fingers down your folds, drenching them in your essence. As his fingers drag down, he pushes them inside you, earning a broken moan from your lips.

"What is it about you that makes me want more..." He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, savoring the way your face contorts in pleasure. "And more, and more..."

As he continues, you fist the front of his shirt, pulling him close, your legs opening wider, bringing his cock even closer to where you want him.

He withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his cock. Your legs are raised slightly higher than the table’s surface, aching for more than just the feeling of his tip rubbing between your folds.

"Stop teasing me," you mutter.

His lopsided grin returns, and before you can react, he thrusts into you hard and fast, burying himself completely inside you.

Your breath hitches, and you moan his name, which he finds incredibly hot. He strokes his tongue over every inch of your mouth, claiming it as he angles his hips to hit your clit.

The tight grip of your body, your sweet mouth, your legs wrapped around him—perfection. He indulges in every part of you. His heart races, his need grows desperate, but he holds back, determined to wait for your high to come first.

When you finally shatter and convulse around him uncontrollably, he allows himself to thrust harder. He grasps your hips, your thighs, pressing your foreheads together so he can look into your beautiful, dazed eyes as he thrusts one last time, losing himself completely as he pours everything into you. As his breath saws in and out, he holds you tight, with no intention of letting go.

The theory is proven: sleeping with the enemy is hot.

-

It’s Seungmin’s third time staying over in your hotel room this week alone, and no, you're not complaining at all. You've already grown accustomed to him—Seungmin is part of your routine now, part of your life, and his absence leaves you feeling restless.

When you're not with him, you recall what he’s done to you: the way he kissed you, caressed you, all the things he's said. Your hand unconsciously flies down to your thigh, wishing he was touching you right now.

But don’t get it wrong—the non-bedroom side of Seungmin appeals to you just as much as the lover side, if not more. He makes you laugh, and he listens to you, even when what you talk about isn’t particularly interesting. He’s comfortable around you, and that makes you comfortable around him. You like how he fills the empty space in the bed, and you also like just lying with him in a comfortable silence that doesn’t beg for questions.

However, tonight is an exception.

As you lie on the bed with Seungmin, still recovering from the passionate lovemaking you shared earlier, you feel the weight of reality slowly creeping back in. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it feels heavy, as if there are things that need to be said.

You roll over slightly to face him and place your hand on his arm, fingers gently tracing the veins coiling down his inner arm. “I need to tell you something,” you murmur.

Seungmin turns his head to look at you, his gaze soft but curious. “What is it?”

You inhale deeply as you gather your thoughts, looking into his eyes as you begin with the one thing you're sure of.

“I really like you, Seungmin.”

“I know,” he says confidently, one corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk.

You bring your hand up to cup his chin, gently scratching his jaw with your fingertips as you flash him a soft smile and continue speaking.

“What you don’t know is that my family isn’t speaking to me right now, and that’s something I’d like to change.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, softly caressing your cheek.

“My family used to control me—I’m sure you know what that’s like. I rebelled, took off, and a year into it, I found out my younger sister was going through something, and I wasn’t there for her because I was trying to prove some... stupid point,” you explain with a dry chuckle.

His gaze remains steady as he listens to you without interrupting.

“I’m just trying to find my way back in, and I happened to bump into you along the way.”

“And I’m glad you did,” he says, catching your other hand in his and resting it on his chest.

You hold his chin, wanting all of his attention focused on you, because what you're about to say is the most important part of this conversation.

“Being seen with you would send the wrong message, and I really can’t risk making my family more upset right now.”

Seungmin’s eyes soften, and without the slightest hesitation, he nods in agreement. “I understand,” he says calmly.

“Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at secret relationships,” he adds with a playful smirk. “And all the sneaking around... it’s kind of thrilling. I find it really hot.”

You let out a soft laugh, suddenly feeling at ease. “Of course you do.”

Seungmin pulls you closer, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face before placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“We’ll keep it a secret, but I want you to know that it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

As Seungmin presses a tender kiss to your forehead, you feel the warmth and reassurance sinking in. For now, the secret doesn’t feel like a burden—it feels like a shared world that belongs only to the two of you.

-

In under a month, Seungmin has learned a lot about you.

In bed, you respond best when he goes slowly, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. But if he wants something more intense—or anything, for that matter—you’re game and eager to please. He couldn’t ask for a better partner.

Out of bed, you live by routine. You get up at the same time every day, then shower away the evidence of morning sex (because Seungmin loves starting the day off right). Your breakfast usually consists of a cup of black coffee and French toast. You share a kiss before parting ways; you get picked up at the hotel entrance while Seungmin makes his exit through the hotel kitchen.

During the day, you help your father with his campaign at the headquarters, returning to your hotel room around 8 or 9 when you have dinner with your family.

As for your evenings, they belong to Seungmin. When you’re not fooling around like hormonal teenagers, you spend time having late-night snacks, talking about random things, or just cuddling in bed—things Seungmin has never experienced with anyone before.

Day by day, he wants more of you, not less.

Tonight, you both decide to watch something on pay-per-view. You rest your head on his shoulder while your eyes are fixed on the large screen mounted on the wall. From time to time, Seungmin kisses you, and it feels so good having you near, as if he were made to be your lover.

Occasionally, you react to certain scenes in the film, your bare legs shifting beneath the hem of your nightdress.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he jokes into your ear.

You part your legs, giving him the opportunity to find out for himself. It’s funny that he only realizes now—you’ve never turned him down; you’re just as starved for him as he is for you.

Seungmin pouts when his fingers meet silky fabric instead of your tender flesh, but that doesn’t stop him from continuing to touch you. You gasp as he massages your clothed clit, and your head lolls on his shoulder.

It doesn’t take long before you’re wet, your essence coating his fingertips as he traces your folds. His cock aches inside the confines of his jeans, as if it’s been weeks since he last had sex, not just hours. He wants you again—craves that closeness, that connection, that unbelievable, mind-blowing pleasure. No amount of you is ever enough for him.

Before long, you give in and pull him down for a hungry kiss, which leads to another, and another, and another...

The next thing he knows, the credits are rolling on the TV screen—the whole film played while the two of you were busy with other things. At the end of the night, you climb into bed and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, wrapping your warmth around his body.

Seungmin brushes a stray hair from your face, his fingertips trailing over the smooth curve of your lips before placing a gentle kiss, tender and possessive.

“Goodnight,” he mutters when he breaks the kiss.

The next morning, he finds you wearing his shirt—the one from the very first night you spent together. He doesn’t know how to describe how he feels seeing you in his clothes, knowing you kept his shirt and have been wearing it; all he knows is it’s a good feeling.

Truthfully, he’s been feeling like this a lot lately—whenever you smile, ask for a kiss, or cross the room just to be near him. But also when the two of you aren’t together. He has spent the past few weeks in a euphoric high, grinning for no other reason than thinking of you.

There’s no doubt about it—Seungmin is stupid in love.

-

The fundraiser party is in full swing, the lights casting a warm, polished glow over the room as it's buzzing with conversations and the clinking of glasses. You stand beside your father, perfectly poised, playing the part of the dutiful daughter.

This night isn’t about you—it’s about him. Every charming smile, every polite nod you give is an extension of the image he wants to project: a perfect family, a perfect father. But you know the truth.

As you watch your father work the room, shaking hands and making connections, you know your role is to boost his image—not because he cares about you, but because you are part of his political strategy. Still, this is your chance to prove yourself, to show him you can be the daughter he wants, even if the real connection is long gone.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin and his brother-in-law approaching. Your heart skips a beat, but you hurriedly calm yourself down, knowing this isn’t the time for emotions—it’s the time for control.

Seungmin and his brother-in-law stop in front of you and your father. Seungmin’s gaze briefly meets yours for a second, and despite the public setting, the intensity of that look sends a small thrill through you.

“Good evening,” Seungmin’s brother-in-law says politely and formally. “We’re here representing our father tonight, and he sends his regards.”

Your father, ever the politician, gives a thin, practiced smile. “Ah, yes, it’s unfortunate he couldn’t attend himself. I suppose running a campaign must keep him quite busy.”

There’s a subtle edge to his words, a slight sneer that isn’t lost on you or anyone, but fortunately, Seungmin and his brother-in-law remain composed, not rising to the bait.

“Of course,” Seungmin replies calmly. “He’s doing everything he can for the campaign.”

Your father’s gaze shifts to Seungmin, sizing him up before his eyes narrow in curiosity. "Seungmin, isn’t it? I’ve heard good things about you. You’ve been quite the asset to your father’s campaign, haven’t you?”

“Oh, please. I’m just doing the best I can to help,” Seungmin humbly replies, perfectly nailing the model son role.

“It’s refreshing to see someone so dedicated to their family’s success. We could all learn from that, couldn’t we?” your father says, glancing at you, making it clear that his praise for Seungmin is a thinly veiled comparison.

You keep your composure, your smile unwavering, even as a knot of discomfort forms in your stomach. You entertain yourself with the thought that your father has no idea what is really going on—that the very man he is praising is the one you are secretly seeing. The joke is on him.

“Have you met my daughter?" your father asks, gesturing toward you as if you haven’t been standing there the whole time.

Seungmin turns to you, his expression steady, but his eyes flicker with something only you can recognize. He holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, keeping your smile polite. You have to continue acting as if nothing has ever happened between you and him.

Hours pass as you mingle with other guests, but the pressure of keeping up appearances starts to weigh on you. Toward the end of the party, when most of the guests are distracted, you slip away, catching Seungmin’s eye as you do. He follows discreetly, and soon you find yourselves in an isolated part of the building, the muffled sounds of the party still audible.

The moment he comes into sight, you let out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to drop the mask you’ve worn all night.

"I missed you," he whispers as he steps closer. Before you can respond, he presses his lips to yours, the kiss filled with longing and the tension that has been building up since your last secret meeting.

"I missed you too," you murmur between kisses.

In the dimly lit, secluded hallway, you and Seungmin find a rare moment of peace. His hands cup your face, his lips moving urgently against yours, pouring all the longing and frustration of the past few days into every kiss.

It is reckless, but being with him feels too good to resist. In fact, it feels so good that you almost forget the dark shadow that has been hanging over your mind. Almost.

"My mom found out about us," you blurt out after breaking the kiss.

Seungmin freezes, his lips barely an inch from yours, his brows furrowing as he processes what you’ve just said. "Wait... what?"

“I guess we didn’t fool the doorman,” you say with a heavy sigh as the gravity of the situation sinks in.

For a moment, Seungmin just stands there, panic rising in his chest. If your mom knows, it won’t be long before both of your families find out, and he knows exactly what that would mean for both of you—and for his father’s campaign.

“So... you told her the truth?” he asks, focusing on the possibility that your mom might indirectly support this relationship.

“Obviously, I didn’t want to risk everything with my family for some fling that wasn’t going to last,” you reply meekly.

Seungmin blinks, then his lips curl into a teasing smile. "Oh, so it isn’t just some fling?”

“Seungmin, I’m serious!" you whine in frustration, giving him a playful slap on the chest.

"You can’t keep sneaking into the hotel anymore. It’s too risky, and if my father finds out...” You can’t even finish your sentence without feeling sick to your stomach.

Seungmin’s smile fades as he realizes the danger you are both in. It feels as if the walls are closing in on both sides, and it won’t be long before someone else notices the two of you together. His mind races, trying to think of a solution, somewhere you can be together without the prying eyes of your families.

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, a voice interrupts, and both of you stiffen.

“Seungmin?”

His brother-in-law is standing a few feet away, his eyes narrowing as he glances between the two of you, catching sight of Seungmin’s hand still holding yours.

None of you speak, and in that moment, it feels like the quiet before a storm about to break.

-

Seungmin’s brother-in-law has always been sharp, and tonight is no exception. As you and Seungmin slipped out of the party, thinking you were being discreet, he spotted the two of you. From the moment you met, he sensed something was already there. He observed further, noticing the sneaky glances, the looks that said more than words, and the way you interacted with each other. He must admit, both of you are poor actors.

When his brother-in-law corners the two of you in the hallway, Seungmin braces himself, expecting him to spill everything to his father immediately, knowing what he could gain from it.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Seungmin asks, suspicion creeping in. He knows his brother-in-law has always been loyal to the family, especially to his father, so this calm, nonchalant reaction doesn’t add up.

Instead, his brother-in-law glances between you both with a knowing smile and says, "You two are playing a dangerous game, but you know what? I won’t stand in your way."

That doesn't make Seungmin relax. If anything, the words make him more cautious. "And why’s that? Why are you suddenly on my side?”

“Seungmin, I already think of you like my own brother,” his brother-in-law replies simply, with enough sincerity to convince anyone who hears him. “I want you to be happy."

Seungmin remains quiet for a moment, still wary, but realizing he has little choice. Whatever his brother-in-law’s motives are, this is the only lifeline he has right now.

“So, what’s the plan?” Seungmin finally asks, keeping his voice steady.

“I have a boat. It’s docked not far from here. No one checks it, no one comes by." His brother-in-law reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small set of keys, handing them to Seungmin. "You two can stay there, alone, as long as you need."

Seungmin’s gaze flicks from the keys to his brother-in-law’s face, still unsure if he can fully trust him. But this is the best option you both have right now. He decides to take a leap of faith and takes the keys from him.

"It's docked on the west side, slip twenty-three," his brother-in-law informs him. Before Seungmin can say anything else, he adds, “Oh, you may want to check the first aid kit on the boat.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “What for?”

His brother-in-law puts on a mischievous grin. “Let’s just say you’ll find some essentials in there."

Seungmin’s suspicion deepens, but he doesn’t question it further. Maybe his brother-in-law is being sincere, so Seungmin stops overthinking it. On a more important note, you both need a place to hide, and this is as good as it’s going to get. He glances over at you, and with a silent agreement, you both know you have to take this opportunity, no matter the risks.

“Thanks,” Seungmin mutters, cautious but grateful. “I appreciate it.”

His brother-in-law pats him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring nod. “Just be careful,” he says.

With that, you and Seungmin slip away into the night, heading toward the boat where, for at least one night, you can finally be alone.

-

The boat is bigger than you thought it would be, bobbing gently in the moonlit water. As you step onto the deck, you feel a sense of freedom, as if, for once, the outside world can’t reach you. You settle into the small but comfortable space, the tension between you fading into something softer, more tender.

When it’s just the two of you, you can finally let your guard down and be your authentic self. You walk up to him and slip into his arms for a warm embrace.

"It's just you and me now," you say, resting your forehead against him.

"Just you and me," he repeats, gently tilting your head with his hand on your chin, and places the gentlest kiss, treating you like a fragile piece of art.

Seungmin leads you through the cabin, the scent of saltwater and wood lingering in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of the sea breeze drifting in from the open hatch.

“This is nice,” you comment, running your fingers along the edge of a worn leather couch. “But do you think your brother-in-law keeps any food around? I’m starving.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and makes his way to the small kitchenette, opening the fridge with a creak. “Looks like frozen pizza is on the menu,” he says, pulling out the pack and showing it to you.

As Seungmin prepares the frozen pizza and tosses it into the microwave, you head to the bedroom to find something comfortable to wear. In the bathroom, you find a soft bathrobe neatly folded on the top shelf. Without a second thought, you change out of your dress and into the robe. As you tie the belt around your waist, you sigh in relief, feeling a great sense of comfort.

By the time you return, Seungmin is plating the pizza, the smell filling the small cabin. He has also found a bottle of champagne in the cabinet, the label a little worn and the drink lukewarm. Both of you eat in comfortable silence, exchanging small smiles between bites, enjoying this rare moment of normalcy.

When the food is all gone, you lean back in your seat with a contented sigh. The dinner is simple, yet it feels more special than any you’ve had before.

Being the neat person he is, Seungmin wastes no time cleaning up after dinner.

“You can clean up later,” you tell him, sipping your warm champagne.

“There’s not much to clean anyway,” he replies, taking the dirty plates back into the cabin.

Remembering what Seungmin’s brother-in-law said before you left, you decide to go on a little hunt for the first-aid kit he mentioned and see what’s inside. It doesn’t take long to find it tucked away in one of the cabinets in the control room. As you open it, you blink in surprise.

“Well, well…” you murmur, pulling out a small Ziploc bag among the usual bandages and ointments.

Seungmin raises an eyebrow when you bring it over and show him. He shakes his head, already deciding it’s a bad idea.

You shrug, holding the pack out to him with a playful smile. “Why not? Let’s live a little.”

“We shouldn’t even be touching his things,” he says, leaning back on the sun lounger.

“What are you talking about? We’ve just eaten his frozen pizza and drunk his champagne,” you remind him, settling onto his lap.

“I can buy those things back for him,” he replies, folding his hands behind his head.

“But he mentioned it, so that means he’s fine with it, right?”

He shakes his head, eyes closed, unwilling to hear more persuasion.

“Come on,” you urge, taking a rolled blunt out of the bag and rolling it between your fingers. “Just one. It’s a special night, isn’t it?”

He opens his eyes and finds himself unable to resist you when you smile so sweetly. He reaches for the blunt.

“Alright, fine," he gives in, "but just one.”

You light it and take a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air before handing it over to him. His fingers brush against yours as he inhales, and you watch as his shoulders visibly relax.

The two of you take turns smoking, the night enveloping you in a peaceful cocoon. The quiet of the water, the gentle sway of the boat, and the faint glow of stars above make everything feel far away, as if the world and its complications couldn’t touch you here.

“I could get used to this,” you softly mutter, your voice barely louder than a whisper as you nuzzle into Seungmin’s side, sharing the sun lounger with him, the blunt hanging loosely between your fingers.

Seungmin exhales long and slow, his arm coming around your shoulders to pull you close. “Yeah, me too.”

The smoke, the sea, and the quiet lull you into a different kind of peace—an escape from everything, if only for tonight.

With one last drag, you finish the rest of the blunt yourself. You rest your head on Seungmin’s shoulder, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his breath. For once, you don’t feel like you’re running away from something.

“I wish it could always be like this,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I feel happiest when it’s just us, alone like this.”

Seungmin shifts slightly, his arm tightening around you as if he wants to hold onto this moment forever. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, and your heart flutters in response. He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you closer, and you wonder if he feels the same way—that the world outside seems so distant when it’s just the two of you.

“I feel it too,” he finally says. “When it’s just us… it feels like everything makes sense. Like we’re the only two people in the world that matter.”

His words make your heart ache with a bittersweet warmth. In a moment like this, it’s easy to forget about the chaos waiting for you back home.

Here, it’s just you and him.

You stare at him, your faces merely inches apart. The moonlight casts a soft glow across his features, and God, he’s just so beautiful. His eyes meet yours, and the longer you look into them, the more you see the depth of his feelings. There’s something tender, something vulnerable—you’ve never seen him look at you like this before.

Seungmin swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he’s gathering courage. Then, in a soft yet steady voice, he says, “I love you.”

The words hang in the air, suspended between you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s never said it before, and hearing those words now, spoken under the starry sky with the waves lapping gently against the boat, it feels… magical.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice more certain this time, his eyes steady on yours. “I don’t care about the rest of it—our families, the politics, all of it. I love you."

Tears well up in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming joy of hearing him say those words. You feel the sincerity in them, the weight of what it means for him to admit it, to declare it, despite everything.

You reach for him, cupping his face in your hands. Using your thumb, you softly rub his cheek. “I love you too, Seungmin, and I think I’ve loved you for longer than I can admit," your voice breaking as you try to hold back your emotions.

Seungmin leans in, closing the small distance between you, and kisses you softly, slowly, as if savoring the moment. His lips are warm against yours, and in that kiss, you feel everything: his love, his promise, his fear, and his hope.

-

It's the wine, the blunt, the sense of freedom you're feeling at the moment, and the way you keep replaying the moment Seungmin said those three words in the back of your mind—all of those things make you high, so high that you believe you're on the way to cloud nine.

As you sit straddling him, looking down at him, you feel more attracted to him than ever. It's his beautiful face, his short dark hair that complements his features well, how the white shirt he's wearing accentuates the breadth of his shoulders, and the rolled sleeves exposing the evident veins on his arms. Oh, he's just so fucking hot.

You prop your hands on each side of his head and look into the two orbs of his eyes. He remains unfazed by the intensity of your stare, but he would be stupid not to see the want in your eyes.

Unable to help yourself anymore, you lean in and kiss him, and it feels so good when he kisses you back, responding to your desires. But the kiss is just one of many; you want more, you need more.

As your lips are locked in a rapturous kiss, you take his hand and put it around your neck; his touch feels hot against your skin. To allow him more access, you untie your bathrobe and let it fall, pooling around your waist, exposing your bare chest to him.

Seungmin slowly rises from his seat, wrapping his arms around you without breaking the kiss. You whine when he finally detaches his lips and moan when he places them on your neck next.

"Seungmin," you seductively mewl his name as he nibbles on your ear, your head spinning when he sucks on the sensitive skin.

Your heart is pounding in anticipation of what he's going to do next. You look down and find him gazing at you through his lashes as he drags his lips down your chest. His hands are also making their way to the front when, all of a sudden, he does the unexpected.

Seungmin pulls your bathrobe back on you, tying the belt around your waist with his hand. You look at him in slight shock and disbelief; it's a moment later that you're finally able to speak again.

"Why not?" you ask, blinking at him.

"Not here," he simply says, endearingly tucking your hair behind your ear and then kissing your cheek.

What he does would usually make your heart flutter, but you feel bitter from his indirect rejection of your want. "Yeah but why not?"

"Because it's indecent," he innocently answers.

You scoff because back in the hotel room, Seungmin wasn’t shy about doing indecent things—some of which are far more than just indecent.

"Why? We're on a boat, we're alone, we're under a starry sky... it's romantic," you point out why doing it here would make for a special occasion.

He takes your hands and looks at you. "Then let's get inside."

"No," you flatly refuse with a pout.

"Come on," he says, shaking your hands to get your attention. Unsuccessful, he leans in and kisses your jaw before bringing his mouth close to your ear.

"I know another way to make you see stars," he whispers in a low, sultry voice.

Ugh! You hate how easily he cracks through your defenses. You smile at him and nod, allowing him to lead the way to the cabin, through the small living room, and finally into the cramped bedroom.

He grabs you by the waist and steers you to the bed, laying you down gently. He doesn’t hesitate to come on top of you, hovering above you as he captures your lips in a hard, deep kiss that consumes you whole.

Your hands refuse to remain idle; you pop every button on his shirt without looking, and when you’re done, you part it open, impatiently placing your hands on his body, trailing the outline of his abs with your fingertips.

Seungmin lets go of the kiss to take a breather, helping you with the shirt, shaking it off his shoulders, and tossing it aside. But the task is not done there; you loop your finger around the belt loop on his slacks and pull him close.

The head of his belt clinks as you take it off and hastily tear open the zipper. Without wasting a second, you pull his slacks down until they pool around his ankles.

"Oh, la la," you exclaim delightedly, biting your lips at the sight of him standing gloriously naked before you.

"Are you going to do something about it?" he asks, his voice heavy with assertiveness, hinting that he demands you to.

"Uhm... not sure," you coyly say, slowly wrapping your hand around his length and stroking it as it gradually hardens in your palm.

You land a few licks under the tip and around the length, and when you’re ready, you take him into your mouth, compensating the rest with your hand. He feels hot, hard, and veiny, slipping in and out of your mouth while you maintain eye contact with him.

Seungmin grips your shoulder, his nails faintly digging into your flesh, but he’s aware that it might hurt you, so he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging at it when pleasure overwhelms him.

"Stop!" he gently says, though his voice remains assertive.

You slowly pull away with a string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. He runs his thumb over your lips, separating them before shoving it into your mouth, and you gladly suck on it.

There's a loud pop when Seungmin takes his thumb out, and with his hand on your chest, he pushes you onto the bed, sending you lying back down. He parts your legs and kneels on the floor, wanting to return the favor to you.

All the times he has pleased you with his mouth, he’s done a wonderful job, so you lay on your back and close your eyes, knowing you’re in for a treat.

The kisses he places on your inner thighs are electrifying; his lips are soft as they land on your clit, and his tongue feels hot as he licks a long stripe down your folds. He uses two fingers on each side to pull your folds apart, diving in and drowning himself in you.

"Oh..." you moan as his tongue teases your entrance.

Every kiss, every lick, every place his tongue explores, and every gentle pressure he applies to your clit—Seungmin calculates everything to give you the utmost pleasure. But tonight, he isn’t being generous; he stops just when it starts to feel so good.

You almost groan in frustration, but before it can escape your mouth, he catches your lips in a hungry kiss, making you forget your complaints, your ability to speak, and your whereabouts, but not your wants.

You part your legs wider to welcome him, seeking that closeness, wanting his delicious cock as close as possible to where you want him the most.

"If you don’t put it in, I think I’ll die," you dramatically mutter against his lips.

Seungmin lets out a chuckle and kisses you again. "I want that embroidered on a pillow."

The feeling of your needs finally met—oh, there’s nothing like it. When it comes to Seungmin, though, you’re not sure you’ll ever be satisfied; you keep wanting more.

More of those hard kisses on your lips, more of those hands kneading your breasts and gripping your legs, more of those moans slipping from his mouth into yours, more of his cock slipping in and out of you, more of those hard, shallow thrusts making your eyes roll back—more and more and more...

He isn’t lying when he says he knows another way to make you see stars. As you hit your high and your eyes screw shut, you see nothing but stars.

Seungmin comes not long after, collapsing on top of you. His lips immediately search for yours, kissing you with such haste when they find you.

When you finally pull apart, you both lay there in the silence of the night, wrapped in each other and the warmth of this tender moment. The world outside feels far away, and for now, this is enough—just the two of you, tangled in each other, both of your heads full of stars.

-

Things are going well. Your relationship with Seungmin remains a secret, and the results of the pre-vote are out, revealing that your father is leading the race by an 8% margin. Everyone is happy, all is well—but you have this nagging feeling in your chest that things won’t stay like this for long. You hope it's for the better, and God, you hope that's true.

To celebrate your father leading in the pre-vote, your family holds a brunch this afternoon. Being invited to this is a significant step toward winning your way back into the family. Your little sister has taken your hand under the table, squeezing it as a sign of solidarity. She hasn’t said it out loud, but you can feel that she’s happy to have you here, part of the family again, even if only for a moment.

However, as the minutes tick by and your father doesn’t appear, a gnawing feeling settles in your chest. You try to brush it off, focusing on how far you’ve come. After all, you’re here, included, proving that you can still be the daughter your family wants you to be.

Then your mother calls you and asks you to follow her to your father’s study. She makes you sit on the leather sofa in anticipation. Her expression is soft, but there’s something behind her eyes that makes your stomach churn, and you know something is wrong before she even speaks.

“When was the last time you saw him?” she asks, her voice quiet but direct.

Your mind flashes back to that night with Seungmin on the boat. You haven’t told anyone, and as far as you know, no one has seen you. But your mother’s gaze is sharp, and she’ll know if you lie.

“I… I went on a boat with Seungmin,” you admit meekly, your voice small and low. “But we were discreet. I swear, no one saw us.”

Your mother lets out a heavy sigh, her hand going to the nape of her neck as she massages it lightly. She doesn’t say anything but takes out her phone from her tweed jacket, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to you. Your eyes widen as you look at the screen, the shock hitting you like a punch to the gut.

There on the screen are photos—compromising photos. Some show you smoking; others are more intimate, even naked. You feel the blood drain from your face. These are pictures from that night on Seungmin’s brother-in-law’s boat, now plastered across the internet.

“Mom…” you stammer, trying to make sense of it. “There was no one there except us. This can’t be happening. It wasn’t Seungmin… it couldn’t be.”

“I’m afraid you weren’t as discreet as you thought,” your mother says, her expression composed but with a grave undertone. “Your father found out about the relationship. He’s furious, and this… this could ruin everything for him.”

You feel faint and hurriedly lean against the table to steady yourself. “No… no, it can’t be. Seungmin would never—”

The idea of Seungmin betraying you is unthinkable, but the pictures don’t lie. Someone had been there, someone had taken them, and now your life is spiraling out of control.

“I don’t believe it’s him,” you insist, shaking your head in denial. “Seungmin wouldn’t do this to me. He cares about me.”

“Think about what’s best for you,” your mother says, her voice rising slightly as she struggles to keep her composure. “Whether it’s Seungmin or his family behind this, we can’t take any more risks. You need to stay away from him, at least until I can figure out what’s really going on.”

Your heart aches, torn between your love for Seungmin and the loyalty you’re still trying to prove to your family.

“I’m sending you back to your hotel,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “And you’re not to leave until I say it’s safe. Your father is already angry enough, and we can’t afford any more mistakes.”

Before you can protest, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you standing in the middle of the room. You want to believe in Seungmin, but now doubts plague your mind. A question gnaws at you: Is your love for Seungmin worth risking everything you have left?

-

The car ride back to the hotel is a blur of tears and shattered trust. Your chest feels heavy, the weight of betrayal pressing down on you, suffocating you.

The man you trusted, the one who held you close, is part of the very family responsible for leaking those photos. Whether Seungmin is directly involved or not doesn’t matter anymore—his family is, and that’s enough for you to push him away.

The car pulls up to the curb, and the doorman is there instantly, opening the door and offering his hand to help you out. You feel faint, your legs trembling from the emotions raging inside, but you force yourself to stand, to walk, and to keep your head up if you can.

Just as you step onto the pavement, a familiar hand grabs your arm. You stop in your tracks, your heart aching in your chest.

Seungmin. He’s there, his eyes wide with worry, as if he hadn’t expected to see you like this. And oh, the sight of him, the man you thought you could trust, brings everything crashing down.

Without thinking, you rush at him, your fists pounding against his chest in a fit of anger and betrayal.

“How could you?!” you scream through your tears, each punch that lands fueled by the pain inside. “How could you let them do this to me?!”

Seungmin doesn’t fight back. He just stands there, letting you hit him, his face filled with shock and pain as he tries to reach for you, to explain.

“It wasn’t me,” he tries to say, but the words are lost in the chaos of your emotions. “You know I’d never—”

“Stop lying!” you shout, cutting him off.

Your emotions hit their boiling point, the pain overwhelming you. “You expect me to believe you didn’t know? That this wasn’t some way to tear me apart?”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his hands reaching for you, but you slap them away. “I don’t know who’s doing this, but I would never let anyone hurt you like this. You have to believe me!”

“Believe you? After everything that’s happened? I’ve been humiliated, and you come here pretending like you had nothing to do with it?” Your voice rises with every word, and you’re too far gone, too hurt.

He tries again, stepping closer, but you shove him hard enough that he staggers backward. “I can’t even look at you right now. Get out! Get the fuck out of my face!” you scream, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Seeing you like this is painful for him, but not as painful as knowing he caused this. His hands tremble as he tries one last time to reach for you. “Please, don’t do this—let’s talk—”

Drawn by the commotion, hotel security steps in between you and him, blocking him from approaching you.

“Sir, you need to leave,” one of them says, placing a firm hand on Seungmin’s shoulder.

“Wait! Just let me talk to her!” He tries to push past them, but they hold him back, stronger.

It’s too late. You’ve already turned away, not even sparing him a last glance. He can’t bear the thought of being the cause of all this.

As the door of your hotel room clicks shut behind you, the silence fills the room, and everything comes crashing down again. This time, you don’t have anything left to fight with, so you let the pain and heartbreak consume you, sinking to the floor as tears flood your eyes.

It hits you now—you’ve pushed away the one person you thought you could trust, but everything feels broken beyond repair. It feels like you’re losing everything: your family, your trust, and the man you thought was different.

Leaning against the closed door that seals you off from the outside world, you wonder if there’s anything left to hold on to.

-

The more Seungmin thinks about it, the more certain he becomes that there is only one person who could have leaked the photos—someone who knew about the boat, someone involved. His brother-in-law.

He doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs his car keys and drives straight to his brother-in-law’s place. A storm rages in his chest, anger mixed with dread, his head full of accusations and possible answers.

When he arrives, he skips the courtesies and storms inside. He finds his brother-in-law leaning against the kitchen counter, looking surprised but not startled to see him.

“Seungmin? What’s going on?” he casually asks.

Seungmin doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of him, glaring into his eyes, refusing to be fooled again.

“You know damn well what’s going on. You’re the only one who knew about the boat, the only one who could’ve tipped off the paparazzi. Tell me the truth!" He slams his hand on the counter, causing a spoon resting on the edge of a bowl to clatter. "Did you leak those photos?”

His brother-in-law’s face tenses, the calm façade slipping, replaced by panic. “Look, Seungmin, before you go off—”

“Just answer me!” Seungmin urges, his voice cracking with anger. He can’t bear the thought that someone so close to him—someone he thought of as a brother—has betrayed him like this.

After an intense silence, his brother-in-law sighs and rubs his forehead. “Fine. Yes, I hired the paparazzi.”

Deep down, Seungmin knew this would be the answer, but it doesn’t stop the anger and betrayal surging through him. His hands ball into fists at his sides, his body shaking from holding back violence.

“You set us up? Why?”

His brother-in-law looks at him and licks his lips before answering, “It wasn’t just me, alright? I had permission—permission from your father.”

Seungmin could understand his brother-in-law’s motive: he wants to get on his father’s good side, to be acknowledged and approved. But his father? His own father, whom Seungmin respects and admires, someone he has helped campaign for because he believes in him?

“My father? He knew? He approved this?” Seungmin stammers, struggling to comprehend it.

“Your father’s been watching you, Seungmin. He knows about your little affair with her, and he’s not happy. So yeah, he gave the go-ahead. The idea was to expose her, make her the problem,” his brother-in-law explains, and as if he couldn’t say anything more stupid, he adds, “It’s nothing personal, just politics.”

Seungmin knocks everything off the table—plates, glass, spoon—all clattering to the floor. “You ruined her life for politics!" he shouts, hoping it’ll knock some sense into his brother-in-law’s crooked mind.

“You know how this works, Seungmin,” his brother-in-law says calmly, still leaning against the counter. “Your father is just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By destroying her? By ruining her reputation?” Seungmin’s jaw clenches as he fists his hands so hard his knuckles turn white.

“She’s not innocent in all of this, and you know you shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place,” his brother-in-law says, his gaze piercing.

It’s betrayal upon betrayal. Seungmin’s mind is still struggling to process the fact that his father orchestrated the entire thing, using his brother-in-law to tear them apart.

Without another word, Seungmin storms out, but his brother-in-law daringly runs his mouth once more, “You’ll thank me later, Seungmin. Trust me.”

But Seungmin isn’t listening. His mind is busy planning what to do next—how to fix this, how to make things right. His number one priority is not letting his family ruin your life any further.

-

Seungmin storms into his father’s office, despite his father clearly being in the middle of an interview. His father hurriedly signals his secretary to escort the interviewer out of the room, knowing Seungmin is barely containing his anger.

The man behind the desk doesn’t flinch, already knowing why his son is there. He’s always composed and in control, but today, Seungmin isn’t going to let him keep that control.

“You set me up,” Seungmin spits, his voice sharp with betrayal. His father looks up, surprised but not shaken. “You used your own son to destroy her, to ruin her life, just because of some political rivalry?”

His father leans back in his chair, calmly putting his hands together in front of him. “It’s not about you, Seungmin. It’s about our family’s legacy. You were distracted, involved with the wrong person. I had to make sure you stayed focused on what really matters.”

“What really matters?” Seungmin’s voice shakes with disbelief and anger. “What really matters is that you took someone I care about and humiliated her! For what? Your campaign?”

“That girl was trouble,” his father remarks coldly. “She’s from a family that stands against everything we’re trying to build. You should have known better.”

“I don’t care about the politics!” Seungmin shouts, stepping closer to his father’s desk, unafraid for the first time of going against his father’s principles. “I care about her, and you—you ruined her for your own gain.”

His father stands, towering over the desk and staring intensely into his eyes. “You think you can just walk away from this? From your family? We’ve sacrificed everything for you, Seungmin. You’re going to be a part of this, whether you like it or not.”

“No, I’m not. I’m done with all of this. I’ll never be a part of this family again,” Seungmin says, shaking his head, done being a pawn in his father’s political games.

His father’s eyes darken, and a cold smirk rises at the corner of his lips. “You think this is all about one girl?” he scoffs.

“You’re naïve, Seungmin. You haven’t been in this world long enough to understand how power works. Sacrifices have to be made. And if you walk away from this family, from me, there’s more where that came from.”

Seungmin’s chest tightens with disbelief. “What do you mean by that?”

His father leans forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You think those were the only photos? There’s more from her past. I have them, and if you walk away now—if you so much as think about turning your back on this family—I will release every last one. She won’t have a life left to salvage.”

His father pulls open a drawer and takes out a file, showing Seungmin the photos he’s been keeping as a weapon. “But if you stay—if you fall in line and keep your head down until the election is over—I’ll make sure they disappear.”

Seungmin is hit with another wave of betrayal. His father had planned this all along, dangling her reputation as leverage over him. He expected manipulation, but this? This was beyond anything he could have imagined.

“You’re willing to destroy everything just for power?”

His father doesn’t flinch. “It’s not about power, Seungmin. It’s about winning. And I have won.”

-

TEN DAYS LATER.

The election is over, and his father has indeed won, but to Seungmin, it means he has nothing left to lose.

The man in front of him has torn apart the one thing that means the most to him, and for what? A title? A seat in the governor’s office?

As everyone gathers around his father, congratulating him and celebrating his victory, Seungmin can't help but wonder: does his father feel the slightest bit of disgust for what he did to achieve this win? Seungmin certainly does. He can't look at his father the same way anymore and he refuses being related to him apart from sharing the same DNA.

Seungmin makes his way toward his father, and when he's close enough, he extends his hand. His father doesn't hesitate and grips it, shaking it with a triumphant smile plastered across his face.

"Are you happy now?" Seungmin asks calmly.

"Well, I've won," his father replies with a sickening smirk.

There’s not a hint of remorse on his face for what he did to his own son, which only convinces Seungmin further that he wants no part of this anymore.

"But you've lost your son," Seungmin boldly remarks, each word carrying a finality his father can’t ignore.

Without waiting for his father’s reply, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks away—from his father, his family, everything. He leaves the office behind, as if it’s already become a distant memory.

There's only one thing left to do now.

He drives straight to your father’s campaign headquarters because he doesn't know where else to start. Your family is the only one who knows where you are, and although he doubts any of them would tell him, he can’t—he mustn't—give up.

When he arrives, the place is busy with activity, but it offers a different kind of atmosphere compared to his father’s headquarters. He balls his hands into fists in determination and enters the building without hesitation.

"Apologies, sir, but the headquarters is strictly for staff only tonight," a security guard blocks him from stepping inside.

"I need to talk to someone in there," Seungmin says, hoping the guard will understand and let him through.

"Unless you’ve already made an appointment, we can't let you in, sir," the guard says firmly, crossing his arms and standing in front of the doorway.

Reluctantly, Seungmin steps back, trying to come up with a new plan. He considers waiting outside until one of your family members leaves. It’s a flawed idea, but it’s the best one he has.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your younger sister appears at the reception desk. Seungmin takes a step closer to the entrance, ignoring the guard, and does everything he can to catch her attention, even calling her by her full name.

She looks over her shoulder and, upon seeing him, her expression turns cold and defensive. She never trusted him, and Seungmin doesn’t blame her. Still, he’s desperate, and this might be his only chance to find you.

“I need to know where she is,” Seungmin says, his voice steady but pleading. “I need to see her before it’s too late.”

Your sister crosses her arms, scrutinizing him. "Why should I help you? After everything that’s happened, why should I trust you?"

His throat tightens, but he meets her gaze with unwavering sincerity. “Because I love her. I had no part in what my father did. I’d give up everything to be with her. I already have.”

There’s a long pause as your sister’s expression shifts, her defenses slowly lowering. Perhaps she sees the earnestness in his eyes, the depth of his regret, and his determination.

She turns to the receptionist, writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to him. “If you break her heart again, I swear to God...” she mutters, leaving the threat unfinished.

Seungmin’s heart leaps. He’s just met her, but she already feels more like family than his own ever has. “Thank you," he says, his voice full of gratitude.

“She’s leaving the country tomorrow, so you’d better hurry,” she adds, turning away before he can say anything more.

Every second becomes precious as his heart pounds with a new sense of urgency. This is it. He won’t lose you—not to his father, not to the mess his family has created. This time, nothing will stop him.

-

The country house is quiet, almost too quiet. The only sounds are the soft rustling of the trees outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. The room is stifling, but it’s your thoughts that press down on you the most. You fold another shirt and tuck it into your suitcase, packing for tomorrow, planning to leave nothing behind.

It was a mistake to come back here, and you know it now. This city was once a refuge; now, it feels like a prison, a place to hide. You’ve become a liability to your family, and your father made that painfully clear when he sent you here. You were told to stay quiet, remain hidden, and leave without a trace in the morning.

There’s no future for you here anyway.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you zip up the suitcase. You can’t take any more of this—feeling like a pawn in a game that was never yours to play. Leaving is the only choice left. It’s for the best, even if it means abandoning everything you’ve ever known. It’s not an easy decision, but you force yourself to push through it.

Then, suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, breaking the stillness of the night.

Your heart leaps, and for a moment, you freeze. You remember your father’s warnings: Never open the door. No one is to know you’re here. Stay hidden. You take a step back, away from the door.

Another knock comes, this time more urgent.

You remain still, holding your breath, praying that whoever it is will go away. But then you hear a voice—his voice.

“Please... it’s me, Seungmin.”

Your heart races at the sound of his voice, familiar and full of emotion. You badly want to rush to the door, to throw it open and fall into his arms, but the alarm bells in your head ring louder. You can’t. You shouldn’t.

“I know you’re in there,” Seungmin says, his voice breaking between words. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Please... just let me in.”

You clench your fists, torn between what you know is right and the ache in your chest. You stay quiet, pressing your back against the door, fighting the overwhelming urge to respond.

"I had to find you," Seungmin continues, his voice softer now, almost desperate. “I couldn’t let you leave without seeing you. I can’t lose you—not after everything we’ve been through.”

Tears well in your eyes as you lean your forehead against the door, trying to keep your emotions in check. You *shouldn’t* let him in. This is a mistake—all of it—but hearing him on the other side, so close yet out of reach, is tearing you apart.

“I just want to be with you," Seungmin whispers. "I love you.”

The words break something inside you, and before you realize what you’re doing, your hand is on the doorknob. Torn between fear and love, you know you shouldn’t open the door, but your heart is aching for him. No matter how hard you try, you can’t ignore the pull you feel toward him.

“Please, don’t shut me out," he mutters, his voice thick with hopelessness.

Your walls crumble almost immediately and with shaking hands, you unlock the door and pull it open, revealing Seungmin standing there, his face full of worry and relief. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours. Without a word, he steps forward and takes you into his arms.

He holds you tightly, his warmth familiar and comforting. He feels like home. Finally, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Seungmin buries his face in your hair, whispering, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his. In that moment, without thinking, you lean in and press your lips to his—a kiss full of longing and everything you’ve been holding back for so long.

In the quiet of that night, with the stars shining through the open window and the future uncertain, you know that, despite everything, being with him is the only thing that makes sense.

-

The soft glow of moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a delicate sheen across the room. Your naked bodies are entwined beneath the sheets, the warmth of the moment lingering between you.

Seungmin hovers above you, his chest rising and falling as he gently caresses your face, his fingertips tracing the outline of your cheek like you are something sacred. His gaze is intense but tender, as if memorizing every part of you, still unable to believe you are really here in his arms.

His touch is soft, but the weight of the emotions between you is palpable. You can feel it in the way his fingers brush over your skin. He hasn’t said much, but his eyes tell everything—relief, love, fear of what could have been if he had lost you for good.

“I almost lost you,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of being so close, so connected. “I don’t ever want to feel that again.”

You gaze up at him, your heart aching with affection. Here, in this moment, it is just you and him, and nothing else matters.

Seungmin lowers his head to place a soft kiss on your forehead, then your lips, as if sealing some unspoken promise between the two of you.

“Let’s go somewhere,” his lips brush against yours with every word. “Let's start over, somewhere far away from all of this.”

The invitation comes so suddenly that you don’t know how to react. You blink up at him, feeling a mix of emotions—hope, love, but also fear. You love him deeply, more than you thought was possible, but you don’t want him to lose everything for you the way you have for him.

“Seungmin…” you whisper, your voice barely audible as your hand comes up to cup his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to lose your family, not like I did.”

“I’m sure,” he says firmly, his voice filled with conviction. “This, us, it’s what I want. I want to leave all of this behind and just be with you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stare into his eyes, seeing the truth in his words, the earnestness of his intentions. While it makes you indescribably happy, it also breaks your heart a little. He is giving up everything—his family, his place in their world—just to be with you. You love him more for it, but it's also a heavy burden to bear.

“You really mean that?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion.

Seungmin nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “Yes. This is what I want.”

It feels like the world has finally shifted, like things are starting to fall into place. Even though the future is still uncertain, you believe in him, in the two of you together, and that's enough.

“I love you,” you whisper, pulling him down into a soft, lingering kiss. “As long as we’re together, everything’s going to be okay.”

He kisses you back, holding you tightly against him, and in that moment, everything becomes clear. This is not just a mere coincidence. This is fate. You and Seungmin, together, is fate.

-

The hum of the plane's engines is comforting, familiar, as you both settle into your seats, side by side.

The memory of that first flight together—the stolen glances, the whispered conversations—comes rushing back, but this time it feels different. This is a new beginning, a chance to start over.

Seungmin glances over at you, a playful glint filling his warm brown eyes. He shifts in his seat, turning toward you just like he had the first time.

"Hi, I’m Seungmin,” he softly says, offering his hand in mock formality, his smile full of warmth. “Traveling alone?”

You can’t help but smile back, slipping your hand into his. “Nice to meet you. And I’m traveling with someone very special, actually.”

You both chuckle, the familiarity of the moment easing the tension of everything that came before. It's like stepping into a memory but with the promise of something better ahead.

Seungmin’s eyes soften as he looks at you, and he leans in closer, his voice lowering.

“Business or pleasure?” you ask playfully, replaying the conversation that had sparked your connection all those months ago.

“Neither,” he answers, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m traveling for a happy ending.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, and you feel the warmth spread all the way to your fingertips. You look at him, your heart overflowing with emotion, knowing that this isn’t just a flight—it is a leap into the unknown, into something new and full of possibility.

You squeeze his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin against yours. “A happy ending,” you repeat with a smile.

As the plane begins to taxi down the runway, he intertwines his fingers with yours, holding on tightly, unwilling to let go. You both stare out the window, watching the world fall away beneath you, your hearts beating in sync.

And as the plane lifts off, climbing higher into the sky, you know that whatever the future holds, as long as you are together, everything will be okay.

The past is behind you now, and in this moment, with Seungmin by your side, the world feels wide open, full of hope and promise. Into a happy ending, you go.

-

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[mariacallous]

This is a gift article

In the final week of this election season, the Republican Party is running two different campaigns. One of them is an ugly and angry but conventional political enterprise. Donald Trump and other Republicans make speeches; party operatives seek to get out the vote; money is spent in swing states; television and radio advertisements proliferate. The people running that campaign are focused on winning the election.

Last night, in New York City’s Madison Square Garden, we caught a glimpse of the other campaign. This is the campaign that is psychologically preparing Americans for an assault on the electoral system, a second January 6, if Trump doesn’t win—or else an assault on the political system and the rule of law if he does. Listen carefully to the words of Tucker Carlson, the pundit fired from Fox News partly for his role in lying about the 2020 election. Warming up the crowd for Trump, he mocked the very idea that Kamala Harris could win: “It’s going to be pretty hard to look at us and say, ‘You know what? Kamala Harris, she got 85 million votes because she’s so impressive as the first Samoan Malaysian, low-I.Q., former California prosecutor ever to be elected president.”

“Samoan Malaysian” was Carlson’s way of mocking Harris’s mixed-race background, and “low-IQ” is self-explanatory—but “85 million” is a number of votes she could in fact win. And how, Carlson suggested, could there be such a “groundswell of popular support” for a person he demeaned as a mongrel, an incompetent, an idiot? The answer was clear: There can’t be, and if anyone says it happened, then we will contest it.

All of this is part of the game: the Trump campaign’s loud confidence, despite dead-even polls; its decision, in the final days, to take the candidate outside the swing states to New York, New Mexico, and Virginia, because we’ve got this in the bag (and not, say, because filling arenas in Pennsylvania is getting harder); the hyping of Republican-early-voter numbers, even though no evidence indicates that these are new voters, just people who are no longer being discouraged from voting early. Also the multiple attempts, across the country, to remove large numbers of people from the rolls; the many claims, with no justification, that “illegal immigrants” are voting or even, as Trump implied during the September debate, that illegal immigrants are being deliberately imported into the country in order to vote; Vance’s declaration that he will accept the election results as long as “only legal American citizens” vote.

At Madison Square Garden, Trump doubled down on that rhetoric. He repeated past claims about the “invasion” of immigrants; about “Venezuelan gangs” occupying American cities, even Times Square; and he offered an instant solution: “On day one, I will launch the largest deportation program in American history to get these criminals out. I will rescue every city and town that has been invaded and conquered, and we will put these vicious and bloodthirsty criminals in jail.” But he left open the question of who exactly all these “criminals” might be, because he seemed to be talking about not just immigrants but also his political opponents, “the enemy within.” The United States, he said, “is now an occupied country, but it will soon be an occupied country no longer … November 5, 2024, nine days from now, will be Liberation Day in America.”

The insults we heard from many speakers at Madison Square Garden, including the description of Puerto Rico as “garbage” or of Harris as “the anti-Christ” or of Hillary Clinton as a “sick son of a bitch”—insults that can also be heard in a thousand podcast episodes featuring Carlson, Elon Musk, J. D. Vance, and their ilk—are part of the same effort. Trump’s electorate is being primed to equate his political opposition with infection, pollution, and demonic power, and to accept violence and chaos as a legitimate, necessary response to these primal, lethal threats.

As I wrote earlier this month, this kind of language, imported from the 1930s, has never before been part of mainstream American presidential politics, because no other political candidate in modern history has used an election to undermine the legal basis of the American political system. But if we are an occupied country, then Joe Biden is not the legitimately elected president of the United States. If we are an occupied country, then the American government is not a set of institutions established over centuries by Congress, but rather a sinister cabal that must be dismantled at any price. If we are an occupied country, then of course the Trump administration can break the law, commit acts of violence, or even trash the Constitution in order to “liberate” Americans, either after Trump has lost the election or after he has won it.

This kind of language is not being used accidentally or incidentally. It is not a joke, even when used by professional comedians. These insults are central to Trump’s message, which is why they were featured at a venue he reveres. They are also classic authoritarian tactics that have worked before, not only in the 1930s but also in places such as modern Venezuela and modern Russia, countries where the public was also prepared over many years to accept lawlessness and violence from the state. The same tactics are working in the United States right now. Election workers, whose job is to carry out the will of the voters, are already the subject of violent threats and harassment. At least two ballot boxes have been attacked.

The natural human instinct is to dismiss, ignore, or downplay these kinds of threats. But that’s the point: You are meant to accept this language and behavior, to consider this kind of rhetoric “baked in” to any Trump campaign. You are supposed to just get used to the idea that Trump wishes he had “Hitler’s generals” or that he uses the Stalinist phrase “enemies of the people” to describe his opponents. Because once you think that’s normal, then you’ll accept the next step. Even when that next step is an assault on democracy and the rule of law.

[nova2kss]

Influencer island

“GOOD MORNINGGG AMERICAAAAA”

“I’m your host Yanna Bailey to Influncer Island. It’s new, it’s hot, it’s dramatic, and it’s your new obsession!”

“We’re bringing all of your fav influencers and Internet personalities across the country for a steamy hot adventure”

“You all know them”

“And you all love them”

“I have hand picked these hotties myself…some ofc more known than others none the less they are all wild and ready to come in swinging!”

“Before I introduce you to the men that will participate in influencer island I think it’s fair that I give you a run down of what this show will look like!”

“These 16 hotties will come in ready to pick some partners and participate in challenges”

“Each pair will receive points based off of where they place on the board and based off votes from the viewers aka you guys”

“At the end of each episode there will be a poll placed for voting”

“You guys will be able too vote who should stay, go, and receive a punishment, or a hot date”

“With that being said let’s introduce the men of INFLUENCER ISLAND.

“Coming in first we have the famous polo boy himself”

“Armin Arlert”!

“He’s best known on instagram for being the cute polo soft boy model as stated in his bio, the internet has named him the number 1 golden retriever baby and I couldn’t agree more!”

“Armin is such a sweet heart and I know he can’t wait to be here….but with him being a sweetie pie…will he be able to hang and get wild with the rest of the contestants?”

“Especially this chipped tooth, beer drinking, horse riding, dirty country boy gone viral”

“Reiner Braun”!!

“This big beefy boy best known on that clock app has gone viral for bringing his southern ways onto the app, Reiner caught the attention of many wild men and sexy ladies and was requested by the merrier”

“Currently living in Mississippi but we all know he’s a real south Floridian gator wrestling boy. He’s the perfect match for this cast”

“Next up we got this black cat clothing owner bertoldt hoover!!”

“Best known for his brand flontae clothing and getting hella wild on them boats, don’t let the pretty eyes fool you this city boy knows how to party”

“Kristen made that cast Okay!”

“Y’all know him cause he definitely produced your favorite songs”

“He’s worked with Nicki Minaj, lil Wayne, drake, lil durk, Kanye west, and so many more”

“However when he’s not in that Stu making beats he’s out hosting the biggest parties and filming it all letting us know he was a perfect candidate for this cast!”

“This hot head was requested by the executive producer herself, we’ve seen him whoop ass in that underground ring, we’ve seen him getting wild in the streets, we’ve seen him catchin ass on twt and we wanna see MOREEE!!”

“Everyone love porco”

“But I don’t think as much as y’all love this sexy stoner”

“Constance springer the man that you are”

“He’s 6’0 tatted like a chipotle bag and he is the life of the party! This skater boy most known on TikTok and YouTube is definitely  influential and definitely deserves his spot here

“As stated himself he is a fine chocolate sexy black man”

“Get this! He’s also a brand ambassador for flontae clothing who would’ve known”

“Onyankapon, such a pretty name for a pretty boy.”

“We don’t know how wild ony gets and that’s why he was picked cause the whole world wants to see, he’s seen as someone who doesn’t do much. But I’m willing to bet as soon as he steps foot on this sand that will change.”

“And last but certainly not least”.

“Eren Yeager.”

“Or jaeger”

“Regardless this man dose not need an intro at all, you’ve seen him right with Beyoncé on her ivy park campaign”

“You’ve seen him on the front page of Louis Vuitton”

“You all love him and rightfully so he is something else sporting that black motorcycle when he’s not doing them photo shoots”

“You see these men? These are who are gonna be across your screens in the next few weeks!! Now just imagine the women.”

“On the next preview we will be introducing your favorite wild ladies! It’s your host Yanna Bailey signing out!”

How do you guys feel?😁

(Not proofread)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Accidentally On Purpose

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: none

Paring: Paige Bueckers x !non-athletic fem reader

Fandom: Women's basketball

Summary: was it really an accident ....

Alright the one shot as promised! I hope you all enjoy it!

For the past two years, Paige and I had been quietly building a life together while keeping it low-key on social media. It wasn’t that we were hiding; we just preferred to let people wonder. The occasional soft launch—her hoodie on me in an Instagram story, my hand visible in her post-game meal pic—had fueled plenty of speculation, but we never confirmed anything.

But this past week changed things.

Paige had sprained her knee during the January 5th game. It wasn’t serious, thank God, but her coach had benched her and banned her from practices to ensure she healed fully. That left her with more free time than either of us were used to, and she spent most of it at my apartment, lazing on the couch with her leg propped up.

“Coach is going to regret this,” she joked one evening as we watched a movie. “I’m getting too used to being pampered by you.”

“Pampered?” I snorted, handing her a cup of tea. “You’ve been milking this injury for all it’s worth.”

“And you love it,” she said smugly, taking the mug and flashing me a grin.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. Having her around more often was nice, even if it meant dealing with her teasing 24/7.

By the time January 15th rolled around, Paige was cleared to play in the UConn vs. St. John’s game. She was practically bouncing with excitement, even as I made her promise to take it easy.

“I’m not going to push it,” she assured me, pulling me into a quick hug before heading to campus. “But I’m not sitting out any longer than I have to.”

“Just don’t forget who made your recovery bearable,” I teased, poking her side.

“How could I forget? You’re my favorite nurse,” she said with a wink before disappearing out the door.

That evening, I watched from the stands as Paige played like she’d never been injured. She wasn’t at 100%, but her movements were sharp, her energy infectious. UConn won, of course, 71-45 to be exact and I cheered louder than anyone else as she jogged off the court with her teammates.

After the game, I was scrolling through my photo gallery, deciding what to post. It had been a while since I’d done a photo dump, and I had plenty of new material: blurry candids of Paige from the past week, a shot of my coffee from earlier, and a cute mirror selfie I’d taken that morning.

As I uploaded the photos to Instagram, I included one of Paige and me kissing—something I’d meant to keep private. I was too distracted tagging locations and adding captions to notice until it was too late.

When I refreshed the post, my heart dropped. There it was: a clear shot of Paige holding my face as she kissed me, her other hand resting on my waist. And the kicker? I’d tagged her.

“Crap,” I muttered, staring at my phone in horror.

The comments were already rolling in:

@uconnfan23: OMG WAIT IS THIS REAL??

@basketballbae: so y’all really been soft launching for TWO YEARS??

@team_pucker: someone call TMZ 😭

@kamoreaarnold: I see we got the @trufur run in here

Paige’s name popped up in my notifications seconds later.

@paigebueckers: Are you serious right now??

I groaned, typing out a quick reply.

@yourusername: It was an accident! Calm down 😩

Her response was immediate.

@paigebueckers: Accident my ass. You’ve been plotting this.

@yourusername: Oh, because I’m the one who’s been hinting for two years? Sure, Paige.

@paigebueckers: Don’t deflect! This is a hard launch! A HARD LAUNCH!!

The back-and-forth continued, drawing more attention to the post. Fans and friends chimed in, most of them thrilled by the revelation.

@azzi35: Finally, geez. We’ve all known.

@williamskayla_: Y’all arguing in the comments is the real entertainment here.

@janaelalfy8: @paigebueckers we all knew this would happen someday. You’re just mad you didn’t get to plan it.

By the time I put my phone down, the post had thousands of likes and hundreds of comments. I was half expecting Paige to storm into my apartment, but instead, she called.

“Are you serious?” she asked, her voice somewhere between exasperated and amused.

“Dead serious,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Look, I didn’t mean to post it, but...is it really that bad?”

She sighed dramatically. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just...sudden. We’ve been low-key for so long.”

“Too long,” I pointed out. “And the reaction’s been good so far.”

“I guess,” she said, the smile in her voice now evident. “But if anyone asks, I’m telling them you planned this.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing.

By the next morning, the post had gone viral, with news outlets and fan accounts picking it up. Paige leaned into it, sharing the post to her story with the caption:

"Well, the cat’s out of the bag. @yourusername, you’re lucky I love you."

I reshared her story with my own caption:

"Love you too, drama queen 💕."

From that moment on, there were no more soft launches—just the two of us, unapologetically in love and finally out in the open. And honestly? It felt perfect.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[anakinstwinklebunny]

DADDY'S BOY..

House - the episome of chaos and real meaning of messy Christmas. SAM MONROE lounged on the couch, with no care in the world, yet watching his mother zip Vinnie into the cutest little reindeer onesie you could ever imagine. Complete with tiny antlers on the hood and a jingly red nose.

Dear heavens above..

“There,” she stepped back to admire her work. “Doesn’t he look precious?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Precious isn’t the word I’d use.”

“Don’t be a Grinch,” his mom said, and before he could protest, she plopped a reindeer headband with matching antlers onto his head.

He immediately yanked it off as if it was the most disgusting thing he had ever seen. “No. Absolutely not. That’s embarrassing.”

His mother just gave him a small smile, now used to Sam's not-so-great behavior, before turning back to Vinnie, who was happily wobbling around, stealing all the hearts of his family. Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further - he knew he didn't exactly win arguments with her anyway.

After the Christmas dinner, house was quieter, more calmer. Sam sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, wrapping paper and ribbons scattered around him like a mountains of mess. Vinnie in his lap, still in his reindeer onesie, now playing with a small wooden train Sam had gotten him for Christmas - the greatest gift Sam ever saved money for . The antler headband—yes, the antler headband—was perched crookedly on Sam’s messy hair.

None was watching him anyway right?

“Alright, little guy,” he muttered, setting the presents he’d hidden earlier on the bed. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

He helped unpack each one carefully, moving those tiny, puffy hands of Vinnie over the wrapping paper before showing what's inside to the boy who was wide-eyed and giddy despite being on the verge of sleep. A wooden train set, a stuffed bear, and a few colorful building blocks.

“Like these?” he asked softly, holding up the train. Vinnie babbled something and reached for it with grabby hands. Sam handed it over, watching as his son inspected it with intense and oh so precious focus.

At some point, without realizing it, Sam grabbed his phone and started snapping pictures, one after the other. Close-ups, full-body shots, candid ones of Vinnie laughing.

He had to admit, the kid was so cute it was almost criminal.

"Look at you, little dude," he murmured, watching as Vinnie babbled and clumsily pushed the train along the floor. "Cutest reindeer I’ve ever seen."

“You’re gonna hate me for these when you’re older,” he stole a kiss to Vinnie’s cheek. He clicked another photo, then another, then leaned in to press another kiss to his son's chubby face - not being able to help it all.

Vinnie squealed in delight, and Sam couldn’t help the smile treating to spill over his mouth. He kissed the boy’s chubby cheek again, his slim finger teasingly tickling him under the chin to escalate the full blown giggles he secretly loved so much to hear “You’re gonna break hearts one day, kid. But you’re not allowed to date till you’re thirty. Not on daddy's watch"

When Sam was flopping through all the pics and videos he just took, teasing yet proud smirk crossed his pink lips “And you’re definitely gonna hate me when I show these to your first girlfriend,” he whispered mostly to himself before lowering the phone to steal yet another kiss to Vinnie’s cheek.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed movement by the door - slight light peeking over his wooden floor, some features in the doorframe. He looked up to see his mom standing there, the door cracked open, her face glowing in some kind of pride, as if her all years of raising Sam finally gave her some peace, some feeling of achievement

“Mom!” Sam yelped, ripping the headband off his head and tossing it across the room as if it were incriminating evidence. He looked like a deer caught in headlights—ironically fitting. “No, get out! What the hell?”

“I wasn’t—” she started, clearly holding back her laughter.

“Out!” Sam groaned

His mom closed the door with a soft chuckle, and Sam sighed, turning back to Vinnie, who was now gnawing on the train.

Sam collapsed on the floor in all embarrassment and shame he felt. He closed the damn doors...right? He always does.

He sighed, before standing up to take the headband again and settling it back over his head before laying down again He couldn’t help but smile when Vinnie so clumsily managed to reach up and pat his cheek "Yeah, yeah. I know. Your dad’s a sucker.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @r0b-in

[what-even-is-thiss]

so are you going to vote for biden?

Yes I am because I don’t want to vote for trump. And if you sent me this ask to send me a follow-up ask with something along the lines of “oh so you support genocide then?” No I do not but I do firmly believe that trump would make the situation over in Gaza and Ukraine and China and everywhere else we’ve got our fingers in even worse. He already did that while he was President. He made stable situations go unstable. He made our relationship with several countries go even more sour than they already are. And I’m also not putting up with trump potentially appointing more Supreme Court judges and ruining all of our lives for the next 50 years. I’m voting for the least bad option that has a chance of winning. And if you can’t see why I’m focusing on harm reduction I doubt you’re looking at the whole picture. Besides, Biden has done some good things. That doesn’t cancel out the bad things, but I’d also rather keep his good policies in place for as long as possible. And for the foreseeable future the only way to do that is to keep him in office even if I’d rather have somebody else.

Tbh I’m never gonna 100% like any candidate for President because the sort of people who would willingly take on that much power and make the kinds of tough decisions presidents have to make are not the sort of people I’d actually want to have that job but they’re also the only people that are going to be doing that job so I’ll have to pick the least bad one.

Also, President isn’t the only thing on the ballot in November. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be living in November because I’m job searching right now but wherever I end up I’ll also be voting with that same mindset for everything else. Pick the least bad option. Because that’s how democracy works. I’m not abstaining from democracy just because my country is doing bad things. My country is always doing bad things. If liberals and progressives only vote when all available options are good then they’ll never vote and conservatives and fascists will run this country and that’s just how it is. I’d rather have a guy that’s not doing the best job on the international relations front than give the nuclear codes back to Don.

[enemiestolovershoe]

I'd like to read an enemies to lovers (or fuckers😀) story with Folio. I'd try to write one by myself but got stucked. I have no ideas and it got so boring at a certain point😕

Just Pretend

Nick Folio x enemy!ruffilo!reader

Summary: Y/N and Nick Folio, longtime enemies, share an unexpected night that blurs the lines between hatred and passion, forcing them to confront their true feelings.

Words: 5.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), enemies to fuckers to lovers, unprotected p in v, swearing, alcohol and weed use, let me know if i missed something

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

The roar of the crowd outside the venue was deafening, but inside the tour bus, it was a cozy kind of chaos. You had been tagging along on your brother Ruffilo's tours for years, but this time, things were different. This time, you weren’t just his sibling hanging out backstage—you were officially part of the crew as their photographer.

The guys in the band had welcomed you with open arms, treating you like family. Noah was a laid-back source of constant laughter; Jolly had an almost brotherly protectiveness about him, and Nicholas made sure you were always in the loop, a constant conspirator in his antics.

All except Nick Folio.

From the very first moment you were introduced, he had been… cold. Polite, sure, but with a distinct undercurrent of disdain. He didn’t even try to hide it. And so, like clockwork, every exchange with him ended in tension or a biting remark.

“Hey, Folio, hold still a second,” you said, camera poised in hand as you stood backstage before the band’s soundcheck. You were collecting candids for their social media feed, and Folio—drumming sticks in hand, absently tapping out a beat on his thigh—was an ideal subject.

He glanced at you, clearly unimpressed. “Is this absolutely necessary right now?”

You lowered the camera slightly and raised an eyebrow. “It’s kind of my job, so yeah.”

“Right. Well, maybe take pictures of someone who wants their picture taken.” He gestured toward Noah, who was sprawled on a couch nearby, unbothered.

“Maybe try being a little less—”

“Less what?” he shot back, cutting you off, his tone sharper than your camera lens.

“You know what? Never mind.” You huffed and pivoted on your heel, snapping a quick candid of Noah instead.

“Wow,” Noah said from the couch, grinning up at you. “Tension so thick I could cut it with a knife. Should I be worried about you two killing each other?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead,” you quipped, casting a pointed glance at Folio, who muttered something under his breath and walked away.

Later that evening, after the show, the bus hummed with post-gig energy. Jolly and Nicholas were sitting at the small dining booth, sorting through setlists and chatting about tomorrow’s itinerary. You had your laptop open, editing the photos from the night, when Noah flopped down on the couch beside you.

“So,” he began, voice dripping with curiosity, “what’s the deal with you and Folio?”

“There is no deal,” you said, focusing on your screen.

“Come on,” Noah pressed. “You two are either mortal enemies or secretly in love.”

You shot him a look. “Definitely not the second one.”

Noah grinned, undeterred. “I don’t know. Enemies to lovers is, like, a classic trope. You’re already halfway there.”

“Not happening,” you replied firmly.

From across the room, Folio chimed in. “Trust me, Noah. She’s the last person I’d go for.”

You felt your face heat up but refused to look at him. “Right back at you.”

Nicholas glanced up from the table, amused. “Why do you two hate each other so much, anyway?”

“It’s not hate,” you said quickly. “It’s just… strong mutual disinterest.”

“Strong mutual annoyance,” Folio corrected.

“Strong mutual agreement that we’ll never get along,” you added.

Jolly shook his head, smiling faintly. “You two should probably figure it out. We’ve got, what, six more months on the road together?”

“Oh, joy,” Folio deadpanned, grabbing a water bottle and retreating to his bunk.

You exhaled and turned back to your screen, refusing to let him ruin your mood. But as you scrolled through the photos, you paused on one of him mid-performance. The way his focus bled into every movement, the passion in his expression—it was captivating, even if he wasn’t your favorite person.

Noah leaned over, peering at the screen. “You’re staring at Folio’s photo.”

“Shut up, Noah.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased, his grin widening.

You shoved him lightly, but your thoughts lingered on the image a little longer than you’d like to admit.

You were just settling into your bunk, sighing at the blessed comfort of your pillow, when the curtain whipped open without warning.

“Not happening,” Nicholas announced, grinning down at you like an older sibling on a mission to ruin your peace.

You groaned, rolling over to glare at him. “What now?”

Noah appeared beside him, holding up a bottle of cheap whiskey like it was a trophy. “Drinking time!”

“You’re kidding me,” you muttered. “I just finished hours of editing, and now you want me to drink… this?” You pointed accusingly at the bottle.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Nicholas said, grabbing your arm and pulling you upright. “It’s family time.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep later,” Noah added with a grin. “Another Fourteen hours of driving. You’ll get your beauty rest.”

Grumbling under your breath, you slid out of the bunk and followed them to the back lounge. The door swung open, and the familiar chaos of the bus’s “living room” hit you: Jolly and Matt were already there, and of course, Folio was sprawled on the couch with his ever-present phone.

His eyes flicked up as you walked in, and his expression soured instantly. “Oh, great. Just who I was hoping to see.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, rolling your eyes as you dropped onto the couch between Noah and your brother Ruffilo.

Folio’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before he muttered, “Perfect,” and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Jolly, seated at the small counter with another whiskey bottle and a lineup of mismatched cups, started pouring. “Let’s get this going,” he said, handing the first cup to Ruffilo and then making his way around the group.

You took your cup hesitantly, eyeing the dark liquid with skepticism. “Why does it always have to be whiskey?” you asked, grimacing after your first sip. “Can’t we just smoke a joint?”

“Or,” Folio said, cutting in with a raised eyebrow, “it could be both.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out two pre-rolled joints, holding them up like an offering.

The room broke into laughter, except for Ruffilo, who narrowed his eyes at you. “Wait a second. Since when do you smoke sis?”

You froze for a split second before shrugging casually. “Oops, I guess?”

“Oops?” Ruffilo repeated, his tone heavy with older-brother judgment. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you replied, unfazed. “You’ve done worse.”

Noah snickered from your left. “She’s got you there, Ruff.”

“She does not—” Ruffilo started, but Jolly cut him off with a raised cup.

“Let it go, man,” Jolly said. “We’re here to relax, not get into a family drama.”

Ruffilo muttered something under his breath but didn’t press the issue.

You laughed, taking another sip of whiskey. 

Matt, perched in the corner with his own drink, gestured toward Noah. “You’re awfully quiet for the guy who brought the whiskey.”

“I’m conserving my energy,” Noah replied with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Nicholas regaled the group with a story about their worst soundcheck in recent memory, complete with dramatic impressions of the tech crew. Matt jumped in with corrections, adding just enough dry wit to keep everyone laughing.

But as much as you tried to focus on the banter, your attention kept drifting to Folio. Every sarcastic comment he made, every smug look, grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. At one point, he interrupted Noah mid-story, correcting him about a setlist detail, earning a round of groans.

“Folio,” you said, leaning back against the couch, “do you ever get tired of being that guy?”

“Do you ever get tired of being this annoying?” he shot back without missing a beat.

“You’re both insufferable,” Ruffilo muttered, downing the rest of his whiskey.

Nicholas chuckled, nudging you. “You sure you two don’t secretly love each other?”

“Absolutely not,” you said quickly.

“Never,” Folio added at the same time, his tone as sharp as yours.

The group burst into laughter, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You knew the teasing wouldn’t stop anytime soon—not with this crowd.

The hours flew by in a haze of laughter, music, and the warmth of shared intoxication. The six of you were a mess of empty cups, lingering smoke, and bad jokes, none of which made sense anymore but were hilarious in the moment. Matt was the first to call it a night, mumbling something about needing to be “semi-functional” in the morning. Jolly and Ruffilo followed soon after, Ruffilo slapping Noah on the back in a half-drunken show of affection before disappearing toward his bunk.

That left you, Noah, and Folio.

“Can I go to bed without worrying that you two are going to kill each other?” Noah yawned, rubbing his eyes as he stretched lazily.

You smiled at him, your earlier annoyance fading. “Yeah, go to bed, Noah. We’ll be fine.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but decided to take your word for it. “All right… but if I wake up to a murder scene, I’m blaming both of you.”

“Goodnight, Noah,” you said with a chuckle, waving him off.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled, disappearing through the door.

And then there were two.

The air grew heavier as silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the bus engine and the occasional tap of your thumb against your phone screen. You’d pulled out a game to distract yourself, but the tension between you and Folio was almost palpable.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, leaning back lazily with one arm draped over the backrest, watching you like he was waiting for something.

After a few minutes, you gave up pretending the game was holding your attention. You glanced at him, hesitating before speaking. “Do you… uh… have another joint, maybe?”

Folio raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the question. “You sure?”

“Yeah, why not?” you replied, your patience already wearing thin.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Because I’ve never seen you smoke before, Y/N. And I don’t want to be the oneresponsible when you pass out or freak out.”

Your jaw tightened at his tone, his words igniting the familiar irritation that always seemed to surface when he spoke to you. “Okay, Folio, listen. It’s definitely not my first time smoking weed. There are a lot of things about me you don’t know. And I am not a lightweight.” You crossed your arms, holding his gaze with a defiant glare. “So, I’ll ask again: do you have another joint or not?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your response. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out another pre-rolled joint.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” he said, handing it to you.

You took it with a smirk, your first one of the night. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he muttered, leaning back again. He pulled out his own joint, lighting it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag.

You lit yours as well, the familiar scent filling the air as you inhaled deeply. For a while, neither of you spoke. The smoke curled lazily around you both, creating a strange sort of intimacy in the otherwise empty lounge.

Folio broke the silence first. “You don’t seem like the type,” he said, his tone casual but curious.

You exhaled a puff of smoke, raising an eyebrow. “The type to what?”

“Smoke,” he said simply, gesturing toward the joint in your hand. “Or… I don’t know. Just let loose like this.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “See, that’s the problem with you, Folio. You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, really?” he replied, his smirk returning. “Like what?”

“Like…” You paused, taking another drag as you thought. “Like the fact that I’ve been smoking since college. Or that Iused to be in a band before I got into photography.”

Folio’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You were in a band?”

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guitar and vocals. We weren’t great, but it was fun.”

“Why’d you quit?” he asked, his tone a little softer now.

You shrugged, looking down at your joint. “Didn’t love it enough to make it my whole life, I guess. Photography felt… right. Like it was what I was supposed to do.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Makes sense.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the lack of sarcasm in his voice. For once, he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the earlier tension starting to fade. And then, emboldened by the alcohol and weed coursing through your system, you found yourself asking the question that had been nagging at you for months.

“Why do you hate me so much, Folio?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Folio froze, his joint halfway to his lips. For the first time that night, he looked completely caught off guard.

“I don’t—” he began, but you cut him off immediately.

“Don’t start with that bullshit,” you snapped, your voice firmer than you expected.

“Let me speak, please,” he said quickly, raising a hand as if to calm you down. There was a note of seriousness in his tone that caught you off guard. “I don’t hate you, Y/N. You have to believe me.”

You blinked, your irritation giving way to confusion. “Then why are you always so mean to me? Why do you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room as me?”

Folio sighed, dragging a hand down his face before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The usual smugness in his expression was completely gone, replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Do you remember that house party seven years ago? The one where your brother introduced us?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded slowly, your mind flashing back to the memory. “Yeah… I remember.”

“Well,” he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “Nicholas caught me staring at you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. “Okay…?”

“I was mesmerized by you, Y/N,” Folio admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. But Nicholas pulled me aside and made it very clear that you were strictly off-limits.”

Your mouth parted slightly, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

“So, what? You just decided to hate me because my brother told you to back off?” you asked, your tone more incredulous than angry.

“No,” Folio said, shaking his head. “I didn’t decide to hate you. I tried to. I thought if I could convince myself you were annoying, or difficult, or—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “If I could convince myself you were someone I didn’t want to be around, then maybe I could get those feelings out of my head.”

He leaned back, exhaling deeply as he met your gaze. “It didn’t work. But it made things easier… or at least it felt like it did at the time.”

You stared at him, your mind reeling from his confession. “So, this whole time… all the bickering, the snarky comments… that was just you trying to push me away?”

Folio nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Pretty much.” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes. “The truth is, I’ve never hated you, Y/N. I never could.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. You had spent so much time believing that he genuinely couldn’t stand you, and now… this.

Folio shifted nervously under your silence, his earlier confidence clearly shaken. “Look, I know I’ve been a complete asshole to you, and you probably don’t want to hear any of this, but—”

Before he could finish, you leaned forward, your heart pounding in your chest, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was sudden, instinctive, and completely out of character for you. But as soon as it happened, it felt right—like something you’d been holding back for far too long.

For a moment, Folio didn’t move, clearly caught off guard. But then, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back.

Folio’s hands found your waist as he quickly pulled you onto his lap, not breaking the kiss. The motion made you gasp against his lips, but he didn’t let up, deepening the kiss instead. His grip was firm, almost like he was afraid you’d slip away, and the heat between your bodies was impossible to ignore.

After a few moments, Folio pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath. His eyes searched yours, dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your stomach twist in anticipation.

"I’m sick of pretending, Y/N," he murmured, his voice raw and quiet, as if it hurt to say it out loud.

Your chest tightened at his words, a mix of emotions flooding you. But instead of overthinking it, you let your instincts take over. "Then don’t," you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies wreaking havoc inside you.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Folio leaned in again, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. This one was more desperate, more certain, and you found yourself melting into him.

His hands roamed your back, sliding under your sweatshirt, and his fingers brushed your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your hips moved of their own accord, rocking slightly against him. The friction was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips when you felt how hard he already was beneath you.

"Fuck, Y/N," Folio groaned against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as you kept moving. His lips trailed down to your jaw, then your neck, where he bit down gently, eliciting another gasp from you.

You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against him, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. "I need you, Nicky," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper but loud enough for him to hear.

He pulled back, his eyes locking onto yours, dark and filled with desire. "Fuck," he rasped, his lips curling into a smirk. "I thought you’d never say it."

Your cheeks flushed, but you smirked right back, emboldened by his reaction. Without breaking eye contact, you grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving your upper body bare to him.

Folio’s eyes widened for a moment before they darkened further, his gaze drinking you in. "No bra?" he said, his tone teasing but laced with lust. "Naughty girl."

You shrugged, your smirk not faltering. "Remember, I was dragged out of bed."

His grin widened as he leaned forward, his lips brushing over your collarbone. "Lucky me," he murmured before his hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

Not wanting to be the only one undressed, you tugged at the hem of his hoodie. "Your turn," you whispered, your fingers curling under the fabric.

He chuckled softly but obliged, pulling the hoodie off and tossing it aside. Your breath hitched as you took him in, his toned chest and arms on full display.

"Like what you see?" he teased, his grin cocky as he caught you staring.

"Maybe," you replied, feigning indifference, though the heat in your gaze betrayed you.

"Uh-huh, sure," he teased back, pulling you closer until your bare chest pressed against his.

Your lips met again, the kiss growing more intense, and you couldn’t stop your hands from exploring his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. His hands mirrored yours, roaming your back and hips, pulling you even closer as the tension built between you.

After a few minutes, your hands wandered lower, trailing down his sides to the waistband of his sweatpants. You hesitated for only a moment before undoing the drawstring and slipping your hand inside.

The low groan Folio let out when your hand brushed against him sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but smirk against his lips.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed, his head tilting back slightly as you started palming him through his sweatpants. His grip on your waist tightened, and his breathing grew heavier, matching yours.

Folio groaned, his head tilting back as your hand worked him. "Okay, okay, you need to stop," he panted, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly to still your movements. "Or else I’m gonna bust already," he added with a breathless laugh, his cheeks flushed.

You smirked, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to his jaw. "Isn’t that the point?" you quipped, your tone light but sultry.

He gave you a pointed look, his lips quirking into a crooked smile. "Yeah, well, I’d rather make you feel good first. Thatokay with you?"

The low rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine, and you nodded quickly. "Yes, please," you whispered, your voice soft but laced with need.

"Good girl," he murmured, his smile turning into a smug smirk as he gently nudged you backward.

You found yourself lying back on the narrow couch in the tour bus, the cool leather a sharp contrast to the heat building between your bodies. Folio knelt between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and panties. With one smooth motion, he tugged them down and discarded them somewhere on the floor.

Everything about his movements was quick and deliberate, leaving you a little breathless. He placed his hands on your thighs, parting your legs with a firm yet gentle motion. The hunger in his gaze made you swallow hard, heat flooding your cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice softening. The concern in his tone was genuine, cutting through the tension just enough to make your chest tighten in a different way.

"Yeah," you said, nodding.

He raised an eyebrow, his hands giving your thighs a reassuring squeeze. "I need to hear you say it, baby," he urged gently.

Your lips parted as you took a steadying breath. "Yes, Nicky. I’m sure," you replied, your voice steady this time.

His lips quirked into a soft smile at your words. "That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could respond, he dipped his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh before moving to exactly where you needed him most.

The first touch of his tongue drew a sharp gasp from you, your hips jerking slightly in surprise. "Fuck," you breathed, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair.

Folio chuckled against you, the vibrations making you whimper. "God, you’re so wet for me," he groaned, his voice muffled but filled with awe.

"Mhm," you managed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Just for you."

"Good," he murmured before diving back in, his mouth working against you with a fervor that left you dizzy.

Every flick of his tongue and every graze of his lips had you unraveling faster than you thought possible. Your moans filled the small space, mingling with his groans as he seemed entirely consumed by the task of driving you wild.

Your legs trembled as the pressure built to an almost unbearable peak, and with one final flick of his tongue, you came undone with a cry, your back arching off the couch.

Folio didn’t stop right away, easing you through your high until you were a quivering, breathless mess beneath him. He pulled back, his lips glistening, and gave you a cocky grin.

"That was fast," he teased, leaning back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You let out a breathless laugh, covering your face with one hand as you tried to catch your breath. "I know. I surprised myself," you admitted, still trembling slightly.

His grin widened, and he reached out to tug your hand away from your face, pinning it gently against the couch. "Don’t hide from me," he said softly, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled up at him, your chest still heaving. "Come here, drummer boy," you said, your tone teasing but full of want. "And fuck me already."

His cheeks flushed, the pink spreading across his nose, but he smirked anyway. "You don’t have to tell me twice," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

He stood up, his movements fluid as he quickly discarded his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. You couldn’t help but stare, your lips parting slightly at the sight of him.

"Like what you see?" he teased, catching your expression as he climbed back onto the couch, hovering over you.

"Maybe," you replied, your voice soft but teasing.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you deeply. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and tenderness, and you melted into him, your hands roaming the expanse of his bare back.

Folio hovered over you, his body pressing against yours as he lined himself up at your entrance. His eyes searched yours one last time, his voice low and rough. "You ready, baby?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I’ve never been more ready," you whispered.

With a slow, steady motion, he pushed himself into you, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your nails dug into his shoulders as the stretch took you by surprise, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped.

"God, Folio," you breathed, your voice trembling. "You’re so big."

He froze for a moment, his forehead pressing against yours. "You need a minute, baby?" he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. "No, keep going," you murmured, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. "I need you."

His gaze darkened at your words, and he leaned down to kiss you deeply as he began to move, starting with slow, deliberate thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, every inch of him filling you in a way that left you breathless.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice strained. "So tight, baby. Fuck."

You whimpered in response, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even closer. "Don’t stop," you gasped, your voice breaking. "Right there, Nicky. Yes, yes, right there."

His pace began to pick up, his movements growing more confident as your moans spurred him on. "Good girl," he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with praise. "Taking me so well. So wet for me."

Your body responded to every word, every thrust, and soon you were clawing at his back, your moans growing louder with each passing second. "Faster," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "Please, Nicky, faster."

"Anything for you," he groaned, gripping your hips as he began to move with an almost punishing pace. The sound of skin against skin filled the small space, mingling with the symphony of your moans and his deep, guttural groans.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his lips brushing against your neck as he buried himself deeper. "You feel so fucking good."

"Harder," you moaned, your head tilting back as your body arched into his. "Please, Nicky, fuck me harder."

He didn’t hesitate, his hips snapping against yours with a force that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "So fucking perfect."

You felt the tension building again, your body teetering on the edge. "I’m close," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "Don’t stop, don’t stop."

"I’ve got you, baby," he groaned, his voice rough as he kept his relentless pace.

With one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped, and you cried out, your body shaking as your orgasm washed over you. Folio groaned loudly, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release.

"Fuck," he rasped, his voice thick with pleasure. With a few more thrusts, he pulled out, spilling himself onto your belly. His head fell to your shoulder as he caught his breath, his body trembling slightly against yours.

You both lay there for a moment, panting and trying to come down from the high. Finally, Folio pushed himself up, his eyes meeting yours with a soft, almost shy smile. "You okay?" he asked, his voice still a little breathless.

"Yeah," you replied, your own smile tugging at your lips. "That was…"

"Incredible?" he finished for you, his grin turning playful as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your lips.

"Exactly," you agreed, laughing softly as he stood up.

He grabbed a box of tissues from the corner of the bus’s living room and cleaned you up with gentle care, his fingers brushing against your skin.

As he tossed the tissues into a nearby trash can, you smirked up at him. "If you hadn’t pretended to hate me all these years, we could’ve done that seven years ago," you teased, your tone light but tinged with a hint of seriousness.

Folio’s expression softened, and he climbed back onto the couch, pulling you into his arms. "I know," he murmured, his voice quiet. "I’m sorry, baby."

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

After a moment of catching your breath, you and Folio slowly began to gather yourselves. He handed you your underwear with a small, sheepish grin, and you both slid them back on in a comfortable silence. The air between you had shifted—it was no longer filled with tension, but something warmer, more intimate.

You laid back down on the couch, and Folio immediately joined you, pulling you into his arms. His hand rested on your hip as he held you close, the rise and fall of his chest soothing as you nestled against him.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the tour bus and the faint sounds from outside filled the space. It wasn’t awkward, though—it was comfortable, peaceful even.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and a little uncertain. "What does this make us, Nick?"

He stilled for a moment, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell under your cheek as he took a deep breath. "I don’t know," he admitted, his voice gentle but firm. "But I do know one thing—I’m done pretending, baby. I’m done acting like I don’t want this. Like I don’t want you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but there was still a sliver of hesitation in your chest. You tilted your head to look up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. "How does boyfriend and girlfriend sound?" you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a split second, your heart raced, fear creeping in as you braced yourself for his answer. But then, Folio’s lips curled into that signature smirk of his, and the look in his eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache.

"I’d love that, baby," he said simply, his voice steady and sincere.

A wave of relief washed over you, and a smile spread across your lips as your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. "Good," you murmured, your voice lighter now, playful even.

Folio leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his hand reached for a nearby blanket draped over the back of the couch. He tugged it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders before pulling you even closer.

"Let’s cuddle a bit before we have to get back to our bunks," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. "The guys don’t need to find out about this just yet. And your brother…" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Your brother would kill us both."

You laughed quietly, nuzzling closer to him. "Agreed," you said, your voice warm with amusement.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence again, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your back as you basked in the warmth of each other’s presence.

But what neither of you considered was how the haze of the moment—combined with the earlier hit of weed and the lingering exhaustion—would catch up to you. Slowly but surely, your eyelids grew heavy, and you felt yourself slipping into the pull of sleep.

Folio’s breathing evened out beside you, his arms still securely wrapped around your frame as he dozed off. Neither of you noticed the scattered clothes on the floor or the fact that the blanket barely covered your entwined bodies.

And as the tour bus rumbled quietly down the road, you both drifted off, blissfully unaware of the consequences waiting for you when the boys inevitably discovered the aftermath of your night together.

The next morning, you were startled awake by a loud, familiar voice cutting through the quiet hum of the bus. Still tangled in Folio’s arms, you blinked groggily, your brain struggling to catch up as the realization hit—you’d fallen asleep in the lounge area.

Noah’s voice, brimming with disbelief and amusement, echoed through the small space. "I fucking told you!" he practically shouted, the smirk on his face audible in his tone.

You and Folio both jolted upright, your hearts racing. Folio instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around you as you both turned to see Noah standing a few feet away, his grin widening as he took in the scene before him.

Before either of you could say a word, Noah’s commotion woke another person—the one person you’d hoped wouldn’t notice.

Your brother, Ruffilo, groaned loudly as he climbed out of his bunk, rubbing his eyes and looking thoroughlyunimpressed. "What the hell are you yelling about this early, Noah?" he grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Time seemed to slow as Ruffilo’s footsteps grew louder, each one bringing him closer to the back lounge. Your breath caught in your throat, and you glanced at Folio, whose wide eyes mirrored your own. Even Noah looked momentarily alarmed, his grin faltering as the gravity of the situation hit him.

When Ruffilo finally stepped into the lounge, his gaze landed on you and Folio still tangled together on the couch, the blanket doing little to hide the obvious intimacy of your positioning. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his jaw clenched as realization dawned.

"Folio," Ruffilo said slowly, his voice low and simmering with anger. "Don’t tell me you fucked my sister last night."

Folio froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he managed a weak, "Uh… I didn’t fuck your sister last night?" His voice wavered with uncertainty, and you resisted the urge to groan at his terrible attempt at lying.

Ruffilo’s gaze snapped to you, and then back to Folio, his face reddening with fury. "I’m going to fucking kill you," he growled, his voice rising with each word. "Both of you!"

Taglist: @courta13

[paigesluver]

for me? | chapter_2

paige bueckers x fem reader

synopsis; you and paige share unspoken feelings for each other, resulting in an escalating tension that complicates your friendship and challenges your emotions

warnings; mostly fluff

hi hi! i wanted to have this out two months ago but i got so busy and then i went out of state,, but now i’m back and i finally finished writing and editing this chapter. i wanted to have it out before my birthday that’s in a few days, so i hope everyone enjoys it and let me know what you think!

chapter_1

The court buzzed with its usual energy. Sneakers screeched against the polished floor, basketballs echoed as they hit the hardwood, and the chatter of players filled the air. You stood just off to the side, camera in hand, capturing moments for the facility’s social media. The lens framed everything differently—the focus on laughter, teamwork, and the gritty intensity of practice.

Paige, ever the center of attention, was dribbling lazily across the court, joking with her teammates. You adjusted your camera and took a quick shot of her mid-laugh, the golden afternoon light filtering through the windows and catching the sharp curve of her jawline.

"What's the question of the day?" Paige called out, noticing your camera aimed her way.

You grinned, pulling up the notes app on your phone. "Alright, here we go. If you had to play one-on-one with any celebrity, who would it be, and why?"

The team perked up at the question, several of them shouting over one another. Paige, however, walked over to you, leaning in closer than necessary.

“Does it have to be basketball?” she asked, her teasing tone drawing your attention.

“You’d pick a celebrity for ping-pong or something?” you shot back, smiling.

Paige chuckled, crossing her arms. “Nah, just trying to figure out if I can pick you.”

Her words took you by surprise, your heart stuttering for half a beat. You couldn’t tell if she was flirting or just being playful. Before you could respond, she winked and turned back to the court, tossing the ball toward a teammate.

You shook off the moment and refocused, interviewing the rest of the players between their drills. KK wanted to challenge LeBron James "just to see if I’d score one point," Azzi picked Zendaya for the fun of it.

When you caught up with Paige again, she was standing under the hoop, her hands resting lightly on her hips. "Get your content yet, paparazzi?"

"Almost," you said, lifting the camera to snap a candid shot of her.

"You want something cooler, right?" Paige teased, motioning toward the hoop. “Follow me.”

Before you could protest, Paige grabbed the basketball and started shooting. She made every single basket, each motion fluid and precise, until she finally dunked one with ease. She turned to you, catching your eye as if to ask, Did you get that?

You laughed. "Alright, show-off. I think we’ve got plenty."

But Paige wasn’t ready to stop. “One more—come on, you’re up,” she said, jogging toward you with determination.

“What? I’m just here to take pictures,” you protested, but she waved off your excuse without hesitation.

Paige grabbed your hand, pulling you onto the court. The camera swung against your chest as you stumbled to keep up with her determined stride. “This is for the content,” she declared, her tone mock-serious but her grin giving her away.

“Sure it is,” you replied, rolling your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips.

“Here, hand me that,” she said, gesturing to your camera. Before you could argue, she had slipped it around her neck like it was hers. “You take the shots, and I’ll handle the camera this time.”

“What? Paige, I’m terrible at this!” you protested, clutching the basketball she handed you.

She ignored your hesitation, already adjusting the camera settings. “Just try. I’ll make you look good,” she said with a wink, crouching slightly to frame you in the shot.

You sighed, lining up for an easy free throw, but your nerves buzzed under her watchful eye. The ball left your hands, arcing through the air before it clanged off the rim.

“Nice try,” she teased, snapping a picture of your reaction—a mix of frustration and amusement. “C’mon, try again.”

You dribbled the ball, determined this time, and took another shot. This one swished cleanly through the net, and Paige cheered, clicking the shutter as the ball dropped through.

“There we go!” she called, capturing the moment you turned back to her, triumphant and grinning.

For the next few minutes, Paige followed you around the court with your camera, snapping candid shots as you attempted layups, jump shots, and even a few half-court attempts just for fun. She directed you like a pro photographer, calling out instructions and encouraging you between shots.

“Alright, now go for a big one,” she said, stepping back to get the whole court in the frame.

You sprinted to the hoop, jumping higher than you thought possible and releasing the ball at the perfect moment. It sailed through the net, and when you landed, Paige was already laughing, the camera clicking nonstop.

“Got it,” she announced, flipping the screen to show you the photo—a mid-air action shot with your determination written all over your face.

“Not bad,” you admitted, still catching your breath.

Paige handed the camera back to you, a playful smirk on her face. “Told you I’d make you look good.”

As the session wound down, the two of you sat on the sidelines, reviewing the photos together. Each image told a little story: missed shots, triumphant victories, and moments of unfiltered joy. Paige leaned in close, pointing out her favorite ones. For a while, it felt like the rest of the world faded away—just the two of you, the court, and the warm glow of the setting sun.

“You’ve got a knack for this,” she said, tilting her head as she studied one of the shots. “Even my bad angles look good.”

“You don’t have a bad angle,” you replied, crossing your arms.

Paige turned to you with a knowing smirk. “Flattery won’t save you from a rematch.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” you shot back, reaching for the camera, but she held it just out of reach.

“I mean it,” she said, her tone softening. “You don’t just take pictures—you capture the best parts. The stories. People notice that.”

Her sincerity caught you off guard. It made you feel… seen, in a way you didn’t quite expect. You swallowed, uncertain how to respond. This wasn’t the usual playful banter. She wasn’t just teasing you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, fiddling with the camera strap.

Paige handed the camera back, her expression gentler now, the playful energy from before replaced by something more sincere. She studied you for a moment, as though weighing her words carefully. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “You’ve got something special.”

The words hit you harder than expected. You’d heard her teasing and joking all evening, but this was different. There was no humor in her tone now, just a raw sincerity that made your chest feel a little fuller. You smiled, warmth spreading inside you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Paige gave a small nod, her eyes flickering with something almost unrecognizable for a moment, before she cracked a grin again. “Good,” she said, nudging your shoulder with her own in a casual but surprisingly tender gesture. “You should. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise.”

Her smile was back to its usual mischievous charm, but there was something deeper in it now—something that made you realize how much she cared beneath all the banter. You felt a strange sense of connection in that moment, a bond forged not just through competitiveness, but through a mutual understanding that went beyond words.

You stood there for a moment, not sure what to say. The game had been fun, but these quiet, honest exchanges—this was the kind of thing you’d never expected from Paige. It felt like she was offering you a piece of her that wasn’t just about winning or being the best. It was about seeing something in you, even when you didn’t see it in yourself.

The gym had mostly emptied out, the sounds of bouncing balls and sneakers replaced by quiet chatter and fading footsteps. Her teammates left one by one, tossing casual goodbyes as they passed.

“Are you sticking around?” Paige asked once the gym fell silent.

You hesitated, glancing at your phone. The thought of leaving didn’t feel right. “I guess I could stay a little longer.”

“Good.” Paige grabbed the basketball, spinning it on her finger. “One-on-one. No cameras this time.”

You groaned, standing up reluctantly. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

“Nope,” she said, tossing you the ball. “I’m trying to teach you. Big difference.”

The game started lighthearted, with Paige sinking shots effortlessly while you fumbled to keep up. As the minutes passed, she slowed down, coaching you through your form between teasing remarks. You surprised yourself by scoring a few points—though it was clear she wasn’t playing at full capacity.

“Alright, final shot,” Paige announced after what felt like forever but was closer to twenty minutes. “Sink this, and I’ll admit you’re not half bad.”

“Great,” you muttered, lining up the shot. Taking a deep breath, you bent your knees and released the ball. It arced through the air and dropped cleanly through the net.

“Whoa,” Paige said, her eyebrows lifting in mock surprise. “Didn’t see that coming.”

You bowed dramatically. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

She laughed, the sound echoing in the empty gym. “Okay, maybe you’re not terrible.”

The moment lingered, the two of you standing on the court as the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon. Paige spun the basketball in her hands, her expression softening.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?” you asked, though part of you already knew.

“Picking you. For the one-on-one thing.”

Her eyes met yours, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usual confidence. She stepped closer, placing her hands on your waist. Her thumbs brushed against you in slow, absentminded movements, her touch grounding and warm.

“It’s not every day you meet someone who makes you want to keep playing—even after practice is over.”

Your heart skipped, her soft sincerity leaving you momentarily speechless. The warmth of her hands on your waist made the world around you fade, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the quiet stillness of the gym.

Before you could find the words to respond, Paige’s familiar smirk returned, breaking the tension. “But don’t let it go to your head or anything. I still totally destroyed you out here.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

As the two of you finally headed toward the exit, Paige slung an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into a casual side hug. The warmth of her gesture lingered long after you’d parted ways, and as you flipped through the photos that night, one thought stayed with you: Maybe some moments were too good to just capture—they were meant to be lived.

A few days had passed since that one-on-one game, but Paige’s words still lingered in your mind. You’ve got something special. It had caught you off guard—Paige was usually all about competition, teasing, and pushing limits. But that night, her tone had held something deeper, something quieter. Beneath the playful banter, there had been a flicker of sincerity that made you stop and think.

Shaking off the thought, you refocused on the present. Your phone buzzed, pulling you back. A message from Kaia: art gallery tonight. be there at 7?

A small smile tugged at your lips. After the intensity of the gym, the invitation felt like a breath of fresh air. Kaia had a way of pulling you out of your own head, reminding you that not everything had to be a competition.

The gallery was tucked into a quiet corner of the city, a world away from the echo of bouncing basketballs. Inside, the scent of fresh paint mingled with the murmur of conversation, soft lighting casting gentle shadows on the walls. Kaia stood near a painting, brow furrowed in thought.

“You’ve been here long?” you asked, stepping beside her.

Kaia turned, her expression brightening as she met your gaze. “Just got here,” she said, but there was something thoughtful in the way her eyes lingered on the painting before her. She gestured toward the abstract piece—a chaotic mix of reds and blues, bold strokes clashing like two forces refusing to yield. “What do you think of this one?”

You tilted your head, letting your gaze trace the sharp edges of color, the way the hues bled into one another yet never fully merged. “Hmm. Fire and water battling for dominance?”

Kaia’s lips curved into a slow smile before she let out a small laugh, light and effortless. “I like that. A constant struggle—never quite winning, never quite losing.” She crossed her arms, considering the piece again. “I guess it’s all about perspective. Maybe they’re not fighting. Maybe they’re learning how to exist together.”

Something about the way she said it made you pause. You glanced at her, but she had already moved on to the next painting, lost in thought. Without thinking, you followed.

The gallery’s atmosphere wrapped around you like a quiet hum—soft conversations blending with the distant clinking of wine glasses, the scent of fresh paint hanging in the air. As you wandered through the exhibit, the world outside—work, exhaustion, Paige—seemed to loosen its grip on you.

At one point, you sighed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I feel like I’m just... treading water, you know?”

Kaia slowed her steps and turned slightly, her gaze searching yours. She didn’t rush to respond. Instead, she let the moment settle between you, as if making space for the weight of your words.

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she said finally, her voice soft but sure. “Sometimes, the best thing you can do is take a step back. Breathe.”

Her words settled into you, quiet but grounding. A simple truth, one you hadn’t let yourself accept until now. Not everything had to be about the next move or the next win. Sometimes, it was enough just to be here.

You both stopped in front of a display of sculptures, their twisted forms casting long, distorted shadows under the dim lighting. Kaia reached out, tracing the curve of one with her fingertips, her expression unreadable.

“People aren’t always easy to figure out either,” she murmured. “It’s about the layers, even when the full picture isn’t clear.”

The way she said it made you wonder if she was talking about more than just the art.

Her words lingered longer than you expected, settling into the quiet spaces of your mind.

By the time you reached the exit, the weight of the week had lifted, replaced by something easier, lighter. Kaia turned to you with a grin. “This was fun. Let’s do it again soon.”

You smiled, the night’s quiet warmth settling into your chest. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

As you stepped into the cool night air, your thoughts flickered back to Paige—the teasing, the tension, the way she’d looked at you that night. Her words had lingered in ways you hadn’t expected.

But standing here, beside Kaia, it didn’t feel as heavy.

The drive home was quiet, the kind of stillness that settled in after a good night—one that didn’t demand anything from you. The city lights blurred past your windows as SZA filled the car, something soft, something easy.

Then your dashboard screen lit up, cutting through the dark.

The contact name on the screen made your chest tighten.

pb5⭐️💜

Your music faded as the call rang through the car speakers. For a second, you just stared at it, your fingers hovering over the steering wheel. Then, before you could think too much about it, you hit the answer button.

“Hey,” you said, your voice more uncertain than you wanted it to be.

There was a pause, then Paige’s voice came through, low and familiar. “Hey. Are you busy?”

You glanced at the road ahead, your grip tightening slightly. “Uh, just driving home. What’s up?”

Another pause, just long enough to make you wonder why she was calling.

“I don’t know. Just felt like talking to you.”

Something in her voice made your pulse skip, a quiet thread of something unsaid weaving between the words.

The city stretched out ahead of you, the road open, the night still.

And just like that, Kaia’s steady presence, her grounding energy, faded into the background.

Because Paige was here now. And she had your full attention.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, the steady thrum of the tires against the pavement barely registering beneath the sound of Paige’s voice.

“You just felt like talking?” you repeated, shifting in your seat.

There was a pause, then a quiet exhale, almost like a laugh. “Yeah. Weird, right?”

A little. Paige wasn’t the type to call for no reason.

You kept your eyes on the road, the city lights streaking past in a blur. “What’s up?”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“That afternoon. After practice.”

Your stomach dipped.

You knew exactly what she meant.

“What about it?”

There was movement on the other end, like she was shifting, maybe leaning against something. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “I meant what I said.”

Your fingers flexed against the wheel.

You’ve got something special.

The words had caught you off guard then, and now—now they felt like they carried an even deeper weight.

“I know you did,” you admitted.

Paige let out another breath, softer this time. “I keep thinking about it.”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Paige…”

“I don’t know why I’m bringing this up now,” she cut in before you could say anything else. “I just—do you ever think about it?”

A car passed in the opposite lane, its headlights flashing across your dashboard before fading into the distance.

You could lie. Say no. Say it hadn’t stuck with you the way it clearly had with her.

But it had.

You exhaled, running your tongue over your teeth. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I think about it.”

There was a long pause, and this time, it wasn’t just a silence—it was thick, like the air before a storm. You could almost feel her weighing your words, and you weren’t sure if you wanted her to speak or if you just wanted to keep that silence between you.

“Good.”

The word was soft, simple, but it landed heavy.

“Paige, what do you mean by that?” You asked, needing to know. But she didn’t answer. Neither of you spoke, the silence stretching on between you. You were both standing at the edge of something you weren’t sure you were ready to define.

And still, neither of you hung up.

After you got home, you spent an hour working on projects, phone next to you as you talked to Paige. The conversation flowed easily, but eventually, you decided to take a break. You ran a bath to unwind, letting the warm water ease the tension from your muscles.

Once you were done, you changed into your pajamas, taking your time with your skincare routine. When you finally crawled into bed, you turned on XO, Kitty—a soft distraction to help you wind down. By the time you'd watched a few episodes, sleep started to pull at you, and you drifted off.

A few hours later, your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up in the dark room. It was Paige. Confused, you answered the call.

“Hey, is everything okay?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

Paige’s voice came through, soft but steady. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just... wanted to see you.”

You rubbed your eyes, trying to clear the fog. “Now?”

You pulled the phone away from your ear for a second to check the time: 2:10 AM. You weren’t sure what to make of this, but you felt a flicker of curiosity.

“Yeah, now,” she said without hesitation.

“Okay,” you replied, still half-sleeping but willing to go along with it. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’ll just come to you,” she said, and you could hear the smile in her voice.

You stayed on the phone with her as she made her way to your apartment, the soft sounds of the night outside filtering through. It was oddly comforting, her voice in your ear as she drove.

Soon enough, she let you know she was downstairs. You used your app to let her into the garage and up to the elevator. A few minutes later, she said, “I’m walking to your door.”

You jumped up and opened the door before she had a chance to knock. She walked in, wrapped in a hoodie and pajama pants, looking a little out of place but still somehow perfect in the moment. You locked the door behind her.

“Hi,” you said, your voice still carrying the warmth of sleep.

“Hi, pretty,” she responded, and before you could say anything else, she wrapped her arms around you. You instinctively pressed your face into her chest, arms going around her.

“Mmm, you’re warm,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of her body seep into yours.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said softly. “I just really wanted to see you.”

You looked up at her, noticing her hair was in a low bun and she was wearing her purple glasses. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute she looked. “And you brought me my favorite ice cream?”

Paige grinned, holding up a Cold Stone bag. She reached inside, pulling out a container of French vanilla with caramel. “I did,” she said, her eyes sparkling with playful confidence. “I know you can’t resist.”

You laughed, surprised and amused. “That is very true,” you replied, taking the ice cream from her.

She chuckled, watching you take a bite before stepping back, only long enough to kick off her slides and then pulling you with her as she walked toward your bedroom. Still holding onto you, she shed her hoodie and dropped it on the bed, revealing a plain tee underneath. She looked at you with a knowing grin.

“Lift your arms,” she said.

You complied without question, and she slipped her hoodie onto you, the fabric big and warm.

“You look adorable,” she said, and before you could react, she grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of you, pouting slightly.

You climbed back into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. Paige followed, curling up beside you. You yawned, and she immediately apologized.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she murmured, her fingers brushing through your hair.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, settling against her. “Why’d you want to see me?”

“I don’t really know,” she admitted softly. “I just wanted to be near you.”

Her words hit something deep within you, and you moved closer to her, your head resting on her chest. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight.

As you looked up at her, her eyes were focused on your lips. You couldn’t help the smirk that formed.

“If you want to make out with me, just ask,” you said, teasing. “I’ll say yes.”

Paige chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. “Relax,” she said, dragging the word out, laughter dancing in her voice. "You're cute, but relax."

“You know it’s true,” you said, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Why else would you want to see me at this time?”

Paige smirked, rolling her eyes but with a glint of amusement in them. "Maybe I missed you," she replied casually, reaching for the remote. She flicked on Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, then glanced back at you. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not really,” you said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “I know you're obsessed with me. You brought me my favorite ice cream.”

Paige chuckled, leaning back on the bed, glancing at you with a playful, almost teasing expression. "Guilty," she said, her voice light. "But if that makes me obsessed, then maybe I'm okay with it."

You couldn’t help but grin at her playful confidence. You took another spoonful of ice cream, feeding Paige a bite, going back and forth until it was gone. There was a little bit of ice cream on the side of her lips, so you reached up and kissed her softly, smiling.

"Look who's kissing who now," she teased, her eyes twinkling.

You rolled your eyes, grinning. "How come you didn’t get your own ice cream?" you asked.

"I knew you were gonna share with me, pretty girl," she replied, her tone warm and playful.

You put the empty container back in the bag and settled back into bed, resuming the movie. Before long, you felt your eyelids grow heavy, and despite the movie still playing, sleep overtook you. Paige’s soft fingers continued to trace gentle shapes against your skin as you drifted off.

It wasn’t long after you had fallen asleep that you felt her press a soft kiss to your forehead. The TV clicked off, and she snuggled in close beside you, her warmth wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Soon, her breathing became steady, and she drifted off to sleep as well, the two of you wrapped in peaceful silence.

Hours later, you woke up to the warmth of arms wrapped around you. For a moment, you were still half asleep, not sure where you were, but the softness of the sheets and the comforting pressure against your back felt familiar. Then it all came rushing back—Paige had come over in the middle of the night, and at some point, she had spooned you, her body pressed against yours as you both drifted off to sleep.

You smiled gently, feeling the warmth of her breath on the back of your neck as you shifted slightly in her embrace. The night had been a comforting blur, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of calm and contentment knowing Paige was there with you. Her arms were wrapped securely around you, the steady pressure grounding you in the moment.

Paige stirred, her breath brushing over your neck as she adjusted her position, pulling you closer. It felt completely right, like everything was exactly as it should be. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth between you settle you into a peaceful half-sleep.

After a moment, Paige shifted again, fully waking. Her eyes fluttered open, locking with yours as she took in the quiet scene. For a few seconds, you both remained tangled in the sheets, still caught in the early hours of the morning.

"Morning," she whispered softly, her voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you replied, your voice still thick with drowsiness.

She gave you a sleepy smile before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, pulling you even closer. You exhaled a satisfied sigh, knowing that for now, there was no place you'd rather be.

[starsenha]

[4] FIRST IMPRESSIONS - no more glaring

synopsis: riki was a big fan of your group Devilish, but when he met you for the first time, he made a very bad first impression and now you hated him. rumors started to spark saying how you hated each other and to calm the rumors, the company decided to make you two hosts a variety show together for two months. wc: 1,3k

You, Youngji and your manager, Jiyeon, entered the HYBE meeting room. You were so nervous, but tried to stay professional. You had opted for a casual outfit, but still putting in some efforts.

On the other side of the room, Riki, Jungwon and their manager were already seated. When they saw you enter the room, they all got up and bowed. Riki's eyes involuntarily flickered to you. Tou looked so different, so casual and accessible. And somehow, even more beautiful. He quickly adverted his gaze though, praying no one caught him staring.

"Thank you all for coming," the PR manager of Hybe started. "I think you all know why we're here today."

Youngji shot you a quick ‘don’t-say-anything-stupid’ glance before Jiyeon responded. "Of course, we’re here to clarify any misunderstandings between the two groups."

You forced a smile, clasping your hands together to stop yourself from fidgeting. "I’d just like to say—I don’t hate Enhypen sunbaenims, or Niki sunbaenim, or anything like that."

Riki perked up slightly at her words, but Jungwon, ever the professional, jumped in. "We appreciate you saying that. Honestly, we never thought there was an issue. Right, Riki?"

Riki coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, no hard feelings here."

The PR Manager smiled, sensing the tension. "That’s good to hear, but as you know, the internet doesn’t quite see it that way. The ‘glaring incident,’ as fans are calling it, has gone viral, and while it’s mostly lighthearted, we want to ensure there’s no long-term narrative of bad blood between your groups."

Youngji leaned forward slightly, her tone calm but firm. "So, what’s the plan?"

The PR Manager exchanged glances with the Devilish and Enhypen managers before speaking. "We’ve decided the best way to address this is through positive interaction. Yn and Riki will co-host a new seven-episode variety show. Each episode will feature fun activities, idol interviews, and chances for you both to show camaraderie."

You blinked. Your professional mask slipped for a moment. "Wait, co-host? With… him?"

Riki’s eyebrows shot up. "You mean… with her?"

The PR Manager nodded, unfazed. "Yes. The two of you are in the spotlight right now, and the fans already enjoy the dynamic—whether they think it’s rivalry or something else. This is a perfect opportunity to shift that narrative into something more positive. And I've seen plenty of fans shipping you together, so that could bring good publicity."

Youngji quickly stepped in, shooting you a calming look. "What exactly will this entail? We’d like details before agreeing to anything."

Jungwon nodded in agreement. "Same here. We want to make sure the schedule and activities are manageable."

The PR Manager opened a file. "The show will be shot once a week for seven weeks. Each episode will involve various segments, including games, challenges, and interviews with other idols. Think of it as a blend of fun and candid conversations. It’s lighthearted but engaging."

You stayed quiet, trying to process the situation. You sneaked a glance at Riki, who seemed to be doing the same. Your managers and leaders were already in negotiation mode.

"I assume this will require some prep time before each shoot? Who handles the scripts and activities?" Jiyeon asked.

"The production team will handle scripts, but we’ll consult with you to ensure it aligns with both idols’ comfort zones. And yes, there will be prep time, though most activities are straightforward."

Riki leaned slightly toward Jungwon, whispering, "This sounds like a lot."

Jungwon gave him a look. "You’ll survive. Stay professional."

Youngji tapped her pen on the table, addressing the room. "I’ll make sure Yn is prepared for the shoots. As long as the schedule doesn’t conflict with Devilish’s existing commitments, we’re open to this."

Jungwon nodded. "Same for us. We’ll cooperate to make this work."

You finally spoke up, your voice steady but a little exasperated. "So, just to clarify… this is seven weeks of me and Riki being buddy-buddy on camera to convince the internet we don’t hate each other?"

The PR Manager chuckled. "More or less. Though ‘buddy-buddy’ is optional. Just show mutual respect and have fun."

You nodded and you saw from the corner of your eye Riki nodding too.

As the meeting concluded, the groups stood to leave. You adjusted the strap of your bag, your mind swirling with thoughts about the upcoming variety show. Youngji was chatting casually with Jungwon about logistics, but you remained silent, trailing slightly behind. Riki, spotting an opportunity, decided to approach you.

He hesitated for a second, then fell into step beside you. Clearing his throat, he started, “So… I guess we’ll be working together a lot now.”

You glanced at him, your expression polite but icy. “It seems so,” you replied curtly, her tone professional.

Riki tried to maintain his grin despite the obvious frost in her voice. “I just want to say, I really respect your dancing. Your stage at MAMA was insane.”

You slowed your pace slightly, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. “Thank you, sunbaenim. I appreciate that.” The words were formal, almost robotic, like you were reading from a script.

Riki blinked, caught off guard by the sudden formality. “You can just call me Riki, you know.”

You gave a small, professional smile, the kind you reserved for interviews. “Of course, Riki sunbaenim.”

Riki opened his mouth to respond, but Youngji, catching the interaction, stepped in. She slid between the two with a practiced ease, flashing her trademark grin. “Riki sunbaenim, it’s great to know you appreciate Yn’s work. We’re all looking forward to the show, aren’t we, Yn?”

You nodded, your expression neutral. “Yes, unnie. It’ll be… a good opportunity.”

The way you said “good opportunity” sounded more like “seven weeks of suffering,” and Youngji gave her a subtle nudge with her elbow.

Riki laughed nervously, glancing at Jungwon for backup. “Uh, yeah, it’ll be fun. Right, hyung?”

Jungwon, who had been listening quietly, nodded. “Definitely. I’m sure you’ll both do great.” He turned to you, his tone warm and respectful. “If there’s anything you need to make the shoots smoother, let us know. We’ll make sure the team takes care of it.”

Your expression softened, and you nodded. “Thank you, sunbaenim. That’s very thoughtful. I’ll be sure to let you know if anything comes up," and you smiled.

Your demeanor toward Jungwon was completely different—friendly, collaborative. Riki couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast. “Wow, no cold shoulder for Jungwon?” he joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Your smile didn’t falter, but your voice took on a sharp edge as you turned to him. “Jungwon sunbaenim is very easy to work with.” The implication hung in the air: You, on the other hand…

Riki raised his hands in mock surrender. “Got it. I’ll try to earn your approval too.”

Jungwon, sensing the tension, decided to steer the group toward the elevators. “Let’s head out. We’ve all got a lot to prepare for.”

As you reached the elevator, Riki tried one last time, turning to you. “If there’s anything I can do to make this easier, just let me know. Seriously.”

You finally met his eyes, your tone still polite but colder than before. “I’ll keep that in mind, Riki sunbaenim.”

The elevator doors opened, and Youngji gently guided you inside. As the Devilish duo stepped in, Youngji glanced over her shoulder at Jungwon, her expression shifting back to friendliness. “Let’s coordinate schedules soon. Thanks again, Jungwon-ssi.”

Jungwon nodded. “Definitely. Take care.”

Riki, left standing in the hallway with his leader, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “That… didn’t go great, huh?”

Jungwon smirked, patting him on the shoulder as they walked toward their own elevator. “Not your smoothest moment. But hey, at least she didn’t glare at you this time.”

Riki sighed, leaning against the wall. “Yeah. Progress, I guess.”

Jungwon chuckled. “Baby steps, Riki. Baby steps.”

previous / m.list / next

TAGLIST: @pkjay @d-dilemma @heartheejake @lunaritex @dreeki @inishij @rikirritated @whoiss4m @sleepyxxhead @aanniikkaa @right-person-wrong-time @aespaqq @starry-eyed-bimbo @nerdywitchcrown @yuniesluv @lovestruck-sky @ariluvssssss100 @rei4sunoo @wildtigerlili @jakef3ver @seungminsapuppy @kittsnewera @regalfoxbunny @rairaiblog @pairinnn

[victusinveritas]

"The coming days will be ugly. Yet I feel it’s my job to remind you that, bad as this is, we are not Weimar Germany, and this is not 1933. Trump and his lieutenants aren’t battle-hardened trench fighters, they’re Elon Musk and a coterie of half-enthusiastic half-frightened billionaires who got rich gambling on apps to let you rate your classmate’s tits. Their foot soldiers are used car salesmen from Encino, not Freikorps. The United States is not starving to death and crippled by war, it’s irritated and anxious because its working people have been robbed blind by those same billionaires.

The one thing we do have in common with Weimar is that our fascists now find themselves at the head of a state that capitulated to them not out of enthusiastic consent but exhaustion, cowardice and above all a feeling that it didn’t really matter.

That last one, the feeling that nothing matters, the system is fucked, there’s no point in engaging or organizing- that is the most powerful weapon they have right now. Because that feeling stops you and everyone else from opposing them. From interrupting as they reach out, yet again, to take something you love or need.

But there’s a danger here too. In moments of stress and anger the desire to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING can be intense. And when we’re swept up in that mood the natural tendency is defaulting to the things we know best. The things we’ve done before. The marches and chants and poster-boards we’ve been walking and shouting and carrying all century long. Going back to those old tactics without iteration or acknowledgement of their limitations is a road to failure.

I’ve been to a lot of protests, starting at Zuccotti Park in 2011 and ending last year in Chicago, at the DNC. One of the most dispiriting moments of my life was listening to young anti-genocide activists vow to shut down the DNC, to “make it great like ‘68”. This was a reference to the 1968 DNC. Mass protests were ignited when the preferred anti-war candidate, Eugene McCarthy, was rat-fucked by Democratic party insiders in favor of Vice-President Hubert Humphrey. The protests were quashed violently with tear gas and truncheons. Protesters chanted, “The whole world is watching.”

It may have been then. But the war went on. Nixon won election, then re-election, and then finally pulled U.S. troops out of Vietnam after dropping enough bombs on South-East Asia to have ended several Third Reichs.

During one particularly bad night at the 2024 DNC, miles away from the event itself, a march of self-described “radical protesters” confronted the police while chanting “the whole world is watching” and I can say, unequivocally, it was not. The only people watching were me, several other journalists, and a handful of folks on Twitter. The police, as they kettled, maced and arrested members of the crowd, barely seemed to care. The DNC didn’t shut down. Kamala Harris was made the nominee. There wasn’t even a real anti-war candidate for party insiders to rat-fuck in her favor.

Garrison Davis, my colleague and friend, remarked to me afterwards that the DNC had been somehow much more depressing than its Republican counterpart a month earlier. He was right.

On the stage floor all the Democrats had to present were aging celebrities and Bill goddamn Clinton, drooling out the same platitudes that led us to the Trump era in the first place and doing their best to ignore delegates who walked out and slept in front of the convention center to protest the genocide in Gaza.

Meanwhile in the streets a lot of very nice, earnest people (alongside a handful of grifters) did the only thing they could think of doing after months of imbibing footage of war crimes. They walked around and shouted. The police and city largely let them, because they knew none of it was going to change a damn thing.

I’d felt tremendous optimism right after Joe Biden resigned, not because I loved Kamala but because it was something shocking, an upset, an experiment. Or at least it seemed that way at first. The DNC made it clear that Biden’s advisors and consiglieres, the powers behind the throne, still ran the show, and would not allow any real change. The rot had spread too far, spoiling the meat, spoiling everything.

It was my accurate belief in 2020 that the Democratic Party, broken as it was, had the numbers and organizational capacity to slow the spread of fascism for a short time. It was my inaccurate belief in 2024 that this might still be the case. I had hope because I’d lost any sense of actual productive optimism. We lean on hope when we have no ideas to brace ourselves against.

Hope, as George Miller reminded us, is a mistake. If you don’t fix what’s broken, you’ll go crazy. That’s where we are now, going crazy. Committed Democrats, the decent regular people who fill the party not the soulless shoggoths of capital who run things, are going crazy because they got what they thought they wanted for four years. We returned a “decent” normal politician to office, he kept the economy humming along, got us out of Afghanistan…and everyone still hated him.

Leftists are going crazy for different reasons. In 2020 this country saw the largest sustained uprising of its modern history and nothing, fundamentally, changed. In its aftermath, the oligarchs who control social media set to tweaking, buying or outright inverting their algorithms to ensure no similar movement would ever gain that kind of steam again. Their efforts have been largely successful.

And yet many organizers, be they progressive social democrats, communists, anarchists, whatever, are still stuck in the same loops. Behind each march to nowhere and tired chant is an equally tired hope. The social democrats dream of a giant, continent-sized Denmark, with cyclists replacing Ford Trucks, universal healthcare, good schools and a bevy of other lovely things both political parties will fight tooth and nail to prevent. The authoritarian Communists dream of a new October Revolution, but this one will work rather than just creating a new dictatorship that ages and dies within the space of a single human lifetime.

Anarchists tend to be very good at seeing the flaws in the logic and futility of the hopes of the previous two groups, but they are just as bereft of ideas for how to stop what’s coming. Some tendencies dream of collapse, of an end to industrial society and either living in the woods eating berries or some sort of solarpunk daydream, wildflowers sprouting from rubble. The latter is a nice dream but try offering either future to a single mom who can’t afford her 5-year-old’s insulin and see how she reacts.

Most of the anarchists I know define themselves as “helpers” before anything else. They’ll cheerfully admit they don’t know how to solve the big problem but they do know how to provide free eye exams to homeless people once a month, or do water drops down at the border so migrants don’t die of dehydration, or crowdsource insulin from their friends to help that single mom through a bad week or two.

If you are where we all are right now, bereft of ideas, staring down the barrel of a nightmare, those are good folks to know. Like everyone else, they’re defaulting to what they’ve been doing, but at least what they’ve been doing helps people.

The larger solutions to our common woes, if they ever arrive, will be something new. Something we haven’t tried yet. I feel very confident they won’t take the form of another march or involve everyone finally agreeing to be the same kind of communist/anarchist/whatever. Shawn Fain, chief of the United Auto Workers Union, has called for a General Strike in 2028, and that so far is the only clear plan I’ve heard anyone make that feels like it has a ghost of a chance.

It’s an audacious plan, and I recommend reading what Shawn’s laid out about it. But half of why I support the idea is because it IS audacious. The religious right got to where they are right now in this country by being bold. As I laid out earlier, fascists win because they always try, and this is something we need to copy.

Shit can be different, but not unless we’re willing to try different shit.

Many pundits and columnists were shocked and horrified by the massive and instant support for Luigi Mangione when he assassinated the CEO of United Healthcare. Both the tutting gatekeepers of traditional media and the actually-sweating oligarchs characterized this as evidence of bloodthirstiness. Some leftists did the same and interpreted support for Mangione as proof that the body politic did, indeed, have energy for an uprising.

I saw something different. More than the actual killing itself I think people were excited to see someone try something new. Luigi adopted a novel tactic, carried it out in a novel way, and in doing so he did more to punish one of the oligarchs bleeding us dry than the entre Occupy movement.

Novelty is the one thing that ties Donald Trump and Luigi Mangione together. The enthusiastic public response to both men’s actions and the simultaneous revulsion of traditional elites are mirrors of themselves. In 2024, Trump still had enough novelty to convince people that he might upset the apple cart in some way that benefited them. He rode a global anti-incumbent wave back to the White House.

The consequence of this is that he and his are now on their way to becoming the new establishment. This is an underappreciated downside of the fact that most legacy media outlets have started moderating their coverage of Trump, if not embracing him outright. He is being normalized. His toadies, Musk chief among them, are now our legitimate powers. What novelty remains will fade rapidly.

I suspect the same thing will be true of the copycats who follow in Luigi Mangione’s footsteps.

Most of his plagiarists won’t be good at what they do. At best newly heightened security will see Luigi’s plagiarists dropped before they can pull a trigger. At worse, innocent people will be killed or maimed by bullets and bombs that fail to hit their intended targets or do but with a lot of collateral damage.

I don’t know what the next new thing will be. But between Trump and Mangione there aren’t many old norms left to shatter. We are in a time of enormous potential. Many new things are about to be tried and as awful and bloody as the fallout from some of them will be we all have no choice but to strap in and roll some dice of our own.

The present is ugly, the future unwritten. The only way we’ll make it a better one is if we embrace boldness, creativity and, perhaps, a little overconfidence of our own."

-Robert Evans

[invisibleicewands]

‘I’m bursting with ideas’: Michael Sheen launches new national theatre for Wales

Michael Sheen, a global star of screen and stage, is spearheading a new national theatre for Wales, promising to create big, bold plays that bring vital stories about his homeland to life.

Sheen said he was bursting with ideas and promised to appear in the newly forged Welsh National Theatre’s first production, a “foundation” story about Wales staged at the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff.

The actor, who has been announced as artistic director of the theatre company, told the Guardian that Wales’s stories were “under-explored in the English language”.

Sheen said: “Could you tell me the name of the great play about Aberfan or the Merthyr Rising or the Rebecca riots? Where is our Welsh canon of great plays? We can’t do Under Milk Wood for the rest of eternity. I’m bursting with ideas people are bursting with work that they want to do with us and that’s what’s really exciting about it.”

Just before Christmas, National Theatre Wales, which was established in 2009, announced it had “ceased to exist” after its Arts Council of Wales funding was cut. It has evolved into Team (theatre, education, arts, music), focusing on grassroots work.

Sheen said his new company did not yet have funding. “But that suits my way of thinking. I like the idea of starting small, simple, lean and building it up, working with what you’ve got. Don’t pay for swanky offices if you don’t need them, build it slowly with care and with passion and with vision and with ambition.

“We aim to represent the Welsh people so I would hope that public bodies would be prepared to work with us. I think probably history tells us that relying too much on any one source of funding makes you a bit vulnerable so I first and foremost would hope that this company can stand on its own two feet but we are open to working with whoever wants to get involved.”

Sheen said he was thinking big.

He said: “My instinct has always been, rightly or wrongly, that when people around you are saying: ‘No, you can’t have that, you can’t do that,’ to go even bigger and bolder and go, no we’re not going to do that, we’re going to do 10 times that.”

Sheen said he was not in a position to reveal details of performances but said the plan was to do one production a year. “The plan to begin with is do big plays really well for big audiences. I’m starting to commission writers.”

Sheen said he was also speaking with organisations such as Welsh National Opera and the Welsh language company Theatr Cymru about working together.

He said: “I’m talking about big bold ambitious world stage productions of plays about who we are, where we’ve come from, how we got to where we are and where are we going.

“The first production will be on the Millennium Centre stage. It will be a new Welsh play, it will star Welsh actors including myself, and it will be one of the foundation stories of who we are as a nation.” Sheen said the first production should be staged next year.

He was working on Nye, the hugely successful play on the life of the Welsh politician and NHS architect Aneurin Bevan, at the National Theatre in London last year when it became clear that National Theatre Wales was in deep trouble.

The company was close to Sheen’s heart as he starred in and co-directed its most celebrated work, The Passion, a modern re-telling of the crucifixion featuring hundreds of local people. “That was a life-changing experience for me,” he said.

Sheen spoke to fellow Welsh actors about what should come next. “I realised I was probably the leading candidate for what could happen now. My feeling was very strongly that it should be a completely new company. It should be a fresh start, a new charity, a new board of governors. I didn’t want to take something over I wanted to start afresh.”

When Nye transferred to the Wales Millennium Centre in Cardiff, the experience reinforced Sheen’s determination to launch a new national theatre for Wales.

Sheen said: “You know that phrase: ‘Build it and they will come.’ It was rammed every performance – they were bringing chairs from the bar to get more people in. The appetite for it was extraordinary and it was hugely moving to perform that to a Welsh audience. People were seeing a play about them and their lives and their history and their story. That was revelatory to me.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 9

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥Series Masterlist

AN: As promised, comin' at ya a day early! ❤️‍🔥 I hope you enjoy...

Word Count: 5,100 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, and angst.

Part 9: “Do Not Disturb”

“No one’s gotta know,” he replied. His voice was deeper, laced with grit. “Just try to stay quiet.”

Biting your lip, you slowly began to rock your hips. You had to let out a shaky breath as your clothed core found delicious friction against his muscled thigh, through his pants.

Dean broke through your nerves by claiming your lips. He sucked your bottom lip between both of his, grazing with his teeth. Your fingers sunk into his hair and gripped tight.

He groaned a little, and he slipped past the seam of your lips to slide his tongue against yours, curling and mimicking motions you’ve felt his tongue make inside you.

You moaned a bit too loud at that.

“Shhhh,” he said, low and quiet.

The back of his curled fingers grazed your neck, then down to squeeze and tease one of your breasts through the soft wool of your dress, over the satin bra underneath.

You had to utter a more restrained sound of pleasure at his touch; it was gentle, but firm and purposeful in every way. You couldn’t help but roll your hips harder, finding more friction against your clit and seeking more of the heat now throbbing inside you.

But just as you were about to encourage him to take the dress off, there was a knock on the cubicle door. 

You froze, gripping his shoulders tight as your eyes went wide.

Dean broke his lips from yours fast. You were already starting to blush down to your neck. He glanced at you with a cocky smile before he subtly cleared his throat.

“Yeah?” he answered.

Everyone knew his policy: if his door was open, then it was fair game for anyone to pop in on him. But if his office door was closed, he was either busy with paperwork, or taking a nap. AKA: Do Not Disturb.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Just letting you know that lunch is almost ready,” Jack said through the door.

Dean nodded at that in relief. Nothing serious.

“Okay, sounds good. Thanks,” he said. He started to brush his fingers up and down your spine, eliciting a small shudder from you.

You still gave him an incredulous look. How could he keep touching you when one of his teammates was on the other side of the door?

“Oh, and I went to the store yesterday and got the right coffee this time. Gevalia, right?” Jack asked.

“Yep, good job. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Dean replied. He chanced slipping a hand up the inside of your thigh. His thumb leisurely stroked your clit through your underwear, enhancing the flood of wetness he could already feel through the fabric.

It took everything within you to keep your lips pressed together with no sounds escaping, though a slightly ragged breath released through your nose. Your nails bit warningly into his shoulders. His lips twitched at a smirk.

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “And we’re running drills later, right?”

Dean held himself against an impatient sigh.

“You got it, Candidate. Be ready, I’m kicking your ass today.”

Jack chuckled gamely. “I look forward to it, sir.”

Dean didn’t really like being called “sir.” It made him feel like his dad or something. He wouldn’t say anything about it now though. He preferred to hear Jack’s steps retreating.

When he sensed the coast was clear, he turned his attention back to you. You met him with a reluctant smile. But he stilled your hips when you moved to get off him.

“Where’re you goin’?” he teased.

You let out a quiet laugh. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for today.”

Dean leaned in to kiss your cheek. His lips then veered off toward your ear.

“But see, I’m pretty damn sure that pussy’s still on fire,” he said.

The depths in his voice made you shiver. Your spine undoubtedly prickled with arousal again.

He smiled. “You understand, I can’t let you go just yet.”

Was it getting hard to breathe, or was that just you? You swallowed and let your fingers thread through his hair.

“What…um…where then?” you whispered. “Anyone could walk in here…”

He smirked against your neck and teased you with a nipping kiss there, making you inhale sharply. He doubted anyone was dumb enough to walk into his office without knocking, but these walls weren’t by any means soundproof. And he could see that you had your reservations. 

“Okay, come on,” he said.

He released your neck and finally let go of your hips. He helped you stand on shaky legs, and you smoothed your pretty dress back down. You gave him a helpless look that said, Dear God, what now?

He smiled and took your hand.

“There’s one last stop on the tour,” he said. 

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head as he led you outside the firehouse and through a side door—into what felt like a large coat closet.

Essentially, that’s what it was. It held all the firefighters’ gear, from helmets, gloves, and overalls to matching navy jackets, lined with neon strips on the sleeves and mid-sections, as well as emblazoned with their last names on the back.

“I see why this was last on the tour,” you remarked dryly. Dean’s hand dropped to your hip as he flipped on the light and shut the door behind him. You felt the heat of his body against your back and tried to resist leaning into him.

“You’re getting the VIP treatment,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

But instead of turning you in his arms and pressing you against the wall, like you half-expected, Dean showed you where his gear was hanging up, further into the closet. You first tugged out the sleeve of his jacket. You ran your hand over the capital letters stitched on the back: WINCHESTER. It looked clean, but well worn.

You pulled out a large, but kind of scary looking mask next. It was black and yellow and had a large filter in the front. You knew this was what allowed him to breathe while walking through smoke-filled buildings, but you couldn’t imagine having to wear it for very long.

“This just looks uncomfortable,” you said.

Dean’s lips quirked. “Eh, you get used to it.”

You were curious though. You tried slipping the mask on and struggled, even when Dean tried to help you. Eventually he got the SCBA mask fitted correctly over your face. You were sure you looked ridiculous, and even though you weren’t claustrophobic, this certainly made you feel uncomfortable and closed in.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl,” you complained, already struggling to get it off. “How the hell do you see anything, let alone storm burning buildings in this thing?”

Again, Dean helped you with a chuckle. He was careful not to catch your hair as he slid it off your face and over your head.

“With a lotta training,” he said. “I practiced here at the house, at home, wherever I could. First just 10, 15 minutes at a time. Then half an hour, an hour or more. However long I could take it. I’d watch TV, cook, listen to music. Anything to make it feel more natural, like a pair of pool goggles.”

Your brows raised. “Color me impressed. I think I’d pass out.”

You adjusted where he put the mask, making sure it fit properly on the shelf next to his black helmet. Your hand passed over his jacket once more before you turned to him and let your hand run down his chest.

“Thanks for showing me around,” you said with a smile. “This place has got to be like a second home to you.”

Dean smiled back as he tugged you closer by your hips. “I’m here more than I’m at home.”

Your expression faded a bit as you considered that, and his hanging jacket.

“Have you ever gotten hurt?” you asked. You didn’t think you’d ever asked that yet.

His eyes dimmed, just a little, but his good humor remained. He was about to deflect. You just knew it.

“A couple scrapes here and there. Nothing major,” he said.

You didn’t know how much of that you could believe. You had a feeling he was like your grandfather, and not just when it came to his taste in music. Dean was a certified “downplayer.”

“Right,” you said. You also wracked your brain, trying to remember if you’d seen any noticeable scars, or even burns on his body.

Dean shook his head and dipped down to kiss you. It took you a bit by surprise, but you inhaled sharply as your eyes closed at the feeling of him.

“You’re thinkin' too much,” he said against your lips. And he claimed you again, deeper and deeper, until you were gripping his arms for dear life and he was walking you back to press you against the nearest wall. His hand clenched in your hair, then dragged down the column of your neck, raising goosebumps wherever he touched.

His lips soon replaced his hand. They burned a trail of wet, teeth-grazing kisses down your neck, along the scoop neckline of your dress, dipping his tongue between your breasts. You held him to you with panting breaths. But you also let your free hand wander.

You untucked his shirt from his pants and began roaming the planes of his back underneath the fabric, then the firm wall of his chest and sternum, all the way down to his belt.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them up against the wall by your head. His molten green eyes stared down into yours, as his knee pressed between your legs. You shuddered and arched into him. Your fingers curled around his hands unconsciously.

“Dean…”

“Gotta thank my girl for giving me such a nice surprise at work,” he said. You felt his lips grinning against yours, even as he grinded his hips into you with blinding friction. You tried to restrain your gasp at the feel of his hard length pressing against your core. Even though you wanted nothing more than more of this, you still had to voice your concerns.

“Dean,” you whispered with more urgency. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about that.”

You stared up at him incredulously. How could you not?

But he distracted you by sliding his hands sensuously down your arms. Down your sides and hips, just to drag the knitted hem of your dress up from your thighs. Then he slid down, all the way to his knees.

Your eyes widened as his smirk grew deeper. He looked up at you slyly from the ground, and it reminded you of giving him a very similar look when you’d gone down to your knees for him for the first time.

His fingers brushed your skin as he slipped your panties down to your ankles, over your knee-high boots. You fought a shudder at the feeling.

“You’ve got a thing for sexy shoes, huh?” he remarked.

A smile crossed your lips. Shaking your head, you helped him by kicking off your underwear.

“I think you’re the one with the fixation,” you teased back. “I just like what I like.”

Dean chuckled. “Couldn’t agree more.”

He hooked a hand behind your knee and brought one leg over his shoulder. His hand traveled up your leg, and his head turned to press a line of wet kisses up the inside of your thigh.

You sighed, letting your fingers run through his hair as your eyes closed. But your eyes popped open on a gasp as you felt him suck hard near your center, biting and then soothing the spot with his tongue.

You shot him a furrowed look, despite the incredulous smile tugging at your lips.

He just grinned. “Had to be sure you were paying attention.”

You huffed a laugh and gave a sharp tug on his hair. It made him grunt and try to swallow a groan, deep in his throat.

“How’s that?” you quipped back.

“Touché, baby,” he said. But the problem with that was, you felt his lips against your skin, just before his tongue licked a hot stripe across the seam of your pussy. You inhaled sharply and reached for something else to hold onto, otherwise you might rip his hair out.

Your hands found purchase on the adjoining wall and the supporting rail holding all the coats. And a practiced tongue swiped between your folds, carrying wetness to your clit. His face delved in deeper to swirl with his tongue over that bundle of nerves, while two fingers slipped inside your wet heat and into your core.

You shuddered and bucked against him, but Dean held your hip firmly. His body weighed against you, pressing you into the wall to keep you in place. Then his hand and tongue became unrelenting. His fingers stretched you open, exploring your inner walls and finding what made you writhe and choke on your moans.

“Oh my God, Dean…”

He was tempted to smile and tease you some more, but he knew he had to be quick about this; they’d spent a long time in here already.

Still, he was nothing if not thorough.

He sucked and bit down gently on your clit, right before his fingers found and curled into that spongey part deep inside you that damn near made you weep when you came.

And your eyes really did burn as they fluttered closed. Your whole body trembled with the force of your release as you gasped and panted for breath. His name fell from your lips, almost reverently. Soon enough, you were able to wrench your hand from the metal rail to sink back into his hair.

His tongue continued to lap and swipe, more languidly as he felt your tremors subsiding. When he eventually pulled away, he was heaving for breath himself. He barely had a chance to wipe at his mouth and nose before your leg slid forcibly off his shoulder.  

He looked up in time to find you sinking down to his level, using his shoulders as leverage. You took his face into your hands and kissed him as thoroughly as he’d worked you over, making you a warm, shaking puddle in his wake. Dean held you to him and kissed you back between panting breaths.

Your hands pressed and made room between you, only to fiddle with his belt and palm at the almost painful hardness of his cock through his pants. He groaned into your mouth.

Fuck it, he thought. He had half a mind to take you right here in the turnout room.

But of course, that was when a knock sounded at the door. It was quiet, but there was no mistaking that warning. Which meant that someone was probably looking for Dean (and was also doing him the solid of tipping him off).

Dean broke from you, and you looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

Is that what I think it means?

Yep. Time to go.

With a nod, he helped you up to your feet and found your underwear. You slipped them back on, despite the grimace you made. You were now a bit uncomfortably wet, but you supposed you could deal with that until you got home.

You slipped down your dress and attempted to fix your hair, as well as Dean��s. You bit your lip and tried not to laugh at how you’d wrecked his light brown strands in all directions.

Dean smirked, but he had no time to tease you now either. He held a finger to his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his hard-on to subside. It took him a few moments (deep breaths and unsavory thoughts), but eventually he was able to calm down enough to turn around and crack the door open.

Once he saw that the coast was clear, he slipped out of the closet first. He beckoned you next with his hand. It fell to the small of your back when you stepped out.

He spotted Benny coming out from around the Squad truck. He was wiping grease off his hands, like he’d just been working on the truck. He shot you and Dean a nod.

“Chief’s looking for you,” Benny said.

Dean nodded. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Benny gave him a salute, with deep amusement in his eyes. You blushed and tried not to think about what that look probably meant. You just hoped he hadn’t heard anything.

Dean smiled and walked with you back inside the firehouse. You wished you could just make your escape to your car, but you’d forgotten your purse in the kitchen.

Most of the team seemed to be almost done with lunch. You said hi to Meg again, who gave you a suspicious smile. Your blush started to burn down to your ears.

Gordon was also sitting on the couch. You hadn’t seen him since that somewhat unsavory moment at the Roadhouse, when he’d “shot his shot” with you. He greeted you with an incline of his head.

“Gettin’ the grand tour, huh?” he asked. His smile was pleasant, but there was a gleam of dry knowingin his eyes.

You froze slightly, as your mouth parted and embarrassment threatened to swallow you. You subtly glanced around, trying to see if anyone else was listening, and knowing for that matter.

Dean noticed your discomfort. Again, he rested a hand on the small of your back and shot Gordon a firm look with raised brows. It said, Shut the fuck up, man.

“The Chief’s looking for you,” Gordon said, nodding up at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied flatly.

“Winchester.” A commanding voice carried down the hall.

Your head raised toward it, as did Dean’s. He was more relaxed than you to see the firehouse Chief coming down the hall. You fell into step with Dean as his hand on your back gently urged you forward.

“Chief,” he nodded. He introduced you as his girlfriend, and though you noted the other man’s subtle brow raise, Bobby Singer’s gruff expression lightened (just slightly). He shook your hand, firm and steady. You smiled and greeted him with a respectful nod.

“Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” you said. You almost felt like you were meeting Dean’s father, the way the Chief seized you up a bit.

“Good to meet’cha,” he said. He gestured with a hand over to the now half-devoured cakes in the kitchen. “I was told you brought those in for us.”

Your face briefly ducked with a smile. “Uh, yes. That was me.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure the whole house appreciates it,” Bobby said, pointedly raising his voice at everyone else in the common room. Meg, Chuck, and others voiced their appreciation and thanks.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said with a short laugh.

Dean smiled as he watched you. But a look from Bobby shifted his attention.

“We need to go over some things,” said the Chief.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said.

Bobby turned back to you. “Thanks for feedin’ the guys.”

“Thank you for letting me visit,” you said. Your sincerity showed in your eyes. “You have a great house here. Otherwise I think I’d still be stuck in that elevator.”

“Thank you, darlin’.” Bobby’s lips lifted in a rare smile. It fell when he glanced over at Dean.

“Meet me in my office.”

“You got it,” Dean replied. He took a moment, however, to touch your arm and press a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.”

That he said lowly in your ear. You bit your lip against a deeper smile, but you nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before you went to get your purse. Dean watched you leave (and he enjoyed the natural sway in your hips, as well as the tousled, slightly frizzy bounce of your hair).

With a long breath, he steeled himself to follow the well-worn path to the Chief’s office.

Bobby was sitting behind his desk, signing some paperwork. Dean’s phone quietly buzzed in his pocket. He discreetly fished it out halfway and found a text from you.

I’ll take care of you when you get off shift, Lieutenant. ❤️‍🔥

Dean smirked, but quickly schooled his expression (and pocketed his phone) when Bobby looked up at him.

“Seems like a nice girl you found there,” Bobby said. 

Not that nice, Dean thought salaciously. He looked forward to whatever plans you had for him after his shift tomorrow. He wasn’t the only one with a talented tongue…

“Yeah. You try the cake yet?” Dean asked. He leaned a hand on the spare chair in front of the Chief’s desk. “Orange poppy seed. Who knew, huh?”

“Though next time, when we have a visitor, the tour should refrain from including the turnout room,” Bobby said, his tone both dry and censuring.

Dean’s brows knitted with “confusion.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Bobby’s frown sharpened. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Dean?”

“Now how could I think that, Chief?” Dean said, deceptively earnest. There was enough gray in the older man’s beard to speak for itself. 

Bobby’s face fell into the most long-suffering deadpan.

“Don’t get cute with me, son. I’m not in the mood.”

He’s never in the mood, Dean thought. But his lips twitched with a small grin. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Damn right. And wipe that goddamn smirk off your face! I should write you up for this,” Bobby snapped. 

“For what, Chief?”

“You know damn well, for what. You’re just lucky there ain’t no cameras by the turnout room, or I’d be suspendin’ you. Right here and now.”

Bobby peered at Dean closely, but the younger man gave nothing away. Dean now stood with his hands folded behind his back, like the damn professional he should’ve been. 

After a moment, the Chief heaved a sigh of ever-mounting exasperation. Like a parent who knew you were guilty, but had no defining evidence.

“This is a firehouse, not the Motel 6,” he barked. “You understand me? You’re my Lieutenant, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to set a fucking example.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get. For damn sure you’ve got work to do.”

Dean’s face was nothing if not respectful, but Bobby spotted the edge of Dean’s smile when he turned to leave. 

This was what Bobby got for going soft on John Winchester’s boy. He shook his head and went back to his mountain of paperwork.  

“Idjit,” he muttered, turning the page. 

Dean headed back into the common room after he left Bobby’s office. His good mood soured when he saw Gordon pass through the hall. Dean followed him all the way to the locker rooms. He hadn’t shown you this part of the firehouse, only because the guys tended to change clothes right there, instead of heading to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” he called out.

Gordon stopped short and looked over his shoulder.

“You got a minute?” Dean asked.

The other man wordlessly agreed, waiting for Dean to catch up with him. They went into the men’s bathroom for privacy. Dean shut the door, then made sure no one else was in the stalls before he met Gordon’s expectant gaze and crossed arms. He was casually leaning against the wall.

Dean’s hands went to his belt.

“We got a problem, Gordon?” he asked.

Gordon’s brows rose. “You got one with me, Lieutenant?”

Dean’s lips thinned. He crossed his arms as well, and met Gordon’s gaze directly.

“Keep making my girlfriend uncomfortable, and we will,” Dean said. His tone was firm in warning. 

Gordon took that in with a mild nod and a humorless scoff.

“You know, if anyone but you pulled that shit today, they’d be suspended on the spot,” he pointed out. “But because you’re the Chief’s pseudo-son, you get a pass. And a promotion at that.”

Dean’s frown deepened. He should’ve known it would all come back to that.

Gordon had completed his training and passed his test to be promoted to lieutenant as well, the exact same month as Dean. Gordon was older, with a few more years of experience. But Dean had it on good authority (from Bobby himself), that his own scores had edged out the competition.

“That had nothing to do it,” Dean said.

Gordon shook his head with a rueful smile. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Winchester.”

Dean sighed in frustration and let his hands fall to his sides.

“Look, if that’s really how you feel, then why not issue a formal complaint with the Chief?”

“And what difference would that make? You’re their boy scout,” Gordon said wryly. “Me? …Maybe I just don’t fit the mold.”

Dean could see that side of it too. Gordon was a damn good firefighter. Dean trusted the man with his life…but there was an edge to him, one that sometimes put people off from getting to know the guy. Dean had known him long enough to see through it, to the good man underneath.

But being a leader was more than just the job. If he’d been in Bobby’s shoes, and it had been down between Gordon and Benny…Dean knew who he would’ve promoted.

“Gordon, you know your worth here. Ain’t nobody thinks you’re not one of our best,” said Dean. “But I am your Lieutenant. If you can’t handle that, then we’ve still got a problem.”

“Look, Dean. I like you. I do,” Gordon said, shrugging his shoulders. “Most days, I do respect you. But you’re also a cocky son of a bitch.”

Gordon then left the bathroom, and left Dean contemplating as a result.

Even after his long 24-hour shift, Dean replayed moment after moment from yesterday. From seeing you, inviting you into his office, reminiscing on memories, both happy and painful to relive, and everything that came afterwards.

He’d had to put his conversation with Gordon aside to focus on the job, but now, what kept coming back to him was seeing you trace the framed picture of his mother. That was one of the few pictures John had been able to save from the fire.

So when Dean left the firehouse in the morning, instead of joining some of the guys for breakfast, he drove over to the 84th Precinct, where his dad was already hard at work at his desk. By the look of his scruffy beard and loosened tie, maybe he hadn’t gone home last night.  

Dean knocked on the desk, earning his father’s surprised glance.

“Burning the midnight and the daylight oil I see,” Dean remarked.

John’s mouth tugged at a smile. “Hey, son. To what do I owe the visit?”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Dean remarked. They used to do dinner at his and Sam’s apartment every couple of weeks, or at least grab a beer at the Roadhouse more often. For the past few months though, John had been even more buried in his work than usual. Dean could guess why.

“Any progress on the case?” he asked.

John huffed. “Which one?”

He gestured at a stack of folders on his desk. All of them signified an ongoing case. But both Winchesters knew what Dean was getting at.

He raised his brows and dipped his chin, trying to catch his father’s gaze. “Dad.”

With a sigh, John looked over at his son fully.

“Nothing I can tell you right now, Dean,” he said. It was a dismissal.     

The younger man’s face fell into a frown, his brows knitting together. He dragged a spare rolling chair over and sat, making it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“So you drop a bomb on me about Mom’s killer, and then it’s radio silence for weeks?” Dean said. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

John finally stopped typing on his computer. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. Just then, Dean could see the lines of age in his dad’s face more than he had before. It worried him.

“I want to help,” Dean said earnestly.

At that, John firmed up, with a shake of his head.

“This guy’s an arsonist,” Dean tried.

“We’re working with Arson,” John said. “The rest is my jurisdiction, and you’re on a need-to-know basis.” 

Dean blew out an aggravated breath and sorted a hand through his hair.

“Dad—”

“Don’t you get it?” John snapped. But when a few heads turned in the office, he forced himself to lower his tone. He met Dean’s eyes. “This man is…well, he ain’t a man, Dean. He’s a monster. I’ve told you enough for you to keep your eyes open, but you’re not stickin’ your nose in this. You understand me?”

Dean’s brows furrowed further, but he finally read the underlying worry in his father’s eyes. Just not for himself.

“For all intents and purposes, Azazel was a mafia leader in the middle of Kansas,” John continued. “He’s got over four decades in the business, and even with Narcotics’ help, finding him and pinning him down’s been a goddamn needle in a haystack, let alone connecting him to these murders. Even with the brand marks on the victims, we don’t even have evidence that someone ain’t just copying his signature, so to speak.”

Dean rested an elbow on the desk and brushed a hand over his mouth as he processed what his father was telling him.

“And those brandings. That’s the only thing tying the victims together?” Dean asked. He watched John closely, how the man’s frown deepened a bit. His eyes never shifted, just met Dean’s head-on.

“We’re still looking into it,” said John.

After a beat, Dean took that with a nod. He was still unsettled, but he got up and clapped his father on the shoulder.

“Call once in a while, huh? Maybe drop in for something to eat,” he said. “My girl’s a good cook.”

John rubbed a hand over his face, but he perked up with a bit of interest.

“Girl? You’re actually seeing someone…in the regular sense?”

Dean rose a brow. “All right, you don’t gotta sound that surprised.”

A smile tugged at John’s lips as he sat back in his office chair.

“Right, right. Cas mentioned something about that,” he said. “…How long you been dating?” 

“A couple months now,” Dean said. Honestly, no one was more surprised than him at that fact.

John hesitated, but he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Good for you, son. Hope I get to meet her soon.”

“You will, if you ever leave this damn desk,” Dean replied, nodding back with a smile. “See ya.”

But his smile dipped as soon as he turned to leave the precinct.

His gut was telling him one thing: his father was still holding something back. Something important.

AN: And there we have it! A little firehouse shenanigans, a bit of Bobby, a fair bit of tension, and a pinch of angst. What did you think?

Next time, we're going to start getting into the meat of the mystery. Along with a bit of drama...

Next Time:

“Dean,” you managed, though your throat became clogged with emotion. Your tears blurred your vision and finally slid down your cheeks.

You tried to push at your seatbelt; it felt like it was cutting your circulation across your chest. But that proved to be a mistake, as the tight fabric just pressed into the bruising you already felt forming against your skin. You couldn’t contain a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was more alert now, changed with the distress he likely heard in your voice.

You took in a shuddering breath as more tears rolled down your face.

“I need help.”

Keep Reading: PART 10

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